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.

The Slit.

Night after night. My head is haunted by visions. They are gruesome and sometimes, terrifying. Maybe it has to do with the kind of phase I’m going through in life. It is ugly. Humanity as we know it is turning into a rotting carcass and we are surviving off cannibalisation, not just in the sense of eating up each other for our own progress. But also, in the sense of the culture of death. The culture of stringent values being imposed on free souls. Indoctrination of the masses. It’s paralysing and soul-shattering at the same time to see a species so high in potential, grasp and level of intelligence has literally stooped to the level of anarchy and the literal standstill in terms of foresight the older generation has.

 

The escalation. It frightens me. I shake as I write. Again. I wish things would be better. But things never do. It’s like a giant spiral dragging you down and the faster you go, the more chaotic it gets. Until nothing is left except trying to hold onto what you once held dear and near to you. Only, everything changes. Friends become foes. Family become strangers. Strangers become acquaintances. Maybe it is my misfortune that I have been born in such an age, such a place. Things never really worked out that great for me. I was always.

 

The Underachiever. I don’t see things linearly. Maybe it’s my curse. My personal eternal hell. Is it so wrong to do what one feels right? Has humanity reached such a tipping point that right ceases to be wrong. wrong ceases to be right. All that’s left is the desperation. The moving along, the finding a fucking job. The finding a fucking cheap imitation. Killing yourself plastic coarse hypocritical mass murders inside your head. They don’t stop screaming. The visions. Brother killing brother. The infinite slaughter. Of all that was, all that remains.

 

A rotting carcass. Rivers of blood and spine-curdling screams. Where is your god? Where is your mercy? Is it background score for the little child that sits and cries day after day looking at the blank stare of her own mother, once animated full of life, a beautiful soul. What has your god done for her. Where is the humanity. Instant Slit.

 

They all slit. My knees turn into purple blue jellyfish and all I could see were chairs moving, chairs smashing down. upon heads. Upon feet. Upon all that’s left. It smashes down like a slivered nightmare. It’s a purple mist that descends after all is lost. It’s a severed limb, this joke of a humanity, that we call it.

 

Mockery for everyone. We have fruit punch and potatoes in today’s special of massacre served with a cold side-dish of despair and hysteria. Run for your lives, while we drink your blood through and through. One lives while millions die. Is this equality. Is this where I rest my head on. Contamination amok. All creation runs foul. one way or the other. One day or the other.

 

It’s all a circle seesaw merry go round before they kill you in your sleep. They blind you. It was just manic laughter till the blood spews out. And the day it did, it was ugly poison. They drink and rejoice while I kill myself a little slowly one day after the next.

 

Before.

The Slit.

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.

Chains

Seldom life sends you flowers, it sends you gifts and boots
but sometimes it sends you colours and men in suits
They jump off roofs dressed in blue and disappear
real life didn’t give them a pill, only fear and more fear
pumped up by the media, drugs and hysteria
like a bland computer program coded in sepia
they carry out functions, imitations and visitations
embrace board meetings, notes and perspiration
Finally, all processes come to an end
a new one must take their place and blend
into the dust of the evening train
Come, follow the story of chains

 

Once, a boy much full of glee
and thoughts otherworldly
Decided to steal a key
to a locked closet, mystery
It was old and pointy
abuzz like a bee
he wondered what it would be
Maybe a door to another universe
or maybe a stone with a curse
Could be a walking-talking toy
or just a girl and a boy
stuck for all eternity
He tried to see, but it wasn’t meant to be
Come, follow the story of chains

 

A dreamer and a screamer are similar, yet not the same
while one thinks, another plays a child’s game
This is the story of dwarves making claims
One sees a monster under every window and door
while another sees a new world beyond the moor
Days and years seem trivial and forced for one
while another counts the seconds and minutes of the sun
which one is the better and which one the lesser?
Stuck inside a mushroom, there is not much room
to decide which one is sane
Come, follow the story of chains

 

Before I begin a tale, another
A word of caution, brother
listen and laugh to your heart’s content
but after we arrive at the end
run back to your tent
tell no one, what you heard and said
this is all a dream and you’re in bed
A snap and a click will wake you up with a fuzzy head

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

Surreal Captivity

I sit and I wait.

And it seems like an eternity for her to come.

The dawn of a new idea never echoed before in the universe.

Maybe, a brand new pill.

Manufactured and Digested in the system.

I eat and get bitter. It makes me so much more content.

Like self-consummation, only more dangerous.

More real, it seems.

But what can I say about, what needs to be or rather, what is?

It is within these thoughts, these fractals and patterns.

That I lose the plot somewhere.

I remember how easy it was.

To break a wall, and make a new one.

Now it just gets tougher and tougher with every fleeting moment.

It towers through, engorging all that lies ahead of it.

And as I get infinitely smaller, it is only much bigger.

Oh, what a monotony has set in.

There are no new ideas.

Only cheap manufactured clones of what once was.

Oh, such tragedy.

This existence.

It is but a true form of what lies within and about.

It is much more dangerous and alive.

Cannibalism, it is at the heart of the beginning of everything.

How else do you rationalize all that grows and all that dies.

All that withers and all that blooms.

It is all just a cycle.

Inversion of variables.

Black. White. Cyan. Magenta. Yin. Yang.

Rational Numbers. Irrational.

And yet hopelessly lost within the chaos, there is a need to go back.

The need to just be.

Everything so vicariously opposite to each other, its just eats up.

All that was, all that is. all that will be.

Such revelations only destroy.

And they plant seeds yet unknown.

I do not know what lies ahead of me.

Only an infinitely long cycle of time.

It repeats itself after every cycle.

And that is truly what lies at the bottom of this arrest.

This hopelessness.

This need to destroy. To be Destroyed.

And it all amounts to Nil.

The universe, it cancels itself.

The secret window in my mind, it tells me all I need to know.

but what I want, I will never know.

Dimensionless.

When The Gloom Kicks In.

My life is a scissor pale zigzag.

It goes from bad to worse to fucking amazing.

It's a spiral road into infinity and back.

It is the worst possible trajectory you can imagine.

A hell-hole that promises cheap thrills.

only instead of making you feel any better, it only consolidates the promise that things are only going to get more difficult and fucked up.

You want to sit and chill the fuck out. but nobody gives you the freedom to do that. you're in this cage of a system. pumping shit through, in and out of you. It's one big fucking vacuumed vortex of pressurized shit that only gets heavier and heavier as time passes by.

things get distorted. visions get blurred. paths are not clear anymore. you can't remember where you were five minutes ago. you're fucking confused and you don't know where the fuck you are anymore. you're spinning through space and time at several miles an hour and you cant feel anything, and yet you feel so much at the same time, its nauseating.

Before you know, you're being packed into a little tube one millimeter square big and pumped through the universe at the speed of light. it's disorienting.

you don't know where you're going.

You're Lost. You're Lost.

When The Gloom Kicks In.

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.

Ramblings from The Madhouse Part I

the canvas left bare. yesterday another painting washed away.

I could see the colours flowing.

Oh, the sadness.

Wherever I may belong.

all i know is you're my only living, breathing bacteriophage.

I will make you run.

but i will never let you go.

Oh, the horror.

and all i could think was cherry pie trees.

let's create a sweet rythm tonight.

let the alcohol flow.

let it run down.

deep and wild.

Oh, the mysterious challenge.

like a pebble in a haystack.

burning on the top of a beach.

Oh my lady, you're so dead.

and all i could do was whistle and wave.

Oh, the ignorance

Earth disappeared.

Oh, the spacey disillusionment.

all i could do was wave my fingers around.

there was heavy cheese in my neck.

there's a throat-sore in my head.

and i don't understand.

Anything.

slowly down the rabbit hole...

I am an explorer of time, space and reality. I like to think everything is relative. choosing a fixed point only makes our world a seem a little more systematic. The real absolute truth is there is nothing in the universe except pure unadulterated chaos. It lives. It breathes. It is the degradation of us all. It is the destroyer and the creator. It is the only absolute. there is no order, only noise. Chaos is my blue muse, my cup of coffee and a slice of cheese if you will. I see it everywhere and it's beautiful. It inspires me and it makes me want to surrender. I live with it. I try to walk through different hallways and jump into rooms I have never scene before. It gets me somewhere but it gets me nowhere. this is my reality. or atleast what I think is reality.

My reality is objective. I find it hard to cope with since it keeps changing every second. sometimes I'm dreaming and I drift off into space, into lala land. and sometimes it feels much more real than the real world itself. this makes it difficult to differentiate between what's truly real and what we think is real. I see things. I imagine. and then I create my own visions. everything is surreal. everything is just chaos.

I am the in-betweener who's always never fit in anywhere, so I shuffle through spaces, dimensions and time. I pass through some. and some I make my home. Some I've always loved. and there are some very dark shady corners I am and have always been afraid of. This blog is going to be my exploration into all the places I go through. all the experiences I have so forth.

Anchors Down.

Trip..Down.

into the rabbit hole.

"Ordo ab chao"