Perhaps I am just another Don Quixote.
Then, most likely, that butterfly-like flower,
Beating the air with its awkward wings,
Hovering around over me, is another Dulcinea?
Even with her punctured stocking,
She is just a beautiful princess to me.
She may be a queen under a spell,
Whom I have to save. I shouldn’t let her
Come near me, but should just let her scent
Graze my nose, so that I could save her
Or not from the witch through blood battle.
No, I am not Don Quixote,
Then she is not Dulcinea.
She, hiding her cruel sexual desire
Behind the thick mask called faith,
Is just one of women strewn
All over this world.
Well, I am the Excalibur
That could pierce her impenetrable mask,
Which is my fantasy.
Just like this, she is still my Dulcinea.
Do not ruin the drama.
Wearing a thick mask,
showing a big bravado,
flying all kinds of lies,
you will become an archetypal hypocrite.
If a sufficient amount of time elapses,
the mask will become your face that
can’t be taken off from you,
the bravado will be carved in your memory
as undeniable fact for good,
the lies will turn into poetic expressions and
will remain forever in people’s heart.
Well, then you can walk in high pride
Just like Pharisees.
Don’t worry about Jesus’s little scolding and
just entertain the spectators
by acting natural.
Right! I saw that thing clearly, but
It could be a hologram?
Sometimes visible, in another time invisible,
distorted once in a while,
chopped here and there.
Perhaps I have been tortured too long
in the cramped seat so
I might have talked drivel.
I may have a talent in conning, but
I need more practice in acting
‘til I am able to act natural
as if I was born like that.
So jump up onto the stage!
I have no desire to become a God. I would be content with being an idol. Nah! I have to be an idol. Flowers could worship the invisible God? Nah! Hiding behind a God-like mask, when I crisscross the follower garden, flowers would worship me as if they meet God, would be frightened as if they are under judgment in front of God and would offer everything as if they give offerings to God. My mask becomes God and God is hiding behind the mask. I wish my mask would resemble God even a bit, but I don’t know what kind of being God is and what God would look like. Even though my mask is said to be an idol, but the only visible thing is an idol, so I have to look like God to flowers. In this way, the true idolatry would be born. When I saunter around the garden with a triumphant air, I’ve found a flower wearing a similar mask as mine. What’s happening here? How come a flower puts on an idol mask?! The flower with mask won’t worship me when I pass by. What is going on? Our eyes behind masks have a fight, but how could I win over a flower? Make the flower Goddess, then I can keep my position as an idol. Come, come, butterflies that would worship Goddess! I will gather beautiful flowers that worship idol and when the time comes, I would unmask and say I am not God. Then the flowers would say how fortunate you are not God please keep being an idol for us. Your mask would be magnificent if it is plated with gold. Well since the mask looks like the real God, who knows you might become God in the end?! Why am I writing this kind of gorgeous crap? A grumble of a self-proclaimed idol who can’t be worshipped by the flower(s) behind the Goddess-like mask.
stripped naked by my own well-cherished ego
not because of others’ eyes being disturbed but
because of my private part’s being exposed.
you have that just like us!
that’s why I enjoy nude beach video
daydreaming I am in there.
I can show my dark corners of my body
without shame but
how can I show my bottomless pits of
my mind, my soul, my spirit at all?
the pits are my private parts?
if not, who’s parts are those?
well, just like I want to give my all hidden body parts
to beautiful eves full of carnal desire,
who’s going to have all my shady mind, soul and spirit?
I am who I am.