Poor of us, my love, poor of us.

Wednesday 9th,

in dumb Occident.

Poor of us, my love, poor of us.

What are you doing? Do you eat enough? Lately, I enjoy going to the butcher shop. I have to go past the village and the bridge, I see the river over the stones on the way there and the stones under the river on the way back, and I think of you. I like meat and vinegar. I write for this reason, though: I think I’m sure that the world deterioration is hastening. I see its consequences: did you noticed that the new year proceeds faster than last year? I’m really worried. I often have nightmares in which someone chases me, but the same victims of persecution are those who want to catch me, and nothing makes sense any more. Does it happen to you? Do you ever have bad dreams? I miss you, I miss you, come here. Come and check if I locked the door before turning off the light. I don’t know if you’re worried about what happens, but the world has always been unfair and so it goes, you’ll say. It’s true, but it seems to get worse at sight in this new and fast year, why? It scares me. What do say, you read those newspapers too, did you noticed it? There’s no way to read the news in the morning without feeling disgusted! It ruins my breakfast and so my day and, what is more, I feel ashamed that I fell in the trap, giving it relevance, like a fool, letting this degenerates ruin my day. Death, death, death and small talks, revolting chit-chats. What do you think? What shall we do? Don’t tell me to do nothing, I won’t fall in their trap anymore and I won’t do anything for them, no more favours to this degenerates.

My darling, will this ever end? Will they ever stop being so stupid? I’m bothered by the new year, and I was already worried by the last one, imagine, with those brutalities that threateningly seemed to me just a dawn or a first sign of something else, something worse. And all this happens despite you and me and this coffee with honey, despite every patency of our reason, every blossom on every plant. I’m afraid for us, for all the good things, for your plans and my illusions. I’m afraid for everyone, for those who die, those who kill, those who pass away or kill deep inside. Re-destroy and reconstruct. We ended up in the re-destroy period, and even if we might make it, it would be a tragic joke. We might be living bodies, but between human ruins becoming taller and taller. And nothing is learnt and the basis of mankind are forgotten, and the wars are just wars, all different and all the same, disgusting. And everyone loses oneself and the others.

The re-destroy phase chills me, this is why I’d like to hug you beneath your jacket and have one or three beers with you. Have you seen the picture I sent to you? Do you like it? I found it on an old Sim Card, you took it (I like the bones from back coming out like a little dragon’s crest). I know I should tell you funny things, cheerful findings, as- and I agree- our separation is sad enough. Indeed, I tell you I have some beautiful thoughts, happy thoughts, full of different wills or delightful details from my days up here. I have magnificent thoughts, giants, extravagant, but also ant-thoughts, crumb-thoughts. I follow the path made of crumbs and thoughts and I look whether you’re at the end of the track, lying next to the moat. If you’re there, we should dance following that music that cheers up to the bones, making us forget death. That music that makes: mmmmmm…mmmmmm… Do you hear it? I do, and I sing it softly.

In the face of devils and

against all wars,  

See you soon my love,

 

Dora