I desire to drown myself
in the venal charm of a lounge
bar in Pattaya .
The hostess possesses the discretion of death ,
analyzing the lost souls depths ...
There are so beautiful chimeras
that they make you want to trade your skin
or awaken you in the senses of a new scripture.
Dying in paradise is always accompanied
with regrets ...
To finally feel face to lose oneself
in the willing bodies and easy smiles
of urban comedy ...
Time always holds within itself
the illusions signed in letters of oblivion...
Buddha of appareances set aside in the silence
of a few old habbits neglected for too long...
Inner temple both near and far ,
where the monkey welcomes the mad .
I have chosen to live on the edge
of subliminal questions ...
My compass points to dead ends
beyond the after ...
Quixotic jester shipwrecked in the path
of endless inspiration from one never returns...
I take with me to hell the gusto of this sordid red ,
fading away on the dirty glasses of the lounge.
I\'m hanging out on the long morgue street
where trans angels give me a weary look .
Night shift over ,hopeless blues...
Lord Buddha is not a therapist ...
The hostess take my hand tenderly
to Pattaya beach ...
I having one last beer on the pier
waiting for the tsunami that will
sweep me away to an imaginary world
where children dream to becoming
travelers ...