in the dead of the night I fly and my soul I carry with my body I left there laying on the ground right at the middle of the cheering crowd I shall let them stone it I shall let them burn it I shall let them break it for what's there is already broken I've walked days and nights in the path of Sisyphus oh poor him, poor me imprisoned by the notion that nothing matters I float and I let go throwing away all the baggage so my hand can grab a cup of coffee that's the way to be
A wonder sparked in my mind.
Is it possible to grow our hearts into one resembling that of a wise buddhist monk, without being one? How do they process all the hurts and heartaches? How do they manage their pride? If I endure all the pain beyond my capacity in order to accept everything, will that make me a masochist?
I cut out my tongue I stare at the infinite I shall enlarge the beat I shall slower the slip To inhale the explosion To exhale it as a breeze To shut down the swirl To re-stack after the flood Just swallow all the bruises Just soften every edges and move like a wind and be still like a lotus Toss out the paranoia Toss out the aspiration Tread lightly into the white
I got caught in this bloody experiment Screwed my mind to her head Firmly, never going anywhere My ideas, my ideals, stuck in a whirl Somebody tell me what is real Between perception and illusion tailored with delusion They spread the news about this wholesale of construction being so damn seductive Blew flyers of hope on the road Charmed and hypnotized we all turn into either a masochist or spoiled self-righteous egomaniac dolls These paradoxical emotions opposing logical reasons Invent! Invent! Invent! Until she's all weary and dreary cannot keep up with my pace My infeasable desires infiltrate her every corner Replace the old and ragged with the new and fresh Breathe in the fatamorgana, stay awake
I’ve waited in the wings for so long
my name’s not yet called, my role’s not yet summoned
so I walked to the stage on my own
to make a lousy actor of myself
with the ceaseless stand of monologue I gave
I kept playing pretend, it felt marvelous to be part of a show
I was not just sitting at the backseat anymore
I enjoyed the disgust, the pity, the laughter
the audiences constantly judging my performance
but I hope, I hope my time will come
when someone would shout my name, telling me I was in the wrong room all along
my play was about to start in the opera next door,
that my presence is much needed and the hero of the story has waited for me there in the wings
Deux moi Someone somewhere Two entangled particles we are Separated by thousand miles of distance Yet our destiny keenly intertwined Your events affect mine in an instant Vice versa Heartache or joy Within the blink of an eye Travels through the unseen thread of ethereal force De mon âme à ton âme The fallout of yesterday The riot of today Happened and exists for the wish of tomorrow Patient, patient, wait and evolve Hold on to someday When we'll greet each other Both as friends and lovers For we belong together
I sat right in front of you A flood broke through the dam inside me The way you surrounded me Tight with your cold frozen heart Had my limbs paralyzed None could be done A cry for help had long sailed I was just trying to take a closer look To what had dimmed the flames inside you All the butterflies stranded in your stomach Lied there lifeless Their wings broken and scattered I watched As you built your walls around me Reading the writings on my little brooding silly mind Sulk and sullen I drowned in your smoke A transparent hole in your soul Your emptiness soared high Contaminated the air Landed on my torn up ragged skin with its mysterious tenderness Stabbing deep into my Id with satisfaction Reviving My ego prevailing I inhaled your damned frustration Let my consciousness suffocate in it Your eyes mirrorred and reflected nothing Unspeakable sorrow masked as wrath All I could see was nobody
I can’t paint, my drawing is horrible. I can’t play musical instruments, my singing is okay just as in tolerable. I don’t like doing sports. I don’t like socializing or talking to people, especially about feelings. I can’t tell them what I think because it’s going to surprise them and make them run away as fast as they can. So, how am I supposed to flush my rambling thoughts down the toilet? I’ll try writing it down. But I can’t write. I mean yes I can write, but I can’t “write”. You know, “write” with the emphasis, write to inspire, write to entertain, write to enchant readers with your tranquilizing dictions, write to harvest emotions, or write professionally for that matter, one that’s going to make you seem like a real intellectual. Like someone who has read tons of books and genuinely UNDERSTAND it. I read books and end up forgetting the essence contained in it.
Instead my writing looks like whining and ranting. I’m not the Bob Dylan or Leonard Cohen of blog writing, I’m more like Morrissey. No shit, I wish I was Morrissey. Nah, this is not my low self-esteem talking, this is the truth. Reading through other people’s writings I found myself crying, not literally though. How can they write so beautifully? When I read them it’s like I’m tasting a very delicious ice cream, melting slowly in my mouth, the sugary sensation sends a signal to my brain to rain dopamine. Like when Ricky Fitts is watching a plastic bag inviting him to dance in the wind with it in American Beauty (1999). My heart just caved in.
I bet Morrissey is singing Do Your Best and Don’t Worry in the background while I’m ranting this shit. Insecure, feeling like an imposter.
Compare the best of their days With the worst of your days You won't win With your standards so high And your spirits so low At least remember... This is you on a bad day, you on a pale day Just do your best and don't... Don't worry, oh The way you hang yourself is oh, so unfair See the best of how they look Against the worst of how you are And again, you won't win With your standards so high And your spirits so low At least remember... This is you on a drab day, you in a drab dress
So what makes them “them” in terms of writing? Hell, I read a lot of books than my friends, but still they outrun me in writing properly. Their choice of words are writer-ish. I think this is where talent plays role. Training/exercising works better on talents.
My vocabulary is limited. I find myself writing different themes using the same word over and over. I wore these words to exhaustion, makes me feel uncreative, makes me predictable. Is it because of the kind of books I read? Mystery novels, not one that dwells you in emotional roller coaster through the alluring sentences, but one that leans more on the thrill, on the story itself, not on what’s unsaid that represented and hidden in those vague pretty sentences. I tried to read philosophy book on my native language but most of the translation are messy, so I gave up. Reading them in english takes longer and I get impatient sometimes. I’m not into reading romantic stories, but that’s where usually the beauty of writing lies.
So, tell me, I can’t write because I’m lazy? Or because I’m not talented? Or both? Am I just making lame excuses for my own dissatisfaction? Perhaps yes. But maybe I should just stop comparing myself and start to work my ass off to improve my writing right?
You The pioneer, the master key The disengaged disdainful company To the horizon Our ride carries on Free falling into the deep beguiling abyss all night long Your nectarious prayers eating me alive On the holy ground I shan't thrive We shall survive You The tormentor, the disruptor The destroyer of all barrier Of you my thoughts have bled In the folklores filled with dread You're the sour wine to my salty bread Heavens not paved by the stairway That our pilgrimage made for a foul play
We met each other in hell’s kitchen, both heartbroken. His pride was stolen, mine nonexistent.
He offered me his left hand. His right one still sore from the last person put his soul on fire. Dug a grave for all his emotions.
“Let’s make cookies!” He said and I agreed foolishly, recklessly. He poured his flour into our bowl of misguided compromise. Mixed it and stirred it with my runny yolk. We were vamished, drooling over cookies.
We danced like hyenas on a dry Sahara. Oh how I imagined! Sweet sweet cookies with choco chips and rainbows sprinkled on top… so crunchy…
We put our cookies into the oven and managed the temperature. His tongue couldn’t wait for the sweetness yet to arrive. So he preyed on and grabbed my sugar. And I let him because I thought I was about to taste some magic cookies we had made together in such chaotic and majestic harmony.
I reached my telephone. His tongue still twisting on the sugar running through my fingers. I heard the voice of my advisor preaching on how to love thy neighbors. Even if I’m to give up my best cookie, bound to serve my partner the most delicious smoothie. Never let their tongue get burned or worse ice frozen.
As I always do I follow you, my dearest Professor Doo bee doo. My naivety is not to doubt the mastery of your misinterpreted sugar coated poisoned polished experiences.
Now the cookies ready. Let’s see… Some are well baked, the rest are not. Fulfilling my prophecy I let him have the tough cookies. I take for myself the ones gooey. So gooey it melts in my hand and stains the floor. And he throws away all my tough cookies because of the alarming sore on his right hand. Then the gooey cookies blazes merrily on my right hand, thus we’re both sore. Yet I still thank him for the cookies. Ah poor generous me!
To see in colors The calming green Soothing blue Tender purple But also the wrathful red Burning orange Blinding yellow Overwhelming black Blurry misty gray in between To hear the rustling sound of a plastic bag As it drifts through the wind Dancing in the cold breezy air of november Leaves shed from the trees Sweeping the desolate highway But also the deafening sound of civilization Sometimes to witness rain starts dripping Hitting a puddle of water on the side of the road Creating waves of circles Interfering with each other But also the flood washing away pieces of humanity Leaving nothing behind
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