lewis-rWhisper

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A way for the truthTwilight mixed with the odor of frivolous women, hot cars, coffee and cigarettes. What kind of truth can you find on its streets? The one that is warm and will go down your throat like a flame, and will make you passionately love this filthy place, or may be the one that will talk to your money not asking you name. She will get on your chest; will give you love and tenderness, for a certain amount, for definite time. Leaving you satisfied but empty; lying on the bed of a cheap hotel, staring at the dark morning ceiling and one single statement in your head “THAT was my last time…” But the other weekends come, and the same statement reinstates itself. / Everybody here accepts chaos at this time of the day. Movement chaotically is the only way to stumble over the truth in this city. You can’t find what you want, if you know what you want. People are tired to want something determined; they need infinity of choices, abyss of multitude. Disappearing in the holes, doors, windows, with a deep inhale and laughter, with melodies of jazzy evening, or funeral silence, that rests somewhere deeper… Where you can hear only echoes, where you don’t need anything but sincere being, devout love and natural affection. Natural to the bone, to its basis, all and forever and only for you, even when you are sober. The improbability of that makes you angry. It makes you mad. It makes you take a taxi and rush somewhere it probably hides itself. Since you don’t know where you accept chaos as a way to find it. Now you are in this multidimensional sporadic mist of somebody’s desires concentrated within the borders of one lonely, dark and unpredictable city.
2
Mar 22, 2010
Catching a ButterflyTwo years ago I had a bad insomnia. As I remember, not sleeping enough led me to apathy and depression. Indeed, it was miserable time; I was lost in time and space, browsing through clubs and restaurants, looking for my medicine. But what I discovered was more than a cure from my insomnia; it was a life enriching experience that still brings beauty into my life. / It happened on one of those misty autumn nights. As I sat at the table, the DJ announced the name of a young performer. “This night will be just like all the other sleepless, long, and boring nights,” I thought, as she appeared in front of the audience. Seventeen or nineteen years old, dark blond, in a long black dress, a scared out of her wits conservatory student. / As I started looking impatiently for a waiter, she sat down at the piano and...
11
Mar 9, 2010
Cosmos of the ClubHere on the roof of one million stairs building nothing is scary but the life itself. Nothing inspires more than looking down, on the gleaming arteries of the big, penetrated by the dense matter of the cosmos, city. The stars are different here, even if some of them are hot on the surface, inside they are endlessly cold, not that big, and a lot of them already drunk. / But the city lives in its dangerous pictures of infinite and bright life. Flame and fire of global roll call of the people in the windows, sets the rhythm. They flash slower and more silent and eventually start sleeping, not all of them in the beds, some of them on the roads, in the restrooms, sitting on toilets, waiting for the bus or a barmen, who doesn’t want to fill this glass up again… why… wouldn’t he… just go home and sleep and forget and start tomorrow again, like everybody, like friends and even enemies, just to start… Start what? He forgot. He is sleeping while security man is dragging him towards the back door. / A blond woman looks at that such picture pouring into the ear of her lover some kind of laughter. It can’t be her husband. Women never laugh like that with their husbands. That kind of laugh that says “I’m the happiest woman because of intense and frequent *********** is dedicated only for the lovers.
9
Mar 22, 2010
Good boys winIf you had to describe the night time through the senses, what would you say?... / Night. A bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon on the table. A cigarette with a shadow of lipstick still highlights a little spot in the empty room. An act of passionate synergy just happened here, just now. / A woman is lying next to a man. The man starts slipping into the vague slumber. He did his part, and started dreaming about his first love, then the second, and afterwards just about another woman who was not a ****** but a “Madame Bovary”... not a fire but an atomic bomb.
7
Mar 22, 2010
...her coming homeAn aroma of a woman… so sweet and gentle, somewhere close. The emptiness of the whole house rapturously realized that she is coming... on her tiny, always cold and white like snow toes, through the silence of the corridor like a peaceful morning cloud. Just as soon as the vibes of exuberance stormed into his room he felt that too. And that melody in the air… coconut mixed with the natural odor of her hairs that makes you feel at home every time you breathe it in… That must be how angels are supposed to smell… She is at home. Finally, at home. The whole universe came back on its place.
1
Mar 22, 2010
he was alone...He was alone, alone like a moon. Like a path in the park at night, his thoughts were outlining unrecognizable shapes of the bitterest despair and darkest sadness. With all his inner desires, forces, that were left after all the struggle, he didn’t want to believe in that. He didn’t want to admit that because that would’ve have changed the name of his life to “nothingness” or decorate everything he did with a bright yellow word “worthless” in every sentence of his life. No, God, no… all the same, denying the truth didn’t help either. The truth that was so bright and obvious for everybody, except for him for so many years. He started feeling that something very obnoxious, mind-vomiting was crawling in his withering spirit, something that nobody would’ve been able to say out loud, or make fun of at that point.
1
Mar 22, 2010
MariaMay be I missed something… / Sitting lonely by the fireplace, in the rocking chair, just like the one he always wanted to have since childhood, and to sit just like that with such a serious face… thinking really widely and broadly about own… like Sherlock or Epicur… and with a glass of Merlot.. / In the whole house just crackling of the fire and hissing of the conditioner… May be I missed something.. Said he, but now out loud to himself…
19
Mar 22, 2010
on a bus stopShe is waiting there by herself. A woman, in a light colorful dress, that contrasts her gentle shoulders and sensible neck. It's raining. You see how the rain drops falling down from the sky are touching her and burst with exhiliration. They cover all her body, pure and shining like a heaven itself. She is standing there alone in the crowd. / Cars, buses are passing by, but she is waiting for something or... somebody. A deep uncertain regret starts permeating your mind, something that you are not, yet, able to understand yourslef but what causes pain. May be that's the sorrow of realizing / that she doesn't know you or... the thought that you would never be able to kiss her shoulder, and you don't want more. Even kissing her, you would have done it so gently and carefully, so that you would not have destroyed the harmony of her endless beauty... beauty of the lake, reflecting the sky and rising sun, that leaves you dazzled if you look on it. That kind of beauty you would not dare to touch, but just let it shine through you. A beauty that tells you the reason of life, and tranquilizes your soul. You wish your life was as ideal as the traits of her face, eyes, lips... You wish you were a wind that touches her so elegantly, without a word or any wrong movement, leaving itself in every and each cell of her body, disappearing in her sweet scent... You wish... And when you open your eyes you see her sitting in somebody's car... and the car is going away... you're sitting alone waiting for the bus...
3
Mar 22, 2010
Smoke...She lit a cigarette. It made a whispering inhale and exhaled a thin white thread of smoke. The woman smoked, despite that she never really liked neither the scent that stayed on her skin and clothes, nor the effect of nicotine, which was lost after a couple of packs. One day she started smoking to manifest her freedom, today she is smoking to entertain herself. It is entertaining for her to exhale white clouds out of lips and try to recognize a moments of innocent happiness in them. Each moment spent with a cigarette reminded about all other moments, which were earlier, younger... / She inhaled again and in the exhale smiled. The white mist coming out of her red lips looked magically. But it was not the cigarettes; it was her special elite beauty that made the bench she was sitting on so attractive… expensive. / Today she was in black. Luxurious half dark stockings with a black line, shining spike heels, a strict skirt and a costume, which accurately underlined her breast, in a way that gives to any passing by man an insuperable longing to undo one more button, just one more button…
11
Mar 9, 2010
the rainThe city around was on the pause. In the childish play of the coming storm the wind caught up the end of his tie and showed up its presence to the empty sidewalk. The mirror skyscrapers, with all their rudeness and immense cold bravery, were not scared by the weather. The man wasn't afraid of it either. Even the fact that the costume will be spoiled by rain drops didn’t make him run and hide. “Run and hide” he thought “is not for the samurai”. Anyway, he is too tired to be scared of anything. / Under many layers of business ethics, professionalism that he was taught in the graduate school, and million of cups of dark coffee you wouldn’t be able to find any sign of exhaust on his face. Watching people running back and forth along the streets, he couldn’t see them. His head was full of vespine buzz from the running numbers on the bright screen, income voice mails in the cell phone, people’s faces from the meeting all over the world, some of them angry… and much less happy… More, he didn’t know anymore what happiness was… A good substitute for this word was “profit”… That was all he needed for the last couple of years. / Rain. He remembered that he liked the rain, but he never knew why. What can represent the rain? Life? Or probably us? “One rain drop starts in the cold little spring, makes his way to the ocean, reaches the skies and with tremendous velocity falls back on the ground. Some of the rain drops end up in the puddles, among the streets, traffic, but it really doesn’t have any significance where you’ve been, you will return to the skies and then will fall again on the ground.” Such thoughts were vaguely, going in his background mind, it made him open his mouth and stare in the skies. They were dark, fast and bold “Storm. It’s going to be a storm.” He said to himself. “I need to go. … go where? Go home? What is there that will be happy to see me? A new TV set? Or the computer that is going to take me back to my job. Empty kitchen with an empty fridge? Windows looking on the same street? Why should I go home?
8
Mar 22, 2010
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