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.