war drums

bip, bop.
bippity-bitty pop.
war drums clock, clock. clock.

ad-hoc, black bloc.
anarchy rules, walk. walk. walk.

two dogs bark.
the world watches, some in awe. others in shock.
“feed em’ to the croc! feed em’ to the croc!”
the chants get louder
a radio full of propaganda, or a censored browser?
take your pick, white wolf or black schnauzer

flip, flop.
new rules, news rule.
loose runes, loons rule.
war drums bop, bop. bop.

noose lune is here, time to sharpen the crop!
we shall march! light the torch and fire the glock!
nobody gets away, build the walls and seal the docks
once and for all, burn the commies and massacre the ox
tear up all the pretty frocks, feed em’ to the fox
tomorrow they will come for you too, knock knock knock
all that’ll be left will be roaches and rocks

nuke them, duke them. puke them, spook them.
it’s time for a war, the band marches through Anaheim.
flares shoot up in the sky, all hands up for hate crime
a collective suicide at an uncertain time
it used to be viva la revolución across the rhine
but it all simmered out somewhere down the line
all sense of moral abandoned, hanging atop an amazon ravine

and yet we have the audacity of questioning whats divine
it’s all past saving. the water is saline
drink and dine, shrink and die
it’s not a revolution, if it’s just one last whimpering cry

and the day we disappear
maybe we could start again all over and try

naye, delusions and the collective mind all too high
to remember we’re all just living one collective lie

trip, drop.
a riveting mop.
war drums chop, chop. chop.

flip, flop.
new rules, news rule.
loose runes, loons rule.
war drums bop, bop. bop.

ad-hoc, black bloc.
anarchy rules, walk. walk. walk.

war drums clock, clock.

click.

Fear Talks

The setting was impeccable
flickering lights, foul winds
shattering glass, hurricane ring
The prospect however, quite terrible
the bitter cake in front of us, barely edible

‘Let us begin now, child’ fear tapped on the table
with its fingers long, dark and brittle
Unavoidable as this chance encounter was
I could already sense it going south, thumbs twiddled

‘Um.. How do I begin? Where does this start and where does it end?
What came before? the chicken or the egg?’
I asked, expecting a reply, barely holding back a sigh
Fear sneered itself into a mocking scowl
‘I do not know. Ask another question’
And so it continued one after the other
All to no avail

And thus, went the night
No sudden fright or icy spine-chilling roller coaster ride
Just an inert presence slowly fading away into distant memories
And once time was up, fear did not need
to disappear or even continue with the sneer

For the most lethal and darkest of fears
are not quite what they might seem
made not of tears or unfinished beers
not of companions found or lost
to the depths of time or even spectres in the rear
none of these situations perhaps even come near
the true depths of real darkness as it might appear

nay, the true destroyer is the question
the silent whisper in the back of your head
on a lonely rainy night, you very well know or you might
that silent whisper that slowly asks you to give up the fight
it’s all quiet and serene before its begins
a violent internal riot
tears you up, smiles as you slowly and slowly
choke your own dreams, kill your own means
until all that’s left is a few spare beans
nothing radical as you die watching tv in your jeans

there is perhaps another vague voice in the back
of your head that talks slowly while all the lights get whacked
and then before you know it, you killed it
every single cheat code hacked
while you play your video games
silent bliss oblivion
no desire nor fight left
it disappears and stays at the same time
reduced to not a even a nickel or a dime
ladies and gentlemen,
I present to you.
The power of the human mind

Bravo. Hurrah. Hallelujah.
Now, die.

Watercolours

The wonderful thing about life,
It starts with a blank canvas and a box of brand new brushes
You just need to find where the colours are
Magenta, green, purple and red
And some of them you conjure up all inside your head
And thus begins the journey

The more interesting thing about this situation
You start not knowing how to draw
A splash here and a spatter there
Some of it hits where it needs to, some doesn’t
Alas, a flawed masterpiece
But what does one truly do
when there aren’t any erasers or a clue
It does even seem that nobody cares
for a while

You keep splashing through
Like you’re learning how to swim
But you cant seem to see beyond the deep blue
You can’t find another colour
It’s quite the struggle to
find the colour you need,
perhaps because what you want is a different book to read
Not the same one over and over
You want to breathe, smell that strange clover
That once revitalised you, made you hover
Alas, it might be over

And then, the colour starts hardening
and so do the principles and the beliefs
You never realised this would happen
A great deal of more questions, a lot less answers
What must a hardened artist do,
After years and years of mistakes
centuries of colour shakes, watching sunset lakes
trying to get that inspiration before its too late
Maybe it’s already too late
The questions change everything

The next few years dissolve
trying to pick apart the hardened canvas
There was no other eventuality left
In between the confusion and the questions
The search for brand new colours, abandoned
Dismissed as a pointless charade
You don’t need brand new colours, you just need to get better
and there lies the belter
An artist destroys one’s own shelter
why you may ask, why the helter skelter
Is it perhaps disillusionment
With how the world works or perhaps something more conflicting
In nature

Maybe it’s our own opinion curvature
That spins us round and brings us back
to where it all began, in the rusty mind shack
Old canvas, old beginnings
No winnings
Airs are bold, but white hair eventually take hold
Another machine sold
For barely a percent of a life
Why even try anymore, why keep wrestling trife
Yet that one canvas slowly crackles away
As you go about your day
Harder work, lesser pay
Until one day it all dissolves before you
And another beautiful painting is lost
Memories, people and places
They all eventually disappear
The crackling paint finally melts
Death finally knocks
And finally asks that one question you always feared
What is it that made your life worth? What did you achieve?
Another blank canvas waiting, you say
I lived.

Failure, The Creator

Success once asked failure ‘I give a man everything he wants – fame, money, a good life, high esteem in society. what do you give? nothing but pain,misery and sorrow.’

Failure replied – ‘I give those men a road full of stones, pebbles and potholes to walk on. they bleed, scream and curse their fortunes. I am their worst nightmare. I crush all hope. I’m a monster. It’s true. but know that without my existence, their life would be hollow. Without me, there would be no you. I am the creator.’

Inside the Palau – A Short Story

antrikshnewsmall

ACT I

(0:00) INT. HALLWAY

(0:08) ‘Hahaha, this sounds like fun, lets go further!’ said Max pacing through the hall. ‘Come on, let’s go!’ He beckoned. They were in the middle of a long hallway with several doors. Claire was hesitant. ‘I don’t know Max, you know we could get lost and we aren’t supposed to be down here. Maybe we should go back.’ ‘No we’re either going together or I’m going alone.’ Max stated with a sense of blunt resolution. Carpe diem. Now or never. This was it. She decided to take a chance and follow Max. They soon came upon a red door on the right.

(0:22) “You first” he said. “Are you serious? I’m scared shitless and you’re being chivalrous. Is this for real?” Claire said exasperatedly There was a flicker of the light. “Woah, what was that?!” Claire thought to herself and consoled herself thinking it was just another power outage, or maybe another one of those stupid power malfunctions that had been plaguing the Palau recently.

 

 

ACT II – DOORWAYS

(0:32) She opened the door. Another long corridor, another long winding passageway of doors and lights, much like several they had encountered before. She wondered if things were starting to get strange and there definitely seemed to be some amount of confusion sifting through her head. She and Max had been walking for the past two hours through every door, passage and hall they could find in their strong attempt to get out of this massive architectural marvel. But somehow, it seemed that the further they went, The more difficult it got.

Claire took a deep sigh and walked into the hallway. The door slammed shut. “Max, is this your idea of joke, It’s not funny!?” Silence. no reply. “I swear I’m going to kill you, stop playing around!” There was still no reply from Max. “Fine! I’m going ahead. I’ve had enough.” She hesitantly tried opening the door that had just shut behind her to no avail. She had no other choice but to walk ahead. There was a slow comedown, a realisation. fear had slowly started to wrap itself around her and she wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Had Max disappeared? or maybe another one of his pranks? Little did she know that it was neither.

 

 

ACT III – BLACK

(0:48) Pitch black. Nothing to see, no eyes to be able to navigate. No cue to let him figure out which way was forwards or backwards. Max could sense a fleeting state of anxiousness taking over him. Purely guided by his ears and the tempo of his heartbeat which seemed to get faster with every second, he paced around trying to sense the entire hallway with his hands. As soon as he started moving, he heard a distinct sound like the one of a lever being pulled and something being set in motion.

Suddenly, the whole room was shaking and rumbling beneath him. It was alive, and breathing. Maybe he was going upwards, or maybe he was going downwards. It could have been either or neither. He had no idea.

ACT IV – WHITE

(1:10) Stark white and shiny, the room was. Claire wondered what she had got herself into. Perhaps travelling halfway across the world to Valencia to study opera music and violin had not been the brightest idea. But then again, adventure had always been her middle name.

This, however was different. The fear here was more menacing, more insidious ­ something she had never felt before. She whipped out her phone with the ridiculous sense of hope that there would actually be a signal. There wasn’t. 19% battery. She had to figure something out. and fast. She had an idea. She would open every door, see what’s behind it and eventually manage to figure out an escape route. Claire was going to find something very strange and unpredictable.

 

 

ACT V – INERTIA

(1:29) The room rumbled and screeched to an eventual halt. Max got thrown by the inertia, landing face down a few steps ahead within the hallway. This place was indeed getting stranger by the minute. Where was he and why did that door shut on him before the lights went out? There were so many questions but no answers. He decided that the priority would be to get out of this place as fast as possible. Composing himself and standing back up, he decided to again start by feeling for the walls and finding a door. He was very sure that finding a door would perhaps bring him easier to an escape route.

(1:40) Max put his hand on the wall and started walking sideways. In some time, he realised that it was not just the room that had changed but perhaps what surrounded it. There were no doors anymore, or so he thought. Frantic and losing composure, Max sat back down and started wondering if he was ever going to get out of this place.

 

 

ACT VI – REPTILLIA

(1:50) Suddenly, there was a click. He looked around but he clearly could not see anything. Must be a figment of his imagination, he wondered. A slow creak on his left alerted him to the distinct possibility that maybe he was not alone in the room anymore. ‘Who’s there? Show yourself!’ He shouted half­-expecting to hear a reply. There was none. ‘Goddamnit!’ he muttered to himself and punched the wall with all his strength. There was no movement for a while. And then he heard them ­ the footsteps.

The ticking time­-bomb of realisation would eventually hit him. They certainly didn’t seem to be human footsteps.

 

(2:30) An earth­-shattering, shrieking roar followed.

A little riddle.

I hide in plain sight and shift between what’s black and what’s white.

I give you a reason to fight, yet  I will make you question why.

I close at the open and open at the close what am I?

Meet Your Villain.

Hi Joe, meet Stella.

Stella – your villain.

it won’t hurt much. a little bit of a tickle, a little bit of pain.

the ol’ upwards thrust of the train.

A broken skull, a twitchy little vein.

so much to lose, so less to gain.

An uncompromising position, without a brain

oh boy, will she play a wonderful game

Of cats and mouses and hidden rules

parade you naked, sitting on a mule.

laughs and mockery abound, anyone care to dance?

Stella – the ungrateful little bitch is but a façade

who knew? the very same that grew out of the pure disregard for all the modus operandi and the ‘establishment’ might one day actually decide to turn upon themselves.

Jack on cake, spade on horses.

Unresolved disputes and loyalty.

two a dime and a seventy a dozen.

Unfair games.

Meet Stella – professional villain.

Home, Not Quite.

I’m going away, I’m going home.

But not quite.

 
 
The window sill with tinted yellow sorrow, still

Images and frames, exasperations and nicknames

All the difference makes it all the same

But something did quite change.

 
 
Older age and shrunken heads

The passion of youth, the fires of revolt

Somehow a bit more tame

And old lost parent inviting you for a good ol’ game

of chess, of cards or maybe something better

 
 
Drinks to All! Drinks to All! Drinks to All!

Life is wonderful, travel is joy

But there’s something in between, left. An eerie void.

A strange kind of un-belonging, If I may be permitted to say

 
 
Nay! Nay! Nay! Jolly ol’ boy, yer’ a man now! slaps the old uncle on the back

Stares and questions, raised eyebrows and elbow jabs

grins and gossip alight, welcome back circus clowns

To the most wonderful place around

 
 
One old man sits to his wine and wife

calls me close and asks me what about life

It’s all I brung back, sir

Gleam in his eye ‘let me tell ye a secret, It’s not what ye brung back, it’s what ye left’

 
 
A toast.

summer, blue.

Another empty hallway echoes the freedom of youth

another window speaks in tongues of lark and gibberish

speaking only in languages I have barely ever known

It’s a windy path ahead, and all I got is a rope and a way

but the winds, they blow colder as time trickles down

An uphill task, an unglorified tale

spare me the detail

when all you strive for is left weak, frail.

all you’re looking for, a quieter sail

alas, only sea and the breeze to whisper sweet nothings.

summer, blue.

and you wish the music were lighter

the rain, quieter

the storm rages on outside the window now

but the shadows lurk beneath the bed

what might you say, to strike down the wondrous mellow bed of death

that calms you to the lull of sleep day after day

offering you a slight embrace and an understanding of all that’s dealt

of you and your fate, a shifting pack of cards

you play some, you lose some

would you play again? take a bet with the gods of chance?

or maybe worse, you dodge and dance and prance

avoiding the unescapable decay

you will find your way, oh you will some day

summer, blue

why would it be this way?

you ask, the universe in play

nay, there are no answers mate

behind a silver spoon and a rusted plate

one must walk.

further, to keep walking is the hardest part

a stop here, and maybe oh there! a start!

not quite

not as black and white

or so it may appear

for lose sight too soon, and the oasis disappears

there is truth in your fears

know that fate only throws winds

but it is you, my friend who has to steer

there is truth in art

summer, blue.