Maharaja

The distance that flows beneath the "act as one" and "pretend the feeling" is as vast as the last choice of the prisoner before the electric chair: A last cigar, a last night with a woman?
We give flesh, breath and blood to our lament, only to dive inside the artificial ocean someone's actions built around the borders of our being. To breathe, sing and drink- the need to breathe (that is the wine) came before the bee hive, or the temple (that is the bee hive) before the wine?

What am I longing for, is my umbilical chord to be one with the lion in the distant coriddors of my echoes. One day as a canine. One day more- to caress the Colossus. To scratch my surface- deep within the pseudo truce between words and time. Find shit. Find gold.

Μακάρι να έκαιγα για πάντα. Σα σειρές απο τσιγάρα σε κάποιο ξεχασμένο τασάκι. Να με ανέπνεαν, όπως θα θελα να αναπνέω κι εγώ αυτούς. Να γένναγα αρρώστιες, να έχεζα εκεί που έτρωγα, μόνο και μόνο για να μάθω να εκτιμώ αυτό που γαμάω με τα ίδια μου τα χέρια.

A line of termites. To breathe life in my offsprings. To caress an existence hidden behind the river which I crave. (the same river I'll never find_)
A line of termites. To form circles behind circles and dance like a yezidi around their autumn pride. (a pride which is mine too, but I don't know it yet)
Everything built upon tar. I constructed my shipwrecks with the corpses of "need", "use" and "consume" and now I play the captain, at the top of my mountain of flesh, flesh disguised as rotten wood.

As long as they sing, eat the honey of their ancestors and breathe as one, I'm more than eager to accept their influence, and paint with blood of avatars my lyrics and songs.