Disappearance.

A figment of the universe
A fragment of time
tis’ all that’s left
of this mighty warrior, once brave
wore a gold vest
eventually we melt

crave.

a year past, and the same familiar circles
trappings of my own, a comfortable bunker
evermore safe, while the war rages on

in his mind, in your heart
a death of valour, the funeral of the forgotten

a seldom wisp of remembrance
the past, and the future continue to whisper
to me, a sandwich of entrapment
designed to kill, peanuts with spikes

splintering your cell.
the mind stays awake.

time and again, dripping nostalgia burns
etched into your soul like a beautiful fever dream
it shines like a bright star
above your hell.
some days, you are surprised it’s still there
others, you tell yourself not to care.

oh, sweet nothing prayer.

why must you call me back.
to the end of my eternity!
why must you torment me.
trapped in between the gears
friction slowly rots the bones
here, another ice cream cone
you will feel better
it all means something

secure delusions, unhinged dreams
alas, what truly is a sweeter poison –
a raging night full of green
or the daylight scream?

doesn’t it all feel the same now
the colours don’t stab me.
beautiful, bloody irony
to feel too deep.

A gift.
A fucking curse.

But all the same.
Severed corpse, but an intact spleen.

Disappearance.

in another seventeen.

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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.

de le’Absolut

Another cold place, another shattered dream.

Perhaps, the order of life is tied into the random and the unexpected.

There are times when all the shivers that run down your spine aren’t worth it.

You feel cold with a glass and a packet and a bottle and a gun.

They’re not all here.

Some day. some other time.

Save seven, unhinged nine.

all in me, except a bottle of wine.

I don’t need your shit.

I seriously don’t.

Brutal, twisted world.

So dark, yet so beautiful.

Fever dream.

Packet of lies sold.

Buy truckloads.

Intoxicate yourself before its late.

Find your beautiful funeral.

Catch the bait.

All part of the wicked plan.

Catch your part.

Before it dissolves you.

All that you know and desire.

up in wisps of smoke.

Kill your dream or destroy yourself. make your choice.

Find meaning in all this absurdity.

Is it all numbers and integers?

we’re all creators. before we fall.

into the abyss of all that uncertainty.

all those dark corners that my shadow follows me.

whispering of dark futures and disturbing pasts.

all my life trying to find meaning in the absurd.

this existence, it pales.

before all i feel and experience.

Perhaps it’s all an illusion.

an illusion of absolutes.

Liars.

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.

The Slit.

Night after night. My head is haunted by visions. They are gruesome and sometimes, terrifying. Maybe it has to do with the kind of phase I’m going through in life. It is ugly. Humanity as we know it is turning into a rotting carcass and we are surviving off cannibalisation, not just in the sense of eating up each other for our own progress. But also, in the sense of the culture of death. The culture of stringent values being imposed on free souls. Indoctrination of the masses. It’s paralysing and soul-shattering at the same time to see a species so high in potential, grasp and level of intelligence has literally stooped to the level of anarchy and the literal standstill in terms of foresight the older generation has.

The escalation. It frightens me. I shake as I write. Again. I wish things would be better. But things never do. It’s like a giant spiral dragging you down and the faster you go, the more chaotic it gets. Until nothing is left except trying to hold onto what you once held dear and near to you. Only, everything changes. Friends become foes. Family become strangers. Strangers become acquaintances. Maybe it is my misfortune that I have been born in such an age, such a place. Things never really worked out that great for me. I was always.

The Underachiever. I don’t see things linearly. Maybe it’s my curse. My personal eternal hell. Is it so wrong to do what one feels right? Has humanity reached such a tipping point that right ceases to be wrong. wrong ceases to be right. All that’s left is the desperation. The moving along, the finding a fucking job. The finding a fucking cheap imitation. Killing yourself plastic coarse hypocritical mass murders inside your head. They don’t stop screaming. The visions. Brother killing brother. The infinite slaughter. Of all that was, all that remains.

A rotting carcass. Rivers of blood and spine-curdling screams. Where is your god? Where is your mercy? Is it background score for the little child that sits and cries day after day looking at the blank stare of her own mother, once animated full of life, a beautiful soul. What has your god done for her. Where is the humanity. Instant Slit.

They all slit. My knees turn into purple blue jellyfish and all I could see were chairs moving, chairs smashing down. upon heads. Upon feet. Upon all that’s left. It smashes down like a slivered nightmare. It’s a purple mist that descends after all is lost. It’s a severed limb, this joke of a humanity, that we call it.

Mockery for everyone. We have fruit punch and potatoes in today’s special of massacre served with a cold side-dish of despair and hysteria. Run for your lives, while we drink your blood through and through. One lives while millions die. Is this equality. Is this where I rest my head on. Contamination amok. All creation runs foul. one way or the other. One day or the other.

It’s all a circle seesaw merry go round before they kill you in your sleep. They blind you. It was just manic laughter till the blood spews out. And the day it did, it was ugly poison. They drink and rejoice while I kill myself a little slowly one day after the next.

Before.

The Slit.

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

When The Gloom Kicks In.

My life is a scissor pale zigzag.

It goes from bad to worse to fucking amazing.

It’s a spiral road into infinity and back.

It is the worst possible trajectory you can imagine.

A hell-hole that promises cheap thrills.

only instead of making you feel any better, it only consolidates the promise that things are only going to get more difficult and fucked up.

You want to sit and chill the fuck out. but nobody gives you the freedom to do that. you’re in this cage of a system. pumping shit through, in and out of you. It’s one big fucking vacuumed vortex of pressurized shit that only gets heavier and heavier as time passes by.

things get distorted. visions get blurred. paths are not clear anymore. you can’t remember where you were five minutes ago. you’re fucking confused and you don’t know where the fuck you are anymore. you’re spinning through space and time at several miles an hour and you cant feel anything, and yet you feel so much at the same time, its nauseating.

Before you know, you’re being packed into a little tube one millimeter square big and pumped through the universe at the speed of light. it’s disorienting.

you don’t know where you’re going.

You’re Lost. You’re Lost.

When The Gloom Kicks In.

The Outcast

I’m back at the same place again. I don’t know or care what the time is.

Lights Dim.

Society is a structure. it indoctrinates us all with what is acceptable. what is good, what is bad. And some people just zip through life stuck in their own private jungles. there is money and there is work. there is sleep and there is food. there is night and there is day. If only there was more to life. it’s not anymore. We all have needs. We all have choices. and then we have mistakes. we all shake the wrong hand with the stranger in the dark. we’re all afraid of our own secrets. there is fear. Deep fear. somewhere. everywhere.

the fear or losing out. the fear of missing the bus. literally and metaphorically. It begins right from the start. The family. the comparisons. the competition. who is the better. who is the worse. truth is we’re all fucked up and we just all come to terms with it in our own ways. a lot of people see the world with a critical eye and curtly tell us all whats wrong with this and whats wrong with that. They’re never going to see it like you do. there’s no such thing as a real picture. only parts of it. the rest of is distorted, phased out, swiped clean, dusted out or destroyed. Yes, we’re all a little under the sea. But we never see it like it is. yet we are all sure and proclaim war on the question of reality and faith. The sword is a double edged weapon indeed. and we’re just playing cat-and-ball with a lion on slippery surface.

monkey kill. monkey see. monkey do.

what did the social pressure do to you, tiny little frog.

you just see a lot of shit when you’re depressed that you can’t see when you’re sober and fuckful. You don’t understand the outcast.

they are people who will always disappear through the backdoor. there are so many that died in vain. I daresay they were cowards. they did what they could do best. Life is a purpose. and to some people, that is all that matters. to some, much more. Some live to breathe. others breathe to live. some can’t do either and torture themselves their entire lives asking themselves ‘why me?’.

Did i paint a disturbing image yet? do you see past the curtain into the yellow-grained sky and the lovely wonders it bought along. did it throw itself away? did you see the bloodshed yet. did you see the cracks appear in the sky. did it all fall down on a beautiful day. Wait for the sunrise and it makes purple sense.

I just can’t make sense of it all. where do the outcasts go. Did we all really forget what it feels like to be human. anymore. we’re all connected to machines we’re all the same robot. I wish there was a virus in the system. I would certainly sip a piece of the golden sky.

Did we learn to fly.