Some of all that we call human...

No it doesn't take much
A song, a word, a sound,
A faint smell or a forgotten touch
Sometimes it's just the atmosphere.

Follows a swirl intangible,
Mental representations of yonder years,
Illusions are but never fallible
Of those gone by and those yet to be.

Reality tests itself ony in what is,
The silence of your breath
In the motion of life, the momentary bliss,
The cunning nature of all that we call human.

Inevitably, it's a flight
Be it in kindness or kind,
In love or fight...
All in being all that we call human.

The despair of your condition,
Of the impossible feat,
Of the will-less volition...
The nakedness of all that we call human.

Of African Daisies and Poinsettias...

It's time we created a new language, because the story's been told way too many times. Nothing new, nothing unheard of... History always repeats itself. Is it fate? Or just the way we are built? Is it really mistakes or things inevitable? How do we ever know? And what do we do? Even insight fails us!

Do we ever learn, when we are doomed to making the same old rotten blunders for generations and centuries. Where's the sense then in human relations... vicarious learning? Or even experiential... is it learning at all when nothing much ever changes? Even as you wind up one big mistake, you know you are en route to the next one... lesson learnt? Not quite. Where's the sense in this then? Or maybe it's resistence... the love of neurosis...

They call her Beautifully Neurotic. Perhaps that is what it is... No, the not the name, you Fool! But the isolation she derives from it, and the glory of it! Senseless, right? Isn't that what life is anyway....????

So now what? Randomness all over again? No! No! No! No! He screams in the silences of his solitude. They shatter the glass on his window pane, stretch out their arms, call out his name... Stand there and smile, rejected but hopeful. They won't be there long... that's just what life is. Who's to blame then? The one who doesn't take or the one who gives? That's something to really ponder about now, isn't it my broken little junkie?!?

Another lost soul... oh wait! Isn't that all of us??? Nah! There are those vicious, pretentious, superficial hypocrites who aren't lost, but very directed in their malice. Their malice that they call virtue! And they don't even know it! Laughable, I tell you!

A yawn, a twitch... oh, it's just an excuse. We all fizzle out one day!!!

Dilettante

A half-hearted attempt at creating something new...
Maybe it's the sluggishness, maybe the hollow
Or maybe, it's just temporality.

With heavy eyes and a mind debilitated,
I sit here with a will undaunted...
Much cherished, once returned.

But the will remains sans consort,
Much to the reflection of my soul tonight...
Sweet delight, I rejoice.

A word here, a thought there,
A step up, a step down...
The rollecoaster ride I'm set upon.

For now, it's another half-hearted attempt
at something still unknown...
In the unknown lies the invaluable.

BLEH!

Belligerence won't do,
but maybe a new language.
A word salad of all that's wrong,
But the cogency still remains. Or not.
So what is it now?
Need some diplomacy.
No lights, no color, no sound, no smell!
And too much of this and that, all that never mattered.
An imbalance, do we see now?
So why doesn't it all fall apart?
Because it's Utopia, they say!
Where are the Salvages then?
Those humans preserved?

Days / Daze

Not quite here,
Never quite there...
In the land of in-betweens

Reminisces of what could have been
Ruminations of what could be
Always a flight from what is

A sudden twitch and a sullen smile
Nostalgia leaks through the cracks
Sense? There is none.

Where do we land when we want to fly?
Do we land at all?
Maybe it's eternal trajectory, into an empty space.

Sometimes you don't neet a title

There is a nagging itch in your fingers and you want to come up with some mind blowing masterpiece, disconnected from its reality for you... but it's just one of those days when words won't dissociate from your thoughts. And yet, words never suffice. So... what do you do?

Listen to some Dylan and Rolling Stones, looking for some ideas to straighten out the web of thoughts in your head. Doesn't work. Then, you finally get your ass moving and make some hot chocolate with embellishments, because you need the comfort of the thick texture and the aroma that comes with it... so there goes the last of your fresh mint leaves... But you're still fishing for some words that just elude you... just elude you .... as you lose yourself behind the smoke rings.

The tug of nostalgia doesn't stir you because it's not nostalgia. It's what you have internalized. You wish for it to pass so that you can retrace the steps outside of it. But the bitch that this life is... it always brings you back to the mess that was created long ago. So what do you do? Haplessly wait for the day when you'll be in the hot seat and the madness just spills itself out. You know it's a crash in the making... and you know it's inferno en route... but what do you do? The only answer lies in the defenseless purging that is yet to be.

Psychic determinism: People get stuck in the circle of their personal tragedies, and remain so.

Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep!!!!

The silent protest of overkill...

The calm or the chaos? It's all but one

It's difficult to explain,
The madness of a silent mind
Words fall short when the angst comes pouring out
What is left is broken frames of then and now
Revisits and remembrances,
Spurting in sporadic sparks as if from a rusted spout

What happens of the insanity?
The shrill screams and the silence in vain?
It's a melodrama of the pain of quiescence
It's the schmaltz of the comfort of gash
Beyond, into the serene numbness
The peace in its elusiveness

It's a journey from the peaks to troughs
and the peaks again, and then the troughs
Untill one day you hit an empty space
Thereafter, it's just a buoyant calm
As you gently float through the infamies and the adulation
And all the rest that never stays!