The wrong way, by Kristine Blackadder
When last week Kristine showed me her last machinima, with herself as protagonist, the first impact was a strong emotion, anyway, and saw in it powerfully expressed the wish to be, the desire to be free.
She had and showed both an almost dreamlike version and an ordinary (“real”) one; in the last she wears her usual black dresses; the two Kristine mix each the other and perhaps the dreamlike and totally free one at a certain point seems to get the upper hand over the reality, but anyone, if alone, is able to jump with a force enough to reach a really high altitude and so we fall down again into our sad and usual custom.
Above all, no dream, no matter if it’s a magnificent one, helps us to walk the road toward our happiness.
Kristine, that’s what I understand seeing your movie… please! Forgive me if I am wrong and see only my own reflections.
Pic found here
This my present is maybe described
using runes, so I can’t find its key
hidden into such alien strange seasons
full of mystery, dryness and shadows
Algorithms made by an abstract coldness,
betray each our human awareness,
liquefy any real essentials
and give up themselves to bestial instincts
Deviant morals gain day by day death
while our reason is pray of deep sleep
and so wavers and more monsters come.
Everything is due, claimed possession
The reality lies low as dream,
a delirium of insipid wishes.
Violence is so a normal thing
everywhere: echo and terrible scream
we shuffle around as in slippers:
only pale and blind shades
of those who lost their role in the world.
My Church seems also a joke
I’m a jump of acrobatic cripple
and pretend and hold me toward nothing
while each thing falls down all around here.
Make us real, me too. Give me sense
June, 27th 2017
(Dedicated to my friend Sharrow Decosta)
Like an arrow you enter my dreams,
this my second life where my soul wants
to be naked and fragile to be
seen without pain nor bad sinful thoughts
On the stage of this theatre we run:
only a moment we meet, then alone
we go back as a ghost among chairs
of a ruined place without life
Soon the curtain will slide down, the scene
will return black and dark as before.
Now we are near and close: hug me, please!
Let the dark feelings out of these doors
Like an arrow you enter my dreams
this my naked soul and all her pains.
See my nude heart here down, on this floor
I feel you into me so deep, Sharrow!
Second Life, Kessler, 19th May, 2017
Anemone nemorosa in wood. JB, 2017.
This silly spring song is dedicated to Angel Morning
Almost spring, sunny day, winter goes
in the grey velvet of each past times.
Under young woods the anemone's light
is the breath of the new life that cries
White and pure, fresh and lovely
you start dancing cute and lonely
Each tear drop that falls from the sky
like the kiss of dew on morning grass
recalls me that each thing must fast run
toward cold places; I always ask "Why?"
White and pure, you are so lively.
When you dance I grow sad, lonely
When the sunlight becomes low and shy
as at the sunset, when the mist wins,
leading me though me toward black nights,
I am a shiver that seeks my Love's eyes
White is your soul, I am ugly
like a savage herb, a pussly
Sin and death are deep in me: a fight.
As in a dream I saw you this morning
dancing alone in the wood clearing.
You are anemone light, fresh and white
Without thoughts of sin, lovely
you dance cool. I look at you freely
Second Life, Elven Forest, March, 11th 2017
Thank you to my dear friend BC for his suggestion to my bad english
pic from here
A crucible of many clichés
dissolves me and I foolishly agree
as dull people who aim to be accepted.
So I too am perverting the words
The emotion stirs up any instinct
without producing reasons but cravings.
In the gloomy molasses of cheating
I am what I want be: only a bubble
I can see the evil spread in the world,
I am into it, part of it too.
The sense market alters me, as
when tobacco turns in smoke: poison
As a prostitute, I resell thinking,
while I’m mixing banal whim drives
with poor aims to be free: only dreams
Yes: each bee deeply hides only a wasp
February, 16th 2017
Thank you Leda: without you this text, like other stuffs of mine, would be less correct as grammar…
(a joke with Melissa)
That morning I entered the chat and saw Melissa, never seen before nor after.
I was alone in my home, waked up a little before.
She said me something using this word: “cozy”, so i learned it. I also liked this new word.
Velvet dark is the night
like soft sheet, cozy bed
in which dreams can go on
Cozy thoughts come to me
while the sunshine begins
touching warm sheets you left
fog and frost win the day.
Come back here cozy Love
I need your skin and lips
SL, Corchalo, December, 12th 2016
Mitla at the door of the cave, in the Land of Arda
I entered the chat at the morning while She was saying bye the go to sleep, at the other side of the world…
As cold tears anywhere
the fog darkness hard hugs everyone,
kisses nude skin and lips
while I’m waiting for news.
Then and soon
a mad rush as the sun light hot strikes,
breaks each dream in my eyes, calls me to
my such grey, usual life.
I wake up, you go sleeping …
in a dream, maybe we
SL, Elven Forest chat, December, 10th 2016