A Beaumont on a blond pony I spelled your name my sister of tumultuous waters greened up under the luminous line vertigo climbs .
Transient variant on the piano of the halos your dream and your snow mixed up with the disguised edges of our ancestors made me proud on the bitter waves .
Maternal leaves deceitful era you exhausted in slow caresses on a pile of stamped carcasses .
Cry my flower breathe silence on the crepe of our wounds the future as a reflection my love My strength my humility .
Words under the gaze of closed stalls like swallows on a starting line silence of the man who stands at the limits of the territory uttering illusory mirages bravado messages collusion with the desert .
The words these transmitting envelopes these war organs about to become shadows of light are the hollow of a valley for the child curled up in pain . Words speak the meaning in awakened hearts that time scatter for sunny days destroy outer idols .
Words of peace are the seed of the tree of our expectations whose branches rise to the sky of the soul those arms that my nights call in my disposition to receive you intimate deep inside me . O you my friend my secret what signs have I gathered for you made of soft wax, of putrescible matter, of enamored rage to bleed the clouds of doubt O my friend they were wise words a great mystery that has become a well of science the calm contemplation of finitude .
It's a secret to the steps of illusion in the crystal shadow of a spring oblique wandering that no angel or devil could alter immemorial memory outside the walls collegialities of fear .
Sincerity , a flight towards oneself , a flight to the real , the truth of grace not seeking embellishment in a counter-current energy .
The source in the heart of darkness is truth . Let's unload the images of oneself with full dumpsters , let's wake up the strange spectacle of man initiated by his shadow . To the waters of the spirit no habituation , nothing but the vestiges of ancient wisdom at the dawn of beginnings .
In the farandole of illusions remains the core of the origins . Turn without haste the grindstone of the mind collide with oneself and go on a trip , out of the veil towards the doors where man would no longer live by his image . Loving creatures outside of oneself . Articulate the truth with the heart .
Your soul will no longer be divided , works and words forming the unique .
Outside the shadow theater life is not a show , she is adventure to the one who comes out of the cyclops cave . The secret of sincerity breathes life in works and forms .
Too often , do we hear , that : " Follow the Way, the dream of being human, from to be able to straighten the sinuosity of the heart is essential intention . And for that is not necessary not leave, to extricate oneself from the chains of the world " .
This is falsehood !
There is not life , to leave is to avoid the search for the Truth . Chains only exist in oneself .
Rather than being drawn to mirages exterior, protect yourself from your own tricks .
Stop taking refuge behind a fake humility .
Throw yourself into the ocean of providence .
Prefer what you don't know , ignore what you know.
Don't fear the unknown .
The Truth is not veiled .
It's your eyes that wear the veil .
Your eyes , sails that you must open .
The wise man , his , breaks with his habits .
The miracles of the world are terrifying purity , the only way is inner rectitude .
The light at the end of the corridor , the ultimate of the way , a beyond closer to oneself.
Where to go ? Face to face . Listening to others . Walk on a common path . Jeter , as if by chance a look to the sides , just enough not to harm and make the company dance , as in past vigils sort the pebbles in the dish of lentils . Time eternally starting again, under the pen , to the granting of a pouring rain , deploy its panoply open door , on sung hugs remembering drops of water. There were not , clean , writing under the bushel , than the smile that lends itself to saying . There is a narrow passage between the safe interiormethodically built to credenzas of knowledgeand the circle of the children of joy .There are countriesintertwining of achievementswhere the revelation filters .It happens thatthe apple falling from the tree is a marvel .Let's collect the fruit ,wipe it with the clothunbleached canvas ,carry at eye level ,skin texture ,the graceful envelopethe infinite expansion of the germof its extension ,to its fullnessuntil its extinction .In the palace of viscosities of the spirit,pome applebittenallows the pleasure of tasteby burialretrospective juices .The church bell rings .It is four o'clock ,teatimethat the psychedelic cuckoo shells .Let it be known that with good intentions , Health ,with a pinch of judgmentappropriate to the principle of normality .238
If the cart bends and that pieces on the ground disperse the derisory brassieres of the mind .
There would be that look going through absence catechumens in his extinct childhood my mother the order of the dead mother.
There would be pregnant caresses under the canvas that I never believed soft on me .
There would be dry grass covered with crystal frost under the severe burle of a danced crossing of legs .
Looks like affliction tender and tender years of perdition to co-opt carefree passers-by without cries or rest .
My heart is extinguished he saddened the course of time fragile bubbles under the scratch of memory .
The furrows turned cream at the café des solitudes the rotating hemming spoon the reflection of the clouds .
Putting things in place with chairs and tables glasses and cutlery and napkin rings to match .
Living in illusion between pear and lemon prayers and days to come ending in pumpkin slices .
On the go placed on bare ground ran the saxifrage vermin speechless speakers .
Chin confronted the accordions of reason to avoid yours mine positioned on the sidelines .
Sagging figure the glasses at the end of the nose correct spelling mistakes our little passing hands .
Short-scale segmented vertical horses last lift of a smile through the open window . Spell straight out with a tender apostrophe glittery lips froze the sound of churches . Falsely monopolized in a dumpster of manure the body-to-body of thinking bodies desperate embraces .
Slipped under the antlers autumn mushrooms to dig the trenches of a war from which no one returns .
The thread of the sweater lengthens the needles pass then iron the fragile fingers exposes itself without me intervening . face down let's be the rolling pebbles of the torrent under the foliage of a becalmed willow by what will be said of prosopopeia .
My feather without the callus of yesteryear is heard to the east dry blows on the skin of solicitudes the small of the back in enjoyment his hour and then mine all things combined rebelling my beautiful in the offering of free-rider to no longer hear the barbed wire screeching under grapeshot .
His birdcage under his elbowand the rump in Lent a horse passes the horsewoman with the ponytail .The donkey braysthe sheep are bleatinga sound of sheet metal padlock the spaceI callat the crossroadsscents of wet grassthe moonrise .without taking the timeskinny appendagesjointo the lifts of balled woola quarter lowerwings in working order .Inquirefinely choppedduskin the weary fall of the daybitter feverthan a finger of honeyraisestender applicationof the flutewith happy noteschildren's laughter .236
Don't be the "bravo" who braves the silence be the dry root the thirsty moss the stunted mushroom be the welcome for free soup lentils and bacon be an outstretched hand .
be the man the little ready to live women's dance our initiators in love future amulets tender sowing on the sides of the green hills a hot wind fricassee of stars under a shared moon we strays the heart eaters lively in captivating remonstrance bad in hope the falconers of beauty .
Do not avoidthe fangs of reasonplanted on the saddle of known thingswound fractalaccording to the things said .The Divergenceflexible scoundrelfrom among the reeds of avoidancegather the empty hulls of the feast .A grain of ricecan feedthe gendarmes of disenchantment .Du bolthe enslaved multitudewill be thrown awayon the crowned ones of the assumed marriage .Evider ,make the hollow under the eyesof the recognized demiurge ,excavate with a crowbar ,at the Barabas ,the alcoves of oblivion ,to assemble, then danceAn evidencebetween matter and spiritalong the clear gulfsthe truth appeared .And how many things happened in this ignorance Godten eyes of wonder .The Framework of Embeddings of Logic . The vanishing pointwhere everything comes from and everything converges .The roof of the hovels of manbuilding itself .The hands of encounterin the early morning mischievousfrom " Hello how are you ?" .The wound to lickconvergence of the algae with the tongue sea and land combined .black licoriceroot fireobligations of a discipline .The harsh screechingcalame on dry clay .The hollow of dreamsin tender leadunder the shaman's amulet .The Rainbowchildhood coloring pagesin search of recognition .The lifting of the gazeto intense skiesto the skull of the ultimate .Absence d'explication ... Presence body ...God , this evidence . ( photo by Francois Berger )232
Shoutsthe call of honey wordsthe ultimate as a rockon which to ring .The dry snap of the stormunpin his water basinsat the caravanserai of encounters .Women in high passageway the music look feet in the hard granite .They were singingguttural clamorrise of desiresdrawing protective wolf energyunder the heap of dead leaves .Trance in the undergrowththe trumpets picked up the defeats of the nightcurled up beaten dogsin the face of things said in a hurry .He invented the round dance The infinite spurred lightat the front of the cartwobbly legsat the gates of the temple .My soulraised with a slight wave of the handplumb with an evening joytowards the flight of oblivion .The smiles line upthe nodsunder the stage hangerswithout applauseto just silence in itselfvermilion seashellheld by breath .We set offbefore the unknowablelooking for the key to the cityfrom level to levellike to be therethe heart celebratesin improbable crevices .The green man came out of the woodsthe hair lichenthe dragon breaththe flexible lookthe camera at arm's length .It was enough ...and yetthe clothes no longer covered usthe pout on the lipseyes pitted with fiery splintersthe outline of our suggestionsat breaking pointthe horses belchedThere was so much to dothe sand flowed from the spread of the fingersa small heap formedwe put our hope in itour joyour very painat the arrival of a child making a castle by the seain ebb of truths .The ultimate in a snapbroke the moorings with the illusion .Everything collapsedthere was to live .233
