some stuff i wrote when i was 16 and having a spiritual crisis (you can see it develop and intensify to the last piece).since then i reverted to conventional poetry,but translation would ruin it,so i won't post it. The Dark i'm floating in a dark space in the white eternity of the ceiling.i'm floating in a sea of screaming,incapacity and rarefiated water...black water,the waves hit themselves...above me gigantic monoliths are hanging in the fog.i'm spiralling in my void,i'm flying...i'm a restless atom,bouncing with the screams.I'm suffocating with my own incapacity...i'm not free...i wish i could explode,to fill space with my being,to impregnate every atom with myself.Still i wouldn't be free,i would only be then...time would be the next step...and still i wouldn't be free,i would be me.I could only be free if i would not be.i woldn't have to hit against my limits... incapacity bangs in the window with a bouquet of nightflowers,here it's just me and the door,should i open it,should i not...if i'll open it,what will greet me on the other side?i open it and throw myself in...i'm floating in a dark space in the white eternity of the ceiling,a desert of lime and emptyness,how beautiful!and the dark space from within me,all over me,in my mind,"the universe is within us",my universe is the dark,edless space,it contains nothing,not even photons...it only contains me,the mind of an animal,a being that can't go beyond it's won body,that can't explode in space and time and non-existence,convicted to it's own incapacity,it's own limits,even if i were spirit i couldn't get rid of this heavy disease,as heavy as the enormous monoliths above me,up-side-down icebergs of incapacity...i can't get out from under the monoliths...what's endlesser,the whiteness of the ceiling or my dark,obsessive,imaginary space,the sea of rarefiated,black water is denser,is becoming slimy...let's get back to the door,the door is the essence,not what's on the other side,what's on this side is not enough,boring,all that matters is the door and the passing and it's so hard to get out...i'm forgetting the ideea...the ideea is the enormous monolith forest hanging at an enormous distance above me...i'm falling back in the sea,which became unbearably dense,it's sticking to my face,oh,wait,i have no face,it's just ME in the dark space in the white ceiling,only the screams let me breathe,and my being,my mind with a finite number of nerve cells, is the tightest of all,the infinite in a prison of nerve cells...the black water has become solid,hot and suffocating...the infinite in a prison of existance,of time,of space,of nerve cells,of hot,suffocating,solid water,the door is closing,incapacity is still banging in the window with a bouquet of night flowers,all that remains is the white,endless ceiling. Maggots The maggots, I feel them all over me, inside me, I breathe them, they cover my skin, they pour through my eyes, I open my mouth, it’s like Baudelaire’s "Corpse", "an army drowned in slime", they say I have a touch of romantism, I say it’s symbolism, doesn’t matter, slimy maggots are crawling by my lips, I’m a maggot, I don’t wanna be buried, let me rot at Limba Oii, surrounded by water…I’m a corpse, I erupt like a volcano, I’m impregnated with cadaverous smell, I "burn poison in sweat", Baudelaire’s ghost haunts, but doesn’t inspire me, who the fuck is my muse ?!…I want to divorce…Welcome me back, I just bathed in a tub of disgust, material, physical disgust, the door is right next to me, the disgust doesn’t let me open it, and I don’t even care what’s beyond, my fingers are frozen, nobody cares, not even my own image reflected in disgust…I breathe disgust, I miss my dark space in the ceiling…I take a shot of screams, yeeeeeaah, I take off, I bounce, the disgust is still here, it doesn’t let me get to the cool vacuum, without alcohol the water won’t become solid, I’m safe, I don’t give a fuck…I’m on the edge of the endless pit, I’ve been like this since I was born, I’m standing still and I can’t, I don’t want to go either way, fragile balance is more painful than the lack of it…and above it all, I’m covered in maggots, crawling in the slime, why don’t you leave me alone, all of you, you force me to reveal my soul and it’s too small, I’m not proud of it…I’m not afraid of maggots, I’m afraid of losing control, the maggots are dividing, in a sec the universe will be covered in an endless layer of maggots, and above all there will be a great, white, fat maggot, with 2 black fangs and a tiny head, about the size of my soul…I’d vomit, but I’m afraid I’ll vomit maggots…I don’t despise maggots, I despise myself, I’m a spiritual maggot, you don’t care, I don’t care, that doesn’t hurt, and that hurts the most, that I can’t feel the pain, I only feel tremendous disgust, and I feel the maggots crawling with their fat bodies on my skin, they are eating my soul, I don’t understand why are they so fat, how can they survive with so little food, I can shut my mouth, but they start pouring through my nose, through my skin, on my skin, they’re crawling in my hair, it starts falling I’m rotten…My bones freeze, the maggots are crawling through my spine, nervous impulses of pure disgust, I’m crawling through my spine, nervous impulse of pure mediocrity…The maggots are pouring on my keyboard, they are eating my skin, I can see my flesh, I can see my bones, I can see my soul…I have to go vomit. Nothing i'm in the room.it's white and empty,just an imaginary chair in the middle,i sit on the chair,there's no point in wondering if i'm imaginary too,all that matters is that i sit on an imaginary chair in an empty room.the walls are of a dazzling white,the only source of light,they are shiny empty,untill now i thought vacuum is dark,now i see it can be white too,a white that burns me,that tortures me,that stabs me in the eyes,that takes my soul and shatters it in a million pieces...i'm standing,i'm sitting,i'm standing,i'm sitting,i'm standing,i'm sitting,i'm standing,i'm sitting,i'm standing,i'm sitting,i'm standing,i'm sitting,i'm standing,i'm sitting,i'm standing,i'm sitting,i'm standing,i'm sitting,i'm standing,i'm sitting,i'm standing,i'm sitting,i'm standing,i'm sitting,i'm destroying myself,i can't take it anymore,i want to get out of the room,i charge through the wall,i just entered a white room with an imaginary chair in the middle,with walls that hurt me,they say i'm in the derivative which equals 0,"you are what you eat",the stupidest thing i ever heard,i am what i give,i'm a 0,a perfect circle,i don't understand what's perfect about a circle,it doesn't even have an angle,the circle is the most boring shape. i thought incapacity died,it's here,the white room is within incapacity,the light is blinding me,it stabs my eyes,i'm swiming in light,i want to get to the incapacity and choke it,and i get to the room,i'm flowing along the walls and i get nowhere,i always give 0,the circle is the most boring shape and i'm trapped in it,i'm trapped in the circle with white walls,i miss my dark space in the ceiling,the walls won't let me be,the white ceiling was so beautiful,this ceiling is painted with nothing,a perfect nothing,i sliced my wrists and i painted the ceiling with what came out of my heart,i feel the others but the room and the painful white stop me,waves of white are drowning me,they enter through my mouth,through my eyes,thrugh my nostrils,through my ears until they fill me and pour back,a white,imaterial,non-existant pain,nothing hurts more than non-existant pain.to look at your hands and not to see them...what's the point in keeping on writing?they say this is just non-sense.
