Sunday, December 09, 2007

Unflowering explosion

Continuation and supposed end of the serie, started by slightly flowrishing, continued by definitively flowrishing, and by rather flowrished, and by interfered flowering. But now just a reminder of a time in hell that already passed.
Chaos, yes. Ugly, exactly, that's the point of it. It disgusts me the whole combo of colours and shapes in this one, and I was looking for that in it. Disintegration. And the end of the serie, and the cycle, as a catharsis. Goodbye to it. The good remains, the bad is discarded.

Couldn't choose between the song and the poem.

you shatter me
your grip on me
a hold on me
so dull it kills
you stifle me
infectious sense
of hopelessness and
prayers for rain
i suffocate
i breathe in dirt
and nowhere shines
but desolate
and drab the hours all spent
on killing time again
all waiting for
the rain

you fracture me
your hands on me
a touch so plain
so stale it kills
you strangle me
entangle me
in hopelessness and
prayers for rain
i deteriorate
i live in dirt
and nowhere glows
but drearily and tired
the hours all spent
on killing time again
all waiting for
the rain

The Cure, "Prayers for rain".

Heart, you are restless as a paper scrap
That's tossed down dusty pavements by the wind;
Saying, "She is most wise, patient and kind.
Between the small hands folded in her lap
Surely a shamed head may bow down at length,
And find forgiveness where the shadows stir
About her lips, and wisdom in her strength,
Peace in her peace. Come to her, come to her!"...

She will not care. She'll smile to see me come,
So that I think all Heaven in flower to fold me.
She'll give me all I ask, kiss me and hold me,
And open wide upon that holy air
The gates of peace, and take my tiredness home,
Kinder than God. But, heart, she will not care.

Rupert Brooke, "Unfortunate".

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