Ovide Overdose

Ovide pygmalion bonnefoy kafka bloch barthes desarthes venus apollon leonardo einstein ceres atalante la bruyere theophraste pamphile un pamphile des pamphiles cimon clitandre rhoukomovski grand meaulnes syd barett joseph K schneider pavlov le grand louis la rochefoucauld pascal aristote thales newton & Cie

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C'est le sommeil d'été cette année encore,
L'or que nous demandons, du fond de nos voix,
A la transmutation des métaux du rève.
-Bonnefoy

When your eyes are closed , are we really sleeping?
Must all dreaming imply the loss of consciousness?
Does one act with a will, on impulse, or react?

For words as we awake fail to clear up the signs

Where're the limits to this game, when a single letter could swing 'caress' to 'agress', back again from 'earnest' to 'fear', and to 'access' from 'clear'? When warmth searches for meaning as day and night get confused?
How can one comprehend, with no lexicon near, how real memories are when dreams turn gold and blue?

The light gets split in two as the curtains descend, blue to gold, gold and blue - I'm playing morse code with no eyes, press and go, press and go, kids never look further than the tip of their nose

Once upon a time, a man beat a king at chess without learning the rules; he imitated all the moves, never a step further, reaction to action ;
and all the words you left in mid-air, clinging to dreams as you woke, come tumbling down to hit you on the chest, short on breath, and haggard.

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"We're WASPs, doctor. Not acknowledging the elephant in the room is what we do best."
-Bree, Desperate Housewives