Friday, April 11, 2014

On The Last Day.

It was the sound of  something struggling on the water that woke up the boy. He gently wormed his way out of his mothers arm, and she stirred. Thier eyes met at once, she did not say a word. Her hand came out of the shadow and her fingers extended touched his cheek, popping the breath he was holding. The boy laughed pushing her hand away.

"Catch it if you can. Today is the last day." She smiled.

Outside, the hut was bathed with a pale bluish hue of the coming morning. The stars were yet bright and the boy could see clearly the path to the water. Not that he needed to see or needed a path. He was not looking at all. He felt buoyed by a feeling of lightness he was not accustomed to, he needed calmness to hunt. behind him, he could feel the gaze of his mother on his back. He dared not look back, her eyes would remind him of the fear he knew he should have right now.

The island was unusually quiet this day. He could clearly her the Jinns sleeping on the palm trees. Looking up, he saw an old jinn staring at him, on its belly was the intricate carving the boy was always curious about. It was forbidden to talk to jinns, his mother said. The jinn, produced a dark object from its had and pointed it to him as if offering it. The boy knew better, walking ahead as if nothing happened.

The animal in the water now lay motionless on the beach, but the boy could see its gills move rapidly. It was a great sailfish, the colors danced on its fins. It was near death and breathtakingly beautiful. Stooping low in the trees, the boy searched for its enemy. He waited and waited, he had to wait till colors of the dawn shifted.

The enemy appeared as if it never left. Its current shape was that of a young boy much like himself. It was suddenly standing right beside the sailfish, looking out at sea. The boy knew two things. The enemy has shaped himself as a boy because it knew the boy was there and that the boy had no idea what he was dealing with. He has never seen anything take the form of his likeness. The fear started creeping back in to him, his palms started sweating on the spear.

The boy stood up and walked on to the beach. He pushed the spear purposefully into the stand and knelt on one leg. Taking a heap of sand into both his hands, he rubbed it on his face. Taking a another, he let it fall gently to the ground making his intentions clear. The enemy did not seem like it noticed.

"Your prize is an offering to me. I accept it if you shall give it". The boy like the sound of his voice saying the words he had been thinking of saying.

The enemy moved , with the kind of disjointed grace like a hunting egret on the beach. Turning to face the boy it stared at him. The boy found he was full face with himself , and this moment would be the last thing he would think of when he died many many years later. It was as if the enemy was trying to tell the boy who the real enemy was. Only the eyes was different, the pupils changed colors like the sailfish fin beside it.

"I will offer it to you." The enemy spoke. "I also accept you as my prize, if you shall give yourself... I know what today is. I will tell you. There are many last days. too many to count. Too few to die for. "





Monday, February 03, 2014

Untitled

I have suffered in hunger
hunger for your body, you legs
your nails, your hair
your breasts and your sex
i shall appear an animal in shadow
devouring meat unkindly
I want to possess every bit of you,
consume you whole, every single bit
full of all i may take, i will fly
leaving behind myself.

Looking down, i can see the stars.





Sense

We are entitled to possess what already possess us
we skate upon the logic of a senseless world
through the forest, trampling upon gifts
we gather the waters of waste and we fashion from it all a lens to make sense of it all.

our measurement begins at the extremes of things
such that all things must be valued from such
our lives must be measured with death
to be lost in a moment, we must be mad. So they say.

Saturday, January 11, 2014

Relationships

The sun, it is the Sun.
Gold light bathing a narrow street
catching on to the leaves, glowing
a hazy scene it seemed to me
fueled by Nostaligia, a peace of sorts
a moment of happening seemed upon the day
people going on living, people going on dying
People going on observing, that is me.

The road is long and it disappears somewhere
The colors, they remind me of childhood skies.
Then I see you crossing the street.
for a moment i though you saw me,
but you were just going on about your life
and i was going on about your life, separately
You disappear around the bend, goodbye.

The sun did not flicker at your passing.
I do not keep you on me. I do not long for you.
I long for me, and i chose you to measure desire
I've seen you choose, you chose and it said to me,
I am capable of living without you, chances you've had..
Choose your own, and be done with it.

My enemy is the immense value of life,
i could not fathom you entrusting your time to me
It felt life you were dying for me.
I wanted to preserve you, cherish you as a whole being
unattached and free to roam the earth,
the breif moment we crossed paths, held and loved
It was beautiful. Goodbye and live long.

I too will be seen from afar, one day
And i will pass by, and the world will still be amazing.



Watching the rust

I've broken many things,
I've broken them again,
all through this habit,
I've broken to keep together
the sense of meaning of myself.

Every break I remind myself
I respond with rousing necessity
with right speech and good sight
the moments are too precious, I've found
so I keep breaking to bring them back.

Watching the edges tarnish, slowly,
I plunge it into the sand, faster i say
I need to fix you, so that i may do
I have no reason to wield a weapon
but i can live to fix it, on and on.

fascinated by myself, excited
I have made myself my life's work
the process must not halt, ever
I must break and fix, forever
for that is what my life means.

Wednesday, December 25, 2013

The suffocating edge

How do you suffocate a blade?
how would compress sight?
how to we trample a shadow?

Such is the language i seek
I seek to find it every day
the incomprehensible, harsh and meaningful
It exists in the bitter space between blade and armor
on the edge of the wind cutting a mountain
where gravity battles air endlessly
where the oceans fight sand
In every narrow space between them
lying there, the pearls gleam
The harshest and the hardest
contradictions and clashes
Lay true meaning , too mighty for words
that they surround it like subjects
carrying it forward, never to touch
never to be left alone.

Looking out of the pocket,
watching forces battling for eterneties
The heaviness of nature compresses my views
i become the space within spaces.
I arrive to true meaning or perhaps
the word itself.

Tuesday, December 24, 2013

Come Undone

Slide this texture on your hand
the soft chill as it conveys
luxury and form; desire
pleasant and thoroughly rich.
press it forward and downward
the shroud becoming you
the warmth from the center
entrapped in this net.
Raise. raise your voice
it echos on the fabric,
speaking of gold and silk
and other things.
exhale, inhale, capture.
swirling the mass, it sings
as it slips onto the floor
onto other earthly things
within and without
we come undone on hands
legs, hair and words.
We speak, we sing
and the music bellows from earth
and we are the brief note
waiting to manifest on a melody
the key that means to complete
music that goes about searching
for its lost soul. So we say.


Words should never exist
nor should we listen
to come undone, we turn
we seek the void
the ones we pull apart
to hide our confusion.
Escape is a necessary illusion.




Friday, December 20, 2013

A dream

A dream of Paris. or Tokyo.
A snowy cold night, the lights are yellow,
the place is dark, someways away from
the heart of the city, it appears so.
I look out from a window, i am alone.

Its late but the image is too haunting.
The chill, it creeps into me,
the sodium vapor light lamps illuminating
a forgotten driveway, forgotten and overused
i see a bit of snow drip off the roof to the snow below,
the night is dark in the distance, snow fading to gray
and the people, they have turned in to sleep.
two electrical wires move occasionally, there is no wind.
there is no noise, silent and foreign

The yellow upon the snow
The hint of sepia haunts me. The is just enough
tone to convey tragedy. or something that should not be lived
but only seen from afar.

It is as if i have stumbled into the corner of a dream
away from the bright happy center,
becoming a sad member of the audience,
who drives home after watching my moment
and goes on with life. There is no fire here to see.
but i am me, this me.

lets say, this a small road on the way.
take a picture and it floats away
go to sleep. Wake up another day.
Perhaps when im old and gazing at the wall.
you will awaken and take me back.
to the yellow feeling of sadness.loss.
i felt it. its real. it was truly yellow.

perhaps. no not perhaps.
Its true. i just felt it climbing my back.
hello you feeling. thank you for the message.
the picture itself is a message
it said simply:
make more memories.

I realize the complexity of explaining
a simple feeling. it long, not hard.

make something of yourself.
do something. be something.
you are not something.
how can a picture say so much.
its not even real.

i guess its the potential of it,
perhaps it could be my view,
just before i leave to a evening of laughter
wine and warmth. but its not.
its me looking out with nothing to do,
alone, in a place that reeks of solitude

perhaps its my view after a day of achievement
and i long for the sun rise to travel
to a place of happening and fullness
perhaps i already made plans and i withdraw
back into the room.

i ve been avoiding. avoiding the room.
i don't know whats in it. no.
its my loneliness, my old friend
its whats there for me when i turn around
it does not greet or smile,
its just there. like me.

I look at the common and see the real
its where the magic happens i think
normal is wonderful. can i not be
happy looking at events from the sides
appreciating and assigning value
learning and feeling

but im so lonely. Sometimes
i want to kill myself. what are you asking of me?
are you asking me to shine?
why should i be so bothered?
i could look at this yellow picture
for ages and ages. Even till i die.
and not see the end of it.

Sunday, December 15, 2013


The violence, it was sweet
Such as it cant be spoken of.
The trembling begins from calmness
the motion appears out of a shadow
that awaited, awaited long
becoming itself when stepped into.

The sharpness of the thought,
it burns with suffering
as if suffering itself seeks existence
to give birth to the thought.

The scent, how it has searched
hovering, colluding with the sound
it burst forth onto the scene
armored yet forgiving.
Its color is blue.


ON SEEING A ROBOT

the roads need sweeping,
the curtains, they wave
the sea foams away
the stars out of reach
into the night we travel.

all that we take away
from beauty, paintings and mountains
music serene, stinging silence
laughter of children,
a ball bouncing away
on wet green grass, remembered.

A step in, a motion blurred
your "eyes" roving, hands shifting,
you case is painted white, you move on creaky gears
speak predetermined words,
and i wonder..what makes you this?
not real but more than a "thing".

You evoke feeling in me, 
from you, my being rejoices in the real
and so you become part of the real
you robot, ive felt you,
felt for you.


Saturday, December 14, 2013

this energy. it came from the dark place.
That place thats always not here.
the wonderful place of exile.

its where will is manufactured.
its where dreams were scribed.
its where music comes from
its whats sends me the shivers.

I walk on the street looking,
but the dark place, it sees
it sees me looking
and its gears begin to roll,
shifting and curling
it creates things. It places objects
in front of me.

When i touch a woman,
the dark place whispers,
and i recoil into myself
im lost and when i come back,
i am me, but darker
it does not want to be left out.

when i eat, the dark place
it sings to me. It loves food.
you animal it says, become me.

When i love, the dark place
it sits contemplating
its critical and analytical
it says, this is not for you.
only i am for you. for i am
the real you. welcome me.
become me. Worship me.
the tree stands with feet
it seems that way

the buildings built themselves
it feels that way

accomplishments were granted
it was ordained

the music stands alone
inevitably

i observe
because i can.

what a gift. oh wow.
what a gift.

i can see. i can feel.
i cant get over it.
i am alive,
wow. wow.

But don't be afraid,
we wont make it anymore,
its too late to cry,
we've come to far,
lets hold our heads up high
face on, straight ahead
See the lights, they've gone
its getting dark, too cold
the feelings gone, its leaving us
I can feel my soul moving
shrugging off this body,
breathing free of me
entering the stream
Come a long way, you and i
lets say goodbye without words
go on, live the good life
free where i couldnt be
live for me, so i can
live from you.



Friday, December 13, 2013

THE VOYAGER

We can aim for the stars,
going strong, reaching far
but when we are nearly there,
lets kiss and prepare

to pass on by. pass on by.

We aint meant for anything,
making do with broken wings,
you can say what they will say
they aint the ones alive anyway

Lets pass on by and say goodbye

We have got each other, you and me
the human race aint the place to be
we can war and we can peace
a better world aint meant to please

lets build our own with pain and love.
Pain and love.

They say dream the journey,
but words don't mean nothing, hey
Lets live on, passing these dreams by
always aiming above the sky

Cuz living is the real dream.
Living is the dream.
Yeah.

I see the sun burning away
pouring its life out everyday
and when we live with your light
It aint right to forget you name.

We've passed on by, and that's ok
We shall take your place, shining on.

Alien (A,B,C,D) of X

For me is the (question of) Man.
For me is the (desire of) Animals.
For you is the thought of me, unfulfilled
full of expectation this, exceptionally
a compromised feeling.

I can see. I can hear. I can hear me seeing.
I can see me sing. This lightness.
I can feel me tasting. This heaviness.
I taste me moving. On.

I am but a picture of myself
a portrait of my  recollections
I have split apart, or rather
lived apart from myself.
Too long and too far.

Everyday i wake up and call out
my feet! my arms, come to me
I need to move. I need to feel the world
Why are you not at my service?
Am i not your master?

Everyday my eyes see
and they request my heart to feel
The server is busy, and your request
will be processed shortly.
Thank you for waiting, please accept a token.

There is so many sunsets in me,
so many smiles, plenty of bruises
waiting for a verdict, on the feeling of it.
I am an alien, living in some alien body.
Synchronization is living.

ART OF SORROW

The art of sorrow is esteemed and revered by centuries of tradition. Its appeal is undeniable even to most well to do persons, esteemed learned men, men of power and especially to the children. Champions of misfortune, tasters of bitter wine but celebrators of meaning in life. A life of sorrow is a most serious endeavor requiring rigorous training. As will all respected professions, some of high aptitude learn easier than others, and are able to taste the fruits of of the discipline with little effort.

The world is now advanced to such heights that it is full of masters. Man kind must be praised.. In the old days, mentioned only in legends, man lived with such nonchalance to the glory of himself that he dared venture naked on the land, with a smile on his face and perhaps eating another mans bananas. He did not dine, bed or wed, he simply did not know the importance of such. His banal nature, retarded and possibly oversexed must have caused much grief in the high heavens. How can he ever know the noble calling to sorrow?

The scene must have been so distasteful that God must have sent his purveyors of sorrow to the lands, and thoroughly exorcised the brutes.I see no other way those animals would have (through many many generations) given birth to me otherwise.

A life is sorrow is the most beautiful experience that can be imagined. It was once rivaled by bliss,and ecstasy yes sorrow won over those pitiful experiences without much ruckus. Sorrow is slow moving and all encompassing, while bliss, like a pin in the arm, is short lived and easily forgotten. Sorrow brings human beings closest to God , who bless us daily.


Onto sorrow, we go, we go
The promised land, come tempered
horses graze the cobblestones, where lustful
maidens hang themselves, where music
is always fearful, where children practice everyday,
to cry before bed. The cold gloom shines brightly,
The days of winds and tremors,
the sky always aloof,
and we hold in or hearts,
Sorrow till we die.
Sorrow for today,
Sorrow to praise all.
All the world needs,
bitter wine, is best for all.


Notes: Grief is not sorrow. Grief is for a brief moment, sorrow is a way of life. refer to notes.

Monochrome.

The day is today. The time is yesterday. Moving on from the day before, it has always been a day removed from the man i want to be. Days are for dreaming of doing. Before i knew what doing was (or is), that's what i did every single day. I check in to the day, it does not matter when but i am always aware that nothing has changed. I carry an unchanging weight that is always equal to the situation of my surroundings. There is waves and clouds in the day, there is stars and breezes at night. I think of this and say, equal. There are but one and the same, much like the shattering glass that refused to startle me. 

I think of the monotony and then i think of what may be opposite it. Perhaps its sex. The wave of tingling has begun on the left side of my scalp, and I am waiting for it to come back (please come back). There are days and there are days. There are bad days and then there are bad days. The days are punctuated by me looking to escape from the day, but in reality I burrow further into it. So much for saying: not today, like the day before.

Then Id say; fuck this shit. When ever i say that, i don't feel like killing myself. that anger, that little blind spark, even that can move me.  I believe that no amount of strong emotion, whether good or bad, will lead me to kill myself. which makes me logically conclude that i don't feel anything right now. A reprieve from stone. A gap in the stream. A block on the road. Something, anything to make it stop. No, not stop. Anything to make it different.

When i see myself in the mirror, i lift my hand and hold it out to myself. I want to see the vision of me reaching. Reaching for something, anything. Am i gone? Am I still here? Am i still relevant? Beating and alive? The machinations of my mind have been explored to the end, now, the explorer pilots the doomed ship he boarded out of curiosity.

Monday, June 03, 2013

Childhoods End.

Walking along the pavement, the sea spreads forth into a short distance, held back from expanding forever by clouds joined together on the horizon. It it 4 PM, and I am out for the third time today. In my pocket, a crumpled sheet of paper with some crude drawing I had done an hour ago. As soon as I finished drawing, i realized that I should not have drawn it. I felt so vile, and that the vile drawing must be immediately destroyed. Disposing them at home may infect the pure atmosphere of a good family, a strong protective feeling arose within me. My mission is to ensure that the contents will never be discovered ever by mankind, so I shall throw my drawings into the sea where no one should bother with the trouble of investigating, not with all the other troubles the world was in. As I walked the distance to the seawall, a mere 20 steps from my house, I felt for the first time the immense weight of sharing a secret with God. I could sense the billions of people in the world surrounding me in a circle, eyeing me carefully and keeping their distance. I became alone and I was eight years old.

The buildings were short and the sky pushed back against all of us. The pavements were wide, unevenly paved in blocks with a symmetrical design in mind, one that never had any hope of being executed well to begin with. Green nets cordoned off the sea wall and the ocean, it had become a port as I was growing up. I remember that at one time when it was being built, a tiny patch of white sand flowed out into the sea during the chaotic construction. I saw an image of a family smiling and rejoicing there, with food and kids playing with sand. They laughed so beautifully, and I longed for it to remain forever.

I would walk for hours looking at the sea, and I came to know the fence well. As I stared off toward the sea, I would pluck at it, gently unsheathing the soft metal wire inside. I was so adept at it that I could feel which ones would give way first. The heat weaves the plastic into crispy bits, the sea corrodes the metal, leaving the insides deep red and powder on my fingers. Many times, I wanted to put it in my mouth and taste the sea salt in the rust.

I did my best to look like a child doing something that an adult would see and say, this kid is simply strange as all children are strange without their parents nearby. Taking the crumpled paper, I tore off bits and threw it into the sea, my hand squeezed through the net. The pieces waited on the seawall for the wind to take them to the water below, crabs as the witnesses. Each bit floated away slowly establishing my innocence to the sins of man.

“What are you doing? What did you throw?” The police man asked me. He had been loitering around and waiting till I got close on the way back. I don’t remember what I felt, did I panic?

“It was nothing”. I did not look at him, so I don’t know how he looked at me. I looked at the door of my house, I must have been frozen. The police man was a young man, yet a police man. In those days there were no civilian police, it was just a department of the army. He was questioning the activities of a child while dressed to go to a war.

“Where is your house?” I felt like I was a defeated enemy.

“There”.

 “Do you have any sisters?”

I said yes, I did. I had 4 sisters.

I did not say anything more, and I noticed he walked behind me as I started to move. As soon as he was sure where I would go, he stopped and walked away. The question of my sisters nagged me, was I saved because God gave me sisters? I felt like I had sold something precious to preserve something precious.

Looking back I knew why he asked me. The police demanded respect from the lowly citizens, and reveled in the power to act above everyone. The young police officer was establishing his network to further the promiscuous dreams that he was promised by the soldiers in his regiment.Why did I not realize it then, when my drawings were, of all things, of nude women? Perhaps my mind would not allow the thought of it being involved with nude women. A sister can never be a nude woman. My breath was heavy when I finished the drawings and realized immediately that I had entered a place where children were not allowed to play.  


End.

Friday, May 10, 2013

The Green Insult


you are like, hey look at me 
pale creature,
im here and you are here,
so lets dance,
lets commute and celebrate the green that is me,
the green that is me.

The moment when i said, oh shit


When i said Oh shit, it was too late.

in a beautiful world, "O shit"
On the barks of trees, "O shit"
A fucking blue ocean, "O shit"
Clouds of dreams.

O shit, is praise to the Almighty.
For creating a world beyond words,
Only loaded expletives do justice, marginally.

Im a Moth in a Hurricane

I asked, but you answered better questions,
I felt, you reminded me of what i should feel,
I wept, you said so what
I wound, you showed me where

I came to you, but you were always here
you make me crazy, you said that's what i am anyway
im a moth in a hurricane, i cant get out of you

a fucking gentle hurricane,
always looking down on me.


Friday, October 23, 2009

Self Observing Animals

breathe. sleep. dream. hope. live. love. free. heal. grow. rise. feel. free

to us, who knows not much,
yet with ignorance, we arrogantly move on,
i hope that we may see,
that there was nothing else there to see
our pride and base desires are true reality,
that we clothe distasteful to appear in fashion
and thus remains there to be passed on.

there is beauty in exactly what we are
we are self observing animals.
the shackle that we fight against - perhaps is freedom itself.

Thursday, September 24, 2009

something i found in the closet- published

why risk believing what others tell u
when truth is essential to living.
why trust knowledge of books,
when u read so little of them
why depend on logic without data
when u can train your natural instincts
without a map, without guidance
the entire world lies bare open
to conquer without light,
without thoughts to win or lose

surely, such is impossible for most
for they lack disciple and resolve
yet do u not feel the need-
to taste freedom.
that your soul is calling out for.

Monday, December 15, 2008

breakup

Just Broke up with a woman who loved me unconditionally, because i was scared shit about the prospect of having kids soon. Its complicated, but so simple you could say, because i love her too.

The more i thought about it, the more i could see why it would work-but i felt like i was getting locked in to a future i could not control. I felt less and less like doing it, even though it made so much sense.

She was there for me, silently, gently prodding me and making me face my fears. I feel like shit.