Abandon all hope ye who enter

December 11 at Earth

According to legend, the secrets of the heart, are burled deep, and only time will revel how deeply they are so that they could impose their shadow upon old sins, to cast long shadows upon this bitter earth, so how could it bare anything as its barren, let it rip it’s coverings, expose it’s naked breasts in retaliation, but what can it do? What can I do? Give it some love, tender, love and caring. 

Where ignorance is bliss, ’Tis folly to be wise, leave it, let it weep, let it bleed, let it walk naked exposing its shame, let it run wild, I might be the master of my fate, I even might be the captain of my soul, but I am most certainly not in control, I’m just a humble soul, I’m the king of my own land facing tempests of dust, I’ll try to fight until the end. 

Creatures of my nightmares raise up and dance with me, give me some of that sweet nectar from your bosom that is sweeter than that tupelo honey, let me suckle upon it till I’m drunk with power, but alas, there is no more joy here, no more laughter, nothing but straight laced sorrow. 

Abandon all hope ye who enter, thats what you'll get for your greed 

Abandon all hope ye who enter, you’ve made me bleed for that greed 

Abandon all hope ye who enter, never not till the last drop has drained 

Abandon all hope ye who enter, no I will wipe it clean with my blood 

Abandon all hope ye who enter 

I weep for you mother, nature is sighing, crying, dying, it’s welting away. I cant give you justice I cant defend the dead I cant bring you freedom but I can keep you In their head, I will tell them of you’re giving I will tell them of your bread I will tell them you where generous but they’ll hear it when your dead.

Insane in the Membrane

              November 30 at Asylem of the Sane

Happy, very very happy, delirious, franticly positively ecstatic, ravingly untroubled. I feel…sad, no i’m good, DON’T CALL ME CRAZY, sorry i’m good, if a little nervous, don’t call me crazy, I do confess that this sickness has dulled my senesces, my wits, my brain feels like it has left my body. but in a good way, no violence, none don’t worry, but i do feel strange, strange like if the devil had took what it had left me but only for the dead to give it back, but i can still see, i see you almost clearly, and i can see the three dead people standing around you, i can see the Grim Reaper with his scythe waiting to…stop, i will say everything from the beginning the whole story.

A Man Oppressed

 November 30 at Center For The Mentally Oppressed

Does my ring burn your finger does my crown crush your head does my throne brake your back 

Does my home rest the weary does my farm feed your hunger does my land give you shelter 

Does my soul give you comfort does my brain south your head does my blood quench your thirst 

Does my fame suit your salience will my wealth buy you love can my strength get you off

A rant for want

It has been said that once we discover how to appreciate the timeless values in our daily experiences, we can enjoy the best things in life, so if you have nothing to do you should appreciate it first and enjoy it second.

Now, as we all know that it is it's impossible to enjoy idling thoroughly unless one has plenty of work to do, there is no fun in doing nothing when you have nothing to do. Wasting time is merely an occupation then, and a most exhausting one. Idleness, like kisses, to be sweet must be stolen, and thats what should be done. so enjoy.

Then again It is always the best policy to speak the truth, unless, of course, you are an exceptionally good liar, and since i am not a good liar, (sorry), here goes, There are the goods; if you want them, you can have them. If you do not want them, they would almost rather that you did not come and talk about them.

As experienced here it was expressed in a most expressly manner and exuberantly composed composer, now this might not be here nor their, as it's right in the middle.

A rant for want. thanks be to JKJ

Waste

Waste not, want not, do you mind observing the faculty of consciousness and thought and not wasting its intellectual capability and mental capacity on the power of reasoning , for a mind is a terrible thing to waste, surly, let alone a dozen.

Traveling

Traveling without moving, like running inside your shoes, is counterproductive, if amusing of sorts.

Opera in Musica.

By my rough estimate, and i do get paid for estimating, (think economist), music, as an industry, is a few million years old, give or take a few million, the very first historically documented occurrence of a musical performance, was that very first tall tree falling, and that big boulder rolling, or that humming bird calling, accompanied by a dozen crickets chirping, and an army of frogs croaking, with the sometimes gurgling sometimes burbling water cascading in the background, with the foreground filed with the sound of the lark singing, and eagles screaming, and the winds howling, as the raindrops are splashing, this is the timeless sound of the very first orchestra of nature, an opera in musica.

A mere Shadow of Myself

November 18 at Where Shadows grow tall

Before all else my son, remember that old sins cast long shadows exactly where ignorance is bliss, then it is folly to be wise, especially with that old enemy, time, it flies over us, but leaves its shadow behind. shadows we walk in them we form them we run from them we fear them we identify with them we shape them we try to hide them we ignore them and most of the time we don’t remember them but when was the last time that you looked at your shadow observed it gave it some attention conversed with it complemented it we treat our shadows with great disrespect and disdain which is sprung forth from our ignorance and unfamiliarity of our shadows so what i suggest to remedy this great injustice is to advise you all to get to know your shadows better talk to them go out on a date with them treat them to something nice and remember Shakespeare said it already in a midnight summers dream If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended— That you have but slumbered here While these visions did appear. And this weak and idle theme, No more yielding but a dream, Gentles, do not reprehend. If you pardon, we will mend. And, as I am an honest Puck, If we have unearned luck Now to ’scape the serpent’s tongue, We will make amends ere long. Else the Puck a liar call. So good night unto you all. Give me your hands if we be friends, And Robin shall restore amends.

Genius

Such is genius, unpredictable, but she is mesmerisingly originally uniquely breathtaking, that through her suffering and anguish and pain, she still performs, and without any seeming effort, she makes beautiful music, ladies and gentlemen, the immortally magnificent Nina Simone.

Food

If food be the food of love then plate on, give me more, give me excess of it.

And when food be not, just give me a doughnut, one coffee, hot milk on the side.

For you for euphoria (state of affairs)

I am what i am for what i am for who i am for me for ever for always for love for freedoms for the right to redeem them for love everlasting for pleasure enchanting for life enduring for your visions mesmerising for power tyrannising for peace globalising for greed monopolising for war terrorising for a built pressurising for a needle immunising for a needle paralysing for people generalising for a reporter prioritising for man symbolising for a woman cannibalising for humans socialising for tongues verbalising for poverty dehumanising for business commercialising for disease hospitalising for language universalising for females tantalising for heroes apologising for kryptonite energising for tabloids scandalising for protesters vocalising for science hypothesising for bacterial sterilising for governments decentralising for minerals vitalising for writers fictionalising for dating depersonalising for college fraternising for murder serialising for earth destabilising for police criminalising for males womanising for tax penalising for pressure equalising for army immobilising for fashion westernising for sex fantasising for hemp legalising for life immortalising for rock idolising for modernity modernising for punk radicalising for porn sensationalising for mental institutionalising for web personalising for profit marginalising for work compartmentalising for plant photosynthesising for truth rationalising.

Less Than Whole

November 15 at Dab Smack Nowhere Near

Detangle decipher and decide i am damaged goods and like all damaged goods i must be destroyed 

i am a rock and when a rock i am not then i should perish and turn to dust 

i have a shelf life and you are not special. 

You’re not a beautiful and unique snowflake. You’re the same decaying pessimistic organic matter as everything else. We’re all part of the same compost heap. We’re all singing, all dancing crap of the world. 

I’m never going to accomplish anything; that’s perfectly clear to me. I’m never going to be famous. My name will never be writ large on the roster of The Who’s Who of anything. I don’t do anything. Not one single thing. I used to bite my nails, but I don’t even do that any more. 

I’ve found it takes at least two and generally three things to alter the course of a life: You slip around the truth once, and then again, and one more time, and there you are, feeling, for a moment, that it was sudden, your arrival at the bottom of the decaying compost heap. where is that beautiful snowflake now, and who was the genius who decided World Kindness Day and National man make dinner Day needed to converge with National Clean Out Your Refrigerator day? 

This glut of good vibes threatens to overwhelm an otherwise delightfully gloomy autumn, crowding out exactly the kind of misery and self-doubt one needs for cultivating more substantial inspiration. As an antidote to all this cheerleading, we refer you to some of the most nail biting, self-deprecating pessimists who ever managed (somehow) to keep putting pen to paper. I am referring to any of my previous post here on this page.

With Murder by My Side

With Murder by My Side

November 10 at Near The Absolute Zero

Even there, in the deepest depths of humanity, I may find a human heart, a heart that is human still, in another barren place and with murder by my side, I may still find a way to make friends with him, get close, closer to him, become one with him, until you can not tell us apart, for even in the most barren of places, there one may live and love and suffer then draw one's terminal breath. One may thaw and revive a frozen heart in that bareness, if one can? One may wait upon him for years, as one does, and at last bring up the rare form from the darkest depths of a lofty soul, a breathing, feeling, almost human, suffering humanly, a creature beyond rapture; Is it our suffering that makes us human? Must we suffer for our humility? One may bring forth an angel, bestowed with deviancy, yet create a hero! A sex symbol! There are so many of them, thousands of them, frozen in time and space, lost and bewildered, as we are all to blame for them. All heroes die unfulfilled and all sex symbols die ugly, it’s a fact of life.

Nina Simone - Tell Me More and More and Then Some

Beautiful, you are so beautiful, you are a joy to behold, like an alluring vision, come down to enlighten me, and i will immeasurably appreciate your heavenliness, i will take it in, drink it up, or sip it slow, but sometimes, i want to just gulp it down, and have my fill, but good things are best enjoyed from afar, so, instead, i’ll whisper in your ears those sweet words that serenade, i’ll show you with my touch the perfection that is you, i’ll gently run my lips on your skin, to bring joy and pleasure, like a gentle breeze, i’ll lightly caress you, hold you, ohhh but to hold you, i’ll bring you to a heightened and intense state of ecstasy, to drive forth the pleasures of the skin, like never before, you will feel emotions feverishly racing, cascading, bursting out of you, beyond control, till you reach the zenith of you quivering bodies tension, tolerance, and when you reach your apex, you will come forth in to the shores of the lost realms of infinite satisfaction.

4:44 of FourFiveSeconds by Rihanna And Kanye West And Paul McCartney

This is a little experiment in sound

Copyright to where copyright is held, with respect

Oil by the barrel

Water water everywhere, nor any drop to drink! 

Drink Coke? Eat cake? Forget about bread and water!

Oil by the barrel, that will never go sterile.

I am My own Island

November 4th, in the AM, At a cellular level, An atom in the innerspace

I am my own island, I am the whole island in its entirety it encompasses me, and only me, we are all not connected, not being small pieces of a continent as a part of the main. At a cellular level we are apart, as we rotate and push and pull at each other we are not connected at all, we are not even close to each other, but we swim in our own sea of vast nothingness, bewildered and bemused, and most certainly alone, far away from the other atoms, protons and neutrons, we could not care less if one of our neighboring atoms, falls from grace, or gets swept away by a tidal wave of quarks, or attacked by the army's of anti mater, it does not diminish me, or make less from the whole that i am, as i am not involved in the wickedness that is mankind, and therefore, never send to know for whom the bell tolls, it doesn't toll for me.

a simple woman

She was a simple woman, she knew black, she knew that, yes she did, and, she knew white, and as personal philosophies go, hers was simple, black, white and that is it, that was the extent of her life's knowledge, her life's work, it does not go any farther than that, grey was unheard of, an unacceptable compromise? why? you don't need to compromise when you'r life is simply black or white, therefore, certainly, you wouldn't have to compromise.

Humble is how somebody who met her described her, but, to be put in her words, it's "umble". So our self described "umble" lady was telling her life story: I's gwyne to tell you, den I leave it to you. I was bawn down 'mongst de slaves; I knows all 'bout slavery, 'case I ben one of 'em my own se'f. Well, sah, my ole man -- dat's my husban' -- he was lovin' an' kind to me, jist as kind as you is to yo' own wife. An' we had children -- seven chil'en -- an' we loved dem chil'en jist de same as you loves yo' chil'en. Dey was black, but de Lord can't make no chil'en so black but what dey mother loves 'em an' would n't give 'em up, no, not for anything dat's in dis whole world.

my son

There is nothing greater than a man who has found his purpose.

There is nobody stronger than a man with purpose.

There is no man more dangerous than a man who has found his calling.

There is no greater drive than a passion fuelled with purpose.

Find your reason for being, why are you here? what are you doing? who are you? find your place on this earth, and then and only then can you achieve absolute greatness.

Popularity is glories small change as someone has said, it is glory that you shall seek not popularity, for glory will be yours once you find your purpose.

Know thyself, find your purpose, achieve glory, reach for the stars and they will be yours my son.

The radio

The radio is playing some old songs on the porch, as the sun is setting in for that day, and as it is leaving us, an orange purple glow engulfs us, me and my sweetheart, swaying to the music, and as we are surrounded by this beautiful light, I look into hear big beautiful eyes and say:

You know me, you know that i don’t have much, i have never been a big important man, nor have i ever accounted to anything, and most likely, never will, I don’t have a big important family to fall upon once hardship sets in, all i have is me, the shirt on my back, and very few worldly positions that don’t account for much, but i have you, and that account for a lot, that to my is more than all the wealth of this earth.

These moments spent beside you, close to you, dancing, is worth this world and all it’s contents, and when i can hear your heartbeat from a thousand mails, and the heavens open up every time you smile, you take away my troubles, you take away my grief, and you take away my heartache, in the night beyond belief.

This is a work in progress, feel free to change or rearrange it or the sum of it's parts in any way you want to. (In the comments)

If looks could kill, and sound would chill, down your spine, send.
When night has come, and light is dim, to your home, go.
If parents lost, and your friends are ghosts, then safety, seek.
when neighbors porch, looks like a lit torch, get away, run.
If right is wrong, and candies strong, in your mind, set.
When fear is near, pumpkins appear, to float in air, headless.
If blood has flow, so now you know, its Halloween, hide.
When in October, not November, in your home, stay.
For if you leave, then trust assure, that what will come is, grief.
If bullshit walks, when money talks, do whats right, swear.
As statements go, big for show, this one, went.
To be a fool, when faced with drool, be a fool, drip.
Home seam so near, When hope not fear, In your hart, grow
Don't be a fool, and stay in school, the worlds out their, tame it.
It's up to you, to catch the flu, of life, live.
Live free or die, tomorrow in Dubai at Souk al Bahar at 7:00.

my name is

my name is being because i am

my hair is not because its not

my waist is big because it is

my age is old but my heart is young

my will is weak my will is strong

my shame is deep i do belong

my feeble existence is necessary 

my reason for being is family

a boxer

In the clearing stands a boxer, And a fighter by his trade
And he carries the reminders Of ev'ry glove that laid him down
Or cut him till he cried out In his anger and his shame,
"I am leaving, I am leaving" But the fighter still remains
This is the story of a poor boy, and this story is seldom told, he has squandered his resistance, for a pocket full of mumbles, such are promises, which turned out to be all lies and jests, still a man hears what he wants to hear, and disregards the rest.

When he left his home and his family, he was no more than a boy, he was in the company of strangers, and in the quiet of the railway station, he was running scared, and laying low, seeking out the poorer quarters where the ragged people go, looking for the places only they would know.

Then I'm laying out my winter clothes
And wishing I was gone,
Going home
Where the New York City winters
Aren't bleeding me,
Leading me,
Going home
In the clearing stands a boxer,
And a fighter by his trade
And he carries the reminders
Of ev'ry glove that laid him down
Or cut him till he cried out
In his anger and his shame,
"I am leaving, I am leaving"
But the fighter still remains

Van Morrison Moondance

You and your loved one, she's in your arms dancing, on a beautiful fall's night, with the moon swollen in its goodness, it bathes the side of her face holding the light in her charming glow, as the leaves are falling in her hair, with your heart throbbing you pull the leaves out and looking in her big beautiful eyes you say:


Well, it's a marvelous night for a Moondance

With the stars up above in your eyes

A fantabulous night to make romance

'Neath the cover of October skies

And all the leaves on the trees are falling

To the sound of the breezes that blow

And I'm trying to please to the calling

Of your heart-strings that play soft and low

And all the night's magic seems to whisper and hush

And all the soft moonlight seems to shine in your blush

[Chorus:]

Can I just have one a' more Moondance with you, my love

Can I just make some more romance with a-you, my love

Well, I wanna make love to you tonight

I can't wait 'til the morning has come

And I know that the time is just right

And straight into my arms you will run

And when you come my heart will be waiting

To make sure that you're never alone

There and then all my dreams will come true, dear

There and then I will make you my own

And every time I touch you, you just tremble inside

And I know how much you want me that you can't hide

[Chorus]

[Repeat 1st Verse]

One more Moondance with you in the moonlight

On a magic night

La, la, la, la in the moonlight

On a magic night

Can't I just have one more dance with you my love

Black is the color

Picture this:

Its almost the wee small hours of the morning, and she’s still up. Sitting in her cold bed on this blistering cold night. Outside it's mercury falling, the snow is almost knee height, but by the morning it will be twice that, at least, and the hounds of winter they howl deep in the night, howling like the wolf, hungry, on and on till the crack of down. Inside though, its quiet and worm, safe as houses, smooth like mothers milk somebody said. The lady of our story is still in bed, sitting up, looking with eyes full of wonder at something in her hands, its a small parcel of a lump, a lump that just a few hours ago was not there. she looks at it not knowing what to do, with it, how to handle such a predicament, what should she do? The cold, the hunger, and as she is in her wonderment, the silence of the house is violated by a loud shriek, its the new born baby, her baby, in her arms, she looks at it with eyes full of love and devotion, "You look like your father" she says, and then, it all makes sense, it makes perfect sense to her, she knows what to do, it's all going to be okay, and then she start to sing:

Black is the color of my true love's hair
His face so soft and wondrous fair
The purest eyes
And the strongest hands
I love the ground on where he stands
I love the ground on where he stands
Black is the color of my true love's hair
Of my true love's hair
Of my true love's hair
Oh I love my love
And well he knows
Yes, I love the ground on where he goes
And still I hope
That the time will come
When he and I will be as one
When he and I will be as one
So black is the color of my true love's hair
Black is the color of my true love's hair
Black is the color of my true love's hair

Why should I cry for you?

I sail the seven seas running from you/looking for you, with the stars to guide me, seeing the moon beams reflected in the red coral reefs of the red sea, in the fall of my life falling in the fall of autumn, heading north to north west of the big remains of the Faroe's, For the rest of my days remaining.
But is it north i need to go?
What would be true?
Sometimes.
Sometimes I see your fair face, and the stars seem to lose their place.
Why must I think of you?
Why must I?
Why should I?
Why should i cry for you?
Why would you want me to?
And what would it mean to say, That I loved you in my fashion?
What would be true?
Why should I?
Why should I cry for you?

NIna Simone- Do I Move You

The room was full of smoke and the smell of cigarets added to the stink, it was a classy joint, but little did he know that she was already making her way towards him with fallacious intentions.

She was a hardheaded woman, she know what she wanted and she was used to getting it, come hell or high water. Beautiful? she could put Venus to shame, and boy can she move, SHE COULD MOVE, her walk would drive mere mortal men to their grave, she could hold the room breathless at the up-swing of the hips waiting for the other hip to swing back up and down, and as she’s swinging her hips she makes her way towards him.

He was a poor man, quite and mysterious, the sort of man that would catch your attention but for a moment and then immediately forgotten, but danger would think twice before crossing him, and he had the scares to show it. Although, nothing about him was an indication about what would happen later, or at the great man that he was destined to become.

So she walks up to him looks him in the eye’s as she bends down real slow to fix her stockings, al the while fixed at his gaze she says:

Do I move you, are you willin'
Do I groove you, is it thrillin'
Do I soothe you, tell the truth now
Do I move you, are you loose now
The answer better be (Yes, yes)
That pleases me
Are you ready for this action
Does it give you satisfaction
Are you hip to what I'm sayin'
If you are then let's start swayin'
The answer better be (Yes, yes)
That pleases me
When I touch you do you quiver
Form your head down to your liver
If you like it let me know it
Don't be psychic or you'll blow it
The answer better be (Yes, yes)
That pleases me

the psyche of my logia

One-more-step, one-step-more, one foot, in front the other, keep walking.

I was making my way through the secluded valleys, out of sight of The Army’s of Man, trying to get to Jerusalem, with me and my precious cargo intact. Under an April moon, it had it’s light whirling around, as my heart was lost on a distant planet, whirling in an arc of sadness.

Who would believe, that just a fortnight ago, I was supping, with six dethroned kings, at a little inn, during carnival time, in Venice, and now, a stone’s throw from Jerusalem, and walking a lonely mile in the moonlight, With a million stars shining my path, I’m lost. But am I?

Struggling with my steps, it’s in my head, it’s the psyche of my logia, or Psichiologia de ratione animae humanae, it’s got to be, now that i’m getting closer. I hear the ancient sighs of sadness, with every step I think of you, every footstep only you, and every star, every grain of sand, tell me, how much longer?
Let all my kingdoms turn to sand, and fall into the sea, leaving me with the leavings of a dried up ocean, in my kingdom of sand, I’ll be mad about you, mad without you.

The bar of wits

The bar of wits:

i kill you. i kill you. i kill you, maybe drink your blood eh, eat your heart, your liver for with my drink, whats that, whats that drink, he drink, heh, yes, yeah sherry, yeaaaas, that for puta mano adios hermanos, i kill you, you dead what you say, like the dodo.

The hotel opposite the bar room 202:

Poor man he should have known, oh he won’t get any mercy from me, no, no sir, ooh don’t look at me like that, those eyes, no means no and that's the end. I told him, hate to say it but i did, i told him not to. did he listen, noooo, like always, i should have know… NO.

On the street between the bar and the hotel:

This is a royal mess we have gotten ourselves in to, OK, here’s what we are going to do:

If blood will flow when flesh and steel are one, you start shooting, don’t wait for it to be Drying in the colour of the evening sun, and don’t think that Tomorrow's rain will wash the stains away, no don’t because something in our minds will always stay, Perhaps this final act was meant To clinch a lifetime's argument That nothing comes from violence and nothing ever could For all those born beneath an angry star Lest we forget how fragile we are.

Sting - Mad about you [ HQ ]

One-more-step, one-step-more, one foot, in front the other, keep walking.

I was making my way through the secluded valleys, out of sight of The Army’s of Man, trying to get to Jerusalem, with me and my precious cargo intact. Under an April moon, it had it’s light whirling around, as my heart was lost on a distant planet, whirling in an arc of sadness.

Who would believe, that just a fortnight ago, I was supping, with six dethroned kings, at a little inn, during carnival time, in Venice, and now, a stone’s throw from Jerusalem, and walking a lonely mile in the moonlight, With a million stars shining my path, I’m lost. But am I?

Struggling with my steps, it’s in my head, it’s the psyche of my logia, or Psichiologia de ratione animae humanae, it’s got to be, now that i’m getting closer. I hear the ancient sighs of sadness, with every step I think of you, every footstep only you, and every star, every grain of sand, tell me, how much longer?Let all my kingdoms turn to sand, and fall into the sea, leaving me with the leavings of a dried up ocean, in my kingdom of sand, I’ll be mad about you, mad without you.

Terminally Wounded, Eternally In Love

On this blue green planet we call earth, we can only love, love with wretchedness, adversity and suffering, and love through suffering, so ultimately, love is suffering. We cannot love otherwise, and we know of no other sort of love. I want suffering in order to love, I need suffering in order to love. I crave, I long, I thirst, this very instant, for you, your body, to kiss your lips, to caress your face, gently, to feel your heaving bosom, to feel you, truly feel you, with every fibre of my being, with every sensory preceptive part of me, but, how can I want you without pain and anguish, but I want you nevertheless, and for that I need pain, pain, more pain and lots of it, coupled with the tears that the ol mighty earth gathered and have left for me, and I don’t want, I don’t need, I won’t accept any thing but lifeless life, on this, that, or any other earth that will soothe me, or lull me into a false sense of comfort to try to heal me, NO, leave me to be for I, I’m terminally wounded, eternally In love. Inspired by Fyodor Dostoyevsky's Notes from Underground

Al Jarreau - Your Song

This has got to be one of the most innocent virgin green songs in the repertoire of music, ever, you feel the naïveté of the writer (Bernie Taupin) from his accessible, unsophisticated, elementary words. But you have to wait till the very end to hear the punchline, the big revel, the reason for the song, so with hesitation he proceeds now that he has laid the history down, he has already told her It may be quite simple but now that it's done (with the song), I hope you don't mind that I put down in words (the words of the song), So excuse me forgetting, but these things I do, You see, I've forgotten, if they're green, or they're blue, Anyway, the thing is, what I really mean, Yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen.

Al Jarreau's rendition of this is breathtaking, he does not sing words as much as he lives them, you feel them coming from the deepest depths of his heart and soul, totally masterful maestro.

Nobody’s fault but mine

Nobody’s fault but mine,… nobody’s fault but mine. Repeated the small voice from within the darkness, and out of the darkness their must come forth a light, and that light carried a small wee voice that said: It’s nobody’s fault but mine.

Dark was the night, cold was the ground, still was the air, shrill it broke the salience, and declared it to be, swill, came the water, and hope that could be killed, fill your lungs with laughter, till blame runs out and spill, this day well not be over, tomorrow’s standing still, light me a candle, the truth will out and kill.

LIKE

Like a love that won't hinder
Like a woman's surrender
Like a child that's so tender
Like a man without gender
Like life's secret murmur
Like a whisper of depression
Like a lasting impression
Like a bar maketh prison
Like a spouses appreciation
Like life’s long lasting passion

There is a story to be told here.

It was the end of October, the 30th of that seemingly ominous month. During the first few years of the 21st century, war was upon us, and no one would have believed the impeccable doom that was approaching this blue green planet, from that red one, and at the speed light. Blinded by science, we, the last remnants of the human race, thought that we knew it all, that we are alone in this universe, but we know now, that, as men busied themselves with daily life, something else was brewing in the fathomless depths of space, and that we where scrutinized and studied for the purpose of The Great Invasion. As we got probed under the microscope, like the minuscule beings that inhabit a drop of water, invisible to us, yet lurking in the shadows, calculating, waiting for the opportune moment to pounce on its prey, that was us, back then, but now, after The Battle for The Plant at The Last Stand, we arise the victorious, the triumphant race against our oppressor. There is a story to be told here.
Inspired by:
H.G.Wells
Orson Welles
Jeff Wayne

It’s too late to stop now.

I was borne by mother-earth naked before I was born by my mother on frozen seas with the seven winds blowing, I’m so younger then the son I’m also younger then the sun, in times before the pretty boat was won, only then the bonnie boat was one, and all the eternal summers where around you that day, no guru, no method, no teacher, juts you and I and nature, In the garden, all around you that day, as we sailed in to the misty.

Hark, ethereal, mythical, but not ethical, smell, see, but not steal, let your soul and spirit fly into the misty, and when you hear me coming home, you don’t have to fear it, just embrace it, clasp it to your bosom, as i rock your gypsy soul, just like way back in the days of old, then magnificently we will float, into the misty.
It’s too late to stop now.

A letter to whomever

Boy…oh boy…where are you boy?
your little frail body washed ashore
your mama still waiting for…
peace!
what for?
All of this and nothing.
there hearts remain forevermore...
closed
what we don’t know it can’t hurt us!?!
stay away from our borders
open up your eyes child, open up your eyes
and don’t be blind
my land, is your land?
then I cry
deep in the night
boy… oh boy…your in heaven
your little body with the angels
your mama still waiting for…
to see you in heaven.
boy…little boy…can you hear me boy?
A Doctor, a Sailor, a Major
what was in your future
lost
what for?
does human-life hold no-value anymore?

Rain

After the rain, nothing else remain.
without a trace, it washes away, clean.
our hearts, our souls, our stains.
nothing else remains, except our stains.
our stains, what ashamed us.
the things we have done in the dead of the night.
far from any light, or sense.
you think this is nonsense?
the rain will fall.
it will wash us all.
hard rain falling.
washing, scrubbing, cleaning,
then... what will remain?
the stains.
as we are washed away.

English

English is English. My tongue holds English as a foreign substance, yet when I read the collected works of this honorable gentleman in the original text of which it was written, it was most enjoyable and stimulating and interesting, provocative, intriguing, inspiring. It was not foreign to my brain nor was it alien to the wits. The only reason I can fathom for such a lowly move is to change some of its parts.

Creep

I move in silence, stealthily, making my way to you. I wear my vanity as a mask, so i can get closer to you. Your day is my night, my night is your day, i like it that way.
Look if you can see? You shall know me by the smell of my cologne and the cut of my clothes.
You don't know were I'm going, just like you don't know where I've been, here beside you all this time for i am me, and we are you.

Inscribed In Memory

Apparently send me those tired, poor huddled masses, yearning to breathe the free air for if i had to feed them then this modified rice plant produces more grain and less methane. with my sincere apology to the Mother of these Exiles Emma Lazarus

i talk to you

i talk to you i talk to you i talk to you
in my silence i talk to
through my fear i talk to you
in my anguish i talk to you
my words have no sound
they do not echo
they don’t boom
and they never leave this room
you are the only one that could hear me
you don’t even have to listen
i feel you, can’t you feel me
i talk to you, to quietly mention, listen...

They are

They are
the trouble makers
the care takers
the jive fakers
the grand bakers
the range enhancers

They are
the kindest of harters
the smoothest romancers
the selfless bonanzers
the cryptic inscriptors
the tallest of builders

They are
the lifeless leaf-lefters
the longest loin-lingers
the listed last-listers
the leftist lift-lifters
the last lasting lustres
They are

i am

i am
the blame receiver
the woman deceiver
the child reliever
the rear retriver
the common cleaver
i am
the reality enhancer
the virtual dancer
the greatest romancer
the wildest of cancer
the tamest financer
i am
the winer the loser
the mad confuser
the boldest abuser
the strangest misuser
the sadest MAL user
i am us i am them
i am allothem'
i am this i am that
i am non-o-that
i am nothing
i am everything
i am me

Anis

Anis N. A. Mutlug Al-Haris Al-Zubair, partly  educated, otherwise hungry, fully clothed. A lover of knowledge, wisdom,  and philosophy, a patron of the sciences, a martyr of the arts (all 7).   A believer in the power of the written word, and an advocate of the  spoken one.  A champion of justice (a mere myth).  Appreciative of  beauty, a sucker for love.  Emotionally challenged, intellectually  challenged, looking for a challenge. A driver, driving my way through un-passable obstacles while braking barriers. A rebel without a cause, rebelling  without a pause, quietly but diligently.


First and foremost a believer in the most high, Allah.  A seeker, seeking my destiny, one step at a time. Running at full speed, yet standing still, staying silent. Not a leader but not a follower, Not a hunter and not a gatherer.  Cheering for nature in the battle against nurture.  Still evolving revolving involving then re-evolving, Ageing, changing, arranging my life for its second half, the ending half, the last half.

The absence of monotony and mediocrity in my life makes it not quit like any other, I’ve been a mechanic a salesman a project manager a computer engineer a detective a jeweller a public servant a social worker an athlete an event organiser an investment banker and an entrepreneur a leader and a follower, I have held all of these positions and handled their responsibilities as best as a mortal man could, but I have never been in the envious position where I could have herded sheep, although I have come close, but they where not sheep per se, life is unfair like that sometimes, although generally, life has been good to me, but the thing is that I haven’t been good back.