19-04-2003

 

 

WEDNESDAY MORNING, 6.30 a.m. - The outlaw's odyssey

 

Wednesday Morning, 6:30 a.m..... what I've done.. oh, WHY have I done it?......

I hid my dirty soul behind a dead corner, my eyes were hard-weeping and my

leg heavy-bleeding, warm blood, for a freezing heart, I could hear the echo

of a distant bell riding its sound over and over my head, while the sand along

the pavement got red-coloured and my regrets steadily were growing, me, only

me in the deserted, shocked-to-death village, me... awaiting my turn to come,

before I could end roaming along a nameless road, beggin' and bleeding, slowly

dying... I was to kiss death and asking for water, I tried to borrow a lonely

child's impossibly genuine smile... it was nothing more than a foolish lapse of

reason, for a fool sent to the Combo of the Disappeared..........

I robbed a bank, yesterday, and I robbed my very life, today; I started

sweeping like a menacing snake through the dusty track, while my irregular

breath was counterpointing, with deadly sound, a damn fast heartbeat....

My wounds were eating the few glimpses of faith left, and swallowing my

corrupted but still flaming soul. I felt a raging crowd whispering louder and

louder, getting closer to me, and crushing my broken shoulders, a long stream

of blood was getting out of the Big Red-Bottomed Saloon....... After a while,

I "crashed" into a nice, all-white-skirted lady. She was blind although her

eyes looked inspired and deafeningly lightful, the kind of light I had lost

many years ago. She had fire and passion, but did not ask for compassion,

a slightly enigmatic expression for a second "stabbed" my heart; I felt

roaring pain mixed with understated joy, love might be her never-ending

void; she kept acting just like an old, smoothly insane diva.... "Is she a revol-

ving spyral or a thundering hurricane very next-to-come and kill me...?"...

A couple of minutes and I found myself in a cobwebbed cage full of misery

and decadence, then... then a tight, warm embrace. She kissed with involving,

dramatic scenical passion my wounded lips... She started saying.....

"I can hear your fast-growing heartbeat and get the smell of your blood

falling off your seriously injured leg... what happened to you?... I guess

you are bound to vanish, what is not to vanish will be your impossible crime...

Please, don't stare at my blindness or don't watch my tears descending

on your blessed lips.... my spirit is about to get raped and murdered by the

Goddess Indifference... she already killed me, a long time ago... now I've

forgotten, even if I will be disappearing through the ashes of shot-dead

prisoners and fugitive outlaws....."

All of a sudden, I heard shot-guns over shot-guns beating the temporary,

peaceful silence, the air seemed to be broken and the Great Sentence

decided it was time to break free... I had the weird, sharpened feeling

of being part of an old-aged western-movie, occasionally revisited and

turned into a frightful, unpredictable "noir-like-drama" by a mad director

....... I was still standing on my feet watching the blood coming out..........

My mind began to implode into fever and distorted visions....... I was moving

...and not moving... it was me.... but not me........ I desperately shook my

very last thoughts of rebellion and free-spirited pretensions........ I could

only dream of... I had heavy loads of hate chasing me, my sense of redemption

was keeping me alive and conscious..... No pity for the getaway, one more

chance to a new, blistering, truculent massacre.....

....ALL DEAD... ALL DEAD... while the Central High Street was still bleeding

and pouring its innocent souls, mixed with the outlaw's harsh-smelling body....

....wifes and mothers were crying over their husbands and sons' obscured

heads. Tears and blood, once more.

And for the next day to come, there we'll have new sentences to declare,

but no more grief and sorrow to pour on our dear innocence gone lost,

that kind of innocence maybe hidden beneath the child's impossibly genuine smile.

 

TELEMACO PEPE

 

Questo testo Ŕ depositato presso www.neteditor.it e quindi coperto da diritti d'autore. Esso non potrÓ essere riprodotto totalmente o parzialmente senza il consenso dell'autore stesso