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AIRPLANES FROM FARAWAY PLACES When Bill walked in the room I could not help remembering times from the recent past when carelessness had its place and my friend, like him, was leaving for Paris in a flair of escaping from his past, you know... The established, or better the injected ambitions the parents through children achievement, oh, same thing as usual, do you know, or don't you? So Bill walked to the table, sat, ordered a beer,and, the eternal subject came up: Love... Well, you know, -or don't you? I finally get it, I think I finally know, I understand folk singers now singing in passion, a sort of a pretentious one, and, yet real, they feel it, singing all these simplistic lyrics and songs and on and on the same story. Is it history that repeats itself in a circle, or is it our life on the planet being long in a sense or short in another, or, simply the same thing goes on, nothing changed and I know...,so what? But, you know, -or don't you?- the problem of love gets different, although we sing it in harmony, since for one it is pleasure for other is passion, for me it's survival, now that I think of past good times and the ones yet to come, as the echoes of last night hurt my back, still sore from beds of drunken lust and exhaustion that brings this lethargic sleep feeling like radiation treatment at times, over my strained body but hey, why complain? pleasure is there. And still, the smoke, the whiskey, -gee, what would the world be doing without them?- And us, at tables, in bars in cities of noise, landing in the middle of the night, like airplanes from faraway places, see the lights? The lights of the city and us, part of it, for love, hate, life, death. And love... So far...no substitutes... |
Copyright © 1998 G. Vassiliou
Fotos: B.Moore