The occurrence of Melancholia

Breathing, softly. The water roaming, slow in my body, subtle sensuality like the gently restrained aura of the dawn.

Imperceptibly I close my eyes, salt in the iris.

Abondoned to the mesmerising caresse of melancholic tenderness as a devouring heat whispering in my mind an existence in the universe of her lies.

I forget serene under the waves. Translucent I see their smile keeping me safe.

Exploring memories, I dive.

Room after rooms, birth of a procession. Reminescence, enchanting I let go.

My sister”s hand laid on mine her sense of infancy, innocent and pale blushed by summer and the sweet sent of a chery throabing right againt her cheeks. The laughs we would share dolorously close.

The purity of a glowing Sky before the rage of the tempest. Insanity like a poison whispering only perfection was worth life. I was an idealist.

I sense those visions in my mind, I see us all; Our prescence side by side sinking in the tufted shapes of the seats appearing softly like the bare skin of a curved nape.

The seats dotted of velvet in the obsequiously wise relief, those mountains of angular objects spreaded across the room. Dispersed witness conversing merrily of our secrets, still observor contemplating our lives going back, and forth, like insignificant insects we would wave, blatanly indecisive and vulnerable.

The shapes of us seemingly curved hills suspended in a time of expectation. In a submissive pause of the voice, all those frail instants dissolving in the profusion of lost times.

The weather was nice.

I was helping, choreographing a ballet of printed colours and blissed smiles. Placing each one and all in the scenery theatrically familiar of our seats burried, smothered under a pile of precisely disposed shapes, spheres and squares as a geometrical fantasy of a disparate daydream.

All objects seemingly sharpened by an essence of their own, vividly present like ecstatic companions whom multitude, engage in the center of the decor compulsary to create the sentient awaited by the photography. We were present at the heart of the abundance, at the summit of the mountain looking down on our realm of cushions.

Enlightened by the sunshine.

Stubborn in the prophetic completion of the photographic ideal, I was hastening radiant, euphorically riling the scenery : wrinkling a cloth, moving a leg, now nochalant... emphasizing ,viper, the infinitely exhaustive details of disorder in the sacralised theater of realized expectative.

Pleasure was immense.

Reality seemed, at the verge of the capture, fulfilling in a finality of itself a metamorphosis. Becoming unattainable, divine a pure moment of perfection.

The figures were frozen, still corpses, the veins running under the skin. Wincing and incerdulous smiles, the teeth uncovered, the lips drawned.

Spurious.

A thrill of despair like a flower growing in my lungs.

The bitterness invading softly like a daunting parasite, nibbleling, gnawing my brain. A virus instilling a long and slow agony in my mind.

My smile therefore, evolving, becoming numb, winced frozen in a grimace painfully suspended.

Desire defied reality impossibly filled with esperance. The 'Pataphisical dilema to my obstinacy of creating perfection as the resolution of a patiently analysed enigma where all the puzzle pieces where placed side by side, edge to edge achieving the completion of a marvelling image.

Illusive...

Reality and dream absurdely unconcordant in the same space, existence so confined and restricted, bafflingly disenchanting.

A dream, erratic, vesperal. An evanescent mirage disapearing in a baroque tintinnabulation, a distillation of a lingering melody caressing softly the hard and cold brutality of the world.

A phalene to close to the sun burning, consumed; ashes far away floating.

Instant light. Instant dust.

Breathing.

An inspiration in my throat deeper than my heart of cristal, a fissure. Absent.

My body behind the camera, a presure of my faded hand; Opaline on the black device.

Lustrous inhabited by a life of image at the core of the silver films. I press the button, a countdown starts, deleterious, inescapable...

I jostle the corpses hastily, I push away. Enlightened ritornello static creature, my members stiff like the arms of a puppet, dolorous. Forshadowing automated actions, a giant void in my mind.

My skin creased, blued insensitive, my eyes of ice in the heart of consumed delight, a rapture of humanity warm, flawed.

I glance passively. Vacuity flows as a stream of insignificance like a fire gigantic and triomphant devouring my senses.

Chaos unleashed, immobile; magnetic. A flash a dominion of white, enamoured and vivid that immortalizes; the time of the capture.

Impulse, my body strains abruptely, flickering I spiral in mouvement, and grab from the tip of my fingers, the shape lying animalized in my sight.

The delicate heat of the cloth like a remaining fragment of all the memories burried by the flow of time. The wool flies between my veins, the whiskers like rainbows, crochetted rosettes projected adroitely. A cachette to hide, the yarn in the trachea, the saturated cadences, the biwildered expressions. Disapearing under colorful warm wool.

Alabaster, demonized, possesed, immortal. A flash blinding the eyes.

The still scenery, Illusory, a wounded cloth as a vision of Eden. The fantommatic corpses buried in a crawling mass of crimson.

A smile tanscend my mind, I rise lecherous irresitibly victorious. I liven under the spell of those vows, that awaited lusted joy.

Felicity is infinte and immense detached, away from the flaws of life, gloriously oneiric; existence in etheral suspension, Pure, untouched, everlasting.

Alone.

An illusive control of inherently flawed reality.

Blowing a bubble tenderly; Creating a universe of semblance of safety , an existence holded in the pleasure of the capture, delivered of family.

A phohotography of blurry, amorphous tangled threads.

Perfection of the scenery

Inside.

I feel the nymphea blooming, a profusion of petals piercing my translucid skin like a million of needles in my chest. My lungs are hurting.

Something I lost.

Everything is falling

Pearls of ice on my hollow cheeks, floating in nihility.

I cant breathe.

I forsake serene under the veil.

Slowly burried in an ocean sorrows.

Drowning offered, to the heart of a mermaid.

A soft murmur of Melancholia.