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.’

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?

Granite’s Lament

2014-06-15 16.01.42-2

I am the stone behind the image

I do not make you who you are, I break you

because I decompose

much like everything you have ever composed

Hard as a rock, but everything crumbles

tumbles and fumbles but visually humble

I do not want your trouble

I came here to warn you

The scratches are permanent

we are all sideways, bent

placate yourself in the crime

before they catch you, scarred

the old man’s stories are all but true

you’re not mine but we are all a distinct shade of blue

the lament is mine

 

I was once a distinct flavor of wine

before I was sent back inside

from the earth, to the earth

Ground, shaken and stirred

like a dry purple martini, severed

time passed by in seconds

like in hours, I incubated in thirds

oh, the worlds

that I have seen, what you might never be

but what lies inside

the work of a beautiful mind

within all of us, a wondrous land

the candle burns slowly through the night

the lament is all but mine

Stories of Long Lost Faith

Vacant eyes.
An isolated head.
She was a beautiful nightmare.
Heart full of teary-eyed half-broken dreams.
She could breathe.
Living in a plastic-packaged cheap dream.
Selling all she can buy.
Living it all.
Seeing it crumble behind her.
All the things that die.
She could live for ever and ever.
A packaged cold-storage for all the world to touch and feel.
Awfully struck brilliance.
She took everything she could.
Living by the road.
Creating a violet-red streak of fire as she passed through the town.
People could smell the light.
And everybody peaked out of their windows to see what was the bright light in the middle of the dark deep ocean.
Shooting up like an earthquake.
Tearing up the sky like a midsummer night’s dream.
Too horrendous to see it stumble.
Too brilliant to see it stand back up again and pose for the cannibalistic cameras.
The lights. Diabolic peaks of unaccounted energy burning up the atmosphere like a rocket on fire.
Violas screamed.
Sheets of paper tore themselves up.
Another one lost in the static.
Trying to scream their way through.
Never really found out what she was living for anymore.
She lept and jumped through the rabbit maze like a lone finger trying to catch up with the rest of the fanfare.
To be followed and to live life like there’s no tomorrow.

Nobody knows.
She was faith.

why there is always a morning the next day

Beautiful Morning. Rains. Birds Chirping.

That unique smell of water splashing away at everything. The fact that everything gets soaked by water sooner or later. everything no matter how big or small or short or long. Everything has a second chance. There is always the next morning to wake up to and see things in a totally different way you never thought you could.

Sometimes I try and stay up all night sitting and waiting for the morning to come around. There is always something I wish was new. something that hasn’t happened to anybody before. The curious feeling of wonder and unknowing that is always there when we are small kids. But as clocks turn and seconds pass, it slowly fades away. there is no longer an Alice in Wonderland. no more boogie monsters in our bed. no tooth fairy. no Santa Claus. and suddenly everything disappears and changes. We find ourselves waiting for the night to appear instead. We want to sleep and forget our pain, our tension, our sorrows and everything that is wrong with the world. We all want to forget it and disappear off the face of the earth, even if it is just for a couple of hours or ten.

We all want second chances. A fresh start is what drives us to sift through the days like a mechanical robot bent on accumulating meaningless paper and throwing it all away. along with everything else. What else is left at the end? not a lot. There are things very dark and unnatural that lead us to see the brilliance and beauty of life. You have to jump into the hole to see the truth behind the image. The irony of the thought that someday we can undo all our mistakes and restart with a clean slate is further amplified by the fact that life does not have an erase button. There is an inner destruct button though. Some of us push it just to see if life is different again. For some of us, it was never really different.

The wonder of birds chirping and a glimmer of sunlight passing through the thick dark clouds while the colossal clouds thunder and rumble like the mighty hammer of the gods is what inspires me.

What inspires you?