Fireflies
The story of the two headed eagle, the parisian condor, the amateur phoenixes and the decadence of the open list
This is the perfect portrait of what albania came to be in my life; a two headed eagle, that like any of those noble birds came and ripped my full armored heart in sushi slices. I loot at it, thinking of the thin ice and the fact that man can tame the bird as bird can fly for men, The freedom of choosing to be a slave. I remember their faces, their body, both of them with a different story and both of them so equal in the end and so opposite in manythings. Now It seems they binded into one dividing the eyes in your face for their admirance. living the same life, the same fake freedom of the bird that realized wings can bring you high.. but no further than the clouds... or in this case, the sun, the king sun that I pretend to be.
I found the Albanian flag hanging on my closet the other day, I was looking for a piece of rag to wrap my bread on it, I looked at it, thinking, this is all my story with it.. dark beings, charming and beautiful, under the red blood of the martyrs.. I am no saint, by definition, no martyr, I am a criminal, XXI st century's most elaborate Virus, but Dear, i Will not fight nor lose to you.
there is no true sense to this words. This is all that place was for me, I talk about it, because one year ago I was walking in the streets of tirana, without the required french papers to return here. Tirana started to look like home and with praha, was the only place I felt comfortable. I found over there All I needed in life. in the end, I took it home with me without even realizing that all I needed was just decorating the walls of my life in point of no return. I miss Tirana, the place where there is nothing to do. I miss Albania, the Albania for me. and hell I am getting it back. Kalojne!
EL CONDOR PASA, Hard luck dear, the smell of cold pollution in the air and the warm territorial pissings heating our feet held me this christmas, alone in a jewish quarter while i thought of old times, family and adventures. Rome closed its ways to me so I took a chance to settle peace talks with the city of lights. Dreaming of forgotten great expectations ( what a film) realities (that up to now have come to me one by one) thinking that time will do, time will pass and in the end I get what I want.. it is just a matter of not demanding too much...
I am an old man, not a goodwill sheep hiking along the streets of this Wolrd God left us half built, looking for God, money power and women ( because that is the human dream). dont amaze yourself if you discover that I was me the one pulling the strings for you while you were swimming in the stinking shit you were born among. I remember dear, that look on your face the day you saw me by surprise, so unexpected and self made; not at all like the last memory you held from us, where the Prince was losing his crown and head and the universe under our feet was breaking loose ( in the honour of the utopian hell).. dont stare at me and dont dare, dont dareto be unnice, once you will see that all you will be was my creation and my life's sacrifice...
I have done very bad things. I am not Proud of them, but not ashamed.
I have lived hell, but here i stand; all for the redemption of you.
behold yourself, in the mirror, and dont be proud of yourself, be proud, of this ghost behind you.... that shadow even light from your body sweet amateur fireflie; cannot draw.
The amateur fireflies and phoenixes,
Phoenix, being the alterego of the standard fireflie is what free speech is to avant garde youth and human. the open list is dead, blogs are dead, books and speech are dead. they all got tired of this, no more glory, no more fame, no more softporn dreams or ugly glamour girls comming at your life through written words and passion tales that you would like to add in the stash of your condomfought adventures...
they all got sick of, or probably ran out of greymatter to say...or just, realized that keeping your mouth shut was the most sensible thing to do
The list is dead, speech is dead, this is all dead. I shall hibernate for a little while, let me drink absynth with myself as I dream of charming Eras of Burlesque smelling my own pafrum and looking through my window that rain that burns it all, that bleached out all the emotion of us..
Wake up dear, but dont harsh... I'm about to fuck you
