Portraits

[katana]

and yet it lives. it will be the only thing living.

[*~Rexhina~*]

ok i will try one :p

The Mistress

Every imperceptible step that she took, people all around her would give her dirty looks. She felt an outsider, and quiet out of place. Friends, family members and even acquaintances disparaged her to the extant.
Why was it her fault, why should she get the blame? Often she wondered while sleeping on his bed.
Yet he seemed not to care, and only promises he could make...such promises he never kept. His reputation was marred, but people still appraised him high. Once they admired her for her beauty and wits. Now she was only thought as a disgraceful temptress, fraught with sins.

[Henri]

Enchanting... hmmm this guy, or a man you might want to call him, standing in front of a big garbage bin-one of those metal ones that populate the streets of Tirana and are always full - digging into the pile of shit and finding a big piece of salami - like a piece of mortadella or sth. Grabbed it in his left hand and took the biggest bite a human can ever take. His right hand waiving in the air, directed to the Heavens that rewarded him with that miracle. His face - oh his face was busy chewing with every single muscle it possesed, including the nose bones - his face was wearing the most glamorous dress GOD eve created for mankind: Gratitude!

[kulla]

the other beggar, under the influence of LSD, or so I wish

not one, two, or three cockroaches, it was an army of them, their numbers doubled by their shadows on the ground, all of them creeping up my foot. hang on, I thought, this is not a protrait. this is a nightmare. so I started squashing them to the ground. they squeeked and let out a disgusting juice, their soul. and every time I would squash one, i would have a sense of deja vu, like I had already squashed that particular cockroach before. and as if it was just out of that sense of deja vu, they covered me in the most common costume that man, or God ever saw (or however the **** you spell it), -pollution.

not all degeneration is death.

[kulla]

kostandin lazarus


He was walking around inside picadilly circus station, outside of the gates. He must have made at least 100 laps anti-clock-wise, the colons now blury on the left side of his vision, when the cops stopped him.
“what are you doing” they asked. The underground workers have noticed him, but scared by the crazy look on his face, oblivious toward his surroundings, had decided that it was better to let the cops deal with him.
“I’m trying to understand the trajectory of circular thoughts, projected in the hyperrealities of the london underground. Oxford Circus, to be precise” answered him.
“this is not Oxford Circus” corrected one of the cops.
“This is not Oxford circus”!? repeated the man in mazement.
“no”, comfirmed the cop.
“What station is this”, asked the man, with a hint of concern.
“It’s picadilly circus” answered the cop.
“Oh, then it doesn’t matter” said the man with a sigh and a gesture of relief. “it’s still a Circus”.
“Where do you come from”? asked the cop, hinting an asylum seeker accent in his voice.
“Wood Green” answered the man.
“No, I meant what country do you come from”, repeated the question the cop, this time with a smile on his face, to show that he appriciated the heartlightedness of the missunderstanding.
“Oh, I’m sorry”, said the man, “I thought you meant what station. I come from no country in the earth”.
“what do you mean no country” asked the puzled cop.
“I mean no country”.
“Then, from what place on earth do you come from”, asked the cop patiently.
“I come from no place on earth” answered the man just as seriously.
“Where were you born”, asked the other cop, a woman cop, separeting the words, as if she was talking to a deaf pensioner.
“Oh, I see what you mean”, said the man and added no more. He started staring absently at a blank point somewhere behind the shoulders of the cops, as if he was suddenly thinking something very important.
“Well”, demanded the male cop, feeling that he was being ridiculed. “where were you born”?
“I am sorry officers” said the man, “I have no recollection of that. But I can tell you that I come from heaven”.
Madness is funny, but it is dangerous, too, you need to aproach it with carefulness. The cops’ questions became just as ambiguous.
“And what are you doing in earth”?
“I am learning” answered the man.
“What are you learning” asked the female cop.
“Yesterday for example”, answered the man from heaven, looking at her straight in the eyes, “I learned the kamasutra”.
The male cop was obviously offended on behalf of his female collegue.
“I am warning you not to be direspectful. What is your name”? asking that, he took a notebook out of his pocket. The female cop handed him a pen.
“I have 666 names” said the man from heaven. “which one would you like to write down”?
“Your name”, said the cop. He couldn’t help thinking that 666 was the number of the devil, whereas the man was claiming that he came from heaven.
“Kostandin Lazarus”. He had to spell it.
“What is your date of birth”? the cop carried on with his formal questions.
“I have six”, answered the man. “Unfortunately, I don’t know any of them. They should be written on my birth certificates, but I don’t know how to read”.
“I am warning you for the last time” said the male cop, knowing very well that even this last warning would be ignored. “Do not mock. What is your date of birth”?
“I seriously don’t know, sir”, answered the man, pleading for trust in his sincerity.
“Do you have a proof of ID on you”? asked the cop.
“Yes” said the man, and handed him six birth certificates with three different names, (each name appearing in two) and six death certificates, just the same.
“You are under arrest”, started the cop with his usual speach.
Three days later, Kostandin Lazarus died in his cell. Before the autopsy could be conducted, his body dissapeared. Since then, some people have reported to have seen him in the tibethean mountains, claiming that he was buddha. There has been no official investigation on these reports.