Le ciel des filles mortes

.

.

An enchantment

.
(2006)




Like a perturbed tune, a moon of aquelarre dances through crystals and beads


you sleep




maybe is my uneasy sigh; a sweet presentiment gets maybe entangled in the airy night.




Electric waves cross the atmosphere, watery: I am in a vigil, such a sentinel; your delicate lace brings me your name


now


it does it in galvanic spasms
and all this runs by the nightair


the nightair


instantaneously, being one only thing with the mist of the night, that is electric and is you.




There is no pain: you're the sun of my growing...even your ivies know that I love you like nobody-else does it: I do.



There is a blue-alpha message crossing the blue-alpha night, that could not be deciphered by the mörning:


and some aroma of my pubis hair is telling you: "I am afraid, now you are who shall take my pain away, my fear..."





















Meanwhile, out in the night, the mystery of a smile, becomes sweet tear; the mystery of a tear, becomes sweet smile.


















In a while, the Demon of the Sun will start dancing sur la Manche.


.

Le Ciel des filles mortes

.

.

The plot

.


...Now, slouch on your chair, babe...

There are entities plotting in the shadows; every hour is nickel in their hands.

...And freedom is a precious good these days.


The fact that the time is not in their side, is their advantage: secret plots in the dark, and one too many cagey opportunities.


Shake your icy whiskey and relax, baby: the agents of steel played domino with The Christ, and they won: here comes the time of tyranny & the mutation...

The Earth becomes a vitiated green house for veterans of the telepathic wars: the atmosphere...becomes dense, rarefied: like a porn cinema...watch: while the petite blonde is doubly penetrated, something thick, brothy, ultra-sophisticated, it's operating underneath, babe.


Our brains are ready.


Are our brains ready..?


.

Spatial echoes of sadness

.


...The moon-LL, princessly flux, lights my cabinet; i sink in the pain once again... Won't never, ever end this mission? Day after day in these amplitudes moonbeany bathed, i waited for a reply, a vital sign. I am the stellar walker lost so far away from home. ...But home... ¿Where it is home anyway..? Dear memories and the sleep get blended in the lightless nights. So i fall asleep in blurred painful feelings. I suppose i'm lost here. I'm resigned and shattered here. ...And any earthly connection is lost. Hey you, whoever you are. Didn't you ever feel you'd give your whole life for something to happen? All you have. Didn't you ever wish to come back in time? I'm an ocean inside, and the shades swallowed me; hey you. My neuronal structure's still alive, but i don't exist anymore for them. I don't belong to the world of the living ones anymore. It won't end this desolation someday? Someday.























...The ardency of the elements in the morning of Canopus wakes me up; but i don't want to awake. I don't want to awake. Just sleep at silver and the orange bright forever. Sleep forever. If i just could sleep forever.


















Welcome to my astral labyrinth, whoever you are. Here i am: where forever is forever.

Please save me from this icy, perpetual desolation. Save me, so i can laugh once again one day. Save me, even though you don't want, i beg you: see my tears that can't stop from falling, do you? Because forever is a long-long time. Even into forever.

And i just can't stand it anymore. And i just can't stand it anymore. And i just can't stand it anymore.


.

Incoherence

.


Once upon a time...





















Over a Godless region whose name I don't want to remember, two apparitions there were.

He cried to a killing moon, a little blood, a little bark.

She moaned to the distance and her inner phantoms, aquatic, woman.











And how the tale goes ahead?




Over the extension of twisted trees and dandelions-periscope

[where the Sun of Love stopped shining long ago]

an atmosphere of heavenly smoke and rare Chernobyls

welcome a sun carried by furies

as the short day passes by

and the hydrant night falls

again over the sterile land.














Over her aquatic cryings, over his distant phantoms...


[If you read between the lines, you'll see]













































The paralyzed stars of God cursed away this stage of porcelain long ago...






















But in a strange cosmic paradox, the God of Love/Love God, still floats, caressed by angels who play poker and smoke at the gates of dëlïrium


[and do you read in between, my?]




























Her bloody moans will call him until this land, spelled by the horror, have a little of mercy...





.

I don't know

.


Apollyon. Apollyon Sun the great; stolid incognito: impel me. Impel me out of the groanful lamina of the long days.

Did you know that the summer lies over a hope become azure?

Won't you throw a smile over my hobbles?


Over my dungeon.
















Luthern of my stagnation; magnate: why this loathing to me?

Hey lucky! Won't you madefy this desert?


This death.























I am a hypocrite and my madness is in front my eyes.

...keep in mind that wasn't easy...


To me.


















...And I'm entombed in impotence; hey light!


My veins don't recognize my own blood, and spit it out in rage.


I am lost and lonely here; I am sterile and empty, hey unbeaten.

Like the Ocean, you know.

















If you would turn these blinding ivies into a too tangerine dream!


Before it's too late.


Before the volturine vulva...

















You, who can be a wagtail. Or the incommensurable welkin: please, help me.





.

Samson et l'enfant lunatique

.

.

Tales from the flat Ëarth

.

.

Whom I sing for, then

.


I saw...



I haven't.

A dog to bark.

To me.












On the paranoia of the city, over neverending highways, while your legs go becoming every time longer and your crowned head almost touches the clouds; I see all the sadness in its cruelty and its blue.
And the demonic haze of Endor, my sweet good; and a little aroma like of eau de Cologne:Buenos Aires and all of the azure-neon orphanage...I threw you a paradox, and your stupefied face didn't understand it...

Among the blue cars and the burning autotrols in green fire of July.
When the cold of July is more grey and the mist hides the naked fantasms in the paved stones' streets.
Like an aroma of...my sweet good.


So.














One day, I did wake up; lonely in Europe.

In a world.


And a word...

And lonely is the word.


.

Tips on traveling to Vietnam

Authentic and unforgettable
Vietnam is no longer only rice fields, mines and anti-exotic foods.

Bustling, happy and proud to show its charms. Vietnam is one of the few remaining communist countries in the world, it takes a few years to open tourism, so we're anxious to show its wonders. Here tourism is not yet massive and still remain almost untouched corners, although the construction of luxury resorts on the beaches is growing at dizzying speeds.

Vietnam is no longer only rice fields, mines and anti-exotic foods. So is the boat trips on the landscape, almost unreal, of Halong Bay, long beaches of turquoise water of its nearly 3,500 km of coastline or the colorful tribes of the northern mountains. Of course, the war continues to weigh on his mind. But rather than look back with bitterness, the Vietnamese have managed to exploit that war and have become tourist attractions of the Vietcong tunnels, or places where they fought the bloodiest battles.

In a single trip can travel around the country and visit the most interesting places. Although it is a country full in length, has few kilometers wide, and you can travel comfortably by train or bus. Vietnam will learn about the two: the south, wet, floating villages of fishermen and business, and the north, cultural, artistic, with stories of great kingdoms and remote enclaves.

Ho Chi Minh, the show begins

International flights often land in Ho Chi Minh city where is the commercial and business heart of the country. Like most Asian cities, the noisy traffic and pollution are the worst, although large areas of parks and boulevards relieve the strain. Here is the Vietnamese tradition blends with modern life: sellers of crickets and put soup on the street next to Internet cafes, ciclotaxis and women wearing the shoulder with the typical seesaw baskets, along with terraces cafes and distinctly French influence.

The best way to get around is by bike (motorcycle riders will be offered to take: 2 dollars per journey or 5 dollars per hour), or ciclotaxi (3 dollars per hour). Although the buses are air conditioned and have exceptional (VND 3.5 ).

The most interesting is concentrated in District 1 or Saigon. Here are the cathedral of Notre Dame and the City, and most luxurious hotels, such as the Continental Rex and the historic. In the latter was filmed much of The Quiet American, based on the novel by Graham Greene. Also here you will find silk shops, souvenirs or electronic objects. Try one of the great ice cream Bo Gio Café (Nghiep street).

To make purchases, the market is the most popular Ben Thanh, south of downtown, but when they tour will have to bargain hard. You'll find crafts in wood and silk dresses. Behind the market, savor the typical food of Hue, in Nam Giao (dishes by VND 3).

In the area of Pham Ngu Lao, the accommodations are more affordable. Its restaurants and bars have until dawn atmosphere. In the Saigon Café can enjoy Vietnamese dishes, a kind of pancakes that it fills a pig and prawns.

There are several interesting temples and pagodas. Of the Giac Lam, west, is the oldest of the city (seventeenth century), with the same ornamentation since 1900.

On the Mekong delta

Since the Ho Chi Minh City are one step away from the long chain of rivers and canals that form the giant Mekong River delta, south of the country. The water has resulted in a unique way of life, in which everything takes place on its surface: wash, sailing, fishing ... On a day trip can visit any of the floating villages closest to Ho Chi Minh, as My Tho or Vinh Long. Although if you want to go deeper into the Delta city of Can Tho is located about four and a half hours by bus VND 15). It is worthwhile to spend the night in the village, because when they are most active markets is 6 to 9 pm .Hire a rowing boat is worth about $ 2 an hour.

Sapa and the triangle of opium

Sapa is the place where the Himalaya mountain range is slowly hiding between vertical rice terraces and bamboo trees. Fantastic green valleys covered in rice, split by rivers and waterfalls and inhabited by ethnic minorities, such as Hmong, the Dzao and Thai, which despite the time and in spite also of the flocks of tourists, still live as they have done for generations, wearing their colorful costumes and working the land that was born.

The first day we went to visit inside the valley. This is a village called Cat Bai inhabited by one of the ethnic minorities I have mentioned above. Along with some English that I met on the path we followed the path and entered into the valley. When we came here, the children were frightened and hid to see us. I walked along and tried to take as many photographs as possible. The British stopped to eat and I followed the path through the valley that I took away from the spectacular planting of rice.

The road then seemed to get lost among the weeds and here the real trek began. I knew the proximity of a road bordering the valley and follow my instincts. I started to climb a river between a thick jungle that I leave the clothes which over the dark skin of a native of the area.

After half an hour of following the upward course of the river came to a spectacular waterfalls of more than 40 meter drop that was more or less left to climb. Upon reaching the top, the sound of a motorbike. I was already tired of the noise of jet throughout Vietnam but this time I was able to return to glory hear that buzz! A couple of more jumps between the weeds and I was able to reach the road and stepping on firm ground. Just at that moment passed and I watched four Vietnamese side with rare, they also noted the hole in the thick vegetation that came and I returned to face with a look of "these tourists are like a goat!"

The local people, they invited a cigarette and holding them with my return to civilization! Tom had come to Tram Pass, a neck between valleys to 2000 meters and 16 km of road from Sapa where appropriate. The view of both valleys with the Fansipan to my side of 3143 meters were wonderful. I returned quietly by the road stomping ground and went back to find me after a while with the British and a group of Belgians who had shown them a way short and not so bumpy. Back to the people, a shower and went out to dinner and just all in a Vietnamese karaoke drinking rice wine (a kind of spirit) to the many.

On the second day we took it more quietly through the gardens of Ham Rong, a few mountains north of Sapa where he lived with another ethnic tribe in the area.

Today, final day in Sapa, rent a bike and gave us a tour of this spectacular valley covered with nearly vertical rice terraces and waterfalls that are covering the road from natural pools. And finally we were able to recognize the clothes you were Hmong and the Dzao another.

For now it seems that tourism and tradition are still in a positive balance. The village has been enriched in 10 years to move from absolute oblivion to receive flocks of tourists with dollars in hand. For now, and perhaps thanks to communism, tourists staying in Sapa where the Indians traded on the markets and take advantage of something that neither expecting nor can they stop because they are those who handle other threads and tickets fat. The salts that few kilometers from Sapa, the reality is different: it is like to escape in time, the backpackers and immerse yourself in the real world where these tribes have inhabited for thousands of years, with their oxen, their goats, their bamboos , Their opium plantations and rice and are grateful to the government unless we put a little difficult for tourists.

Tomorrow we cross the border at Lao Cai and we are living in China, where the Himalayas will grow gradually to reach Nepal and communication will be even more complicated than in Vietnam. But in the end, the culture shock is where the adventure, and that China, here I come!

The meaning of life according to a dog

.


And by the way I was reflecting here about what this life means.

And what it can mean? Tell me, little Cokie: I wanna listen what you have to say.

Little Cokie.














It means an illusion, and it means a reality at the same time.

Then one day we die, and what happens? Where we go? Where all this sweetness, and even the worst of us all?




And this poem disguised in thought

And where all the battles

of the ones

who never fought.




Is like a magic to be here, you and I; but isn't magic: remember always, my master: the reality is always more surprising than the fantasy...


We are presence and the light is not thrown by the candles, but by our own eyes: that's why we avoid to look each other in the eye.


The eyes and its light: where they are going to go after death, my master?


You know that we all are going towards the nothing: our definitive reality: the death; that lasts forever: the nothing.


But, the nothing: is not something?






.

She in Heaven

.

.

The tree

.

.

Once upon a time.

There was a tree there.

It was planted by the Devil one clear night with no moon; and Himself did water it with His very tears.

They say...

The roots reached the nothing, and its foliage almost touched the God's deepest doubts; this tree was wisdom and sadness, they say.

The tree used to talk an ünknown tongue, that only could be understood by the rejected lovers who sought shelter under it...to calm their pang...

One good day the tree died, as any living being does. Its roots reached at last the profound country of the gold and the eight rivers; land of all the shining metals, property of Pluto. Its veins found dry blood, at last...

Because the rain didn't wet the tree in life anymore.

Twice upon a time: a tree. An enigma with signs in its trünk: towards the west of the spiritüal country, settled it was; they say.

I say.

The äncient people, the ones of the stone and the circumcision could see it. The former masters who held the key to the stars, our giant fathers, it saw it in the life.

They say...

.

I, the damned one

.


I never wanted to live.

I see my putrid damnation with eyes of water. The rotting fate just brings me news: "there's a strange force that has sealed your forehead forever".







.

A song

.


Country girl; administratrix of my blood: what can I do?

I'm caught.


Blossom delight; my hands just want to dwell over your bodice and your breasts.


In this coy song of blemish/I think that you are the hermetic chaos of the Sun

Girl, counterlight, vaginal hair...




The feculence of some star came to scream out your name.


.

THE NIGHT

.


When the sun runs enraged over stilts, his ardour blackens the sky; and turns up the night...donna od gas.

Maybe the night is blind.

Its quicksand in reverse it trundles the blue coffee of Naples, taciturn...


The gods-turntable lit it in the evening of the 200.000 thunderbolts; they did, not the moon.


...Because the night is the niche of the lynx...

With the Medusa.


.

Just Dance

WE ARE T.H.R.E.E.

.

.

The pyramids in space (the dormant of Mars)

.

In the absence of accompanying photographs and diagrams of the Cydonia region, it is difficult to demonstrate the intricacies of the geosophical relationships, but a few can be noted. When were drawn straight lines connecting the various features such as the face to the D&M pyramid (named for Di Pietro and Molenaar) and then studied the internal angular relationships in the pyramid, were found some intriguing and redundant trigonometrical relationships, especially between the mathematical constants “p” (PI) @ (3.141592654. . .), the ratio of a circle's circumference to its diameter) and "e" @ 2.718281828. . ., the base of natural logarithms). In geosophical terms, "p" represents the completion or perfection of a cycle. It stands outside of time and space, while e represents exponential growth and decay, especially in living organisms. e manifests itself in time, but outside of space.

Finally, a third constant called "F" (PHI) @ (1.618033989 . . . ) which the Greeks called the "Golden Ratio," or "Golden Mean" represents growth and decay in both time and space.
Hoagland kept finding expressions of the (e/"p") ratio, a number equal to 0.865255979.... When NASA mapped the surface of Mars and laid down a grid of coordinates for latitude and longitude, it turned out that the inverse tangent of the above (e/"p") number was 40.868° (or 40° 52' 04") the exact latitude of the apex of the D&M pyramid! Thus the very latitude of the Cydonia complex on Mars was expressed in the geometry of the features contained therein. More importantly, this ratio was also connected with a certain angle of 19.47°, which expresses the latitude of a tetrahedron when it is inscribed into a surrounding sphere provided one vertex of the tetrahedron stands on the north or south pole of the sphere.

(NOTE: students of sacred geometry may recognize the particular right triangle with these trigonometrical relationships formed within the inscribed tetrahedron.)
sine 19.47° = 1/3 cosine 19.47° = (2/3) SQRT(2) tangent 19.47° = (1/4) SQRT(2)

.




.

Prince of winter, prince of spring

.

Prince of winter was sat down at the hallpath of the stars

Prince of spring was promenading by the terraces of rice

The catamarans passed sailing slowly by the tender loin of the cacophonic river...

Princess of winter was changing her lingerie at the roman candles' light

Princess of spring took a ride by and along the blue prairies: her white dress floated letting see her soft buttocks in the counterlight of the dark-grey clouds of December

The wind walked quietly loving the fantasms of the volcano's base.

And Neptune, turning up in the dawn.

.

Down to the hobbit of Flores

.

.

The dawn of a horrible era

.

...Is the year 5.000 BC; on the hot prairies of what is known today as Flores, island that is near to Komodo, some modern men walk.

From the dense of a forest there is something moving, like a human: not a human? Is not a human?

The most reckless go getting closer to the foliage: for a moment there was something moving there that looked like a small human, and disappeared with furious velocity into the thickness of the jungle.

What it was? Nobody could really know.

Five or six men go entering into the hazardous of the jungles: the atmosphere is excessive, all is abysmal and humid, is like an ocean of trees: enigmatic sounds come from the metallic depths of the jungles.

As they go walking more and more in-too-deep, pink and unseen insects see them pass by in silence from behind their rotting logs, from holes under the ground, in the land: unseen eyes behold them, eyes that never were seen at all by any human being.

Or if it were seen, it were seen by the ones who passed away to can tell...

The evening lingers on, but slowly the night is turning up: the walkers realize that got lost into that continent of trees and fog, taken by their astonished eyes and a curiosity, taken, taken: where they could be?

As the night is appearing, as the pink day is flying away, the scene in the jungles is changing furtively, so furtively that they cannot even realize...

Something cracks slightly there and everybody looks in that direction, but in the black of the night nothing is seen, while more and more haze seems to invade the.

Jungles.

While unseen eyes behold them.

Eyes that never were seen at all by any human being.

Or if it were seen.

It were seen by the ones, who passed away to can.

Tell.

.

The delicate art of making burn

Kreators/watchers: The blue oyster cult

.

.

From darker skies

.

The loveposition is on its own; such a foam of stir: ghost riders go wild in flames.

On fire, such taking anything that's next to the Moon in rampage of desperation, such a lover cunt; such a cunt lover: the camps of green milk are joy and semen now: the Sun of Britannia appears under the little girlies' skirts like the sweet butter and the sweet love.

It's morning.

I love you all day.

And all of the night.

From darker skies we have come here, to this interstice of time/space, to this aberration; to this gap in the history.

From the darkest skies of Dunkerke, when the summer shines sinister in the evening.

.

When Barbie goes mad

.

Honey from DreamofDani:

http://www.next-door-nikki.com/galleries/dream-of-dani/shotspics.html

.