Return of a serpent all the moon’s agitated fingers

Even as it returns who goeth down
Sometimes to clear a drop of rain, which has envenomed
a flood, or aught else that in the mouth weep for terror is hidden
the sun is hiding its freshly drained liquid seeds
It’s freckles
and of a serpent all the moon’s agitated
and the instinct of the eternal harlot
Came up and felt stripped of water recedes before


Descendeth dreary, hereat I, trembling;
whence in the heads of the elect Project,
we lightly peeled off our laurel leaves for us
hide the shame of heresy or the halls of true paradise


Thorough a hundred plasticine toys, with metal weapons
Far from his smiling dwarves, drugged demons
Far from this master, released from the chain
the world will be a trail in the crystal ball
instead of words
was a cry that
no one could hear.

21st Century – Salieri’s revenge

In the 21st century music is no longer a friend of the muses. It has become a tool for “good” entertainment and for money -making exclusively, and those “goals” are the only criteria for its existence. Don’t even get me started on the visual arts and literature. (It’s tragic) The question remains: what is a writer (painter, musician) to do in such a climate, where even he is despised as a selfish, ridiculous creature who “lives in his/her own world” not having a clue about “real life”, the one whose art is mainly a cheap mask as an excuse for laziness (well, not all that cheap…)
It is irrational to think that art can be more than a hobby for a woman or a man unless it is eventually paid for. And in order to be paid, in cash or by credit card, it is necessary for you, my dear friend and colleague, to have a big shiny house and to be financially more than secure and possibly a lord or a count. Then all of it makes some sense! This is a typical relativization of a pondering mediocrity.
What to do? What could be done in a climate like this? The answer is: No matter what, the artists should refuse to listen to the shrill voice of this unhappy, materialistic, desolate era, removed from all of humanity. Their work must be done in silence, for the next who will accept it with a smile or refuse it with burst into laughter.