Time, The Cage

Clocks progress, undefeated
Horrendous fleshrot, oblivion
Sleep, aquarian artifact
Torment the cage, spacebound time

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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.

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?

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.

Glitch in my coffee.

As I sit and sip another cup,

mourning over the loss of pure childish innocence

the lack of brightness behind these closed and boarded up windows.

it bothers me.

howyers changed the lines that trace through my hands.

they reach the boneless soul of my existence, theypour

all that is needed, but never quite as much as I want.

like a hole that void.

nameless whispers that talk and seep into my dreams.

they tell me of stories yet untold.

they are of darker nature than I would be able to swallow.

It’s all biscuits and coffee this life.

you might want some tea once in a while.

some mind to juggle up your breath.

but that’s all the space I was ever given.

Adapting is changing yourself.

I feel conflicted.

But this glitch in my coffee.

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

The Ship That Sailed Far Too North

My life has always been a kind of oxymoron.

A walking contradiction.

Mirror inversion.

 

I have seen rejection.

I have felt the sound of collapsing waves.

 

take control of wandering minds.

before I took it apart.

 

The crash is inevitable.

when you swim in murky waters.

 

you knew it all along, didn’t you?

It was.

 

It wasn’t meant to be.

you were stranded.

 

but you watched it fade.

day after day.

 

you ask why.

that ship’s already sailed.

 

they said.

with a fret and a shrug.

 

times change and so do I.

 

What’s to kill is to buy.

 

you prick and you pry

 

but we did try.

 

you and I.

 

We never.

 

Fly.

 

past differences.

 

motive and ego.

 

A disturbing childish game.

 

who is it to blame?

 

is it me, is it you?

 

is it the sky, so violently blue?

 

what sets us apart?

the paths we pursue.

 

the method and the madness.

intertwining.

Question and Clue.

 

I ask the whistling breeze.

it replies in whispers and codes.

 

The only path, after all.

is the road that stretches ahead.

 

No more sea, no more to see.

what is to be, will be.

 

My world explodes, and all that was is far past damaged.

I walk.

Chains

Seldom life sends you flowers, it sends you gifts and boots
but sometimes it sends you colours and men in suits
They jump off roofs dressed in blue and disappear
real life didn’t give them a pill, only fear and more fear
pumped up by the media, drugs and hysteria
like a bland computer program coded in sepia
they carry out functions, imitations and visitations
embrace board meetings, notes and perspiration
Finally, all processes come to an end
a new one must take their place and blend
into the dust of the evening train
Come, follow the story of chains

Once, a boy much full of glee
and thoughts otherworldly
Decided to steal a key
to a locked closet, mystery
It was old and pointy
abuzz like a bee
he wondered what it would be
Maybe a door to another universe
or maybe a stone with a curse
Could be a walking-talking toy
or just a girl and a boy
stuck for all eternity
He tried to see, but it wasn’t meant to be
Come, follow the story of chains

A dreamer and a screamer are similar, yet not the same
while one thinks, another plays a child’s game
This is the story of dwarves making claims
One sees a monster under every window and door
while another sees a new world beyond the moor
Days and years seem trivial and forced for one
while another counts the seconds and minutes of the sun
which one is the better and which one the lesser?
Stuck inside a mushroom, there is not much room
to decide which one is sane
Come, follow the story of chains

Before I begin a tale, another
A word of caution, brother
listen and laugh to your heart’s content
but after we arrive at the end
run back to your tent
tell no one, what you heard and said
this is all a dream and you’re in bed
A snap and a click will wake you up with a fuzzy head

Surreal Captivity

I sit and I wait.

And it seems like an eternity for her to come.

The dawn of a new idea never echoed before in the universe.

Maybe, a brand new pill.

Manufactured and Digested in the system.

I eat and get bitter. It makes me so much more content.

Like self-consummation, only more dangerous.

More real, it seems.

But what can I say about, what needs to be or rather, what is?

It is within these thoughts, these fractals and patterns.

That I lose the plot somewhere.

I remember how easy it was.

To break a wall, and make a new one.

Now it just gets tougher and tougher with every fleeting moment.

It towers through, engorging all that lies ahead of it.

And as I get infinitely smaller, it is only much bigger.

Oh, what a monotony has set in.

There are no new ideas.

Only cheap manufactured clones of what once was.

Oh, such tragedy.

This existence.

It is but a true form of what lies within and about.

It is much more dangerous and alive.

Cannibalism, it is at the heart of the beginning of everything.

How else do you rationalize all that grows and all that dies.

All that withers and all that blooms.

It is all just a cycle.

Inversion of variables.

Black. White. Cyan. Magenta. Yin. Yang.

Rational Numbers. Irrational.

And yet hopelessly lost within the chaos, there is a need to go back.

The need to just be.

Everything so vicariously opposite to each other, its just eats up.

All that was, all that is. all that will be.

Such revelations only destroy.

And they plant seeds yet unknown.

I do not know what lies ahead of me.

Only an infinitely long cycle of time.

It repeats itself after every cycle.

And that is truly what lies at the bottom of this arrest.

This hopelessness.

This need to destroy. To be Destroyed.

And it all amounts to Nil.

The universe, it cancels itself.

The secret window in my mind, it tells me all I need to know.

but what I want, I will never know.

Dimensionless.