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".