THE HORROR

"It begins with a blessing, and it ends with a curse, making life easy by making it worse. My mask is my master, the trumpeter weeps, but his voice is so weak, as he speaks from his sleep saying: Why Do We Sleep?" - The Soft Machine

"The Horror, The Horror, The Horror"

I watched "Apocalypse Now" yesterday.
The film transcurred in a surrealistic stake of events, like the ones which I have seen have filled my life lately. I remember the weather yesterday...it was desolate grey, the burning ice of the cold burned pale skins, it rained, it failed in killing the optimism.

We're supposed to be in Spring, but the weather is unmerciful. The days of the sun are ending, soon, very soon. Somehow as the people's brilliance and hopes die while they hold on to the illusions of this imaginary and cruel system, I have never felt as strong as in this very moment. I see the news, I see the wars, I see everything that is screwed up, I see the deaths...I feel it is all wrong. I feel as I'm not the only person who hasn't lost it and I feel that our generation must take action, that we need to change the course of things...even though the media has kept us dormant for a long time.

Times will be hard, just reading the local newspaper won't give you uplifting hopes of the future to come. Unenmployment is rising...in the most advanced and civlized countries. What can you expect? Does it enrage you? Probably not, you're too numb to notice what's going around you. Things aren't fine, they are not.

Why do I find myself writting in this abandoned piece of internet codes sent to oblivion after a long struggle of theatrical emotional chaos? I don't know, to tell you the truth. For god's sake, I know that no one will look at this! One of the two people who ran this Blog has put Ctr + Alt + Supr on the memories and has already eliminated this space. Probably for her own good. Who am I to judge?

But I somehow what brought me here is a need to write something. To express something. I still recall the images of Apocalypse Now...it all started with the typical jokes, the typical laughs. Got the three kicks out of it.
It was the mission to kill Col. Kurtz who had gone insane in the jungle.
It's my mission to kill this fucking blog.

Suddenly the paranoia creeps in, the tiger hiding in the leaves generates an unexpected shock. It's time to go up the river.

The unexpected carnival lights.
The guitar chords kick in.
The helicopter with the plastic girls arrives.
"Oh how I love you Suzie Q".
The mediocre presenter.
The army goes mad...it's time to run.
The helicopter spins and leaves.

Up the river again, the scenario is carefully brushed with a blood red sky.
Paranoia, the heat, the unexpected occurs. The killing spree starts.
Just for a puppy, a golden puppy. A boat filled with dead corpses.
It gets worse, it rains, the skies turn grey. Then the last station before Kurtz.
Paranoia, the smell of death and incense.

Bullets going nowhere, "Is there a CO around here?"
But there isn't...flarelights flash the sky.
Black ponds and bullet shells.
We get the mail and up the river again.
The planes crashed and the malaria.
When is this done?! 1 death.

Then surrealistic canvas is brought to the scene, a french guerrilla protecting the Mansion in the middle of the myst and the fog. Confrontationalist scene between the french and the desperate american soldier. "You are fighting for the biggest nothing in history!". The beautiful blonde angel and the toffee coloured opium pipe.

Sent up again up the foggy river.
"Purple Haze" - Purple Smoke
Toy Arrows flood the sky,
The spear of destiny capturing a body.
2 deaths.

The sun watercoloured on the Vietnamese river,
Brilliantly, deep and sunrised.
The farawell silent funeral party.

Then, there was the white powdered tribes, filled with hate and fear.
Threatening as the fierce Morrison song used as the soundtrack.
The one who lost it & the lost soldier.
It is that madman camera-man, he believes in Kurtz's insanity.
The heads on the stairs, the gothic-tribal imagery.
"He won't be back soon, he's always lost with his men"
"I've photographed the war since 1964".

What a disturbing image...they waited, the rain came and the murky mud ate them up.
"If I don't come at around 22:00 hours, send an air-attack..."
Chef followed the orders silently.
Too late...took them as suprise prisoners.
Kurtz face to face, creeping in the shadows.

"What they they tell you about me?"
"That you had gone completely insane and that your methods were unsound"
He kept the soldier alive...
Prisoner, tied to bamboo sticks.
The camera-man blinded, teasing the soldier.
The firing torches, the night is coming.
Chef taking the orders, the air attack...but.
The dead head on the soldier's lap, shocked in horror.

Then came the psychological torture, the children curiously watching.
Kurtz set him free. After silence and semi-poetical ramblings, then came the discovery. The chance was there...Kurtz was going to be eliminated.
The water-buffalo fest, the background Doors music, the dirty sword.

The silent stabs, military camouflage make-up and the bloodsheed.
Kurtz was dead! Kurtz was dead! The town kneeled, the lost one and the lost soldier went downriver that night, under the milky moonwashed reflection.
The attack wasn't made, nobody was hurt.
It was only the words muttered:
"The Horror...The Horror".





It was the end, the music's over, a nightmarish acid trip into the heart of darkness and the back. "What have they done to our mother Earth?...dragged her down"


"NOW? NOOOOWWWWW!!!!"

The movie had left me uncomfortable. At the end of it, there was night.
There was sleep, there was a taxi to call. At the end it was as nightmarish as they said it had been, the darkest of the human psyche. It manifests in each one of us.
Sometimes it is insane, senseless sorrow, self-pity and self-hate.
Sometimes it is just intricate madness.

But it's all shelved in the past. I know it is.
"It's what we've all left behind".




I was unfortunately a victim once ago, when my writtings were scourned by the limited palettes of madness, paranoia, fear, depression, tears and mournful unrequited love. It was a black and grey affair.
Have you ever felt being stuck inside the music you hear?

An image?

I think I found it:


Unrecognizable, chaotic, hidden behind masks. Dense, impenetrable, suicidal.
"The blue birds, is calling us, driving us where they take us..."

Some people can't survive it, they stay stuck in that void. That hollowness, the thought that everything is dead, that there is no chance.

Either:
You Die or You Live (Leave?)

Why should you choose the knife? Are you a coward?
I know I was one, but I never took the ultimate step.
Do I regret not taking it? NO

But somehow I've come here to this blog to finish it,
Kill it, kill the madman and close the chapter.
This movie shocked me, maybe I'll find the reasons but I won't keep you informed.
I'll leave these ruins so they can rot.
In their insanity, and their deconstructed series of words.
Find a sense if you want.
Whatever.
I do not care.

I'll leave you ambienced with the soundtrack of a Psychedelic Nightmare.



It's awfully considerate of you to think of me here
And I'm most obliged to you for making it clear
That I'm not here.
And I never knew the moon could be so big
And I never knew the moon could be so blue
And I'm grateful that you threw away my old shoes
And brought me here instead dressed in red
And I'm wondering who could be writing this song.

I don't care if the sun don't shine
And I don't care if nothing is mine
And I don't care if I'm nervous with you
I'll do my loving in the winter.

And the sea isn't green
And I love the queen
And what exactly is a dream?
And what exactly is a joke?


When the Music's Over, Turn Out The Lights, Turn Out The Lights

F.E.D