Thursday, 27 January 2011

THE FREIGHT TRAIN

No perishable goods in here. Shake it, shake it… and render to the rhythm. Resting is the eternal ice where inspiration gets lost. Once the spirit neglects its mission, the equilibrium clears off, ruining the castle so laboriously built. Challenging again the fresco paintings, which are who knows how many hundreds of years old? Spitting at your wall from the freight you are traveling in and because of so discouraging the ones that may follow your trail decades after you. There is a burring, and a boiling ending up in motion; I would love to say is mine, take a final determination and put a tag with my name on the crate in which I am transported. Damn, why do I keep on, so incomprehensibly, puzzling over it? It is bringing me somewhere; that is for sure. But arriving to a small village’s halt wasn’t on my plans; I was directing all my hopes to a central station, a main point which would have given some sense to my direction. It is like if the locomotive got on the run, deliberately lost up the fixing points to my wagon. Or no, it is just an illusion. I think my senses are altered by the jolt. I was sleeping for so long I didn’t even notice I was still on board. Waking up was never so rewarding, this noise is delightful! I think I feel like dancing to the percussive roar, from now to extenuation. B_Nour

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