Automatic Writting II
i paint you on the cross, darts, red and white, pure, blood, bets, another wall in another bar where Jesus hangs up sad while we drink and smoke, mature against a rebellion against humanity. Lost, not making sense, but happy on a desert while the sun comes down, orange and purple in the sky. Or is it just waking up above the gold sands? A life to save is hidden under every grain. You have a life to save, you have a reason to live, a sword on your hand. You got my life to save, you got the reason to leave, seagulls preset as witness far away from the shore. Every note from the piano floats in the sky, translucid and transparent in sound, with a conflict on my brain, hearing sour visions and tasting loud images. Just as when waking up, voices that can't excape my skull, amplified by concience sleepwalking, and I can't but bow and cover my ears to avoid the resonance of my own screaming, loud in the dark, obscuridad y sueño, amor y tinieblas. The prince, the jack and the queen, all playing the king's posessions in it's absence, jewels and dignity, tall and in three card colors. He is trapped, he is in ever card, they can't win, he can't lose, they are betting with his life, and he contemplates in sad dissapointment every move and play, ever coin that runs the table, followed by the casino sticks. Waves, waves come with the sun and it seems so perfect but it's so boring and so dull that I wish not to be here, it's a painting, it's every cloud in the sky that isn't real. Have you ever seen clouds so beautiful? No, because they don't exist... reaching the mountains in the valley with my hand, but all I can touch is the paper they're drawed in, covered with perfect clouds that don't exist. Queer, that's all I can say