Les desesperes

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The maestro had lost his way in the Anima Numdi.

And whilst playing jazz on his own in contemplation of what was left of his life and some of the music keys that still sang right, he kept on thinking how empty the journey was.
But simply too tired was he to change things otherwise.
In vain, he had been consumed by the loss of the one he once loved and possibly the only true thing he had ever been determined to have once but could never acquire again in this lifetime.

But most extraordinary and sad of all, in the present tale which I now recall, the man behind the curtain and whom I met by no existing chance, resembled no mere hero but a flamboyant Ares that rightfully possessed the delirium fire within.
He was the image of an impregnated d’Artagnan full of life and ready for combat.
Yet, he was barely but a simple man of our ages, blessed enough with all the required qualities true men of this time need to be able to turn wrong into right; but all of which, in truth, he could never willed so to attain without that which he had once known and lost. For it was, to put it quite simply, “the missing spear” secretly coveted.

And many earthy pleasures had he exhausted within the darkest abyss of life, in an attempt to bring back to remembrance that which he once felt or perhaps forget forever so its name and existence.

But nothing, absolutely nothing could quiet down his insatiable yet magnanimous soul.
Regrets and sorrow had overcome the ‘living of the moment’ long gone…

And of the exactitude of the thing which rendered him so much emptiness and desperation and which he sought for so long, no one knew with certitude what or who it was. Some say it was a woman, whom he once met in the new world. Others will disagree and say the wealth driven and prerogative of what the family wants you to be from birth simply empowered every single little thing he ever wanted to become and more importantly acquire on his own…

On the fourteen year of the second millennium, the maestro, tired of combatting some fake causes he could only care for a while, revered his hat for the last time and decided to leave this plane at last.

And thus came about the story of Tariq, by his birth name, who had indeed given up the train of life and decided to take what he hoped would be another ride, another chance, on the other side…

Sophie Parou
Novelist

Diary of a continuous journey II

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I am a queen in pursue of the invisible kingdom and naïve enough to believe in it .
I am Joan of arc who wore the armor of Orleans , seeking all the great remaining warriors so as to prepare for an even greater battle.
I am the light that came from far away, so the old fortuneteller said, and determined to bring on a bigger light to a world mourning the loss of its faith.
And I am so uninterested in petty words of the mass, which I shall not vanquish any less , for my kingdom and sword are nothing but stardust as I am.
For in the end, I know I shall say ‘ what a journey!’

Credit: pic by Mindtuber

Diary of a continuous journey

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I am the child within, that shall have bore three names in a life time
But fortunate enough to have had Wisdom as one of them…
I am a seeker of truth with enough might to throw the arrow when time shall say so and far will it go!
I am a walker of life who privileges the vertical way amongst all other available ways for isn’t where the horizon lays?
I am the avatar that shall pierce your circle and force you to seek what which you have never dared seeking for you had been thinking the universe has little to give and little thinking it is indeed …

Credit: picture by xetobyte