Amber evening

amber_metallic_texture_ii_by_beckas So, we were quietly eating our ice-creams. He opened the door for me and I stepped into the car. Such a gentleman, I thought, and immediately dismissed the thought; it was serious but ironic at the same time. Men don’t do that with other men, unless there’s a hidden language of domination. He joined me in the car shortly after. As he went to the other side of the car, ice-cream in hand, his body left a trace of light over the evening sky. The sun was trying to run away from him, and as he crossed my field of vision I suddenly felt so alone as if a great danger was about to sweep me away from the face of the Earth throwing me into this pitch dark abyss. He finally got in. The silence and the solitude broke for a few seconds and the rest of the world came all over me as the door opened and closed with a thump. Then the world perished again. The sun drew cruel shadows over his complexion as if trying to make him ugly, telling me to look away. Look for love into some other place except this one, the world outside was telling me trying to get in, knocking against the windows of the car. He was truly the most beautiful man that I had ever seen, and he was so close now, moving around me with the silence of the planets circling around the sun. And there was a thump, and a click, and the sound of a deep breath, and there was perfume, and air, and the sound of clothes, and the sun between us painfully piercing the pores of my face. You are so beautiful, he says, and I say nothing. I can hear the ice-cream melting in my hand. I swallow and my mouth feels dry. Thanks, I say, and at once the world outside starts moving, and the car, and the shadows on his face outlining a sort of battle, and seconds seem like hours as he gets closer and closer to me, and I don’t move, fearing that my movement would make dust attack me, and take me away from him. And I can feel his breath now; I can feel it on my upper lip. I feel like grabbing him and pulling him closer but I’m still afraid of movement. But I stand here frozen while his lips touched mine. Dolce e deciso. And suddenly the solitude vanished and now a void opened, greater, bigger. It was the fear of losing him. And our lips parted.

But the silence kept talking through us like kids trying to talk to each other through a wall. I could only hear his breath and my thumping heart. What shall we do? He said. You are so beautiful, I told him. We finished our ice-creams. The world kept talking and moving around us as if nothing had happened, like rain washing over the warm ash of a camp fire. We are after all two bodies. Flesh plus bone plus desire, and as I looked outside through the dark windows of the car the world stopped making sense. The sidewalks had no reason to be where they were, the trees were too silent for that time of the year, the people had only two feet, two hands, and a pair of eyes, and the sun, I have never seen something uglier and crueler than the sun. Yet HE was here beside me. I felt his hand as he was trying to find mine and the open void settled down, stopped screaming, like a baby being fed. And the world made sense again, and again, and the trees started talking. You are so beautiful I told him, and he said he believed me. And I believed him.

And I don’t hate you, I hate the world. That is why every time I take a shower I feel like there’s a lot of dirt on my skin that I need to clean, take down. Somewhere, something, someone planted this seed into the depths of my body and up until now it has grown into this huge tree that manages to hide me from the sun.

Tu sei il sole della mia vita. Non so cosa farei senza di te.

Every time you say that something breaks inside me. And I want to hear it again. And you say no, no more, imagine all the other people in this world that need a word of affection and don’t get it, or they won’t get it in the near future. Let’s not waste our words of affection. These words are like water, or like food, they need to be preserved. So we stay silent for a while because our vocabulary is filled with words of affection and now you realize you’ve just said too many, and maybe there is nothing else left to say but “I adore you” and “I wouldn’t want to lose you”.

The world is so strange today, you say, why don’t they just marry and get it over with. That’s what I always thought when I was little, why write books about lost love, or sing songs about them when you could just marry them and be together for the rest of your life. But as you stare at the ceiling you begin to see it more clearly. The ceiling is a place of revelation, where thoughts meet and form ideas. Things are not that simple, you see, marriage wouldn’t be the solution, I mean, it couldn’t be the ultimate solution, marriages fail sometimes, things get nasty, you need to divide things. Marriage would be the failure of everything, of love itself. And you laugh heartily. What a stupid thing to say. We won’t get married, love, right?

Two worlds, me and you

She said to me, would you like that, would you like to be like all the others, would you like to have that? I thought, my love, I haven’t been blessed like you did, with beauty and looks, and all the rest, I haven’t been blessed with an exceptional ear for the music that sets the world into rhythm, I haven’t been blessed with the hand of a genius writer. She said you still don’t know what you have. You’ll probably realize it later. I knew she said that because somehow she felt the growing distance between us. It was like saying that I will surely realize it later but she won’t be around to see that. And she wasn’t around. I knew she won’t be. And then we said goodbye because there was somebody else waiting for her at the entrance. She said we’ll keep in touch, and we did, yet I was the only one trying to reach her. Anyways, she was too good to be true. She found loving arms somewhere else, and then somewhere else, and she never came back. She once told me she will always love me. Maybe she still loves me. She disappeared, just like that, to wake up in another man’s warm bed. Why are beds warm? Today my bed is cold. The world is filled with cold beds, one sided beds, undisturbed on the other side, huge windows and closed doors. Today my bed resembles my cold, one-sided heart.

We haven’t been blessed, my love, not like that. We have been blessed with fear.

Have you met him before? Have you seen him before? Father was furious now. No, I said, I had not seen him before, yet I felt like I knew him for ages. Don’t you find that strange? Don’t you think there had been a connection between the two of you? How come you saw him and instantly fell in love with him? The mind forgets but the heart never forgets.

The world is not as you thought of it, Father. There is no happiness among us unless we do what we want and our will is to find that happiness and consume it as soon as possible. Life does not follow intricate plots with mysterious people watching us, their eyes glistening in the dark on badly lit streets. There are no faceless people unless we pathologically fall in love with them. We do not travel to foreign cities to have intricate relationships with strangers. Here, angels appear unless we want them to appear. The instant we hold between the fingers is as elusive as light.

Still, there is no reason for you to find love and affection into the arms of another man, that is against everything we have fought for, everything we believe in. The future will be empty because of you. Father kept talking saying that it is a vice against family values but as he talked this shadow crept over his shoulders covering him.

I don’t need you, Father. And he fell silent.

I have come this far, I won’t go back.

Bodies of fear

So he lights a cigarette. His lips curl around it, the firm grip of two yellowish fingers, and then he looks at me with a look that only a youngster can have. He’s innocent, I know, but his smile says otherwise.

Do you like me, he asks.

I am afraid of my own body, I tell him. I was taught to be afraid of my own body. My mother tied my ankles to the bed during the night, so that my hips won’t rub onto each other. I slept in sessions. Every fifteen minutes I woke up, sweating, my sides aching with that numb pain solitude brings to old people. In the morning she came. I could hear her footsteps, and then the door would open, and she came, and she untied me, and I would squirm between the sheets smelling of urine and sweat, and I would drag my knees to my chest like friends hugging each other after a long time, and I would talk to them while the pain subsided from my back. And I hoped. I cried over my knees and hoped that wings would burst out of my back, and I would be transformed into this sexless archangel. A renegade of the body, neither male, nor female, split but in one piece, so that I could see my mother’s face then, reddening with shame and my father throwing me out of the house saying I’m not his son anymore. I’d say I’d always wished to be a son but wasn’t able to, because this body is filled with shame. And you taught me that. So I hug my knees. I can’t hug those people I want to because this body won’t leave me alone. You can’t stop it mother. Tie my ankles to the bed. There’s a slippery slope to pleasure.

I do like you, I say.

Don’t tie my ankles to your bed. I want to feel good while I’m with you.

But this body you see, it won’t let me. Count my ribs, do what you want, just don’t think while doing it. A child’s game, one, two, three, going down, four, five, then stop, I’m afraid you won’t like me; you won’t like the rest of me. I’m already pushing against you as I try to count your ribs, one by one, with my mouth. One, two, three, I’m trying not to think, four, five, my ankles are taped to the bed, and my back aches, and wings burst out of your body and you fly.

Mother! Father! I need to tell you something.

I say between my teeth, sweating.

I slept with an angel last night.

And he was beautiful, and I was beautiful too.

There are no such things as monsters, they say, now go back to bed, they don’t hide under your bed; they don’t hide in the closet, go back to bed. How did he break loose? Go and tape him back to the bed. He fucked an angel all right, and the angel fucked him.

So I tape myself to the bed every night on my own, without my mother’s help, so that the angel might return.

The Invisible Man

men and women like fingerprints, the soft whisper and the moisture of love chat. you can measure them by the use of light and space inserted in between. I myself am one night and one day tall. the space between me an my birth can be measured precisely by the use of kilometers. to cry over the schizophrenic condition of our existence is like acknowledging the immediacy of hands and the lack of grasping claws that could exorcise pictures. I myself hold two selves. but both are invisible. I am the fingerprint. the presence of absence, the digital presence of experiences untold, and of hands not yet held. the noblest feeling of suffering slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. in their flight the slings and arrows prepare for the pain. the one second of flight is repayed by immeasurable pain.

take arms against me though I’m not the sea of troubles you are looking for.

the sleep is the heart-ache. my flesh is heir to you. I know I shouldn’t be looking at you. your body is the bare bodkin I’m afraid to use. after that there won’t be a point to return. what would be the point of returning.

be all my sins forgot. my flesh transparent, my bones of air, my love of nothing else but you. when I leave you alone, make me the invisible man. I know, you need your life. I promise, I shall forget about mine.