Feast of light

FEAST OF LIGHT---- PROLOGUE

"St. Elmo's Fire: the spectacular electromagnetic phenomenon that seems to envelop the masts and spars of sailing ships in sparks and fire under certain atmospheric conditions."

so many things happen at the same moment in one
person: reality that takes place under our eyes,
modulations of ancestors sings, vivid memories at the
surface, daydreaming, deeper visions, manipulations we
do. several layers of existence coexist in our mind,
-people from the past living today with us, we can hear their
voices, visions from the future charming us now. all
these stories are merging to create one: our own
personnal legend
all layers are deeply connected, creating the entity
of ourselves. we do not live in linearity, even if
modern civilisation tries to place our history on a
line, we live in a whirling spiral, our life is an
infinite seashell ride
this is all the truth
this is all one
this is all our life
this is all we can touch
* * *
A feast of light / Part 1

"Veuillez m'enseigner la voie qui mène en une seule vie à la grande perfection."
-Milarepa

the tale
part one-mexico city

first he said
-i would love to clean your eyes from what you haven t
seen yet. i would love to suck your skin in a house of
resurrection, charm you with daily levitations
her nails we re red and blue, dressed in pure white
coton dress, elegant but dirty. The blood from aztecs
is coming back to the surface- filling all the
streets-rivers of soap every morning- So many years
are condensed in a few seconds, all my life into seven
frames, SALVADOR IS STANDING, staring at imaginary
friends ( bella lugosli or ziggy stardust)
We are left away by fascination, walking on uncertain
fields of purification-
he whispers to me:

-eyes beyond your bones
like what we felt once
ready to feel what we are
ready to joy too loud-to run too far

sucking your pretty bones-color your toes
i love your dirty white t shirt i love you
when you come and pray on my skin
to resurrect all my sins
i want you to be everything i do
can you be everywhere i go

can we walk into the fire

salvador says with tears in his mouth
-you have disappeared in all confusion-leaving kisses
memories of skin deep- we dived into moonlight
hunting for your soul
we haven t wait for you for dinner
and to take us higher

i answered
-i become a slave of my fears
i am going everywhere they are
a feast of light, sleeping in a park
i can touch ivory-steal your ring of fire
i can be holy-preach dirty prophecies
we make a little stop in a mariachi bar- really early
but already, deeply happy to see each other after
all those years of silence
and we drink and we sing

" we are the dead of night
we dance under electric light
we are the dead of night

we are the free riders
we are the ones who let go
we are the ones who don t know"

and we sing again-outside can wait, ladies will not
run at the door. Reality won t disappear.

Dear Emmanuelle,
(to write you this story,, while it is happening, is
strange because i don t know where we are going, and
of course, you are becoming a character of the story,
a secret velvet witness made of gold and distance)

Traveling into light takes more strenght than to
travel into darkness, for those who found death at the
end of the night, they were all traveling into
illusions, because she never has been hiding between
two shadows, death has always been a child of the
sun,-( Death not chosen by the ones who wants
to die)
death is not a fear reminder, death is not a toy to
experience our immortality.

death is what we haven t been yet- all what we have
lived before are just memories

- i have to hear it from your lips to believe, she
said

sometimes, salvador becomes a woman, young and futile,

(soundtrack- velvet goldmine by david bowie)

* * *
A feast of light / Part 2

"And if time is not real, then the dividing line that seems to lie between this world and eternity, between suffering and bliss, between good and evil, is also an illusion."
-Siddharta, Hermann Hesse

mexico city, near the fountain, alameda parc

reset your trip,resurrection hand book for hard lovers

dear penelope,

gold dust- constant reminder, at the gates of phenomenal existence-little
garden of eden, we walk barefeet, hands rising, the space between two cars,
a whale came closer,i paint on little papers promesses of existence, to stay
awake, hunting for new sand, far from the prophets of the useless and the
invitation to resurrect without safety net ancestors myths, i drink coffee
in a nameless joint, daydreaming of leaving, searching for salvador, visions
of a total and definitive new existence,

I am feeling like a nervous snake, a point of birth, seeds of movement, i need to
erase from my memory temptations of the past, i need to abandon without
regrets vibrations from before, to really reset my trip, it comes to a point
where i have to risk everything i am, i am on the thin line between fear and
revelation. I walk on a tignt rope made of flowers. I miss all those days togheter-and all those silences.

5 pm, wrestler cafe, calle tacubaya

dear helena,

tell jesus i am not really far, anyway, nobody will ever remember where we
we re at this moment. we prepare the carnival, we shine all bullets and
purify gasoline: dead people are coming in couples with costumes and
crocodile handbags, there still will be you and me, dia de los muertos, the
world is upside down, above and awake, we are lost and ready, believe me, we
can go, bambu shiners are not affraid, we all feel very light, not really
concern by the consequences of our acts, we just shape our souls,bohemian
opera, we have slept so far from our feet , take all these things from me, i
left america

fascination leads my days- staring at sea birds, repetitive landscapes,
transforming my eyes into rays of light traces of lipstick on my mouth, love
in the warm sands, velocity becomes a way to close my eyes,

my shadow on the sand under the moon becomes a temple for weak crabs-our destination is a
state of mind, a capture – a rupture between the actual road and the spirit.

-a long afternoon, i am waiting for something i will provoke, whales are
coming to play like spanish nomads, gypsies from the sea, they come in
circles, palmtree leaves carress my dark skin, I play with children and I make appear images from another lifetime.

-a lifetime that exists between two days of our existence-, middle day
suspension, i  know why i am here, we know why we exist,  i am not waiting
for answers anymore, i enjoy falling into abstraction without fear, without
references, we exist because we breathe and we breathe because we want to
live. the lines of time on our skin become rivers of gold, dragging us to
new territories of ivory. Gold hunters travel into illusions seeking the gold on the bed of the river: they should stare at the sun.

have you ever visited a cemetery of elephant,

i see you

*    *    *

dear penelope,

all words of wisdom-burning copal, how can we reduce the distance between
two men,

how can we change words into bullets, building houses careless in cow
fields, with no real intention, fashion of numbers, we always want to be
more-horses aren<t scared of running in the dark with no clear destination,
they just need a mission, we wish we we ‘re not here, touching these things,
brown skin, i feel like a sailboat without wind, so many rooms, here the
garden is so long ,we are stealing some pearls, jewelry of blind sleeping
people, i eliminate gasoline from air, i wish i wasn t strong, i wish i was
wrong, they stand so still-still standing-, sing me another day, salvador is
unconscious in a silk bed, in a room upstairs,

they told me to close doors before i can see too much,, i hold in my pocket
this necklace of safran pearls, small satisfaction,violons and struggling-i
am an iceberg, discover me,underwater hides the gildmine i told her, i should hold my brushes like flags.
here, do we have to carry on all our safety doors, i wish i am too stoned to
see, i am stronger than me, that can be dangerous, i am not guided by the
wind, any horse can t change my road, i took myself to the river, i left the
reception, with the pearls, without salvador, with a rich lady from the north,
with her car, so white, so white, we went to the river

adios,carlito,

ps, i just can t stop reading the nelson mandala opening speach, this is
fire
this is the life of a painter, you have to sacrifice all the oxygen in you,
to fill youeself with helium.
Between opera and bullfight last sunday, as you know, we chose bullfight.

* * *
A feast of light / Part 3

-"Qu'est-ce qu'un rite?" dit le petit prince.
-"C'est aussi quelque chose de trop oublié. C'est
ce qui fait qu'un jour est différent des autres
jours; une heure des autres heures."
Le petit prince

Like a monk in a monastery, i vanish behind colors,
erased behind a bigger revelation, a secret mission-
I travel into the energy of myth, i
paint closer than 200 meters from the birth of aztec
culture.
- No one gets burned looking at fireworks
no one gets burned staring at the sun
No one gets burned, waiting for an illumination
no one gets burned, burning inside
( fire in o0ur hands between us), we call the fire

we want the fire
(if i grow your tongue with seeds will you grow a
fruit tree). Helena is sleeping on our shoulders
we are so many in my head, we touch the sun we kiss
the fire
Just two rays of light as eyes, i reach silence.

my days: i am looking at books in libraries, absorbed
by renaissance painters, poets from the mountains and
muralists from mexico-i sit in parks staring at blind
fountains- unrevealed venus in a shell of gold,
discussing with shoe shiners about rituals of
repetition, and wolf dances, my fingers on the marble
are fast like ballerinas from paris-
i sleep more hours but i wake up in the night and i go
to walk, meeting insomniac poets at doors of closed
bars, we drink empty bottles and we fill them with
words, we plant some seeds in the garden of light
FLOWERS OF FIRE WILL RISE BEFORE SPRING
i meditate in front of the volcano, eyes south,
i exist,
(and the rythims and the colors
and the sun made us here)
( and if you accept the sun than you will shine)

3rd july 1971, in paris
what really happened? Who died- or was it just another poet approaching in the sky
is there anybody to tell me because i need to know

calle rio elba, room 407
we listen a few songs by david bowie, just to reach
the doors of decadence, and we wait for penelope,
tasting with deliverance the rhum we bought, tasting
again until we don t feel, we feel peaceful, close to
the desert already: salvador is sitting on the table,
trying to convince us to break on through.
-This journey is not about fun, excess is knocking at
the doors.
-chasing phenomenal sunrise
We never have been all togheter since his sudden but
predictible death.
victor.
-We sold all our poetry to the lost aristrocracy.
Helena left for modeling in madrid, after, to try to
taste tranquility,
i saw her last summer in barcelona,she was still very
weak, holding memories like book of gold.
with your fingers, she says,
with your feather moon, we just know
where to go
with your brushes-she said, you can repaint our history, making it look better for me.

Victor would never had close the windows: he loved the
wind as a constant reminder (can any ghost can be more
charming than here and now) can any faith could bring
any satisfaction,

THE ROAD TO ECSTASY
we know trying to taste heaven without a brush in your
hand is impossible: reaching an act of total free
creation without any intention to transmit any message. We just need to hold on to our passion. All lies return to sleep without grace, this
is the very begining, it just takes a big circle of
people who believes the same thing at the same moment
to make appear this thing,

we just need to reach the same frequency, have the
same intention. We just need to hold our passion.
The first sun is almost completed, a wedding of chaos
and peace,
(dont leave me high)
a modern mandala we can touch and transform, with
burning colors
with a simple sentence written at the bottom

-and if you accept the sun then you will shine

A warm shower and i return to my brushes, convinced to
touch the fossils of light, convinced the moon will
rise- convinced I can change the world.my brushes are knives.
i paint with fushia from the flowers. a little child
plays accordeon on the street, under, looking for a
place to exist- a car with no eyes is shy to come, the
street is like a knife- wte and shining
back with my people- day dreaming time
we fill the room with copal smoke- and invisible
visions, ancient violons. We project images on the
walls: the velocity of our ancestors, the direction of
shooting stars, the awakening of new spirits.
volatile romantism,
we make ourselves fragile, skin open
, moments of eternity
we are
rebels
rebels need a field to plant their seeds
rebels fuel is love, rebels voice is action
rebels prophet is the moment inner voice.

we just need seven seconds to change our life, we can
not spend all our days at dreaming, we can t spend days
at drinking in bars and make plans of machines we
will never build. We can<t decide the name of the illusion of a movement.
my skin is getting darker, my soul more full of
light, i found a quiet terrasse where i can write and
talk to the trees, cheap mariachis provide the perfect
soundtrack of my legacy-

this is a catalogue about how to disappear; now
i haven t seen helena since the death of victor, but
in barcelona
her breath is still a wind blower
we went to the sea, wearing sunglasses, drinking red
wine and vaguely listening to the dj- she was
disturbed, we went to walk, candles in our hands,
holding our hands like guiding lights in the night.
i remember we took some trains but there was no
movement, i was back fast to bruxelles with lovely
gypsies.
i was filming a piece about movement, nomads on
wheels, the speed of light

i found a little bar, to go drink after painting
after seing so many things my eyes are burning: unknown
mexican saloon, we see you very soon

soundtrack: the killing moon by echo and the bunnymen

* * *
A feast of light / Part 4

"Where there is the infinite, there is joy. There is no joy in the finite." [the Chandogya Upanishad]

a chinese fortune teller spends free time at the bar,
filling his cards with recycled energy: the future
will be reveal, for free tonight: we are all here.
bar:la puerta del sol call cinco de mayo, drinking between two shadows of
drunken mariachis from sonora. I am thinking about a
few days in los angeles, to visit fernando and lotus,
they are acting like snakes with their hands, sharing
stories of the desert, the day i made love with a
cactus, they laugh.neon lights over, protected from
the thunder. They won t come to look for us here, our
joyride is secret our hunters are blind seekers. we just cut pieces of time in cubes
and fill the ambient space. Can we take the train to
L.A. can we exchange poetry for speed.
-i feel like loosing time between two things.
i know since i am very young: the frequency of my
dreams is really high, reality cant fill all my
desires
_everything has been so stange since one year.
helena walks in the room full of smoke: cigarettes and
copal, we are all smoking the real thing-we are pretty
high but we can talk between two sips of oxygen, lines
of existence.
Poetry becomes useless at a certain point: even words
do not find their own way through beauty.
we open a bottle of dark rhum: constant abundance, we
make noise over the music we play with our tongues:
erotism, seven suns of liberation. Meet me at the gates.
we are in a monochrome mode: everything is blue.
i had a dream  that science people discovered a new color in the
spectre, between orange and red,
a hidden color so soft, so vibrant that people cry
when they see it
some have died of euphoria-some have made love on a rainbow.
Some have left everything behind, some have painted a new road, leading to another level.

writing, trying to tell everything the same way it is
all happening, trying to share the essence of my
spirit, the reason of my existence: every man on this
planet haves one thing to say, one message to
transmit-.one scream. one personal legend.
everyday, we just can be more ourselves (how many
nights before full moon, before we go.) This is the
day we have decided to leave; rituals have no reason;
they just exist, they are circle of energy welcoming
the human spirit and giving them power and knowledge.

salvador is sitting on an indian carpet shining his
trumpet making it look like vintage crocodile shoes
from paris. the instrument is rusted but charming, it
has been moving from classic orchestra to street
musicians to arrives just before imminent death in the
fragile hands of the last romantic modern poet of
mexico city: his fingers are feathers, his voice is
soft like low tide: the court of this king is his
catalogue of desires: the infinite amount of different
emotions he can visit during one day,
he is a living theatre, he is pure chaos, more than
us. Inner orchestra.

chaos is a pure art form, chaos is when you are all
the parts of yourself at the same moment.
this is a certain balance: there is a certain beauty
to be complete even if it creates emptiness around
you,
helena is doing her nails, scared of time and shamans
eyes, hurricane of peace, while i am making nice
drawings on Indian cactus paper
-full moon is coming naturally
-why shall we fight against cycles, we won’t change
them. The only way to be really free is not fight against the cycles, but vanish into them, becoming one with the universe.
(les choses contre lesquels tu ne peux rien fais en
sorte qu elles ne puissent rien contre toi)
i go to paint on our car with thick white letters: the
seekers,
and i am going to sleep. it seems jazz haves a
peacefull effect on human soul, so we listen sketches
of spain- feeling the needle through his skin, through
the vynil, ( I wish I was a trumpet to be kissed by miles davis)
i dont think we will ever be the same again, a ring is
broken, we all went our way, loosing this innocence,
this blind rage: it feels we are in modern times, in
the days of electricity. knowledge removes naivity
(the meaning of light is there is no darkness)

night,

i am the transmitter
i am the one who takes from the abstract energy and
channel it into substance you can touch and feel
words of wisdom and images of grace
i turn ideas into objects, i turn fantasies into
desires- i turn your days in a better place to be
i make of your life a journey,
i fill all blanks
i create a space where you can be,
this is being a pure artist
i create trees i create skies
i plant seeds that will bring you flowers
never two times the same
never two times the same

Mariachis are used not to be heard- they exist since guitars have been created, they play since before music was created.
they sing in elevators, they
are like the wind, coming and going, without
phonecalls, they are daily wedding walk, death
ceremony. (la Llorona)
We make a castle with tarot cards, helena knows i know
her future, we shouldn t talk, we wait for destiny
winds.we have all time we can wait
(waiting for a revelation is ok most of the people
spend their life waiting for nothing)
her pale blue jeans comes down- like water falls- blue
baby you, long white bed faded candle light, somebody
else plays the music, nice records, do your thing by isaac hayes, so we
dance, so we make, under candlelight, all shadows we
project become the elements of our pleasure
we are the moving lights
we are the birth of night
Our shadows on the wall are making love, without limits

preparation for the desert:

-you know, penelope, shamans won’t do anything for
you, they are just involved in the pursuit of their
own visions.
-they aren’t spiritual guides, they won’t take you by
the hand, they wont trace a path on the sand, they
won’t introduce you to the coyotes, they wont save you
- you are alone in your quest: they will just make your visions more easy to dive in.
-they have sealed all messages so they won’t have to
share their fears.
-Shamans will cross the river but they will get wet. If you want to remain dry,you better choose another road.

"je crois seulement qu il faut que vous soyez dans un
etat de revolution constant, ou bien vous etes mort"
jim morrison

soundtrack: latin simone by gorillaz

* * *
A feast of light / Part 5

"A true seeker could not accept any teachings, not if he sincerely wished to find something."
-Siddhartha, Hermann Hesse

gypsofia
flowers are distance reducers

we have to accumulate in this lifetime a maximum of
experiences, even if we have to live them only once,
just to know, we are not here only to fill our known
desires but to travel and experience the unknown
we have desires we dont even know yet they are
desires, some parts of us are hidden into our
unconscious, some silence now are seeds of future
desires,

soundtrack: moaner by underworld, followed by skym( beaucoup fish)

* * *
A feast of light / Part 6

"Tu as le pouvoir de rappeler aux hommes qu'ils sont entièrement libres."
-Avalokitesvara

a real novel by we inc.

aztecs birds are playing drums in front of the
cathedral- at the zocalo
the light is very special, particules of stars dance
around faded landscape, very pink
very hypnotic- very mysterious
i am drinking at a terrasse, some blue cocktails, i
feel fine and lonely,  the days are getting longer,
like everlasting rainbows, or silence makes me feel
every second, my fingers are dirty, many dried colors,
flesh goldmine. i stare at the
waitress she is thin like bambu, pretty like a bee, i
am playing with the reflections of light on her
skin-her shoulders shining like stainless steel
soldiers. serious indian lips, matte skin, she haves a
name i don t know
she haves a name we will know
will she take a chance in a motel room , in my shower
will she take me higher, just before dawn
we make a hole into the universe,
and we vanish into erotism

i suck the tears on your face
on your skin sadness left some traces of grace.
you better shine
you better dime the lights
you better be mine
we are the dead of night
we are the fishes of light.

i hold you body like a sacrifice lamb, i hold your
breath like warm winds, a colored queen, feeding my
tongue with snakes of light
all night long she hold me tight, we ride under
moonlight, she is my bullfight,
- i want to give you more than i ever gave before

THEY ARE PLAYING PEACE ON EARTH
THEY ARE PLAYING OUR LIFE, WE ARE KISSING THEIR WIFE
i am feeding their own fears
i took white flowers from their garden
and we have created our heaven
we have make their bullets shine
we took their grapes to make some wine
under moonlight my friend
we ride till the end
(is it just another prophet approching in the sky)

if i only had the time to write this story, if i could
find the right witness.
-the right witness, i guess, would be a young lady,
eyes like rice fields at moonsoon.

i am fascinated by the thin line between rituals and
routines:both are things we repeat periodically, but a
routine is when you are not conscious anymore o f
repeating the same action, and you feel no more
pleasure doing it, in ritual you are always conscious
of the elements, it is fullfilling and generates
energy.

 

Above and awake

"refusez la tentation de l assouvissement, a tout
prix"
Emmanuelle Arsan

salvador says to me
- our ultimate mission is to disappear before end, to
leave opened doors, unfinished sentences, plans of
temples to build, we can t give all answers and
complete the circle
we cant give away all the flowers and leave the field
empty, all whispers cant be heard, all kisses cant be
given,
all beauty can t have a witness
some secrets have to survive, some secrets have to vanish: we cannot reveal the entity of ourselves.

so we really ride
i mean, speed is not an issue but our hair dance in
the wind like mermaids in a strong sea .i can t believe we are
all togheter again, running for the same thing we
haven t found yet, the wind is warm and violent by
the window we feel tunnels of air going in our mouth
so we can t really talk,
i am the car music selector, i devote myself to create a scenario
with sound. my intention is real, penelope sings while
she is driving, she prays  to gods we haven t created yet
i wish i have other days to be somebody else than
myself. there is no place like in between two
destinations:time becomes a space we just can fill
with dreams and beauty, she is singing with a certain
delay, thats make all this moment very surreal.
penelope is sharing with us her last erotic discoveries:
a whale tooth as the perfect dildo, and her capacity to hold breath for so
long while reaching orgasm, wich duplicate pleasure,
and ensure your passage to eternity
- we have a new chance to write the past
witnesses to our stories become the transmitters so
they can transform the past.

- avez-vous deja connu l extase?
lui dis-je

soundtrack: universal mind by the doors

* * *
A feast oflight / Part 7

"We bring a lot of money today for the Gypsies,
Wake up, girls
The day is breaking already."
[Hungarian Gypsy song]

we are on our way to meet the spirit of victor in his
favorite temple, the desert. the road is a beautiful
place to abandon yourself into images from the past< a
fusion of reality and things that only happened in
your mind, the line is so thin,
animals in the dream of the hunter have a soul, a
perfume, a complete life,hunters in their dreams face
real dangers, gates and crossroads. Hunters in the dream of the animals…

my hands on the leather wheel become feathered fingers
and the road a river and rays of light kisses from
mermaids, sand is water, other cars i don t see
palmtrees are candles on my skin, clouds are giant
dragons chasing my identity, rabbits running across
are whispers from our ancestors, her long fingers on my
gold skin are animals chasing a promise land
- i can tell you what you already know, helena, and
you will be a satisfied listener,
we ride along the pyramid of the sun, we smoke, we
drink wine,
-but all the unknown, princess of light, is all that is
inside you, is all that what you really are, all this
can be brought to the surface. Your salvation is hidden into your secrets: reveal them, to you and to us, to the universe.

we are writing a new alphabet on amate paper, now
somebody else is driving how could i remember who when
we are all one-we create a secret langage, new
divinities, mythology of the moment,
our personnal legends are merging, as deep it is and far from
reality, is in fact the story of the universe, by
creating a personnal langage, we in fact reach the
universal conscious: I am becoming the desert.
*the more you travel to reach the centre of yourself,
the more you reach the universe*
-this world is strange, penelope says
-i do not want to be drowned by all discoveries
science is making
-to learn by yourself
salvador- to breathe the perfume of innocence
helena- to have daily illuminations
we- to connect the magic dots by yourself
penelope-to forget all reasons of your existence
salvador- to smell a perfume for the first time
-everytime
-the first time
-the first time is every time
-to vanish in a never repeating mantra
-a never rehearsed euphoria
-the first time is our time
-we are we
-the first children of the world
-we are virgin and free
-our legend haven t been told, we will write it on the sand, fragile offering to the winds of the desert.

soundtrack: the prophesy by jeff beal and nawang khechog
* * *
A feast of light / Part 8

"Je m'intéresse à tout ce qui traite de la révolte, du désordre, du chaos, et surtout aux activités qui semblent n'avoir aucun sens. Cela me paraît être le chemin vers la liberté – la liberté extérieure est la voie qui mène à la liberté intérieure."  JIM MORRISSON

helena got silent, closing her eyes, tears coming,
rivers of melancolia. she wishes she can be virgin
again,
-i wish i am i wish i can
hallucination engine: victor appears, glorious and voiceless.

we love to create little stories between us- welcoming
one day an imaginary friend-eating sleeping drinking
with us, we keep a place for him in restaurants,
we order food and wine for him. sometimes we resurrect people,
jim morrison or siddharta, betty blue, picasso at
seven years old. last night, black emmanuelle made love with
us-infinite lust we could see her eyes and our tongue
on her skin left some sand. fiction takes now a bigger
place in our lives, we are a novel who takes place in
reality. we are not affraid to travel at the gates of
insanity. Picasso is painting with a bamboo stick in the sand, a dangerous dragon making love with a bull.
sometimes, we can stay in silence for a  few days,
without words without music, just eyes and touch and
perfume. last time we came to the desert, we havent
eat for seven days. these are our trips, our life
experimentations. These are our doors.
our life is an existence laboratory
we always carry a recorder with a microphone,
documenting the absurd journey we are on, catching
moments-telling the world his beauty, the screams of
love at night,
we are sponsored by life

we are the resurrection of all your fears.

nobody else exists, we are not looking for friends or
outside energies, we are complete-we are doors and
fire, cars on the road are just like trees in the
forest, other eyes are stars far away, in another universe-we are surrounded by the world we have created
but we are friends of camel bones, copal-lonely
coyotes-full moons-whisky bars-infinite roads- and
empty spaces, lost souls, lust,
we are friends of fast spirits, volcanos in our minds
and winds from the apocalipsis, night riders and
blind tightrope walkers, we are friends of the
impossible, the surreal, we are alone,
we are friends with those who left promise land,
friends with rebels from all nations and visionary
poets, friends with fusionists, friends with the
hunters and the fighters,
friends with people with a mission, friends with those who build, dream ,run and fly.

our friends are the seekers, all others can wait
without us, we do not want to be (entertain), we can’t
swim in illusions, we kill all televisions
everytime we see one, we destroy it
as a symbol, as an action, as romantic rebellion
we love couples who kiss everywhere we hate
individually plastic wrapped flowers
we hate ready-made romantism
we hate people who are always late-
we always arrive before
to set up
to roll into virgin sand
to give a direction to chaos

rain feels so good on our naked skin, we stopped on
the roadside- polaroids offered to the sunflower field,
we start running, screaming singing some gypsy good
time. helena climbs on the roof of the car, she sits
in lotus position,becoming modern buddha, a perfect
motionless divinity, holding hands like antennas to
the gods of abundance. her beauty is untouchable, she
is a fossil of light, the trace of a deeper world. She holds for a few minutes all the archetypes of the world in her body, in her eyes.
road can wait when sky opens
we are becoming so fragile, soul open riding the
feather-snake of light, riding the gods like if they
we re horses. the field becomes a caroussel
a ferris wheel-landscape revolving in a magic cycle,
white birds sharp like knives, sarees dancing in air,
purple, eyes closed, clouds coming to earth whirling
in love, total devotion-animals with words and
voice-new flags new cities new countries, atlantis
coming back-archeology of the irresistible,
the anatomy of the invisible

-a burning lemon tree, middle day, sheeps climbing to
reach the leaves and their perfume, not scared of
fire, covered ladies with clear messages, with the
most beautiful voice you ever heard, motionless,
staring at the desert. we haven’t teach them to
visualise the future, even if it is close like almost
now, so near
hands under dress, giving  pleasure to theirselves, in the
middle of reality
they just have eyes to calm the fire
sheperds free of sheeps, he counts
timeless time, they are dressed in medium blue, in
between two moons
-birds with shoes, monks with enterprises
-shoe shiners with gay lovers
-optometrists with third eye opening
my mouth is volcano- my tongue is lava- her skin is a
land on fire, her fingers are snake charming me
without hesitation

the food we need we take
the love we have we give

soundtrack: killers cars acoustic version by radiohead

* * *
feast of light 9

"Pour acquérir ses pouvoirs surnaturels, le chaman doit retourner à la source de la création, symbolisée ici par le rocher de cristal divin; on l'atteint par un chemin en spirale, qui franchit la montagne aux quatre pans (à droite, au début) et le rideau de rayons solaires représenté ici pare des lignes ondulées. Comme le projet de l'alchimiste, l'ascension du chaman, ou sa sescente, est un voyage réel, perçu par l'imagination, qui abolit toute distinction entre le dedans et le dehors."
Internet ride

-i wish you can see what i see: slow movements behind
the sun, ballerinas dressed with clouds and angels
falling like passionate bees around flowers at spring.
delicate wisdom dancing,
-i wish words can transmit my state now, timeless
peace.
i caress her legs with my tongue, reflections of my
inner world , in the wind and speed
‘ I don’t know anymore where I go- I just go’   -Bob dylan

(somewhere outside, there is a television, preaching
nothingness, dedicating this moment to a certain
cataclysm, a violent moment where nothing happened)
we fast driving and hand clapping, whisky drinking:
future wont disappoint us,
frequency of dreams: being a monk is traveling through
all extremes and excesses with the same force,
discipline and purity, i can be a tight rope walker
sometimes i feel so lonely, sometimes i just want to
be alone,
sometimes, i cry because life is so beautiful, a
little detail can reaches me like a bullet, other
times, i am totally untouchable, so far from the
outside world
my day: reading a book of poetry, leaves in trees,
playing with mexican children, wondering about the
movement of the dolphins in the ocean, creating new
territories between two emotions, alchemic researches
to discover a new color: my life as a fisherman,all my
dreams are births of new paintings, all my moments are
filled with the deep desire of revolution: mystic and
esthetic, all the world have to be repainted with
giant symbols, words of liberation,
art is a way of life, everything i see is
automatically transformed, changed, transferred in
another structure, with a new meaning, this is a
permanent revolution. Devotion is so close to abandon,
just on the other side,

we stop at night in a white and rusted pink motel:
after 12 hours on the road: my mind is blowned away: so
much silence, music, beauty, red wine and visions
revealed by escaping eagles. We already feel the
presence of the desert, not very far north,we are
gathering around the swiming pool, too wasted to reach
our rooms, still thirsty by life: a nice place close to
nowhere to stare at the stars. we sit in long chairs,
in circle. The mexican man brings bohemian beers and
tortillas, and some words of advice about legends of
talking coyotes hanging around, returning souls and dead Zapatistas haunting the night road
we talk about the milky way, celestial nomadic roads,,
about the power of love and the emergency to all
connect, we, people from around the world, and really
pull out this revolution; freedom-beauty-eternity
-it will be a constantly moving energy exchange
, going from one
land to another one, accumulating energy and
people, visionary souls, modern gypsies,
we have to take over cities, with sound flowers and
instant beauty, transforming normal days into magic
ceremonies

-i feel useless tonight, abandoned, sitting in a
plastic longchair, giving new names to stars that we are
existing before the creation of words,
-serve me more wine, more time
-give me the power to abandon my life in the hands of
this vision.

revolution was simple before, with soldiers and guns: but
now the boudaries are more subtle, there is no
question of territories but more about a state of
mind, a consciousness, a level of energy,

we can’t all meet in paris, at the terrasse of a cafe,
there is more center: nothing like pop movement in new
york, or surrealism in europa, muralists in mexico in
the 1920s,
eluard picasso riopelle rivera breton bunuel were all
living on the same streets,
these days are over, the revolution is nomadic, it is
movement, velocity: your speed and your visions give
more speed to the totality,
we are building a new world with other artists from
all over the globe, we are connected by the same
visions but we never have seen each other eyes,

- but by moving with the existence circus: those
hidden seekers will come and find us, we will be so
visible, easy to reach but untouchable,
the ceremony is about to begin

salvador try to whisper; writing more about it becomes
useless: the legend will happens while we write it.
-a never completed poem, with new layers always

(we took our blood to create a circle on the floor,
we all came in the center, we sealed a pact of total
devotion, i knew all of this was on my shoulders, i
was the only one with a mind clear enough to pull that
out. my bridge from dreamland to reality is very
strong, a fast bridge we can abuse)

all of us will be so many people our energy will be
infinite and immaculate,

soundtrack: i talk to the wind by king crimson

* * *
A feast of light / Part 10

"Hebrews used letters from their alphabet to represent numbers, so every word had a numerical value. This could be used to interpret the hidden meaning of words. Kabbalists thought that words and phrases with the same numerial value were mystically linked." Charles Seife

a tale of modern shamans and nomads on wheels

winds and the first sands, the door of the desert:
cemetary of light, bones of coyotes and lonely men,
the land of no protection
security does not exist in the desert, shadows follow
you; sorrows are part of your own anatomy. All your
fears here will find a nest into reality. All movement
now is an illusion, there is no more destination, no
distance between two points,
long winds, sun is wide, open,
rebirth is not necessary, you have already reached the
end of all your lives
you are vulnerable, here
you are all of you, here,
you can’t lie, here
there is no place to hide, even your memory is fading
like vampire at sunrise
ennemies are just the reflections of your own fears
coyote echoes,
modernity does not survive here, our car looks like a
sailboat abandoned on sand, our eyes look like holes,
our mouth a tunnel to nothingness
words wont find their echoes
spirits exist before they appear to you; we are like
kites for them, a toy, a distraction to challenge the
winds
the long winds, voiceless fascination.Truth is the only thing that remain, here, everything else is fading away.

she stares at my ring of fire, in the very middle of
the night, stars hide theirselves behind purity,
penelope is kissing salvador on the eyes, repeating
with devotion
-make me see what you see
eyes are not a good tool in the desert, other
voices come out of our mouth, we are dancing around
the fire,
with fire
long winds are gone, sleeping behind the hills,
red wine waterfall, philosophical decadence, we are
touching infinity without gloves,
we are throwing wine on our heads, music plays from
the car,
for the seventh time in a roll,Le bolero de ravel, ( by the Montreal philarmonic orchestra conducted by Charles Dutoit)
so loud-day birds come to witness the end of the world
music plays like knives into my skin, like tropical
rain, like a blind child taking your hand and telling:
-capture the moon,

we dance without control, letting go totally,
charming all the snakes and loving all vipers,
squeletons on ancient coyotes start moving, all bones
coming back togheter, in a second life, to come and
dance with us like resurrected vodu puppets, penelope
is whirling naked around the fire, gypsy screaming
holding hands, puppets laugh and run,
kissing penelope, revealing her second skin to us, ( Salvador recites poetry
i mean, we are getting really high, we are reaching
this point of the ceremony where there is no more
boundaries anymore, no witness, no guides,  no judges, no
spectators, we are becoming one, free,
free of us
free of our body
our actions will never being registred by no one, no
one will ever write what they lived, no pictures will
be taken, no souvenirs will survive the sunrise,
we are reaching a sphere outside time, outside us,
bigger than us
we abandon our own individuality, all our desires and
vanity disappear, all our faith vanished, setting free
giving everything we we re affraid to loose,
giving to our skins what we never have touched
giving what you can t take back
giving time
diving into the unknown without a safety net.

time is the provider,
-do you have enough power and fragility to receive
what you have never gived?

a jubilee: a release, we feel free from voices, free
of roads
lips humids and open, helena whispers to us;
-all limits are faded, we can look at the sun with our
eyes,we can provoke eclipses.
-we can walk without leaving traces, poems ,
salvador, mouth full of sand and death and love
screams

-i am the prophet of things you can touch, i am the
open hands receiving birth
-i am the hands releasing death
-i am the provider, the field of flowers, all the
unknown is what we are running for, all the
unknown is a moving temple inside of you
running is useless, burn this car, burn this car,
(purple reflections in the setting suns: garden of
light)

- do you know my biggest dream,to build a fountain, my
fountain, a fountain that contained all my universe,
the merging of all my visions
-do you know, my biggest dream, i mean, did you really
took time to know myself,

penelope is satisfied by all this emptiness around and
inside, now, she is satisfied with the doors:not
necessary going through them, wich is the hardest thing to do, you can see eternity, feel it
for a few seconds, but to really travel inside, you
need the pure intention, the total abandon
we sleep inside a circle of fire so we are protected
from the snakes, all our legs togheter,
far into the night, we are talking. slow.
we are whispering the future, sharing our empty hands,
free of destiny lines, brigning back to the surface
hidden parts of ourselves, really feeling the after
ceremony syndrome: this ultimate cold and awakeness
but so hazy, so slow, surreal,calm like sea birds
after hurricanes,
salvador is tracing a road on the sand with a knife, i
am playing with my fingers in the hair of Helena, we bleed.
-maybe we just can’t be complete alone, on this planet;
maybe we need this other part that is missing to us to
complete the circle
hermaphrodite
the distance between us and the stars is
reduced, separated only by the velocity of our visions

-there is things i can t tell you
-there is things we have killed today
-there is things we have lost, we are empty
-ready to be filled, ready to be

"La création de l'œuvre d'art exige et implique une certaine dose de sensualité et une certaine dose d'orgueil, elle suppose, par conséquent, une certaine complicité, parfois inconsciente d'ailleurs, avec le Diable. Un artiste qui n'a pas quelque familiarité avec le Diable, ne serait-ce que pour l'esquiver et le dominer, ne peut être un véritable artiste."
[Giovanni Papini]

soundtrack: Le bolero de ravel

* * *
A feast of light / Part 11

"Wisdom is not communicable. The wisdom which a wise man tries to communicate always sounds foolish."
-Siddharta, Hermann Hesse

 

-happiness is a state of mind
salvador seems so thin, so small, in our desert
-we are people of bigger visions, we have a certain
respect of ourselves,
-we live in a constant rebellion, a constant
illumination
salvador plays trumpet, to dive, opening his self to
the universe, giving all that he is, eyes like
fruits falling from trees, provoknig sings that will
transform our life
-this thing is not build for people like us, we live
between words
-we live before future-after past-but not exactly here

(our acts won’t take place in reality, our revolution
will be from the inside)

morning: we feel one, bodies all togheter, naked but
protected, in sands, skin rising, holding
hands,between her legs i found my prophet, a guardian
snake, images are confused, music from the car, do
your thing by isaac hayes,penelope went for hunting,
fruits from the cactus, chasing white rabbit:this is gonna be a glorious
day.
rabbits are curious, they come closer, feeding us with
theatrical fears from illusionists, traces of love in
the sand, salvador is preaching old poetry, standing
proudly at the edge of his death, barefeet, on a
little hill, receiving beauty and giving its
consequences –dressed in a perfect fit Armani black suit

‘-human creature, listen to the king
animals with desires, the queen will be released
all her clothes will be removed, she is ready for
love,

all animals of the court come closer, curious; snakes,
coyotes and eagles, lost domestic sheeps,

all of you, the king said:all of you that never
touched a queen
come on down,
the queen is on,
on your skin
licking your seven sins,

playing with your skin
she makes you dancing

playing with your skin
she makes you dancing

we are playing with boundaries of unexisting
countries, all birds fly in the same direction, there
is must be a feast over here
a nest of abundance, migration birds always come back to the same point
mexicans with dirty dresses ready for cheap love,
bring where i belong to,
-naked as ocean children, the queen is yours, sand in
eyes, voices blinded like birds in sandstorms, voices
like whispers of free ladies in a Los Angeles park at night without
witness; an invitation you can t refuse.
aggressive salesmen on weak horses selling echoes from
seashells, a resort in the middles of silence,
experience nothingness for a week, full of grace
the queen almost virgin every morning catches
messenger birds,
leaving eggs to experience mortality
snakes feeding their ennemies
economic poison

i said to her:
-the weakness of your ennemy is reducing yourself,
eagles whirling over empty fields, over us
sunset will come along the way, a bottle of tequila,
spirits of solitudes all united here, we reach a
little castle, can we repeat eternally the same
revolutionnary patterns, freedom always
like yesterday
-freedom is not exile?, she asked,

queen appears, dressed with diamonds, memories of
luxury,
and silver rings to complete weddings, two rooms with
hidden passage, the queen appears, dressed
with our skin, and feathers
her fingers, short, no,
very long
very long

they told me queen is dead
but she lives inside of me
inside of you, with long nails and eyes pretty

soundtrack: set the control for the heart of the sun by psychic tv

* * *
A feast of light / Part 12

"La nature fait ici reproche au chimiste qui pensait pénétrer ses secrets avec l'aide de la seule technique, se fiant à l'art mécanique et oubliant de cueillir les sympathies et de rechercher l'illumination."     alchimie

the queen is dancing, nostalgic and free, loosing
diamonds, releasing all the pearls in her eyes for
seven minutes of love, broken necklace, useless ring
-hey you, come here in the dark alley, nobody will
see,you need money, i need to forget my day.

my opium you will be , come on, come in my car, come
closer,
the queen walks in, feeling the stainless steel on her
naked legs,
the poet says: two visions on each side, i try to
reach your lips,
-there is territories we can t give, even for a castle
a nice future, even with eyes closed.
you remember, telling everyone the sunset in her
eyes, you hold her hands, memories of violence from
wars,
wars before your birth, can we really share beauty?
the queen is leaving the desert, leaving traces of
love on the sand, she vanishes into open sky, lost and
surrounded by walls of regrets and weakness, good souvenirs-expensive hidden polaroÏd.

road becomes smaller; it leads to the tale of the
snake, where we meet the poison:valleys begin, soft
hills, we stop the engine when we go down, listening
the echoes of the wheels on the road, eyes half
closed,drowned into happiness-timeless times.
-time always send me away
-i have always left before end,a sense of
resurrection, a rebirth proptection system inside of
me never send me to dead ends
helena is taking my hand, looking at my palm, on the
red leather seat,
-i wish i can teach you, i say, to walk in the dark
with a smile on your face
i whisper: we are so useless
-all our tears do not fill oceans, they dry on our
skin

-all our illuminations do not make the moon brighter
i give time to my words so they can travel into her:
like old red wine.
-arent we just here to joy: your pain is useless,
doing nothing but destroying yourself: you are
powerless against the universe. Helena declines my offer to go capture the moon

i elevate my voice, to trace a line between dreamstate and reality
-do we really care about this world surrounding us, do
we really feel concern about its future-do we have any
kind of faith,
-do we really belong to anything, do we still have a
past, do we have to carry all memories from before,
shall we recreate our own legend everyday? With new visions?

-look around, all these devoted humans sacrified,
totally devoted to build our freedom,do you feel you
have to go back and fill a blank-this world is yours
spread your wings into the fire
let the sun takes you higher.

her eyes full of tears, in the wind, into the sun,
becoming one with surrounding forces. we cut the
desert into two pieces, our car is a knife
truth will be separated from illusions, the earth will
open, bleeding, fire, agony of liberation,
-this is a glorious day
all on our knees, we create a new god to pray

dragons of silk come in numbers from the clouds,
leading to the north, a wedding walk, holding candles
and passions, a rain of petals, bathtubs on wheels,

-there is not a lot of things you can learn from
in this life.
gates are diamonds in our lifetime; it belongs to us to
gain enough personnal power between two gates.
hesitation is a weapon against ourselves: they will
open for a few seconds,thse gates, you will see, the shaman said,
they will open for seven seconds. But time is
worthless when you are ready.
Hesitation will protect you from diving into the gate.
Hesitation will protect you from existence.

all you need is seven seconds, and this is all you
really have, anyway, to receive and give all of you,
to transform everything you touch, everything you see,
everything you feel, everything they do, in all your
acts the beauty and tragedy of the universe is
contained. Seven seconds is all you really have to be transformed.
we have a private meeting with the sun, days without
restrictions, to look at him in his eyes, and really
be honest,-and i saw what i needed: islands and immortality, i saw peace and furious
movements, eruptions,revolution, rebellion, pleasure
and abandon, he was at the right place, ahead of our
road, immaculate with dirty eyes, dressed in rusted
cotton dress, holding bambu stick, skin so dark eyes so
pale,a fusion of all colors, the goldmine at the birth
of the rainbow, faded by so many years under the sun,
a walk at coney island with portuguese fishermen,
so many years under the sun,
so many hunts on the run
he asked us:
-what are you looking for?

-a feast of light, i said gently, birds on fire.
the shaman said-
-sit down, share with me this dry dear meat, we have
time before they come,
they will come in numbers.

soundtrack: never let me down again-depeche mode

* * *
A feast of light / Part 13

"L'originalité est le retour à l'origine."
[Antoni Gaudí]

we sent messengers to the temple,with a rolled
message, a love letter to somebody that does not exist
men with horses
and men without are coming with gifts,by the hills
dresses made of seashells, televisions on wheels, massage
oil,stolen diamonds, whispers from paris, secrets of
salvador dali, they told us a new child is born,
sheperds are coming with colorful sheeps from the northern valleys from the hill , with lanterns and dirty
cotton dresses, with sacrifice lamb, fossils hidden in
purple rocks, seeds of unexisting trees, a woman ,
blind man comes with a telescope, and a captured star in a
leather bag, a child brings milk in wood cases,
missing mother, she is gone, with a faithless milkman,
a secure future,(…..) souvenirs from all aroud
his eyes reflect time-wishings, prayers-
cows sacred from ancient countries, a sailboat in the
desert, immortal captain. selling red shoes and
perfumes from the future, a secret map to reach his
soul. I paint the portrait of the new child on the sand.
engine rides again without light into the
night-heartbeats fast but regular, like running faster
to escape from a sky dragon, gracefully moving into
air, a certain silence between words without meanings.
salvador- all meanings come from the space between two words

every second becomes century. we look around. we look
inside, we all have the feeling we have been here
before
RECOGNIZED BUT NEVER SEEN BEFORE
music from a caroussel, in my mind everywhere, we are
taken by a whirling sensation, without touching
ground, the earth,without any prophet any messages
from the sky-we know the place and the hour of our
death.
sky opens with sophistication, mountains pregnant of
future visions, bird s birth under the car, a field of
eggs, are you sure you come from your mother
we have left the road since a while, we just go,
guidelines are rocks and other things,
the sun is still very young, the reflection in the
eyes of our ancestors
car stops, driving no more this must be the place
with delicate colored fingers, i push a disc into the
hole,volume to the limits- lalena by donovan
we move fast, one is making a fire, hunting for dead wood,
placing indian carpet around, preparing some coffee,
we create a big circle on sand with small rocks,
around us, around the fire, i paint words on them
un-linear poetry to afraid the scorpions and charm the sand mermaids.

-seekers will find- lovers will love- there is flowers
there will be fruits- fire in our hands / feast of
light- THE SEEKERS. Landing from a trance state is always a fascinating experience: a mixture of fear, serenity, soft euphoria and delicate mystification.

i build instant sculptures with wood sticks, peacock
feathers and seashells, torches and candles, a temple
with skin
i trace symbols with coyote bones- symbols we can
touch, symbols we can travel in symbols of secret alphabet
we instal seven white vails in the wind, we are ready- music gets louder

a walk into the valley of desolation, rebirth and
consciousness,
we walk in a perfect line, separated each other by 200
feet, sunglasses and territory wonders-we absorb the
notion of distance, we make giant curves,
tracing invisible lines, painting the land,singning all
the same song but with a delay
we stare at invisible road- for the ultimate ceremony,
to open doors and break on through the other side of
reality
we can t really see with our eyes-we hunt with our
intentions
-i am scared of giving myself- i always keep inside an
escape, a secret land where i am out of reach
truth comes to those who seek for it
we cant look on the ground to find- we let the rays of
light take us- magnification march- regular steps to
reach natural world, liquify in the universe
pattern,all ideas fading, internal dialogue over, we
are becoming just channels- cactus appears, peyotl,
flowers offered to us
we sit, eating the flower, calm but excited, we know
journey begins, rituals exist without us- we just
slide in like intruders, to see, what eternity looks
like- we are guest in the house of love

*put your arms around me like a circle around the
sun*
donovan, 1968

* * *
A feast of light / Part 14

"When someone is seeking," said Siddhartha, "it happens quite easily that he only sees the thing that he is seeking: that he is unable to find anything, unable to absorb anything, because he is only thinking of the thing he is seeking, because he has a goal, because he is obsessed with his goal. Seeking means: to have a goal: but finding means: to be free, to be receptive, to have no goal."
-Siddharta, Hermann Hesse

(a gift from Emmanuelle)
DESCRIPTORS:
archetype
art
collective unconscious
creativity
dissociation
dream
drug effect
ecstacy
glossolalia
hallucination
hypnosis
meditation
myth
mysticism
numinous element
parapsychology
peak experience
ritual
selfactualisation
tantra
trance

* * *
A feast of light / Part 15

"Ne vous inquiéter pas si vous ne comprenez pas. Laissez simplement la pluie du dharma continuer à arroser le sol de votre conscience du tréfonds."
"Si vous souffrez, ce n'est pas parce-que les choses sont impermanentes, mais parce-que vous croyez que les choses sont permanentes."
[Thich Nhat Hanh]

soundtrack: in a gadda davida by iron butterfly

phenomenal landscape free of humans
body fading spirit awakening,loosing control slowly,
sunrays touch me like carress of feathers
i witness a color transformation into my vision: i
start playing with my perceptions, adding layers to
reality, i make all birds flying slower, fingers
longer another skin – Lizard king in Paris in a bathtub I see him
i separate the lines of horizon
sky and earth move, a river of light between, energy
provider, further from each other, i can almost dive
into the light but my body remains motionless,
enjoying it s last minutes here- salvador stares at
his hands: impossible to believe these hands are his.
i see concrete sings that we are living this world,
still eating the dope cactus flowers, penelope is
still little scared, she resists, not too long,
you can t really resist to the dance of the cobra,
quickly hypnotised, helena plays with fingers in sand
but she sees other things:victor dancing and playing
peace on earth, a soul coming back dancing like
ballerina on her skin- sun is setting, setting us
free: i create purple mandalas made of hundreds of
suns into the sky: i paint with my perception,
accumulating reflections-kaledioscope, making them go
and come back in slow movements: i maintain the vision
for centuries- further, my body and my mind separate
from each other,
my body falls from the hill; my spirit becomes a bird
of light and dive into new skies
when i look at my friends from very high, they become
eggs of light into the night, mystic triangle, a
moving temple, fire becomes dots
NIGHT FALLS AND WE VANISH

without any pretention to ever come back

when a certain consciousness reappears, it is the
birth of a new day,night is pale, i look at my hands
again, remembering the feathers, fingers gold, little
red into the sky- we are all sitting around the fire,
i drink tea, absorbed by the sensual dance of the
flames- i don t know where i have been but i feel i am
coming back from a long journey, dirty, tired but so
alive- i see things around i feel the softness of the
tea on my tongue
penelope embraces my eyes with her warm hands, in her
eyes, i see colors, all, intensity, i see peace
-we we re togheter there, she says really softly, have
you seen me, with you
-my eyes we re seeing you
-my hands we re touching you
her voice is so beautiful, like faraway waterfall into
untouched tropical forest, she was there, i know, we
reached each other at the gates, just before vanishing

last resistance stars are falling, morning is calling,
sky opens,
we look at each other for a really long time, we look
at the hill, east side,
-this is the place we we re: i can make appear
everything now
-i can go back there, at any moment
-inside us, forever
-you have seen the island
-from so high in the sky we came
-you have seen what i have seen, my eyes we re seeing
you
-you have seen the island, the caroussel, the smoke
from the alchemic oven, dancing revolving wood horses,
cream and gold, whirling birds around inside
-i never wanted to stop whirling, fishes of gold
feather rain
-we made love ,whirling,
-i see eagles calling us, bringning the first rays of
sun, lets go to the hill
-i have lived what you haved lived
-i have seen what you have seen
-i see it all, look at hill east, very old
-sun is coming our sun is coming

so we stand and all walk to the hill. already there is
a line of light, growing, total well being blend into
fascination and devotion
we open our arms to the sky- we have survived the night
we have been to the crossroads of our existence, we
have traveled into all our fears, we have see things
bigger than ourselves, we have lived deeper visions,
things we never did before, we have made explode all
limits, we have gave ourselves totally to the desert,
now light is growing, welcoming us
sun comes to carress us, to praise us
we walk to him, removing all our clothes
he appears form behind the hill: millions rays of pure
white light- we open our mouth,very wide, to be feed
by the universal fire
this is our feast of light

end
dedicated to the soul of victor, my friend

* * *
A feast of light / Epilogue

"Il y a des fleurs
Il y aura des fruits."
-Le père de Florence

letter to victor vasquez

dear victor,
last night, i was walking in alameda park, after a
violent session of painting at rioja hotel, with
spanish wine and elysium, my visions we re not very clear,
drowned into orgy of pure colors, and there, in the
park at 2 am, standing on a birth of a venus statue, in the
middle of a sleeping fountain, there was a standing
man in armani suit with no shoes, screaming all his
love to venus ,coming out of a seashell, i got closer,
intrigued and fascinated by the beauty of the surreal
scene under moonlight,
the man said
-venus, pearl of the fountain, let me take you back to
the ocean.
he started whispering abstract poetry: legends of
passion, angels swimming into the fountain,
i stood there, my friend, silent, until sun came out,
then, he walked into water to me
-lets go breakfast, venus is tired and i am starving
-what is your name, i replied, hypnotised
-salvador, with no second name,with no past
so we went to cafe tacuba, it was little hard for him
to come in with no shoes, but tatjana, your friend was
there so we found a way to hide his feet under white
clothe. I understood I couln’t ask any questions about his life.
tonight he told me he would be in chapultepec, meeting
dyonisos at a secret fountain, i will go and bring
brushes
i am trying to paint a portrait of him now, but i cant
remember his face, just his voice, his barefeet,
anyway, you will have to meet him
when are you come back from buenos aires, we are
missing you, over here.
luna de fiel, still, with helena?
I feel some emergency here, solitude and power give me desire of fast revolution I do not really see myself in time.

carlito, el pintor loco

letter to penelope
sent from venice beach, california

dear young queen,
time runs too fast
i am painting too much, i feel like breaking limits,
setting free for a while
they are strange here, some ghosts slide in their
poetry, helena is not standing alone: i have to feed
her with silver spoon,
i am bringing her to the sea everyday: to feel wind
and erase memory
yesterday, she threw away ashes from balcony: victor
did his last dance into the ocean winds
she sent messages into bottles, she sent messenger
birds but they never came back. Bottles exploded on rocks and hurry blind boats
she is ready to go, she will follows
we will have to find salvador, around alameda, maybe
at the zocalo- in coyoacan on Sundays, close to the church maybe,
his story must be uncompleted
you know, the desert is calling us, we should
disappear for a while, lets escape from our little
hidden paradise. Let’s be bigger than ourselves
one kiss
ps-  please, it is useless to bring another pair of
leather shoes for salvador, he will give them away, he
needs to feel earth with skin

carlito dalceggio-
completed in between two invisible destinations around 2002