Red in disguise.

30/03/2011

Who told you we come into this world to be happy?
Who told you that the essence of life is jolly and free?
Who told you that your spirit is to flourish, rather than diminish and die?
Who told you that space will fit us all?
Who told you that your baggage won’t be the death of you?
Who told you letting go exists?
Who told you your sins won’t be the death of you?
Who told you there is a way back?
Who told you there is a way to the future?
Who told you there’s a way here, and now?
Who told you we’re adequate?
Who told you we were not kicked out of heaven because we’re mad?
Who told you that your brain won’t be the death of you?
Who told you that you’re heart is safe in your chest?
Who told you that giving will give back, that nothing goes unrewarded?
Who told you that you are ever enough?
Who told you that memories won’t be the death of you?
Who told you that gardens last?
Who told you that the sky is limit, while you haven’t even touched the sky?
Who told you your cells don’t hate you?
Who told you your hands don’t hate to touch you?
Who told you that your face doesn’t hate looking at your face?
Who told you that there’s an escape?
Who told you that it can all be erased?
Who told you that it can all be undone?
Who told you all you need is love?
Who told you that you’re not alone?
Who told you that you’re whole, and complete?
Who told you that pieces can be put back together?
Who told you that what’s not going to kill you, will make you stronger?
Who told you that you can take it?

Who told you anything at all?

Who told you that you won’t be the death of you?

Who told you, and why did you believe them?
Who told you, and how do they know?
Who told you, and who told them?
Who told you, and how do you know?

Who told you we come into this world to be happy?

Who told you, because I don’t know.

Silver as the moon

29/03/2011

1 2 : 3 0 a.m.

I just wait till the earth turns around and stops.
to start writing.
The foggier my coherent thinking is,
the more honest I am.
the less I evaluate things,
the less I think of things,
the less I feel things,
the less I care about things,
the less I talk about things,
the less I listen to things,
the less I write things,
the less I sit, and write things,
the less I sketch out things,
the less I move,
the less I breathe,
the less I live,

the less I exist,
the lighter of a being i am.

the foggier my coherent thinking is,
the more honest i am.

it’s true.

1 2 : 3 7 a.m.

i contemplate deleting whatever that I intend to write even before I write it.

i’m being thrown into an abyss.
it’s like my whole life,
i was being prepared for this.
to be thrown into an abyss.
to be thrown into the ocean,
and learn to swim.
only the ocean is not an ocean,
it’s more of a consistent black waves of a long rung bell.
it’s beautiful.
it’s scary.

i can’t say i’m freaking out.
or that i’m scared shitless.
because really,
i’m not.
i’m just begging my audience for sympathy.
it’s the supposed-to-feel-like emotion that I should be feeling,
but I’m not.
or maybe i’m just in denial, still.

if I tell you i’m scared,
don’t believe me.
I’m not scared.

I’m just bored.

1 2 : 4 2 a.m.

stay.

1 2 : 4 3 a.m.

I lost touch with the divine.
I lost touch with everything that is close to divine.
I lost touch with innocence,
purity,
white,
peace,
beautiful ignorance,
the first time,
the second time,
the familiarity,
the love,
the surprises,
the pleasant surprises,
the smiles,
the words,
the rush,
the make believe.

I’ve lost touch with happy.
or the illusion of it.
or the place of it.
or the source of it.
or the reason of it.

Everything’s just on the verge of meh.
2 steps back and one step forward.

a dance that i dance.

I’ve lost touch with the divine,
or anything close to it.

Can it please find me?
because I cannot find it.

1 2 : 1 8 a m

she talks of compassion.
and she was hoping that they could dance together.
I think about using her words instead of mine because they rhyme and sound more beautiful.
and she was hoping they could crack each other up.
I think about how you crack me up all the time,
but then I remember too, that we said our clock was ticking.
the song ends, along with her hopes.
and mine.

1 2 : 2 2 a m

self-inflicted misery.
all of us.
i kill me. i like to make me suffer. i like to have an interesting storyline.
you kill you. you like to make you suffer. you like to have an interesting storyline.
always this ridiculous obsession with love.
endless stories that never end. endless stories that never start.
endless hopes. endless dreams. endless illusions.
always this ridiculous obsession with love.
you kill you. you like to make you suffer. you like to have an interesting storyline.
i kill me, i like to make me suffer, i like to have an interesting storyline.
all of us.
self-inflicted misery.

and it always ends, where it has started.
and it always starts where…

where?

1 2 : 2 9 a m

if you never use the word fuck, you are a hypocrite and a liar.
you know you wanna use the word fuck.
not fudge.
not ffffootball.
not eff.
fuck.
there.
fuck.
FUCK.

1 2 : 3 1 a m

I like anger.
I like the emotion.
i think we should be angrier.
angrier, more often.

26/03/2011

if I never see you again
I will always carry you
inside
outside

on my fingertips
and at brain edges

and in centers
centers
of what I am of
what remains.

Charles Bukowski

and she died. (but I don’t know when and where).

she died.

and when she died, they did not know where to bury her.
they whispered that;
she did not know home,
only places.
and they whispered;
there are
no lands to embrace her cold body.
even earth, with all its people, with all its glamor, was a lonely place.
even in her death, it did not want her.
(the earth said no.)
(it did.)
not her.
not here.

and for a while there would be nothing. but closed eyes.

They burned her body to ashes, and went on a bridge by the Moldau river; her favorite river of all.
They played the Moldau Song, by Smetana.
They read her favorite line of poetry.
then,
then they let her ashes fly away with the wind,
they let her mingle with the air,
they set her free to the sky,
where she spent most of her time anyway.
sky was home.
and oh, was it not the sweetest homes of all?

First; Sequel.

23/07/2010

He will leave first,
he said;
Everyone he knew left him;
he said.
He doesn’t want to be abandoned again.
He cannot be abandoned again;
he said.
He will leave me first;
she said.
It’s okay.
I will be here;
she said.
Until you leave,
I will be here;
she said.
and even after you leave,
I will be here;
she said.
And in this moment in time,
in this moment in the spectrum of our lives,
we will always be here;
she said.
for infinity;
she said.
and beyond.

first.

23/07/2010

Everyone I knew left me;
he said.
The first one said, I will never leave you;
she said.
but then she did.
The second one said, you will leave me first.
and then he said
I will not. But when you do, I’ll be gone forever.
and that’s what happened;
he said.
She left first;
he said.
and we were gone forever, after we were forever;
he said.
The third time around I knew it.
I went in knowing, I will be left.
and I was;
he said.
The forth time;
we fought;
he said.
And she left.
Not that I wasn’t expecting it.
Everyone I knew, left me;
he said.
and now;
the fifth time,
this time,
now that there’s you;
he said,
I have to leave first;
he said.
I will leave first;
he said.
I cannot be abandoned again.
so now,
this time,
I shall leave first;
he said.
I will leave first.

the you.

23/07/2010

There’s what one used to be.
And there’s what one is.
And then there’s what one will be.
And then there’s what one can be. (the potential self)
And then there’s what one should be.
And then there’s what one has to be.
And then there’s what one dreams to become.
And then there’s what other people think / expect / push for / phantom / like one to be.
And then there’s what you are in your own head.
And then there’s what you are at heart.
And then there’s what you are around people.
And then there’s what you are when you’re all alone.
And then there’s what you are with the one you love the most.
And then there’s what you are trying to be what you are.
And then there’s you.
and then suddenly, there is nothing.

13/07/2010

3:00 P.M. : I am slowly dying in my chair of leather.
3:01 P.M. : I slowly lift up my shoulders but they crumble back in defeat.
3:01 P.M. : I wait for another minute to pass so that I write the next sentence.
3:02 P.M. : I take off my left black converse.
3:03 P.M. : Everything feels tight today. I can feel my earphones stuck in my ears. I can feel the scarf around my neck. I feel my jeans around my legs. I feel me fingers hitting the keyboard keys. It’s not nice.
3:04 P.M. : Migraine, and a white sock and a pink basket and a black apple and a blue sketchbook and an alien mouse. where have you been all my life?
3:05 P.M. : There’s no point.
3:06 P.M. : I take off my earphones. I stare at my phone I have tossed at the very end of my desk. There’s no turning back.
3:07 P.M. : We’re like 2 hands of one person clenched together because we’re cold. It’ll get warm again – at some point – and the hands that we’re once clenched will be torn apart. But they always remain the only 2 hands the person’s ever got.
3:08 P.M. : I don’t like that my last sentence is longer than the others. I contemplate which words to delete to make it shorter.
3:09 P.M. : Maybe I should get to work. But I don’t care. Shouldn’t you care to actually work? like, isn’t it a prerequisite of working? not here. not now.
3:10 P.M. : I am slowly dying in my chair of leather.

all is bogus.

13/07/2010

.

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