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Friday 23 December 2011

Truth-ache

you shiver me up, molded by you.. instilled with sweat.. repetition agony.. fighting against you.. apologies for all the words.. apology for the apology.. the circle I am in.. all the pushing, up in the air.. you breathe me up, molded by you.. give up, give up.. surrender before you.. and the taste smells sweeter.. the touch of wonder.. surrounded..

Friday 2 December 2011

Raw Poetry (..of Life)

To move among movements and friction yourself into a fleeting shape while others, like you, fleeting shapes friction themselves against you.. the coherence, the synchronicity, the perseverance of a mold of no fixed shape shaping the dance of fleetingness, the one and only thing too elusive to be explained in a rigid term..

Monday 21 November 2011

All it comes down to..

I don't remember the words at all, I don't even remember what they were about at all.. I can't even fully, usefully describe the feeling but I know the feeling and that everything I needed was born and harbors in THAT ..everything I needed to convey was solely THAT.. wrapped and presented by words and a meaning I don't remember anymore.. but THAT is there and that is all I need.. all it comes down to..

Saturday 5 November 2011

Secret admirer

It want's you, like you dare not want yourself.. it hides under your bed and you don't notice till it leaks into a moon stain and you can't not look.. It likes you, the way you can hardly imagine.. It hides in a special gift-wrap of things that make you cringe till the gift leaks into a sound stain and you can't not hear or a sight that you can't not see.. unless you double-dare not want or can hardly imagine..

Friday 4 November 2011

Being touched

To fool someones possible shying away from being touched, more than just by surface.. deeper than just by glance.. just like fooling my possibility to shy away from being touched by the possibility of touching someone else, more than just by surface..

Sunday 30 October 2011

The smell of sleep

The smell of sleep in the graveyard shift of my mind, of my cells.. shivers scale out into silence.. the compost to grow more of the same.. another hour of vacant dreams meets new brutal light sprawling over the memory of another smell of sleep..

Saturday 29 October 2011

Once in a while (but never rare)..

..a 'seeing everything' condenses into the one that sees and laments over what it's seeing..

Thursday 4 August 2011

World of "random"

The world of ''random'' ..by the time I say it ..it's over.. faster than a sunset, slower than a 4 min song.. Life brushes shoulders with me.. a deck of voices, unshuffled.. this time.. The wake leaves a wake.. time is not where I left it.. time forgot itself ...and Now happened, so explicitly raw..

Friday 29 July 2011

The Preservation of Feeling

This one came between two thoughts.. it said nothing but ''said'' it all and then it went away on the same vehicle of unexpectedness as it arrived.. The tires still smell from burning and the dust whirls .. I collect its ''wake'' pressed between two thoughts.. Later I read them, I read between the lines..

Sunday 20 March 2011

Trying not to try

Self-accused of silence.. shackled by trying too hard and dungeoned by a knowing that I can.. I sit in my trying upon a mirror of waiting that waits back at me..

Friday 11 March 2011

A small while

It’s only fresh for a small while, then it get’s stale, stale by wanting to repeat what has gone.. You only really realize that for a small while and breathe in that fresh moment.. something new comes.. something to which you can say, “It’s only fresh for a small while, then it get’s stale, stale by wanting to repeat what has gone.. You only really realize that for a small while and breathe in that fresh moment.. something new comes.. something to which you can say, ..“.. ...

Saturday 5 March 2011

Dreaming of colour

Monochrome wakes up in a grainy world.. a black and white movie plays on repeat through the frame of his window.. Grey assumes the empty spaces he had left behind.. dust settles.. He sits in the company of loneliness while the silence screams.. He soaks into the scream and something else is there.. through the static, Monochrome wades out over waves.. maybe it was something in the dream .. something.. can not explain what it is... ..

Thursday 3 March 2011

Remembering how to forget

Maybe if I knew how to forget I could break the barrier between me and myself.. The one who tries too hard to get to a place left in the archive of memory and the one who just ‘is’, slipping into it quietly.. like you slip into a dream when you go to sleep without knowing when exactly it began or what exactly happened that got you there..

Wednesday 2 March 2011

Being Here

I like being Here.. it is alone but different to loneliness.. it’s unfashionable and terrifying to others but demanding in its unobtrusive urgency to infuse shallowness.. I am cornered on a daily basis by its impeccable maneuver and… it likes being Here...

Tuesday 1 March 2011

Tenant of days

Some messed up wildness is a tenant of my days, we seem to travel together.. Some fractured sightseeings of Neverwords and Silentland .. the unification of both would be a sovereign entity of Neverland with Silent Words citizens .. With a passport stamped with silence I would be a tenant of their days (..in disguise) ..

Secret life...

...an antidote to day-life.. pushing the barrier against the wall of a coffee cup, a secret heart beat throbs on its liquid surface.. Hanging from the cliff of a cheesy pop song, a secret soundscape in one second of its sound like a gush of wind waiting for wings...

Saturday 26 February 2011

The notion of the notion

It took a whole day of rearranging notions to strew across a page.. Having so many left me with none, except the notion of the notion itself now and inconspicuous but vast and significant firecrackers of insights that prance like ghosts still uncatchable by words… (the silent, pensive practice of pagedreaming in the night..)

Friday 25 February 2011

Being left alone with loneliness

Blankness seems to have a transparent language that talks to me in a transparent voice, I hear nothing but noise.. I spell out short stories about a longing to hear, I am deafened by the noise of my longing.. I remember the shape of my ink that never shaped a word, instead it just got locked away in my own fear of not seeing it in full voice with all its side-effects of backing vocals and patches of melodic, pensive silence... and transparent ink spills and spells out in a silent language : "Being left alone with loneliness".