Starting to spring from the eyes of a child, the stars are nothing more than candles in a church, the dancing of the their orange light and orange dark is giving away secrets of life on every wall this dance is placed by the light of burning candles or burning of suns. The moon itself is just a massive light bulb until the child realizes the universe is nothing more than a playground for ambitions. I realized it in the middle of one night when dreaming of Mara I woke up in a haste, impatiently illustrating to my awakened eyes her alluring forms I felt deep in my heart when I was out sleeping. I remember the light of the full moon transforming the landscape into horrible forms, twisting reality. I remember walking to her house trough perfect silence hearing only my thoughts and my steps, and my teeth chewing a candy. The more I gazed at the stars, the more I fell in love with life, my steps were moving me forward, although, my attention was being in the company of endless stars and captured by the the moon’s charm. Mara was my true love and I was to her exactly nothing, as nothingness I felt every time being mute in her company and loud by myself. Yes, love’s like that – cuts deep into your brain and makes you stupid or silent. Yet… I fancied those creepy shapes existing between me and her (house) – gray forms of moon’s super-realism escorting me on my nightly escapades, when I had the courage to run away in the middle of the night towards her heart, and not just her heart. If I’d only knew back then the Perseus and Andromeda’s love story, I might’ve followed their ancestral light to Mara’s lips and touched them with my own. After a while, I suspected the Infinite of jealousy, it wanted me dead by day and alive by night – to observe the moon’s light creating other realities or another form of affection, tormenting me with feelings of love for another but, somehow, keeping me away from Mara’s love. Other than the love for the shapes created by the moon’s light would be unnatural for my existence.
Being alive was beginning to make sense, suggesting that death or dying is nothing but a manner in which the moon itself is selecting her mates.

The Beast in the Space
W.S. Graham

Shut up. Shut up. There’s nobody here.
If you think you hear somebody knocking
On the other side of the words, pay
No attention. It will be only
The great creature that thumps its tail
On silence on the other side.
If you do not even hear that
I’ll give the beast a quick skelp
And through Art you’ll hear it yelp.

In the quietest moments, I swear on any second of darkness you wish, I could hear my dreams talking to each other – dreams hidden so deep in my mind, not even my paralyzing sleep can’t create, if I’d give it permission. Nights with full moon will add new intrusive characters and actions to my solitary love story, entertaining my amour with shadows filling vacant brain parts with these non-existent life forms. If I’m desperate enough, and I believe I am, I can see vivid colors in dreams or such and by the time the sun is up, I’ll be dead asleep for another night… or day… or life…

It’s already too late not to waste away a normal life.

________________________

FIN

Roberto Palu