Aevum

Have you ever Watched a Breeze?
Or the Formation of an Idea on One's Brow?
Realising that what is just Empty Space..
Or Just a Face..
Is Quite Full..
Powerful.
Damning.

Or the Flow of Time.
Though I am skeptical of the Future.
As I see more Now, and a Hope that Now continues.
And in this Continual Present,
Time, the anarchist, smiles..
Watching as Order grows into Disorder..
Reveling in Entropy.

Or The World...
Moving Monotonously through its Motions...
In an Eternal Pirouette
Entertaining itself with its Inhabitants..
Probably not Considering the Consequence of its Whims.
Not burdened by Duty...
Just People.

And in the Quite Full Empty Space
Seeking the Powerful Just a Face,
And the Hope of Continuing Presents,
But a few Years of Time's Entertainment,
The Light Burden of a Dancing World;
We Stand.

Preadormitum

A Vague Concept, or... or.
Or a Memory..
And if a Memory a Lost One.
Not quite Amnesia..
More like a Forgotten Dream..
A Forgotten Dream..
Dream.
And those are?

I'm Bobbing my Head
So There Must Be Music.
Like the Bass of my Heavy Eyelids
and Orchestrated Yawns.
Music...
Leading...
Softly Rising,
Rising.. and
Falling...
Falling?
Falling!
I'M AWAKE!
I'm Awake..
I'm..

Drifting.
Daily Drifting..
Living between Hypnic Jerks
Mind/Body Out of Sync
I'm Missing Something..

It's a..
A Vague Concept..
A Lost Memory..
...

Deathbed Roses

'Tis Mankind's Tragedy;
Loss is both Necessary and Unavoidable.
Adding Insult to Injury,
Like Life in itself wasn't Sufficiently...
Fleeting...

As if it were Manure..
Like we are supposed to Know
We should Grow More..
The more Shit is sent our Way.

Life is full of the Reminder of it's End.
Death and Decay...
Ha..
More Manure I guess.
Though I wonder...
Will They still Love the Rose,
If they Know the Rose Stinks.

I Think Not.

Death, Loss, Tears.
A Little Water on the Graveside,
Songs sung...
As If He Heard.
Then Again..
The Roses needed a Bit of Water.
And I Hear Singing does them Well.

As Painful as it was...

The Days of Manure and Teardrops?
They Shall End.
For even Deathbed Roses need Sunshine.

A Death.

There was a Death in the Family
Excuse me if I Choke Up...
Not that I have any Memories of Him,
He was a Cousin in My Youth
But have you ever met a Man at His Funeral?

You ever seen a family Mourn?
Well.. You ever seen Mine?
We're loud though,
But We Cry Silent..
Silent like a Heart Attack in a 25 year old,
Or like a livid mother,

Or a teenage son.

Have you ever Met a man at His Funeral?
Seen his Sin's mother cry..
Well a Beautiful one, Both of Them.
A Sin overlooked and a Son accepted.
Like Father like Son..
Only the Father Lived Longer.

And you and I know a Beautiful Woman's Cry is Potent
And if you didn't..
Fuck you.

But Please.
If you Want to Meet A Man...
hehe...
I guess I could word that better.

But Yes.
Meet Him Before His Funeral.

Freud

The Thirst.
As the Hormones Flow
Logic Ebbs..
The Great Sea of Swirling Energy.
Longing, Passion,
Viewing the World in Black and White
And Anatomy in Colour.
Lust of the Eyes.
Interpreting, her Shape and mine
Flowing with the Tide.
Saying in one ear,
Whispering.
"Let's Tessellate."

Libido.
As he called it.

Now, I am no Oedipus,
And She no Electra.
But the Id demands that Thirsts be Met,
Hungers Quenched,
Fixations Realised,
Pleasures Explored.
And now neither Egos disagree.

And Libido's tides Crash loudly against the Bedhead.
Moaning Melodies of (Over)Indulgence
Muddled Conflicts,
Yeses and Nos.
Melting Together..
Painting the Ambience Visible...
Whether on Rose Petals or Concrete.
Same Picture.
..
Libido, The Pleasure...
Their Crests and Troughs
Paint the Heart's Pulsing ...
May it never Flat Line...
Then the Audience Cheers as the Ceremonial Glass is Raised.
Then we Pretend to Drink?
Because the Thirst seems Eternal,
Does it not?

Whenever that Oral Fixation Sprouted 
And Love became all Lip Service...
Though Time won't tell us.


Pleasure Drives Us.
He said.

And Now more than Ever...
He's Right.

Summer Night Reflections

I'm not sure about Anyone Else,
But it's the Nights I look forward to in Summer.
The Days are too Imposing.
Striking.. Temperature-wise.
Cooler is Better
For the Thoughts, at least.

So I'm up at about an Hour past Tomorrow.
Wait. It's Today now.
Funny how Trivial Time is when you have Nothing to do with it.
And how much we Crave Occupation...
Or just Wage.
But that's Aside from the point.
It's Late...
And I don't Night Walk alone, either.

Walking with Friends is always Interesting...
And less Time Conscious.
And it's a Strange group of Human-folk
I Call Friends:
Hedonists, Zealots, the occasional Heretic.
A mixed crowd
...
And maybe a Dangerous one.
But Danger aside
They make Good Conversation.

And Conversation is Hard to Find in a World of Talk.

Aside from the Time and the Friends...
The Night is missing an Element.
Though I can't Hear the Night's Whisper
Over the Roar of my cheap Headphones
Oh... That's it.
Music.

It's a Nocturne
From an Otherworldly Orchestra..
Much Heard, Little Talked About.

Time,
Friends,
Music,
Everything's here.

Somebody get the Liquor...
It's a Summer Night.

Headache

My Head is Killing me.
And it's not so much the Pain that Hurts.
But the Betrayal.

And my Funeral will be one of Dark Colours,
and Silent Music.
Not Sorrowfully Though.
"He only Sleeps"

Sleep... No. Rest is what I need.
Kryptonian Resurrection at Daylight
Though the Sun is my Kryptonite.
It's a Love-Hate relationship..
I am the Hater.

Though I'm still not a Fighter.
Barely a Lover.
So my Title may be a bit Complex at that Junction.
Or I'm overthinking.

The Betrayal.

Or maybe I Had it Coming.
 

Quirk

I guess we're all a Bit Twisted

Out Of Shape
Out Of Mind
Out Of Tone
But the Little Dents and Twists
Make every Set Piece Different.
And Believe Me:
I Love The Quirk.

Not that I really expect Requited Love.
But then again,
Love is Taboo.
The World runs on Eros.
So Why Bother.

And even if I'm Physically Stagnant
Everything else is Screaming,
Bouncing off Walls,
Gnawing on a Straightjacket.
Not that I'm Crazy...

I'm Just A Little Quirk.

And probably the Only One I'm not particularly fond of.

But then again,
There's a part of all of us that Relinquishes the Novel.
We all seek for the Different.
Our Boundaries are just Individual.

We are All A Little Craz  Quirky...
Even the best of us.


But the best of us Enjoy it.

Love Lost

I've Watched my Grandfather Mourn the Last of his Coffee.
The Last Scoop.
The Kettle Over a Medium Flame.
Slow to Boil.
He Watched the Water.
He Sighed.
The Weekly Funeral Procession.
Taking the last of the Bottle to it's Murky Grave.
He Sipped It's Eulogy.
But Remained Strong.
He Never Cried.
Never.

A Lost Love.

Lost

Just Another Day...
Week...
Month...
Another eon.
Here, Just sauntering around...
Comfortably.
then Hurriedly.
then Panicked.
"Are you looking for something?"
"Aren't we all?"

A Passion,
A Love,
A Home,
A Family.
A Sense of Belonging.
"So, What are you looking for?"
"Nothing."

It's all Lost.
In the Talent,
The Intellect,
The Friends,
The "Friends",
The Loneliness,
The Complacency,
The Sentiment,
The Apathy.
"Are you sure?"
Haha, "Ofcourse."

Those Feelings.
The Blush at the Thought of a Name
The Rage at the Mention of a Place
The Nostaolgia at the Texture of an Old Gift.
Those Connections.
The Faces which have Names.
The Places which have Memories.
"So, why're you here then?"
Umm,"Just taking a walk"

The Lies.
"C'mon you know you can trust me?"

Life Isn't a Game.
But it reminds me of a few.
"Tell me, what're you looking for?"

Mother.

In All Honesty; I was Born.
A feat not easily accomplished without a Mother.
Though I was Born Blue
(Umbilical Obstruction)
But I was Born all the same.
Born.
But was I Mothered?

Childhood..
One of Fear and Tantrums.
The Fear was Instilled
And the Tantrums were Inherited.
I'm My Mother's Son.

I Grew
And Fear became Contempt.
Tantrums became Soul Devouring Silence.
And Inheritance became Contrast.
I was trying to Escape Her.
Honestly.
But from the Day I was Birthed There was No Escape.
I am my Mother's Son.

They say Boys marry their Mothers.
Well.. Women like Them.
And the Thought was Terrifying.
It was a Fate to be Avoided..
"Avoided"
Trying to Escape Again(?)

Then Again. I Grew.
Contempt became Apathy.
Soul Devouring Silence became Inadvertence.
Contrast became Distance.
I Hadn't Escaped.
The Leash just became Longer.
And Weaker.
I guess Mother's mellow with Age
Ours and Theirs
But its Still Horrendous when Emotion is Replaced with Nothing.

So Now
I Feel I've Grown to be Quite the (Bad) Excuse for a Son.
The Feelings (Or Lack Thereof) have gotten to me.
And, Though I Hope I'm still Reparable.
If I'm Not.
All I Can Hope is that My Children's Mother will be Loved.
And that I Wished I Had Loved Mine.

Greyscale

I never did Like Colours.
Always preferred the Nighttime
Appreciating the Silver-Grey Overlay
The Moon's own Interpretation..
Visual Silence.

No need for Hues.
The Saturation set at Zero.
The Distractions Fade.
The Tired Eyes Appeased.
No more Technicolor Assault
Just the Smooth Stylings of Black and White.
And the Everything (or Nothing) in Between
.....
Optical Jazz??

Grey is More Colourful than it Seems.
In its Shades and its Tints
Stories Hide.
Of Adventure, Discovery, Innovation...
Love, Loneliness...
or Aloneness..
Whichever one.
But every Genre; Somewhat Clear
As it fades to White.

Pure Monochromatic Bliss...

We All know the Soothing Caress of Darkness.
Surrounded by Nothing but Nonexistent Music.
Where the Eyes are free to Roam
Beyond the Temporal.
Where Truths Lay...
Able to Explore. Discover.

There is Disillusionment in Colour.
Separation and Incongruence.
It seems Clear Then.
At least to me.
"Everything Looks Better in Black and White".

Do You...

Now
Before You think I'm Desperate because I Asked..
The Truth is:
I Don't Love Me Either...

Well I guess I Assumed Your Answer is No...
I'm Sorry
That's just the Answer my Mind Screams..
Don't Mind Me too much.
As the Saturday Slowly Comes..
Not that I look forward to my Alone Time..

Please...
Don't take my current Deference for Weakness.
I'm Just Tired
Tired of the Silence too..
And I would gladly take a Rest from Both.

Though we Both know What  Who I dream about.
Not that I'm quarrelling..
It's Just that only my Mundane Dreams come true..

But as I said...
Don't Mind Me too much.
Just Answer The Question.  

Dyscalculia

I Have Never Been Good with Numbers.
And though Logic and Reasoning are my Forte
I have all Reason to Conclude.
You Don't Add Up.

This is by No Means Straight Line Logic
Many a Time I have crossed the Why Axes
And Many a Night I have Wondered,
Wandered in my Conscious as to the Illogic of the Outcome.
So much was left Undefined..
Like a Problem without as Answer.

I must have made a Mistake Somewhere..
Anywhere..
Did my working not Show??
These Numbers are confusing me..
Something here isn't right..
Wait..
When was u substituted for x?
and Why?

And even though there are still Too Many Unknowns
I knew before I started..
Whatever Vector is at work here has Unbearable Magnitude
And it's in Your Direction.

Well.
Whatever It Takes.
I will Sit Here.
Whatever It Takes.

I Will Work It Out.

Comatose

Its a warm kind of Darkness

Not the kind Death Brings

More Numb than Anything else

A Naturally Forced Apathy

So I guess it is kinda like Death? 

But Warmer, Definately Warmer.

Suspended in a Flesh Like Medium 

Its almost like I'm Alive.

My ideas take Form and Substance in the Void

Characters, Plots, Sets, Music...

It's almost as if I'm entertaining Myself....

Except I Don't Write Comedies

I lack Presense not Awareness

I hear the Whispers and the Soft Words

Condolenses?

But I Hear My Life Beep

Surely there is still Hope

I fell Asleep some time Ago. 

But I Must Wake. 

She is Waiting on Me

Tearshot

All I want is Darkness and Silence and Music
As the Eyes Sting
And the Afterthought Begins.

When was I Wronged by Happiness?
Why do I Despise it So?
I Loved Her More than I Loved Myself…
Though That’s not Saying Much
A Little Self Loathing
Sometimes Never
Or Never Again.

The Music Knew Before I Did…
And Whispered It To Me Before The Daylight
In Jazz
“It was good while it lasted
We had it all for a minute or two”
But in My Naïveté
I said Not Yet…
Then Yet Came..

What I Got was Darkness and Silence…
No Music
The Playlist is too Fearsome
I Feel Lost.
Confused, Afraid, Hopeful, Empty, Forgotten,
Feeling the Sting Shaping..
Creating Form.

“We Have To Talk”
Never Comforting
She Sat Me Down
………….
Then It Rained.

April 8, 2013

Gogh

“…and then, I have nature and art and poetry, and if that is not enough, what is enough?”

Wasn’t It enough??
To put a Bullet through my Chest
For you to know the Red: Mine
And the Yellows and the Blues and Moods and the Strokes and the Hues
With every hand stroke painting a breeze or a midnight…
Landscapes and Portraits all for the private Gallery of Memory
The great Museums of Legacy.

And though Eccentric and Nonentity, I be:
The Brush and the Depression Beckon
And if Red Eyes or Tear Stained Canvas ever deter
Then I would be a Man even Lower than I am..
And through the Greyscale Days and Starry Nights
The Pencil Etches on Paper..
The Old Man Sorrows..
And even with the Bullet in my Breast
I Walk

And I Live.
Like Bogemann,
“Love Many Things” You Said
Though the Love was Unequal
And the Strychnine Calls…
Just as the History Books recall
Except You Don’t Rescue Me.

As Colours Cool
And Blues Permeate the Psyche..
The Sower Sows,
The Plum Tree Blooms
I Look to the Starry Night
…………………………………..

I Died long before the Red Paint on my Chest
“The only time I feel alive is when I’m painting.”
And Years Ago I dropped my Brush

But as the Pain Seared, and I Walked…
And the Pain Seared and I Sat…
And the Pain Seared and I Smoked…

At Dusk It Dawned;
“The sadness will last forever.”
- Gogh

The Song

This Incompetence…
I’m Used To.

Effort means nothing in this Context.
Trying Harder
Brings only a more Humiliating Trail of Defeat.
More Signs of Inability..
More Proofs of Patheity.
…
But I feel I must try harder.

I can’t ignore this Venture..
For the Song Beckons.
Notes Caress…
Suturing the Flesh torn from the Falls
Music building the Lost Resolve..
Pushing me on.
Light Fingers brush over the Strings
Gently Plucking.
Ever So Gently Playing the Blood Red Harp.
Playing the song..
The Modern Taboo..
Incessantly.
Love.

This Incompetence…
I’m Used To

Eloquence unaccounted for
Words Fail to Harmonize Like the Inspiratory Tune
They alienate the Audience..
The Act is Overdone.
The Effort Visible.
And the Actor babbles on..
Ad Lib, Improvisation…
But the Effort only Brings Failure..
….

And Yet the Song still Plays

December 21. 2012

Sometimes

Sometimes a little Self-Loathing is Acceptable
When in our Mind’s Eye;
Our distance from the Ground is Exaggerated,
It is Imaginary.

When in Truth, we have reached no Heights
And our Triumphs are too little to Diminish our Errs

When our Shortcomings have had Greater Influence than our Victories;
In our Missteps we have Killed, Maimed, Destroyed,
While in our Accomplishments we can barely Heal
And we say “We’re only Human” as an excuse.
When our Apologies are, too often, Meaningless…
So when they are Sincere they are met only with Skepticism.

Sometimes a little Self-Loathing is Necessary
When our Humanity is not Excuse enough for our Wrongdoings;
And in our Successes we have left only Death, Betrayal and Brokenheartedness in our wake.
….
But only Sometimes.

Tired

A New form of Ancient Bliss.
“I know I’ve enjoyed myself when I’m Tired”
But I can’t escape the Poison laced in Enjoyment’s kiss
And when Rest evades me, even if Sleep does not.
I’m Tired.

My Ambition is tied firmly to the Moon’s Shadow,
Yet I’m called to be of Use during the Sun’s Assault.
I’m Dead Beat. My Eyelids sewn shut.
My Eyes wide open…
Forced to Live in the wrong time of Day..

And forced to Die at the wrong time of Night..
Sleep avoids Me not.
But Sleep brings fatigue.
And Wake brings weariness.
A Tired life, I Live.

I Must Enjoy Myself A Lot.

I could have lived this life in the Past.
But my eyelid’s weight has accumulated
For Once.
I need a little Rest.
Stop giving me only Sleep.

November 28, 2012

Down

I’m not used to this..
This Incompetence.
Since when have I ever been pulled Down like this?
What Is this..
Gravity?

Till now I’ve soared..
It must have been on Another’s Wings.
But Now I’m the Bird…
The Weight of the others is too much..
The Gravity of the Situation won’t allow it
I must have flown coop too swiftly..
I’m falling..

And the Ground Approaches
The Imminent.
Too Fast for my Liking.
It’s all a Blur..
What the Fuck Happened?
The Expectations Drown out my Shouts
Their Resistance still not enough to slow my Plummet
Now they just ruffle Feathers…

….
The Roar in my Mind..
Will It Cease??
The Ground’s Approach.
Will It Slow??
Since when has Spreading my Wings been so Taxing??
Since when has the Act I Loved so much been so Strenuous??

Then the Wind Whispers
.
.
“You’re Going Down.
But You’re Not Down Yet.”

October 6, 2012

Freedom and Captivity: Scene One

I don’t want to go there.
Tear off these chains of Freedom and Captivity
“Free yourself from Mental Slavery” never meant “Be A Slave to Freedom”
Captivated by ourselves
Selfishness is now our Master.. And Money, His Drivers.. And Greed, Our Chains
YES! We Have enslaved ourselves
That is why we are barely free.

Because the thought of Serving is now Repugnant.
“What am I, a SLAVE??” We can’t even do a favour willingly
And we curse to DEATH we are free..
“For all men are born Free and Equal…”
But we all think ourselves Better than Another..
Or Worse..
Held Captive by out own Self Image and Pride..
I don’t want to go there.

But I Must
Separation from “Self” is too painful
“I” has become our Motto
“I”, Our Government
But if we forever pursue ourselves
We will forever be Lonely.

It’s funny, The Unity we had as Slaves
And how Disjointed we are in Freedom
“Every Man for Himself” has made Every (Other) Man an enemy.

Not that Freedom isn’t available
But we are too far Deafened by our own Driving Cries.
We haven’t Heard It.
“Come to Me, Alll you who are Weary and Burdened, and I Will give you Rest”

August 19, 2012

Victory and Defeat: The Second Act

I Came Back Victorious
Having Passed..
Having Passed Through
Giving Thanks
I’m no longer the Me of the Past
I Came Back Triumphant 

I knew I had Conquered.
Because I had to Fight and Kill Pride..
And Escape It’s Narcissistic Poison.
And I knew I was a Champion
Because the People Applauded Me
Showered with Congratulatory Accolades

I guess Pride’s Fangs nicked me Once..
or Twice..
Nothing Fatal..
But All In All
I Was No Failure…

So why do I feel so Defeated ?

August 16, 2012

Retreat: The Intermission

Not that I ran away
But I had to
I. Needed. A. Break

And I Got One..
I know I’ve Rested when i come home Tired..
Carnally Tired but Spiritually Refreshed
Basking in Almighty Presence
Living in Self Reflection
Meeting in the Cool of the Day

A Break from Myself..
Dawning and Setting in the presence of People
Feeling God
Learning Myself
Laughing Freely
Crying Freely
Freely Living at a Storm’s Pace
Knowing no Fatigue until the Last Day.

A Break from my Passion
My Sins
My Drunkenness and my Lust
And Realizing their Poison
A Time of Detox
Pure Joy in Clean Life

For I knew the Weight of my Shed Tears
The Years of Bondage they Represented..
They were Heavy and that is why they fell
Slowly
But they fell
My Soul lessened its Burden
Exchanged it for a lighter one
For there is a Cross I Must Bear..
And I Now shall Bear it in Humility, Strength and Courage

But Crosses aren’t Convenient

August 13, 2012

Noche: The Nocturne

The Days are Hot now..
And the Heat drags on Relentlessly
And as Drunkenness and Folly overtake me
It Falls..
La Noche

Though it never catches me Unaware
The mere Beauty of it never fails to Encompass me
Surround me..
Chain me
Capture Me..
…
Free Me

Caging the Daylight Inhibitions
Letting Run the Lycanthrope Desires
The Thirst for Life, Death, Blood
The Scourge of Worldly Pleasure and Shame
Willing to reek Havoc on the Hot Night

Hot and Soaked
As the Joust of Tongues
or the Burning of the Unloved’s Loins
A Wanting Heat
Accompanied by the Moon’s Arctic Light
Nature’s Beauty in Contrast

She is Mine
The Moon
But I Cannot Reach Her

Does the Wolf not beckon to the Moon in the Fervour of Want?
and Does Cerberus not await His next Meal?
So it is with that Fervour and that Patience
That i await my Death at the Hands of Nyx

July 19, 2012

Dog Days

♪♫The Dog Days are Over.. The Dog Days are Do~ne♪♫
The chorus which I am yet to sing.
Mine just begun.
..
Although my Summers usually start like this.
Though these days aren’t really Hot..
Still spent in Heat..
Though Liquor and Heat were never Acquaintances
Leaving me to Revel in Boredom’s Stupor.

It’s been too few days to count
Already I miss the People
Thinking about a Single Bitch
Though She’s not mine to think about
And Howling at night won’t change that

Chained to the damn house too..
Makes me wonder who the Owner’s really are
Hot. Barely any Food, Plenty Drink.
“Liquor and Heat were never Acquaintances”
And Their Bite is worse than my Bark

♪♫Leave All Your Love and Your Longing behind♪♫
♪♫You Can’t Carry it with You if you Wanna Survive♪♫

Looks like I’ll Die then.

July 4, 2012

Verano: The First Movement

And in the Night
My Mind Throws Foolishness at Me
Random Chords or Silent Noise
And in the Cold
I’m Awakened
A Hungry Beast in Rain
Hell-bent on Procreation
Subhuman
Hunting for the savor of Life
and Restoring Life
Living Blood
But in the Day
I’m Dead to Me
Just a Social Monotone
But my Life’s Best Chorus
The People
Not a Slave to my Solitude
Or a Prisoner to my Notions of Love
People free me from Me
And yet I Return
Because who doesn’t love the Call of Night
The Breeze’s Vocals
The Lover’s Prelude
But Then
All I Have is my Mind
With Myself as Company
Drowning in my Liquor
Of Self Pity and Restrained Libido…
and Vodka

I might as well offer a Toast.
“To Summer…”

June 3, 2012

"Beautiful Moon, Tonight"

Too bad its Covered by the Clouds.
Like this entire Week,
Clouded Feelings,
Overcast Thoughts.
Not One Star shines through
Not one Can…..
Beautiful Moon, though.

Moonlit thoughts paint my mind Grey,
Not the usual Silver
But Grey, Courtesy of the Clouds,
I Ponder….
One Year Ago…
When the Clouds were Wanted,
When Clouds brought Rain..
but…
These Clouds can Never bring the Storm back.

I wonder..
Was the Moon Beautiful that Night??
…
I can’t Recall..
Though Tearshot eyes Never see well.
And Bloodfilled eyes aren’t Perceptive..
…
Though it doesn’t matter now..
Whether it was Cloudy or Clear..
Rain Fell…
We Made it Fall..
And We Made our Own Thunder..
And We Brought About our Own Lightening..
We Made, and Kept, our Own Storm..
…

We Made The Night Beautiful..
Because we Painted it with Her Memory..
So..
Even through the Clouds, It’s a
“Beautiful Moon, Tonight”.
Isn’t It?

In Loving Memory of J.J.

April 5, 2012

“She Said…” The Story of the Nice Guy

So She said..
“Other men gave you a bad name”
And so.
“I can’t take anything You say.”
As Truth..
About Anything..
That I’m Different..
Not Like Them..
Not the Same..
But..
When your one Perk is that the Lie most men tell
Is actually, in your case, True..
Belief is still a Luxury ..
Too far beyond your budget.

And She Said..
“So you are different but.. ”
Then That comes up..
She knows too much at this point.
Meh.
The agony of Scars.
Or more like Wounds..
For they still Hurt like Hell..
Laugh at me like Devils..
Restrict me like Chians..
Torment me.
So I’m different..

But its not all Good..
So She says she would prefer a Normal..
Then runs to me with the Tearful Complaints..

Then She says..
“You’re a good Friend”
or “Person”..
I guess she already knows my flaws..
‘Cuz those are what she was told first..
So my Bright Side is appreciated now..
That she Admits.
And now I smile when she says it..
Because I’m no longer looking for a 3rd chance.
Since, I have already either given up or.
Eventually I lost interest..

Though..
I’m Just a Nice Guy so.
Evidently, as far as they know I should Finish Last..

And she says.
I’m now closer to her than any guy has ever been..
Besides in truth I really do believe that
Since I’ve lasted longer than any Boyfriend..
Sad existence as some see it..
But still.. I make a joke and she laughs..
As we walk with her new One…

January 19, 2012

Ambition

The Staple to Achievers.
Catalyst for the Successful.
Fuel for the Driven.
Condition for the Progressive.
Necessity for the Revolutionary.
Not Aptitude..
Or Talent..
But Ambition.

I Had it once..
Though a simple Ambition it was..
I Have Forgotten it..
Along with my childhood.
Simply put..
I Matured it Didn’t..
I Grew but I should have nurtured It..
I Went but I left it..

But now..
I Have It Not

Never lacked Aptitude.. or Talent.
But now i lack Ambition..
I Lack Fuel..
..
Similar to an Aventador without Petrol.
Potential is Unlimited
But I won’t Progress.

Its a Simple matter really.
Even the best of Us becomes subhuman without Ambition.
Subhuman, because Humans progress..

I Need a New One.

January 18, 2012

: : Insert Expletive Here : :

Opinions are like sand on a seashore
Everybody has their own.
For every Subject, Person, Idea, Event,
For Everything we come upon an Opinion is born.
In my opinion though,
And differ from yours it may,
At times thoughts are lost in there entirety by translation.
Not only between languages.
But translation from Raw Idea, to Fully Fledged Thought, to Words,
To Sentences. And then on and on.
We convert and Convert till the Essence, The Emotion is lost.
That, then, is why in raw passion we don’t Censor ourselves.
We don’t limit ourselves to that which is “Social Convention”
Or Acceptable.
We don’t mask our “Fucks” or Asteric our “Shits”.
Our basic language has no : :Insert Expletive Here: :

In Truth.
What we ought to do is allow Thoughts to roam freely.
Censorship should not be a system that we Force upon People.
Instead we shouldn’t have needed it in the First Place.
The Words we shield Children from.
Why were they first spoken?
The behaviours we Forbid in Public.
How did they start??
How did our Minds and Passions become such that they are all Taboo?

Bleeping out a fucking word… doesn’t change its Impact.
Simply.
If you never wanted that word Heard.
Don’t Say It.

January 2, 2012

2011

A Year of Memory.
Memory in such great Number my reminiscence is insufficient.
Insufficient to recall all the People, Lives, Events, Words, Feelings.
Feelings of Nostalgia would take me for Miles. Forever.
Forever these memories will last.
Last.

I remember Nothing.
Nothing, though, will my Forgetfullness steal from me.
Me who has Grown.
Grown more than I have any other year.
Year in to Year out I have been made to experience a myriad of Situations.
Situations which have taught me to cast aside Naivety, Immature Lust, Pagan Pride.
Pride which has preceded many Falls, Mistakes, Regrets.
Regrets.

Emotions have been Tested and Tried. Proven.
proven that they are Genuine. Heartfelt. Real.
Real Love, Rage, Hope, Depression, Joy, Grief.
Grief shared with Friends over Tremendous Loss.
Loss we will forever live with.
With another Year. We press forward.
Forward not as New People but the same. Just Trudging towards Improvement.
Improvement.

The realization and refinement of Arts.
Arts which have impacted my Way of Life. Of Thought.
Thought which has been expressed.
Expressed as portraits of Words, Poetry of Colours and Lines, and Perspective.
Perspective has been widened to see that mine is not the only One.
One Year. 2011
2011 has passed so we look on.
On to another Year.
Year 2012.
2012.

January 1, 2012

The Pauper

Not so Long Ago
In A Land not far away
I.. am a simple Pauper
Living Day to Day
Easily
Nonchalant
With too little or too much care.

I, the Pauper
Live by my trade.
Laughter as my payment
Friendship as my benefits
Princesses , as I see them, my audience
And so My, the Pauper’s, life pans out.

Every Princess, indeed, loves the Pauper
But None loves the Pauper.
Not saying for a moment that the Pauper loved all the Princesses
However..
Eventually he would come to love a few.
And so,
The Pauper’s affair and livelihood become complex

When approaching such a Princess
Putting forward his Case and Confession
The Other Princesses become a Cause for Concern.
At other times The Pauper (or the Princess)
Proves to not  be to the other parties interest
In a Seldom Few even if they are Perfect
That Princess has already taken residence in a King’s court.

I, The Pauper
Often look at the story and wonder
What a lucky Pauper he is
To be surrounded and loved by Princesses
But in all these things and situations
It seems clear.
He may be Surrounded by Many
And Loved by Most
But
A Pauper.
Is No Prince Charming.

December 28, 2011

Home

Where is Home exactly?
Isn’t it a place of Comfort?
Love?
Consolation?
Isn’t It?…
Maybe It Is..
But I’ve never experienced that sensation
I’ve never been Home

I’ve heard of Home.
Been told to go there.
Been taken there.
But, as far as I know, I’ve never been there.
I go, daily, to a House.
A Place of Solitary Confinement
Or
Unwanted Conversation.
That’s not Home.

My Home may be different then.
Not bound between the umpteen walls of a building
But
The Needs of the Heart.
Anywhere…
That satisfies those Needs is Home
Anyone..
That offers that sensation is Family.
So my House isn’t my Home,
Neither my Relatives Family.

Home.
I have to seek it in my Friend’s Presence
Family..
I have to search for it in my Comrades
Love.
I have to find it in my Companions.
But I will find it one day..
Then i will calmly say..
With a Smile..
“I’m Home”

November 13, 2011

Sunset

The last ray of Hope..
The last whiff of the Sun’s pure light
The last apparition of warmth
The final, swiftly fading moments before the Night.
The Cold, Unrelenting Night.

An apex of the Sun’s Beauty
Without its harsh Light
Without its scorching Heat
However containing all
All that Light
All that Warmth
In One Deep Red brush stroke
Upon the Black Canvas we call Sky.

All is dark
Coldness falls, Beasts of the Dark awaken
They await me.. to pounce..
to Kill….
But they are held back by the last remaining Light
The Sunset..
You.

November 10, 2011

Friend

I call myself your Friend..

But what type of friend am I??
You’ve been there for me in my failures..
Talked me out of stupidity..
Made me the Happy person I am nw..
Yet..
What have I done for you?

What type of friend am I?
You’ve always made me better..
You’ve never harmed me..
Never betrayed me..
Never left me…
Yet..
How have i benefitted you?

In my eyes
I’m better an Enemy, than a Friend..

I’ve never been there for me when You need me,
I may have even been the Problem
I’ve failed to add any value to your life
And even that i can’t keep up too long..

I’ve betrayed my Promises..
I have killed your Trust in me..
I see no reason why I am Missed, or Remembered.
I’m truly Undeserving..
I’m Not Worthy.

But I Have tried.

When you Cried
I wanted to be the shoulder you cried on..
So i stayed quiet..
Fighting back tears.

When you Entered Crisis
I wanted to be the one who Listened
So i Acted not
Though I planned to..

When you Wronged
I wanted to be with you
So I told you nothing
Though I Should’ve.

I’ve erred tremendously..
Even in my Attempts
I have Failed..
But..
I Ask you… I Beg..
Please..
Forgive Me…….. Friend.

October 18,2011

Duality

I’m Unique…..
I know that much about me..
But that seems to be it..
“Tell us about yourself”
They ask……
My only answer..
“I’m an eccentric”
“I’m weird”

But that can’t be all there is to it..
It Can’t be……

I wonder if they know more about me than I do..

Or do they simply know more adjectives?
To them I’m more than just weird…
I’m Smart, Intelligent, Affluent..
I’m Amusing, Funny,
I’m This…
And I’m That..
I’m Confused

Is it that I know myself and they simply don’t?
Or did i not know myself from the start?
I know I’m special….
But everything else is a question..
Am I That Intelligent?..
Is my Presence that Amusing?.
Am I Someone worth Missing?..
Am I?
I’m still Confused..

Who is right?
I find myself Boring
They find me Interesting..
What kind of person does that make me?..
My Mind is an Ocean in their Eyes..
And to Me its a puddle in a Desert..
Is it that Someone is Wrong..
Or is their Ocean and my Puddle at the same depth??

Who’s opinion matters in this case..
Anybody could say Mine..
It’s the Easy Option..
But then if I were right
Then They wouldn't even Associate with me..
Then it’s equally easy to say Theirs..
Its the world we live in..
Appearances Matter..
But..
If the are right…
Who’s Skin have I lived in for all this Time..
So Can it be Both???
Is it possible for the coin to Land on Head and Tails..
Or Was it never a coin toss in the first place..

I’m Confused..
It seems that the Answers are Illogical.

September 11, 2011

The Sea

Deep Blue
Spreading farther than one’s eyes reach
The Life of the planet
It’s Blue Blood
Ebbing and Flowing to the tides

Thinking of its vast presence
Remembering there is more Ocean than Continent
It’s reminiscent of ourselves..
More Water than Dust
Soon to be mere Dust

And like Life
It may be Calm and Blue,
Plentiful in Life
Perfection.
And the next Day
A Homicidal Psychopath
Her blood, Blue, and ours, Red,
Make Purple

So there is Us….
An Island
Surrounded by this Life and Death..
We love her Calm Purr…
But Fear her Gargantuan Roar…
We have witnessed her Power..
The massacres..
Yet..
We can’t blame Her…
Unlike Ours…
Her Violence isn’t a Choice.

August 29, 2011

Love(was the Name of Solomon's Song)

‘All Beautiful you are my darling;
There is no flaw in You”.
But You’re Human
So there are flaws..
I simply overlook them

“Turn Your eyes away from me;
They overwhelm me”
But not for too long
Their gaze is my motivation
Their fire my Daily Food

“The maidens saw Her and called Her blessed;
The Queens and concubines praised Her”
But most of all..
They envied You

“Your Lips drop sweetness as the honey comb.
Milk and Honey are under your tongue”

“Like a Lily among Thorns
Is my Darling among the maidens”
But I have gone through so many Thorns..
I fear the Lily will be stained by my Wounds

“You have stolen my heart
With one glance of Your Eyes”
But theft is almost always onesided…
You have mine…
But do I have Yours?

“But my Dove,
My Perfect One is Unique”
But Why wouldn’t She be..
The One..
That i have almost no choice but..
To Love.

#SongsOfSolomon

August 16, 2011

My Story

A Little Twisted Boy…….
Becomes a Twisted Adoloscent..
That is my story….
Thus Far….
Its plot can be long…
Its Clamax can be thrilling..
The Storyline’s Progression itself, Exquisite…
The many Characters, stellar..
Their Development , nothing short of mastery……
But the ending was known from the start…
As is the ending to every Man’s Story…

But Alas…
In Storyteller’s etiquette…
I start from my beginning…

A Little Boy twisted by the seeds of Wrath
Seeds sown by Tyrannous Matriarch
Lived on ..
Piling Burden upon Burden….
Hurt upon Hurt…
Pain upon Pain
And soon the Pile outweighed his Heart…
or better yet..
In that Pile.. his Heart was lost.

The Little Twisted Boy..
Realising he lost himself..
Sets out on his secret inward search..
Under the guise of Laughter, he Cried….
Pretending to Smile..
He was Empty
Yet..
Emptiness was heavier than he had bargained..
And as he walked… Lived on..
Emptiness was a load he proved too weak to carry.

The Twisted Little Boy was soon, almost no longer a Boy..
And so the stronger heart beat once.
Quickening its beat to the foots steps ..
But not his own.. no..
The First HER…

The Twisted (Almost) Adoloscent Thus proceded in his action
Thrilled to once again Feel..
So .. he poured his All into HER..
Even though in truth it equated to Nothing..
And she took His Nothing… His All…
And went HER own way..
Alone…. even though he was willing to accompany.

Upon finally becoming the Twisted Adoloscent
His Heart’s Beat proved to be more troublesome..
No longer Beating to one HERs presence..
But to a myriad..
Starting with One.. then One-Two.. then One-Two-Three..then…
The count continued..
The Twisted Adoloscent confused and Speachless..
But Still Bobbing his head to the Drumming of his Heart.
A Lucky Man he deemed himself..
Surrounded by Beauty and Music.

And Friends….
The Lonely Twisted Little Boy was no longer found..
Even with the Burdens and Emptiness..
The Adolescent learnt how to laugh genuinely..
His Smiles became more real..
But Still… His Eyes Laughed not..
As he Dreaded his departure, Everyday back into his Box
The Box he had so grown to hate..
His Loneliness returned..
Once Again..
He would be the Twisted Little Boy.. knowing not true Laughter

Until He Once Again Escaped..
To his Outside..
With his Laughter..
His Beauties.. and their Accompaniment, the Music..
His Life..
He would Stay…
In the Box..
With his Loneliness.. Burden..
Emptiness.. Pain..
Torment…
And Die
………

But Alas..
The Story has not Ended..
At least not yet….

July 26, 2011