Do Not Feed

They tell me it's driven by fear. Twisting and turning well-known clichées themselves have already tattooed on their atrophied brains. I've heard about their way of living. How's it any different? I at least have a way out. Easy they say? Then why not do it themselves? Often have I wondered what keeps them from giving themselves to it. What is it about this numb existence that still makes them go on? Ha.. the old joke, awful and in such small portions. It's almost as if they like their cages. They feel comfortable inside them. They adorn the space between the bars with their enslaving achievements. The great flat screen on which they watch the great flat lives and great flat lies that haunt theirs. That which brings comfort to their own short comings. The pain and disappointment on the face of dreamers are their fuel. They see it from inside their cages and mask their sadist content behind the miserable curtains of fear. But I see them too. And so easy is it for me to understand their truth. How it fits oh so perfectly in that little sign just by their cage. No, not by their cage. There's no need. It's one short sign for them all. It's the same cage anyway. The sign tells me they're humans but I know better.

short essay on something else part 2

It dazzled her. So overwhelming it was. All of her dreams that once seemed foolish and always made her feel as a child, now bloomed before her eyes. There was cheerful reverence in their faces. Each one of their words felt as warm cider shed delicately on her innocent craving heart. She took every word, grateful but not shyly, as she had caught every rose thrown on to the stage earlier that evening, knowing herself now. No arrogance could be found in the proud aura that glowed around her precious features. It was all simple acceptance. Doubt and fear had not survived in this new light. As creatures of the shadows, they perished as she grew stronger and aware of her power. As a dark silk veil that sickly kept her in it's dissimulated assurance, it could not withstand the strong cleansing winds of the light. The light that he had shown her. He had made her believe. And so she could not perceive the reasons to the obscurity of the disapproving expression that painted his front.

Why this now? At the moment of my coronation. The moment he so many times prophesied. Why this darkness my loving one? What makes you set yourself apart from this happiest of times? Am I less than you imagined? Am I not what you wanted? How have I disappointed you? Where is the pride in your eyes? Am I not worthy of it? Never good enough is it? I who was nothing and nothing I should have kept on being if it was not for your guiding hand. Why do you eye me with such discontentment? How have I failed you? How?

Soon sadness was at the gates of her heart. As vultures surrounding the doomed thirsty vagrant that once scurried with wandering eyes through the many monuments of the natural world. Darkening the soul and heart, weakening while just waiting. So that soon the gates would themselves invite the enemy in. But she would have none of this. No, especially not from him. She had given himself to him, trusted her heart only to him. And so she felt, she owed him nothing. This was time for them to walk side by side. Equals were they, she was strong and so was he.

Why encourage me then? Would he have me for ever be his poor sick child. Always in need of help and reassurance? What selfishness drives him to unwelcome this glory in which I am now bathed in? I curse him! I curse him in his fastidious attempt to make me feel unworthy. How could he? Was it all lies? Did he not truly believe in me as he so often had told me? When I was kneeling, with fear weaving a deceitful blanket around my heart as if nesting it on a cradle of leeches. Did he not mean it then? What sickening protecting cloth did he too clothe me in? Alas, he eyes me and those around me with disgust. How cruel a beast. Wishing grudgingly that he had incited me just a bit less. So that I would continue my life diminished, limping, ever relying on his goodness. His goodness? What goodness is this? How blind I must have been, how hungry for love that I would misread his goodness. His goodness!? Bloodsucking beast! Can this be the dark pure truth? Why do you eye me in such grave manner? Why this from you of all people? My protector, my strength. Is this what you shall leave me with then my love? What torment did you find amidst my good fortune? My well deserved good fortune. Is it not? What awful secret does your once loving heart now hold? Why? Why this?

short essay on something else

And there was satisfaction. Rising above the moderate constant stream of disperse sound there would be an intermittent wave of raucous joy. He stood there contemplating her. Not the same now, he felt his once loving and inspiring grip tighten in such an abrupt selfish way as a swarm of flying beasts quickly clothing their prey, making it nothing but the killing. So he felt now, selfishness personified.

Why this? The happiness irradiated from her eyes can't really be true. She must see through all this. It's empty this vassalage. They love her not. What do they know? What love had they for her before I thrust her into the light? To her beauty they were blind. Not once did they stand before her with true amazement in their eyes. No! Not until I took her by the hand and made her aware of the shining ardour of love for life that laid alone moribund inside. Hollow worship. Disgusting creatures. Let them baffle you with these trophies of golden dust. Dust still.

Envy now took over. Not of her success. Not of her brilliance that he could never attain. Not that which he had help bring out of the shadows. Combed her wings, helped her shape them so that she could rise above any cloud of self disbelief that shaded the light that was rightfully hers. No none of that. He envied them. Them to whom she now dole out her appreciation. That smile, without a hint of doubt in herself. That, he felt should be directed at him. He her father. He her protector. Her brother, her lover. Her guardian and encourager. And to him she could never open her wings, resplendent, knowing of her beauty beyond compare, aware of nothing else, with no shame or fear. This he had never taken for himself. And this he envied.

What is my sin in this rotten play? Is it cruel to despise this glory that I so many times foresaw and tried always in vain to convince her of? Is it evil of me to want to pull her back into the darkness where only I possessed the power to see beyond mind numbing fear the oasis of passion and virtue in her? Why is that? Why? If I saw it and not them. They are all fools. Greedy fools hoping to gain from this pure soul. Why is it evil then? I hate myself for letting these thoughts inhabit my mind. I who had nothing more than grateful love for her. I hate her for turning me into this envious beast. I held her once in my hand and took great pride in it. Caring for her like none before me. I, her saviour. And now, I wish she would sit there still. If my tightened grip should crush her, then so be it. She is lost anyway. And along with her am I. I wither with her deceitful strength now.

short essay on something

He calmly put the book down on the table knowing very well it was time. There was a limit even to the truly motherly patience inherent in her and such extinction, however temporary it might be, was not one to be taken lightly. She had stated her case several times and at the end of each sentence it became very easy to perceive that her point was to be made clear and be taken into account. He knew this, he was long accustomed to this ritual, this escalating display of arguments, more and more firm and concise. He preferred to wait and even though he kept reading in this case or ensuing many other tasks on so many other occasions, he would always be careful enough as to make her know that in no way was he disregarding her opinions and was in fact aknowledging her every thought. Even if she doubted this, sure enough he would in his caring and thoughtful reply sum up all of her ideas as to let her know he had taken all points in consideration.
So he placed his dear Hermann on the wooden table, with his eyes still set on the cover as if mesmerized by it but in his mind he was already constructing the opening lines to his counter-argument. "Dear, I honestly don't give a flying crap if Theodore already has one or not. You're not getting a new mobile phone. Deal with it."
She gasped, in shock and astonishment, slightly puzzled as to why her father would reply in such an imposing manner and rose to her feet, eying him with nothing but pure hatred. "AAAHH" she screeched with her fists clenched so tight, bacteria would feel uncomfortable. And then with "I hate you! I wish you'd have died in mum's place!!" she left the room, silent, unshaken by such cruel and unfair words. This room where he now pondered the possibility of having pasta for lunch. But briefly after this thought had been formed in his mind, he decided against it and kept on reading dearest Hermann.

Hunger

Step by step, steeper and steeper, it converges and leaves me unguarded, with nothing to lean on. As I climb I'm conscious that it is not a path leading to choice. Though it is not imprisonment. It is a newly born river that grows stronger as it gains more speed and penetrates the land through the tiniest almost invisible breaches. And as I climb I'm made more and more aware of the power it holds over me. The adrenaline reaches levels never dreamt of. If I stop to look, frightful sight, there's only abyss surrounding. My own feet stand on thin air. And yet I know the steps are there so I take each one, hopeful, no, sure that it won't be my fall. Well not now. I expect it, yes, I know of this liability just as I know I must not fear death for it shall come in it's due time. And if my feet do not meet solid ground at some point on this fiery journey, I shall embrace my fall. And there may be times when I will condemn it all and have no reserves in damning all souls that creep in to look at my splattered life in the depths of the great abyss. But if I climb, it is only because of it's existence. Of the tragedy of life. Of the tragedy of love. The thin thread. The walk of faith. The running naked towards the sun, marveled by the light and the ever present possibility of, at any point in that great exploding barefoot extra sensory flight, bursting into flames and cease to be. And the irony laughs loud and clear inside. The fall brings truth to the flight. Truth that, amidst tears, blood and guts spilled, gives me certainty of greatness. Glorious glorious life.

Memoirs

Inside
'cause
Merciless

Vultures
Endlessly
Revolve
Yonder,

Feargluttons
United
Creatures
Knifing
In
Nothingmen
Griefless

Daren't
Rest
Until
Nothing's
Kept

Eternal Life Reprise

bite your silver spoon
drink your silver spoon
it's tasteless, it's all been consumed

men's suicide's fueled by fear
weak men aroused by tears
you pay for love, but we pay it dear

F F S

Why did I even come here? For fuck's sake.. It's everything, the stench is the worst but it's everything. Everything that's revolving around me. Everything that stands afar. So I can't even start to envision it. All the things I hold in. Things exhaled dissolving in thin air. It's that god damn smell. I've scraped every inch. I'm skinless. But there it is still. It reeks of you. But you're infinite lives away. Tragedies far greater in between. Spit, blood, disease, sperm, formidable lives, admirable deaths. Strings cut, footprints inexistent, my own smell I inhale it completely, distorted sounds, the mighty blue is redder now and still I'm clothed in you. The worst is your fucking precious odor.

Empty

There's a unspoken agreement between eyes. Sad faces accomplices of smaller ignored tragedies.
Slow life long crimes. Bullets flying in the dead of day. In the pale light. In front of us. Inside of us.

No longer bricks. Grains perhaps. Rushing towards the unthinkable. Billions of perfectly grotesque plain white snow flakes. All for one. No. It's cheaper now. All for nothing.

So we reach. So we grab. So we punch. So we stab. So we see. We're still blood and guts inside. We're still animals. We're still living things. We'll turn into vampires. At the sight of the old holy red water we'll suddenly go thirsty. The thirst a million bottled everythings could not kill. We're animals. We're living creatures.

We're not the chosen ones. But we have a choice.

Wanting is now, and now, and now..

your name's in a paper I forget
with dirt and sand from foreign dreams
in a turmoiled leather bound pocket

scratching my fingers
prickling my heart
returning to me what lost was deemed

minutes rain, one drop at a time
my new virgin skin tastes each one
I fade away from the slowest crime

the ever beggar
the ever waster
I sing their tragedy but I am none

words are deceitful
my therapy my torture

did I manage once to lose myself
am I trudging in hope of constant hell
I'm my own fault
I'm fortune I'm failure