Why do I have these powers ? No answer still. Why all these gifts? Why do they grow in such proportions? Look at me: do you see anything special? Frankly nothing. I look like everyone. I speak to everyone. We’re walking all day, we dance in the moonlight. I have no hard feelings. What do you say? I didn’t hear. Me neither, makes the wind. Someone says: Why not? That someone on my steps that I do not know.

 

Say

Why so many wonders are seen?
By touching me people heal.
When they see me, they wake up
and their prophecies are made up.

Why pretending to keep youth?
Age makes me talk truth
Stupid pride is gone
If I lied, it would show on.
(source)Hildegarde Von Bingen — my adaptation.

Why? A nagging and treacherous question that hugs me in the morning, that pushes me at night. At night, my nightmare. I meet a giant who knows me too well. Someone who knows a lot about me. Who doesn’t answer me. Endlessly I ask him and he always keeps silent. To taunt me, he plays at flattering me. He gives me rambling, senseless remarks. He often speaks to me, I answer: yes but. I would like to stop him, gag the animal.

The Why Not Unknown? You can always answer that when you don’t know why. The Unknown doesn’t know why. But he knows that I am the animal! At first I didn’t believe it. I thought he was wrong. There was a mistake about the person.

HIM

That god hurts me too much. That carnival king got the wrong admiral. He gets to me, it’s fatal. I call in sick. He broke the walls of the glass jar for me. How dirty he is! He praises me, he puts me in the heart of his speech as if on the threshold of a palace. A Nepalese decor masking a hippylike junk.

His heavy talk weighs on me. It makes me uneasy – cat in the fire. Why did he choose me? His hoax, his taste for heresy, his devastating outings… The song is flattering and I don’t listen. I’m not there for him. I picked up the line. His approach is unworthy. And his innuendo! I’ve heard too much. My headphones are all over the place, I’ve got Uncle Siphon. But HE has not fooled. When will he stop? He comes from all sides. I look dazed not to listen. I try to burp to make him hurt.

He continues his harangue. Too agile is his tongue and too hard is his goal. If I can, I kill him. This famous king of whores. I’m wet and I’m scared. This person is kicking my ass. He’s pounding me, he’s frisking me and I’m sick of it. Why are you picking on me? There are lots of happy assholes. Legions of happy assholes, sure of their importance. They have no doubts: the visa of the morons. They will applaud anything he can say. Anything he can write. He troubles me and annoys me day and night. He treats me like a hero, like a prince, in general. I have nothing like a general, nothing particular. I protest and complain and burp again.

He starts again again. Deferent and rebellious he guides me to the top. On which throne does he put me? I go down to hide in the bottom of the trash. I’d like to choke it, cross it, eat it — the stuffed man defends himself! He triumphantly concludes that I’m king of the world. Turn, turn the circle. If I laugh, he scolds me. He takes his deep voice to praise me. Does this man make sense? I absolutely doubt it. He makes a novel with my discoveries. I should leave. I try to fart to make him distract.

 

 

Known and recognized

I play dumb to show him but he’s more delicate than my poop. This someone has nothing of a human. And yet he is so! Insistent, disturbing, disgusting, confusing, quibbling, repulsive… and yet so tempting! It tempts and it kills you. It gives you the fright. Satan stinks.

He puts his feet under the table and says unacceptable things. Intolerable. Abominable. My benefactor has dealt with HIM already. He called him the Gray Man. Yes, the same donkey. A mast god. Insane. Who giggles and gossips. Blowpipe. Heavy type. Far from hype. Harvest grain when it’s ripe. Too many fears to wipe. He keeps me to go on. Sodom’s copies, dirty carbon. Bullshit by the ton. Is this any surprise? He’s over at sunrise. He takes back what he gives. Do you think he forgives? He thinks he’s nobody so he needs a body.

He sluts and turns me into an ant. What crime did I commit? What duty did I omit? He loves me, he promised. I half loathe him. Enemy grim. What hole did he put me in?

I would like to fight back but I’m still in his sack. The dead god is alive. I curse him very hard but this badass gives me his refrain again. I abhor. Lock my door. Humans, I’m Xavier ! Do you like my clavier? It drives me like a fool. My keyboard’s beautiful!

HE suddenly pauses to change posture. He is close by, the swelling! I hear him whispering: -You too are beautiful! Magnificent and great! So cleaver and so smart! Size apart, you’re  a giant ! You really understood the past of your race. You will leave your mark. A gift that no one erases. For the masses, you will be a prophet in Parnassus. A living god who won’t die, your readers no longer forget you.

I close my ear. He’s soft and dear. But I don’t care. It’s only lies to fly me from the sky where my double flies with the hairy bees under the armpits. I invent a new missal to make up his bechamel. He takes me, he confuses me, he fucks me.

His ways remind me of Miss Caramel Coco. Hairy under the armpits. Who did the dishes while eating soft cheese. Half whore half pucelle. In the rue Saint-Marcel lived the demoiselle. The girl was zealous and spread her wings in the first wind.

HE continues his delirium and I my memories. From afar I hear him say:

Yes, you can be proud! Mongolian hot-air balloon, you can strut around every day of the year. Go fuck the damned, you’re home everywhere. The gods will obey you. They will recognize you. Your shining destiny splashes them as much as your genius mines them. The rose has thorns. Your Venus in blue jeans joins her naughty languor to her fine intuitions. And pretty, the girl! She too applauds you. Universal ecstasy will reward that which helps you to become the king of the future. For you will not die. You will live longer than the Heroes before. You will play in your ark with the Patriarchs. You will come in your walk with the Matriarchs. The ring of the birthright in the hand of the Druidesses will decide for you. You will not get over it.

 

Humility, my shield. Shut both my ears, lull me in your shadow, since the light dazzles the weary warrior. Humility, my enormous strength. My victory, my modest triumph, my humor that protects, my simple and discreet life, all I am is yours. Humility, you’re my castle, my rock, I’m proud to be simple. Nothing more.

Why HIM? Why hum? Why not humility?

 

 

Thanks, I can’t hear

This dream is not a dream. A nightmare it is. I have been repeating since childhood. This someone harasses me with perseverance. When I was little, HE called me Babé. We were two buddies. He wasn’t that big. He pushed twice. He passed me when I was not twelve. And we were always riding buddies, brothers in arms, close friends. He was this giant I knew before — nothing was different. I’m a teenager: HE’s gone with the wind. Becoming annoying, he’s come out less and less. 

That’s about the time of my mistrust. And fear. This innocent person can be wicked. Immoral. Sadistic. And satanic too. He comes from the swamp. He’s big for his age. He’s only a hundred thousand years old. I’m old, but I don’t have that many.

I want to turn the page. Inflate my veil in the wind towards new shores. When the lady was ugly we would tumble her page. I changed my face. He thought I was too wise. He said that in the Middle Ages we wreaked havoc. Chicks fell into our arms. He says we conquered the land of the Magi. Celtia, America and Golconde and Carthage. I recognized us both on a picture stamped on the skin of a wild animal.

Golconde: Ancient capital of the kingdom of the same name, in the Indian state of Telangana, once famous for its diamond mines.

I’m kidding. You’re finding. He’s riding.

 

HE who shines in the night

He’s gone, and I’m sick of it. He’s always pushed me to vice. He’s abusing me. I’m his puppet on duty. I’m asking for an armistice. I wish he’d faint! Evaporated into nature, eradicated at full speed, with my fist in my face — and for a non-violent, it’s hard! But we must change course. If I went against my nature and sent him out in the greenery beating his belt in the face of failure.

Come, come! He is of Ur and a friend. May your sins be forgiven — even if you don’t know by whom!

I’m afraid it’s HIM!!!!!!!!!

 

 

Over!

Crying, tearing, whining, self-pity, I went everywhere, beating my heart and crying: Why me? That was the first title of that article. But it’s over. I get it. Him or me, what does it matter? I had to stop beating myself up. Instead of cutting it off for me once and for all. Go ahead, Boy Scout! It’s the first step that costs. You complain, you listen, you fear, you fear, what do you fear for your greatest misfortune? Of your own greatness.

Forgiveness frees the soul, it takes the fear away. That is why forgiveness is such a powerful weapon.

 

Yes, all this is over. I said it. I took my head and I admit: I was stupid. I was falsely afraid of the ego that HE was constantly flattering. And I didn’t see the ego already in me. The inner enemy is always the best. The watchman. The awakener. He who takes his head is already in the ego. He crisis, he mentalizes and his soul gets bogged down in the grey fumes. The destiny promised to the weary watchman is a two-way mirror. Let him forget his destiny in the pure gold of the mornings. The sycophant is a dye that rubs off when its mirror turns off doesn’t send much. Put your day on pause. Birds rest.

We believe we lead destiny, but it is always destiny who leads us.