THE NIGHT ...
IN HAMMERSMITH GROVE ROAD
searched that path millions of times but now I still feel like a naked dismayed
in the middle of the street, chased by criminals while in some side-street
they're making love, I can imagine the smell of a warm smile while here
it's damn-dead cold, I'm scary and old, who knows if I make it home
come back to my dreams, all the city's neon-lights are about to die,
a-very-next-to-come raging machine, blood all the way around, a lot
music inside, surrounded by dead-sounds inside, here I decide to stop
a few minutes, my back against the wall, heavily gasping... I can see
very young, sweetly naive couple of university students making love
the bottom of this very narrow path, a heavy rain is falling on us but it's
annoyance, I know it's too late, I missed the nth bus, it's deep night,
midnight and I've just realized I'll have to walk along these dirty
all night long, I feel like being a angel expelled by Heaven and
finding a safe place to hide my sins and cover the long distance, it's
tragedy if I'm obliged to make love with all night's unsafeties and
deformed faces I will run into, and chilling encounters maybe
will talk to... Prostitutes and their wimps are looking me up and down,
me where I'm bound for, I keep walking straight ahead, no looking
while fire and murders are countless and bodies are scattered and
against rubbish and garbage, all of a sudden a woman's air-splitting
announces big danger, hovering between life and death will be
command, all the houses' lights are turned off, and now it's time
turn myself on, escaping from this mad fire burning louder and louder...
keeps falling, it gets colder and I need somewhere to hide my
and fall into parallel existences... I throw myself down into
old pub: heavy-drunkers, drifters and pirates-like blokes
sinking in illimited inches of vodka and maltese whisky........
mixtures of colours highlight dirty stripteasing and
boozing... I found myself against my will discussing with
sailor men once betrayed by their wifes... they lead a dead-end
existence and they do not care... they have racy life-style
do not take care of health or deep feelings............. One of
was supposed to be a "has-been", once-glorious footballer
in disgrace, once beloved and praised by the whole world,
ferociously despised and forgotten by the big audience..........
used to weep on his empty bottle of Russian Vodka..........
sure its only reason left to hang onto..... then..... DEATH........
few minutes, and I get out of the pub, keeping roaming
Hammersmith Road, monster-faced-encounters
stare at my twisted expressions, they're puzzling and
but keep going straight ahead... leaving my
eating the sidewalks and cutting tens of
lights... Doped punks and drugged drop-out are
deformed lights of this gloomy, forbidden night.........
deviant youngsters try to fight with boredom
adult injustice, they're prisoners of dirty ideals
distorted visions... and they love speaking with
and arguing with rape and violence..............
and commiseration, it's nothing more
a caleidoscope of harrowing stories of solitude
pompous statements of death, understanding, compassion
waiting for, looney characters play their
inconceivable part, on an empty,
stage, in front of a non-existing crowd.........
non-melodies..... or arguing with walls...........
getting closer to Hazlewood Park.... I walk
the darkened trees, and give up thinking
wave-dreaming.................and I fall into sweet
and polished dreams............................
I'm forced to quit those sheer moments
golden silence and mellow atmosphere.............
there the monsters still are greedy and
they're coming again and seem
to spare my dazzling, affecting innocence......
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