Kiss me from Hell ..Поцелуи из ада

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  • Le 15/08/2015
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Hans Zimmer is my favorite composer of film music, I often remember the original Oblivion band, but it is especially a passage of the last Samurai with Tom Cruise that comes to mind, I spent hundreds of time, like I was transported into the character itself, a wounded war, care of the wife of his fallen enemy under his sword, which after several months of convalescence, will eventually marry the enemy cause. I can not help but compare myself to this situation, probably to give a more poetic sense in my vagabond, wandering I live since the tragedy, justifying me a reason to live what I live, eking out a living and dodging reality of this bitter failure I had to undergo. They assaults arrogance got the better of me, of my weaknesses that I now denies making them more acceptable and enjoyable dishonestly? I assume, I assume not, I take half or full, that's all the time the same question. To achieve success, it takes several failures we said, what brutality that simplify the evils these simple words ..! It's absurd

In my moments of solitude, when all is quiet in my mind, I can not help from coming back to that night when the pain was at the peak, their kisses were bleeding heal my soul bruised by the tragic event of this moment, their arms were holding my body sank, their love asking me to move forward, to move away from the precipice, to yield nothing and especially not to abandon my existence. How can I forget? No this is not possible, I have tried in vain to erase those beings from my memory, never to suffer the void they have left, to the hair for their absence. But I realize my mistake, they are embedded in me, and me they live forever embody the privacy of my suffering, for me worn during this voyage; they are part of me, my history, and what until my last breath. They took me out of the emergency bandaging my deepest wounds with their feelings, materializing this with what they had best to offer me, their arms, their bodies and their beauties. How could I deny this, how could I keep quiet what springs from the past as a reminder to itself, as a chapter of my unfinished book, how can deny these beings who witness the profound sense of unconditional love and timeless. My determination will not help because I do not have the strength to pull it out of my mind, they have supported me at the same time, thanks to them I was coming from the bottom of the valley of death, like Lazarus. Shibata in the privacy of the body gave me strength, Aima with compassion, clarity, and Carla in thought from the other side of the world supporting me with love and kindness.

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Probably one day, when my boat will be docked, my feet on the floor of the living, I still walk toward them with no other purpose than the one essential recontre, the one we tabled on the edge of this painful past certainly, but bordered by feelings without any confusion, desire and mutual affection. Life does not totally abandoned me on that day, on my way to recovery, it still presents me other tracts and other beings just as full of love, beauty and empathy, I can only think of my fragile little butterfly Morocco, the one that still put me one last time to fireproof what my anger and violence, but nevertheless will not go out of my heart for all that, because you cured me of drunkenness and its deception, the very expensive price as were our tears and our regrets I am grateful to you, you're part of my life, my family, you always will be one, your place is, you are in thee forever. When my inscouiante nymph of the Drome, the one that reminded me of the spontaneous tenderness when I no longer believed, that which I revived my love of death, I love you all. Finally, all these people by the dozen, by the hundreds with whom I built my new life by sharing the values ​​of the human being, even those who put me stretched the traps of ego,i thank them.

What about my heart, that great wanderer, where is it? he wanders here and there like people say tribes Xârâcùù, between the mounting (bwakweè) and "mereko" (end of the cloud), he has neither map nor compass, it is well, even without homeport , floating above life, free and light as air, riding such a course without boat, rudderless whose sails flutter in the wind, crossing the raging seas as inevitable, even pushing the waves on a calm sea, in his journey, he has no future, no past, he lives only for what is happening, he no longer struggles, he lives, he is waiting, he takes what comes. I can say that he no longer suffers from empty, it vibrates fully and intensely, he freezes time to this, it molds space footprint. He dreams only match the real, he does not invent what he saw, he created his time and dimensions, he is in this space organized by my physical sensations, the ones I see on my skin touched by a blade fresh air, those I measure the intense vitality as they pass through like fine needles of the flesh to the bone, they are sometimes pleasant, subtle or intense, sometimes unpleasant, they are never neutral, they do me Never lie on my existence is through this that I know that I exist too. I can say that my heart is vulnerable because I made the choice to open him consistently at what attracts him so much to what he repulses, however, he remains intact as a strong castle, like a fortress guarded by love, the love I have for each other and without distinction, as well as the one I have for me.

What about my mind ? He is a boat for my soul, he  is a vehicle without precise dimensions, he is housed in the center of my unconsciousness, he now plays without fear, it is in the thick fog of its contradictions, he sails in the dark non-conscious meanings, he tries to reverse the cold current anxieties, he vibrates with its world submerged or surface currents of thought, sometimes lulled by the rhythm of the opposing waves are illusions and negativity,he plays aggressiveness tempts and he sometimes imitates the risk of identify with it,  he brings the courage be by breathing my body with the air I observe each time i inhale, he is not worn or shoved the amplitudes of negative emotions, even if he is pushed forward by an unrealistic intention,or he is set back from a souvenir censer, or attempted to be prisoner  of a control obsession on time, he wants to exist by himself, it is not arbitrary direction, he wants to remain free without being insensitive to these movements, without being swallowed up, he saw in the inspiration of what surrounds without getting lost, he wants to blend in but with a return to self path, I can say that not pitching, he plays on the swell, he forged his refuge he can find, this one is inviolable, no aggression there penetrates, no distress not stress him, he is out of reach, he is in the heart of my soul, in an intimate space that can not be seen by the physical sensations of my own,, where nobody not even God has the power to see without the approval of my heart, my soul, where only the people who live in love will find an echo. 

Iles des pins

John Lax

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