no internet is the new rain

A day isn’t
a day well spent
unless it’s spent
trying to make
screeching violin
noises sound pleasant.

what is this? a new present?
or maybe the generous givings
of a very kind peasant
a new sample library?
or maybe, an old Wagner (or any)
others are in the race
and they’re far too many!

worked out of my hard penny
This is not just fun, Jenny!
ruckus here, and a tumble there
oh look, there’s Kenny.
On Twitter he is, creating quite the flurry
while trolls and hackers make some merry!

Are these workings of a strange planet?
Or maybe Pokemon is the new game for Janet
and Jane, oh so trendy yet so plain?
everyone runs around the city
while I adjust the gain
in an iffy-jiffy!
What is pain? is it sitting in a train?
you see, no internet is the new rain

yet round and round we go,
all in vain.

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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.’

Unpin. Remap.

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For a good part of the past 5-7 years, I have been at this board. Pinning
things on. Tickets, journals. Scribblings. Faint reminiscing of places and people left behind. New things discovered. Every single thing that has driven me. Was on this board. At the outset of 2016, I made a resolution to let go of things that just didn’t drive me anymore. The truth is, to some people it might just seem like a simple board. But to me, it has been so much more. A device I could lay myself open on. I could like holes through my own creations. Travel the universe to anywhere I wanted to, all with the power of imagination. An outlet when I felt like I had fell on hard times, situations where I could see nothing but despair and pointlessness on the horizon. I’ve gone through a lot since 2012, and I’m glad the universe listened. And yes, it does. Sometimes you feel like you’re screaming your lungs out on the inside but its not listening. But it does. Some people give up, some go on to greener pastures, get married, move to a different continent or become someone else. But this board was all of me and then much more. It has been me, my struggle and everything it brought with it. Tears of happiness, of times I felt misunderstood, a lone voice in the giant dark void of space. It was always there. Slowly whispering in my ear – you just need to work your problems out. One more pin, one more one more flight ticket, concert pass or artifact. Today half of it is empty as I finally let go of things I collected and kept before the weight finally had started taking over and it’s all out. No more bullshit, 2016. This year imma be real and reset everything. Didn’t someone say that to truly find yourself you must first truly lose yourself? Well, this is probably the finding out part. Time for a real change.

 

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.

Finding the Sun.

I sit and stare at the days that pass by.

I have a cold, long hard look. All that remains.

Some old dusty fragment hidden inside an inside an ancient book. Buried, forgotten.

No communication, only passive participation.

Dependent on the number, what are the odds?

Who decides your fate? What is luck but a flip of a coin, a failed move on a chessboard.

Endless possibilities, endless failures.

making and breaking us all, these days.

These days, all I see is a bright light. Sometimes it’s distant. Excitement finds me somewhere hidden beneath a rock.

Like an unknown dust particle sucked by the laws of nature into the very depth of all existence.

The abyss goes deep, my friend.

A lot deeper than it seems.

I touched the other side once, all I heard was static.

Saw a ghost of a past, a destructive future.

I couldn’t change my past. Rode through it on a motorbike half-screaming half-dead.

Felt more real, more hurtful.

What cuts is deeper, what heals is worth the pain.

All I see is an epiphany. All I feel is intervention.

A future, somehow disconnected.

Moments like these are common at ten past two in the morning.

I ask myself what is worse.

Waiting an eternity for sunrise or never finding solace at dawn.

It’s all worth it, not.

But the sun knows.

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