Feb 28, 2009
Contradiction
It is after midnight. The wind and the rain are beating against the solid walls of this room. It is cold and stormy out there. But in here, it is warm and quiet. I sit alone on the carpet. I silently sip my tea as i write words that i can hardly see in the red glow of the electric heater; my only light. To the unsuspicious observer, i am the model of wise serenity. Strong and silent. Peaceful and understanding. The unsuspicious observer does not know that what he sees is merely the solid wall of this room against which winds and rains beat mercilessly from within. Out here it is warm and cosy in the red glow of the electric heater. But in there. In there it is a raging storm.
Feb 27, 2009
Tears
I sat on the concrete steps leading down to the water; 4 steps down beyond the fence that frustrates fickle attempters. But even 4 steps down, the warm saltiness was still 4 meters away. The sea was Dead. And it was dying; the horizontal line of the water no longer passed through my perch.
Even beyond the fence, my attempt was still classified as fickle, there was a rough descent to the edge of the water that i was not willing to take. "It is too dark now" was my excuse "perhaps if it were still daytime i would". There alone, under the serenity of a starry sky, polluted by the loudness of misdirected light from hauty hotels, I wished i could cry.
The warm saltiness of tears has its way of washing away guilt and releasing a tank of emotions unfelt, that has unbearably exceeded its capacity. Like a hot shower after an hour of sports. But there was no warmth or salinity that night. At least not yet.
I woke up in tears. In my dream i had caught a murderer. I had to fight with him and overpower him, and drag him across the city to the nearest stronghold of justice. But as our journey progressed, and the first lights of the morning were beginning to break through, my strength, and my conviction of his utter uselessness to humanity, were waning. Through our journey my hate for him had started to dissipate, i could feel his anguish and participate in his conflicts. I had grown to love him. I was waking up. I had to deliver him to justice! But i couldn't, i just couldn't! But i just had to! I clenched the back of his worn yellow t-shirt inside of my fists and pushed my head in between, against his back. And i cried. Warm, salty water gently found its way down the valleys of my face and flowed into the dying sea that is me.
As i write this, strong winds are filling what was some 12 hours ago a clear sky with thick layers of dark forbidding clouds. Already the cold and pure water from the sky can be seen, reflecting off green leaves and black asphalt. Soon, it will find its way down the crevices and through the canyons. And into the sea.
Even beyond the fence, my attempt was still classified as fickle, there was a rough descent to the edge of the water that i was not willing to take. "It is too dark now" was my excuse "perhaps if it were still daytime i would". There alone, under the serenity of a starry sky, polluted by the loudness of misdirected light from hauty hotels, I wished i could cry.
The warm saltiness of tears has its way of washing away guilt and releasing a tank of emotions unfelt, that has unbearably exceeded its capacity. Like a hot shower after an hour of sports. But there was no warmth or salinity that night. At least not yet.
I woke up in tears. In my dream i had caught a murderer. I had to fight with him and overpower him, and drag him across the city to the nearest stronghold of justice. But as our journey progressed, and the first lights of the morning were beginning to break through, my strength, and my conviction of his utter uselessness to humanity, were waning. Through our journey my hate for him had started to dissipate, i could feel his anguish and participate in his conflicts. I had grown to love him. I was waking up. I had to deliver him to justice! But i couldn't, i just couldn't! But i just had to! I clenched the back of his worn yellow t-shirt inside of my fists and pushed my head in between, against his back. And i cried. Warm, salty water gently found its way down the valleys of my face and flowed into the dying sea that is me.
As i write this, strong winds are filling what was some 12 hours ago a clear sky with thick layers of dark forbidding clouds. Already the cold and pure water from the sky can be seen, reflecting off green leaves and black asphalt. Soon, it will find its way down the crevices and through the canyons. And into the sea.
Feb 14, 2009
Isolation
5 people;
3 sitting, around a table
2 standing,
one wandering.
5 people;
3 Chatting, talking, laughing, eating,
2 Loving, feeling, hating, meeting.
one quietly screaming,
squealing
5 people;
I am among them.
Yet not.
I secretly slip,
away from their unintelligible plot of communication,
yet not.
I speak,
and my participation convinces them
that I haven't left my spot.
My hands in my pockets,
I step out,
of my impenetrable shell,
I stroll about.
I laugh, I cry, I yell, i shout.
But all they see is my shell;
my impenetrable shell.
“All is well
with him" they think.
They can't really see,
me,
as I stand too close to their faces,
i tap their shoulders,
invade their spaces,
But they can’t see
me.
What they send,
I don’t receive,
or perceive
what they say;
their song. I do not hear,
the music they play.
But that’s okay,
and all is well;
I’m far away, by now,
outside somewhere, somehow.
And all they’ll find,
though they can’t tell,
is my impenetrable shell.
3 sitting, around a table
2 standing,
one wandering.
5 people;
3 Chatting, talking, laughing, eating,
2 Loving, feeling, hating, meeting.
one quietly screaming,
squealing
5 people;
I am among them.
Yet not.
I secretly slip,
away from their unintelligible plot of communication,
yet not.
I speak,
and my participation convinces them
that I haven't left my spot.
My hands in my pockets,
I step out,
of my impenetrable shell,
I stroll about.
I laugh, I cry, I yell, i shout.
But all they see is my shell;
my impenetrable shell.
“All is well
with him" they think.
They can't really see,
me,
as I stand too close to their faces,
i tap their shoulders,
invade their spaces,
But they can’t see
me.
What they send,
I don’t receive,
or perceive
what they say;
their song. I do not hear,
the music they play.
But that’s okay,
and all is well;
I’m far away, by now,
outside somewhere, somehow.
And all they’ll find,
though they can’t tell,
is my impenetrable shell.
Feb 2, 2009
Mate or Mother?
She stood behind me as i looked at trouble coming up ahead
"don't worry about it" she softly whispered
I felt bigger and stronger.
Is she my mother or my mate? I do not know.
She held my head in her arms,
she ran her fingers through my hair,
and from their tips seeped peace and warmth i never knew
right through my skin and settled.
is she my mother, or my mate? i really do not know.
She has a heartbeat just like mine, and breath..
more frequent when i'm with her, yet
it seems to me her steps are firmer, wider
than my crawl so feeble, fickle.
is she my mother or my mate? i cannot tell.
monochromatic is my world she brings some color to it
she's music in the silent night but wait, doesn't that sound familiar?
Is she my mother or my mate? I'm lost here.
Naivety? perhaps. I don;t know why
i think she's both smart and wise,
the world seems more consistent
when i see it through her eyes.
Is she my mother or my mate? :S
although at 23 i stand, relatively big and tall
i'm quite convinced i don't exceed 5 years of age at all!!
so sorry love, i've nothing to offer
than some messed up poetry
perhaps an occasional card or flower
but more than that you'll find elsewhere
i hope
bye bye for now...it s my bedtime
"don't worry about it" she softly whispered
I felt bigger and stronger.
Is she my mother or my mate? I do not know.
She held my head in her arms,
she ran her fingers through my hair,
and from their tips seeped peace and warmth i never knew
right through my skin and settled.
is she my mother, or my mate? i really do not know.
She has a heartbeat just like mine, and breath..
more frequent when i'm with her, yet
it seems to me her steps are firmer, wider
than my crawl so feeble, fickle.
is she my mother or my mate? i cannot tell.
monochromatic is my world she brings some color to it
she's music in the silent night but wait, doesn't that sound familiar?
Is she my mother or my mate? I'm lost here.
Naivety? perhaps. I don;t know why
i think she's both smart and wise,
the world seems more consistent
when i see it through her eyes.
Is she my mother or my mate? :S
although at 23 i stand, relatively big and tall
i'm quite convinced i don't exceed 5 years of age at all!!
so sorry love, i've nothing to offer
than some messed up poetry
perhaps an occasional card or flower
but more than that you'll find elsewhere
i hope
bye bye for now...it s my bedtime
4 Decisions
The scorching desert wind blows heaps of orange-red sand up the sides of rock and sandstone mountains. With time, large amounts of it accumulate into a dune leaning against the face of the rock, like a waterfall whose water suddenly turned into sand and could no longer flow away but just accumulated on top of itself.
4 meters above, against a very blue sky stand 4 human figures, silhouetted in the blinding sun. The sand calls them down. It lays a hold on their minds, they must jump. The 4 contemplate.
One of them is wise and hesitant but . He calculates the probability of permanent paralysis and finds the numbers too overwhelming. He dangles his legs off the edge of the rock and decides to observe the fates of others.
The other, a girl, is wise also, but only in retrospect. Before she could even begin to see her self begin to think, she missed seeing her legs running right off the edge and plunging down into the sand. The pleasure that comes from fear being completely neutralized by the softness of the sand was overwhelming. She climbed back up to do it again.
The third, the most laid-back person you could ever meet. Looks over the edge, finds that permanent paralysis is far-fetched. Fear grips him. He grips it back and moves it to the side, he turns off his mind and lets his muscles do the rest. He lands perfectly on the sand. His mind kicks back in and he laughs in its face, and they have a party.
I am the fourth. I walk to the edge. Seeing the results of the previous endeavors, my mind is at ease. However, the 4 meter drop looks quite scary. I weigh my options to find that they are surprisingly of the same weight. The grip of fear is stronger than mine. I hesitate. The observer, lounging at my right, urges me to go. I wriggle out of fear's grip. My stomach churns. I turn off my mind, and i jump.
4 meters above, against a very blue sky stand 4 human figures, silhouetted in the blinding sun. The sand calls them down. It lays a hold on their minds, they must jump. The 4 contemplate.
One of them is wise and hesitant but . He calculates the probability of permanent paralysis and finds the numbers too overwhelming. He dangles his legs off the edge of the rock and decides to observe the fates of others.
The other, a girl, is wise also, but only in retrospect. Before she could even begin to see her self begin to think, she missed seeing her legs running right off the edge and plunging down into the sand. The pleasure that comes from fear being completely neutralized by the softness of the sand was overwhelming. She climbed back up to do it again.
The third, the most laid-back person you could ever meet. Looks over the edge, finds that permanent paralysis is far-fetched. Fear grips him. He grips it back and moves it to the side, he turns off his mind and lets his muscles do the rest. He lands perfectly on the sand. His mind kicks back in and he laughs in its face, and they have a party.
I am the fourth. I walk to the edge. Seeing the results of the previous endeavors, my mind is at ease. However, the 4 meter drop looks quite scary. I weigh my options to find that they are surprisingly of the same weight. The grip of fear is stronger than mine. I hesitate. The observer, lounging at my right, urges me to go. I wriggle out of fear's grip. My stomach churns. I turn off my mind, and i jump.
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