The Book of Vasche Vexvelt

Visions on A Mud Ball – Memories of Purple and Dancing with Mnemosyne. By Moreno Franco

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A Tango with Mnemosyne - The Goddess of Memory

“Slow Sunset Tango Waltz” - by Little Love Soul
My Tango with Mnemosyne - The Goddess of Memory

“All my life, I worshiped her
Her golden voice,
Her beauty's beat
How she made me feel,
How she made me real
The sound of her wings
- And the ground beneath her feet”

Meet Mnemosyne

This Book is the result of My dalliance with Mnemosyne, the Greek goddess of Memory. She and Zeus, the king of the gods, were the parents of the nine Muses. She is one of the twelve Titans, children of Uranus and Gaea (Heaven and Earth). Mnemosyne dances with me - and she just wont part company with me –

“The silver raven sits at my door.
No word can move her - Nor prayer remove her..
no matter how much I implore”

My dalliance with Mnemosyne was prompted by having to explain, endlessly, my life, but the explanation would take a life time.
And our tome together is so brief.

As I had to explain to one who wanted to be one of you and yet drive all of you out of my life and replace you with her only. just for a silly short while fuck – Fuck off . . .
That I should renounce all of you for a single monogamous relationship?
No! I reaffirm my love for all you sweet Witches of mine, in this History Lesson 101

Maybe death reveals to the essentials as life cannot. I wonder what will happen.
I’m not concerned – only curious.
The way you feel when you have to leave a movie before it ends.

“Sometimes you’re a fool”: you said
“Sometimes I’m not alone in that!” I reply nonchalantly, absently, blunt.

We, into our J&B scotch and cocaine reserves, are reeling. I recognize this feeling…and so do you, Conchita. Three or four days of drugs and heavy sex, sun, hardly any sleep, burned out adrenaline reserves, a giddy, quavering fragility that signals the onset of The Crash. How much longer can we keep on going. That thought is part of the tension of the high. Physical and mental collapse is just on the horizon… but collapse is unacceptable! Here is the fine and fateful line between control and disaster. The difference between staying loose or spending the next five summers in a penitentiary yard. And we push edge of the envelope to test our skills at maintaining.

I just smile. Always my invincible soft smile. The smile that other people attribute to the insane, or to a kind of spiritual wisdom. A smile like my own, Doña Conchita. That is how I recognized you. The smile of the Content Cherub Cat. To be sure though: it is the smile that comes from the secret heart of very private experience. One like our own.

That said: here goes!
* Blip* …..1..2..3..Test. . . .

"you’re in the Pipe - Five by Five -

have a good trip
. . . .adventurer?!”


Life is not a continuous performance. It is made up of interludes, side roads, layovers, delays. Behind each face: a meal, a walk a kiss or a bed. Behind each; a memory: a taste, or a perfume forming a residue of encounters….[ I wish I could forget you, but I will never. Oye Lupinhas]

A residue that ultimately forms the basis for new encounters – a residue that like a heap of sand, hangs poised over its own internal angles of incidence. A heap of memories and impressions.
A slate that only the rag of death can wipe clean. Encounters both real and imaginary, the imaginary being perhaps the most real, for they are distilled from forgotten thoughts and dreams.

In Life, it may be the writing between…
   Would you cry, cry me a river?. . . I cried
The lines that counts, the things
   A river over you. Now you say you
Unsaid. The sights unseen. The non-kiss
   Are sorry – will you cry me a river?
The almost touched, the almost guessed at
   I cried a river over you.
Opportunities. The invisible kite tails
   You nearly drove me out of my head
Flown in the wind of intercourse. Few
   With all your cruelty and now
Men climb the Mount Olympus. But all climb
   You say you love me - to prove It.
The Venus Mount. All go to worship
   Cry me a river. I cried a river
At the Secret Grove. To die and be re-born.
   Over You……..
Give it up and do as I dream
   I will love you every day…
Put your hands upon me
feel this heat?

I beg You, I entreat, I invite, beseech, woman, call out to you the one lone spirito empatico, for that is how you always came looking for me: “the other half of me” – you called me. Said to me in the warm rain in Paradice, told me in our bedroom, even said it while you had a gun pointed at the back of my head at the front door of our apartment…
Remember the first night I went home with you. We were so passionate and frenzied. I tore your pants off and was in you before the first kiss was accomplished. By that time I was holding the gun.
“Yow! What ju gonna do now, Doña?”

We had to try and undress while we were bucking and rolling.
I moved in with you the next week. And then spent the next twelve years in a crime of passion.
You my beautiful Wife. . . .

Even though we are parted, we have never truly left. The past inferno still smoulders, like an almost dormant volcano, with the threat of eruption never too far below the surface. For as we meet, all the ferocity of the banked up fires burst forth and consume us again. Without warning.

Well I have been and I loved did love am loved is and was in love… can be alone –
But never ever lonely.
For You filled my mind with you. and continue to place your love, and entice my responsibility to accept and recall You as Special…as You Are/Were/Always…even while you are missing in action, long gone from my bed…

And I will tell you this: It is not that I am with another woman, it is that I might be with another woman Like You, that causes your jealousy. I know this because at least three of you Witches put your finger on it when I noticed that you were not worried about my girlfriends, after you and I parted ways. Not until you saw me with “that fukken bitch”.
You saw in her what I had always said that I saw in you – and now you could see it too - see yourself From The Outside. You saw with my eyes, how I saw / see you.

And even as she brought the Mercedes to a stop in the middle of the road in the night-life downtown chaos, to save my life. I was frozen…she shouting : ”jumpin” get-in the Car!” and then her message..
“I love you- and if you die here, I will leave you…”
That blew your mind…to hear some other woman with your ferocity and fire, take me away from you
I had no choice. You gave me none.
It was always to Be In Love With You. . . or be Alone.

The Shock of Recognition is Overwhelming

[But that is another story. . . ]

Right now I want to deal with all those incidents from our past, that years later seem to be the stuff that dreams are made of.
The wash of shooting stars. That alcoholic kiss and a squeezed breast. An afternoon on your front lawn. A row of jacaranda trees on the road outside. The early twilight with you hastily pulling the fly of my jeans open. . . “Just once more”… hot summers’ horny teen-age school girl just getting the hang of how all this actually works…
The stars vanish in an instant, like the starfish on the beach used to vanish . . .
slipping into deeper water and are gone.

To float in a misty dreams. Torn down in an un-numbered year to make space for a steel and glass hotel. Right here on the beach. “Our Beach” where we used to make love.
Where I first saw you, Starfish.

We do not know where it is gone. Yet the mistake is to arrive at the illusion that the details do not matter.

In the sacred geometry of chance
The flying saucer bars
Carnelians in blooms
And chicks who smoke cigars
And get it on in
Double parked cars
Rainy autumn streets in summer
Lamplights in the evening window.
Sex in the car-wash.
The smell of roses outside you bedroom window.
A tapestry is woven: one that inter-twines the thread of our separate lives into a continuum of time and space.
That live or die on the back of memory. . .

All the collected pieces of our imaginifgic memory…like trivial knick-knacks when seen against the roaring passing of time.

But without these water color paint sketches, awash in remembered color and detail… without the memory none of us amounts to much more, despite our airy dreams, than an impatient ghost – wandering thru” revolving years and into an increasingly strange and alien future.

And my best shot now is to become strange and alien now …!!@!. Lets take a walk…”here”, (kissing your temple) ,…
“Give me your sandals”…
“Come. Take my hand. (Kiss your hand).
“Let’s go, Doña cara…”


Human life is driven forward by its dim apprehension of notions too general for its existing language.

Otherwise where from could spring the solitary conceit of some possible Almighty – who has millions of worlds equally dependent on its Protection, should quit the care of all the rest, because they say, one woman and one man ate an apple?

About THAT story: Eating that apple from the so-called ‘Tree of Knowledge’?
THAT tree of the knowledge of good and evil, is supposedly one of two specific trees in the fairytale of the Garden of Eden, in Genesis 2>3
Well. Sorry to disappoint. We’ve been eating apples for millions of years. They have hanged nothing.

And it is the superstition of this human mind to have imagined that virginity could be a virtue.

The same kind of ignorance that has been the womb of all the monsters visited upon humanity by organised religion, pseudo-science, self-serving politicos and street beggars.

The Universe is all laughter, bright colors and candy floss. And mud and hard work, poisoned animals, fights with incompetents and corrupt governments.

There are problems in this Universe for which there are no answers. But for all the problems it is mostly sweet.
In reality, the Universe is about the size of a human head when it puts its eye to a telescope and looks out thru the Milky Way. How many light years hang draped in the crenellations of the human brain.???

I have a Universe at home in a vast ball of blue glass.Replete with sun, stars, planets and hot hydrogen. All bound up in dark matter. And I know how a god outside of all of this has no power over it – except to destroy this small blue mote, shining in the smoky dark – in order to change its fate.
We are stranger than we imagine today. And tomorrow we can explain it all and become even stranger still.
Yesss! We aretalking ROCKET SCIENCE HERE!


Time has not eased the pain.
From too much talk to silent touches
A sensible tragedy after a night of love.
We left the lights on
And morning shows us old songs by a new light
Old dreams find young wings
In silence
In silence

I live mysteries all the time
Intrigued by them
They are my peripheral vision
Like watching other spirits
Playing their trumpets
Flying in their red robes
Round and round a marble statue
Of an angel in a marble robe
Who plays a marble trumpet
That with one blast
Crack this Universe asunder
In a bright scintilla of coruscating energy
Dissipating at the speed of Light.
. . . . .
A cloud of rapidly dispersing atoms and electrons stripped of their only worth
Up another day we see
Thru the crack, swarming butterflies
A million bright ambassadors
Of morning
In The Undiscovered Countryb>

“Overhead the albatross hangs motionless upon the air
And deep beneath the rolling waves in labyrinths of coral caves
The echo of a distant tide
Comes willowing across the sand
And everything is green and submarine
And no one showed us to the land
And no one knows the where’s or whys
But something stirs and
Something tries
And starts to climb towards the light

Gravity’s Angel Comes for Me
I have a dream

That on a bright sunny morning such as this
Full of promise
That I would see the sun blotted from the sky
By the sweeping wings of
Gravity’s Angel
As she falls toward me
And with arms and legs entwined
Lift me in her embrace
To the free stratified regions
Of Mythos where I long to dwell
Sky the color of my love
She with eyes I dare not meet
Even in my dreams…
To set me adrift in loves Ocean
Stars like dust surround me

With one sweet kiss of life

I know that love and bitterness are drunk from the same cup
So far I have yet to taste of bitterness
For it was mostly sweet -

Perhaps I never will…

“Time time time
See what's become of me
Time time time
To see what's become of me
While I looked around for my possibilities
I was so hard to please
Look around, piece of ground and beside,
It's a hazy shade of winter


The last goose of the season is plucked and I have no immediate use for any more.
Also I am building a ship. and have collected maps of antiquity for my onward journey.

As I reflect on the long shadow that passion has cast across my lighted path – I contemplate that goodbye consists of memory and a past, filled with heart-break
Bliss and pain – I, ready to dump all this baggage, and run…
“Ru-u-u-u-u-n - rabbit - Run
Dig a hole to catch the setting sun…”
As the song goes
The sun goes down
The moon comes up
And the madness starts
Legends die – and then live on in our songs of them: in a Universe that is not only stranger than we imagine, but stranger than we CAN imagine it – all things are possible -b>

“A pity that tax-payers don’t read more science fiction. They might learn more about the future their taxes are buying”.

Nothing is quite as solid as we would wish it, nor quite as ephemeral as we might hope. For many, Life’s map, sketched from our memory, is of a provincial little neighbour-hood, criss-crossed with regret and circumscribed by a few impassable roads - the hearts of so many people dwell in the same wilderness.
Yet I See -
Passion like the sun run riot all over so brightly making the colors of life seem grey: and dance and burn in it yearning for One Like You to dance with me. And as I dice with doomsday in this ballet dancers secret world, I recall - Troppo ballerina de Jazz -
My Crazy Diamond.


- the love that innocence brings and the innocence that love brings
your innocence and love
and the light shining from your eyes

accelerating dance
to passions fiery culmination
aaa…aaaa..aaaa…estacia….a….a…a…..aah…me alma…

salva me … salva me … salva me
– exploding in a violent paramoxym of nova – a brilliant fire
of ionized plasma expanding unfurling
twinkling, glittering and iridescent as your butterfly
wings of light - so light - so light - s-o-o-o-o-o - ..L i-i-i-i-i-i- g -h -t

And then we set off to build yet another and brighter memory. One that will erase the last: in order that we may maintain our youth.
“We are all part monster”, Professor Morbius explains, ”that’s why we have laws and religion”.

“Mais que nada:

One cannot keep love – nor hold it
It is only ours to give – while we still have breath - - -
“Don’t let go of my hand – and we will live forever?”
I watch the sun come up.
And when there is nothing in the way
I can catch a glimpse of perfect happiness
Before it all changes
Instead of just pretending every thing is great -

I play my flute:
For all the Dancing Angels
And Snakes in Baskets
Maybe some day
You will see my face at the fountain
Or hear my name on some distant mountain

From there you will be able to watch the ship of fools run aground -
Beyond the Science of your Eschatology
You have Eschatus
And have no other Science Before Thee
I, on the other hand, will take my chances. . .

We say it was, or it is, or it shall be - when in truth – all we can say about things is that they ARE.

Dies Irae
Days of Wrath
Upon Us
Fiery the Angels rose
Deep thunder rolled
Around their shoulders
Burning with the fires of Orc
Born in one passion
Beat with one heart
Live with one breath
Burn with one flame
Thunder Claps
Lightning Flashes
And in the blink of an eye
We are. . .









FLIGHT . . . . . .

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