The lonesome wanderings of the anonymous

silent onlooker

2012-01-02T19:31:00.004+10:00

you cannot look into my eyes any longer
for they have closed to the darkness
and this is where you remain
lingering on the edges of my dream worlds

a silent onlooker

observer of nightmares with the power to make angels sing
all connectedness swept away onto a big pile
neatly, lazily, swapping rubbish for art - art for rubbish
Truth brighter and warmer - light was it?

Some things have switches - others no.
King Kong / Hong Kong
on a beach in a sarong
reality / autopsy

never lacking curiousity
about the luminosity
of the one specie
it's you - i'm trying to say something; you see?

plastic carnival of carnivores
align - to the scrupulousness
of law
mirrored reflections in the eyes of children

puddles and stars
resemble the same
one moment they are there
the other - no.

yet they remain
as the sun always shines
the wolves always howl
the tree fell, you weren't there

but you felt it

that's what i think she said

2012-01-02T19:29:00.001+10:00

Change the way we live. Tomorrow today the only way.
Alone the bone relay dismay - towards the ocean, go in.
Swim the water that does not end -
find the stars lit brightly, flux flux nothing truly bugged
- 'circumstances of existence are pretty glorious'.
Intergalactic miniature space trains aiming straight
towards the belly of the beast, the dark time while we fight
arrive in time, arrive on time; in space.

shoard.

2012-01-02T19:27:00.006+10:00

Blending into nothing, blending, not at all;

not alone,
but surely the one most uncomfortable.

Here in the middle kingdom and the middle kingdom has a wall,
a really long wall. Its as long as it is incomprehensible;
as is whispering in my ears.

Jazz is the same here as it is everywhere though, that's soothing.

Beer and whiskey still have the same effect - even after two years
what would coke feel like these days?
i remember both absolute disparity and flat-out gruesome victory
as disputable as that may be.

Give me mountains and i'll be a butterfly
give me cities and I'll be a dog;
i'll float peacefully and i'll fight to the death
not shying away of ripping your throat out
- welcome to a life of extremes.

i wish i didn't believe everything is self created.

But then, most of the time I'm not sure what I believe anymore
as i live in the wet-dream of a 10-year old Neo-liberal capitalist
and am confronted with his reality pounding on the gates of heaven.

Remember boy, this is but the safe-haven of a system eating it's own guts, refusing to think about a dietary change.

staring-contest

2011-12-20T18:59:00.003+10:00

We're here where we don't know what it feels like anymore.
Feel what? Your eyes seem to say.
Don't ask me dear,

all I can say is it's like butter in a pan
when you walk away for a minute it changes completely.

This kind of metamorphoses are really only seen in caterpillars
or in cocoons or in butterflies, but than again, they are the same aren't they?

My socks have holes in them and my feet are cold
- in this sub-tropical concrete and steel paradise
(dreamed up by a ten-year old chasing the dreams of a confused world)

I'm staring heaven in the face and feel compelled to spit.

floatboat

2011-12-20T18:55:00.002+10:00

The pits of doom are gaping with opportunity, the flying fucks are dressed up for their mate's funeral. A man's best party happens when he's dead - trumpets. The clearer the contradiction the more steadfast conviction. As opposites attract - polar shifts occur. This magnetism is a pragmatic approach to unity in a world of duality forcing a patient smile upon the worried faces of passersby chasing ghosts.

Keep walking, stay afloat - for walking you need your feet on the ground, never a boat.

acrobatics

2011-12-20T18:54:00.001+10:00

Running after the ghosts of yesterday's world is a guaranteed spectacle of outstanding acrobatics while a majority of people can't even touch their toes. They run and run and I run along. Whereto whereto - goes this parade with it's bells and shingles - Christmas jingles. The rain came and went again, the mountains froze only to gently rock the streams asleep. Lists of things we do not need are compiled on the Internet and the repercussions of spring will be felt throughout winter because the earth keeps spinning and we don't learn from our mistakes. The sun on my face tells me all will be well, lost and found is in the same space.

practice makes good

2011-12-20T18:40:00.004+10:00

That which I preach I cannot always practice. I am a walking contradiction hiding in the silver lining of my days in the rain. That which I long for I cannot find outside of reality - yet reality is so defiled that the truth seems pushed aside and my real self suffocated while still there; like a leg that ought to be amputated, on which i can no longer walk, yet i remain running, impatiently waiting to take off and fly.

lost & found

2011-11-15T18:26:00.003+10:00

Running after the ghosts of yesterday's world is a guaranteed spectacle of outstanding acrobatics because a majority of people can't even touch their toes. They run and run and I run along. Whereto-whereto leads this parade with it's bells and shingles - Christmas jingles. The rain came and went again, the mountains froze - only to gently rock the streams asleep. Lists of things we do not need are compiled on the Internet and the repercussions of spring will be felt throughout winter because the earth keeps spinning and we don't learn from our mistakes. The sun on my face tells me all will be well, the space where we proclaim our losses and reclaim our finds is all one space effectively.

Gandhi

2011-11-02T01:43:00.001+10:00

Your time ran out - yesterday - clouds gathered - over the tropical beach upon which you found true love - sandcastles never stand longer than the tides allow - calm down - turn the other cheek - I am 'violent the way Gandhi was'.

net als zij

2011-09-17T22:09:00.005+10:00

De bergen op tv lijken dichterbij dan ze morgen zullen zijn. Een klein beetje vooruit en dan weer een paar stappen achteruit. De dans van vallen en opstaan, blind doorstappen in het donker, de lach en dag van paarse mannetjes die luidkeels je aan- en doorkomst verkondigen; waarom weet iedereen. Er is zoveel hetzelfde overal. De patronen uit je dromen en bij behorende gedachten en steeds weer andere muziek maar dezelfde tonen. De appels zijn Chileens en de muesli komt uit Duitsland, net als zij. Schone lei, over een paar jaar misschien -eerst nog dat ene, dat wat ik me steeds niet kan herinneren.

there now and now forever

2011-09-17T22:09:00.004+10:00

The Sun is rising; or is it setting? Depends on what way you'd turn the crank I guess. Pictures are frozen particles of time, frames of eternity -there now and now forever; until you turn the crank. The watchdogs are watching you viciously, they'd like to eat you but you haven't gotten close enough. You're singing your songs, trying to get them to fall asleep but they only seem to get angrier; nothing stops dogs on leaches with a hunger for fresh meat. Just pause a little longer when you want to make a point; it works on kids, it works on everyone. We're all babies unaware of our fears, the nervous sweat that is penetrating the nostrils of the dogs you woke up, now wanting to eat you - you're so close, stay brave.

2011-07-26T01:40:00.002+10:00

The piano feathers calm me down, the streets that howl at me and I howl back, at the cars that pass me, I howl back; the lion sitting in my heart patiently; not so much. Why am I here, what will I do, how will it be, what will happen? Breathe. Just fucking breathe. On a crossroads; and the butterfly left the box and then she told me to come along, and I did. I did and I traveled to a foggy town on the edge of the world, peering in the distance and seeing only what's right in front of me; an empty canvas, a book to be written with the words that refuse to come, cause only the piano soothes me, the voices of my forefathers whisper into my ears and the lion roars through my chest, the butterfly, the butterfly, is always nigh.

Awake.

2011-07-06T14:55:00.000+10:00

In your eyes, I might be a hero, I might be a zero, it's all the same. I'll be dancing though you've stopped the music, the violins of violence continue throughout the night that lasted for months, who knows, it might have been years and it doesn't really matter does it? It's not like anything ever changed, change only occurs in the hearts of lovers that lost love and then aimed to find once again; only to find they never lost anything but a part of themselves, a part of themselves that was never theirs to start with, we belong to the stars, the way the Sun belongs to the Moon and the way the Moon belongs to the Sun and the stars to the Sea and the clouds to the Mountains, oh the day that is night, the night that is day, the ever flowing constant that is flux, the lost that is found, that which was never named is always there, call me a dreamer; I am wide-fucking awake.

no wings but still convinced

2011-07-06T00:40:00.003+10:00

If I had wings, I'd fly off, I'd fly off and won't be found, well; you'd have to search extensively -anyway. Yet as it is, I don't have wings and I can't fly, nor lie and what I'm left with is an empty room filled with hope for better days and whiskey filling the void that was left by a childhood that just didn't get any better, whatever dreams I dreamed, whatever substance abuse I attempted the days did not get shorter, and days wouldn't shine brighter. Yet; filling my pockets with stones did not help me sink any faster, the water refused me, it refused me like that world of which I was apart but that which I saw suck up those around me. Living Disney's lies; there, leaves don't ever turn brown and spring never seems to leave the minds of newborns and also, death is but a promise that will never touch the players of the play, because they refused to play the game, all they'd do was hide, never did they seek, open eyes, bright; wide open, never did they see, breathe, aim, never did they shoot, jump, jump, all they did was fall, and here I am. here I am; attempting to fly.

until we are

2011-06-07T01:38:00.006+10:00

Time will turn my heresy into gospel, but until that time, let us hide; hide along the shores of ancient seas, building castles in changing tides while the waves try to scare us, here we sit; unshaken. If the fear might still catch us, remember, we will be scattered, we will be swallowed, swallowed by the waves of unbelief that hurry toward us. And yet, that wouldn't be the end of if, it'll all start anew, with courage fresh and strength unexplored, the days we find ourselves with whips streaming our backs, on streets unknown, tarmac that is new, torn away again -soon; modern architecture will be left to decay, our faces pale, blood chills along our spines, will we learn, will we learn? The castles we build, the sand we use, will never leave a trace, our footsteps washed away, our breath will cease, my heresy; gospel, the air we breathe, the sky we share, the darkness haunts us, into the light we walk and glare; until we are.

Fact to be thought in the end after all.

2011-05-20T16:24:00.002+10:00

Fact to be thought in the end after all.

The realisation was sudden, a strike of thunder in clear sky; an undeniable paradox -yet so clear. The taste of years long past, floods the eyes and ears, feeds the lingering hunger of that which never left in the first place and consistently ate away the inside; leaving the taste of death to flourish blossoming into a livelihood unsurpassed, by any living soul. Whatever we tried, where-ever we might have tried to hide, the scars we bared have yet to remain hidden, the words we uttered can no longer be spoken of, the love proclaimed, the story left behind, the abandoned temples we yet wished to visit are still there, smothered in their business of slow decay, hurrah, hurrah, we live to see another day.

follow the voices

2011-05-18T17:05:00.003+10:00

Urban development formerly unknown to man, to me, the cracks in the road lead me to the heavens underground, that's where the kings of late are to be found, alive and kicking, making music, singing Sirens (follow the voices) and despite popular belief; find the way.

island

2011-04-17T22:25:00.003+10:00

The sight of your own shadow shakes your spine, where are the idols, where is my shrine divine? From stars to flesh and bone, the ability to see beyond the monochrome, to feel the light on your skin and to smell the air in spring, to eat freshly fallen snow and know it all, know it all. That way is long and treacherous young traveler -it seems to be indeed, you will encounter monsters and fairies, they will attempt to kill you with gruesome tactics and bittersweet melodies, they will tell you lies from books they themselves once wrote, from which they now gleefully quote, having found new names and new faces; tempting they remain and doubts they will bring, but hang on to your song; in love for life, sing! Sing your guts out, sing your voice to oblivion, sing like you have never sung before, there is only today, there is only that sparkle of light in the middle of everything, getting closer, losing sight; with eyes open or closed; always equally bright.

celebrate the lies of the dead

2011-04-15T23:38:00.008+10:00

We celebrate the lies of the dead, we celebrate the days that come and forget -about today, in 52 years. I find refuge in small things; plants and bumblebees, the flowers, trees, birds that sing and seagulls diving; gravity is but one explanation of why our current paradigm sucks. What? Clueless wandering undeniably awake, the abyss and horizon super-glued together, cheap shots at eternity and bottomless depth in last nights' bottle seem to be hurling themselves towards glory and death simultaneously -what else? What road is there but that one in front of me? Why does the misty haze not clear away? Why does my heart cry silent cries of unknowingness with my tears watering the earth? My love materialised as the sea; equally wild and tranquil rockin' and ever steadily flowing through the furious maze that has mountains and terraces basking in gold luscious green, where it is good to lose yourself, where it might feel like a great idea to linger; but beware, be not fooled by this folly, stay and die, sway and fly -there is much growing to be done; don't ask me why.

our current neglect

2011-04-08T19:35:00.004+10:00

Tremble, tremble dear; we're near. And further than we have ever been, yet I can smell it, taste it, it cringes up my spine, it tickles my guts, burns through my eyes spewing wild flames -eager as fuck. Wild naked dancing around campfires spread out like the skies light mirroring images of ourselves, blind-sided we see through eyes that might have been closed, might not have been opened to start with, nothing really mattered, the bright stars in the distance blinded us, they eat us, they move us, left and right, where can we go, how can we go anyway? Where are we supposed to go? Why are we supposed to go? We've only got this place, this place that was our garden, that was our feeding hand, not the invisible one. Fuck that. Invisible hand; "please save us". We're the ones we are waiting for, we are the only people to do it, ever, really. Through the wires we pulled, we unite, for the maternal task at hand, we are all different parts of the part swaying lazily through the sounds of flutes and piano's, guitars and drums; slapped in place, cause despite our current neglect, planetary hierarchy is unknown for us, yet remains a fact.

2011-04-02T05:54:00.003+10:00

Whirling water travels the mountain, the mountain or the road, the flying machine or the boat, where ever you go, whatever you do -follow your heart. The healing potion, your suicide medicine, the shaman's song; sounds of butterflies and bats, the soaring eagle, the wise words of owls slumber in your beating box, your ears are useless, being poisoned by the manuscript of lost people, have mercy -oh, have mercy for the lost and see the innocent sparkle hiding in the shadow of their mirrors. Find the fluffy feather floating with the wind, as it carries my whisper of good fortune caressing your neck, along with the Sirens' song tempting us -to lose track, scatter us on the shoreline, back to the stars, brilliant lights in endless dark; once our home, now our view.

2011-03-31T03:21:00.004+10:00

I growl, I howl, I sing, I scream, on the top of my voice, in the hidden places of my mind. I growl for the animals that are not allowed to growl any longer, regardless of their native beings, growl and you will be shot. I howl, for the sake of howling and perhaps because I sometimes feel like a vampire werewolf, but that's kind of difficult to explain, except for the hairs on my back and my blood-lust at night that seems quadrupled when full moons shine their glory over water when I'm out at sea, maybe that explains, but it could also be disregarded as the fantasy of a young man eagerly wanting world peace -how contradictory. I sing because others do too and it makes me happy, and I scream, oh how I scream for the nights we've passed in horror and amazement, debauchery scattered over several cities -tectonic plates really, slowly moving the poles, surely shaking the streets while raving on and on about that which binds us together and that which we seem to have lost, the innocence in our eyes is drug-related and the love in our hearts; the love in our hearts caged in by social expectations.

2011-03-30T01:03:00.004+10:00

Roads appear out of nowhere, when the murky haze dampens into vaporous scents of beautiful women parading by in an orange misty sun. Roads have no ending, only when you start numbering them and put signs up -only then; they start communicating very strict rules as to how to treat them and how to address them without really saying anything to everyone. People blindly pass up on fields with butterflies, swamps with may-flies mating (you should see those little buggers, really) and herons patrolling the parameter, with movements that breathe ease and comfort pushing away air to float out into the distance disregarding roadsigns altogether while keeping course all the same.

2011-03-29T00:41:00.002+10:00

The smell of honey pouring over me, capturing the moment; a veil released, in slow-motion with no definite end in sight. The bittersweet taste of suffocation, softly slipping into darkness (known as melancholy) while long fingers from the shadows point and whispers drift on and off against the wind. My dear spectator you can poke me, scorn me, burn me, blind me, tie me, eat me, hit me, fuck me, trample me, poison me, really whatever; when all is lost and found, I'll still be doubtlessly free.

2011-03-25T19:06:00.003+10:00

Nullified shimmers of hope. Spread widely in a scene vast and grey, people on television are always shallowly gay, but at least they dance. The streets are filled with our invisible messages floating through the air, while they say; barely a thing at all.

And yet, hope is not the last to die, it is our soul's firstborn, instantly followed by faith. And if loving you means losing you, like I did so long ago, and do again at times, I will take that beating over and over -and over, again. Because all my joy is in knowing you exist. Hindsight is for assholes and I've done everything I did, the way I did, as did you and I love you for it, because you have given me what I know today, you made me, who I am today. We're intrinsically entwined, whether we like it or not, whatever tomorrow brings, or will not bring. A tad sad that might be, my dark clouds ever accompanied by silver linings smiling at me singing; it's ok.

2011-03-25T19:06:00.001+10:00

Silver linings linger above and about my house, making the eyes go narrow and the vision squinting through the late afternoon of a Friday in November with rays that have been brought to this very day, a day in March, with spring popping up and John singing the lines he sung years back, he still sings. The angelic beings that have come to save us appear to have been here all this time, had we only taken the time, had we only taken the time to see what would have been if time did not exist and had we not fallen into the trap that we made, our silly human ego's full of fear for love.

Frightful and trembling, closed eyes, my left foot before my right, steps that continue into the dark; into the dark to meet the light.

2011-03-25T18:58:00.001+10:00

As eternity continues to play it's game of hide and seek, at night it's day, from the valley to the peak; dwindling through a country road, leaves freshly fallen, ripened with age; caressed by time -up and beyond goes the silver Moon, here is dawn, in golden statues of love not lost, held in eyes of tender acceptance reflecting roses flowering; deserts filled, to replenish -your thirst and mine, birds keep singing, rainbows rhyme.

Tremble, tremble dear; we're near.

Tsunami - Japan

2011-03-15T00:06:00.003+10:00

The voices of angels singing is piano's entwined in a scarcely lid room with the heavens united and the people below -lazily laying around. The blackbirds flew their circles, screeched in silent voices, smothered in honey raining down and the scent of flowers. The waves that came and went, obliterating modern architecture; there are no structures made to last, only patterns and the everlasting circles of birth, growth and death -no thing man-made. Mother Earth's slate is being wiped clean and we are left outside in the wet, plastered in a painting; heaven and hell can be found on Earth.

2011-02-28T20:30:00.002+10:00

Rottigheden uit het verleden lijken dichterbij dan ze lang zijn geweest, de vragen van eerder zijn beantwoord maar niet compleet; er is een zoveelste laag, zwervende met de sterren verdwaalde voetsporen op een onbegaanbaar pad, geen pad dus. Zoveel dagen, zo veel dromen, zoveel liefde, zoveel pijn, zoveel mogelijkheden, zoveel gezichten en geuren; lippen, ogen, verhalen, de reeks is lang en de verhalen een gevarieerd één, een optocht van heiligen en zondaars, de enige echte catagorisatie -de eenheid, vertaald in zoveel woorden dat haar ware gezicht verdwijnt in een massa van armen en benen, mooie woorden uit zovele monden; altijd onderweg. De taal, geen verbinder een verdeler, spreken met tongen uit hemelse oorden, de samenscholing in vermomming, de broeders, zusters. het jong grut en de oude vandagen; in de file, in de trein. De lach, de traan als je het niet doet is het al gedaan; we zullen het samen dragen.

2011-02-09T23:09:00.001+10:00

All bends harbour safe havens and volcanoes, hot springs replenish your every need, the message in a bottle, the innocence lost; only to find that the silent space in between real and not so real is where equilibrium resides. Welcome to the real world. Here it is not possible (unfortunately) to name things, the names that have been used previously can no longer be used for everybody already knows, knowing nothing. Look at the birds, read the poem the rain proclaims to the trees and the love song of the sun and the earth, it is here my dear, here, where we will find plains of possibility previously occupied by books from the past, but I journeyed out and beyond reclaiming them as Prometheus would have done, from the devil's teeth I snatched them and in my heart I will carry them, all the way through eternity.

2011-02-07T01:14:00.004+10:00

Left tracks in deserts on high planes, I sold my memories for a dime and stole them back in a night that wasn't blue -nor black. While hiding amongst ruins that have stood the test of time best they could, dust covers me. The streets that once caressed me with its morning glory, where now dramatic sounds are slithering into my ears; are paralysing every muscle in my body and creating a war-zone of my imagination, a murky day in Febuary. Passing into a realm that holds contradiction and decaying stone structures captured in a glass dome, for all to see. While I am surrounded by thousands and thousands of people, I find none to stand beside me. All intentions were disregarded as they found themselves substituted for running after the genie of the bottle, that swayed lazily just (above and beyond) about the horizon. The constant reminder of whirling winds and lukewarm rain gives voice to events neatly tucked away in the rewards of theft that was not black nor blue, and which might have been true. What I found there was something that wasn't mine at all, which I could not have or give away but simply seemed to have been part of, longer than I seem to remember, which felt as a very contradictive but in itself complete kind of truth. It must have gotten there by design, some pre-eminent possibility developed organically as it were. A rich taste of colours and an array of realities that all lived inside of us, that seemed to orchestrate itself as if she were a dog getting comfortable when it gets a good rub from its best friend. The ease and softness of the swelling ocean rumble that seemed sudden but absolute found me naked, with clarity creeping up on me and absorbed in a drunken frenzy of yellow and blue that shaped into green and sprouted into a reddish white leaving me on the banks of a little pool of water that did not hold my reflection, but hope.

2011-01-31T19:30:00.003+10:00

Leaving the leaves flap around in deserted alleyways, silencing the voice in my head, fallen leaves once bright green and now lost golden, whereto leads this road? As time becomes a concept loaded with connotations that pressure the moment, right here, right now; what is there to do but to dance, dance with you on the winds, surrender to the bending of my back and singing of my heart, try not to listen to the flapping of my wings as they might just be yours and yours tell a different story altogether -whilst in between lines, we are one.

2011-01-25T00:23:00.004+10:00

All bends harbour safe havens and volcanoes, hot springs replenish your every need, the message in a bottle, the innocence lost; whether basking in the sun, hiding away in a cave while all outside is dead and covered in frost. Fire springs up lashing out veraciously, feasting itself upon darkness, there's no chance in Hell you'll escape this, there's no sense in wanting to anyway. For life and death are of one and the same, are but the mirrors we look at to give us some sense of what's real and what's not, who's winning and who's losing, he who knows life, must know decay, he who sits back and takes a deep breath, is faced with a universe conversing in rainbows.

2011-01-22T20:41:00.003+10:00

Come inside, the barren landscape that is my home, this place of sanctuary, this place of tears, where all is fine regardless. What is what -and why, is but a question asked by a journalist in the backroom, not in front, not in front. We must go on, rain on your parade, seeing ashes grow in the shade, bright biting green is the colour of true love, she said so and as the roots branch out and the new flowerheads spring from hiding, I'll have perished and be reborn, come along, come along -in the background; I'll play you a pretty song.

2010-12-02T04:37:00.002+10:00

All the leaves telling us we'll be fine, as long as we keep letting go. All appearances of the meta-physical, water under the bridge, never the same, water's bottled these days. We try, we try; do we float, do we fly, try to pry -into the clam that is tomorrow, today, there's no one way of not going there. What is there to be allowed or denied, praised or vilified, but the thoughts of a maniac; a lover, a monk, the child of a mother that is not God -nor man? Surely, we know, surely, we cast our shadowy smile upon the hero with a thousand faces; here for one by one we must fall, one by one we tremble in fluorescent anticipation, one by one we hoover into the abyss, none, none at all, not a single spread of doubt, watery eyes; in silence.

2010-12-02T04:30:00.003+10:00

The circling smoke that cringes up the invisible ladder of my imagination, clouding the vision of togetherness, blinding me mid-day, striking my back with rusty meat-hooks, pushing me straight off the cliff -whilst enjoying the sun-rise. Tumbling down (cause for some reason they do not offer any resistance or suspense in in the inevitable descent), all time in the world, no problem what so ever, as the world stopped its rotation and the pull of gravity seems to lift me up and sit me down. Talking to God seems pointless to most these days, yet I find the conversation shockingly clarifying, the first honest conversation I had in times, lacking any of the clutter I find in the noise around me.

2010-11-23T08:36:00.003+10:00

Like a true champion that once was and now is, on the ground -beaten to pulp, he softly whispers; but.. don't you think she loves me? Who am I to ask? I kick him once again.

Why did he have to ask that question, over, and over -and over.

And why, did I feel like beating him to pulp? This sorry pile of romanticism, he couldn't help it, could he? Disney, Roald Dahl -all that. Everlasting, all things are good if you just wait it out, eat the shit fed to you, hang on to hope, close your eyes, the bunny is perfectly fine.

Or is it?

Isn't it just sitting in a little cage for it to be released for that brief moment of shimmering light, that overwhelming moment in which it is groped at and put into a hat, remain still, make itself invisible in order to re-appear; magically -to disappear once more and be forgotten and be remembered as the arch-typical rabbit out of the hat.

Well, boe-hoe.

Get out you damn rabbit, they won't catch you, they won't stand a fucking chance, not a moment, not a glimpse will they see but of flashing light, lashing out to them, provoking pure and tasteful fear that comes up from their loins and rapes their senses -bluntly, willingly, masturbation in public, just because of you little rabbit, for you, for you! For you do what they did not, you are, what they never will be or can ever grasp the slightest hint of meaning of. They are the hat, they are nestled in your soft and silky fur, they are -everything you seem to be; but are not.

For they are; already half digested on your mothers Christmas table.

Let's eat coal-slaw.

2010-11-21T03:10:00.003+10:00

This fluid state, this meta-physical possibility of what has been and would be perhaps, if things had been differently, or if they are -different, in a future tense kind of way. March on to your next buy, your next fuck, your last drink, your first sniff -of today that is. Tomorrow isn't sure, but if it's there, thank God, scream out whatever name your God listens to. And even if you don't think God exists in whatever shape, size, form, gender, age, species -eventually, shops are closed on Sunday-afternoons in small villages outside of the city you live in regardless.

2010-11-13T00:07:00.003+10:00

Doubtful times, blank stares and grayish sunshine radiate through the cracks of a winter sky early November. Kids continue to want and dance in the puddle, run through rain; as we once did. The innocence we knew and remember, the trembling of my hands is felt to the far corners of the world; butterfly effect in reverse.

2010-11-12T23:53:00.002+10:00

2010-11-06T23:55:00.001+10:00

The life in her eyes, her, peering onto maps, seeking the infinite, the route to take, the moment -this moment; the end.

2010-11-06T23:53:00.003+10:00

The time spend on prophets gone to waste, the brush of violence that touched your cheek and nipples; that which raped your senses and robbed your unborn children of their innocence, the invisible hands around your neck, softly suppressing the urge to live and love, but teaching you to let go.

2010-11-06T10:12:00.001+10:00

Never forget where you come from; just make sure you remember why you left simultaneously.

2010-11-05T04:50:00.003+10:00

Chosen the road, ignored the signs, worshiping fake gods, bleeding for shrines; the days of television are numbered and ringing me won't make sense. For I fell off the Earth, I feel vacuum-packed sausages gathering strength, I feel chaos, I feel creation of a hallmark wind-mill; that will free you -as well as me. The race of rats was won, by butterflies I might add.

Ever fluorescent -constant, state of flux, took them elsewhere, must be; they are no longer to be found.

2010-10-29T23:24:00.003+10:00

A train to a place I'm not aware of slides bye, over hypothetical valleys and hills, nothing but territory unknown, following blind walls and circular routes leading to places I might have visited before. The base of my gear; seeds and unrevealed flowers, with grace in my heart and speaking in velvet tongues; I'll trot the untrodden paths on the sides of roads that are not roads just yet. My flesh; the flesh that ate and loved and knows life, and thus according to the laws of physics shall know decay -what starts shall end, wrong must right, I'll have nothing, I'll have all.

2010-10-29T23:20:00.002+10:00

The single sniff of riches blown, tasted exactly like that, leaving you senseless and full of remorse. Carried out by stars, holding on to dreams, cling to nothing, sail across the realm of alternate presence to be found in idealism -happy to know there's one like you floating this universe. The nights filled with fog and clarity mystify everything, initiating the day to be ended by night, continuously; mid-flight.

2010-10-12T00:43:00.000+10:00

Fact to be thought in the end after all.

The realisation was sudden, a strike of thunder in clear sky; undeniably paradoxically -yet so clear. The taste of years long past, floods the eyes and ears, feeds the lingering hunger of that which never left in the first place and consistently ate away the inside; leaving the taste of death to floorish blossoming into a livelihood unsurpassed, by any living soul. And all it took was some imagination, really.

2010-10-09T03:23:00.001+10:00

Determinate steps into fire, the fire of ancient times, of dead poets and travelers of planets far and wide. All be welcomed into the shadow-play of acceptance taking place in front of you, hosted by flashing light and heavy drums, leaving a dancing blue shining wildly onto your gray faces, carving contortions of pleasure and shivers of fear into the invisible blood that flows out of your imaginative ears. The tears that are suppressed by the scars of days behind you, removing your traces up the evolutionary ladder and vanquishing the steps to heaven all together. Strain, strain to see; through the white haze that was last night, where words were spoken with delicate precision without anyone knowing what was said, or meant in the first place; the lyrical composition that was on repeat had a meaning, surely.

2010-10-03T02:06:00.004+10:00

Singing circles in cubicles, the triangle that you missed out on lingers on in past-time paradigm preceding all possibility of today taking you on a journey along the beaches of outer-space; new civilisation is a mere step away, if that's what you and I decide to say. Yet I find you biting your tongue, sucking the iron taste of irony, your dreams captured in the cage that once was your dog's and your rabbit's alike -until the rabbit ate the dog and went down the rabbit-hole, to leave you wondering about what might be down there; if you only knew the rabbit never ate the dog but took it along and showed it paradise, paradise for dogs and rabbits alike, never even noticing the different shapes that made their ears; cause they both heard the Sirens sing their songs and stood in awe, the unity of their voices gave them whatever caused them to say; it's all good down here.

2010-10-03T01:59:00.004+10:00

Are you dreaming? Are you wide awake and involuntarily captivated by the noise around you, immobilising your will, building barriers of sand and lime-stone. To be grinded away by time if you allow it to be, if you decide to dream once more, settle the score with the demons of your youth, evening falls -a shiver down your spine, to remind you of impossibility, remain floating in the hostility of your own thoughts, of the darkened room in full sunshine, basking it's outer brilliance, remaining the cognitive inmate of what you once were.

2010-09-22T21:19:00.002+10:00

Ah these almost modern cities and people, these cars and buildings; such strict guidelines that are no guidelines but laws. Are they, or do I think they are? I need to be this and that and a little of that and some more -but not that much; tone it down son. All grey skies and damp cellars, what is why and why's that? For to rip out my gut you must come close first and coming closer you lose sight as your eyes have always been shut wide open. The matter of fact, we're scared shitless and have no clue; what you want from me, or I want from you, I'm just here on this stage accessible to everyone and for none to see, hear me, hear me silenced in whispers sprouting flowers; I'll just be.

2010-09-09T18:43:00.003+10:00

Shivering in fluorescent anticipation, the pride of a nation; a hole in the ground. This is not your archetypical left-right discussion. While I wait and try to breath, I am nailed fast, the inability to move does not mirror in my mind -a horde of pulses feasting on my flesh; or was it me watching TV -surely neither. Bullets making holes fly wildly, indeed, they seem to sing; harmony is a continuous game of physics, flux the only constant.

2010-09-04T00:22:00.000+10:00

Her lips, her nose, her eyes,
ears, cheeks and bones,
Her arms, her wrists, elbows,
fingernails, tows, knees,
tummy and navel, breasts

and shoulders.

Radiate; golden rays of hope.

The Phoenix Shall Arise

2010-08-05T08:55:00.001+10:00

Birds migrate onto places the winds take them.
Whilst afloat on torrents of changes.
There are no gates, love surpasses all colours in all shades.

The death of a season, is the death of time -yours and mine.

Being born anew; freed from the chains of rusty, past-time paradigm,
there’s no path, no guiding line.

There is but opportunity, plains of possibility to roam and fly freely.
Into a new world, drifting, treading careful steps onto fertile grounds;
seed grows to bloom and flourish, ashes to ashes, the Phoenix shall arise.

2010-07-16T01:35:00.002+10:00

Lives consisting of sleepy reality and hasty dreams, there's no time for clarifying words, let alone contemplation. Storms in June sweep the minds of sleepless wanderers; their horrid real-time experience of life halted to a stop by weather alarms and anxious news-anchors. Led by winds of change, they know not where they're going nor where they are as the blind lead the cripple running through a desert; world peace is here, right here.

2010-07-14T07:16:00.004+10:00

Typing letters to the dead, not knowing what to say, nor any clue what I intended to think. Where to my dear, where to goes this torrent of limbless bodies, swarming in their nationalistic togetherness; so colourful. Here; where I ought to rejoice and dance, I stand alone, in my basement of dreams with a mere glimpse of your hopeful being, the shimmer that is light and happiness, the wind that carries me through the approaching storm in which I feel rough and raw -ready for all that comes; ready to lash out, be torn apart and sown back up. I'm building pyramids not knowing whether they'll communicate back to me from unknown galaxies, hope is not the last to die; it's our consciousness' firstborn instantly followed by faith.

2010-06-15T23:24:00.003+10:00

Reminiscing what dead singers would have sung, new writers will write today or when they come of age; how will life be on a late afternoon on Saturday? The tourists forced to make way for those to whom this city belongs; poetic terrorists carrying their screaming guitars and drumming the march of peace. Lo, this carriage is loaded with foods and supplies -to take us to the end of the universe and back; or not. So much to see, so much to do, in the nights that pass us by -there's the world to feel. Wandering in love with grace, always ask yourself; what would Jeff Buckley have sung?

2010-06-15T23:13:00.002+10:00

Lo and behold you sons of bitches; it is true. The words of extremists are words still. The empty shells we swallow for newscoverage and truthful information -talking of bloodshed and human sorrow; are factually the destroyed lives of hundreds and thousands of souls. Why do you not see? Why do you hide away in caves of murky shallowness; blue light dancing on your walls, you in front, your posture gray and half dead. Hiding for the responsibility in your disguise of worry -mortage; complex structures of unsatisfactory consumer behaviour. . The distance you took from your brothers and sisters, chewing on the hand that feeds; deliberately slow and thoughtlessly -cunts! Are you not aware of our individual insignificance? Are you not aware of your personal substitutional being? Know your place; contemplate, practise; love, compassion, kindness forget these words and forgive me for my anger; I am but a little lost boy in love with the world.

2010-06-15T23:04:00.002+10:00

Hide me away - out of sight, down the wind, for tigers know what's in front of them. How come it's difficult to let the winds take you along its current, how come it's so embodied in everything you do and when it's given to you, you retract -contradictory; that's a fact.

2010-06-02T08:38:00.003+10:00

Storytelling of days long past, its been a couple of years, and many different shades of green. Rejuvenation, proclamation; of Self, reaching top shelve, or just run away? Questions that linger in future sense, reflection sharp, step, step -where to? Continuous evolution, a wild exploration of the four axles that one could choose -once you'd put it in a diagram. Am I touching base? Or is this yet another phase? Trace, trace, steps to a new beginning -the continuation of the story; keep on singing.

2010-05-17T05:06:00.003+10:00

Bring me home to a place I have never been, walking on sunshine when the rains begin. The sadness that lingers on the borders of my life, hanging by loosely, clouded bygones -all in vain. The vision I work for, a mission maybe, mine or yours or all of us, who does what, but mostly why? Why do I try, why do I try? The surrender has taken place long back, apathy is a charming toy -made in China. No, not really, made right here, in your heart, discard your desire, of being free, replace the shame you feel with a drive for money, a claim to fame, what's your name and what do you do? The shallow hallmarks of a life in town, this desire, to burn it all, to run away, how, how do I stop myself, from causing havoc and ending up in absolute dismay.

2010-05-10T17:55:00.004+10:00

Ready for a fight, shorter darker night, it's right. It's the path I have chosen, it's destiny perforating the cap of my knee, blindfolded jumping into oblivion -fly away I shall. With marble arches left to crumble and die, I walk the borders of almost modern cities and see it's inhabitants move through the decay of their once shiny truth with tears in their eyes; dry deserts. The question to ask is not what, it is why, why do we walk, why do we laugh, why do you wake and why would I care -If you don't how can I? Deliver me from evil, I'll do you good I'll love you to pieces, I'll smother you in laughter, I'll strangle you bare-handedly because, if you're not free you're life is not here really.

2010-04-27T01:07:00.003+10:00

She no longer feels alone, and that's when she's with me. Her beautiful curls are fingered by my hands, whilst her face is burried under the blankets in my neck, her lips caressing my skin, our hands intertwined.

We are no longer alone, despite the flights through our respective dreamworlds, a bridge has been made, and it covers galaxies and worlds, to be together under the skies of ancient times in an almost modern world. Where we together are the creators of our reality, our life, her life and mine, flowing fluidly together and apart, it's infinite and finite -all can be said in art.

2010-04-25T04:50:00.004+10:00

Wandering through a city, a city bathing in a post sun/pre-dark state, with windows behind which artificial perfection was played. It's a carnival, it's a party; the visitors have left or never arrived, the question of fulfillment is hanging longingly in the air, half full/half empty -half gone surely. Ghostly visions of insecurity, ghastly words that are burned into ones flesh, smell, smell; fear. Embrace the shadowplay -fade, fade into a new world; king of the jungle. Thin lines, thick clouds, the sun always shines, and yet it rains. Grass always grows, as do trees, yet invisibility is key. For our perception is limited and reality has to, really, easily, become something else. Pissing on my parade, here is where I fade, am the grass under snow, the Sun behind clouds, watching a flower blossom, caressing the lonely tree that sprouts; here I am, here I find, the battle that is me, tranquil sea what harbours your depth, I fly, I swim, I fall asleep in the warmth you bring.

2010-04-19T19:59:00.002+10:00

"Utopian dreams have value as critical tools and heuristic devices, but there is no substitute for lived life, real presence, adventure, risk, love. If you put media at the centre of your life, you will live a mediated life." Now; it was argued by one that it helps you put responsibility outside yourself. And yet, I don't necessarily think that is a result of putting media at the centre of your life. I think that is related to the objectification of life in a generalistic sense, the democratic process that is flawed and in no sense democratic in the way it was founded; all the people for all the people, repressed sexuality, corporate grandeur, the lack of people speaking up when we find ourselves in a corrupted world, taking the beating in a fashion that would look good on redneck domestic violence. The animated and not so involved spectators we have become as human beings have put us on the slope watching Prometheus walk up and down getting his liver eaten out whilst enjoying the warmth of a campfire whilst we ought to be burning down Mount Olympus. Long live our comfy little lives.

(first quote; Hakim Bey, T.A.Z.)

2010-03-27T02:34:00.005+10:00

It's a waterfall sliding into infinity surrounded by the apathy of an almost modern world -ready to die. Children lost their innocence, tears of laughter, tears of sorrow, what loves will cry; what lives will die, love to share, clouds deny; the Sun to shine. Tear apart this shallow farce, this plastic face, this feeble statue of sophistication, this life you live, the chemicals you eat -reality's hallucination. Care to think; of lust, desire -mirror life to death and find eternity. God's manifestation on Earth brings but torn up lives, an act of moral superiority is but the blasphemy of being human -can't you see.

2010-03-23T23:48:00.002+10:00

Sewing the threads of a lost tale into infinity; pages seem to resist the needle, as they did the ink. Skin's a more suitable drawing board, call it a sticky note. Remember, the lessons you've come across, the days where learning was of no necessity -where it came freshly. The stranger across the street is looking at the people passing by, on edge, what do they want, why are they here? It seems reasonable to argue that she's waiting, as the inpatient movement indicates, her nervousness eradicates, all possibility of future success. Note to self; needles slowly fade away the colour of your skin.

2010-03-14T00:41:00.003+10:00

From where we stand we do not know what it is or where it'll go. The clouded sparkles that are a future picture twists and turns; it dances with fire -or was it in fire, I forget. It's a beautiful picture nonetheless.

2010-03-08T05:36:00.002+10:00

Seeing the tear leave your eye made me feel helpless and at home. Helpless for the days I found myself behind a wall that resembles yours, at home -for the exact same reason. The immobility of senses beaten to a pulp due to overload, without an ability to download, on a trusted surrounding, building a house without foundation has the risk of becoming a caravan without wheels, raining on its own parade. Spare parts are made but originals are preferred, mending the broken wheels of concrete movement is a tedious task, yet building stones are put in place once and can then we revisited to asses and wiggled free; in order to become building stones once more. Not for walls but for roads, roads that lead to the realisation; being is light, where one's eyes are no longer blinded by the reflection of the mirror, where one's tears are no longer suppressed by laughter.

2010-03-08T02:55:00.002+10:00

Couples in love stroll by my window, kids dressed up -a princess, a troll, it's all true, it's all preparation for real-life. How the innocent soul will be lost to a scrupulous world that demands corruption in order to prevail, is of yet to be seen, yet there's a good chance it will be. How does beauty lose it's glance? How did humanity lose it's pulse to motorized sounds of monotony? It is a stencil press meandering in twilight on repeat, it is an owl, losing it's way at night -it is a lack of insight.

2010-03-08T02:38:00.003+10:00

Throw me away, like a dirty towel, into the tumbler, into the sea, lose me along the way, to wherever you might be going, I'll be alright, I'll be alright. I'll dry your tears and in case of your loss, I'll just lay on the sand, counting stars. The mixture of sweat and salty water is long dried, yet all too similar, for it is the star that you were, it is the ash you shall become, it is inevitable, it is a dream. Whatever it may seem to be, whatever it might actually be, it's all particle reality and as such never coherent enough to truly understand, yet we bend and curl to reach this point we call fact, it's is impossible to deny cause and effect, and yet; where did it start? Where will it end?

2010-03-05T04:58:00.003+10:00

I'll do this the right way; I'll find my way into your heart before I lose myself in your physical beauty. The day I found myself listening to the teacher that choose not to be one, claiming love is more devotion then it is creativity, I understood and was not aware how this this were going to prove itself. Manifested reality is the only truth, by perception my life is formed and in truth my decisions based. I'm in no hurry and know I can't put under the ground, what it is that forms a cloud -in your heart.

2010-03-05T04:41:00.003+10:00

I've never listened to what they told me, I've always found my way. My way has led me to you: to find a wall of proportions I thought only I was capable of, the arrogance. I've finally broken mine -to find yours, blocking my way. And it's funny, cause what comes around goes around and what one gives away shall come his way -hoezee, hoezee! It's ok, it'll wash away. In a sense my life is like creating great landscapes, it takes time, and my face is smashed on simple sentences such as 'patience is virtue' and 'nobody ever said it was going to be easy'. Cliche's cornered me to find the route that leads me to your heart; blocked. Swept off my feet and being carried together with butterflies along the tropic winds of the Atlantic to land wherever I may land -the only realisation that holds true is that what I see; is self-created, a work of my own hand.

2010-03-02T01:49:00.003+10:00

Come out and see what the world has brought to your eyes, what the world can be, could be -would be, if you only tried. The illuminous radiation of your eyes is one that breeches whatever grey the sky has brought today, could ever bring, it makes Sirens sing of heavens brought to us in a daily reality, if we choose to see. Possibility is endless, the globe goes round and round until it stops and then nothing else matters more than what matters now, pretty much what we choose is who we are, I'll be close now, other times I'll be far, but still near, cause you're beautiful dear.

2010-02-18T06:10:00.003+10:00

I'll be an earthquake, clearing out the cracks that have formed over the centuries of bloodshed, in the name of God, in the name of development, for the sake of fuck all. The burning rubble of yesterday shall be the fertile ground of tomorrow, it's all backwards, it's all hope and idealism, it's all I have it's all that matters. Where we go shall be seen in hindsight, for today it is night, and we watch out, for the breaching of the sun, the haze of a smoking gun -indicates noise, indicates sudden changes, turmoil, scraps over soil. Evolution on it's way, in you -in me, let's escape this sinking ship, let's crumble and die, return to dust and with butterflies -fly.

2010-02-16T05:01:00.002+10:00

Winter hills, form in desolate corners of a city that counts people from all over the world, that care to share, this piece of land, seemingly peaceful. The bubble that appears to be; personal life, has never been as connected as it is today, what will it be tomorrow? Is our democracy a choice of laziness, or merely part of the process, of becoming slaves -walking towards our graves. The silly paradigm of oil and war, religion and war, money and blood, cold, cold blood with no more value then today's stockmarket can cough up. Short-term profit, short term profit, hell is nothing but Dante's imaginary pit -of fire.

2010-02-15T17:21:00.002+10:00

The promised glory got lost in the fancy of papermaché hangings made to hang sadly -the day after. With the empty bottles scattered around the floor, in the middle of bodies, discarded, fertile land of sorrow, growing, nothing, new tomorrow, empty land, full of festivities. The seagulls passing my window squabble for things I cannot see, left behind pieces of bread -broken- a token of our wasteful lives wrapped up in plastic. While we dance on our bicycles, we blisfully ignore the cycles of the moon and go by christian paradigm, man is greater than this earth, we are bound for the heavens, follow our lead, and so it goes -Jesus, continues to bleed.

2010-02-15T03:31:00.003+10:00

I've tried leaving, I've tried breathing. The second is more my thing and reconciling past and present is like being under water and sing. Distorted communication, swaying in a storm on a killing field that is confusion, that is, lingering in a dark and muddled past. The plain of possibility is lit by what bridges are burned behind, to get where we are now. Where we're going? Nowhere, not like this, not like this. Past by, past by, the reasons why, depend on respective viewpoints, irreconcilable, pain and sorrow, never really work when used as building stones for tomorrow.

2010-02-14T00:57:00.001+10:00

I don't think the world is round, i just think that society is bound -by lunacy and restriction, living somewhat of a dystopian fiction. Thinking that those looking beyond the mediated shallowness are silly idealists, ignorance is bliss, ignorance is bliss. What do I want? Retreat into nature, be free and roam forests, get lost and never be found in the swallowing sound of my cosmic mothers' lap. Sure, but not just yet, so much to do, so much to show, not from an authoritarian outlook, enable, you should really read this book, try and figure it out, remember why it is special -you are human, try to put the 'being' back in to human being, you could sway like a tree in a storm, but break every time it rains, fuck your parade, step out into the sun, it's the allegory of the cave all over again, you Neanderthals, switch off the telly and rekindle the fire.

2010-02-09T02:08:00.004+10:00

Violin and violence, slice through the dark nights of a new life, a day that has been cut to pieces, a light that historically shone into the future and failed to travel at the speed of light to be overtaken by us, by fear, by hysterical behaviour of old pains and societal lunacy. Talking of saving the planet while we fail to see the bigger picture that is life and life alone. Merely pons in a game that is universal, that is connected that is -what it is you want it to be.

2010-02-09T02:02:00.002+10:00

It's close to unbearable, the dark has surrounded my light and now spring is pushing forward, the cold that shivers through the pile of autumn leaves I am under, hiding. I peek out of my looking hole, with my binoculars, only to see distorted shapes that make me feel uneasy and safe simultaneously. What I see is what makes me feel, beauty at the edge of a cliff, knowing I'm about to fall, knowing that gravity is just and righteous. It is of galactic proportions, it is a new persona, it is the same as it has always been, simply redefined.

2010-02-03T01:41:00.002+10:00

I've send an envoy into the open field, to explore possibility, to free myself from incapability, to see a reflection of my own lack of sanity. The structure that was put in place cannot hide the sadness on my face, nor cut me loose from an embrace that ended long ago. What did, is a whole other matter which will be discovered (or recovered) by the envoy I send into the open field, to yield the power of blank pages, to shed karmic reactions build up over the ages of my previous lives, to free big birds in small cages, I will be the key to my own heart, I am responsible for the lock therefore take the blame, I see no shame in coming clean, and having told you my intention, a cloud hovers over tomorrow, cleaning it all straight out -there is no sorrow.

2010-01-22T02:11:00.002+10:00

Lush new beginnings form on the devastation of foregone days, humanity prays, to whom, to what? New days, old glory and forgotten love, all the same, keep looking back and find your pattern, know what to do and look beyond. Is it dogmatic or heartfelt, try and answer that question and keep it to yourself. Sharing is caring but let your actions do the talking while you keep on walking. Walk in solitude and kindly greet passersby, namaste, our languages have parted way long ago, yet we are two human beings, one people under the sky, roaming the planet, sharing the road.

2010-01-16T21:40:00.002+10:00

Rollercoaster -milk and honey.

Faith is said to be unconditional, as it is, I am transitional. The music I hear bears resemblance to occurances in my life, hot knife, butter. The meticulous dissection that is on its way, paves new roads in abandoned landscapes, desolate sunsets are but part of a story in which I have love to spare, were the pieces of my heart were dished up -tender, rare. My walls, whether they are digital, emotional or solid stone, are temporary, are delusional, my stories both real and fictional, I feel time is my trail. While it ticks on, I need to believe I'll make it through this one. Complicated it is not, only when I try to see the plot, of what it could be, what it could mean, for destiny is not to be seen, until I close my eyes, into eternity, passed on from the existence I call this life, I dwell in uncertainty. The pinnacles of light that illuminate what I once knew, and threw, me right back into questionable states of mind, I close my eyes and step forward confidently, straight into everything - I cannot see.

2010-01-11T21:57:00.000+10:00

Shine, shine, little star, you were conceived under heartbreak, your light radiates through darkness, as if it were to open up ancient secrets, your fountain sprouts mythological gold, my glacial stare is but temporary, I lay in shackles -naked, and try to bare, the cold, while I try to make it through this one, the night that resembles rebirth and while I awake, I tremble and shake, covered in blood, my dreams splattered on the wall in an attempt to soften the inevitable fall.

2010-01-11T21:09:00.002+10:00

And it looks like it never felt so young, while time has long done its justice and days are no longer waiting for winter solstice. It is a new Sun, a new Sun indeed, for the stars that slowly bleed to death, for the Earth's green pastures, for the birds hatching soon, with new warmth coming to melt the snow, to give the darkness that seeps in with winter, its final blow. And I bow to the infinite, as it knows more than I aspire to, now, there's so much to learn, rekindling the fire that was left to burn. I still don't wash my hair, nothing changed in that sense, although it seems, the labyrinth keeps returning to the same point, running circles, running away from love, is insanity, fear, nonsense. All the while, talking past-tense.

2010-01-08T02:38:00.003+10:00

Dancing on the slippery slope that is my life, I find myself looking backwards to tumble down -to get up with a frown, thinking; Yeah, that hurts. Some days more than others, it seems viable to move on and walk by, the scars I carry, the vision that is, was or were, before, behind or above. The story as such will continue with flux being the only constant, even my physical body renews every 7 years, my thoughts are a tad faster to cling on to change, opening up; yet another range, of mountaintops to be danced on under starry skies while kissing the wings of butterflies, nah, touch them and they die, as I saw them get lost -in madness, in the bewilderment of my own enthusiasm, in screams and cries, in thunderstorms and clouded skies. The Sun and Moon are always there, battling in Egyptian myth for control, Horus and Seth, none ever wins, we are but reminded of our hopes, dreams and all I hear; the sounds of daybreak, with a bird that sings and the pendulum that swings, in admiration of flux.

2009-12-28T09:08:00.004+10:00

Self-destruction is but a blast from the past that tends to get back at me here and there. It helps me co-exist, it helps me, get through the days without anyone, without even you. Those days are dark, those days are necessary, those are the days I lose my mind. And that's fine -the sublime comes from grounds pure and unmuzzled, those grounds clinging themselves to your soul, for you know they are real, realer perhaps, no shiny gimmicks to be found here, it's all the way it's supposed to be, it's all perception really. For a lonesome wanderer I have chosen to be, and clouds of melancholy are part of me, whilst my love roams the world freely and my ideals are not bound in by corporate reality, I say fuck you and dance, dance on the guitars that scream and the drums that slam reality into my face, mainstream reality is too fucking shallow for my taste.

2009-12-26T22:56:00.001+10:00

Tattoos, the lines of memories, the messages of a day and age, I strain to see, the opportunity of a new start, the lines simple and black, mix slowly, surely, softly -with skin, washed away sin, of drug-abuse, the past mis-use, I refuse and refute, the social paradigm of this Western World, the cold, hard reality in which MTV poisons my generation, leads astray from contemplation, into the static undressing of our thoughts, the promiscuous shallowness that is presented; a quick escape from your responsibility, yet you'll have to give up -this state of mind we call; being free, being free. .

2009-12-17T23:17:00.003+10:00

The sunset is all that remains, of days that are all but worth remembering, the setting of the sun discards the frost in my heart. When you've hit rock-bottom, all there is left to realise is absolute zero is actually −273.15°C. Sorry, it's not me -it's science. The possibility of flight is one that is found within yourself and cannot be detained in form or function, all that matters is the willingness to look within and find what it is that is there to be found in order to illuminate, move away from the state that is limited material thought, pick the world up and move it with velvet like smoothness, caressing the hand that feeds, caressing the soul that bleeds, hush, hush television and world leaders, your control is but imaginary writings and of no meaning to me.

2009-12-17T11:37:00.002+10:00

Sure the world's changing, sure we're part of a generation that wishes to see change. We need to realise that it's more than that, we need to realise we don't need modern-day medicine, we need to realise we are at the beginning, we need to understand we are the medicine that'll feed the world, we are the roots from where the resuscitation starts, we are the parts, bigger than the whole. Vision, is a miraculous manifestation, that ought to become our mission, our sole occupation, love, compassion, surpass competition, strive for the voluntary gathering of all individuals, care-taker or care-giver, a big difference, no longer will we protest, we will build. That, dearest, is the change we need to see.

2009-12-15T07:06:00.003+10:00

Television tells me to fear pandemic decease, television tells me, I have to look good, cause I'm worth it, the newspaper tells me Iran is building nuclear weapons, the newspaper tells me the poor countries are obstructing a new resolution in Copenhagen.

And all the people around me seem convinced they're right.

And I would like to be a peaceful man, a man that lives his life outside the narrow-minded paradigm of fear, not obstructed by limited thought, thinking in possibility, roaming freely, mountaintops, green plains of dreams and hope, living in this western society is a somewhat slippery slope. Cause the contest is build-in, people in the charts, can't necessarily sing, I need to be better than you are, or you'll take my skin. I'd like to peacefully co-exist, together build a world for tomorrow, where we enable joy to rule over sorrow. Just like that.

2009-12-11T06:14:00.003+10:00

The perspective upon all situations differ, the question that truly mattered was left unanswered and my thoughts travel places they had long forsaken until 2 weeks ago. Confusion unaltered, is stated, my starting point is interest and is not any sort of quest that leads anywhere but where I was already. Yet untouched, perspective upon matters differ. As it seems, there's a continuation of a typical situation which would be the broken branches of a tree in the garden of the God's, eating pears, sipping mint-tea with honey, oh sweet little honey bee, I'd give you my house, but without a hyve, would you still consider yourself to be a bee? Referencing is important, paradigms are altered when one changes scenery and it should be taken into consideration, a step as such is not one taken lightly, I concur. Yet, there's a point, that is too far away from the waters-edge, that would be the point your nose is under water and you start kicking and screaming out of the fear of drowning. All I ask is; Please, swim, please, swim. Your eyes peer desperately at me, while you told me, to let you be, the situation was different, the kicks directed at me, love is free, love is free, I cannot swim for you, nor can you for me and from a distance, it might not be, what it looks like, or how it feels, to be the broken branch of a century-old tree.

2009-12-11T06:07:00.003+10:00

Outside the garbage's piled up, traffic passing by slowly, there no warm water but there's a connection to the outside world. It's cold in general, even if there would be warm water and clothing cannot take the place of intrinsic warmth anyway. And yet we try, we try to maintain a smiling face in times of peril, where the Sun shines softly on our faces only to let us know he's there. While lunar activity centres itself 'round 13-cycles a year, we expect the Sun to shine and accompany us, always, never ceasing, warmth. Seeking, eyes closed, touch only, my body is a vehicle, a notepad and a garbage bin, for the food industry to fill with genetically modified goods and hormones that will ensure my development. Kind enough. (Cause it ain't fair enough, that's for sure.)

2009-12-09T06:41:00.002+10:00

A deep melancholy seeps through the ceiling, where once was a roof, I now see the perimeter of a self-created manifestation of nightmares and sorrow. While the blood of Christ -or is it red wine, really, flows around slowly, waves within borders, seek the edge, extrinsically controlled movement. The sustaining reflection upon ones life, brings about turmoil, pushes and pulls, brings about, desire, for blood, blame, it's fear, it's all cries in vain, societal eagerness for fame. I pull away, it's not dogmatic, I know, but it's an endless discussion to which the only end is submission, while my dominant paradigm is a vision, perhaps similar to yours, for which I am thankful, as carrying the world upon your shoulders, is a mission, for which Atlas was chosen.

The feeling arises out of nothing, a clear sky at day, the music of choice, death metal, songs of sorrow and dismay. At night, blood touches my lips, smoking circular puffs, perhaps, the soft tones of your voice, smooth and soothing, could pull me out -yet, conformity, is not my game, I live proud, I'll go down, smile and cry, but will -and, cannot, align with those, that condemn and judge, simple reason being, I love Mother Earth (and thereby all that is on her) too damn much.

2009-12-08T22:43:00.002+10:00

Oh the honey dripping on my tongue erases the bittersweet melancholy of silver linings behind weeping clouds. Weeping they may be, they feed our soil, the artificial coherency of our daily lives are but a facade for the turmoil of modern day man, are but a misinterpretation of the law of life as described by Ishmael, the teacher-gorilla. Yet, people do not listen to what is said if it is not of absolute necessity, such as the things they can't see and will surprise 'm, when Mother Earth has sealed the fate.

Ah, life does not adhere to cosmic time anyway, so how can we be too late?

2009-12-05T08:14:00.004+10:00

On the equilibrium of chaos and cohesion, we find the development of mankind, and the continuation thereof (being human and all) or choice to perish. Were we to conclude evolution has stopped, as some seem to have decided, and closed eyes can't see a constructive paradigm shining onto our faces in the break of day of a new age, that's ok, my ass won't end in a cage.

2009-11-30T03:12:00.002+10:00

The twilight fades out city fantasies, precariously erasing the traces of a day in the trenches of an almost modern world. The promiscuous shallowness of dancing light trapped in a box seduces each individual that sees in it, a possible relief. The dancing lights spoken of are but distractions from the soul, attractions to desire, buy more, eye sore, stab yourself with your newly bought set of knifes, health insurance causes people to take more chances, the exploration of near-death exeperience. For life on the border between analystics and insanity, is to bring nothing but an increased facination for botany, which in itself would not be dangerous, but thinking about ownership of plants, is to ask yourself am I god, maybe so, who will know. Legislation is passed to confirm your notion that we are far away from what might matter, when all electrical structures collapse on our heads, leaving the stars to illuminate our skies and long-distance relationships to say their goodbye's, using smoke signals.

2009-11-30T01:05:00.003+10:00

What it is to burn, I do not know, I have not gained experience in self-combustion, nor do I aspire to. Although the mind be bugged, self-combustion is a physical matter and does not inhabit the wanderings of the soul. The distinction of mind and soul is one I've aimed to dissect meticulously, yet have failed. Analysis, is not necessarily bliss. It clouds judgement and complicates matters intended for feeling, not thinking, while it all the more leads to sinking, into deep dark holes of the planet's cavities and disable you to resurrect from the ashes, leaving you unable to fulfill the prophecy ascribed to you.

To whom it may concern.

2009-11-11T00:50:00.002+10:00

It’s not your fault; let me start off by saying that, as such, it is not. It is purely of my own making, yet I have lost track of how exactly I did it.

But so it goes I guess.

When things start, they start, sometimes I seem to forget how it was already on its way, and my ability to deny its existence before my consciousness caught on to current happenings supports the possibility of lacking insight, but who could have known? When we started, and started ‘we’ did, it was bells and butterflies, heaven no hell, yet. But it was there, lingering in the murky shadows of my anxious being, as it always had been. It is only a matter of time before it came out. Thing about it is, this anxiety is easily explained, from a psychological point of view that is.

But I won’t bother you with that, I’ll tell you something about rockets instead.

See, rockets are subject to the magnetic powers that be within the universe. Thinking about this metaphysical phenomenon, because, well, let’s be honest, a phenomenon it can be called, it’s a 100 million kilo thing in the grasp of -and subject to, a thing unseen. As it is, the rocket would be traveling to where-ever it is traveling, and is pulled by forces. Theses forces can work constructively, as well as destructively. Sometimes in the life of a rocket, there’s other rockets, that -through the use of satellites, are detected. These satellites are, despite popular opinion, not always in the know about the possible repercussions that the inevitable interaction with other rockets could have.

And this has effectively laid me in ruins. How the bridges I have burned behind me, the ones I envisioned to illuminate the path before me, created the smoke that caught up with my movements and blanked out my vision. This is troubling to some extend, not being able to see where I’m going for instance, leads to doubt, and doubt leads to fear, and fear cripples the living shit out of me. As it did for you I imagine.

What I did find though; the lack of vision also enabled me to function without being able to see -a useful competency, I might add. The ‘gut-feeling’ you’ll hear people speaking of is one underestimated by our society, a society that functions upon continuous financial growth and physical expansion (note the growth of the Internet being the complete opposite to the latter part of the description). We build higher we have ever done, trying to surpass the greatness of Mother Earth, tickling father Sky, have you wondered why? Are humans truly a conscious form of cancer? As it is for ants (who are still true to their natural function), we continue to form our centres close to resources, and our resources are slowly –surely, diminishing, so we move on. Africa will be our growing soil for we are sure to fall into more economic turmoil, thus ‘needing’ expansion. As Asia ‘ripens’ economically, China has moved into Africa, building roads, water purifying plants and schools; “The West” is whining about ‘economic-disadvantages’. China moved into territory that has –colonially seen, been occupied by us, the homo sapiens sapiens westernus.

But that’s not what obstructed you and me, was it?

No, what obstructed you and me was something more than that. It was the accumulation of guild, self-pity, for our courageous dream of happiness was locked in the paradigm of mother and father complexes, questions about our role in life, our function as a being, our consciousness. How we love, is how we live, and if we fear more than dream of love, fear shall manifest –infest- our daily movement, our thought-processes and society as a whole. Had we remained in blissful ignorance and let fear prevail from the start, I would have never loved you the way I do now. Without remorse, without shame, for the day you came, is one that’ll always carry your name –even while knowing what the future brought and how the promised dream never came.