Wednesday, February 1, 2012

I have - effectively - left the buildings.

For all those who really do care,
and those who want to read random poetry from a rather random person,
I have shifted to tumblr.


Wednesday, December 14, 2011

Around the moon and back there.

Hello World.

Here we meet again. Confused and retarded as ever, aren't we? As lost at the little yellow sun in a multitude of stars.
The world's in my palm, only till I gobble it up, to let it be lost again.
The world, is what it is. And it really isn't what we think it is.
It is smaller. More compact. Full of shadows and games and smiles. And a few lies.

The world's in my palm. And I want to lose it. Just lose the world in myself. Because I don't care what they seem they are.
Layers of skin attached to layers of hair to the worldly-ness of the world they live in.
And thus, I just want to gobble it up.

Get lost, world.
Lose yourself. Lose me. Lose whatever holds you back. And start another fucking day.
Walking on the moon!

Tuesday, November 29, 2011


The influence of drama.
The change of thought.
The exasperation of being.
The hidden sigh.
The overburdened sight.
The world and its ways.
The confusion.
The influence.
The conflict.
And the resolution.
It's life.
It's just another movie.

No Revolution This

This is not a Bloody Revolution.
That's what this is not. Our words, our pens, our swords, our paint, our typefaces, our weed, our cigarettes, our wisdom. It's not a bloody revolution.
It is just a way of being. Of defending. Of living. Of being. Of letting be. Of just what we need.

The world is not ending in 2012. It's not ending anytime soon. The apocalypse is long gone. It's long past. Long felt.
We are the result.
Our machines are the result.
Our diluted intellect is a result.
Our heightened senses is a result.
The world we built is a result.

It is all together yet apart. It is in confusion. It is in a constant struggle. It is at peace with it itself.
Let it be.

That is what we are.
A conversation.
Words. Pens. Swords. Paints. Typefaces. Weed. Cigarettes.

It is not a bloody revolution.

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

Face It?

In all its beauty, and all its pain
Noah captured them,
A step at a time he took
And he caught one and one more,
In the flooding rain.

He walked past the Reaper
And he caught him.
He walked past the Twisted
Retracing, he caught them all.

He walked past the Mindless
And he caught her.
He walked past the Sins,
He wedded them,
And kept them for us.

He walked past the Angry,
And closed them in one room
He walked past us all
To be caught, flies to glue.

The Timid, the Wasted, and it all.

But when he crossed the Soul,
He waved and he walked past.

Now, here we are.

The Timid, The Wasted and it all.

Monday, October 3, 2011

In the arms of the angel,
They will carry you.
In the arms of this angel,
You will meet your end.

But fret not, little child,
Let the tears dry
And the hope awaken.
Fret not, little child,
She will carry you forward.

A Revolution, they say?
In the arms of another
We will suffer.
With the arms of others
We will penetrate.

This child, but, let it be gone
It's only cried to your sounds
Only laughed with all the smoke.
Carry it, my angel.
Another will come, to save us,

Inspired by: Turtle Can Fly

Saturday, October 1, 2011

Rot and Clay

The air has a presence today.
It's just time in a vacuum.
World's we couldn't face.
Inhuman and stupid;
Under the spell of the Warlord.
Unable and unwilling,

Commander of the Third Reich in our head,
Was a march,
The Army of the Whispering Stars
Uncaring and unwilling.
Relentless and hopeless,
Unable to hide in their deaths
They marched.

The air has a presence today, they say.
It smells of rot and clay.
I wish the dead would hurry
Mixing astray, for lives would be easier.
Just if we'd sit and peacefully stare.

The world's stooping with the few behind,
The others just stand ahead and lead.
Commanders in their head.
Unable and careless,
They stand, they pretend.
They pretend to lead.

I said, the air has a presence today.
One could only hope for the future's best.
But today, today, it is lowly and smothered,
Like a child adorned on a mother's breast.

The air has a presence today.