Tales of Nykt 2

Tales of Nykt 

Along with night there comes the legend of the being..... 

Asleep they lay, the little precious hearts of a land where stories could move montains and make a stormy sky obediant to the sea of sincere teardrops... So fast asleep and still as the untouched cosmic genesis was now the land of silent walls. Akunigo, the ghost of mistery was watching the moon from a faraway corner in the deep memory of a question and as his small stepps were flying above the hugest Ocean of disperate hopes, a soft windy presence brought some more feeling to the exterior and suddenly all that was then existent started spinning in clockwise direction when clocks were'f even neededbecause a nyktian could tell the time only by analising another's heartbeat... 

A silent sobbing told the ghost that the stillness had been shattered and that the incredible was about to turn into a marvelous catastrophy. 

A dream within a dream and the sign reflected on a mirrorlike compas, avoiding the complex stepp on the edge of the upper world and into the darkness that lacked the slightest trace of expression... And so he went forwards without knowing what might be waiting at the end of an unplanned journey where the only stimulent was intuition . 

The king of the temple, winged and thoughtful, who always heald the Big Book of Metaphores to his chest accidentally dropped a page on the floating floor and from the golden letters of desmay a new dinasty became as one with the Nyktian poetry and brought forward the wild beauty of new art through magic. Carved in the saddest fibres of parchement were the words of the reforging which printed themselves in the most central point of the Nyktian citadelle:.... And thus it has begun and thus it will end with the rebirth of the young and decadence of the dead.... 

.... 

In the human world the wind wouldn't let the man fall quietly asleep in his childish way as he always used to do... Finding he had no chance against the wrath of nature he got up and pulled the cortines that had darkenned his world for the past few days. His pale face was the essence of true pain as that old memory emerged to hount him like a shadow... The usual man never had a chance to create a wall of defence and his feelings were burning his heart in a terrible broken fire... 

Tales of Nykt

The tales of Nykt
Intro:
Nykt is the land in the shape of a medieval citadelle, created under a hidden wish in a rational heart who accidentally spilled an overdose of passion and added a feeling of purpose to all the chaotic DNA mix that crowded a misty shadowy path of anxious hopelesness with the shining power of imagination, where all people's words are linked to stories. It is the place where fantastic alchemy started to be experienced and the realm of extravagant dreams... It is the hugest metropolitan society of inner fantasy, the world within another, the place where questions have to be invented before reaching the answer...
1. Niktie-night... A memory to remember
... Thus the world, asleep in a cover of light would hold within its realms the silence that could be felt shining around the lands of Nykt, the only land where people are stories and their thoughts are as simple as an honest feeling.
In a little house by the fields of precious sand, old Roza started creating a new story, the begining of a new civilisation, complete creation from start to end. Her book was made of memories, her little pencil could write with the colours of each sensation and purely marvelous were her masterpieces of golden serenity.
She couldn't stop the creative flow though it was dark and everyone else had already left the world of fact for a fantastic journey within a nearby and hallucinating dreamy replica of Heaven... No. That night she had no wish to leave. All she needed was some more inspiration. She paused slightly after finishing a few more lines and then she felt a kind of windy touch of some incandescent red flavour capturing her mind away and making her desires rise above the world, away from the peace she was used to in the land of Nykt, far far and away from everything...
Ruins of the so called imaginary transposed her to a thrilling dimension and up there without wings she found it much easier to fly amongst the spheres of a newly created solar system.
As if the lifechanging journey had never even begun, the little soft and silky book threw Roza out of itself , the kind lights of Sunrise holding her in a cradle of calm peace and still silence. The land of stories was all fast asleep and in the garden of Oleiva where the lady found herself now, there was no one apart from the bit of her soul that she carried with her wherever she went, the silky book that she trusted, the actual starter of all strange turns in her daily living.
And thus it was, the experience that she would never regret as she fearlessly strolled along the streets, each of them with a tale of its own, as daylight was covering the old citadelle with the golden powder of a new morning life.
'What was to come would eventually be shown whether from within or from the outside' these were Roza's thoughts as she turned her doubts into an invisible dust that she cleared away with a rush of her hand , then turned away with her back to an uncertain past and her face to a future of great expectation

Al fin...

Yo ya lo borré. Lo borré todo. Lo que fue dicho y hecho, lo que sintieron algúna vez los demás.
Ahora nuevamente en frente de la mesa jugando con palabras para sacar una respuesta que corriendo por el aire no se deja que la descubran. Después de un descanso que nadie deseaba dieron la vuelta los que nunca estuvieron de acuerda con las reglas de la vida y se echaron a llorar con mentiras. Asi llamando la atención del ángel solitário que andaba en su mundo de concepto minimal y sin decir palabra alguna se cambió la ropa blanca por una roja y como si hubiera despertado de una pesadilla se puso a brincar y gritar locamente sobre la ecena de los sangrados y de la maldad, haciendo que ajendréra una nueva civilisación gracias a la dureza de su llanto espantoso.
Dos horas más tarde en vez de perderse en la protección nocturna la madre Tierra roncando sin parrar con desgracia se acerca peligrosamente de su fin y aunque fuera destacando en el sistema cósmico por muchas épocas hasta ella misma se da la cuenta que hay que acabar con esto sin preguntar más para asi mejor entender que todo envejece pero cambia en otra forma existencial. Si eso surje la vida puede ser de otra manera trás el aire de cambios y tristeza.

THE LYRICKER ( or... words and wonder)

It's only just a kind of broken illusion...
Read and memorise everything one at a time all off by heart transferring information from eyes to brain from brain to soul from soul to integrity. 
Through music find a pattern, o model, an explanation of  the path that leads my thoughts to clear reality and when daylight touches the night with the gentle shining of the first ray, words start spillig themselves away from the chest of secrets and change themselves into misterious engravings. As ink is walking allover another universe, small literal structures bring themselves to life giving meaning to the coldest fears of a decriptable personality. 
My little shire all closed and locked up inside, serenity and blue blood dropping out bit by bit without a struggle, releasing the magic of a written song, forsight's destiny (maybe) and flying high above Paradise, the Ibis bird brings a message to me, so I can feel for my inner clock is getting warm again and inspiration comes at hand when least expected. The glass that will always show me my time on Earth stares into the deep while over and over words run in and out of pages , forever thoughts and everyday's memories all in movable fragments of a touchable understanding as the nominal string of human perception slowly drifting away into confusion and hopefully chromatic questions or perhaps diametral requests and crucial wishes of reaching the 'other side' of the matter. 
Sentences and paragraphs rhymes in order and a kind of something else all mixed together in the perfect receipe of the temporarily unknown however turnable into a spontaneous revelation incorporated within and again the notion of 'inner' unharmed by any mean, rising from some dusty sleep between nightmare and redemption, power of a strong sedative thankfully taken by mistake in a slightly lesser quantity all in order to contradict the ferocious threat of an infinite deadline unrespectable by any way not even showing sympathy to time that had been given (useful for waiting) proceeding into the grandeousness of will reinventing a mindly axe a new circle and some diving classes which finally prove themselves brilliant, a startling imaginary trailer unlocking the iron door of stranger ground , the block of flats that had been built before falling away into nonsense and a melancholic smell of that past light unfolds away the origami paper and brings it all back to stillness.
Covered again in a sleepy unawareness I stroll between this side and the other one marking tracks and deleting systematic errors from wherever they might be and words and words and words once and another time once upon an endless book making and remaking and remarking and reinventing and redefining themselves and us all in a severe arrangement while we cling to life as if it were a small sample of that excelent 'everything' or even more than an earthly word losing even myself losing the grasp for yet another moment of still thoughtlessness marvelously wrapped up in a beautiful pack and said to be given as a gift to whomever would like to receive it....

Hielo

Que me alejara.... El recuerdo de aquella noche... La paz de las paredes, escaleras solitarias llevando al otro mundo a los que estában subiendo... Una calle sin fronteras, un tráfico sin reglas ... y sangre en todo lugar, convenciendome de que nada de lo visto pudiera haver sido real.
Tomé por la mano al culpable de la escena y empiezé a correr en tres puntos diferentes del mundo hasta que llegué al fin de la razón, sin pensamiento alguno destacando entre mi própio temor y el frio de afuera.... Y tú que me dijiste que te gustába jugar con la nieve en tu juventúd, entregandome la más fria vista con ojos abiertos, cristales, un mar y el mundo enterro tratando de no recaer en lo que fué pasando por otra cosa, algo más fictivo... Y mezclandose frente a mi en una ensalada de colores que yo solamente sabía leer con mi microscopio, allí habían caras oscuras de unos antíguos recuerdos guardados en la cajita roja, en la casa de las viejas donde nadie entrába sin sentir el miedo y las miradas puestas en cima del alma.
Asi pasa con la mente que gira y gira y no vuelve a nada de lo iniciál, asi pasó cuando lágrimas, en su punto finál de caer para seguir la transffiguración naturál, volvían y no dejaban de pasar más allá de las mejillas rojas corriendo por tóda la pintura de dos fragmentos, terminología del sufrimiento heredado e imaginación reflexiva trás de una definición sóbria e integra perfectamente escrita en un negro pasivo sobre papeles amarillas  insensibles, compartiendo la cosa más concréta que cada quien adivina pero sentidos y dolores escondidas no dejann que salgan palabras para anunciar que nada será lo mismo después de aquel tiempo frio de niieve y hielo.
Luego vendrá la luz del día, frio como el invierno y escaleras torpes ellas mismas , dejando a la gente que caiga en el abismo lejano y haciendose parte integra de la crimen por la superioridád del mal o tal vez del indefinido trás la muerte de los sin defensa..
¿que me aleje? ... ya lo hice... amargo sea el savor pero glorioso el hielo que hoy soy yo...

The escape

When ice starts melting upon solid ground as if reality would have brought down some spcter of its existence within the wrath of tomorrow, all a misty memory with the a milky flavour consisting of an unreal spiral dream in the DNAlike shape of difference. 
The scientific glow of wonder as no mear mortal being can reach out a hand and touch this shining molecule not even with a fingernail, the start of a new end, revolutionary meanings created by truth and trust from ancient times until the end of Humanity. 
Thus, while eyes open wide looking for the locked gates of forbidness, destroy the silver chains extended in a snakelike embrase towards a sadistic body spreading a river of red sorrow all around misunderstanding and heavy gray thoughts. 
This whole range of mindly struggle and metaphore might one day bring the escape ... Where to? None knows... 

TO m: LETTER 1

Dear M:
I write to you now as I would have known you since the birth of eternity... As you are an unreal and kind of an irrelevant universal construction I think I could touch some particles with my field of energy and this is the reason why I am now standing here in a material corner trying to break through the deepest notions  and get to you in an abstract window of silvery thoughts.
Yesterday I have been out in search of an answer and as the street was propelling me in a windy direction towards the dark horisons, my mind drifted away to the green and rainy places where you could be found . With my heart on the table, betting my own life on the touch of a key I'm building up fences of this new world of reason , might and maybe expectation, not throwing everything away but gathering it all in a bag of inner balance that has been stabilising me for the past time... I have been shattering your world from outside your life and as far as I can now see it might not have been enough since I am now touching black matter in search for some magnetic impossible link... As bolts of light reveal my once passive attitude towards awareness my head rises in search for the cutting spark of movement leaving me broken in a flash where the ground of the unknown is shaking bellow my orientatively straight position ending a concept that once was mine, thus taking me to your different world experience and your distinct structure of uncertainty because you do not exist as a being but you are in theory the relative notion of confort. If you open yourself to me I will free your existence and transfer you to a land of translucid forgetfullness while a memory of you will be lost behind on Earth. If this is not your wish then so be it you will always face your unconceous guilt upon living in a written letter forever.
Watch me burn and I will watch you sink into the revelator reverie on the  edge of endless teardrops of sincerity ...

Regards...