Watercolours

The wonderful thing about life,
It starts with a blank canvas and a box of brand new brushes
You just need to find where the colours are
Magenta, green, purple and red
And some of them you conjure up all inside your head
And thus begins the journey

 

The more interesting thing about this situation
You start not knowing how to draw
A splash here and a spatter there
Some of it hits where it needs to, some doesn’t
Alas, a flawed masterpiece
But what does one truly do
when there aren’t any erasers or a clue
It does even seem that nobody cares
for a while

 

You keep splashing through
Like you’re learning how to swim
But you cant seem to see beyond the deep blue
You can’t find another colour
It’s quite the struggle to
find the colour you need,
perhaps because what you want is a different book to read
Not the same one over and over
You want to breathe, smell that strange clover
That once revitalised you, made you hover
Alas, it might be over

 

And then, the colour starts hardening
and so do the principles and the beliefs
You never realised this would happen
A great deal of more questions, a lot less answers
What must a hardened artist do,
After years and years of mistakes
centuries of colour shakes, watching sunset lakes
trying to get that inspiration before its too late
Maybe it’s already too late
The questions change everything

 

The next few years dissolve
trying to pick apart the hardened canvas
There was no other eventuality left
In between the confusion and the questions
The search for brand new colours, abandoned
Dismissed as a pointless charade
You don’t need brand new colours, you just need to get better
and there lies the belter
An artist destroys one’s own shelter
why you may ask, why the helter skelter
Is it perhaps disillusionment
With how the world works or perhaps something more conflicting
In nature

 

Maybe it’s our own opinion curvature
That spins us round and brings us back
to where it all began, in the rusty mind shack
Old canvas, old beginnings
No winnings
Airs are bold, but white hair eventually take hold
Another machine sold
For barely a percent of a life
Why even try anymore, why keep wrestling trife
Yet that one canvas slowly crackles away
As you go about your day
Harder work, lesser pay
Until one day it all dissolves before you
And another beautiful painting is lost
Memories, people and places
They all eventually disappear
The crackling paint finally melts
Death finally knocks
And finally asks that one question you always feared
What is it that made your life worth? What did you achieve?
Another blank canvas waiting, you say
I lived.

Failure, The Creator

Success once asked failure ‘I give a man everything he wants – fame, money, a good life, high esteem in society. what do you give? nothing but pain,misery and sorrow.’

 

Failure replied – ‘I give those men a road full of stones, pebbles and potholes to walk on. they bleed, scream and curse their fortunes. I am their worst nightmare. I crush all hope. I’m a monster. It’s true. but know that without my existence, their life would be hollow. Without me, there would be no you. I am the creator.’

A little riddle.

I hide in plain sight and shift between what's black and what's white. I give you a reason to fight, yet  I will make you question why.

I close at the open and open at the close what am I?

Meet Your Villain.

Hi Joe, meet Stella. Stella - your villain.

it won't hurt much. a little bit of a tickle, a little bit of pain.

the ol' upwards thrust of the train.

A broken skull, a twitchy little vein.

so much to lose, so less to gain.

An uncompromising position, without a brain

oh boy, will she play a wonderful game

Of cats and mouses and hidden rules

parade you naked, sitting on a mule.

laughs and mockery abound, anyone care to dance?

Stella - the ungrateful little bitch is but a façade

who knew? the very same that grew out of the pure disregard for all the modus operandi and the 'establishment' might one day actually decide to turn upon themselves.

Jack on cake, spade on horses.

Unresolved disputes and loyalty.

two a dime and a seventy a dozen.

Unfair games.

Meet Stella - professional villain.

Home, Not Quite.

I’m going away, I’m going home.

But not quite.

 
 
The window sill with tinted yellow sorrow, still

Images and frames, exasperations and nicknames

All the difference makes it all the same

But something did quite change.

 
 
Older age and shrunken heads

The passion of youth, the fires of revolt

Somehow a bit more tame

And old lost parent inviting you for a good ol’ game

of chess, of cards or maybe something better

 
 
Drinks to All! Drinks to All! Drinks to All!

Life is wonderful, travel is joy

But there’s something in between, left. An eerie void.

A strange kind of un-belonging, If I may be permitted to say

 
 
Nay! Nay! Nay! Jolly ol’ boy, yer’ a man now! slaps the old uncle on the back

Stares and questions, raised eyebrows and elbow jabs

grins and gossip alight, welcome back circus clowns

To the most wonderful place around

 
 
One old man sits to his wine and wife

calls me close and asks me what about life

It’s all I brung back, sir

Gleam in his eye ‘let me tell ye a secret, It’s not what ye brung back, it’s what ye left’

 
 
A toast.

summer, blue.

Another empty hallway echoes the freedom of youth

another window speaks in tongues of lark and gibberish

speaking only in languages I have barely ever known

It’s a windy path ahead, and all I got is a rope and a way

but the winds, they blow colder as time trickles down

An uphill task, an unglorified tale

spare me the detail

when all you strive for is left weak, frail.

all you’re looking for, a quieter sail

alas, only sea and the breeze to whisper sweet nothings.

summer, blue.

and you wish the music were lighter

the rain, quieter

the storm rages on outside the window now

but the shadows lurk beneath the bed

what might you say, to strike down the wondrous mellow bed of death

that calms you to the lull of sleep day after day

offering you a slight embrace and an understanding of all that’s dealt

of you and your fate, a shifting pack of cards

you play some, you lose some

would you play again? take a bet with the gods of chance?

or maybe worse, you dodge and dance and prance

avoiding the unescapable decay

you will find your way, oh you will some day

summer, blue

why would it be this way?

you ask, the universe in play

nay, there are no answers mate

behind a silver spoon and a rusted plate

one must walk.

further, to keep walking is the hardest part

a stop here, and maybe oh there! a start!

not quite

not as black and white

or so it may appear

for lose sight too soon, and the oasis disappears

there is truth in your fears

know that fate only throws winds

but it is you, my friend who has to steer

there is truth in art

summer, blue.

de l'Absolut

Another cold place, another shattered dream.

Perhaps, the order of life is tied into the random and the unexpected.

There are times when all the shivers that run down your spine aren’t worth it.

You feel cold with a glass and a packet and a bottle and a gun.

They’re not all here.

Some day. some other time.

Save seven, unhinged nine.

all in me, except a bottle of wine.

I don’t need your shit.

I seriously don’t.

Brutal, twisted world.

So dark, yet so beautiful.

Fever dream.

Packet of lies sold.

Buy truckloads.

Intoxicate yourself before its late.

Find your beautiful funeral.

Catch the bait.

All part of the wicked plan.

Catch your part.

Before it dissolves you.

All that you know and desire.

up in wisps of smoke.

Kill your dream or destroy yourself. make your choice.

Find meaning in all this absurdity.

Is it all numbers and integers?

we’re all creators. before we fall.

into the abyss of all that uncertainty.

all those dark corners that my shadow follows me.

whispering of dark futures and disturbing pasts.

all my life trying to find meaning in the absurd.

this existence, it pales.

before all i feel and experience.

Perhaps it’s all an illusion.

an illusion of absolutes.

Liars.

Finding the Sun.

I sit and stare at the days that pass by.

I have a cold, long hard look. All that remains.

Some old dusty fragment hidden inside an inside an ancient book. Buried, forgotten.

No communication, only passive participation.

Dependent on the number, what are the odds?

Who decides your fate? What is luck but a flip of a coin, a failed move on a chessboard.

Endless possibilities, endless failures.

making and breaking us all, these days.

These days, all I see is a bright light. Sometimes it’s distant. Excitement finds me somewhere hidden beneath a rock.

Like an unknown dust particle sucked by the laws of nature into the very depth of all existence.

The abyss goes deep, my friend.

A lot deeper than it seems.

I touched the other side once, all I heard was static.

Saw a ghost of a past, a destructive future.

I couldn’t change my past. Rode through it on a motorbike half-screaming half-dead.

Felt more real, more hurtful.

What cuts is deeper, what heals is worth the pain.

All I see is an epiphany. All I feel is intervention.

A future, somehow disconnected.

Moments like these are common at ten past two in the morning.

I ask myself what is worse.

Waiting an eternity for sunrise or never finding solace at dawn.

It’s all worth it, not.

But the sun knows.

Granite's Lament

2014-06-15 16.01.42-2 I am the stone behind the image

I do not make you who you are, I break you

because I decompose

much like everything you have ever composed

Hard as a rock, but everything crumbles

tumbles and fumbles but visually humble

I do not want your trouble

I came here to warn you

The scratches are permanent

we are all sideways, bent

placate yourself in the crime

before they catch you, scarred

the old man's stories are all but true

you're not mine but we are all a distinct shade of blue

the lament is mine

 

I was once a distinct flavor of wine

before I was sent back inside

from the earth, to the earth

Ground, shaken and stirred

like a dry purple martini, severed

time passed by in seconds

like in hours, I incubated in thirds

oh, the worlds

that I have seen, what you might never be

but what lies inside

the work of a beautiful mind

within all of us, a wondrous land

the candle burns slowly through the night

the lament is all but mine

The Ship That Sailed Far Too North

My life has always been a kind of oxymoron.

A walking contradiction.

Mirror inversion.

 

I have seen rejection.

I have felt the sound of collapsing waves.

 

take control of wandering minds.

before I took it apart.

 

The crash is inevitable.

when you swim in murky waters.

 

you knew it all along, didn’t you?

It was.

 

It wasn’t meant to be.

you were stranded.

 

but you watched it fade.

day after day.

 

you ask why.

that ship’s already sailed.

 

they said.

with a fret and a shrug.

 

times change and so do I.

 

What’s to kill is to buy.

 

you prick and you pry

 

but we did try.

 

you and I.

 

We never.

 

Fly.

 

past differences.

 

motive and ego.

 

A disturbing childish game.

 

who is it to blame?

 

is it me, is it you?

 

is it the sky, so violently blue?

 

what sets us apart?

the paths we pursue.

 

the method and the madness.

intertwining.

Question and Clue.

 

I ask the whistling breeze.

it replies in whispers and codes.

 

The only path, after all.

is the road that stretches ahead.

 

No more sea, no more to see.

what is to be, will be.

 

My world explodes, and all that was is far past damaged.

I walk.

Chaotic Visions I

Seconds are passing me by, and it’s futile.

But I’m looking for maps yet unknown and wondering if they’ll lead me to new places.

But what is new, and old when your life is a straight line.

There are no jagged curves and violent heaves.

Without an extreme, it feels synthetic.

Like a machine all alone trying to find its purpose in the universe.

The bull without a master is the most dangerous of them all.

Do you prod it with an iron stick? Or do you make it one of your own?

How do you tell the illusion from the mistake?

Do you pull the curtain back before a flabbergasted audience?

Do you let them drown in self-ignorance and let them discover the method to the madness?

Isn’t it all just a rumbling criss-cross of jumbled-up motion and intertwining fates on top of a speck of a dust?

There are no higher purposes, what if it’s all made to just be.

A giant test.

An experiment.

Starts with self-medication.

You slowly incapacitate.

When it’s just not visible anymore, you become your own test-tube.

You toss one chemical and then the other, hoping for an even bigger illusion.

Something so synthetically cheap and poisonous to yourself, that it helps you to see, to feel.

But you’re not there yet.

More chemicals. It’s a kitchen party and we’re all inviting ourselves to this giant experiment.

Still not there yet.

The fix eludes you.

This doesn’t feel real. Nothing does.

Not until there’s pain and love and sorrow and ecstasy. Nothing feels real without it.

Was this the giant plan? Are we so fucking numb? Are we so fucking dumb?

Where’s the colour. Did it all bleed out the day we twisted and churned our world into hues of gray

Black, white and pistol-shit

Death and desire, Sin and Sex.

If the world was inherently good, we’d have to be evil to feel, to know it was real.

To see the truth behind the lies, the dumbing down, the constant conformity. Feeding the chaos.

Killing the inner eye. Working for the man. Not sticking it up to him. Slowly decapitate ourselves.

To see what matters. For patterns start to emerge everywhere. Everything connects.

Once you’re  disconnected enough. from everything.

From prying eyes, from the chip in your brain, from all the unnecessary sound, from that painful ring in your ears that screams.

Screams and screams and screams. It cries hoarse. You have to fucking hear me. Why don’t you fucking listen?!

From the big man in the sky, that kills all that lives and all that dies.

Do you see the giant TV show, it’s playing out on a chessboard.

Three. C. Pawn to King. Decapitate.

E Seven to Be Four. Replace.

A warp machine is being created. Distorting the signals in our head. Its creating a giant fucking abyss.

Tearing apart all that thrives. Making mothers shriek. Lifting children up and then throwing them back into the war, like they did before.

The endless cycle continues.

It's Just An Idea.

first they laugh at you, then they ridicule you. when none of that works, they wave their fists at you hoping you’ll give up. when none of that works, they sit and watch in silent denial.

 

as time passes by and they connect the dots, they finally wake up to the idea. it’s not so bad after all.

 

and then it works, to the point of almost flawless near-perfection.

 

Wait, they knew it all along it would work of course! Who could be ridiculous enough to not get it at all? Flattery ensues and appreciation along with it. A few claps, the odd eureka followed by a few pats on the back. You did good, but its just not that good enough.

 

And then the slow slump into obscurity begins, More time passes away and suddenly, nobody remembers anymore.

 

The circle isn’t complete yet. Not before a stupid douchebag comes along, pulls off a cheap imitation, adds a few magic tricks, some snap and a little spice. The world applauds. Calls him a genius.

 

What a brilliant idea!

Blueberry Cheesecake

The world. Is a blueberry cheesecake. It might look all weird and soft. Almost alien. But once you dig your spoon, scoop it up and take one bite of it. You realise you're hooked. There's no going back. More blueberry cheesecake. Unless you dont like blueberry cheesecake in which case you take a bite anyway and try to act all ok even though its terrible. Yep. That's life.

Fixes & Breaks

Come with me to the doors of a nascent journey

It begins at sundown, but it remains where it was

Trying to slowly find its way through thick and thin

Yet it has known where it was going all along

Fixes & Breaks

To take apart a system, synapse to screw-bolt

To take in the essence of all that lives and evolves

To destroy a path and find a new sun in the clouds

Hiding beneath a purple moongaze, descending

Slowly taking over the horizons, you run and rewind

Fixes & Breaks

You could tell yourself it was all meant to be taken apart

Examined, Assimilated one piece at a time

But what else is left of the beautiful day, when all but the second one is yet to begin

You persist day after day, taking it apart putting it together

But all the pieces were always there, there are no new ones

Fixed

And then all that was meant to be glorified, is tainted

The descent begins yet again, taking you back to where it all begins

Places that don't exist anymore, but in disconnected fragments

Broken shards of a table set that provided purpose and solace

Wires edging out of the framework, A broken place

Forever and Always

Breaks

Void Disconnected. Repeat.

I couldn't sleep. just for a couple of hours maybe.

Kneel and Disconnect.

waste another year.

fill the application.

No, I can't start a new career. Unfortunately.

Sometimes you get so tired of going through the motions, trying to get out of the vicious circle of failure that pinches you every second you exist. You wish things were different. that they would get better some day. But somehow they never seem to fucking do. So you come this close to giving up. I'm seriously tired of constantly trying to reassure myself that it's all part of a bigger plan. there is no bigger plan. there is no grandeur. there's no mighty delusion of greatness. It's all a fucking lie.

I looked up at the void and I couldn't find a mirror. and it spoke back to me. I don't remember what it said. But it sure talked for quite a while, because it couldn't let me sleep. There are things that make us and then there are things that destroy us. you want to make some fucking noise but all you hear is static talking in an unknown language. you try to understand. you really fucking try. but sometimes stuff just doesn't add up.

You could eat up a stone, you could destroy the mighty brick walls. you could drink up sand mixed with blood and sweat like water in a flowing river. you could try staring at the window and try taking a piss out of it. but there will never be escaping the status quo. 'the stereotype'. there will always be acceptability and rejection. We as humans, love classification. this is good. this is bad. this is wrong. that's right. But above it all, we want an interesting fucking judgement of everything. We want a show. So what if somebody gets killed, fuck that shit. bring a tiger and bring in a slave, we will drink wine through a gold cup and see his blood spill all over the place just so that we can feel fucking good about ourselves.

Humanity is beautiful but sometimes you can't help thinking how shitty it is at the same time as well. you get the good with the bad. Much like sulphuric acid mixed with coke. you might get a good fucking kick in the nuts and have a happy trip for a while but you'll ultimately kill yourself.

Could you see through the void? there was no mirror today and it spoke nothing. why are things so disconnected? where was the missing variable all along. did humanity lose out to carnal animal instincts that turn mighty wise and noble men into beasts who look for the next thrill. we're all junkies. and we like to kill ourselves over small things. Period. don't know about you but that's what I feel like today. You always want to forget the shitty stuff but it's always coming back and pinching you right there. Ultimately the sadness resides and you get used to the pinch. You stop feeling it untill someday it all comes back. Someday you get out alive. But you rarely ever do.

Disconnect and Repeat.

Disconnect and Repeat.

Destroy Yourself.

Let's have a good fucking show.

Stories of Long Lost Faith

Vacant eyes.
An isolated head.
She was a beautiful nightmare.
Heart full of teary-eyed half-broken dreams.
She could breathe.
Living in a plastic-packaged cheap dream.
Selling all she can buy.
Living it all.
Seeing it crumble behind her.
All the things that die.
She could live for ever and ever.
A packaged cold-storage for all the world to touch and feel.
Awfully struck brilliance.
She took everything she could.
Living by the road.
Creating a violet-red streak of fire as she passed through the town.
People could smell the light.
And everybody peaked out of their windows to see what was the bright light in the middle of the dark deep ocean.
Shooting up like an earthquake.
Tearing up the sky like a midsummer night’s dream.
Too horrendous to see it stumble.
Too brilliant to see it stand back up again and pose for the cannibalistic cameras.
The lights. Diabolic peaks of unaccounted energy burning up the atmosphere like a rocket on fire.
Violas screamed.
Sheets of paper tore themselves up.
Another one lost in the static.
Trying to scream their way through.
Never really found out what she was living for anymore.
She lept and jumped through the rabbit maze like a lone finger trying to catch up with the rest of the fanfare.
To be followed and to live life like there’s no tomorrow.

Nobody knows.
She was faith.

The Cave

sometimes, things don't go as you plan. You tell yourself you know exactly how things are going to happen, that you've got it all covered. That it's going to be like clockwork, then the world goes all topsy-turvy on you to make you realize plans don't amount to shit and all you have is you and your skills to make it out at the worst of times so that hopefully someday when you make it out of the dark cave, you will have a garden of eden waiting for you along with a group of people who'd want to stick around with you after all the shit you've been through. But you never quite really find your way around the cave.

A fleeting moment.

Have you experienced a fleeting moment of self-realization and calm standing amidst rumbling chaos as you pass through bridges and trees like the world's revolving around you and you're still at the same place?

 

A fight just broke out.

The Outcast

I'm back at the same place again. I don't know or care what the time is.

Lights Dim.

Society is a structure. it indoctrinates us all with what is acceptable. what is good, what is bad. And some people just zip through life stuck in their own private jungles. there is money and there is work. there is sleep and there is food. there is night and there is day. If only there was more to life. it's not anymore. We all have needs. We all have choices. and then we have mistakes. we all shake the wrong hand with the stranger in the dark. we're all afraid of our own secrets. there is fear. Deep fear. somewhere. everywhere.

the fear or losing out. the fear of missing the bus. literally and metaphorically. It begins right from the start. The family. the comparisons. the competition. who is the better. who is the worse. truth is we're all fucked up and we just all come to terms with it in our own ways. a lot of people see the world with a critical eye and curtly tell us all whats wrong with this and whats wrong with that. They're never going to see it like you do. there's no such thing as a real picture. only parts of it. the rest of is distorted, phased out, swiped clean, dusted out or destroyed. Yes, we're all a little under the sea. But we never see it like it is. yet we are all sure and proclaim war on the question of reality and faith. The sword is a double edged weapon indeed. and we're just playing cat-and-ball with a lion on slippery surface.

monkey kill. monkey see. monkey do.

what did the social pressure do to you, tiny little frog.

you just see a lot of shit when you're depressed that you can't see when you're sober and fuckful. You don't understand the outcast.

they are people who will always disappear through the backdoor. there are so many that died in vain. I daresay they were cowards. they did what they could do best. Life is a purpose. and to some people, that is all that matters. to some, much more. Some live to breathe. others breathe to live. some can't do either and torture themselves their entire lives asking themselves 'why me?'.

Did i paint a disturbing image yet? do you see past the curtain into the yellow-grained sky and the lovely wonders it bought along. did it throw itself away? did you see the bloodshed yet. did you see the cracks appear in the sky. did it all fall down on a beautiful day. Wait for the sunrise and it makes purple sense.

I just can't make sense of it all. where do the outcasts go. Did we all really forget what it feels like to be human. anymore. we're all connected to machines we're all the same robot. I wish there was a virus in the system. I would certainly sip a piece of the golden sky.

Did we learn to fly.