Sunday, 24 May 2015

Didn't they say, for lack of better terminology, that I, a dreamless whistletop, was meant to fade into the darkest depths of ambiguity?

The day would have been a resounding success were there
a jolt of lightning striking up my bottom to wake my bootstraps from
numbness and slumber; We would all concur, dare say.
Alas, insufficiency in the gamble ruin a rather palatable occasion;
Just because I'm unassertive doesn't mean I'm a twat.
Or am I?
You erred, ser, I told myself, a big buffoon; So I sit by a bookstore cafeteria
all by the lonesome, how sad, for this day it would have had altered
a new tomorrow for myself and for others around me. Sod the naysays
and the bygones and the whatnots.
How pretentious can I be when I for a moment called myself
a carnivore through and through and end up shoplifting a vegetarian
sushi made from the gentle hands of those more capable?
Do I kick myself in the groin with each reminder or do I stand up
for myself and realise that all really is mine for the taking?
England is mine and it owes me a living!
Wasn't it you who swore I was not free?
Wasn't it you who said I needed to break free from the confines
of delusion and make-believe?
And yet you chastise me, make a mockery of my agony, my heavy
burden to carry, and discard it like a whore used and abused.
They smiled at me, waved a hullo, and considered me one
of them, as an equal, and as a friend. It's just, I felt, about time.
To have it all, it seemed, to me, an ancient sensation.A muscle
memory released from years-long immobility; it felt good,
This is the deluge; an endless undulation, a force unleashed.
Times have changed. We undulate along with it, and with me in
the background. There's nothing more fruitful in life than
the mysterious sizzle of strangers/
Oh how amazing it was, when, at the height of my joy, I had
the longest conversation I had with someone else, vis-a-vis;
Mundane, every single day stuff, but stuff nevertheless.
I live, for now, for the joy of the next, spontaneous chat.
Be it old or young fat or thin, beautiful or ugly, rich or poor.
This will keep me relevant, I hope, otherwise I would end
up in a ditch somewhere, bruised and unkempt, up to
within an inch of my life, for whatever my life is worth.
If, in case, due to some unforeseen circumstances, for some reason,
someone else mourns my demise, then I would offer my
first words with God to your favour. For you are a person worth
the cherish. That is all I have ever wanted and will ever need.
Nothing else can deny me this solitary want. 
For the Rebeccas and the Lieves of the world, with souls none
as good and brimming with humanity.  Even though the sky is
grey and pekish at the present. An odd circumstance, no doubt,
but not from the first. Those are left fended on its own..
So what is next, you ask, I wonder. I don't even know if I believe.
For me it could all be a fantasy peddling for some pence,
right around that corner over there. Come at me.
I will take it all on. It's in the imprint, you reckon, I assume.
Somewhere along the line, it was absolved of all the things I shouldn't
be worrying about, and yet here I am, eh..
But truth denies those bound for glory its merit,
It is what gives me the privilege of authenticity.
It's in the imprint, now I'm perfectly sure.
In your case, I'm not, and it would have been nice had I
been made redundant from the previous role. A role which
was filled by those whose chorus fell to rhyme. Would it be a lie to
tell then that I have been allured by its charm?
Because I have and there is no reason whatsoever to deny it.
It would be fitting that I accept this monumental task and succeed.
Should I succeed I deserve the utmost respect from my peer, I should.
Should I fail, however, the consequences prove dire.
But enough talk of negativity, I was meant to celebrate the day,
not cause a ruinous uproar over the backside.
So I go back to the topic at hand, where was I.
Ah, Greenwich, yes. Tell me all about its lush Sundays.
A sight to behold. A Sunday could not be as lively anywhere else as
the day is in Greenwich. No street could be as livelier, as boisteous,
tittilating, and as civilised than this. It is the gentlest mania.
Even a barbecue on the summer beach could not compare, nor a
touch of sweet femininity, nor a mare in heat.
Its frailty, its everlasting tenderness, coy, sound.
Isn't it unfortunate that I pollute it with my presence?
I wish to be one with it, yet I obviously cannot.
I just cannot. There really is no point in struggling.
But to struggle is human, to err is feral.
Abandon, break away, and let cry the song of our collective
anguish. We shall bide our time. 
Begin, I shall, counting, if only for the same,
from ten to three.
The two and one can wait, however long it takes.

Tilt

There were two cufrons on top of the tabliz, one used and the other one unused. It seemed as though that the used one was filled with cofieur prior to it being left there for me to find. I did not bother to think what the consequences of it might have been, but I'm surprised to know that if it hadn't been for that cufron of drank cofieur, I wouldn't have discovered Fara's affair with Mildritc.

I took the empty cufron and filled it with brindelleuvi leaves. I've stored these in a secret compartment where Fara wouldn't be able to find. She always had the urge to take some without my consent, and by the time I discover that the leaves were gone, I find myself lying on the floor unkempt and clearly shaken from convulsion. It was hard to decipher for what reason, but perhaps it was a worthy risk to take. Mildritc would have found that predicament hilarious. After the watra boiled, I made tanis with the leaves. None had made me feel more soothed than the feeling of warm graces flowing through my body.

At the end of the day, I was left bloodied by Fara's betrayal, but a lone wulf such as myself find comfort in knowing that our solitude does not cause my heart to suffer long in agony. I have a cufron of tanis with me, and with it brings an essence of relief.

Saturday, 16 May 2015

Windblown



Life was teeming within the city proper, I
was smack-dab in the middle, grasping for
something and holding on to intangibles; Joy is
such a fickle emotion; I dread the thought
of what I lack and what I can't achieve,
but only pursue, intently, and for how long
should I chase for that which I cannot
clearly see, or should I wait until I collapse
under the weight of my own desires;
I do not want pity, but share with me a smile,
just that, and I will love you forever.

Thursday, 14 May 2015

Pay me no mind, but pay my mind...


Panic, said I to ourself, to that which no longer care
Have you to feel what no longer is there
Have you to walk free with feet of mine bare
Have you to widen your senses to be made aware
Have you to see that which headed is evernowhere 


Royal Borough of Greenwich 03052015

Monday, 4 May 2015

Something very unfortunate...

Surviving again lately, if only due to a great loss, which should have affected me more than I expected it to. My father rushed a trip back home to greet the inevitable and unfathomable heartache with his arrival upon the news of his dear mother's demise. My grandmother. My dear, sweet grandmother, whom I personally cherish, as can personally attest, as the only true soul I have encountered in life, moreso than the other, who had passed away recently as well. It comes with a cost, because now I have grown mobile yet again, finding myself perspiring in the pursuit of a journey, cheap as it may be.

My only wish was that I could have felt her aura near me one last time. She was as light is relevant to everyone else. I never really knew what I had until it's gone, and surely enough more will come, some of which will rock the core of my being.

Me You Sun: (Sol) Searching

Harsh, her words were, as winter, battling against the breeze
of soothing spring, the second heart of mine, it awakens.
There is a man, a miserable pile of feelings,
thoughts, and longingness, battling between
these two hearts, when one has weakened,
to a state beyond repair, and that which is
tied by a false sense of responsibility.
"Come on," I say to thee. "Come one and all.
For we who have survived Ragnarok."
Bless femininity, and let capriciousness ebb
and flow. I, myself, will survive once again, not for
a future with her, or for any other similar notion, but a thought that
I, as a man, will be, for the sake of being.

Sunday, 3 May 2015

Me You Sun: One Sweet Afternoon

As I, fazed, pulled my head away from
the heat's smothering embrace, I saw her face -- ever incandescent,
ripe of sweetness, of beauty -- shimmering beneath the golden dome of sky.
It was all too much for a man like me
to take. I am but a fool, I say, and,
just like that, the perfect shine was gone.
So I, painfully, composed myself back to
normalcy, to the reality of what we both will never be. 
No amount of love, of tears, of wishful thinking, will
bring the sun back to me, and my memory will
one day falter, and so, bearing an unbearably high quantity of sorrow,
will the image of her face.

Exodus Paranoia

The fire started in a distance, his bones crackled with every step, while the voices of the spirits made no effort to attract. It was a new breed of terror seeping in, haunting the chemicals in the air, undulating with discrete strength. It's time, a girl's whispers coming from an unseen source. It's time for us to feel the joy again.

Joy, what a simple word with a mischievous intent. What joy can there be in spreading fear amongst all men's hearts? Their mouths ashen with malice. Who is to feel the joy when joy easily turns tragic? Like dancing naked during summer in a barren iceland. These beings of pure dementia, these harbingers of lunacy, of degradation, of shallow emotions, of cradles filled with fucking filth. Burn the witches. This world deserves a better definition of joy.

Whatever the world will be, it will simply be, but I cannot allow myself to sit idly by whilst this pieces of humongous scum, of torturous and inhumane scumbaggery, of fiddly fucking monstrosity gallop nonchalantly on my streets to wag their phallic heads around like a ten-pence prostitute.

Not on my watch.

The fire should start again -- this time somewhere safer. And let it be known that I will be there to foresee through it all. I am the omega of their plans, their watcher in the dark, the omniscient guardian of truth, of true joy and honour, of love and sadness. Let them see me for who I really am. An angel of pure bliss. The zen to their chaotic reverse. We live in a land with so much potential. I make it all possible with a drop of a single word.

I am love and I am life. None shall cause darkness so long as I stand against it.

Search and destroy