war drums

bip, bop

bippity-bitty pop.

war drums

clock, clock. clock.

ad-hoc, black bloc.

anarchy rules, walk. walk. walk.

 

two dogs bark. the world watches,

some in awe. others in shock.

"feed em' to the croc! feed em' to the croc!"

the chants get louder

a radio full of propaganda, or a censored browser?

take your pick, white wolf or black schnauzer

 

flip, flop.

new rules, news rule.

loose runes, loons rule.

war drums bop, bop. bop.

 

noose lune is here, time to sharpen the crop!

we shall march! light the torch and fire the glock!

nobody gets away, build the walls and seal the docks

once and for all, burn the commies and massacre the ox

tear up all the pretty frocks, feed em' to the fox

tomorrow they will come for you too, knock knock knock

all that'll be left will be roaches and rocks

 

nuke them, duke them.

puke them, spook them.

 

it's time for a war, the band marches through Anaheim.

flares shoot up in the sky, all hands up for hate crime

a collective suicide at an uncertain time

it used to be viva la revolución across the rhine

but it all simmered out somewhere down the line

all sense of moral abandoned, hanging atop an amazon ravine

 

and yet we have the audacity of questioning

whats divine

it's all past saving. the water is saline

drink and dine, shrink and die

it's not a revolution, if it's just one last whimpering cry

 

and the day we disappear

maybe we could start again all over

and try

 

naye, delusions and the collective mind all too high

to remember we're all just living one collective lie

 

trip, drop.

a riveting mop.

war drums

chop, chop. chop.

 

flip, flop.

new rules, news rule.

loose runes, loons rule.

war drums bop, bop. bop.

 

ad-hoc, black bloc.

anarchy rules, walk. walk. walk.

war drums clock, clock.

 

click.

Fear Talks

The setting was impeccable
flickering lights, foul winds
shattering glass, hurricane ring
The prospect however, quite terrible
the bitter cake in front of us, barely edible

 

‘Let us begin now, child’ fear tapped on the table
with its fingers long, dark and brittle
Unavoidable as this chance encounter was
I could already sense it going south, thumbs twiddled

 

‘Um.. How do I begin? Where does this start and where does it end?
What came before? the chicken or the egg?’
I asked, expecting a reply, barely holding back a sigh
Fear sneered itself into a mocking scowl
‘I do not know. Ask another question’
And so it continued one after the other
All to no avail

 

And thus, went the night
No sudden fright or icy spine-chilling roller coaster ride
Just an inert presence slowly fading away into distant memories
And once time was up, fear did not need
to disappear or even continue with the sneer

 

For the most lethal and darkest of fears
are not quite what they might seem
made not of tears or unfinished beers
not of companions found or lost
to the depths of time or even spectres in the rear
none of these situations perhaps even come near
the true depths of real darkness as it might appear

 

nay, the true destroyer is the question
the silent whisper in the back of your head
on a lonely rainy night, you very well know or you might
that silent whisper that slowly asks you to give up the fight
it’s all quiet and serene before its begins
a violent internal riot
tears you up, smiles as you slowly and slowly
choke your own dreams, kill your own means
until all that’s left is a few spare beans
nothing radical as you die watching tv in your jeans

 

there is perhaps another vague voice in the back
of your head that talks slowly while all the lights get whacked
and then before you know it, you killed it
every single cheat code hacked
while you play your video games
silent bliss oblivion
no desire nor fight left
it disappears and stays at the same time
reduced to not a even a nickel or a dime
ladies and gentlemen,
I present to you.
The power of the human mind

 

Bravo. Hurrah. Hallelujah.
Now, die.

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.

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.

Glitch in my coffee.

As I sit and sip another cup,

mourning over the loss of pure childish innocence

the lack of brightness behind these closed and boarded up windows.

it bothers me.

howyers changed the lines that trace through my hands.

they reach the boneless soul of my existence, theypour

all that is needed, but never quite as much as I want.

like a hole that void.

nameless whispers that talk and seep into my dreams.

they tell me of stories yet untold.

they are of darker nature than I would be able to swallow.

It's all biscuits and coffee this life.

you might want some tea once in a while.

some mind to juggle up your breath.

but that's all the space I was ever given.

Adapting is changing yourself.

I feel conflicted.

But this glitch in my coffee.

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.

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.