Day turns into the corners of my mind,
Tuning to the whispers of its underground.
A tramp was I.
Passing lit corners untouched.
Meeting roads ending
Caverns closed to every crevice
Shutting every door
Against the echo of a flight.
Is loving illusion a flight?
Swooping through every moment of time’s passing,
Etched in the mind’s marble,
Merging its presence in black
Absorbed in dark
Are trapped embers
Of all those dead hours
Savaged to death, ripping its existence
Life lay in still coffins.
The walls are white
Lemony in their warmth
Through the windows
Stretch cement blocks of love
Labored testimonies that we humans
can build walls faster than friendships
My bed stands erect
its sheets of gold aching against a dim sun
Arch my feet against the leather backed chair
The repose for my butt
That sits here day through day
These walls are not walls
They are my dreams
I build them here
Home to my thoughts
Repository for staleness
They sit here patient
I seek not the world
when the world is here
for so much can walls
contain that the world can
never give
Four+Four I count
The sun can rise and set
And I sit here away
from the castration a world
can give to one who has no balls.
They call me weird.
Freak.
Crazy.
They call me mad.
They call me weird because I talk
like the truth is not mine to hide.
They call me freak because I say
I value my self just as much as you
They call me crazy because I mean
what I say and do as I say.
They call me mad because I think
that I give more than I ask.
They call me weird freak crazy mad
Because I can't use you
Because I can't lie to you
Because I can't cover your flaws
Because I can't love a pretence
Because I can't be normal stick this pin and call me weird freak crazy mad.
Because you see I just plain like it.
To think that the spectre you see is an illusion does not rob him of his terrors: it simply adds the further terror of madness itself -- and then on top of that the horrible surmise that those whom the rest call mad have, all along, been the only people who see the world as it really is -CS Lewis.Read more...
When the fingers of the night
Moved up my body
I felt not a tremor
not an itch
not even the touch
of mortality
But when the fingers of the night
crept up
my soul
and clasped it tight
never letting go
I felt the touch of
immortality
In the morning I woke up
and found the sun was out
the milkman came
the newspaper fell
the crow rasped
the milk spilt
the paper shred
all the doubts
I ever had that the mind can see
what fain the soul cannot touch
I woke up to a sea of mirages,
Morning dewed and
Happiness slewed
Through the dense foliage of a mind
That knows not what it seeks.
A desert of waves,
A chasm of moods
That seek their way
Through blind words
That play their tunes
On music that hears it not.
I lost. Miserably.
Despairingly.
Lost the power of love
Lost the laughter of magic
Lost myself.
I lost peace; surrendered to pieces
Thwarted joy and embraced despair
........
Yet I know I have not truly lost
That the sea was not an inversion
Of a cruel play of images
Which never fitted into the surface
I had stamped my self
Prodded it with disgust
Loathed it with revulsion
Yet I loved it no less.
Yes, loved it no less.
My self has an other
A beautiful other.
That other is my self.
How much more could I loathe?
How much more could I despise?
Without loving it all the more?
Yes, without loving more.
Within me I am without
And I know what I am without.
Circles of sandpaper trail across
All the pieces of life I own
The yawning gaps of
Churning memories
Leaving their scars
Across the interned
Remains of the soul.
Thousand forms of dusk
Part brittle tender husks
Mellowed in wine of the past
And cherished in the seed of hope
Through the dark jagged river
Flowing green through my mind.
A mind that runs its walk
On avenues of paved desires
Wearing the leaves of experience
With disdain and despair
Yet casting a net of light
Gentle and masked
Behind these caves of dark
Are all the suns of our lives
Shadows of laughter
Crystal constellations of warmth
Reminding me through
Through and through
That life is
Beyond the mind
Beyond the soul
Beyond.
I am rehashing some old stuff I wrote here. Kinda appropriate considering my birthday is coming. The Big 30s! Here I come!
Cut the cake, cut the cake,
Chants hit the wall across
An eternity of shame
She didn’t know the words
Didn’t know the tunes
That wafted through a silly
Mindless game.
Somehow it seemed it were to end.
The loss of ignominy.
The end of embarrassment.
But in the spectres that run her mind, they stayed.
Cut the cake, cut the cake.
Cut the damn cake, will ya?
Shoot the candles, dim the light.
A reminder of a day when birth seemed death.
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