I am not here. I hear them talk, but
their words do not reach me. I hear myself talking like
a theatre actor learning a play's lines. I am
faraway, beyond the light and into delightful days, where the
highway does not bring me home, but where I do belong. That
place is a faraway land, full of fairies and leprechauns and
knights in shining armour... they don't need to know
that I exist. It is a land where I will go beyond my
body, beyond reason. Because my tensed body gives me reason.
I can feel every muscle in my body full of that faraway land
energy, and every blood vessel in it is full of the dream of
having it devouring my imagination. I feel blind. I am not
able to see, nor hear the voices in my throat. But they are
there, so close to my heart that I could breathe them
through the lungs and spit them back to where they belong,
back into my heart. I am not here. I feel myself, but beyond
their reach. They will never touch me, as I have put them
there, where they belong - in a shadowed corner of my ear.
There they will not be able to hear the sound of the fairies
wings, nor the laughter of the leprechauns. They will never
be able to smell the tar on the back of my knights. But so
be it. Let them smell fresh rain on hot concrete and hear
the cracking of elders bones. As this is who they are and
who I am.
Intr-un mine indepartat
Nu sunt aici. Ii aud vorbind, insa cuvintele lor nu imi ajung urechilor. Ma aud vorbindu-le, ca si cand as repeta replicile unei scenete. Sunt intr-un mine indepartat, depasind barierele luminii, intru delicioase zile, undeva unde nicio autostrada nu ma poate purta acasa, ci numai acolo unde apartin cu adevarat. Acel meleag este un taram indepartat, plin de zane si spiridusi si cavaleri in armura… ce nu au nevoie sa stie ca sunt. Este un taram in care voi exista mai presus de fiinta, de trup, mai presus de ratiune. Intrucat fiinta-mi imi este ratiune. Imi simt fiecare muschi din trup plin de caldura acelui taram indepartat, iar fiecare capilar din el este plin de dorinta de a-mi avea imaginatia devorata de acel meleag de vis. Sunt orb. Nu *** vedea, nici auzi glasuirile pieptului meu. Dar ele sunt acolo, si inca atat de aproape de inima mea incat le *** inspira adanc in plamani, ca apoi sa le revars inapoi unde le este locul, inapoi in pieptul meu. Nu sunt aici. Ma simt, dar mai presus de simtire. Nu ma *** atinge, caci i-am pus acolo unde le este locul – intr-un colt intunecat al urechii mele. Acolo nu vor putea auzi zbuciumul aripilor zanelor, nici rasul spiridusilor. Nu vor putea vreodata simti mirosul de smoala de pe spatele cavalerilor mei. Dar fie. Fie-le ploaia proaspata pe cimentul incins si trosnetul oaselor imbatranite. Caci acestea sunt ei si acesta sunt eu.
