Vicky

I miss our delightful inspiring talks. To whom did you leave me? To a self that does not stop bullying me? To shades of unrequited lust? To my self destructive nature? 
You used to share with me the blackness of your mind. You used to share with me the disconnection in our consciousness. You used to share with me the old tales of the ancient minds. You used to share with me our doubtful second nature.

I hope you are leading a peaceful life with your man. And if not a peaceful one with your shadows.

My memories are deserting me and all i am left with are feelings of nostalgia. A nostalgia that did not see the light of happenings yet.

I tried my stalking skills but without a shadow of success.

O soul mate, Werther has left us with a bitter sense of blood. He left lust burn his heart till he remained no more.

I feel so alone here Vicky without you. I feel so alone in this estranged world.


Self

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Wiktoria. A Northern Tale. Part I

I wanted to write a northern story… while getting inspired by her and by the world she once let me discover with her…

Could i really write something about the dead white nature ?

The breeze, the freeze, the white of the snow on the huge and majestic trees ?

Could i write on how it is to live inside an isolated house in some holy northern mountain ?

Could i describe what it feels like to make hot tea in that silent dead nature ?

May be hearing some crows from time to time, or may be watching a shy deer coming across the door for food may be or just for curiosity.

Could i ever pretend playing my guitar trying to approach some dark metallic sounds, while screaming like an abused male, someone who just got forced into something he dislikes the most, not he but more of his mature and respectable he ?

Could i ever describe you how that cracking suffering voice in shame sounds like ? while having visions of that sick and irritable situation.

Could i ever show you how i made inner babies cry while being born into unwanted art i make ? unwanted sounds ? unwanted words ? and unwanted drawings, just lines crossing, dark lines all over the whiteness of the snow.

Is it all white here ?

While i tried to make my gaze cover a more wider view i have noticed a black dead tree, a majestic scary tall dead black tree.

Strangely enough i can see a dark silhouette making its way down to the snow.

I guess something was living within the darkness of that tree

Now she is approaching

She is because i guess what i am seeing now is a female body or should i say shadow, since her clothing is all black. A beautiful kind of black, or may be the texture of that long dress makes it more tempting.

Now that she is more and more closer
I can see her pale face
I can see here big eyes,
Omg she got that killing stare
That killing polish stare
Here she is, the queen of darkness
On the door steps of my lonely house
Waiting for me to let her in
I feel like i know her
She is that polish girl i once knew, or i once thought i knew
Somehow i feel speechless
I can’t write about her all the things i have in mind and heart
The only thing i know, is that don’t know how it feels like to be with her in the same space
That is why i think i feel so insecure letting her in.

Is it really her ? i am afraid that i have invited some dark entity that lived for years and years inside that dark tree and that somehow that dark creature of the shadows knew what form to take, a human form, and a from of who ? the form of the polish girl i thought once i knew…

Let me dream
Let me create my dream
Let me pretend i am the owner of my dream

And yet we still get inspired by our own imagination with some content from reality
What if the imagination is another world we connect with ?
What if we do exist somewhere else,

Another way of being…

By Tef.