antique bookshop

4

Isn’t it odd how much fatter a book gets when you’ve read it several times? As if something were left between the pages every time you read it. Feelings, thoughts, sounds, smells, and then, when you look at the book again many years later, you find yourself there too, a slightly younger self, slightly different, as if the book had preserved you like a pressed flower, both strange and familiar.

Antique store gothic

- you can’t remember how you got there. You can’t remember how to leave. You can remember that you want to buy something for your new apartment.

- the shop is rather small. At least, you think that it looked small from the outside. You’ve been wandering the labyrinth of shelves and tables for what feels like hours.

- you have no clue what some of the antiques are. You walk past a levitating, buzzing orb made of a black metal that you cannot recognize. You wonder what the price is. You don’t have the guts to actually check.

- you stare at a shelf full of small clay figurines. None of them look even remotely human. Their tortured eyes follow your every move until you disappear behind another shelf. Even then you still feel like you’re being watched.

- you can hear odd noises from the store room: chanting, screaming and cries of a creature that couldn’t possibly be from this dimension. You walk past the locked door hurriedly.

- the air is stale and smells of dust. That is normal in an antique shop. Sometimes you think that you can smell blood. That is also normal in an antique shop.

- you find a shelf with used books. Most of them are Bibles and classics. Some of them you cannot recognize. Some of them contain nothing but cryptic runes. You open one only to watch its pages turn into dust under your fingers.

- you’re pretty sure that you’re the only customer in the shop, but from time to time you can catch a glimpse of movement between the shelves; several pairs of eyes in the shadows. Watching. Waiting. Hungering.

- finally you find your way to the till. You buy several items you didn’t know you picked up and head for the exit. The shopkeeper’s dark, unblinking eyes follow you to the door. His shadow waves goodbye to you from behind his back. You wave back.

- the next time you walk by, you find that the shop is gone. There was never an antique shop on this street. There was never an antique shop in your town.

I rather listen a beautiful lie than a grotesque truth

since the pirate flag flew over the vampires nest
I found myself intrigued and understood
the charisma of vanilla powdered lies.
I rather listen a beautiful lie than a grotesque truth
spare me the platitudes and embroider me
in perfumed sentences
and let me dream a thousand dreams
without interruption don’t disturb my innocent slumber
unless prince charming my soul mate decides it’s time
to wake me up with a poisoned kiss.
otherwise envelop me in brilliant stories
don’t waste my time my time is priceless
real life domesticated life it’s unmeasurable
and tedious if you ask me
unless you read and watch art movies all the time
visit grandiose galleries and swirl up and down
the royal dust from the antique bookshops
or overrated and boring museums.
I decided to live my life surrounded 100% by art beauty
and full with emotional adrenaline
knowledge and mysterious thrills.
I rather listen a beautiful lie than a grotesque truth.
I don’t wanna hear anymore about the terrorist war
unless it’s knocking furious on my ironed door.
I decided to live in a marbled palace
among vampires bad reputed dandies ghost pirates
trembling shadows and without mirrors.
I don’t wanna be concerned about trivial matters as
how my face and my mask face the night or the day.
I want to forget about my visage and me and focus
on loving and cherishing my imaginary friends among
the aforementioned distinguished
and honorable colleagues and tenants.
I’m sure the puppet master and the prince of darkness
will take care of all of us
we will roll some Bit Coins on the Mayfair Market
or maybe we will hijack a notorious Monaco bank.
I don’t know now but as long as we have genial ideas
and our hearts and brains are intact I’m sure we will
survive in rococo style.
Nothing can beat our outcasts minds.
In case I end up in jail and my dream shatters in pieces
please send me that drug from the movie Lucy
with Scarlet Johansen where i can use my brain 100%
so I can escape and try again this time with indisputable results. That’s all my fabulous ones.
If Oscar Wilde didn’t made it I know I will.
Just wish us tones of creative disposition and immortal luck.

4

Poems
Christina Rossetti
London Macmillan and Co 1896 New and Enlarged Edition
[First Complete Edition printed 1890 this being the 7th reprint]

Several illustrations by Dante Gabriel Rossetti who also designed the distinctive gilt blocking to the binding