deeply different instruments
play a tune across a divide
melodic dichotomy gives birth
to a spark among fumes
a new life
revel in revealing
newfound bond, pulling in
pulled out from beyond the veil
of profound meanings
striding along the way
gathering pace in time
stunning and grand in design
boiling hot inside, minds intertwined
bound in subliminal push
what's left is what's required
one touch, one move
and shush
one sip of the melding potion
to put everything in motion
everything in place
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 2, 2015
Friday, June 19, 2015
surrender
breathing in smoke
breathing out fire
almost remaining unscorched
among desires devoured
luck has run out running 'round nigh burnt out pyre
quit your stallin'
take it all in
flame has fallen
to the ground
breathing out fire
almost remaining unscorched
among desires devoured
luck has run out running 'round nigh burnt out pyre
quit your stallin'
take it all in
flame has fallen
to the ground
Thursday, May 21, 2015
unrest
stillness inside undone by rattling of spine
raindrops cut through fragile skin
thumping outside when thunders combine
seek no shelter, stand your ground
long nights collide, always left understated
blinded by the restless sun
crying out from within where the unrest begins
raindrops cut through fragile skin
thumping outside when thunders combine
seek no shelter, stand your ground
long nights collide, always left understated
blinded by the restless sun
crying out from within where the unrest begins
Monday, May 18, 2015
silence
gaze upon this wretched shell
confined within there spirits dwell
concealed from eye lie hidden away
through dark of the night and bright of the day
in silence
their stories told many a time
by empty sounds, voices denied
too frail to overcome the sinister tide
combined consciousness of those cast aside
by silence
sanity turned to ebb and flow
relentless struggle of those below
no one to be, no way to live, nowhere to go
punished and damned by the force of it all
the silence
confined within there spirits dwell
concealed from eye lie hidden away
through dark of the night and bright of the day
in silence
their stories told many a time
by empty sounds, voices denied
too frail to overcome the sinister tide
combined consciousness of those cast aside
by silence
sanity turned to ebb and flow
relentless struggle of those below
no one to be, no way to live, nowhere to go
punished and damned by the force of it all
the silence
Tuesday, May 12, 2015
endless sea
living in the fade
places we wanted to see
never got around to go
guess it wasn't meant to be
things we wanted to share
they ring a hollow sound
an echo of broken pieces
falling shattered and unbound
left staring into distance
past horizon and beyond
every second, every minute
endless sea of what we've lost
endless sea of what we've lost
endless sea of what we've lost
endless sea of what we've lost
places we wanted to see
never got around to go
guess it wasn't meant to be
things we wanted to share
they ring a hollow sound
an echo of broken pieces
falling shattered and unbound
left staring into distance
past horizon and beyond
every second, every minute
endless sea of what we've lost
endless sea of what we've lost
endless sea of what we've lost
endless sea of what we've lost
Saturday, March 28, 2015
Never, Never Land
Everyday's a test
A test of your resolve
Flyin' away from nest
Tryin' to put it whole
Search for missing pieces
Rarely goes as planned
As your strength decreases
Lose fragments of your mind
What's setting you apart
Things you can withstand
Never have a change of heart
And you never, never land
Every moment, every second
Every moment goes on record
Can't rewind the tape; it's broken
Can't unwind, no rest, but hopin'
Holding on can strain the body
Adding pain to the weight you carry
Cast your light on shadow's surface
Cast away your fears and burdens
Every moment goes on record
Can't rewind the tape; it's broken
Can't unwind, no rest, but hopin'
Holding on can strain the body
Adding pain to the weight you carry
Cast your light on shadow's surface
Cast away your fears and burdens
Constant looking back
Is what drags you down
Wings start showing cracks
Past follows you around
Struggle against the wind
Have a reckless streak
Thrown into a tailspin
Afraid, yet never weak
What's setting you apart
All of it you withstand
Never have a change of heart
And you never, never land
All of it you withstand
Never have a change of heart
And you never, never land
Every moment, every second
Every moment goes on record
Can't rewind the tape; it's broken
Can't unwind, no rest, but hopin'
Holding on can strain the body
Adding pain to the weight you carry
Cast your light on shadow's surface
Cast away your fears and burdens
Can't rewind the tape; it's broken
Can't unwind, no rest, but hopin'
Holding on can strain the body
Adding pain to the weight you carry
Cast your light on shadow's surface
Cast away your fears and burdens
Sunday, March 22, 2015
She's
She's always there. Even though you can rarely catch a fleeting glimpse of her. Hidden in the finer points of the night. Dressed in darkness.
She's never said a word yet somehow speaks to you. Uses language that has no words but is full of meaning. Evokes a mental response. Awakens.
She's turning sounds that don't exist into audible breath of a morning breeze. She's well aware you're longing for this soothing relief. She delivers.
She's an ocean you sink into. Impenetrable depths of green. Can't begin to guess what lies beyond. Can't imagine.
She's cold fire. She consumes you yet your body and mind remain unscorched. She lits you up as if you were a solitary beacon stood at the brink of a cliffside. Pulls you back.
She's leading you somewhere. You're crawling in desperate search of her subtle footsteps. Hypnotized. Spellbound. You don't panic. She won't let you.
She knows you'll find them. Find her. It's inevitable.
What's the deal with her? Is it all just a game? To her? Is she real? Is any of this even real? Are you...
She's never said a word yet somehow speaks to you. Uses language that has no words but is full of meaning. Evokes a mental response. Awakens.
She's turning sounds that don't exist into audible breath of a morning breeze. She's well aware you're longing for this soothing relief. She delivers.
She's an ocean you sink into. Impenetrable depths of green. Can't begin to guess what lies beyond. Can't imagine.
She's cold fire. She consumes you yet your body and mind remain unscorched. She lits you up as if you were a solitary beacon stood at the brink of a cliffside. Pulls you back.
She's leading you somewhere. You're crawling in desperate search of her subtle footsteps. Hypnotized. Spellbound. You don't panic. She won't let you.
She knows you'll find them. Find her. It's inevitable.
What's the deal with her? Is it all just a game? To her? Is she real? Is any of this even real? Are you...
Wednesday, March 18, 2015
Uppercut
not bound by any ties
sheer freedom from exposure
pressure no longer applied
safe sense of true closure
self-promise of no reprise
stand tall; weakness long over
yet one look into your eyes
an uppercut to my composure
sheer freedom from exposure
pressure no longer applied
safe sense of true closure
self-promise of no reprise
stand tall; weakness long over
yet one look into your eyes
an uppercut to my composure
Tuesday, March 3, 2015
How Early Ol' Days, Spinach, Cupids and Geometrical Tolerance Can Shape a Baby Into a Person
When I was being born I promised to myself to spend the first few years of my life as a baby. My thought process amounted to more or less the following: "Fuck it, been stuck for months up in here stewing like a beheaded chicken carcass thrown into a boiling cauldron somewhere in a witch's hut in the far corner of the world. Might as well treat myself to some free service twenty-four seven. Year in, year out. Baby."
I was a good, sweet child o' my parents. Sweet like a bag of sweets and good like a person who jumps in front of another person to take a bullet for them and save their life even though this scenario's portrayal in movies and television has shifted our perception of it to be entirely believable where in truth it is impossible to intercept a fired round unless someone is an absolute Wizard of Anticipation and knows exactly when to undertake appropriate muscle motions. Even then, depending on numerous factors such as distance, velocity and shot placing among others, it is possible for the bullet to pierce through the first body and hit the second one as well. One would have to be really unlucky. Well, two people would have to be really unlucky but the person behind would have to be more unlucky. On second thought, the first person gets killed in almost every scenario so... Nevermind.
Point is, well, maybe I wasn't THAT good but I always slept during nights except when I didn't in which case I was awake. Was never one for crying either except rare instances when I had tears in my eyes. If that ever occurred then I usually had a damn good reason for it. For example, I was uncomfortable a lot of the time. Uncomfortable like a tired old sofa that even the blind family dog refuses to lie on anymore because it's creaky (noisy) and it smells. Creaky and smells. If I was a nut, these would be the contents of my shell. Creaky and Smells. Sounds like a children's cartoon jingle about cupid detectives.
Creaky and Smells solving some crii-ii-imes
Always alert, bit goofy at tii-ii-imes
Friends for life, doing good, having fun!
Using the power of love instead of a gun!
[bridge]
Creaky and Smells oh Creaky and Sme-e-ells
Cupid detectives on their way to he-e-elp
We need them because they're so nice and good!
Chasing down baddies like real lawmen should!
Which is great because there's plenty of bad men SATANS EVEN! in the world who WANT TO HURT YOU AND YOUR FAMILY. YES YOU IN PARTICULAR. AND YOUR FAMILY. They hacked into the NSA satellites and are targeting you as we speak. One of their HQs just dispatched a black van headed for your address. You can't do shit now and IMAGINARY CUPID DETECTIVES WON'T HELP. TOO LATE NOW. REST IN PEACE FUCKERSSS! HATE cupids and bastards and cupid bastards and this stupid motherfuckin' job.
"Oh for shit's bells, who's been fucking around with the recorder?! Jim, you again?! That was your last chance. Your ass is fired!" an authoritative voice would yell.
Creaky and smells. Basically, I was an old person.
Except I was technically young. But I will be creaky and I will smell once again, I guess. If I live long enough. If I die before I reach that state it won't make any difference anyway. Right before my death, in the final moments of my life, I'll be old. As old as I can ever be. Then I'll know. I'll understand. I think. Something.
People say we as humans always go full circle. I find this casual geometrical racism quite upsetting. What's wrong with a square? Does every square look the same to you, you round, boring, geometrically insensitive people? Fuck. When I was eighteen months old I first started to notice the ever-present discrimination in all areas of life and death. I would sit at the table on my special chair and muse about the state of the society and sometimes... Sometimes I'd break down. I would cry out, I would weep and I would spit out that awful spinach mash that was being forced down my throat by people who had "PARENT" written on their life uniforms, just like mechanics have "MECHANIC" written on their job uniforms. Everyone has to have a title in this world. Everything needs a branding, like a cattle, a hot iron induced burn mark that renders people more easily identifiable and cataloguable.
I do like spinach now, though.
Spinach has changed me, actually. It's my buddy now. When I was a baby I didn't see myself ever changing. Always thought I'll grow old just the way I was. Old. And when I become old, I'll be young again. But when I reached my fifth year on this sorry-ass planet it all began to unravel in my head. Realizations came flooding in like previously suppressed large amounts of water that now consumed and devoured defenseless, hopeless villages and villagers, villagers in villages built at the base of the mental dam. Change. There blew a wind. It was of change. I suddenly found myself understanding spinach, hell, liking it. I would sit for hours chewing baby spinach leaves which was ironic because I just stopped being a baby and I was basically eating babies and the thought of me being eaten by a grown up spinach just a year earlier when I still qualified for it... Ugh.
But it wasn't all bad though. Those were good times. There were good times. Fuck yeah, I swear. I could do things and get away with them. I could fiddle with toys and objects and human emotions and everyone would just laugh it off because I was a baby. I didn't have to worry about a great deal of things except for the world and the direction it's heading in and the overall deterioration of humanity and the beckoning downfall of civilization. I think I saw it first. At the age of three I became Harbinger of Doom so it was a lot to take in in my first few years but, well, I managed. It made me stronger. Looking back, I can't really complain. After all, I was being fed food for free, put to bed with love and care, had my ass wiped for me without a flinch of an eye.
Can't wait to grow old/young.
Creaky and Smells oh Creaky and Sme-e-ells
Full circle. Square. Triangle. Trapeze. Et cetera. Full et cetera.
We have to remember. Geometrical tolerance will shape our new, better tomorrow. It's the only way we can still save this planet. Should we fail, we will be back to square one. Circle. Triangle. Trapeze. Rhombus. Motherfuckin' rhombus.
I was a good, sweet child o' my parents. Sweet like a bag of sweets and good like a person who jumps in front of another person to take a bullet for them and save their life even though this scenario's portrayal in movies and television has shifted our perception of it to be entirely believable where in truth it is impossible to intercept a fired round unless someone is an absolute Wizard of Anticipation and knows exactly when to undertake appropriate muscle motions. Even then, depending on numerous factors such as distance, velocity and shot placing among others, it is possible for the bullet to pierce through the first body and hit the second one as well. One would have to be really unlucky. Well, two people would have to be really unlucky but the person behind would have to be more unlucky. On second thought, the first person gets killed in almost every scenario so... Nevermind.
Point is, well, maybe I wasn't THAT good but I always slept during nights except when I didn't in which case I was awake. Was never one for crying either except rare instances when I had tears in my eyes. If that ever occurred then I usually had a damn good reason for it. For example, I was uncomfortable a lot of the time. Uncomfortable like a tired old sofa that even the blind family dog refuses to lie on anymore because it's creaky (noisy) and it smells. Creaky and smells. If I was a nut, these would be the contents of my shell. Creaky and Smells. Sounds like a children's cartoon jingle about cupid detectives.
Creaky and Smells solving some crii-ii-imes
Always alert, bit goofy at tii-ii-imes
Friends for life, doing good, having fun!
Using the power of love instead of a gun!
[bridge]
Creaky and Smells oh Creaky and Sme-e-ells
Cupid detectives on their way to he-e-elp
We need them because they're so nice and good!
Chasing down baddies like real lawmen should!
Which is great because there's plenty of bad men SATANS EVEN! in the world who WANT TO HURT YOU AND YOUR FAMILY. YES YOU IN PARTICULAR. AND YOUR FAMILY. They hacked into the NSA satellites and are targeting you as we speak. One of their HQs just dispatched a black van headed for your address. You can't do shit now and IMAGINARY CUPID DETECTIVES WON'T HELP. TOO LATE NOW. REST IN PEACE FUCKERSSS! HATE cupids and bastards and cupid bastards and this stupid motherfuckin' job.
"Oh for shit's bells, who's been fucking around with the recorder?! Jim, you again?! That was your last chance. Your ass is fired!" an authoritative voice would yell.
Creaky and smells. Basically, I was an old person.
Except I was technically young. But I will be creaky and I will smell once again, I guess. If I live long enough. If I die before I reach that state it won't make any difference anyway. Right before my death, in the final moments of my life, I'll be old. As old as I can ever be. Then I'll know. I'll understand. I think. Something.
People say we as humans always go full circle. I find this casual geometrical racism quite upsetting. What's wrong with a square? Does every square look the same to you, you round, boring, geometrically insensitive people? Fuck. When I was eighteen months old I first started to notice the ever-present discrimination in all areas of life and death. I would sit at the table on my special chair and muse about the state of the society and sometimes... Sometimes I'd break down. I would cry out, I would weep and I would spit out that awful spinach mash that was being forced down my throat by people who had "PARENT" written on their life uniforms, just like mechanics have "MECHANIC" written on their job uniforms. Everyone has to have a title in this world. Everything needs a branding, like a cattle, a hot iron induced burn mark that renders people more easily identifiable and cataloguable.
I do like spinach now, though.
Spinach has changed me, actually. It's my buddy now. When I was a baby I didn't see myself ever changing. Always thought I'll grow old just the way I was. Old. And when I become old, I'll be young again. But when I reached my fifth year on this sorry-ass planet it all began to unravel in my head. Realizations came flooding in like previously suppressed large amounts of water that now consumed and devoured defenseless, hopeless villages and villagers, villagers in villages built at the base of the mental dam. Change. There blew a wind. It was of change. I suddenly found myself understanding spinach, hell, liking it. I would sit for hours chewing baby spinach leaves which was ironic because I just stopped being a baby and I was basically eating babies and the thought of me being eaten by a grown up spinach just a year earlier when I still qualified for it... Ugh.
But it wasn't all bad though. Those were good times. There were good times. Fuck yeah, I swear. I could do things and get away with them. I could fiddle with toys and objects and human emotions and everyone would just laugh it off because I was a baby. I didn't have to worry about a great deal of things except for the world and the direction it's heading in and the overall deterioration of humanity and the beckoning downfall of civilization. I think I saw it first. At the age of three I became Harbinger of Doom so it was a lot to take in in my first few years but, well, I managed. It made me stronger. Looking back, I can't really complain. After all, I was being fed food for free, put to bed with love and care, had my ass wiped for me without a flinch of an eye.
Can't wait to grow old/young.
Creaky and Smells oh Creaky and Sme-e-ells
Full circle. Square. Triangle. Trapeze. Et cetera. Full et cetera.
We have to remember. Geometrical tolerance will shape our new, better tomorrow. It's the only way we can still save this planet. Should we fail, we will be back to square one. Circle. Triangle. Trapeze. Rhombus. Motherfuckin' rhombus.
Saturday, February 28, 2015
The Ballad of the Mead King
He rode on a dragon with a flagon in hand
He saw what they've done; destroyed all his land
It filled him with anger and vengeance he sought
He brought out his axe; its iron still hot
He traveled through plains and mountains he climbed
To find those responsible was on his mind
Not moved by cold wind he cut through the mist
Dusk or dawn, just him and the beast
He picked up a trail after dreary, long weeks
His fire still burning the scars on his cheeks
He followed the path, to old ruins it led
He felt their presence, those soon-to-be-dead
Hungry and thirsty but not for the food
He entered the lair like he knew he would
His dragon stood watch and waited for him
It trusted its master, its friend, to the brim
Soon he encountered his wretched old foes
Slain them one by one, made his way through the halls
Axe in full swing; he was a hailstorm, a flood
Soles of his boots soaked in the blood
The innermost chamber remained to be cleared
The leader of traitors there cowered in fear
No use was to beg for mercy at all
For the axe sank deep and split open the skull
All the destruction, the chaos, the screams
It caused the ruins to crumble it seemed
Among falling rubble he dashed toward light
He lept off the ledge, saw his dragon in flight
His glory reignited; his name sung again
He was a hero to the people, true king of his men
Upon the completion of the most glorious of deeds
He retreated with his dragon and drank all the mead
He saw what they've done; destroyed all his land
It filled him with anger and vengeance he sought
He brought out his axe; its iron still hot
He traveled through plains and mountains he climbed
To find those responsible was on his mind
Not moved by cold wind he cut through the mist
Dusk or dawn, just him and the beast
He picked up a trail after dreary, long weeks
His fire still burning the scars on his cheeks
He followed the path, to old ruins it led
He felt their presence, those soon-to-be-dead
Hungry and thirsty but not for the food
He entered the lair like he knew he would
His dragon stood watch and waited for him
It trusted its master, its friend, to the brim
Soon he encountered his wretched old foes
Slain them one by one, made his way through the halls
Axe in full swing; he was a hailstorm, a flood
Soles of his boots soaked in the blood
The innermost chamber remained to be cleared
The leader of traitors there cowered in fear
No use was to beg for mercy at all
For the axe sank deep and split open the skull
All the destruction, the chaos, the screams
It caused the ruins to crumble it seemed
Among falling rubble he dashed toward light
He lept off the ledge, saw his dragon in flight
His glory reignited; his name sung again
He was a hero to the people, true king of his men
Upon the completion of the most glorious of deeds
He retreated with his dragon and drank all the mead
Friday, February 27, 2015
Melody
It's an echo. This loud, familiar, repetitive sound.
THE sound. THE echo.
It's been here before. It always comes back.
We know it all too well.
After all, it made us into what we are today.
Way before we heard it we were shapeless.
Featureless objects floating in the water.
Flat like its surface.
Nothing deep about us.
Our fates yet to be determined.
Until we clashed.
Drifted for so long we were bound to clash.
That's when the sound happened.
It carried over the water, through the air, into the deeps.
We were left in awe... We woke up into the world.
Afraid of the unknown. Excited by the unknown.
Accompanied by the sound.
Way back then it was a melody.
I remember it to be a melody.
A masterfully composed collage of meaningful notes.
Every one of them was special.
Precious. Timeless. Glorious.
It kept on moulding us patiently.
Sculpting us and teaching how to live.
Day by day.
Until it crashed.
Something broke it, broke the record.
We didn't know when or how or why.
Woke up to it being reduced into the echo.
The echo we're hearing now. Just a snippet.
On an endless loop.
A faded memory. Shadow in the distance.
We're never getting back what we've lost that time.
We can only listen to a fraction of it.
Separately. It no longer binds us.
Hearing it is like putting a glass shard to our ears.
It cuts deep.
Constant reminder of days past.
Of what we've lost.
I wish it would stop.
I want it gone. Gone for good. All of it.
All what's left of it.
So I'm trying to get rid of it by myself.
No luck yet.
But I think... with a bit of help...
From someone else out there.
One day I will listen to a full melody again.
Even make it my own one.
If I can be so bold.
A better one.
With a bit of help.
Compose it with someone.
Our own melody.
THE sound. THE echo.
It's been here before. It always comes back.
We know it all too well.
After all, it made us into what we are today.
Way before we heard it we were shapeless.
Featureless objects floating in the water.
Flat like its surface.
Nothing deep about us.
Our fates yet to be determined.
Until we clashed.
Drifted for so long we were bound to clash.
That's when the sound happened.
It carried over the water, through the air, into the deeps.
We were left in awe... We woke up into the world.
Afraid of the unknown. Excited by the unknown.
Accompanied by the sound.
Way back then it was a melody.
I remember it to be a melody.
A masterfully composed collage of meaningful notes.
Every one of them was special.
Precious. Timeless. Glorious.
It kept on moulding us patiently.
Sculpting us and teaching how to live.
Day by day.
Until it crashed.
Something broke it, broke the record.
We didn't know when or how or why.
Woke up to it being reduced into the echo.
The echo we're hearing now. Just a snippet.
On an endless loop.
A faded memory. Shadow in the distance.
We're never getting back what we've lost that time.
We can only listen to a fraction of it.
Separately. It no longer binds us.
Hearing it is like putting a glass shard to our ears.
It cuts deep.
Constant reminder of days past.
Of what we've lost.
I wish it would stop.
I want it gone. Gone for good. All of it.
All what's left of it.
So I'm trying to get rid of it by myself.
No luck yet.
But I think... with a bit of help...
From someone else out there.
One day I will listen to a full melody again.
Even make it my own one.
If I can be so bold.
A better one.
With a bit of help.
Compose it with someone.
Our own melody.
Wednesday, February 18, 2015
End
He wasn't told to go away.
He was chewed up and spat out.
Out of the window.
Sent plummeting towards his demise.
Face down into a brick road.
Yet somehow survived.
Bid his time.
Climbed back up.
Kept knockin' on the window.
Pleadin'.
Hopin'.
They closed the shutters.
Crushed his fingers.
Sent him flying down... again.
How many times can he fall?
How many times can anyone fall?
Someday he will stop.
Cease to exist.
Sooner or later.
Sooner.
Become extinguished.
Everything has an end.
His end is the end of his everything.
His everything will be the end of him.
He was chewed up and spat out.
Out of the window.
Sent plummeting towards his demise.
Face down into a brick road.
Yet somehow survived.
Bid his time.
Climbed back up.
Kept knockin' on the window.
Pleadin'.
Hopin'.
They closed the shutters.
Crushed his fingers.
Sent him flying down... again.
How many times can he fall?
How many times can anyone fall?
Someday he will stop.
Cease to exist.
Sooner or later.
Sooner.
Become extinguished.
Everything has an end.
His end is the end of his everything.
His everything will be the end of him.
Tuesday, February 17, 2015
Can't
I can't stay here any longer. I have to leave, put the place behind me. Jump into a car and smash the rearview mirror. Fire up the engine and cast off with the screech of tires.
Don't look back.
Never come back.
Coming back... It would mean death.
The place... it became something else. At first, its foundations were laid unbeknownst to anyone, a quiet work on the side, at night, with nobody watching, nobody noticing anything. Beautiful craftsmanship, unlike any I have ever seen was being brought into life during long nights that seamlessly blended into early mornings. It was like a summoning spell bringing the best a different dimension had to offer. The place kept on developing, stacking up on walls and floors, reaching higher and higher every night, every day, every time.
After a while, the people who made it and turned it into their home... they invited me in. Frankly, up to that point I have been looking for a place like that all my life.
So when the question was asked, batting an eyelid wasn't even an option. I moved in.
Jumped in with both feet and dove in.
What a decision that turned out to be. If I was to make it again I would do it a thousand times over.
Everything good that ever happened, happened in the place. Initial fears turned out to be unsubstantiated. Things went smoothly. Things were beautiful. People were beautiful. Wonderful things, wonderful people, palpable emotions filled the interactions between me and them. I wanted it to last forever. I was ready to take it all in. I have given everything.
But the place... it became something else. Cracks started to show. People kept leaving the place and refused to come back. Their ranks, our ranks, grew thinner and thinner. They stopped caring, they stopped asking, stopped answering, just stopped. Slowly drifted away and took a sharp turn behind the horizon.
Worst part was I had no idea why.
Why? Why... WHY?
I guess what I've given wasn't enough to keep them.
I was left alone.
So today I finally gathered up the courage to look around me. I looked at the place for the last time. I'm still looking at it. It reminded me, still reminds me, of all that was ever good in my life. Every wall, every inch, every empty space contained within the place is a relic of the past, a museum exhibition of happy, kind, silent moments that were no longer. It crumbled. Nothing is invincible. Nothing ever lasts.
That's the death.
Despite the pain it eventually brought, I still kept on believing that we could restore the place to its former glory. But the people... they wouldn't listen. I know they could hear me but they wouldn't listen.
They moved on and I stayed behind.
Now it's my turn to go.
I'm standing here, at the porch, with my luggage packed.
Torn. Lost. Confused.
I still believe...
But...
I don't want to go but I have to.
I can't go but I want to.
I need to...
Staying at the place would drive me insane. I would live in everything that I wanted but was never meant to be.
That's... beyond my strength.
I wasn't strong enough. I'm too weak.
But it wasn't me who gave up on the place.
What difference does it make now...
Question is... What do I do now?
The people... I can barely hear them.
What are they saying?
Do I take the step forward? Into where? Towards what?
What if someone comes back to the place?
I don't want to leave......
I have to...
I can't, I can't, I can't
Don't look back.
Never come back.
Coming back... It would mean death.
The place... it became something else. At first, its foundations were laid unbeknownst to anyone, a quiet work on the side, at night, with nobody watching, nobody noticing anything. Beautiful craftsmanship, unlike any I have ever seen was being brought into life during long nights that seamlessly blended into early mornings. It was like a summoning spell bringing the best a different dimension had to offer. The place kept on developing, stacking up on walls and floors, reaching higher and higher every night, every day, every time.
After a while, the people who made it and turned it into their home... they invited me in. Frankly, up to that point I have been looking for a place like that all my life.
So when the question was asked, batting an eyelid wasn't even an option. I moved in.
Jumped in with both feet and dove in.
What a decision that turned out to be. If I was to make it again I would do it a thousand times over.
Everything good that ever happened, happened in the place. Initial fears turned out to be unsubstantiated. Things went smoothly. Things were beautiful. People were beautiful. Wonderful things, wonderful people, palpable emotions filled the interactions between me and them. I wanted it to last forever. I was ready to take it all in. I have given everything.
But the place... it became something else. Cracks started to show. People kept leaving the place and refused to come back. Their ranks, our ranks, grew thinner and thinner. They stopped caring, they stopped asking, stopped answering, just stopped. Slowly drifted away and took a sharp turn behind the horizon.
Worst part was I had no idea why.
Why? Why... WHY?
I guess what I've given wasn't enough to keep them.
I was left alone.
So today I finally gathered up the courage to look around me. I looked at the place for the last time. I'm still looking at it. It reminded me, still reminds me, of all that was ever good in my life. Every wall, every inch, every empty space contained within the place is a relic of the past, a museum exhibition of happy, kind, silent moments that were no longer. It crumbled. Nothing is invincible. Nothing ever lasts.
That's the death.
Despite the pain it eventually brought, I still kept on believing that we could restore the place to its former glory. But the people... they wouldn't listen. I know they could hear me but they wouldn't listen.
They moved on and I stayed behind.
Now it's my turn to go.
I'm standing here, at the porch, with my luggage packed.
Torn. Lost. Confused.
I still believe...
But...
I don't want to go but I have to.
I can't go but I want to.
I need to...
Staying at the place would drive me insane. I would live in everything that I wanted but was never meant to be.
That's... beyond my strength.
I wasn't strong enough. I'm too weak.
But it wasn't me who gave up on the place.
What difference does it make now...
Question is... What do I do now?
The people... I can barely hear them.
What are they saying?
Do I take the step forward? Into where? Towards what?
What if someone comes back to the place?
I don't want to leave......
I have to...
I can't, I can't, I can't
Thursday, January 15, 2015
Fade
Know this
feeling, falling into the ocean
Keep on
falling, that’s all you’ve got left
Know this
feeling, emptying your emotions
They take
their time, they’ve had their fill
Crash
against the tide, diving into the ocean
Keep on
diving, that’s all you’ve got left
Crash
against the tide, overtaken by the motion
The deeper
you end up, the easier to let go
Filled with
silence, drifting into the ocean
Keep on drifting,
that’s all you’ve got left
Filled with
silence, moving with devotion
It will be over,
it’s almost the end
Breathe no
more, fading into the ocean
Keep on
fading, that’s all you’ve got left
Breathe no
more, soak in the deadly potion
Close your eyes,
lay yourself to rest
---
Filled with
silence, drifting into the ocean
Keep on
drifting, that’s all you’ve got left
Filled with
silence, moving with devotion
It will be
over, it’s almost the end
Breathe no
more, fading into the ocean
Keep on
fading, that’s all you’ve got left
Breathe no
more, soak in the deadly potion
Close your
eyes, lay yourself to rest
Monday, December 22, 2014
Bar Fi...Party!
Walked into a bar and sat down
Said "I'll have a drink"
They looked at me like something was not right
'Spose they knew my deal
"What you can have is a fist to the face"
They said and gathered 'round
Guess they haven't forgotten the last time
Blood stilly dry under heels
Still dry under their heels
Had to do it all over again
Pulled a switchblade from my shoe
The tall one charged at me, furiously
I dodged and turned and cut his cheek
Bored I sighed and let my guard down
Fat one caught my arm
"What happened, boy, I thought you were faster"
He hissed through missing teeth
I said, "No, my friend, I'm just getting started"
And I broke his fucking wrist
Swear everyone else joined in after that one
Welcome back, Miss Deja Vu
Guess I wasn't gonna get my drink
Sunday, November 9, 2014
Concrete Vigilantism Ain't Gotta Be A Bad Thing If The Reasons Are Right
I want to be the real deal.
I want to do some good for this world.
If that means driving over bad people in a cement truck, count me in.
See, I thought about this.
Just me, The Cause, concrete, horsepower. United to take a stand.
A giant, orange concrete mixer with a big "HAVE A NICE FUCKING DAY" written on it.
Breezing through streets, fighting crime and injustice.
Settling scores with the bad guys, battling demons of the night.
Sheding light into dark corners of The City.
Fresh concrete sloshing around, turning dicks into statues.
Combined superpowers of cement, gravel and water; harbingers of peace.
Stuff of legends.
What glory. Man.
Give me a truck and enough concrete and I'll save the galaxy.
Gonna need a driver's license too while we're at it.
Streets will be safe again. Lives of many will be preserved.
You'd want that, wouldn't you?
Unless you're a bad guy, in which case I hope you like the taste of CONCRETE FURY.
I want to do some good for this world.
If that means driving over bad people in a cement truck, count me in.
See, I thought about this.
Just me, The Cause, concrete, horsepower. United to take a stand.
A giant, orange concrete mixer with a big "HAVE A NICE FUCKING DAY" written on it.
Breezing through streets, fighting crime and injustice.
Settling scores with the bad guys, battling demons of the night.
Sheding light into dark corners of The City.
Fresh concrete sloshing around, turning dicks into statues.
Combined superpowers of cement, gravel and water; harbingers of peace.
Stuff of legends.
What glory. Man.
Give me a truck and enough concrete and I'll save the galaxy.
Gonna need a driver's license too while we're at it.
Streets will be safe again. Lives of many will be preserved.
You'd want that, wouldn't you?
Unless you're a bad guy, in which case I hope you like the taste of CONCRETE FURY.
Monday, September 15, 2014
Different
I've missed things when I was away. Things you take for granted. Things I used to take for granted.
I had plenty of time. All the time in the world. Seconds were hours that felt like days. There was nothing else to do but miss things and shift my mind into imagination. So there I was, thinking and breathing and forgetting myself time and time again. Stepping outside of myself and venturing.
I pictured myself in a field when I closed my eyes. I could see myself walking among wheats, touching them with my fingertips. The sun was shining. It was blinding. A solar flare was ever-present in my sight. I didn't mind. I liked it. It gave me a sensation of warmth. Something I've missed so much. One of many things. Tip of the iceberg.
Now that I'm back I don't feel it the same way. I always knew deep inside me that it would be different. I thought it would be better. That's the truth. When I felt it again, really felt it, I was left wanting. Wanting more from it, demanding it to match my expectations.
It's not its fault. I guess my expectations were skewed by years of solitude. My imagination added certain features, enhanced the picture. It helped at the time. It allowed me to fight off desperation and hopelesness. For that I'll forever be greatful.
But as I lay down now, back here, I close my eyes yet again and drift...
Seconds become hours that feel like days.
There's the familiar warmth. Not the real one. The one that's exclusive to me.
It's not leaving me anytime soon.
I had plenty of time. All the time in the world. Seconds were hours that felt like days. There was nothing else to do but miss things and shift my mind into imagination. So there I was, thinking and breathing and forgetting myself time and time again. Stepping outside of myself and venturing.
I pictured myself in a field when I closed my eyes. I could see myself walking among wheats, touching them with my fingertips. The sun was shining. It was blinding. A solar flare was ever-present in my sight. I didn't mind. I liked it. It gave me a sensation of warmth. Something I've missed so much. One of many things. Tip of the iceberg.
Now that I'm back I don't feel it the same way. I always knew deep inside me that it would be different. I thought it would be better. That's the truth. When I felt it again, really felt it, I was left wanting. Wanting more from it, demanding it to match my expectations.
It's not its fault. I guess my expectations were skewed by years of solitude. My imagination added certain features, enhanced the picture. It helped at the time. It allowed me to fight off desperation and hopelesness. For that I'll forever be greatful.
But as I lay down now, back here, I close my eyes yet again and drift...
Seconds become hours that feel like days.
There's the familiar warmth. Not the real one. The one that's exclusive to me.
It's not leaving me anytime soon.
Wednesday, September 3, 2014
At Night
Broken silence fills the void
Recites the words from a grimoire
A damning poem, stricken down with grief
Fallen short, fallen short, yet again
A smolder of hope gets beaten
Down with rain
Palms still clenched, though vaguely
Rest resigned on wet ground
Should've seen it coming from afar
Haven't learnt from past mistakes
It's all in the head
Fucking empty space
Winds inside whistle still, every night
All dark
All dark
My eyes can't see
A thing
A thing
My ears can't hear
A sound
A sound
It's all just gone away
For good
For good
Or till the next time, the next day
Recites the words from a grimoire
A damning poem, stricken down with grief
Fallen short, fallen short, yet again
A smolder of hope gets beaten
Down with rain
Palms still clenched, though vaguely
Rest resigned on wet ground
Should've seen it coming from afar
Haven't learnt from past mistakes
It's all in the head
Fucking empty space
Winds inside whistle still, every night
All dark
All dark
My eyes can't see
A thing
A thing
My ears can't hear
A sound
A sound
It's all just gone away
For good
For good
Or till the next time, the next day
Tuesday, September 2, 2014
Try again
I didn't mind the rain that night. I didn't even feel it on me. I just saw it with my eyes as I was making my way through it.
When you walk in a trance, your mind fixed on the goal, you lose connection with your nerve endings. They go numb. They hide, dulled, they know it's not their time.
You can walk for miles and not feel anything. No pain in your body, no fatigue, no distractions.
Time slows down when you're walking like that. Slow motion and blurriness take over. A filter is applied to your screen. Your eyes. You see things you normally don't pay attention to. Things you're unable to see because your mind's wanderin'. You're looking at a film reel, frame by frame. I could see raindrops descending onto my face. I could see reflections of myself in falling water.
That didn't matter one bit. It only added to the theme. A mere decoration.
I kept making my way through the tunnel. A tunnel of focused thoughts that rearranged the surroundings, morphed them into a unified block of colors and shapes. Trees, buildings, people, air, life, every atom, every particle were more or less one entity. A collage.
They made for a border. A perimeter. If you would ever get distracted and breached it, you would fall.
You would lose. Kind of. You would lose the sight of your goal. For a brief moment you would see it being swept away. A result of your carelessness.
I've been there.
I've fallen.
Many times. Down the abyss.
It hurts more when you're falling down than when you finally hit the ground. It's when you see the path through your desperately outstretched palm, it hurts the most. You see it slipping away. Fading in the distance.
At least when you hit the bottom you know you've reached the low point. A point from which you can only build up. So you gather yourself. You can curse under your nose all you want. I know I have. It's a long fucking journey. You dust off your clothes and start the climb. Make your way back up again. Take a deep breath. Enter the tunnel. Try again.
It's not easy. I takes an insurmountable toll. But it's all there is. You try again. I try again.
Focus on the goal. Give it all you've got. No matter the cost. Make your way through the rain.
When you walk in a trance, your mind fixed on the goal, you lose connection with your nerve endings. They go numb. They hide, dulled, they know it's not their time.
You can walk for miles and not feel anything. No pain in your body, no fatigue, no distractions.
Time slows down when you're walking like that. Slow motion and blurriness take over. A filter is applied to your screen. Your eyes. You see things you normally don't pay attention to. Things you're unable to see because your mind's wanderin'. You're looking at a film reel, frame by frame. I could see raindrops descending onto my face. I could see reflections of myself in falling water.
That didn't matter one bit. It only added to the theme. A mere decoration.
I kept making my way through the tunnel. A tunnel of focused thoughts that rearranged the surroundings, morphed them into a unified block of colors and shapes. Trees, buildings, people, air, life, every atom, every particle were more or less one entity. A collage.
They made for a border. A perimeter. If you would ever get distracted and breached it, you would fall.
You would lose. Kind of. You would lose the sight of your goal. For a brief moment you would see it being swept away. A result of your carelessness.
I've been there.
I've fallen.
Many times. Down the abyss.
It hurts more when you're falling down than when you finally hit the ground. It's when you see the path through your desperately outstretched palm, it hurts the most. You see it slipping away. Fading in the distance.
At least when you hit the bottom you know you've reached the low point. A point from which you can only build up. So you gather yourself. You can curse under your nose all you want. I know I have. It's a long fucking journey. You dust off your clothes and start the climb. Make your way back up again. Take a deep breath. Enter the tunnel. Try again.
It's not easy. I takes an insurmountable toll. But it's all there is. You try again. I try again.
Focus on the goal. Give it all you've got. No matter the cost. Make your way through the rain.
Monday, August 18, 2014
Apocalypse Is Now, Through Social Media
It was year 2015. I was already running late to see a friend of mine. We'd always create an event of meeting each other in Goggle Foods restaurant on Thursday afternoon to reminisce about old times. Particularly events that have occurred on Thursdays.
I finally made my way to the restaurant where my friend was waiting for me. He had an impatient look on his face and was ready to use a messenger to message me.
"What is app, dude!" I greeted him.
"Hi. Finally. I was beginning to think you wouldn't even make it in time for the #FFs tomorrow," he joked.
"Sorry, got a bit caught up in an argument. Someone's been tagging me and I didn't like it. No #comment. I've unfriended and blocked them now so I hope it's gonna be alright."
A waitress approached. She was wearing cool glasses even though her sight was perfect.
"#Greetings, can I take your order? Currently trending are #PancakesReportedForSpam, ten times shared #InstaRisotto, and our speciality, #Kim'sLard," she offered.
"No, #ThankYou. I'd like this 140 character #sushi with a brightened up Valencia filter on it, an #AppleJuice, looped ten times, and a glass of loved #redvino," I said.
"And for you, #sir?" she asked my friend.
"Let's see... I'll take a #decent #spaghetti, twice reblogged, an eyeOS salad with the recent 11.1 update and a cheeky DM to drink."
The waitress wrote it all down on her tablet and disappeared behind a corner.
"Man, this is my favourite place. Loved it ever since I've stumbled upon it five years ago. I would give it a thousand likes if I could. But the #prices have gone way up recently. Food's cheaper on #Nile now."
"Tell me about it. It gives me a sad emoji. Economy's gone to shit since @improvidentgareth55 became President. I regret retweeting him during the elections. I've pinned my hopes on him. I would have retweeted @damien_shrewd now if I could."
"Oh well, his #selfies and #programme were convincing, AND he was advertising the newest 5.4 GreenRobot software," I gasped and we both dived into our phones to check BassFeet news.
I finally made my way to the restaurant where my friend was waiting for me. He had an impatient look on his face and was ready to use a messenger to message me.
"What is app, dude!" I greeted him.
"Hi. Finally. I was beginning to think you wouldn't even make it in time for the #FFs tomorrow," he joked.
"Sorry, got a bit caught up in an argument. Someone's been tagging me and I didn't like it. No #comment. I've unfriended and blocked them now so I hope it's gonna be alright."
A waitress approached. She was wearing cool glasses even though her sight was perfect.
"#Greetings, can I take your order? Currently trending are #PancakesReportedForSpam, ten times shared #InstaRisotto, and our speciality, #Kim'sLard," she offered.
"No, #ThankYou. I'd like this 140 character #sushi with a brightened up Valencia filter on it, an #AppleJuice, looped ten times, and a glass of loved #redvino," I said.
"And for you, #sir?" she asked my friend.
"Let's see... I'll take a #decent #spaghetti, twice reblogged, an eyeOS salad with the recent 11.1 update and a cheeky DM to drink."
The waitress wrote it all down on her tablet and disappeared behind a corner.
"Man, this is my favourite place. Loved it ever since I've stumbled upon it five years ago. I would give it a thousand likes if I could. But the #prices have gone way up recently. Food's cheaper on #Nile now."
"Tell me about it. It gives me a sad emoji. Economy's gone to shit since @improvidentgareth55 became President. I regret retweeting him during the elections. I've pinned my hopes on him. I would have retweeted @damien_shrewd now if I could."
"Oh well, his #selfies and #programme were convincing, AND he was advertising the newest 5.4 GreenRobot software," I gasped and we both dived into our phones to check BassFeet news.
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