Halloween is in Town

I saw "Anti-Christ" by Lars von Trier a few days back. I'm not sure that this time I was convinced of the necessity to have this much of visual challenge/provocation. But, who knows, maybe it was necessary, if the point was indeed to show the "evil" nature of humans and, in fact, of nature as a whole. Anyway, after the initial shock wave that reinforced my suspicions about the core of female nature, I was eventually more horrified by the inability of Him to feel anything, even when being tortured or while killing Her. Of course, I immediately reflected Him onto myself (or vise versa) and questioned my inability to share the joy and pain of those around me (except for my nephew, in him, somehow, I see my childhood with all it's sensitivities). And I found this poem that I wrote 4 years ago, to prove to myself that very same disturbing thought:


"Halloween is in Town"

It's a Halloween night in town
It's cold and it rains and it snows
but it's gonna be sunny and warm again tomorrow,
the weather bug on my PC desktop says.

It's a Halloween night in town
and I'm drinking in my friend's apartment,
alone...
waiting for a phone call
for someone to take me out
somewhere, anywhere
where there are people and there's music and there is life

It's Halloween
Streets are noisy and bars are full tonight in town
It rains cheap beer and diluted whiskey mixed with snow
"Everybody is cold and stiff right now
but they'll be hot and singing after midnight,"
I say to myself,
on the somber iron-clad balcony
with a dying cigarette in hand.


It's Halloween time in town
every girl is a cheap bitch tonight
and every man is a diluted clown
sex is in the air,
mixed with ice-cold frustration
and delusions of a warmer morning

It's Halloween tonight
so I put my favorite jeans
my warn-out silk shirt
and a leather jacket I borrowed from a friend
like at any other night
I leave,
and jump into the crowd
alone...

It's Halloween everywhere
cheesy pop fills the bars in town.
So I kiss drunk bitches
who say they're
bunnies, nurses, French maids, Hollywood celebs, porn stars ...
I talk to frustrated clowns
who pretend to be
pimps, Supermen, Spidermen, Fuckingmen, somethingmen...

I catch a cab,
go to another bar
catch a cab again
to a new club
and another cab
and another crowd...

I almost get in fight with a Superman
jealous for having kissed his nurse.
I get hit by a farmer gay.
I get the phone number of a Puerto Rican tourist girl.
I get drunk with cheep beer and diluted whiskey mixed with coke.
I get this, I get that...
I leave...


It's the end of a Halloween night
it's cold and it rains and it snows
and I'm walking on the dirty street
back to the iron-clad balcony,
alone...

my jeans are wet,
my warn-out silk shirt soaked in tobacco
and I look the way I do on every other night,
in the leather jacket I borrowed from a friend

Halloween was in town
and every girl was a dirty bitch tonight
and every man a frustrated clown
"like on any other night,"
I say to myself,
lighting a last cigarette,
thinking of the weather bug on my PC desktop.
"It's gonna be warm and sunny again tomorrow"

But there will be no one
by me
in my bed
in that bright morning,
fucking stupid bug...

[October-30-2005, Boston, MA]

Yet another "Tell me a story"

My tribute to Bukowski and my cry for having more of the unpretentious and honest and expressive and in it's own way beautiful "art that matters." I don't mean that this is in his style of writing or that this has to do anything with him and his art, except for that same longing for sincerity and relevance that I find in his work. And yes, true, it's my trashing of most of the aesthetics around me (and many of the values, too). Such a waste of talent.

Tell me a story

but an honest one…
and naked.
Strip magic off it,
those promises of hope, too.

Tell me a story
but a gentle one…
and not wicked.
Take God away from it,
those hopes of justice, too.

Tell me a story
but a beautiful one…
and not reserved.
Put yourself in it,
along with some jealousy and dirt, too

Remove the mountains and the desert and the seas.
Let painters roam in them free.
You better tell me about the city
but without any sense of pity

Tell me how
homeless screw to stay alive
workers to forget
hookers with regret
and bankers to pretend

Let it be just the next love story
between a girl and a boy
with no past or future of glory
for whom life is not an eternal ploy
with no mercy for the coy,
but is just another toy

Keep the wise and the preaching
out of my reaching.
Let in the pompous instead.
For, they are more candid, indeed

Have some music in it,
all at once cheerful and blue.
Kind of as the hidden glue
that keeps us through and true.

Tell me a story
but a bold one…
and as inspiring
and forgotten, too,
as the tale of the One
who on cross was dying,
yet as mundane as two and two

[March 2009, BE]

Celebrating the male animal

This is a very personal confession, yet it's not a confession at all, since it's merely re-stating a widely held stereotype about men and... and, wait, is it just about men? Well, anyway, regardless of your gender, here is something that your loved one would never tell you and you would never tell him/her, either, yet it's something that you both know:

"Confession"

When you come to visit me,
it will be dark,
darker than it has ever been
and it will snow
like it does in your dreams
and the snowflakes will glow the same.
It will be cold
you will be lonesome
and me just a stranger
like I am in your dreams.
I don't know what that means
but it scares me to death
and maybe that's all there it is to it.

Then, while walking the streets with no end
hand in hand
while sipping warm coffee in places with no name
your face on mine
while rolling over each other in bars with no fame
in our hands bottles of wine
you'll see me staring now and then
at girls passing by.
That means I'd f..k them if I could
and that's all there it is to it.
You'll see me staring at you the rest of the time
again and again and again...
saying I'd make love to you if I could
again and again and again...

And that's all there it is to it.

When you leave me,
you'll have no tears
to wipe away
and no flowers
to hug or smell.
You'll say bye
with a smile
I'll say farewell
I'll write to you
in a while

And we'll never be the same again

[ Nov-16-2005 ], BE

Everyone around me has got a stable job and a child. Me? Do I have to? Do we?

Hey father, do you know?
I think I…
I mean...
I’m sure I…
Listen, father! I’ll never grow.

It’s not all your fault.
Don’t blame much mamma, too!
Careful with the creator.
As always,
with this he’s got nothing to do.

I’ll take it like a man, father.
So you do!

I couldn’t become what you are not.
Nor do I have what you couldn’t have got.
Your great plan has come to an end
I’m far from being what I was meant.

I know, father,
you didn’t plan it.
It was a centuries-old design.
You just played your part,
instead of resign.

Father!
Do you remember the name
of your grandfather’s father?
Isn’t that a shame?

Right, you were never told about it,
as my would-be son
would have never heard of your father’s.

So? Is it worth it, father?
It’s been a burden too heavy.
You gave me not only what you had
but everything you couldn’t have, too.

Father!
I tried.
Mama knows it, I tried.
I tried, father,I tried.
Damn it, I tried.
So hard, I tried.
I almost went there.
I always did.
Always almost…
Always…
Always almost…

And they were always there,
at the other end
with a stretched hand
to pull me over.
Waiting for mine…
You see, father, waiting for mine...
Waiting…
there was always a stretched hand…
waiting and waiting... and waiting

I never reached for the other end, father.
I fell in love with the endless road
on which my shoulders became so broad
under the weight of your…
Under the weight of our centuries-old burden.

Father!
The road has come to an end.
The road is the end
My road
My end
With my burden
On my shoulders

I’m sorry, father,
there will be no one to forget your name.

But now let’s return to the game
and pretend everything is the same
mama is sure I’ll have fame
What heavenly magic is she cooking again on that flame....?

Hey Father, do you know?
I think I…
I mean...
I’m sure I…
Listen, father! You never know

[March - 23 - 2009, BE]

My take on religion

First, here is something I wrote about the subject:

"Cheers to Adam"

The other day
Adam stopped by,
a guy I know from the pub.

He looked happy, upbeat.
I’d never seen Adam have a smile.
so I asked: why?

He said he created God
some time back.
In return, he smiled,
God enslaved him.

Now he has a savior Lord to beg to
and a Heaven to go to,
along with an eternal life.

He said he’s in love.
I’d never seen Adam have a girl
so I asked: with whom?

He said God promised
He’ll create her soon
from Adam’s own flesh.
Adam has already given her a name: Eve

We drunk to Eve
to her hazel eyes
to her wavy hair
to her broad smile
but the most we drunk
to Eve’s gracious curves,
mind-bubbling curves.
Cheers to Adam and Eve!

Then he asked me
If I’d worship them: God and Eve
Look now, Adam’s a good fellow,
but not someone you’d follow
so I said: Thanks, no.

When leaving, Adam was a little gloomy
I’d always known Adam this way
So I didn’t ask: why?

But I had just learned
that I, too, have an eternal life
and a Hell to go to,
along with a savior Lord to pray to,
who…
who loves me, you know.

God bless Adam
with a beauteous Eve!
For, after all, he’s a good fellow.

Amen!

[April - 01 - 2009, Sofia]

Then, here are 2 translations of a Pakistani Sufi poem by Naaz Khiaalvi , in a way it's kind of being sarcastic about God, but by a devout "liberal" Muslim.

FIRST TRANSLATION:

"You have painted heart with such colors
It is kind of mysterious art work you designed
What is the secret behind all this?
What kind of game are you playing since the beginning?

You locked the free soul in the cage of the body
And then you created death to limit the soul even further
You made us free like a bird, ambitious and hopeful
Even though you already recorded our limitations in our destiny

You said that you designed the whole universe by yourself
But you also, already planned when to destroy it by yourself
You said that you have no location, no where to be found
On the other hand you stated your location being Nahno, Aqrab (heavens I think)
You clarified that this is good and that s bad: this is paradise and that is hell
But tell me why all this, what is the mystery behind it?

The sin was committed by Adam ,but the offspring is suffering the consequence
Alas, what a nice justice standards you have
You elected certain humans as your messengers on earth
I don't know what kind of show you are trying to put on
Ohh now I know why all this:
It s for us to recognize you and to search for you
That is why your are hidden"

SECOND TRANSLATION:

"Upon the heart - surprise has inspired wonder
An awkward picture has been drawn and placed
Nothing makes sense to what this puzzle is.

The game - hast thou played it since the beginnings of time
The soul - made into the body of the pigeon, then imprisoned in a cage, and a shroud of death upon it.
To make the bird's wings fly, you also put the net of fate in all places
You decorate the worlds with opulence, tomorrow you have also planed to destroy it...

You have claimed a homeless state
But you also preach of home, kith and kin
This sin, this benefit, this hell, this paradise
In this perplexity, advise, what is there?
Crime was Adam's, but the penalty for his sons
Lo, is this the standard for your justice?

By giving Man the condition of earth
You have created a spectacle in this generation
For the sake of your recognition he created all
From everyone's gaze He has kept Himself hidden!"

And here is the great Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan singing the above poem in Qawwali style:

Part 1: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jo0EqAWHGdg

Part 2: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1mVl8_6WHZA&feature=related

Part 3: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1mVl8_6WHZA&feature=related


And even more about this poem/song: http://publicmb.wordpress.com/2008/03/19/naaz-khiaalvi-tum-ek-gorakh-dhanda-ho-you-are-a-puzzle/