Have patience..

..the intro fades into flight

If Only..

If only I'd stop getting in my way.. If only I'd stop looking over the moon's shoulder to keep checking if it's there.. If only I'd stop retracing the way my breathing wants to breath and my feelings want to feel.. If only I'd get sick and bored of ''if only..''

(if only this place wrote itself and I'd just collect the cream like any lazy, neurotic zombie that is too afraid to feel..)

Lepota..

..you find it dazzling where you least expect it.. it shows off the more it hides.. it pretends it's nothing special without needing to pretend.. it's so convinced that it is nothing special that it doesn't even try to convince you.. it radiates this thing that eludes language.. among the pretentious it looks so fleeting that it seems invisible.. in fact, it can be so shy that it baffles you.. you see it if you're in the proximity of its humbleness.. you can touch it if you can hide your gawking, trying to pretend like it's nothing special, without pretending.. until you find out.. it was you ..too

The life of Stupid

let me outsmart myself with my own stupidity..

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..

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..

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..

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..

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..

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..

Once in a while (but never rare)..

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

What would be more important in the end?..

..That there is no end.

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..

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..

Raw silence..

...

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..

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, ..“.. ...

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... ..

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..

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...

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...

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..)

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".