Warlock Lifestyle

There's a war that will arise soon.
We can all feel it, resounding in our bone structure, in the silence of our rooms.
Those living in high towers or comfortable houses better think about going underground.

I've felt the need to gather a lot of old books, found in odd places,
One euro books, dusty covers & foxed pages.
They tell everything we are slowly forgetting. Some might prove useful when it will come to survive.
Those books did belong to someone, once cherished, now cheaply sold.

Last thursday I drove to the Ardennes, a rural part of  Belgium.
Lot of hills and forests that saw major battles during World War I & II
Stopping at a gas station for coffee and fuel, i ended buying bottles of gin.
So I went to the forest and drank until night and I finally fell into darkness.
Then, I dig a human sized hole in the ground.

Those books have been written, read, owned by people dead long ago.
The houses we live in have been designed & built by people dead decades ago.
Words we use. Religion. Philoshophy. We are living in a cemetery.

This war will be our own.

(Three chapters story written on a Toshiba Satellite Laptop with Shiva sticker because sarvam khalv idam brahma)

Chapter One

Damn.
Don't ever trust a song.

Chapter Two
Today i felt like i really belong to Brussels.
The bureaucratic capital of Europe is also a fascinating multicultural city in a middle of a tiny country struggling with different identities (and langages). People here are called 'zineke' (or dog bastard) because no one can pretend being a true born brusseleir.
Looks like it's a place where you only end. Maybe this city is where the world ends.

Welcome to the home of free thinkers of all kinds, jokers and trashed out artists !

Am i contaminated or did i join this grand circus because i felt, unconsciously, attracted to the
absolute dadaist/surrealist/whateverist atmosphere ?
Here, nothing really matters.
So, after the sad constatation that being serious (and good) at work was getting me nowhere, i choose to explode/explore the limits of my boring (if not stupid) work : stuck in front of a computer all day, repetitive tasks, brainless activities.
I began with changing names on public lists. I turned people into objects or animals with slight letters swaps.
Now i draw on Ms paint. Complex and erotic scenes i copy/paste in public folders.
If they are not checked now, they will be, one day.
First player (still incognito) of a game that gets more and more sophisticated, I spread unexpected sabotage on such a low level that it can't really be taken seriously, and then, punished.
But at the end, it's not the gravity of the acts that will destroy this company but their numbers.
Ninjarnachist, I delicately take the office candies out of their wrappings to replace them
with small balls of adhesive tape. I change the official wallpaper on every computer i work on,
with a five minutes work on MSpaint and some letters modifications, to produce a disgusting fecal joke in place of the company logo. It's right in front of everyone. So perfectly executed you can't see it unless you pay attention.
No one pays attention anymore. But the mind still does. Subliminal, my friend.
One employee can hardly make a company fall. But coworkers are like children. They see funny things and
want to do the same. And they do. Not in a very subtle way for the moment, but Rome has not burned in one night.

Nota Bene / Not all coworkers are the same. I have one evilish competitor. Fearless. Ignominious. This is going to be great.

Chapter Three
Beside those acts of rebellion, i also MSpaint great things at work. Lost pirates, totemic people, portraits.
The few people that saw them till now are quite amazed ^_^
I put a lot of efforts into those pieces, just like the ones i used to do on high school tables,
but i can't take them back home. Can't send them, can't tranfer them.
Engraved upon silicone. Ephemeral art of electricity. That's ok, we all die.

I usually don't like 'dance' tunes. You know the kind, easy. Some may say stupid.
But this one has arrived to the doors of my castle with its marching rythm like an hord of furious englishmen.
Camping in my reptilian brain, they light heavy fuel BBQs. They drink beer and i get stoned.

I usually don't act under the influence of music or lyrics.
But this tune made me take an incredible risk, jeopardizing what i have built those last months.
Playing it continously, I've started to think in loops, obsessive. Thinking in loops, obsessive.
thinking in loops,obsessive.Inking inloops Obsess ive.
Kinginlo ops ssessive in think loopsessive.

 I should have just breathed.

They share an apple at the park, early spring afternoon, lying on the grass.
Can you see them ? He asks.
She nods and smiles.
Yes i see them.
Trees in bloom and children games, lovers and laughters.
Beetles in your thoughts and hungry crows above us.
I'm a hunteress. I fear nothing but the end of poetry,
I'm anxious that all words will come to be said.

He remains silent.
She adds
I see the love we make again and again, perfecting our dances,
letting our bodies teach and learn, wipe and cry.
I know we will tire them to the point they get irreversibly numb.
Until they become dead weights on a wet sheet, leftover meat of a love feast.
We will drown ourselves this way. Enough to forget our sickness.

I've started smoking again.
Inhaling, exhaling the grey smoke
creating clouds to hide the new born sun of spring

I've told the story of us on a map of Barcelona
where we watched the sea for hours, barely talking
where we walked for miles, strangers holding hands

You now live a life on your own, in my mind
Dancing upon ashes of memories, graceful
a smile brightened by the fireworks of my imagination
Cruel phoenix
I'm trapped in a million roses branches net, so help me
Give me scissors to rip my chest open and let you go
Give me poison to kill the feeling

I don't want to love you
I tought you would become a ghost and i am the one howling in the night

Just ask me to steal it for you

This liquid love she talks about
She knows
She knows i'm hooked
Point blank range on dead angle
magic bullets she shoots

Old evil messages on vinyl, played backward,
electric voodoo tricks, blue eyed blond dolly,
She raises the deads
She raises the dead desire in me

I have to ask higher beings
thru my black glass board OuiJa
how to deal
how to deal with such dangerously lovable chimaera
Dragon woman,
Each time she speaks,
She feeds
She feeds the wild fire that burns in me

I'll be her sailor, under the deepest starless skies,
giving directions on those nights,
those nights of sins and whispers,
Her embrace, my final destination, Port Lasciva
Sailing on an ocean
Sailing on an ocean made of amnesia,
No memories else than those avec toi

The soft breeze blowing on her back and in her hair
can now only be the ghost
The ghost of my fingers
But this liquid love may one day give the harshest fever