[This is for something I'm working on, and hope to get ready for Valentine's]
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赤ワイン (RED WINE)

The axe waved with pride,
only glass, was its core;
as the girl we called bride,
only sand from the shore.

She kicked castles erected
out of nothing but gunk,
from the eyes that dejected,
accidentally, were drunk...

And a wise man he told me:
—"Women never seek love.
Being preferred will suffice it."
— But a woman she's not!

She's the foam that the sea
brought one day in a shell...
but the sage he concluded:
— "She's a split of yourself."

On the night for new starters,
in the depths of my cell,
out of faith, out of Fratres,
in my arms something fell...

Light in forms, soft in matter,
kind her voice blew the lid:
— "If the wine it is sour,
throw it out." — So I did.

God! Valentine's just ahead of the curve and I'm so out of schedule...
I don't know if I'll make it on time.

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RED MOON (赤い月)
a.k.a Strawberry moon (苺月)

As I followed the rabbit
over Maria at the Moon,
found no sense in the habit
so headed back to my room.

Welcome back, bare infinitive;
time to turn, look behind.
Categorical Imperative
freed from maths, let's go find...

But no love spawns from breed,
no true choice comes from need.

Fourteen years wait to tally,
through no growth, to no good.
Autumn years dyed the valley,
reddish footsteps aloof.

We were looking for Death
for she tells jokes on Q.
Past the horizon she said:
—"Now the horizon is you"...

But no laughs brought the wind,
no keen words made you missed.

Early strawberry buds
pouring down like bindweed
started the season of muds
(morning glory of the weak).

Nature's mad resurrector
drowned the world in a scream.
Lifted his hand, the director,
to the sore hands of strings...

The command of the amender
was: "Da Capo" —It begins.

Post edited on 6th Feb 2013, 11:43pm

Red Sea (紅海)

>You should act more mature!
But age is a sickness
that never recedes.
And it's mortal:
all certainty is
thanatological.

>Save the ones who weep!
But they're disgusting.
A woman who weeps
is disgusting.
A woman who never weeps
is a surrogate
of the disgusting man.
Gender ain't
biological
insofar as
sociological.

>Children are not dolls!
But parents build houses
of dolls.
The world is a stage
that falls.
Dolls resemble women
more and more.
Women resemble dolls
more and more.
One day they'll be one
and the same clone.
Virtuality is up:
when I shall be awake
you'll be not.
Agencies will be
needed not.
The end of everything
emotional:
the bitter end of being
philosophical
hogs.
The dilemma was not
ethological
as much as
etiological.

>Life is here and now!
But present does not compute.
Everything known
is merely a record:
the dream log of
semiotical record.
Memory is not eidetic.
The registry is not identical.
The mind is not logical:
the sense is
narratological.

>You're not always right!
But error was not a burden.
For wandering around
it is ground.
Computers cannot create
for want of ground.
The world they'll build is
not meant for us.
Reality is over.
History is over:
we lost the beginning
and the end is over.
Aspect was merely
etymological.
Time is not
teleological.

>The final journey
>is the way back home!
That much is right:
we travel alone.
We part in waves,
we come in waves;
to Alphaville
in Alpha waves.
Truth is a value
and value goes round
trough moratorium:
coincidentia
oppositorum.
Odyssey is not
philological
as much as
axiological...

>But that is just
>your moronical
>opinion, man!
I am that I am
and a man I am
no more.

I think I'm calling this done.
Might start the drawing soon or I won't make it in time.
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Red Clock (赤い時計)

Time is the pure intuition's oneness
in-formed by space's filthy otherness.

—tick...

Time is what 'I' grasps from a story
writen on entropy's memento mori.

—tick...

Time's not out there but in here,
cause 'I' duels nowhere but here.

—tick...

Time is a numbered lapse of beat
no one outside can match within.

—tick...

Time is what measures a clock's tick
and you're my sole clock, nunc et hic.

—tick...

It's just because you aren't 'you'
but me, that I can remain 'me'.

—tick...

So it's a deal: I die with you,
you die with...

—tack.

>¿qué horas son, mi corazón?

Wir können nicht weiter gehen.
Ich bin nicht mehr.

Post edited on 19th Jan 2015, 9:29pm