it wouldn't matter

love is stupid,
a tall tale that men tell their wives
in bed and after when they are in bed with someone else,
between you and me,we are insane
and idiotic,
we never speak to each other
we tie our hair and leave the remaining thread
to secure the windows.
nothing left to speak about.

strange and random

are things that happen day to day.
even the feelings you have, are crazy
and volatile.
you want to sit- no- stand,
talk- i hate talking, go walking...but
i'd rather stay home and cook- then again, i hate cooking.
fucking mad, fucking mental case
can't cry, can't stop worrying, panicking,
choosing and resenting choices and wanting
to be out of this world and on a cruise ship
sailing to outer space.

time is walking away

there,
he's gone
and i'm feeling alone.
what will i do?

someone has said that before

drawing circles in the puddle
taking myself for a walk
it's cold but not too cold,
so you want to come too?
there is space for a few
don't talk, just walk along
stare at the distance for a change
act mysterious, dance quietly
in that corner, i'll come find you
it's best if we both stay right here
in this room.

faceless father

of the dying child
watching the grave being dug
by the cemetery caretakers
on a serene afternoon.
no sobs are heard, there is
no music playing, the air
is stiff, the trees are limp,
the undisturbed swifts of  fresh earth 
from 3feet under and counting
feels almost tender and calming.

talk

talk to me, i listen.

dead

he's dead ok.
don't call or msg or talk
i'm sick of your face
i'm tired of the mirrors
and the sun today
very boring, very dreary
too much travelling
not enough air
in my lungs from all that
smoking, the roads
are dirty, my clothes don't fit,
i'm stared at by people passing
by, i don't enjoy it,
and yes, he died yesterday,the funeral is today
and i'm not going.

i like the surety of the sun rising tomorrow
and that my hands, fingers and legs still work,
that i own a face that will face others.
the rides on cars and summer and winter wears
are optional with the calming wind
and the noisy streets are against the quiet god
in the pavements begging,
watching the people not staring, not standing still
reading their thoughts that are thinking about
everything and the god knows no where else to go.

the bulldozer rides over him
it's a circus trick, never fool proof
he doesn't get up again.

do continue

the times are very hard, the door opens to the sunshine
the trek to the plains hasn't been attempted by me or any other inhabitant
the skies seem to be too close,i sense suffocation
the boats descend, the nets are thrown in,
the fishes fly to freedom over our plans
in the making, taking turns to dance,
the ground is very plain indeed.

trying to communicate through an imaginary landscape.
pour your heart out into the machine,
wanting someone to find it.
traces are left, on this site, on that one..
faceless friends and wired transmissions,
searching from the same spot for
hours, days, months.

solve your own mysteries

i'm sure no one has the time or interest to listen, significant research and observation has proven that man is a social being but only for selfish reasons.
okey... so i'm tired of people. that's what all this is,and a bit sick of myself, having to wake up and look at the same face; been doing it for twenty one years now. i can't believe how ridiculously prolonged it is,and i continue to go on.
i feel like an old,very old person,not wise only old, sometimes my bones crackle like crushed nuts(laugh at the pun if you have to) and my chest hurts when i run. i wonder why some desire to live forever, they look to be young, be immortal, if you think carefully for ten minutes you'll tire of the idea immediately.

feelings

put them in crates and sell them.
the marketplace is open today,
all the ribbons and flowers are
out of stock.
the farmer pleasantries
of every soul, believing the goodness,
blinds guilt and parades it in town,
i know intimately,
hell as she dances on the ballroom,
the beautiful.

visual sound

breaking to the sounds
twisting arms, legs breaking
throats open
bodies falling to the ground
the sounds grow louder
but who is behind it..
staring at each other
in harmony
forming bonds like
pages of memory
the room grows cold
and the air disappears.

run from the sandstorm.
is it following us?
is he?
where is he...
dancing in the shadows,
dangerously close
to the fire
in the camp.
where will we hide
and will we find
the stranger?

faces on mountains

fall is coming this year
from afar
bringing the sleep
carrying the coat
dragging the meat
to this town.
the faces are older
than a minute before
they began to sing
playing their instruments
touching the equipment
and standing still.
mountains turned
and stared.

grab and run

torture by the mob
floating from the ground
like it turns and snows
the garden is flooded with letters
from the members of the mafia
breeding grounds for the dark
masters of waste managements
and the emptiness of focusing
on one object is enormous
it's challenging and heartbreaking
like a mouse on a leash
and the break comes before the end of this song.

random things on a plate

a little confusion taking over.
what is the importance of sitting?
standing? or any other activity,
wondering about the strangeness
of looking at yourself, at your limbs,
your legs, your face,
the oddity of being,
the sensations of everyday
is widely frightening...
but we excel at turning mundane,
blankly sipping our tea.

the sorrows and joys of living with kings of convenience

how beautifully they heighten mundane experiences.
my life should play out with them singing in the background, my life's score. here they go again....ear-gasm.
hum hum hum hum.

do i have anything more to say?

you don't have to answer that. i'm pondering, listening to the kings again. music lets me get my tone right. 

the feel of a rainy afternoon is so beautiful, it inspires absolute laziness, adds zing to the sleepiness you feel even at 3, because you stayed up all night writing angry things...it's totally exhausting i'll let you know.

it does feel better in the morning though, i think i'm cheering up a little as i write this....

maybe not. 

thank god, the music is back on again. when i read the blog with kings on the background, it reads much better somehow... music complements words, yes it does.

aah. this is steadily becoming a journal or something similarly straining, for you not for me, i'm enjoying myself thoroughly. 

right now, i'm trying to think of home, trying to miss it but you know what- i miss the place, the beauty, the winter and the smell of earth after the storm. i don't miss my house or the people i'm relatives with.

my parents  must be missing me. i don't know if i miss them... do i even like them?... that i do of course.

i guess it's all out of necessity, love is necessary. it lets you understand but at the same time remain ignorant and naive.

the start of the day

it's the quietness that brings sleep.
this is well known.
a drop of water from the sky
is a voice
a sound
for those hard of hearing .
the grass is fresh and wild
in my mind; the small path
to ecstasy.

the angels and their drug

the harp and the sickle
seem to go well together.
at least for fairy tales.

the angels and their drug
our saviours who
need to grasp their own lack of freedom.

god is clever, is he good?
is he fair? should i care?
even angels haven't dared
to expose themselves.

the storm's passed

sweet flame that burns out my cigarette.
the street lamp is low, i feel it watching me
very closely,
the soft sound of walking, the loud baritone of
wheels merge in the streets, in the shadows
of the pavements, the road is beautifully bound
like pages in a book, telling me stories. 

time illness

i think the ghost has left me.
till this very moment,
i felt the soreness of the days
passing by my unoccupied eyes,
but i wasn't watching too closely.
the illnesses that take their time
to cross each line carefully
cannot be trusted or contained
in a jar of pills and a jug of water.
i have found this out first hand
because,sometimes i feel like i'm dying.

despair

absolute despair
boldly etched in the lyrics of this song.

capture the thrill of falling
in between living and dying,
the secret to life is hidden in plain view,
in melodies, in sorrow, in the rain
and the aftermath of a fresh shower.
the leaves that fall as the afternoon
slowly dies for the evening moon.

only if a painting could be this beautiful,
and memories this vivid;
the earth turns only for itself,
and the sun burns on and on.

hatched into the universe

the egg of existence is contemplating suicide on everybody's behalf. the thread  hasn't been recovered and the meaning of words and such matters is a very different question altogether. lets move on to other things.
i take it upon myself to question the stability of gravity and household appliances, the windows need to rest from their eternal search for the unknown. who are we to judge? do we understand the language of the tables and chairs, the curtains or speak the dialect of the drawers, all i hear is-open and shut- that doesn't give me the right to trivialize such an existence. nothing is futile, d.n.a everywhere, double helix of disdain scattered around, dancing in the wayward wind, floating in the water inside a solitary glass, humming to itself in a higher decibel, therefore the world is seemingly ordinary to our vision.

narrow minded humans concerned with little things, no logical purpose, logic that isn't provable even to ourselves... strange it is, irregular, powerful and most of all, vain.

but, i ask myself...why such vanity? and why do we have such bad taste? isn't it fascinating! we are truly the lost,wandering blob of species who cannot and will not understand and accept our fate, largely because we are conceited, arrogant, foolish, rubber brained low lives with such a sense of proportion that we do not give a fuck when we know we are worthless.

we should stop trying to decipher the meaning to life, because there is none. there is absolutely no point in getting up in the morning and greeting the day because most likely the day is unimpressed with you and will probably piss on your cheery greeting.
this is what i have to say tonite.
tune in for more bad news in unreadable english. 

supposed to be a song.

tell me all your secrets i'll keep them close to me.
don't be a stranger,
if my memory serves me
i've never seen you cry,
you have the right to try again.

you have forgotten to stand on your feet,
you're crawling,on your knees
but on whose behalf
or is it just a tare in your kiss

because i feel just like i fall
i can guess you are too stable for the world
and for me.

we can try and breathe the same air
but we can't sit on the same chair
still
we can keep real close
like pairs of clothes
peeping into eachother's souls
each keeping the other company.

curiosity

i'm just mad these days. i see no point in being cryptic or diplomatic, which i otherwise am, anymore.
usually you could trust me to never step out of line socially. i'm a sell out that way, be nice, smile, don't talk too much, if you don't know some trivia or someone's name central to a critical topic being discussed, keep your mouth shut. that way no one will think you are totally uncool and handicapped in the mannerisms of the hip or whatever. because that is what life's about, being cool and shit, lives depend on such matters, mine always have.
i'm just sick of the charade, this parade that everyone is a part of called the social experience. i wish we had never evolved, better off being the semi ape who ran around scratching his armpits, dancing around bonfires going on a killing spree. it was a simpler life, no fuss even if you died, the other semi apes would be too busy hunting and running distances or whatever else Darwin conforms they did. fuck evolution. fuck mankind. 

by default

i got to know this person
by default.
lets see.... well, the person isn't as important
as this memory that i have
of long ago, when, as a child
i witnessed the wonders of
knowing little things like
someone's name, or recalling
a particular thread of thought
or even tracing a drawing,
a feeling of being free,
being irresponsible and still
being cared for,
and also fear, or the lack of it
which scares me now,
i trusted everything too much,
volatile and easily flammable is
childhood, little dreams
cannot be revived and restored.

readdressed

i'm a confused person.
i like lots of things, speak sparsely to many people
and i smoke and drink.
that doesn't explain why i'm confused,
but why do you care anyway.
i guess i have friends
but i'm not a good one,
i'm quite engrossed in my shoes or the
colour of my tea.
i act interested but truthfully
i do not give a fuck about
anyone else's crappy day
because someone didn't say
what this person wanted to hear
or generally because the state of the world
is pissing off to say the least.
even i'm pissed off,
pissed off at you, at her, at him
at the dog for walking on the streets
or the stranger for wearing shades
or that woman looking at me wondering
why i look like i do.
people generally piss the fuck out of me
always; fucking self centered pricks with
opinions on everything, walking around with
loud speakers to make themselves heard
at whoever's cost.
fuck everybody, fuck me too for breathing.

to my only, lonely reader

well thank you for reading. i always appreciate it.
sometimes i feel like i'm writing to a ghost,
this blog is a medium to reach the spaces in between,
to you stuck in between, somewhere uncertain,
you never leave comments, thoughts, it's a one sided
correspondence.
that makes all of it very interesting, for me at least.
these thoughts, i hope, does reach you.
  

i love the guitar. someone recently tossed around a careless  and insipid remark about how worthless an instrument the guitar is, that a fool can  pluck on the crude six strings and press on the fret to play it. i was furious of course but being me, didn't say a word....well fuck that, lets see. 

writing is an indulgence for me. words don't flow out of me like a river, or flutter around like butterflies,they are very scarce and difficult...i think it's mostly because of poor,careless vocabulary. sometimes i care about drinking coffee in the early mornings or crave for a late night cigarette, likewise i care about writing.
i like to believe that i'm this adventurous, tough and spontaneous individual holding a big fuck you sign to the world, but i'm just fantasizing...most days i don't get out of bed, i stare at the walls, sit in front of my tiny laptop and scroll through pages and pages of mind dulling trivialities. i wonder if i'm easily entertained, i can laugh for hours at some silly third grade joke my friends throw around, patiently listen to absolutely dull talk with a smile plastered to my face, most times without the realization that all this isn't fun at all for me and i'd much rather smoke alone instead.
dreary times. 

a poser

i'm a poser, i pose for effect,
for fears and other defects
because i like to be accepted
into the clone community,
i'm too weird, too big, too small,
and not skinny and tall, it
causes me heartache to be
set apart, i long for some kind heart to
accept me and change me
train and chain me and
i'll belong to the types and traits
like any other identical piece.

talking talking eating......

lets say we haven't spoken to each other frankly,
frankness has to feel like a stomach ache,
like being sea sick and getting kicked
on the face, and i'm not displaced yet
with that coffee stained look and napkin smile
that tear at the ends, it's a drainpipe atmosphere
and i want to leave now before it turns into
something unexpected.

no postmen

the failure to communicate is
dizzying, a migraine that never
goes away, aching in my stomach
and a bruised heart is welcome,
not cold, disinfectant moods
that burn fallen leaves in spring.
fucked up matters fall straight and sure
like disciplined water from taps. 

entwined
the door creaks with the twist of the vines
and opens to the sky

dicing

dead deeds dress damp dandy daredevils doing dangerous downsizing downtown during dawn dragging dense drab desolate dumps down dimmer dung dinners directly double daring deceiving daft dancing dandelions disappearing deeper district decked dangling darker drinking dashboard draping dashing discriminators drowning daggers digging dust dissing deaf dumb desk dreary detective drawing dazzling disco divas dubbed disturbing drifting dazed directed dismembered dummies.

nonsense is

what people with limited verbal audacity
use often in their conversations.
the temporal lobe doesn't feature
in the same sentence or even in the next,
or after that....let's leave it at.
the fruit juice was nice, the mums and dads are
fine and the evening meal plans are discussed
over and over again with energy.
noiewhdkjwebxghvwjehydgbiwkeabe,iifhaoeufhkerjbnc kjh b
is that what it looks like?
yes it is.

fonts and calligraphy

the telephone was wounded
by the microphone  next to a tombstone
with the grave ripped open.
it was mid afternoon when the sun isn't
in the mood for photography so all
the enthusiasts returned home,
leaving the telephone to it's misery.

fine words

is like a dog that jumped off the building.
that feeling creeps in again;
the time i minced my words in front of a friend,
felt like a hypocrite, being one isn't the point.
life is about feelings and emotions and all
the other types of sensations such as
fear of heights,
or having a taste for bugs and other such bites,
it is a rather nice feeling of belonging
where
you are most unwelcome.

out of sight out of focus.
the shoe prints outside the corridor slowly disappear,
the shadows in the corners fade,
the clothes tear, shred and dissipate.
dim the lights, we've got the frame.

mid morning at the clock

The dangers of planet awake is staggering.
In the landscape of the sheets,between the contours,
i lie very still,
listening to the gods of water and air in the city of my room,
  

half awake, in my bed, sleeping

my bed yawns when
she wakes us up at dawn.
every morning is the same,
when i take a shower with the same water
that was pouring out of the shower head
yesterday,.
the guitar is always lazily leaning by the wall,
smirking at me so i turn and look somewhere else.
there is no relief, i feel uneasy around brittle toothpaste,
the crazy cupcake tries to strangle me again
and the front door handle screams as i clutch it and
walk out the door.
the objects are as weird as people and positions are equally false.

there's no time

i know a group of people who call themselves
the 'fictionalists'.
they don't believe in time,
or so they tell me.
i hear the werewolf's wail, it's argument is
sure but stale like fairy tales,
whereas,
their voices are melodic but unconvincing.

i hold a view which considers
time to be solid like a wall that separates
you from me.
their argument is loosely constructed on the principles of
alcohol intake, getting shitfaced and blurting out
illogical theories surely stemming out of insecurities
faced by people alone.
these people don't know how to breathe,
i can't preach to them because i live by theories too,
no one yet has broken them,
the path is obstructed by time and it's obsolete
bestiality,it's never been friendly.
therefore,
no two people can be lovers,
nor can a group with a cause drink together.

gargoyles in my living room, the flies in my chair

life sized nightmare.
gothic horror that i relished
in books,has become a reality.
the sheer magnitude of my
fright is incomparable to the time when
my dear friend had to converse with a
bug swatting fly with equations to solve.

with the incident in mind i tread carefully
across the hall and look into nature,
when the garden gargoyle starts peeing
in my living room, fucking monster!!
but i don't raise my voice above a whisper.

with a careless swagger, it reanimates
the fly whose reputation precedes itself
then begins chatter on various subjects,
touching briefly on the weather.

 i have the fortunate luck of getting
a glimpse of myself in the mirror,a second later,
and realize that i'm not ordinary myself,
a slight memory lapse clears itself,
after which i charge at the unwanted company
of oddities and make my self right at home
taking the conversation by the reins. 

the disaster in small things and birds

disaster strikes in my clothes
and the way i smell in the morning,
the clouds have intricate patterns
that give me a headache
and a friend talks in an alien dialect
that only the self appointed elite
understand and so converse
furiously under the naked, frustrated
sun and to my irritation, there are
anomalies in my coffee,the nearby shrubs
whisper eerily which rattles me.
facing the trolls,moles, coffee tables and the suave
table lamp will be a difficulty for the rest of the evening.

 

blind focus

it's a very dear cause
and my celebrity status is
somewhat questionable but
still i raise money for animals
to be tortured.
the city's blind focus, my neighbor is
camera clicked and the facebook status climbs
the charts, a million likes.
the street is a rush of alcohol
and weed enlightenment for the losers,
my coke and LSD is not your experience
i'm the fucking dice in the market,
 i love being thrown around but
i'll make sure i'll get paid for it.

the drawer

the drawer is not an inanimate object
which is stationary but a friend
who has artistic tendencies which is
like the holy spirit outpouring.
i talk to her everyday and
share the lighter for the ever burning
cigarettes that creates a halo
around our heads.
she's insane in a very subtle, underhanded manner,
it surprises me every time
and has favorite words she repeats
over and over again.
after five minutes,
i turn on the t.v in the room
to cooking shows
and we pretend to watch them together.

happiness is everywhere

the dinnertime music is out of character
and food is scarce but we still dance.
lots of wine, beer and haggard faces
swimming in the dim apartment lights
even the bathroom is occupied.
we are impatience highlighted,
lazy bastards,
dark swines with sharp and swift tales,
the skills of a flightless bird
with it's arrogance.
the music is sour and us become
acquaintances and before the beat ends
turn into intimate friends
with lavish secrets never told before, though
recalled again and again as soon as
the song deadens, the bodies drop dead
and swim in successful disillusionment.

lets dance

you may have seen me
around town,
I've seen
seen you too, when
we intersect in common bars
and light cigarettes outside
the place like displays and advertisements
and groove to classics with a pinch of bitter
in our clothes and throw ourselves against the wall
in cheap anger and discontent
and tear like paper and weep,
then you
and i hold each other
like entwined souls in smoky real time.
.

friendly dancer

the clubs are filled with frogs and slimy fishes,
the music drips like snort and drinks
are free and dizzy as looking straight at the sun.
But this time, the dance floor was saved,
baptized with fire by the friendly dancer
and the streets were clean again.
wicked timing.

book breaks like coffee breaks and ciggerate breaks

dense fog and mist encircle my books.
the birds chirp in an unruly fashion
outside in the air, like ecstatic stoners.
the pajamas and bed covers from last night
hang on the strings, blowing with the wind.
every little secret is opened and flung in the air
and they hover like helicopters, like interesting
faces and deep voices that some wait in corners
and hide in cafes to watch and listen to. 

turn right to left

In a fictional time,
a character runs the race
 in a rustic old western town
where most of my friends belong,
and it feels like lost and found memories,
the times when i belonged there too.
too painful now,as i make up stories,
to remember.
Then,
an in-depth field researcher who
is ancient and lost
finds the backyard of my mind
and disappears.

nice nights

i'm always enjoying pleasant nights.
In my mind, the door is ajar and the
sky brings in beautiful lights.
Heaven is cool with floodlights
for the evening breakers,
There's time for everything,
all that i can think of doing
and the dog's barking
is welcoming.

i'm not a bore, that woman/man is.

i entertain regularly on Thursdays
all of you are witnesses.
i don't have anything wise to say
but i'm polite and smile at everyone's way
and exit through the balcony
and fly away.
            it's no talltale.

my fish went down the cat's mouth

i wasn't paying attention
because i'm usually not around
then this tragedy strikes.
such as i wasn't prepared for...
who will be my friend now??

everyday life is

everyday is like this.
everybody is confused,they are dammed.
the sugar disappears from
the coffee, the measure of salt
is on the floor,the sea is dark,
in shadows, the day hides.
the sun is just a machine
and your face is a blank canvas.

the tune

the monster that sought refuge
in a house because
the lake is deep and too dark
for her.
she stretches her neck
to reach my hand
and then recoils back to
her makeshift pool
i built
till she decides
to stay or leave. 

I have faith in dylan

siren

the piano that saves my life.

damp

hands are wet with
rainwater.
drops resonate deep in
my mind,splitting
into two.

when,in the bus stand, i had a thought

about images in frames
dying to come alive
but then,
like bad coffee made by ungrateful
people,
tasted,looked and felt ugly.
and
the crowds in buses
didn't cheer me up at all.

the profile

it was night time,
blurry like a hangover
and i was sharing dinner with
a friend of mine.
there was no meat,
only veggies and coleslaw
and i was dying inside.
then it all went past
very fast
when the first ciggerate was lit.

songwriters and bookstore guys

special creatures
like the giant squid
or even an endangered whale
hidden in the deep,
deep ocean.
come back to the surface,
i'll come visit you.

the blues

she sang this song that i love,
and rambled about dylan till morning,
till the sun hit the the sky
and i couldn't believe
that i fell for it
         once again.

title is...... lady guitarleavessprung in air for a brief moment, fantasizing :)

some sketches i did on paint.

steps

people are cruel.
books are cruel too,
their pages cringe,
words wince and struggle
to live and
mostly fail.

herself

she's herself.
when i see her, even
when i don't.
change is, sometimes,
overrated.

will you be gone
before i come?

tragedy is
       comedy
in poor taste.

coffee cups

millions of coffee cups
keep me company
while i'm the sideshow
keeping the crowds busy.

calculus

i don't know.
who knows?

less peculiar than sanity

is insanity.
now i say that because
no one will stop me
even if i say anything else.

what i talk about when i talk about you

nothing.
stupid grin on your and my face
say enough.
more deafning silence
while we swim inside
each other's head
like crazy fishes. 

here and there

i'm thinking clearly when
i'm travelling.
in between towns and cities.

no laughing matter

when people lose their voices
it's no laughing matter.
one day,however, i ended
up on the wrong side of the bed,
in literal terms
so i was upset, a little

then when i was walking
to somewhere, someone
points and laughs
at me...
i didn't understand
that person,
i wasn't charmed
i protested,
then i found out
that the person was
pointing somewhere else.

mind fucking games people play

i know nothing about this.
why are you here?
and why are titles even necessary?
i've got no sense of meaning
my thoughts are oblivious to me
i've got no control,
my hand searches for my head to scratch it
then again, you don't have to like
anything. 

the new method

the new method is putting down your ciggerate
for a word.
there isn't such a thing
as calling out to someone,
i never hear it,
it isn't becoming.

hit the escape button

you cannot start afresh
tomorrows are prolonged todays
the thread will tighten
once you secure it.
hit the escape button
if you find one.

where are you satya?

asshole. still
you are our neon light
shining bright
with pot fumes and cheap talk
in bars,in our cramped rooms
how come we value you?
you never show up
the knight in rags
the hero dreaming
of homlessness
and nights at atms
victorious always
with that crazy look,
the boy who sells the world
with flair.

loss for words

why does everything have to have a meaning?
conditioning i suppose.
loss for words
becomes a hearing aid
for me.

near enemy lines with a ciggerate at midnight

a dead giveway
talk about smoking being injurious to health.

for shame

in my nightmare
never in my dreams
you tresspass.
why do you want me to
dedicate this to you.....
my bad luck and misfortune
my greatest failure

fool!if april was here.

the days of a dreamer comming to a close

the world is so harsh
at us dreamers
who love to laze and dream
don't remember the names
of famous persons who've said
similar things,
but i can promise you
they exist.

a ring and two other things

i gave you a ring and two other things
which you threw away
yes, plenty of reasons
and this and that
it never fails to amuse me
that you can't stand me
a brief applause
then as the curtains close
we realize how much
we hurt.

while changing the tyre

while changing the tyre
he spoke of his childhood
i was just a hitch hiker
no plans.
       the things he spoke of
made sense; dreams,daydreams
i had them too, watched them fade
like mud patterns by the seasonal rain.
now he only had a car
and the road, which to him,
had become a second rate drama
playing over and over again.
after it was over, we drove off
while i turned back to observe
the moment blur and dissappear.

the point when the wave touches the shore

the point of contact isn't brief,
eternal flirtation    but
nobody pays attention to
that sexual tension.

a table and a chair

 the difference between you and me is
i stand on the table while you sit on the chair.
i deduce we come from different places.

my friends have names

my friends have names
like other people's friends,
a wonderful discovery
that makes me note
it's about time i change mine. 

the absence of signboards

a truly horrifying sight,
is the absence of signboards.
is this still earth?
oh don't worry
it won't be soon.

-what did i mean by that?
oh i see
thanks to the man with a sign on a board.

a pen jammed in an electric plug.

which begs the question
when?
no, scratch that, why?
maybe how?
all of it is far from the point,
which leads me to the motto
that is relevant or not
i leave it to you
"don't mix pens and plugs, together
                                       they are unfruitful"

why is that the question?

dear friend, why is that the question?
don't you have another?
answer me?
what about my questions?
will you answer convincingly?
perhaps not.
maybe after afternoon tea,
after gazing at far away
and far away's fingerprints.

shouldn't we just part
in silence?

chords of a guitar

first the strings sweep
the bars, an echo
resounds and will not fade.
a sentence, made up, can
sing.
says the chords of this guitar.

1.wine glass 2. a lighter

sexy thing, a wine glass,
when you raise it to your lips
daring intimacy.


i lit my ciggerate with a lighter
right now as i write.
ugly thing, but such a comfort.






ps:i know my grammer's awful, let me be:)

a saturday cloud

i remember waking up to a saturday cloud
on saturdays...evidently.
a nice feeling.
 clouds are my suns since
and the moon equally enchanting
in its various forms.
 

you and people in the background

like i always tell you,
you are in the spotlight.
good fun and nice memories
have clouded us both.
it's never too late to start walking hand
in hand but also
please remember,
     we are capable of running.

change

by change i mean money
money, whoever thinks about money nowadays,
only the unhealthy.

people have said a lot of things,
made clever remarks
particularly one famous guy
who believed in change very much.
i know it's horrible
being this optimistic
let the fool's noise be remembered too.

tomorrow

i feel awful being serious
it's funny to be, takes time to adjust.
only if the world could be a safer place...

the hour of creative dullness

i spend every hour of my day
creatively dull.

if ,god forbid, anyone decides to write another self help book,
it should be on creative dullness.

they are most welcome to contact me. 

saving the last ciggerate

it's difficult sometimes to save the last ciggerate,
especially if you are certain it's your last.

sound of dogs howling around midnight

the sound of dogs howling at midnight, sometimes put you to sleep.
at other times, help you stay awake,
quite a commonplace observation.

makes one think, with all that noise
that putts off some, relaxes others
yet scares quite a few.

for countless midnights, the sound
has been my companion, my lighthouse
and my nightmare.