Men grow too old for love, my love,
Men grow too old for lies;
But I shall not grow too old to see
Enormous night arise,
A cloud that is larger than the world
And a monster made of eyes. *
The monster made of eyes
Up there the skies were infinite and the clouds hung at our feet. The days were hot, green and translucent, the nights were cool, deep and sparkling. We were gathering on the hotel terrace after every concert, they were telling jokes and we were all laughing to tears echoing far in the surrounding stillness. We had some beers, smoked a bit, I felt like a little walk and went down the terrace and turned right toward the church. I wanted to look at the sky. Past the second house was the last lamp, a bench and the beginning of a little path bypassing the hill. Past these, a curtain of darkness. I walked a few meters and disappeared behind the backdrop. I was all alone, and looked up, in the uncanny silence of the witching hour. My eyes were probably mirroring the countless glitter of the night, and I thought of that strange old woman wrapped in mystery that had told me once, years ago : "the most beautiful I have seen in the Sahara desert was the moon reflected in a dead donkey's shining eye". Stars, everywhere, all around, shining still, or crossing the magnitude in a swift ray...Was it a solid firmament sustained by the strong shoulders of Atlas or a colossal tenebrous living creature? For I couldn't remember who, of us two, me and the night, was watching who.
A thrill of thunder in my hair:
Though blackening clouds be plain,
Still I am stung and startled
By the first drop of the rain:
Romance and pride and passion pass
And these are what remain.*
The drunken boat and the storm
That boat was getting nearer and looked almost as if it was drifted towards us. We were sitting approximately 6 meters above it on the waterfront and I was not very comfortable with having my legs hanging so high above the water level, but the cool breeze at dusk felt so well, bringing the sea to our nostrils and freshening us from the sticky heat of that summer day.
The barge, already heavily loaded and looking close to sinking, started doing strange moves, going sideways, back and forth, and we, well we were being watched and watching, hypnotized by this weird ship who, most certainly, like the piano, had been drinking, until it made us feel sick and ready to join the party by dropping down. Luckily, before we jumped in the depths, we looked at the the silver lit port in the distance and noticed the setting sun had disappeared behind a wall of clouds. In the vertical clouds hanging there, beautiful lightning bolts started flashing here and there. As the wind suddenly got to the edge we were sitting on, blowing stronger, I could almost see Zeus standing in the clouds, half upset half grinning. It was time to leave the battlefield to higher powers and ride into the night for another kind of pleasures.
(Street art by Sam3)
*Poem by G.K. Chesterton
Men grow too old for lies;
But I shall not grow too old to see
Enormous night arise,
A cloud that is larger than the world
And a monster made of eyes. *
The monster made of eyes
Up there the skies were infinite and the clouds hung at our feet. The days were hot, green and translucent, the nights were cool, deep and sparkling. We were gathering on the hotel terrace after every concert, they were telling jokes and we were all laughing to tears echoing far in the surrounding stillness. We had some beers, smoked a bit, I felt like a little walk and went down the terrace and turned right toward the church. I wanted to look at the sky. Past the second house was the last lamp, a bench and the beginning of a little path bypassing the hill. Past these, a curtain of darkness. I walked a few meters and disappeared behind the backdrop. I was all alone, and looked up, in the uncanny silence of the witching hour. My eyes were probably mirroring the countless glitter of the night, and I thought of that strange old woman wrapped in mystery that had told me once, years ago : "the most beautiful I have seen in the Sahara desert was the moon reflected in a dead donkey's shining eye". Stars, everywhere, all around, shining still, or crossing the magnitude in a swift ray...Was it a solid firmament sustained by the strong shoulders of Atlas or a colossal tenebrous living creature? For I couldn't remember who, of us two, me and the night, was watching who.
A thrill of thunder in my hair:
Though blackening clouds be plain,
Still I am stung and startled
By the first drop of the rain:
Romance and pride and passion pass
And these are what remain.*
The drunken boat and the storm
That boat was getting nearer and looked almost as if it was drifted towards us. We were sitting approximately 6 meters above it on the waterfront and I was not very comfortable with having my legs hanging so high above the water level, but the cool breeze at dusk felt so well, bringing the sea to our nostrils and freshening us from the sticky heat of that summer day.
The barge, already heavily loaded and looking close to sinking, started doing strange moves, going sideways, back and forth, and we, well we were being watched and watching, hypnotized by this weird ship who, most certainly, like the piano, had been drinking, until it made us feel sick and ready to join the party by dropping down. Luckily, before we jumped in the depths, we looked at the the silver lit port in the distance and noticed the setting sun had disappeared behind a wall of clouds. In the vertical clouds hanging there, beautiful lightning bolts started flashing here and there. As the wind suddenly got to the edge we were sitting on, blowing stronger, I could almost see Zeus standing in the clouds, half upset half grinning. It was time to leave the battlefield to higher powers and ride into the night for another kind of pleasures.
(Street art by Sam3)
*Poem by G.K. Chesterton
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