Imaginary Peter

Moonloop Fantasies

2012-02-03T15:29:00.002+01:00

Indeed it's been a while since I wrote down something.
And during this period,
I did think about why I no longer felt nor the need,
neither the reason to write down.

And I did wonder why was this happening.
Something different than blockage,
Something different than going blank.
It was all a matter of,
not feeling to do something,
or rather,
not the right place to express it.

*******************************************************

I must admit,
sometimes I do feel nostalgic when I remember who the main personality,
the main character, was of these short writings,
and how the message has changed, evolved over time.
Seems like there was a whole evolution,
a whole changing process of character,
of change in thought,
and change of purpose.

Imagination, nowadays, seems that it is now something of days past,
where escaping a little bit away from who one really is,
is no longer appealing.

Having an imaginary friend is no longer a good idea,
perhaps because I grew out of a period,
perhaps because things of then are no longer relevant now,
or rather because solitude in itself has now a meaning,
a meaning which clearly defines what being alone is.

And like the parting of ways from a dear friend,
bidding farewell to Peter was not easy.
It meant, it represented much more than simply a goodbye.
It represented that some things now will have to end,
or rather change.
It meant that I had to swallow a sightly bitter pill.
Yet this was inevitable,
since throughout the days I learned that it is wiser to accept than to resist,
to let go rather than holding on,
to live now, rather than being in yesterday, or in my blurred perception of tomorrow.

********************************************************

And here it goes,
a couple of short paragraphs,
to capture a moment.
And now,
Seems I can remember how it felt like to catch a word,
a thought, an emotion which crosses your mind,
and write it down.
And since nowadays,
this is becoming ever less frequent than before,
it indeed seems,
that in one way or another,
I am, somehow, succeeding.

Newborn

2011-08-26T16:18:00.001+02:00

How long does it take to set one's mind at rest.
How long does it take to set one's heart on fire.
And how long will it take me to act,
to do, on what I have now learned.

Is it my upbringing?
Is it the dust in the air?
Is it the foggy, humid nights,
which still keep my grasp tight on the basic rules,
unwritten laws,
of the society I am surrounded with.

Do I really need it?
Do I really need her?
Do I really need you,
and the ones around?

I do not know anymore,
or rather I am realizing the opposite,
the unthinkable.

****************************************************

Waking up,
slowly,
breath by breath,
movement by movement.

Recieving the new sounds,
seeing the new world,
for the first time,
it feels as if I am aware,
in a new birth.

And very much like a newborn,
I shed the first tears,
to open my lungs for this new air,
this new reality.

And very much like a newborn,
I do not know where it will lead,
I do not know who I will meet,
and how I will grow.

I will simply do what newborns and children do,
I will simply trust my own guardian,
my own parent,
hoping that good care is taken,
of this little child
who is still and probably will always be,
unable to grow up on his own.

****************************************************

Years and years, some people spend,
without feeling the pain which was cruel earlier in their lives.

Years and years roll by,
slowly burying a memory,an instance,
or a period,
in which now it seems to be very remote,
very far.

Yet nonetheless,
sometimes,
even though it is well hidden,
well taken care of,
sometimes it does make itself heard again,
or felt again.

Sometimes it just makes sure that we never forget it,
Sometimes it just makes sure that it will always be there,
haunting us,
putting our guards up,
and putting our attention down,
from what really matters.

Moonloop Message I

2011-07-07T16:54:00.000+02:00

Often,
A moment,
a snapshot of time,
makes all the pain bearable.

Often,
A moment,
a fitting distraction,
makes you forget about everything.

Holding my chin,
elbows resting on my right knee,
I say to myself,
that the end result is what matters.

Staring at nothing,
looking at the artificial patterns in the sea below,
I wonder,
why am I still here,
what am I doing to make the air I breathe worthwhile?

***************************************************

In the middle of an unfamiliar city,
I stood content,
happy,
not thinking about the trip back,
not bothered by the passing seconds,

Staring at her,
lying next to me,
I couldn't not remember the road I was in a year before,
I couldn't not remember the posts I wrote in this blog,
And indeed,
I felt as if everything which took place along the way,
was indeed worth it.

The days seemed endless,
and the nights were always young.
The drinks were sweet,
The cigarettes seemed harmless,
kind, enjoyable,
as if I were smoking for the first time.

Altering my mood was no longer necessary,
and again after a long while,
athe smoke was soothing once again.

None of this would have happened however,
if deep down I did not know,
that this was not a remote occurence,
which took place by sheer luck.

I allowed it to happen,
cause I thought,
I believed,
this was the start,
of a long way,
of a new start,
the very same start which witheld the end.

*******************************************

And here I am dear me,
Here I return,
typing the same messages again,
hoping that maybe someone,
out there might get the meaning through.

And here I am,
living something which I wanted to avoid,
day after day,
just listening to my personal gospel,
lost somewhere between reality and dreamscape,
throwing every minute away,
living a disillusion,
the greatest disillusion of all.
The disillusion of living the normal life,
the mainstream life.
The disillusion that dreams are only there to be dreamt of,
and not be lived.

Just a Random July Evening

2011-07-06T12:24:00.002+02:00

The visit was indeed very deep,
So deep, I could no longer see the bottom,
nor the surface.

Floating in the middle of nowhere,
Following my own guiding light,
transmitting from the tiny flashlight in my hand.

Believing to go against the undercurrents,
Understanding the fact that it has become an impossible feat.

********************************************

I have done my work,
and revised, and corrected the insturctions within,
countless times.

Creating a mistake,
while fixing another one,
a neverending circle indeed.

Some people might call it self exploration,
I call it self exploitation,
and it has not lead me anywhere.

I listened to what you have told me,
I have accepted, and taken the blame.
I have embraced the guilt given,
By you, whom I trusted your judgement.

Maybe I trust too much,
Or maybe I do not trust myself much,
but it never lead me anywhere,
and it will lead to somewhere now either.

********************************************

The night was calling,
midnight past, and my eyelids have grown heavy.

Waiting,
looking at the same chat window for hours,
days, weeks,
creating a world on my own,
made of dreams,
erotic fantasies,
mixed with fantastic emotions,
all induced by someone,
something, which is no longer as close as I wanted it to be.

Waiting still,
for an answer,
an answer which I do not want to read,
but I know it will eventually come up,
flashing as if it was nothing,
on my laptop screen...
the very same screen,
who has seen me smile,
seen my cry,
seen me getting wasted,
with all the pointless clicking and typing,
just to kill time,
just to avoid the everyday truth.

The very same screen,
which knows me more than I know myself,
The very same me,
an endless maze,
wandering, following the map which I am still drawing to this very day.

Revelation Of The Obvious

2011-07-01T18:50:00.001+02:00

What are you really afraid of?
What is stopping you from crossing a line?
What is holding you back?
Is it pleasure?
Is it pain?
Is it the cravings for something less?

******************************************************

The other day I picked up a pencil and a rubber.
Like the previous days, I decided to pay the inner me a visit.
I prepared a nice warm cup of coffee,
and sat down on my wooden chair.

I adjusted my posture,
wanted to make sure that I am alert,
aware,
and most of all prepared.

I put the blindfold on,
and started to draw.
Concentrated,
breathing slowly,
I felt I was drawing something vivid,
I felt I was drawing something big.

I felt I could draw my own breath,
I felt I could draw my deepest connections.
I knew, I could see, through the darkness,
something which gave me strength and power.

******************************************************

I lost track of time,
Could no longer figure in which hour I was,
Could no longer figure in which minute I was.
Could no longer understand in which place I was.

But it did not matter,
this sea of tranquility is where I wanna be.
This universe of self exploration is a comfortable bubble.

No interactions,
No faces to recognize,
No behaviour to analyze,
No words to believe,
Nobody to love,
Nobody to judge.

No money to earn,
No junk to spend my money on.
Nothing,
Silence,
and eternity.

********************************************************

At some point I knew I picked the rubber up,
and I knew that I was erasing something,
but that is part of the game isn't it?

That is part of the perfection of the picture which I was drawing.
Erasing mistakes,
or rather,
erasing details, scenes, which I rather not have on paper.

It was part of the inspiration, I thought,
It was part of the muse which was coming from within...
or was it?

With the blindfold still on,
I decided to take a break,
To wash away the sweat,
The heat,
the tension.

I still did not want to know what I was drawing,
so I walked helplessly to where I should be heading now.

Helpless,
without the aid of vision.
Helpless,
without the aid of the closest presence.
Helpless,
without the chains of a routine.
Helpless,
from being alone,
surrounded by a shroud of silence,
where the only voices one could hear are screams from within.

*********************************************************

Okay I said,
Time to take this break.

Inside the yellow room,
I took the blindfold off.
Too many light I thought,
but hey,
it doesn't matter anymore.

I slowly opened the tap,
and looked at the reflection of the mirror right in front of me.
Or rather,
the reflection, right inside an eye,
an eye staring, without blinking.

Made me feel uncomfortable,
Made me feel concerned,
Made the air around me unbearable,
heavy.
Asphyxiating,
Suffocating,
Paralyzing,
Unable to move.
Unable to stare away,
I kept watching,
or rather,
I kept listening to the person on the other side.

"Reconnect with me", he said,
"Come back to me".

*******************************************************

Confused,
shaking,
shivering,
I walked back to the drawing room.

Was too scared to be in the dark again,
Was too scared to be in the blindfold again,

Time is up I said to myself,
time to see what I was drawing.

And to my surprise,
The drawing consisted only of a small cloud of smoke,
surrounding me.
I could only see someone,
presumably myself,
sitting down,
not noticing that time is actually passing,
and with it all the experience the waking life carries.

And to my surprise,
I noticed that this little cloud of smoke,
was then surrounded by what were once massive scenes,
of immense details,
of immense beauty,
now, rubbed off by my own hands.

Writers' Block

2011-06-22T00:29:00.001+02:00

I haven't written something down for quite a while.
I tried to jot down some things,
I tried to draw a picture in my own words,
but somehow I could not.

I feel like a musician,
Who wants to play the instrument once again,
Like he used to do in the days before today.
Yet the music, somehow, does not flow well inside his veins,
Or maybe the music is too loud,
distorted,
with all the sensory inputs the musician is getting.

Or it is just silence,
Almost like switching off an amplifier,
where the only auditory inspiration one would get is simply the shallow sound of his breath.

******************************

*********

I think the time of writing the same messages,
over and over again is now gone.

It was all about expressing myself in a particular manner,
the point was never to be understood,
but to make my inner self exposed.

Inner self,
well that what I used to think,
or rather,
what I was made to believe.

All the mumbo jumbo of being myself,
of stripping myself from the masks which I was wearing.
All the advices I sought,
All the questions I asked out there,
just made the inner self which I thought I was,
more in need to express itself.

******************************************

We seek help most of the time,
even though many of us hate to admit that.
And once the breaking point is reached,
we emerge battered,
shattered,
all bruised up,
seeking for compassion,
even though many of us hate to admit that.

Some may reach out to others,
only to be bitten once again.
Others reach out for drugs,
just to silence the hysteric screams of sorrow inside.
Medications,
legal or illegal,
just to make us feel better,
with the hope,
even if it is dim,
that one day we will be back on track.

Little do we know however,
that the world wants us to look out more,
to pay more,
more and more.
Nobody ever tells us that by the answers others give us,
are in fact nothing but more questions,
questions with a question mark missing in the end.

Little did I know however,
that the fulfilment which I have sought for so long,
is in fact everywhere,
except in the outside world

Once upon a time in Napoli

2011-05-31T01:17:00.001+02:00

I rarely remember particular events,
As a matter of fact,
I hardly remember any details.

Forgetting the most irrelevant things,
irrilevent for me,
yet very much relevant for others,
I never really took notice..

There are however,
certain moments,
very short ones,
in which I remember them,
see them,
experience them again,
as if they were part of a movie,
or rather,
if they were back to reality, even for a very short span of time.

***************************************************

It was an unlucky night,
the blessing was then was pretty much dark.
Confused,
Unaware of the persons around me,
I just drank my concerns away.

Deeper and deeper the spiral went,
always hoping to stop,
fingers crossed, maybe it will come to halt.

Looking around,
moving around,
feeling uncomfortable,
feeling unsafe.

Not much worth remembering,
Not much worth noting,
And I wouldn't have remembered it if it wasn't for an encounter,
actually for a glimpse which I took,
seemed to put a seal on the years to come.

*****************************************************

Reading throughout this blog,
I often ask myself what was going on inside my head,
I often ask myself how could I possibly miss certain points.

Points, details, and emotions,
which I simply discarded.

I was just confused,
Uneducated in survival.

Too much focus on what might have happened the day after,
Too much sorrow for what have happened the day before.

Missing the whole photograph,
Complicating the simplest of things.

Abusing the purest situations,
And often taking for granted the dearest ones.

*****************************************************

Now I have to play the game I once mastered.
Now it is my turn to roll the dice.

I never believed in luck,
And I am not going to believe in it now.
I now only believe in time,
once an enemey, now an ally.

Holding the dice tight,
kissing the present,
making sure I will not let the noiw slip away again.

Holding, and hoping,
that the debt which I now must pay,
will not be as much as I think I have incurred.

26th

2011-05-21T20:39:00.002+02:00

Often words go short,
when the most dynamic aspects of a moment,
take place so quickly.

I try to write down,
with pen and paper,
playing the role of a camera,
in which pictures are described,
not taken.

Maybe I am no longer reading what was written,
Or maybe trying to write what might be read,
Maybe the purpose of capturing a feeling,
has gone,
or grown.

**************************************************

An own made imprint,
so one can always remember,
not to lose what one has,
to cherish the little one has,
has finally ignited a change,
which should have taken place maybe a while ago,
but that is not up to anyone to know when.

**************************************************

Year after year,
the body grows older,
the breath becomes shorter,
and the box of memories always grows larger.

But none of this really matter now,
since the magic of a second,
fills all the woes of a lifetime.

Emotional Dashboard

2011-05-03T17:11:00.001+02:00

Speeding up,
Rushing to reach the orange light.
Rushing to get out of here.

Always with the impression that danger one day might call,
Always with fear breathing down my shoulder,
That the blocking light will flash at midnight.

Looking right behind me,
I keep seeing the edge of a cliff.
Looking right ahead of me,
the road never gets shorter.

****************************************************

It all began with a simple question.
Naturally, I wanted an answer,
and even more obvious, I looked outside.

I packed my backpack.
stashed my clothes,
filled my water flask.

Checked once,
Checked twice,
The tar was in my pocket,
making sure that my dose of pitiness was well full.

Ready, set to go,
I slowly opened the main door,
thought I was ready,
thought I was fit,
to face the menacing sun.

Mistaken was I?
Some call it fate,
Others call it misfortune,
I call with the name of Life.

And on I went,
to seek the answer,
of a question which is born along with all of us.

On I strode,
with the hope of coming back smiling.

*****************************************************

Skins age,
Lungs shrink,
Hair recedes,
and vision blurs down.

Crackling of my bones,
as I walk and walk,
Silent screams of a concience,
which, unknowingly, I locked deep down inside.

Trying to keep up with the pace,
Determination,
a blessing and a curse,
makes you itch,
makes you pressing the throttle down,
just to reach.

****************************************************

Being told that darkness is part of the routine,
Being told that happiness is just a pill away.

Being told that the effort is in vain,
cause the unwanted guest wants to stay.

Hoping for a less bitter explanation,
Waiting by the watch for it to arrive.

Sitting down by a bus stop,
waiting and watching,
seeing the seconds drive by,
wondering,
from where did all this start.
Wondering,
how did I end up in here.

***************************************************

Like cancer,
the question spread even further.
Like cancer,
the question made me submit,
to a one big false truth.

No other option,
except to collect the remnants of a tired soul,
and head back to where it started.

No other option,
except to unlock the door again,
and start looking where I never thought I would look.

**************************************************

Do we need to live with grudges?
Do we need to see shame in the mirror?
Do we really need to survive, every single day?

Do you really need to make your emotions define who you are?
Do you really need to miss the present since the future seems to be a copy of the past?

Do I really need to keep dreading every evening,
Cause the day was not enough?

**************************************************

Stripping myself of all that is unnecessary,
Lying naked in front of reality,
the only reality of the present,
the only reality which exists now.

A Matter Of Faith

2011-03-24T22:52:00.002+01:00

Kneeling down,
Head bowed.
Eyes well shut,
not to distract the flow of my prayer.

The inner voice flowing in gently,
as if it was giving life,
water,
to the most arid of deserts.

An inner voice slowly reminding me,
of what shaped me to the man I am today.
Echoes,
drifting in from a distance,
a distance measured only by memories.

Memories,
well packed in a limited time,
in a closed mind.

***************************************

A crucifix breathing on me its shadow,
while I knelt down and listened.
The man which lay there,
always make me wonder,
what is so special about it?

Maybe I am not getting the full picture,
Maybe I am unable to understand?
Is it maybe I do not want to listen?
Is it again my fault?

The prayer is getting shorter,
the words are becoming less necessary.
The world is becoming younger,
While everyone around is getting older.

***************************************

Not much can be said anymore,
at least for the time being.

But I am now feeling a bit more safe,
Cause now I am alone.

The safety of not being driven by the morals of others,
The warmth of knowing that what is going on,
is going on for you.

It is about survival after all,
where each lifeform finds its own way to strive on.

Lifegiving Fear

2011-03-21T23:56:00.000+01:00

A call of despair,
A scream for life.
Reaching out for a share of life,
Walking, staggering, just to kiss another sunset goodbye.

Bowing down,
Moving out,
she calls in for a break.
She takes all the light with her,
leaving us to the mercy of the distant gods.

Taking a rest,
painting the ceiling black.
Allowing me to breathe,
making me feel at home.

Making me feel whole again,
Making me comfortable.
Lying down in an abyss of darkness,
she slowly closes the broken grave.

***********************************************

Asking the same rhetoric questions,
Answering the same uncertain doubts.
Hoping for a better day tomorrow,
Hoping for a restul sleep tonight.

But the wheel keeps on turning,
nothing ever changes,
hoping for a sign,
looking far out to the horizon,
maybe, just maybe I can spot a message.

I spend days,
and I spend sleepless nights,
counting every second to myself.
I do not want to miss a beat,
I do not want to miss a breath.

I call out for apreciation,
of all those around me.
I call out for respect,
from me, to the rest out there.

Dreading every morning,
Embracing every evening,
I just cannot bear the passing of time any longer.
Too much,
I am missing too much.

**************************************************

They say life out there is fair,
So the civilization built their spaceships.
They say hope is out there,
So the tribes built their temples.

They travelled out far,
they looked for what they have been missing,
They travelled out far,
they looked for what they have read about.

They left the safety of their homes,
They left the certainty of their destiny,
just to reap out more.

They grew old,
they aged,
but they did not die.

They got sick,
they suffered,
but they never gave in.

They called for the end to come swiftly,
They called for mercy to be bestowed uon them,
They asked to go back,
but their time was now over.

***************************************************

The old man sat down quietly,
looking at the same picture,
all the time.

He wondered,
how it would have been if the choice was different.
He wondered,
how it would have been if he was able to walk,
if he was able to stand up at least once,
and walk out the door of a safe harbour,
in which he grew in.

He remembered the tales of his loved ones,
He remembered when he thought that he was alone,
yet there was always someone to listen to him.

He recalled when life was still young,
When life was still careless,
He recalled when he sent his days moving to and fro,
doing something,
but never going anywhere.

No more tears left,
No more grief,
and no more guilt.

No more identity,
no more hope,
just counting down,
just waiting for the hourglass to end her turn.

He never dreaded his bad luck,
nor did he dread his choices.
He only dreaded his fear,
the lifegiving fear.

************************************************

Shaken and broken,
I lay there,
head down,
in shame.

I was taken by surprise,
or was I?

I was caught off guard,
or was I?

I looked back at the wall I was leaning on,
and I followed the silhoutte,
the pattern,
the shapes.

A finger tracing a message,
a sign,
written in black paint,
trying to figure out what this is all about.

Little I knew however,
that I was following an endless maze.
Little I knew,
that all eternity was making fun of me,
never waiting,
never explaining,
just making me go round in circles,
lost in the magic of youth.

**************************************************

Will tomorrow bring the storm which is so needed?
Will tomorrow bring the lightning which we all pray for?

Just to wake us up suddenly,
make us frightened,
of what could have been yesterday.

Live the present the wise say,
a present which was laid down by the days long gone,
paving the way for the questions which lie ahead.

Memories of a September

2011-03-14T22:32:00.001+01:00

Your touch,
your skin.

Your kiss,
Your passion,
they all seemed so real.

I rarely have dreams like this,
I rarely wish to be in one of those...

I missed you then,
and probably I miss you still,

Dear September,
I wish you were still here.

The Setting Of Orion

2011-03-11T22:22:00.001+01:00

Perfect silence,
Perfect stillness.
Perfect synchronization,
A perfect silhoutte.

A still shadow lies alone,
The only shadow left,
in this barren land.

A still shadow lies there low,
Kissing the remaining rays of a dying sun.
Embracing of what is left of a hope,
of a dream,
of a life.

We were all here before,
We have all seen how it was before.
We have all witnessed the music which was played before,
And we have all danced until dawn.

**********************************************

The great constellation has been a witness,
of many events which took place during its time.

And the great constellation is wise,
and vigilant,
saying nothing,
staying in silence,
just taking note.

Taking note of a movement,
which has been taken place since the early days of time.

Taking note of someone,
living in a just a second of an infinite timeline of existence.

Taking note of a change,
in which the outcome depends only on something,
maybe on a decision,
maybe on luck.

Nonetheless,
The stars have now witnessed this very outcome,
and the result is now what it is,
and a change... perhaps, it can never be changed...
changed back.

**************************************************

I remember how it was before,
I remember very well who was here before.

I know how this has been,
And now, I have to accept how it is now.
Is it bad?
Is it just?
Is it right?
Is it unjust?

Should this earth be built from scratch?
Should the dead rise again, from the ashes which now defines their existence?
Should I light the fire again, like I did before,
like I have been doing, over and over again,
only to realize,
that the flame was never enough,
or rather the enough, was never really there.

**************************************************

And now we are all here,
all in line,
bidding farewell to the great, ancient hunter.

We are all here now,
sending our last thoughts,
last emotions,
perhaps even our last tears,
into the depths of the darkest of distances.

We are all here present,
sending our final message,
a message which no longer delivers hope,
or a dream.
But a message which delivers of the final reality,
in which we,
I,
am in.

Personal Uprisings

2011-03-07T23:22:00.001+01:00

Hitting the bottle,
Hitting the roach,
Hitting a shallow reef,
which I thought it was the abyss.

Sour taste,
bitter as it goes down.
But it sooths..
Yeah it does

Strange feel,
Clean feel,
Dirty thoughts,

But it relieves,
Relieves the mood.

Freedom,
Freedom in hoping,
that one day I shall be released.

Freedom,
Freedom in my own cell,
Feels like a Stockholm Syndrome,
Feels like I am in love.

In love with an addiction which made a person appreciate free will.
In love with a bubble which made a person appreciate the great outdoors,
In love with a someone which made a person appreciate what it means being on his own.

*******************************************************

Echoes from an old me,
coming from quite far,
from a place where friendship was rare,
but unique.

A place where passion was abundant,
Selfishness was the daily bread,
And foul attitude made the day.

The irony,
The irony of a little thing called life,
and the irony of even smaller things called people.

They slapped me,
They shouted at me,
They ignored me,
They judged me.

They spat anger,
They consumed grudges,
They spoke out passionately,
From their own hidden hearts.

The irony,
of listening to them.
The irony,
when they all fade away,
one by one when you get their lesson.

The irony,
when you find no one who explains you a book,
a book which has been left empty,
leaving only the table of contents visible...
There,
There so I could write a story... following envious guidelines.

*********************************************************

Every day we hear about people dying,
And every day we pity and mourn the fallen.

Yet every day we forget that the true murderers are the ones which
slowly aneasthetize themselves,
poisoning the truth,
the truth according to their perception.

Poisoning it,
with distractions,
with beliefs which are not even theirs.

Poisining oneself,
until the darkness of the blind becomes the sun of the day,
until the silence of the deaf becomes the screaming of noon.

And indeed,
the apathy leading to our own deaths,
does cause,
does bring,
the tears and pain of people from afar.

Evening Prayers Of A Traveller

2011-03-05T23:36:00.000+01:00

Why do I bother?
Why am I thinking about it?
What would I achieve by it?
What benefit would it be for me?

Or am I doing cause I pretend,
I pretend to act,
I pretend to be,
I pretend to think,
and I pretend to feel.

Lost in a space where reality and imagination embrace,
in a sea where no other colour than black can roam,
I just get confused.
Confused on what my faith is all about.
COnfused of the identity of a person who I grew up with,
Unsure about whether or not this is just like a voyage,
in which when u come back,
u would have to face the truth of reality again.

*********************************************

Walking in an unknown cloud of fog,
should make me feel more anxious,
more alert...
more paranoid.

But again,
I have surprised myself with an attitude which never really crossed my mind.
Am I knowing too much then?
Am I digging too much in my own perception of everything?
Of all?
Of Life?

I remember the moments where I did cling to the thought of having Peter as a friend.
Imaginary or not,
that never really mattered.
What really mattered is that somehow, in someway,
we gave and we took,
we bought and we sold,
we ran and we slept,
in a perfect harmony of a thought,
which was dressed beautifully in a dream,
in a hope,
in a light which,
dim as it was,
it made someone out there smile.
And live.

Alone in Edinburgh

2011-03-01T18:44:00.001+01:00

Much has been unearthed since the curtain was drawn open.
Much has been discovered since the hatch was unlocked.
Old remains,
new artifacts,
and future black boxes lay there waiting,
silently succumbing to the merciless ticking of time.

Yet She has now assessed me properly,
and it does indeed seem that it is never too late to light up a fire.

What will follow is definitely not my business,
and what was followed is now up to siblings to understand.
What is is not being followed is what defines a smile from a frown,
a satisfaction, or a disappointment.

******************************************************

As much as the terminally ill are afraid of being diagnosed,
As much as the student is concerned about his record.
As much as you are sometimes scared of the truth,
often, we are sometimes distracted, by our own device,
to look a little bit within.

I often wonder,
what is stopping the discovery,
I often wonder,
what is driving the movable onto a halt.

*******************************************************

Nowadays I can only acknowledge gradually,
whatever the hour glass suggests.
I was often caught in the direction of my own surroundings,
And, although I often was aware of it taking place,
I just wanted to try it out myself.

Being successful or not was never an issue,
It was the whole experience which really ever mattered,
The voices I listened to,
the faces and the expressions I watched,
the flowers which held me hand in hand,
which all now make part of me,
of you,
of us.

********************************************************

Just do not break too many hearts dear,
since some people do feel.
Do not be too careful dear,
since the unexpected is what shapes our lives.

The night person thought...
what it is like t live during the day.
The day silence then listened,
for what it is like to play the music of a sunset.

You came, and you went,
without leaving a trace,
What should I do now?
To whom shall I give this burden?

*********************************************************

And once again,
my only companion gave me what I truly needed.
Some piece of mind,
a bottle of water in one pocket,
a cellphone in the other,
and a little cold weather,
which gives warmth to the idle.

The Warmest Of Farewells

2011-02-28T15:44:00.000+01:00

It was very disappointing,
and it was also very painful.
It seemed as it would never end,
It seemed that this was it.

The fear of the fearful was becoming attractive again,
The echo of an old end was becoming loud again,
and I couldn't understand yet,
as no one made me understand.

So I gave a call to a new uncle,
which I should have known about a while ago,
but it seems as it is indeed very true,
that it is never, ever too late.

**********************************************

It is never too late dear friend,
to change,
to know,
to feel,
and to be loved.

It is never too late to learn lessons,
which maybe we all should have learned about a while ago.

It is never, ever too late,
to open the doors of a good life,
in which every morning will offer you a warm cupof tea, or a warm cup of coffee,
and makes you feel comfortable again.

Comfortable with what you have,
Comfortable with who you are surrounded with,
Comfortable with what you can do,
Comfortable with who you are.

They may see you from an empty lens,
but do not blame anyone,
but smile,
smile for knowing something rare,
knowing a key,
which opens tiny windows shining white light on the darkest of hearts.

***************************************************

Indeed now I feel different,
Indeed now I feel fresh,
As the coldest of greetings,
has now turned itself into the warmest of farewells.

And the next time I will put my sight north again,
And the next time I will sip that heartwarming spirit,
I shall remind myself,
that there is always something new that comes next..

Just waiting for me to tie my shoe laces,
pack a luggage,
and fly with an empty mind,
and a full heart.

Moods of an Aftermath

2011-01-24T16:45:00.001+01:00

Months have passed by,
Days slowly gave birth to a new season,
while the Nights lay the old to rest.

And still the same music plays along,
delivering the same message,
down, deep down to the warmest of hearts.

New ways have been explored,
new explanations have been written down.
Old habits have been thrown away,
leaving only remnants of a sweet memory.

Change may be knocking outside in the winter rain,
all drenched and wet, waiting for me to open.
The key is there ready,
waiting inpatiently for the hand to turn it anticlockwise.

But I am comfortable in my bed,
I am warm, and I am numb.
I enjoy the ticking of the clock,
I enjoy the ryhtm of time.

Reason has been a dangerous game,
sometimes it makes you win,
sometimes it makes you lose,
but compared to the other game,
well...
I rather stick to this one for the time being..
since I acknowledge the fact that I am a good player in a game,
and a loser in another.

********************************************************

Stuck in the same hole,
grumbling, every morning,
why I keep doing this to myself.

Maybe it is a start,
a start to put my feet off this bed,
and walk down the corridor,
and unlock the door.

Am I afraid of the rain outside?
Am I afraid of the cold?
Am I afraid that I will go back to how things were?
AM I afraid to leave this new religion which has just been bestowed on me?

I believe that the best answers are given when no questions are asked.
I believe that the most honest answer is given when it comes to you alone.
Very much like a broken couple,
where the broken heart keeps waiting,
every day, every night, for the other half to come back.
Yet, the waiting takes place in silence,
sometimes in grief,
but if the other ever comes back,
I reckon it comes back for a whole lifetime.

Peter's Four Month Year

2010-12-23T17:34:00.001+01:00

Much needs to be said about little things,
much needs to be explained about the most innocent doings.
Mistakes for most,
experience for some,
reflecting a shadow,
which always protects the traveller from the scorching sun,
willingly, or unwillingly,
one has to finally accept.

**************************************************

Much needs to be said about the actions which we all take.
And much needs to be explained about the actions we all recieve.
The neverending journey to find answers is ultimately a neverending loop,
a circle,
which often leads to the same start.

And once we are back at the start,
to where we have all been,
the appreciation and nostalgia of those moments which we once despised,
come flowing,
mellow,
and often soft,
touching our minds,
our hearts,
and our innermost tears.

At the bottom of this circle,
the appreciation of the moments becomes bright as a star in a clear,
calm and silent midnight.
Well,
sometimes it may be too late,
Well,
for some it is a new start for the same circle.
Unable to let go,
Unable to unchain oneself from the past,
from the younger hours,
from the carefree days,
from the unguided responsibility which made the younger days.

****************************************************

A four month year is drawing into an end,
but it was enough to make Peter understand,
that some things,
and some people,
have now found themselves in the corners of his frail memory.

What to take with him in the next loop,
I do not know.
Yet,
he seems to be certain,
that the world which surrounds him,
be it imaginary or not,
might be a little bit different.

Dreams, perceptions,
thoughts, hope,
have all been carefully sealed into a bag,
and were all put in a safe place.

I have asked him where he put them,
so I will mine there too,
but he refused to answer.

So I am now left wondering,
where is this hidden safe place?
Is it something locked and dark?
Is it a place where no voices can be heard?
Is it a place where no air flow in,
so they will forever be retained?

Or is it a place of no return,
where only ashes reside?

I do not know.

***************************************************

Nowadays,
Peter has been awfully tired,
eyes broken,
his tongue stuttering,
and his voice low.

Seems he is now finally in a transition,
seems he is now finally realizing,
that the world he lived in,
is not as real as he thought it was.

I can imagine his disappointment,
I can imagine how upset he may feel right now,
but nothing can be done now..
except to accept the change,
and hope that the new reality will no longer lead to loose ends.

Evergreen

2010-12-02T16:14:00.003+01:00

Writing down a phase, or a period,
to describe,
to tell or to relive,
something which is now long gone,
or maybe long forgotten.

Writing down,
letting your own fingers teach you,
letting them guide the waves of memories which flow in,
and often allowing the gates of self awareness to re open,
to unlock, and let the eye see what really resides within your, and my reflections.

************************************************

Helpless by the external forces which no one can control,
a white flower lay close,
afraid to let open her virgin petals.
Afraid that the dreaded sun might damage them.

Life went by,
Songs were sung,
Music was played,
while the bud remained close.

People walked by,
butterflies hovered above,
the great Sun showing off,
proud, leaving devastation,
and destruction anywhere its light struck.

************************************************

Seasons change,
Times change,
People change,
circumstances change.

And so did the flower.
Her petals slowly opened,
attracting all sorts of strange creatures.

But somehow,
she always was careful whom to let close,
and those who were close enough,
were observed, taken care of,
until all the necessary lessons were learned.

And while the black clouds ruled her sky,
she thrived on and on,
giving an image to her fellow friends what it is like to rise and shine.

She thrived on and on,
knowing that the time was short,
and sooner or later she would need to close down again,
but until that day arrived,
anything which made her look better,
which made her smell better,
which made her feel better,
was well accepted, and welcome.

*****************************************************

Nowadays I often visit her,
to check how she is doing.

She seems as if she is doing fine,
although she has closed down again.
She seems as if she is slowly waning and fading,
but I admire her..
I admire her because she learned what she needed to learn when times were better.
I admire her, because she is foolish enough to keep on hoping.

Hoping that next time round,
she will be given another chance to blossom,
and rise better than she ever did.

Queen Of Spades

2010-11-24T16:43:00.001+01:00

7 o'clock in the morning,
and the rain is still beating.
Winter time,
ah, finally daylight can have its well deserved break.

7 o'clock in the morning,
each corner has its scent,
its smell,
of all the weird, bizarre trips of the night.

Jesus,
I am unable to wake up.
Help me,
I need to race against time.
My head is too heavy,
My limbs are too lazy,
My mind is still asleep,
and I am still trapped.

****************************************************

7 o'clock in the morning,
and the air is already choking with fumes,
pollution,
fog.
Winter time,
ah, finally the night is having its turn.

7 o'clock in the morning,
and I am already sweating,
I am already fighting this superficial battle,
with me and myself,
trying to win,
determined to win,
maybe some satisfaction,
maybe a smile.

*****************************************************

The Queen is not always welcome.
The Queen is indeed unstable.
I just cannot understand what is her role in this game.

Each game I play,
she has a different role,
sometimes she is a winner,
sometimes she is a loser.

I wonder what is the point of having the same face,
twice on the same card.
I wonder what is the point of having the same damn expression,
twice in the same hand.

*****************************************************

Today I feel better,
well, nothing much has changed,
but I feel better.

The people are still the same,
the various attitudes are still there.
The same concerns are still waiting,
there, checking their wrist watches,
waiting for their turn.
The problems are still there,
well hidden,
well tied,
but today,
unlike yesterday,
well I do not mind.

*****************************************************

Same Queen,
two different persons.

Same card,
but two different conditions.

Same pile of cards,
but they are not always reliable.

Uneasy smile she has,
reminds me of the Mona Lisa,
reminds me of a suspended chord,
where the interpretation lies only in the mood,
in that swift thought which crosses your head when you see it,
when you hear it,
but it is still the same painting,
it is still the same music.

And here she is now,
I turn the card upside down,
and down again,
trying to listen,
trying to question her.
Carefully I put my ear close,
attentive, just to listen.

Maybe I will understand her,
once and for all,
and figure out what is her role in this game.
Maybe it is all a misinterpration,
Maybe I am getting it all wrong.

But isn't it strange that this Queen cannot understand her counterpart?
Isn't it weird that this mirror image is so different?
So loved ,
yet so hated by the same player,
by the same hand?

****************************************************

Carrying a headache of over burden in an aftermath of loss of control,
Believing that all the woes in the universe are over your head,
hovering like a black dove above you,
unable to let you go,
unable to let it go.

Heavy as hell,
I lean down,
trying to put the pieces of a broken puzzle together again,
a puzzle of a picture,
of a majestic picture where nothing is missing,
where all the details flash out a message,
a clear message to get out of a hole.

A picture,
which was ravaged sometime before,
but I am unable to remember why,
I am unable what could have caused it to break down.

And every time I try to put the pieces together,
a piece or two go missing,
a detail or two go missing,
a person or two go missing,
and slowly, very slowly,
a picture of life becomes a picture of memories,
nostalgia,
grief...
and pity.

**********************************************************

The Queen of Spades has been with us for decades,
for centuries,
and she is here to stay.

And she doesn't want to be understood,
cause there is nothing to understand,
she is how she is.
It is all up to the player now,
to be wise, and sly,
to be cunning and smart,
and play the card when she is meant to be played,
and keep her hidden when she is meant to stay hidden..
and silent.

You

2010-11-15T21:58:00.002+01:00

You,
the oldest and most effective brainwashing technique in history.
Nothing but mere propoganda,
intellectual poison,
depriving the world from freedom.
You,
pretending to teach good,
love and understanding,
yet you were the reason for the worst genocides in history,
the bloodiest wars,
all in the name of a being,
or beings,
an invention,
an excuse,
all in the name of power.

You,
the bride of an imaginary almighty,
throwing at us virtues,
which at the end of the day are nothing but spiteful vices,
intended to control your malicious lust,
your cravings,
while abusing everyone who falls under your shadow,
with anything possible.
You,
reducing nations to blind sheep,
who follow you like a shepherd,
leaving us no choice but to see what you want us to see,
to live how you want us to live,
dwelling on prejudice,
You,
feeding on our fear.

You,
holding a balance in one arm,
and a sword in the other,
always blindfolded,
always pretending to be fair and just.
It is time to take that blind fold off now,
and see what a mess you have been doing since the dawn of time.
Or rather,
keep it on,
and keep getting bribed,
by anyone who is in control.

You,
projecting yourself as my best mate,
as the one who only comforts me,
filling my head with all sorts of excuses,
until you got me hooked,
until you got us hooked,
until you made me give you too much,
until you made us believe that it is never enough.

You,
making me believe in you,
making me believe in something again,
only to take it all again,
leaving nothing but disappointment.
Trying to put everything in your own box,
the way you see fit,
the way you think iis right,
not because you see it from your own point of view,
no..
but beacuse your superficial nature made your head nothing but a run down library of the books you've read

You,
a sinking ship,
trying to pull down everyone within your reach with you.
Trying to pull me down in an abyss.
Well,
how about trying to fix yourself first?
Well,
maybe you are way beyond repair now,
so keep dragging yourself down.
It is time to leave us,
leave me iin peace.

You,
who thinks that everyone thinks the way you do,
who thinks that everything is bent, and twisted in the way you see them,
just because you do not know better,
just because you are unable to know better,
since whenever you unlock your prison cell and breath a different air,
you go back in immdiately,
cause your misery is now your safe haven.

Free Fall

2010-11-11T19:44:00.001+01:00

Eyes well closed,
listening to nothing except to the same song,
over and over again.

Listening,
so no distractions can consume me anymore.

Listening,
so I will stand firm,
and get this over with.

The black soil is far enough now,
The decision has now found itself in the past.

The hour has struck,
it has toke place anyway,
no matter what others say,
I just cannot wait any longer.

******************************************

The door bell rang,
made my heart skip a beat.

"Wait a second", I replied.
Yes, she can wait for a few more days,
maybe a few more weeks,
or even months.

Maybe,
she will go and visit someone else
and leave me in peace.

Maybe,
she will understand that between us is over now,
and remember that what took place four years ago,
was way too much for me to handle.

*********************************************

I am still here,
waiting.

Waiting for a message,
for a phone call,
or maybe for a car to stop by and ask me the question which I always dreaded.

"How are you doing?" asked me Peter the other day.
"I am just fine thank you", was my prompt reply.
Why do people ask obvious questions is something which I never really got.
But these questions are still being asked.

Would you tell an aquaintance how yo really feel?
Would you tell a best friend what is really on your mind?
Would you tell your partner what is going on inside your heart?
Would you,
Would you give an honest reply when you know that your answer would expose a weakness,
maybe an imaginary weakness,
but still it is there,
in your head,
going round and round,
clouding anything,
anyone you see,
every minute,
every day?

******************************************************

The door bell rang again a few weeks afterwards,
and even though I was somehow expecting it,
it still gave me that shock.

"Okay, the party is over" I said.
I told the guests that it is now to go somewhere else,
since for the coming weeks,
possibly months,
I would be busy.

I switched off the lights,
and everyone disappeared,
leaving nothing behind,
except silence,
and mellow emptiness.

Regretfully I opened the door,
and there she was,
hated, yet so beautiful.
Dark, yet so fair.

She smiled at me.
"It's been a long time", she said.
Indeed it was,
for me it was.
I felt as if everything that took place in the last years was being shown on a projector,
in a fast forward mode,
repeatedly.

"Yes dear it has been a while, I missed you,
but not what you are back, I just miss what I took for granted",
I said.

**************************************************************

It only took a few seconds to carry the task out.
It was not that bad.

I have to admit,
in those few seconds
all the bright colours which lit every corner of my life were again there,
flashing vividly.
And the only question one would ask in such a moment would be,
Why are they back now, right now?

Too late,
simply too late.

But it has been good until it lasted.

***************************************************

And there we sat again,
around the same striped table,
drinking the same black coffee,
taking the same white meds.

And there we go again,
waiting until she gets fed up and leave,
only to come back again later.

I reluctantly checked the time,
and took note when she came.

Checking the time again,
hoping that she would leave this place soon,
leaving room for the faster minutes to come and celebrate again.

The Hole

2010-11-07T22:04:00.006+01:00

Madness,
this is sheer madness.
Nothing is making sense in this experience,
I cannot understand anything anymore.

Silence,
my universe is silent.
I keep drifting, gliding in it,
and all I can find is dead silence.

And in this silence, i lay quiet,
quietly, yet watchful,
deep in my bed sheets,
holding the pillow tight,
afraid.

Unable to open to door,
Unable to find the door,
too scared to go outside,
too weak to take a look outside.

****************************************
Sadness,
sweet sadness.

It is the only flavour I can taste in this recipe.
Sadness,
sweet sadness flowing in along with the Autumn breeze,
while watching outside of the window;

The window is not in the same place as it was yesterday,
the buildings are now in a different spot.
The tower is no longer part of the view,
they are now replaced by distant lights.

Lights coming from god knows where,
and I can only assume they are coming from where I think they are.

But are they real?
Is this room real?
I can no longer find the corners,
I can no longer find the place to stay.

**************************************************

A drop in my thoughts.
A tiny tickle inside my head...
Where am I now?
This is complete madness.

Tonight,
the spiral is my companion.

Keeping my wrist watch close,
it will soon be over,
god,
what would I do without it?

******************************************

Purple and black,
it seems as if the whole perception is spinning,
yet keeping the objects fixed,
static.

Purple, black and grey,
coming out continously from these walls,
which have become more significant than ever,
making this place almost look like a shrine,
a temple,
of self discovery.

***********************************************

It is now 9 pm in the evening,
and off I go.
I grab hold of the wrong handle again,
and off I fly to the hole again.

It is now 9 pm,
but I am stuck somewhere else.
I do not want to get out of this new reality,
I do not want to look outside this hole,
because if I do,
then I would know what I am really missing.

*******************************************

My hand holding my chin,
eyebrows low,
pupils down,
eating, to feel better.

Head down,
telling myself to take on another ride,
It is just natural now,
to see myself from the outer eye,
my own eye,
which is always taking note,
but lately, it seems as if she is no longer talking to me,
or rather,
I am no longer listening.

******************************************************

It will soon be over,
I will survive this hour.

I will just keep my wrist watch close,
and I will be safe.

The Half Moon's Poker

2010-10-29T17:29:00.002+02:00

Mind at rest,
heart at ease,
the door was slowly closed.

Locked and firm,
the key was left on the window ledge.

Handbag on the couch,
wine on the table,
the atmosphere was calm allright.

Phone silently flashing,
but the messages can wait.

Heater on,
it is winter now.
Maybe a warm cup of tea would suit best now,
since the evening was indeed very safe.

Sitting comfortably in front of the TV,
attention is everywhere except on what is being shown.

No need to worry today,
it has been a good evening.

No thoughts for tonight,
She has them all the day,
and all the night,
on everything which may matter,
on everything which is may be somewhat insignificant.

*************************************************

The sea has no abrupt feelings tonight,
he is at peace with the horizon.
Reflecting clearly the message given from the night sky above,
clear,
clear as my intentions.

Predictable,
predictable precisely like my behaviour.

Silent,
silent like a mouth which keeps shut,
suppressing the disturbance which roams inside.

Nothing is cathing my attention this evening,
nothing is distracting me from my own.

Feeling like an addict,
who resorts to his addiction when nothing else is around,
I was put in the same ride,
the ride which I am now very used to.
I was put inside a car,
locked inside,
seatbelts well fastened,
and taken to where I don't want to go,
but I am not driving this vehicle anymore,
I never was in control.

****************************************************

The cellphone rang again.
Another message,
cannot he grow tired of it?

The screen showed a message,
and before even opening it,
the sender was guessed.

Same words,
same letters,
same symbols,
and same technique.

"It does not work anymore,
There is nothing anymore.
I made sure that I was clearly understood,
and I thought he got it"

Throw the phone back in,
it not who is needed anymore.

Lay down again,
it is time to smile again,
since there will no longer be any modern day mediums in between,
just she and him,
him, the one who really matters now.

******************************************************

Constantly putting my hand on my pocket,
sometimes the mind plays dirty tricks.

Constantly checking if there was any reply,
of any sort,
since as long as I get it, then it is fine.

Regularly checking the time,
it is now a matter of minutes.

There is no way turning back,
and there is nothing to look forward to anymore,
except to sooth the situation,
by using a little bit of imagination,
just to buy more seconds,
more hours,
until I face the dreaded place again.

But it will be allright,
it is working allright,
so it should be fine.

After that I am sure it will be a different matter,
just a few more days.

*******************************************************

No more sweating,
no more tension now.
There is nothing more to lose,
and there is not even much to gain anymore.

The poker is now way out of my reach,
but who needs the perfect streak to win?

And who needs to win,
if there are no more games to play.

I will now lie my cards down,
one by one,
and even though I am confident that I will go bust,
I can no longer be bothered.

Cause gambling is now fun,
since I am no longer gambling what I cannot afford to lose.

Learning Self Discovery

2010-10-22T16:10:00.001+02:00

It is now dusk,
and I am somewhat confused.
Has the day passed already?
It seems as if an hour ago was still dawn.

Stuck in a moment in time,
the wrist watch no longer is telling me the truth,
the truth in this surreality which I am now.

Stuck in an hour,
as if everything is existing,
and co existing in it.

Funny,
I am very fond of mind games,
but I do not like this,
this must be a bad joke,
a joke I am playing on myself,
on my mind.

Ironic,
hating the fact that I am now stuck,
while before I used to hate that I was always on the move.

Sarcastic,
Pretending I am well,
Smiling, as to keep the surroundings calm.
But who cares?
No one knows,
Nobodies gives a damn what is going on right now.

************************************************************

Submerged in a spiral,
which I have so much longed for.

Almost panicking,
now that I am there,
I do not know if I can handle it.

Everything in sync,
the voices,
the noises,
the sounds of nature,
the sounds of myself,
flowing in,
slowly, yet steady,
through unreal senses.

Explaining,
to ears which are not following.
Stuttering,
trying to keep up with the rapid movements taking place in my head.

Watching,
a static movie,
seeing what was always right here,
right inside.

Passion,
explained in a million expressions,
all dancing smoothly with the rythm,
of a song which inspires.

Me,
my own mentor,
talking and talking,
echoing and echoing,
as if the whole room was hollow,
empty.

****************************************************

The world has changed upside down,
everything opposite,
but never different.

Sucked in a hole which I cannot get out of.
Holding on with every thought which flies by,
almost like holding on a very tight string,
which breaks,
throwing me even deeper in this vacuum.

No,
this cannot be me,
this cannot be real,
this cannot possibly exist.

How will I be tomorrow,
I do not know.
Will I recover?

Trying to figure out what is going on,
trying to follow myself from the outer eye,
trying to describe my own behaviour to an alien environment.

Paranoid,
Trying to figure out what they are thinking,
Trying to figure out what you have been thinking.

Trying to control,
trying to hold on,
while the black horizon approaches.

Little I know however,
that the distant line is always far,
and far will it remain.

It seems as if I am running away,
escaping.
Looking back,
only to find it in the same spot,
in the same line,
waving maliciously.

************************************************

Here I am now,
discovering even more.

Not by wondering,
nor by observing.

But listening,
listening to what you have to tell me.

Understanding,
understanding to what you are explaining to me.

Accepting,
accepting that the hole was nothing,
but an irrational fear.

Imaginary End

2010-10-20T17:12:00.001+02:00

Seeing,
And believing.

Listening,
And understanding.

Living,
And experiencing.

Existing,
and ending.

Not too much to write,
not too many words to describe.
Not too much love to smile,
not too many friends to look up to.

Never enough is the pursuit for the horizon,
Never was it enough the search for knowledge.

****************************************************

A flower,
among all others,
stopped for a minute,
and started to wonder how everything came to be.

A flower,
among all others,
asked to believe,
because now she was seeing,
the result of a long moment,
which seems it is meant to last for ever.

A flower,
among all others,
started to experience,
with the faint hope of riding on the journey,
which she thought everyone else was on.

This flower,
among all others,
pale as a dead man's skin.
felt she was only existing,
which made her think that the end was always there,
waiting,
right by the corner.

An End,
with a bottle of whiskey in one hand,
and a burning cigarette in the other,
waiting to collect its hourly harvest.

*******************************************************

Not much needs to be said nowadays.
I have once written something,
not on paper,
not on the internet,
but somewhere where it will always remain there.

No point to be in denail anymore,
No point in asking Peter for explanations,
No point in seeking answers in what cannot be solved.

Maybe it's illogical,
maybe its rational.

But it feels as everything only makes sense in my own world.

*******************************************************

Doing his daily homework,
Peter can only now do his conclusions on what he has learned,
on what he has been taught to do.

Doing his daily homework,
I always find myself drawn vaguely on the yellowish sheets of paper,
which have been reading what was written on them for years,
and,
even though, I inside the page,
I try to erase,
I try to write,
It seems that the etching is now, there for good.

Being drawn in the way I am,
makes me ask myself why Peter sees me like this.

But then,
again, the time for questions is gone,
since what was written back then,
was written for a purpose,
and it is there to stay until I meet it,
sooner or later.

*******************************************************

Everyday I look at the palm of my right hand,
wishing that I can foretell my own future.

But all I see,
is nothing but another day,
put on top of a pile.

A pile of effort,
hope,
explanations,
which would eventually all sum up to today,
to now.

Photographical Me

2010-10-15T11:29:00.001+02:00

Expression,
and freedom of expressing yourself has never been sweeter.

Writing is nowadays my music,
and Peter is now the instrument.
The instrument to play,
to shape the shapeless,
and to give form and meaning to what needs to be ordered.

Telling you,
telling me,
what is going on,
what is all about,
doesn't give solutions,
doesn't solve anything.

But like I always wrote here,
it is no longer about the end result,
it is no longer about seeking the end.
It is now about learning,
holding life, and time,
hand in hand,
walking along,
together.

************************************************************

Packing a luggage before a trip always makes me think,
how and when should I use the belongings I will be carrying with me.

Packing the same luggage before going home,
always makes me think if I will ever come back,
always makes me wonder if I would see the persons I met again.

It always leaves a question in my head,
on how should I proceed.
On how should I continue in order to re live the experience.

Leaving someone behind,
will always be tough no matter what.

But a trip is always about a departure and a destination,
it is always about leaving and arriving,
it is always about saying Hello and Goodbye.

And to board on the plane,
to go where I want to go now,
a warm arrival is needed,
which does not depend on me anymore.

I do not want to hope,
It is not about holding on,
it is about realizing.
Realizing not what went wrong,
but what went right.

**********************************************************

Sometimes I write to deliver a message,
then it is up to you if you get it or not.

Sometimes I write to express myself,
then it is up to me to read it afterwards and learn from it.

But I always write for a reason,
and the reason why I sometimes write often,
more often than I usually do,
because there are reasons why,
and there are always people who would know what the reasons are.

Sometimes the reasons are just observations,
Sometimes they are about expression of a circle which leads nowhere,
and sometimes they are about something,
or rather, about someone.

I do not see myself as I.
I see myself like a photo album,
which is carrying endless photos,
taken with people,
or photos of people,
who have left an impression,
Impression after an impression,
they ultimately made me who I am now.

And sometimes what I write here is just a description,
of an impression,
of a photo,
which resides in a well kept page,
as to always remain there,
clear and vivid.

**************************************************************

It is just a matter of days,
maybe of weeks,
but I know how it will be.

Maybe its all about buying time,
maybe its all about easing it a little bit.

Or maybe its all about holding each other hand in hand,
and walk through it together.

Rubik's Cube

2010-10-13T12:04:00.001+02:00

Sometimes I sit quietly,
and wonder,
how would it all be,
if everything had to be in reverse.

Sometimes,
yes I wonder how it would be,
if instead of learning by getting older,
we would live along by getting younger.

Often I believed that what I see around me,
see me in the same way I do.
Yes,
I believed that you,
think the same way I do,
feel the way I do,
believe in the same things I do.

**********************************************

I do not know if I should be upset or not.
I do not know if I should just accept it and let it go.

What I am certain is that it is the way it is,
and,
it seems as if some things are like stray cats,
which get scared by the slightest motion of a hand.
A hand which has no intentions whatsoever other than to
gently touch and give comfort.

Nonetheless it is beyond our control if something moves away,
if something doesn't change.

Beyond any possible logic,
any possible reason,
with no room for any sort of understanding,
other than accept.

***********************************************

When it comes to Peter,
I only understand one thing.

And that is,
his behaviour,
his attitude,
his personality,
is just the way it is,
because it is the way it is formed.

It is the way his imaginary life made him be.

I thought,
I was convinced that there was a real person behind that figure.
I was convinced there was a treasure still hidden,
and it was up to me to unearth it.

I was convinced this way cause I thought that everything,
everyone, even Peter,
lived in the same bubble I live,
breathed the same air as I did,
seen things the same way I did.

I do not know if I should be upset or not now.
I do not know if I should just accept it and let it go.

What I am certain of is that the uncertainty I had,
is now becoming irrelevant.

It is beyond my control,
since it is not meant to be controlled.

It is beyond my understanding,
since it is not meant to be understood.

*************************************************

Decisions are what builds a day.
Decisions are what makes the present.

And decisions are what affects what we see in the mirror,
every morning,
every evening.

Decisions are how we see our yesterday,
and how we live for the following day.

And sometimes decisions are made,
to make someone else decide.

Sometimes they are taken,
just to push the day a little bit further,
just to push the sky a little bit sidewards,
in order to see what may lie beyond.

When mine are taken,
I often think of reversing it,
I often think that if I did otherwise,
it would have been better.

Nowadays,
I sit here,
with a pen and paper,
writing down a letter,
which I would like to send.

I am now here,
with a full set of colours,
trying to draw the right picture.

I am now here,
trying to solve a Rubik's cube,
deciding which combinations are best.

All this for something,
something for someone,
who I no longer am trying to figure out.

I just wish,
that only this time,
I am not alone in this.

An Unpatient Parcel

2010-10-11T17:13:00.001+02:00

Alone,
Sometimes by choice,
Sometimes not.

Alone,
Sometimes with nobody around,
Often when the world is passing by,
right next to us.

Alone,
Often feared,
Sometimes looked for.

*************************************

Peter recieved a parcel the other day.
It was an unexpected delivery,
which struck him by surprise.

Anxious,
and curious,
he put the parcel on his square shaped white table,
and looked upon it with some sense of uncertainty.

Who could have sent it?
Why was it delivered to him?
And,
What was inside?

The parcel was left there,
and while it lay waiting,
the parcel was becoming unpatient.

"This is not normal",
the parcel thought.
"Why am I still here, sealed and packed?
Shouldn't I have been opened immediately?"

But Peter remained calm.
He felt like preparing a warm,
black coffee,
to ease the senses,
to sooth his unpatience.

**********************************************

It is very easy,
to be afraid.

It is very easy to put that shield up,
and stay cowering behind it.

It is very easy to pretend,
and to add to our collection of masks.

It has always been easy to tread on a flower,
rather than accept the way it has grown.

Well,
the easiest way is always the shortest,
as it would end up much sooner than we can ever imagine,
only to lead onto another pathway,
which may not be the one we have expected to walk in.

***************************************************

The parcel lay there unpatient,
wondering what is wrong with Peter.

It could not understand the fact why he was still staring at it.
It was against all logic,
and things inside were somehow changing.

Time was passing by,
and on its way it was also slowly changing the parcel.

What was delivered originally,
was no longer there.

It seemed as things inside were taking another shape,
another form.

Peter was very well aware of this,
and yet he kept sipping slowly on his coffee.

Sometimes he lit up a cigarette,
just to think more,
just to reflect more,
to wait more.

Days passed,
and the parcel could no longer keep silent.

"Why am I still sealed? Why am I still on this table?"
it screamed.

**********************************************************

The waiting game has strange rules.
No matter how much we play it,
and no matter how much we try hard at it,
the rules are always somewhat obscure.

Too much waiting,
then maybe we miss the chance.
Too little,
and we can ruin it still the same.

Yet,
little did I understand,
that the game was never really about waiting itself.
Waiting was never the point,
since situations change,
and with it the whole point of the game.

**********************************************************

Eventually the parcel was opened.
But to this very day,
I do not know what was inside.

I have asked Peter too,
but it seems the time is not right to know.

When will the time be right?
I do not know.
It is not up to me to this decision.

But I am no longer waiting,
I rather live it along,
and when it is time,
this parcel will open itself.

Plastic Beauty

2010-10-08T17:02:00.001+02:00

In the midst of inner silence,
the deafining screams of oneself are overwhelming.

In the narrow streets of self discovery,
the confusion is often obstructing,
the gradual walk onwards.

The constant mumbling and whispering inside
is often curious.
Often feels as if a string is constantly being pulled,
forming circles everywhere,
leading nowhere.

******************************************************

I was having a quiet glass of wine with Peter the other day,
and we were discussing some every day issues.
I was giving him an update about how things are,
and I was describing my new point of view,
my new perception of what was always there.

He listened carefully,
he kept silent.
He gave no answers to my rhetoric questions,
he gave no signs of understanding,
nor any signs of acknowledgement.

He simply listened,
sipping his white wine,
while I was lost in my own bubble,
talking, over and over again.

I felt as if I was talking with myself,
and,
strangely enough,
I felt comfortable.

I knew someone was there,
I knew someone was there listening carefully,
yet I was giving myself the answers I needed,
by asking further, and further,
until I realized I ended up where I started.

The wine was now gone,
the ashtray was not burning anymore,
and I waited for him to give me his opinion,
his own, personal and honest point of view.

***************************************************

So much to give,
So much to offer.

So much inside,
So much hidden.

Contained beauty,
reflecting brightly,
what is rooted down under the golden soil
of a place where it is well protected.

***************************************************

"What are you made of?", Peter asked once.

I was baffled by this question.
I couldn't really get what he meant by that,
and my tongue froze for a minute.

I knew that if I asked him what he meant,
he would ask the same question,
with the same words, and the same, exact tone,
just to emphasize the weight behind it.

"I am made of all the people I met along this road.
I am made of what I have learned,
what I have seen,
what I have listened.
I am made of who I have felt, and touched.", I answered.

And it was then,
when I realized that I was no longer warm,
I was no longer cold.

It was then,
when I realized I couldn't move.

Actually,
I never moved,
I never talked,
I never really thought.

Tears Of Change

2010-10-02T13:01:00.001+02:00

I must admit,
it was all different before.
I got to admit,
it was all gone before it ever was.

And yes,
now I admit that I never wanted to write this,
yes, time is no longer an enemy.

But a lesson was needed to be learned
in order to appreciate what was given to us.

We appreciate a loved one,
once we learn that she is never there again.

We appreciate our strength,
once we learn that its slowly waning.

I now appreciate time, the measurement of our life,
the hour, the minute,
the day, the year,
since I learned that what was given then,
is no longer now.

****************************************************

Peter never was,
he will never be.

He was never in my life,
and he was never in yours.

Yet,
it gives meaning to so many things,
which no words, pictures, or music can explain.

Sometimes a channel was needed,
like a transmission wave,
which needs to be altered,
changed... and sometimes twisted,
just to deliver a message.

Little was the message relevant however,
since ultimately the message was never important.

It never really did anything,
it never delivered anywhere.

It was drifted,
slowly, yet steady,
by constant waves of sounds.

The sound of a tear,
ever so silent,
yet always so loud.

The sound of an eye contact,
ever so misleading,
yet always meaningful.

The sound of colours,
reaching the ear within,
which is always so aware.

The sound of life around us,
reaching the eye within,
which is always vigilant.

Little is the message important now,
since probably it is no longer valid,
after all this journey.

After all this experience.

*******************************************************

Now,
looking back,
it seems as if it was very easy to do.

Now,
looking ahead,
it seems as if everything will repeat itself.

Now,
looking at myself now,
it seems as if it never really took place.

As it never actually existed.

Well,
indeed I now realize,
I never really accepted it.
I never wanted to accept it,
it was against all my logic,
held by constraints put,
by the ones around me,
by you,
by my own fear.

Fear of change indeed.
The stars are always right.

It had to happen,
whether I wanted or not.

Time changes me,
Like I never was,
Like I never thought,
Like I never imagined.

Time changes us,
Like we never dreamed,
Like we never cried on,
Like we never hoped for.

I was drowning,
while my lungs were still breathing.

I am now breating,
while everything around me is drowning.

Lotten

2010-09-24T20:41:00.003+02:00

Whenever I write something down,
I often stop and think about a name,
a title,
to give to these little notes.

I do believe that a title should contain the remaining part,
the remaining part of the picture,
the remaining part of the story which I was unable to write down.

Since most experiences,
thoughts,
and emotions felt are simply too complex,
complicated,
and sometmes too beautiful to describe,
it often makes self expression less complete.

******************************************************************

Looking back,
I always do my own homework.

Looking back,
I always try to relive the trip,
the voyage of an experience.

I often write some observations down.
Not to remember,
not even to forget,
but to discuss them,
often with my fellow friend Peter,
who,
I admit,
we became a bit distant again.

But that doesn't matter,
a relationship is put onto a test,
when distance comes in.

Distance not measured by any metric space,
nor by any logic.
It can only be measured by looking ahead,
and feel,
that this is not over yet.

It can only be calculated by the speed of time,
which,
it seems it never keeps the same pace.

******************************************************************

Lately I made friends with a new flower.
I tried to give her a colour,
but I was unable to.

Yet,
the black,
and the white seemed very fitting.

Yet,
the black,
and the white brought up those tiny little details,
which always matter in the end.

We used to spend hours and hours talking,
discussing anything which comes into our heads.

We used to spend days and days planning,
how our next trip should be.

How our next stepping stone should look like,
in order to provide a pleasant place,
where she could blossom,
and I could rest.

We used to believe,
in nothing but ourselves.

And every evening,
when the dreaded sun seeked shelter,
and when she used to close and cuddle down,
I often felt,
I often thought,
I often saw,
a whole episode of what it seemed to lie there waiting,
to take place.

*******************************************************************

Looking back,
writing it down,
discussing it with my fellow friend,
and noting,
I somehow realized that what I thought was missing,
was indeed there.

I did also realize,
that what I believed was fragile,
was indeed the opposite.

And Peter also made me realize,
that what I thought it was solid,
was indeed shapeless.

But it feels good however,
when nowdays,
when I go out in the great outdoors,
I can now see what I have sown some time ago.

Well,
I got to admit,
the crops are not what I have foreseen,
but who said that what we forsee is always right?

*******************************************************************

The title of the story is therefore the remaning part of this story.
I do believe that what I wrote here,
truly reflects how my homework was done.

Yes,
indeed,
the remaining part of the picture lies far, far away,
but it does not matter.

It never really actually mattered,
what mattered indeed were those tiny little details,
which kept an inspiration breathing.

Schiphol Panorama Terrace

2010-09-23T08:20:00.002+02:00

Checking my watch again,
it is still not time.
The day is still young,
even though the sun is swiftly setting.

Checking my pockets again,
I am always concerned about losing something,
or losing someone...
More concerned than keeping,
more concerned than giving value,
to what is already safe.. and secure.

*********************************************

Leaning over the iron railing,
Different faces,
different races,
different expressions,
and different impressions,
checking down the runway,
or the hazy skies.

And I wonder,
who are these people waiting for.
Or rather,
who are these people bidding farewell to.

Is it a son?
Is it a daughter?
Is it a friend?
Or is it just an acquantaince?

I definitely know why I am here,
and that is not for bidding farewell,
nor for giving any warm welcome to anyone.

I am here to feel,
to be part of a global emotion,
which ultimately blossoms the intimate reasons
of why we all try to keep on striving forward.

A goodbye,
may give hope for a welcome later on.
Hope,
to embrace the warmth of unspoken words,
which can only be expressed by the simplest of details,
and by the complexity of reason.

******************************************************

It is time,
it is time to look on the runway strip.

3.30pm,
and a plane already dissolved into the distant horizon.

Maybe,
the plane leaving now is holding the passenger I came here for,
maybe,
she is looking out from the small cabin windows,
looking down at the shrinking land,
feeling,
or maybe doubting,
what it could have been real.

******************************************************

Checking the watch again,
it is now time,
to indulge myself in an unexplainable action of expression.

Time to meet an old friend now,
time to have the last chat.
It is time to explain to her,
that how I feel now,
is not truly me.

It is time now,
to truly bid farewell,
to an exposed weakness,
in which created a barrier,
almost like a transparent ice shield,
which radiates only cold,
and helplessness.

A Well Defined Circle

2010-09-09T16:16:00.002+02:00

In the last few days,
Peter realized that freedom can be drawn on a picture.

In the last couple of weeks,
I realized that silence can be seen in a photograph

In the last couple of months,
Both me and Peter have realized that motivation is what keeps our friendship alive.

In the last couple of years,
Time has realized that he is nothing but an excuse to limit our boundaries of creativity,
the boundaries of happiness,
the boundaries of letting go.

******************************************************

Peter has an eye for detail,
yet he often ignores what really makes a difference.

He finds signs, symbols, even conspiracies in anything,
in anyone, anywhere.

Often I listen to him while speaking about his observations,
and I simply get shocked how paranoid he is.

Well, I have to admit,
often I remain silent because I would have no arguments against his,
maybe I am not afraid enough,
or maybe I fear way too much.

I do not know,
he is imaginary afterall,
he can say whatever he fancies...
It will never affect me...
or maybe it already has.

*******************************************************

I have an eye for detail,
and I try to find something different in every detail I notice.

I find symbols, signs and even conspiracies often irrelevant,
since their meaning is empowered by the ones who believe in them,
and those who believe them are often driven to think that way.

Peter often listens to me while I speak about my observations,
and I notice, that often he gets shocked by how naive I am.

He sometimes admits,
often he remains silent because he thinks I am conditioned to be the way I am.

He sometimes admits,
that from the perception of someone who does not belong to this reality we all dwell in,
it is evident that what feeds our soul is nothing but a white lie,
which, no matter what, it keeps us calm,
it keeps us breathing,
it keeps us numb.

I do not know,
he is imaginary afterall,
he can say whatever he fancies..
It does not affect me,
but our freedom of choice surely does,
cause we can choose whatever we like,
as long as we stay within the boundaries of what is accepted,
and what is not..

************************************************************

I keep telling myself,
that this is the last flower I am going to cut off from my garden.

But,
Somehow, I keep taking flowers away,
every year.

But this is my freedom,
a freedom which is chained to a well defined path.

The saying goes,
"Life is an awful teacher,
it first gives us the test,
then the lesson".

Then I must be an awful student,
since I keep on failing the same test..
over.. and over again.

Blackbird

2010-09-05T18:09:00.001+02:00

No matter how hard I try,
No matter the effort I put in something,
I feel that the situation will eventually turn out the way I feared,
almost like a time bomb,
there waiting,
ticking,
until it finally detonates.

The damage is often the way I think it would be,
and often I try to understand the consequence before it actually happens.

This damage however,
unknowingly to me,
is often orchestrated by a frame of mind,
in which I, without any choice,
am bound to.

*******************************************************************

I still remember last May,
where me and Peter used to meet.

I still remember how our conversations turned out,
I still remember the way we talked about you.

We did not know who you really were,
We had no idea how it all of this would turn out.
We were simply speculating,
wondering,
and trying to find a solution to the problem.

Yet,
we both came out with the conclusion,
that you did ease the pain.
You,
like a proud poppy,
provided the anaesthetic which was needed at that time.

Eventually,
in our conversations,
me and Peter always concluded,
that we both have to wait and see.

*******************************************************************

Whenever there are two paths leading to two different places,
Whenever there are two opportunities leading to two different lives,
I always think about which one I am willing to lose.

Thinking about it now,
I reckon that it was never easy.

Thinking about it now,
I was never really good at this.

So, I looked it up in the web,
so I read about it in books.

I have listened to in the streets,
and looked for it in the skies,
every day, and every night,
I wore myself out,
trying to let go the way which,
ultimately it had to be let go.

Often I knock on the door of my friend,
and he always greets me well.

"Give me a solution Mr.Time", I often ask.
"Wait and let things happen", is the answer I always get.

But little I knew that this was a very tricky answer.
Little I knew that by themselves,
the seconds, minutes ticking are not the ones providing the answer.

I am surprised today to know,
that the seconds, minutes ticking are only letting me decide,
letting me find all sorts of excuses,
doubts, circles,
letting me adjust the rudder of this ship in a way which,
is driven by the ideas, pictures, and maps I build, and write in my head.

Yes,
today I realize that I never really waited,
and that I never really let things happen.

Today,
yes, I do realize that control is what really led the way,
often driven by the fear of letting go,
just to find an explanation for my choice.

*****************************************************************

Sometimes the wind shows its true meaning,
and breathes out a gust of change.

Sometimes,
the flowers here in these gardens would need to move away,
would need to move on,
would need to change their patch of earth.

Many of them are never really missed,
The ones that matter however,
will leave a space which will never be filled.

*****************************************************************

The time had come to open the window of my white room,
and let the blackbird out.

A bird is not meant to be caged,
a bird is meant to fly and roam away, freely.

I believe we both learned from each other,
And I will always be grateful for the company this bird has given me.

How I feel about it now is simply beyond and words,
notes, and symbols.

Still,
It had to happen,
Since the world out there is waiting for you.

Fly up and high,
Glide carefully and far.

Bye, Bye Blackbird...

Paranoia's Journey III

2010-08-31T00:15:00.001+02:00

It is official,
it is now being confirmed.
It is now being admitted,
and it is now being seen.

It is now very noticeable,
and it is becoming very obvious.
It is now showing its other self,
the other self which is now making me understand,
that everything,
everyone has two sides.

**************************************************

What used to be funny before,
what used to be harmless,
is now turning into something different.
Now it is turning into something which has a different meaning,
a different personality,
a different side,
a different self.

What used to be taken lightly before,
now it is weighing much more,
much more than I can ever handle.

Everything around me has its own organs,
everything around has its senses.
Everything is being watched,
everything is being noted down.

Conspiracies are now present in everything,
everyone now is part of something.

My back now has its own eyes,
and my own eyes now have their own opinion.
They are now seeing more than they should,
now they are being aware of what is not visible.

They can now listen instead of seeing,
they are now watching... everything... everyone.

Every move is now being studied,
every word is now being analyzed.

Every action is now getting broken down into smaller pieces,
just to be studied... observed.

***************************************************

I have noticed Peter lately,
I have noticed his immense sense of creativity.
He is being so creative nowadays,
that he is also writing.

He is writing down his own stories,
he is now writing, and drawing conclusions.

Often I ask him on what observations he is drawing these conclusions,
I often ask him which pattern was followed.

And yes,
very much indeed,
his answers are now predictable.

His answers all ride the same frequency,
all go around the same circles.

They are all now sliding down this spiral,
which has grown way beyond any imaginable control.

And these conclusions are very much based on valid reasons...
pity however, that these reasons were all born from the mother of all doubts,
Paranoia.

****************************************************

There was a time where the relationship was going fine.
There was a time where things were going smoothly.

Yes,
This new perception is very much fair,
it has shown a whole different person,
a whole different me.

But it seems the clock has struck the hour where one has to move on.
Everyone is aware that all flowers out there have their own dark secrets.

They have seen things,
they have silently stamped the picture down their memory.

*****************************************************

I have now packed everything,
and it is now time for me to leave.

It is time to bid farewell,
it is time to kiss each other goodbye.

It was a good ride,
it was a good period,
but all good things come to an end.

I am sorry,
I cannot handle it anymore.

I am sorry,
It has become way too heavy for me to carry anymore.

Take care,
it is time to move on.

Paranoia's Journey II

2010-08-23T15:59:00.002+02:00

Routine structures my day.
It also structures my thoughts,
and my perception of the world around me.

Routine is my morphine,
it turns me numb to the facts around me,
it relieves me from the perils of freedom.

Routine is the air I inhale,
it keeps my mind focused,
while the life arounds me fades away.

********************************************

What did they say to me?
What did they mean by that?
What is going around us,
What is going on behind my back.

Every word weighs more than its meaning,
and every meaning is too much for me to handle.

Every eye has a voice of its own,
every eye knows the language of concern.

Every eye is an expert in what she transmits,
every iris has its double agenda.

Every noise is disturbing,
every song sounds different.

Every second that passes,
makes me aware of an approaching end.

Every day that draws to its end,
adds a new sorrow to the soul.

Sorrow, not to the reality which I am in,
but to the imagination I dwell in.

Sorrow not to what my senses percieve,
but what my senses interpret.

******************************************

In the big black box,
I sit there and wonder.

In the absence of colours I try to create a picture,
I try to invent a story.

I try to understand,
and I try to evaluate what is going on.

I often wear a blindfold,
and pick up a paint brush,
and start painting on the walls,
try to give life to what I hear inside my head.

I often wear a blindfold,
and start washing the black walls with anything,
anything I can find,
anything I can get hold of.

I try to interpret what the circles around are saying,
I try to listen to the songs of the deepest spirals,
I try to make others around me understand,
what this is all about.

********************************************

What I believed was a friend,
What I believed was a relief,
is now showing a different side.

A mourning widow,
no one ever knows why the tears are shed.

An evergreen tree,
no one ever understands the seasons involved.

Every day I look forward to my daily prayers,
which often differ from the ones I am used to.

Every evening I look forward for the following morning,
which often has the same personality,
characterisics... and moods.

Every night I look forward for my sleep,
just to hope for a better afternoon.

Every year I hope for a new beginning,
which is often the same as the previous end.

**********************************************

Around me,
the eye is always watching.

Around me,
the ear is always listening.

Around me,
the air is always feeling,
always noting down every tiny detail of my conditioned behaviour.

Where will this spiral lead,
I do not know.

The chaos which it is causing however,
is very well noticed,
and very well seen.

Paranoia's Journey I

2010-08-17T08:12:00.000+02:00

Once in a while,
when the days become longer than normal,
Peter normally takes a well deserved break.

Whenever the minute becomes an hour,
and the hour becomes a whole day,
it is time for Peter to sit down,
lie back,
and take his own holiday.

Setting the right background often guarantees a good rest,
setting the right attitude often provides a good ride.

Normally he would put some music on,
usually the white curtains are pulled down,
often his rest is well regulated,
just to make sure that it goes as intended.

************************************************

Finding myself alone,
in an evening where it calls the end of an ordinary day,
I often get this funny feeling that I am not alone.

Finding myself alone,
walking along a wide corridor,
I often get this feeling, that the pictures around me have a meaning.

And yes,
submerged in my own reality,
I often look behind my shoulders,
to make sure that no stranger is overlooking.
And while making sure nobody is noting down my behaviour,
I often ask these pictures for a meaningful answer.

I do not know whether they do answer or not,
I am very unsure on who is actually speaking.
Is it my head?
Is it my ego?
Is it my concience?
Or is it just pure insanity?

Whoever or whatever it is,
ultimately it does not matter,
cause the answers I get,
are always somewhat disturbing,
almost sick,
yet very familiar.

I have got them before,
and I am still getting them now,
and while I try to gather as much information as possible,
I realize that I need to act swiftly,
fast.

*******************************************************

Perceptions often change in a blink of an eye,
and so does Peter's perception on his own environment,

Moving and shrinking,
as if its collapsing,
his own room is no longer safe.

Everything seems to be watching,
everything seems to be listening.

Every portrait seems to speak out,
speaking out words of discomfort,
speaking out words from of concern,
Everyone is an enemy at this stage,
nobody is to be trusted.

Trying to control it,
trying to calm it down.
Down a drink,
smoke a cigarette,
only to have the disease speaking out,
blaming,
blaming the world,
for something which was never done in the first place.

*******************************************************

Whoever put this pictures up must have known what he was doing.
Whoever drew these ugly faces on the wall must have known what man is like.

Everything here has a message,
everything here is speaking out for itself.

The space is getting narrower,
but the dimensions remain the same.

The air is getting shallower,
but my lungs are still breathing normally.

Trying not to panic,
trying not to lose control,
I call out for help,
scream out for assistance,
crying out for God.

But God's eye is always watchful,
and is always there, judging me,
judging you,
taking note of every breath we take,
taking note of every crave we get,
noting down our sinful deeds,
noting down our programmed behaviour.

*********************************************************

What is your interpretation of all around us?
What is my opinion about things which matter?

What was she telling in reality?
What if the eyes had a voice of their own,
would I still be digging out for explanation?

Everything seems to be making sense,
everything seems to have the correct answer.

And often while resting,
Peter finds comfort in his own thoughts,
in his own wave of paranoia,
since living too long in the comfort of his own often shapes whats visible into whats most fitting.

*********************************************************

Nobody is overlooking,
since nobody ever cares.

White Widow

2010-08-10T15:05:00.000+02:00

Actions speak louder than words,
Truth is stranger than fiction.

Honesty is darker than lies,
Questions give more answers than statements.

Love hurts more than pain,
Peace is often brought by conflicts.

Silence materializes from the absence of noise,
and the night is only pleasant after a hot and bright day.

White cannot exist without its counterpart,
And life is only accepted when the unacceptable takes place.

A relationship is cherished often after a heartbreak,
Friendships are often appreciated after a disappointment.

Good health is taken care of right when its missed,
and something, or someone, become valuable only when they are gone.

************************************************************

I like to explore new ways,
and I like to get to know whats around me.

I like to go around sometimes,
just to visit familiar areas,
or just to find new places.

I like to go around my own world sometimes,
I like getting to know who is in it,
what is taking place while I am busy distracting myself.

I often stroll by fields of apathetic flowers,
who do not seem to recognize me,
even though our eyes meet every week,
every day.

But there are a few who I like,
and these few often join me in my own home.
I often take good care of them,
I often treat them well.
I try to make them happy,
to make them blossom,
to make them comfortable in my presence.

I always put them in the same place,
where I think its best for them to grow,
where I think its the best for me to watch.

Sometimes they spend days there,
sometimes they spend a little bit more.
In some occasions they spend months,
and in very rare cases they spend years.

But they are always there.

**********************************************

It is interesting however,
almost curious,
why sometimes I see what I do not think its real.

It is also interesting to observe my own self,
sitting down,
hands on my knees,
back upright,
neck straight,
and my shoulders square.
Interesting not just because every limb,
every bone,
seem to be in order.
Interesting because while my entire self is static,
my ego often drifts far far away,
always looking how to lose itself,
how to explore more ways.

Ways how to look,
how to observe,
how to talk,
and how to appreciate.

Ways how to love,
ways how to make my body adjust itself to the situation,
ways how to make my brain function right according to its present.

Ways how let the clock tick in its own pace,
ways how to appreciate the days which are now gone,
and ways how to look forward to the days which are still unborn.

************************************************

And there it goes again!
It is happening all over again.

Whenever I bring my flowers in,
they are normally gifted with different colours,
just to adjust the setting of my room properly.

Still its happening once again,
still their meaning is changing,
and has changed since then.

I know, I know that they may not have changed,
but for some reason their colours look as if they're fading,
as if they're somehow degrading... or rather evolving,
into a whole different perspective.

I know, I know I am riding on the same circle again,
and I know I am sliding along this familiar spiral,
where it keeps winding and drilling down into labyrinth of doubts.

*************************************************

Under a magnifying lens one can delve himself into an infinite amount of detail.
Infinite in itself is a limitation onto its own,
and I do believe that our perception of our own world limits itself onto a finite number of possibilities.

Still,
down there,
sometimes these very details dissolve into their own,
or into each other,
only to create different images,
faces,
photographs,
different impressions.

And while inspecting some random white petals which I find scattered around,
I often find small, yet strong presence of black.

No, the lens never lies,
but I am always unsure whether these black spots are real or not.
What I am sure about is that for me,
for my own impressions,
they are there..
and they indeed make the other details dissolve into nothingness.

****************************************************

It is time to go inside now,
it is time to appreciate the benefits of this ride.

It is time to get my guitar,
and let my fingers create their own piece of music.

It is time to let my ears listen to this music,
and let myself understand what is to understand,
and simply, blissfully, ignore the rest.

Peter's Spiritual Self

2010-08-04T08:55:00.001+02:00

The search of ourselves,
and that of our souls is indeed a lifelong journey.

And so it is for our mutual friend Peter.
In his own imaginary world,
one can easily come up with various ways how to achieve this,
very much like in our own reality.

I do not know much about Peter's past.
His upbringing, and his social background are somewhat obscure to me.
I have tried several times to discuss it with him,
to know him more,
and maybe to understand him more,
but he seems to avoid talking about it,

*****************************************************

Peter's faith,
and Peter's spiritual experience is very, very similar to most people I know.
He rarely speaks about his beliefs,
but whenever he does,
one can easily notice the disappointment Peter had in this integral part of himself.

Like many of us,
and like many of them,
he did believe in religious dogmas.
Apparently,
once, he did believe in an almighty being,
and he did have faith in this entity.

He learned about great persons,
who dwelled in his imaginary world a long time ago.
Funnily enough,
he did believe in tradition,
held on to the scripture's text,
and tried to strive forward to follow teachings which were explained by ancient men.

Death, and rising from the dead,
living into eternal bliss with various religious characters,
almost like in a fairy tale,
almost like a kid, whose childhood is obscured by a dark curtain,
he held on to these stories,
he eld on to these teachings,
with the hope of making him grow,
develop.
It is very much like carrot on a stick,
where ultimately the Truth was never important,
as long as it made him move forward.

*******************************************************

Eventually Peter grew,
and suddenly he started to realize that,
indeed he was, or rather he was thinking,
that he was falling into the trap of the dark lord,
of devils,
of monstrous fable characters.

Yet,
it became evident that knowledge,
and reason were not the tools of the black forces.
Eventually,
moving on from, and releasing oneself from the shackles of old tradition,
teachings,
and manipulation of sly ministers of his religion proved to be the start of a brand new life.

Even though he was convinced on his own, new truth
it took him a while to see the world outside the transparent box he unknowingly lived in.
But once he was outside,
or rather, thought he was outside,
everything took a different shape,
different meaning,
different colour.

What he believed it was harmful,
what he believed it was bad,
turned out to be his gateway to his own, personal spiritual enlightenment.

He waited,
he thought, he still somehow believed,
that his detachment from his preprogrammed faith would eventually doom his life...

But nothing happened.
His mind slowly opened its dormant eyes,
and his consciousness,
awareness,
and appreciation towards others increased.

Indeed this new freedom was breathtaking.

****************************************************

Nobody can ever put judgement on Peter,
Nobody can ever tell him what is right or wrong for him.

What tastes bad for others, may not taste the same for Peter,
and what is good for you,
what worked for you,
may be a deadly poison to me.

Nowadays,
Peter is simply searching for new ways to fill in the void,
and harm,
which his old faith has put.

We sometimes discuss these ways,
and I admit, I do not really agree how he is trying to fill this void,
but,
it seems it is working for him.

As he grew out of his childhood fairy tale world and beliefs,
he will also grow out of this phase,
and it will keep on changing,
throughout his whole life.

But there is nothing wrong with that,
as long as he smiles and shines,
he might as well live the way he thinks is best.

And I reckon that this is the fundamental dogma that people dwelling in their own imaginary universe should believe in.

Peter's Mechanical Wrist Watch

2010-07-31T14:17:00.000+02:00

As dusk approaches,
and as soon as the summer breeze gets slightly cooler,
Peter always gets this fine tickle in the head,
which apparently,
it affects the circle of feelings inside.

Well I do not know really.....
Imaginary people yield imaginary feelings I think,
but then I wonder,
what makes a feeling real,
what makes it fake?

What does really affect the mood inside..
what does really make our hearts burn with passion,
be it love,
or be it the passion for indifference and apathy.

**************************

************************

Every morning,
the first crave I would get is that to see the evening.

Sometimes,
the thought of the approaching sunset,
followed by a night ruled by silence
is soothing enough to numb all the concerns which distract me during the day.

Silence is golden many say,
and I do agree.

Silence can indeed please the mind more than music,
more than any sound,
more than any voice.

It is ironic however,
how can this lack of auditory stimulation can trigger a rollercoaster ride,
right in the head.

A ride,
which would lack nothing except silence itself,
A ride,
which would bring all sort of bustling noises to the eardrums of the heart.

****************************************************

Peter,
like me,
likes to write.

He writes almost about anything,
but the way I see it,
is mostly an expression of how he feels when he is listening to some music.

Sometimes,
what goes in his head under the influence of music would be crystal clear,
but often he cannot describe it,
let alone write about it.

So normally he chooses the easiest way out,
and simply writes about what concerns him in the present,
what concerned him yesterday,
and what will most likely concern him tomorrow.

There is always a pattern in his writing,
and one could easily tell when he is being nostalgic.
One could aslo easily tell whether he either hopeful or not,
satisfied,
happy,
or empty.

Yet,
his emptiness often yields brilliant imagination,
very much like a Pandora Box,
in which once opened,
all sorts of things come out,
all sorts of things can happen.

********************************************************

Every day can be the final chapter of our lives,
and every day can be the first chapter of a new experience.

But most often,
in Peter's monochromatic life,
every day is often a repetition of the same lesson.
Over and over again.

Vermy mucj like surfing on a neverending wave of time,
where flowers never blossom,
where trees are evergreen,
and where the oceans are as static as the afternoon sky.

I often ask him,
why is he stuck in the same hour,
same minute,
same second.

I often ask him why the hands of his wrist watch never move.

And his reply,
as always,
is clear enough to interpret,
but hazy enough to question it silently.

"They try to time tomorrow while still being stuck in yesterday.
And that never really makes my watch show what time it actually is"

Parting Of Ways

2010-07-26T09:01:00.003+02:00

It is true indeed,
that after a storm, there's always the bright sky waiting.
And I believe it should be true the other way round,
that of having the black clouds waiting,
hiding,
until their turn comes in,
and give the world a break from the scorching heat,
and give us,
give me the necessary shade in order to breathe.

And often,
while laying down,
having a rest,
living and dwelling in my own reality,
I got to forget the beauty of expression,
the warm feeling of making myself understood.

Nowadays,
I did learn,
and I have kept track on how this chapter unfolds,
and how this book was written.

*********************************************************

Sometimes the simplest symbols give the deepest meanings,
while the most complex ones simply lose theirs.

And that is exactly what I have learned a few days ago,
while going through a book.

Nothing much can be said about this book,
and nothing much can be said about its context.
Its main focus was on various people,
yet on no one in particular.

I read it slowly,
and followed it slowly,
and tried to figure out the stream of characters,
tried to figure out the whole plot.

"There should be a reason why certain things had to happen,
There should be a certain build up of the whole story", I wondered.
But I just could not figure out how,
and why
most of the characters in this book were mentioned only for a while,
a short while, before disappearing,
not being mentioned again.

And indeed,
sometimes,
although some of them were only mentioned in just a few pages,
it was enough for me to get somehow attached,
was enough for me to somehow get used to their presence.

***************************************************************

When I was done from all the reading,
I flicked through the text again.

Jus to check whether I missed something,
or someone,
maybe every character would appear again somehow..
but the truth was,
that most of them never did.
They just left me here,
wondering,
where they are,
and how they are.

********************************************************

Nowadays,
nothing else can be done about the pages which have been written,
Nowadays,
it is all about which words to write down from now on,
about who to describe,
and about who should eventually leave this great plot.

It is all about decisions,
smaller ones,
often irrelevant ones,
which sometimes happen in the spur of the moment,
but would eventually lead to the point where it is not whom to keep close,
but is is about who we are willing to part ways with.

A Memory Worth 80 Euros

2010-07-07T14:27:00.003+02:00

Walking back,
craving for the basic needs which are normally taken for granted,
I was stopped by a polite fellow,
who asked me if I was going back or not.

I replied by telling him that yes I was,
and I had no intention of coming back.
Saying that made me feel even more light,
made me feel less weary and tired,
less heavy,
more clear.

Then he asked me whether I was willing or not,
to give him a memory which was tied around my left wrist.

**************************

***********************

"No thanks, I am going to keep it as a memory".
And I kept walking along my way.

But then,
I couldn't understand why I did not sell it.
I could have got some free money,
to cover some of my expenses,
to cover some of my troubles,
and ease my guilty conscience a bit.

Why would I keep a memory which reminds me of personal disappointments,
minor failures,
and discomfort caused by lack of every day control.

I looked back,
but the person was now gone.

And I wondered if I will ever get rid of this memory,
even if I had to sell it for 80 Euros.

**********************************************************

"Well.. okay. How much are you offering for it?"
He offered me 50 Euros,
but I refused. I told him I will not sell it for less than 80.

And so, after a few minutes of price dealing,
we agreed about my price.
He handed over the money,
I gave him what he wanted,
and bid each other farewell.

But then,
after a couple of hundred metres,
I realized that I had made a mistake.
I couldn't understand why I sold it.

Why did I sell something which reminded me of the positive things I have learned,
acquired,
and experienced?
Why was I in a hurry to get rid of a memory.
Am I so ashamed of myself,
of what I did?

Am I ever going to learn,
that some things are there to be remembered,
just to help you fix the old mistakes,
and help you discover newer ones?

And besides,
money comes and goes,
but certain moments come just once,
and if missed, they are missed for ever.

Evening Thoughts

2010-06-23T08:46:00.002+02:00

Driving back home,
through narrow, shorter roads,
checking my wrist watch,
so I can be on time.

Taking all possible shortcuts I knew of,
I then realized it was somewhat too late.

The phone did not ring tonight,
but its okay.
I looked forward for this silence before,
and now that I am into it,
I shouldn't back out.

It is exactly what I was looking for,
and it is exactly what I am getting.
It is what I think I need,
so let the silence reign.

********************************************

During these bright days,
I often go out in my flourishing garden,
to listen to the sounds of the world.

I often stroll around the same pathways,
with my eyes closed,
just to forget about the concerns I have back home.

And I often walk around there,
keeping my palm of the hand right above my flowers,
just to feel their almost invisible touch,
just to feel the mutual relationship I have with them.

Well,
I admit,
sometimes I do pick some of them up.
Sometimes, the temptation is indeed overwhelming,
indeed strong.
Sometimes I would rather have a few of them dwelling where I believe its best.
Best not for them,
Best not for me,
But best for the situation which I would find myself in.

And that is exactly what I did with a particular blossom.
Like the others before I picked her up and took her inside.

Immediately when I opened the door of the apartment,
I switched off the lights,
and put her in an empty vase.

I proudly looked at her,
and showed her around.

I did show her the rooms which mattered at that time,
and I did show her the sharp corners around.

And,
being the smart flower she was,
she let her curiosity speak for her,
and asked about the pictures which were around.

I tried to remain consistent in my answers,
I tried to be careful,
but somehow,
I really felt this flower was exactly what this monochromatic world was missing.

And the answers I gave,
weren't always the ones she needed to hear.
The answers I gave however,
were all tailored to dissolve,
dissolve slowly in the unlit environment which I found myself in.

******************************************

No matter how hard one tries,
No matter how much one closes his eyes and says no,
sometimes there is no other choice left other than that to give in and let go.

In his brightly lit room,
sitting on a solid white wooden chair,
Peter was holding his phone tight in his hand.

Eagerly waiting,
counting until ten,
and counting again,
over and over again,
he waited.

Nevertheless,
this torture was pleasant.
He had not felt it for a long time.

And yes,
even though it did give an uneasy, funny feeling,
and even though he was pretty much certain that the night was going to be silent again,
he held his phone tight.
Not because he was expecting it to ring,
but because the feeling was missed...
very much.

*******************************************

On my solid white wooden chair,
I attentively eyed my guest,
which I put right in front of me,
right in the middle of a table,
so we could have dinner together.

I am not the best cook,
but I did my best.
I thought I prepared a fitting meal for the situation,
I thought I was delivering what was needed.

Yet,
the flower lay still,
not making a move,
not even trying to take the iniative to try the dinner out.

I asked her why,
I asked if there was anything wrong.
But stupid questions call for ridiculously obvious answers,
and she simply replied that even though the dinner looked pleasant,
it was not what she needed.

What she needed was some water,
so she could freshen up,
unwind her roots,
and relax in her own pace.

And that is what I did.
And while unwinding the situation away,
I remained right there,
on my chair,
arms on my knees,
watching her grow,
watching the room change,
watching time slowly unfolding its plan.

North

2010-06-21T14:30:00.002+02:00

A bright monday morning indeed,
slightly brighter than usual,
embracing a clear white sky,
which made the garden lush in its pride.

The bedside clock ringing madly,
calling for the everyday routine,
calling for the accepted monotonous procedure,
calling to wake up and switch off the mind.

A normal morning it is,
with the normal morning moods,
the normal morning expressions in the mirror,
calling for that normal breakfast.

**********************************************

And it was on one of these mornings,
where Peter found himself out of synch to the routine.
It must have been a dream,
bad or not, did not really matter,
but it did make his routine slightly irregular.

The mirror was showing nothing more than usual,
except for the unsusual expression in Peter's pupils.

The moods weren't much different,
except they were too thoughtful for such an early hour.

Preparing his early breakfast,
he tried to remember what happened during that short night.
Sipping slowly on his cold coffee,
puffing rigorously on his cigarette,
he tried to focus why that morning felt different.

Back in his room,
back in his refuge,
he checked in his box.

He dug deep down,
broke the white colour down,
inspected every colour which made his box worth keeping.
And to his surprise,
things did change.

******************************************************

Purple turned into forest green,
Red decided to call it a day,
and blue became darker than usual.

Pictures in the room changed their meaning,
changed their expressive figures.
Faces changed their expressions,
and the ones which mattered,
faded away.

Back in his bed,
ignoring the whole day,
and to what was supposed to be called in it,
Peter slept again,
just to remember what went wrong.. or right.

******************************************************

The answer was clear,
clear as a false lie.
More clear than black on white.

The morning can be as bright as spring water,
It didn't really matter.

The weather outside is even more irrelevant,
since inside I always yearn for that slight drizzle,
which would wash away the hazy spectrum inside.

A spectrum which was so well defined before,
and so well designed.
Yet it had to be altered by the process of time,
the process of learning the dirty tricks.

The process of experience,
which made me more mature in confusing left from right,
right from wrong,
black from white.

This fast paced morning is definitely not what I need.
This bright clear weather is definitely not my ally.
This heat, is definitely not the right medicine for this disease,
for this ailment,
for this tumor,
which keeps me running on the same circumference of a neverending circle.

*****************************************************

Peter woke up the following morning,
slightly less confused than before.

He still couldn' remember what the night journey was about,
but that was not the point.

If the colours in his room changed so much,
there should be a reason behind it.

But Peter is not the kind of person who looks into the cause of things.
He is the kind of person who learnt,
that instead of finding a meaning,
one should just follow through the change,
and sometimes accepting without asking questions.

******************************************************

With a pair of sunglasses on,
and a fresh bottle of water in my backpack,
I bought a one way ticket,
to a place where my eyes could rest,
and my mind can follow.

Leaving everything behind,
leaving the shredded emotions where they are meant to stay,
I ventured North,
where the sky matches my world,
where the cold takes me by the hand,
and shows me what being brave means.

Because from now on,
it is no more about accepting.

From now on,
it is about taking that further step,
which would take me where I am supposed to be.

Up the Downstairs

2010-06-17T17:39:00.005+02:00

Out of breath,
running up a staircase.

Out of energy,
Unable to find the iron railing.

Fading away,
the bright spectrum of disillusions.

Breaking apart,
the thin rope of hope.

Finally feeling free,
of this feeling,
but I still got to keep on running this steep flight of steps.

Indeed,
Hope makes us prisoners,
Made me prisoner.

Out of breath,
running up a staircase,
to run away,
to escape, the escape itself,
which was well planned.

In the dark,
with a torch light in my left hand,
and a black pen in my right,
studying an idea,
which was sketched down by the same fingers,
which was sketched down by a different man.

******************************

*******************************

The dim shadows in the room are silently waiting for a decision,
the audience out there ignorant of each others expactations.

The flowers out there, dancing to the music,
played by a musician, whose double agenda is crystal clear.

But the flowers don't care,
as long as they have the time of their life,
as long as they sieze the damn day,
and as long as they keep on lying lazily under the hypnotizing sun.

Their future can still wait.
Yes he can wait,
they do not mind if he keeps on checking his watch.
No they do not mind if he becomes unpatient.
Life is young, time is young,
so let the future wait.

But sometimes,
I really cannot get it.
I really cannot get their point at all.
Aren't they aware that Spring lasts only a couple of months?
Aren't they aware that too much light,
too much Sun,
too much heat,
will suck their colours and their soul away?

************************************************************

Fingers through her fair hair,
lips close,
but never close enough,
eyes open,
looking away,
concerned about giving away the real meaning.

Holding her tight,
but never tight enough,
enough to keep her close,
enough to keep my distance.

Whispering softly into her ears,
words of true honesty,
which cast more doubt than a white lie.
Words of truth,
which if weighed with the right balance,
they will indeed draw a full picture.
A crystal clear picture,
too clear to interpret correctly.
Much more clear than the one drawn before.

And while she listens,
nothing distracts me from from the music,
the music coming out of her head,
composed from a whole different, new progression.
Yet, no matter how different this music is,
it has the same musical notes,
those very notes which make up all the music in the whole world.

And sometimes,
time has to stop,
it has to slow down,
just to interpret from my own understanding,
the flowing thoughts pouring out.

Thinking,
what she is thinking.
Thinking,
what I should be doing,
not to get burned again.

But I am now aware,
that weakness is no longer about falling for her.
Weakness is now shown if I pull myself away,
Weakness is the instrument of those backing away,
and I know,
now that I have been there,
down there...
I do know that playing this instrument again,
is now a dirty business.

*****************************************************

Out of breath,
still running up the staircase,
not minding the people in the way,
not listening to anything.

Where will it take me?
Where will it take You?
Where will it take Us?

Sometimes I feel like I am only running away,
Sometimes I feel like I am sailing away on the seas,
from port to port.
Visiting places,
interfering in other people lives,
just to kill time.

And like a wandering sailor,
the feeling of no destination,
the feeling of no bed of my own,
will never take me anywhere.

Peter's Pandora's Box

2010-06-14T12:37:00.002+02:00

Once a process is done,
or rather,
once it is put to an end,
all its building blocks,
and all its pieces,
are often put inside a small box,
which is then carefully sealed,
and carefully hidden.

That is how some some people move on,
and I am no exception.
But it would be very, very unwise,
if these pieces are forgotten,
or avoided.

Because ultimately,
it is not the end result which really matters,
but the whole process.

*********************************************

"The End Justifies The Means",
and I cannot agree more.

Sometimes,
it would be more fitting to walk,
rather than driving.

Sometimes,
an evening train would be more convenient,
and sometimes,
a half an hour flight would do the job.

Sometimes,
one would need to crawl silently,
discreetly,
and slowly,
in order to reach the destination.
It might not be the most effective way to travel,
but who are we to judge the means of others?

What we were taught,
How we were conditioned to see,
the values which shaped our judgement,
may trigger a natural reaction to symbols which we may not entirely understand,
since it would need a view which goes beyond the bubble we were brought in.

**********************************************

Peter is the kind of person who simply loves travelling.
He travels often.
The destination doesn't really matter,
since for him, everywhere is pretty much the same.

Some buildings may be built from stone,
solid concrete,
or wood.
But he doesn't really care,
since all of them offer the shelter which is required.

Different cultures,
with different beliefs,
is simply irrelevant for him,
interesting to know,
but nothing to note down.

And when he comes back from a trip,
he never shows me any photos.
I often ask him about them,
and his answer is always the same,
and that is,
he never takes any.

He would just get his small
white box and open it,
just to show me the little things he brings with him.

Sometimes he shows me a smile,
a new friend,
a new relationship,
a handful of soil,
or sand,
a dried flower,
or a tiny vial, filled with melted ice.

I got to admit,
I always feel uncomfortable when we go through this box together,
that is why sometimes, I go through it myself.
And the more I dig in it,
the more surprised I would get with what I discover.

*************************************************

When I decided to venture into the world of travelling myself,
I decided to put up my small collection as well.

Like Peter,
I do not take photos,
I do not have any photo albums,
and I rarely remember the faces of the people I meet.

But I do have my own,
small collection,
with little details, given by the warm hearts which gave me shelter.
And sometimes,
when I am all alone,
in the silence of the early hours of a brand new day,
I go through these little, yet very precious collection,
only to get hold of the emotions again,
the kisses, hugs, and tears which make and end justified.

Which made this End, justified.

Insignificant September

2010-06-02T20:40:00.006+02:00

A few days ago I recieved an unexpected email.
At first I thought that it was the effect of a night out,
a chilled night out,
where the only companions were my guitar and the evening waves.

***************************************************

The mail had a particular subject,
and its sender was even more particular.

It was sent by September herself,
and she wrote a nasty letter indeed.

Well, I wasn't expecting such message so early,
nevertheless I was expecting something similar.
Somehow,
I did feel,
I did know,
that I would get it.

**************************************************

Right outside,
next to a busy night street,
with dim lights shining through my glass of whiskey,
becoming even brighter by the reflection,
of the melting ice inside,
we finally met.

Slowly,
I took out my lighter,
and lit up a cigarette.
I knew that this cigarette was going to take a long time to burn ,
I knew it was going to taste more bitter and sour than others.

**************************************************

I did understand,
and I could follow the meaning of this month,
and I wasn't surprised even a little bit by the outcome of the conversation.

The music in the background,
echoing its meanings,
inspired me to look at my arms,
and remember.

Remember that,
the left arm, constantly crying out that I could do it,
while the right arm whispers all the time,
not to put my guard down. Ever.

Still with the burning poison on the ashtray,
I read out what the other me wrote during the fairest of all months,
where Spring gives a new life to the world,
but almost sucked mine out.

I read them loud,
I read them clear,
and I did all my best to avoid the eyes of a month,
which used to shine the brightest of lights onto this long year.

****************************************************

When the evening waves become only a distant sound in the silence of a Summer night,
When alcohol makes my head dizzy again,
When the mirror has a meaning again,
When the eyes dry out again,
and when dreams turn into nightmares again,
I realize that I am somehow,
in peace with my soul again.

And when I no longer check the watch,
to think what is happening,
far, far away,
and when time settles its pace again,
then it does mean indeed,
that I am moving on.

Calmly I explained to September,
how it felt,
every night,
to be afraid to go to sleep,
because the thoughts that someone else was next to what I believed it was true,
honest,
and sincere,
would simply scream out loud throughout the early hours.

And I had to explain,
that I had to let go,
because September wanted so,
even though she appreciated how much I was looking forward to her.

And yes,
I had to go through all of it again,
for one more time.

******************************************************

And for the last time,
I explained to her,
that nowadays,
the month of Septmeber is just the month which turns the colours of my fair flowers dull again.
The month were the distractions finally hibernate,
the month which prepares everyone for the coldness of the winter feelings.

*****************************************************

I drank my last bit of whiskey,
paid the bill,
and bid my last farewell to the September I once knew.

End of A Memorable May

2010-05-31T07:51:00.003+02:00

Monday morning again,
adjusting swiftly to the normal weekly routine,
I woke up with a slight positive attitude.

Not normal for this time of the day,
and not normal at all for a Monday morning,
but today,
its a special day.
Its the last day of a memorable May.

***********************************************

I will not write down again the chapters which I went through this month,
they are clearly written and explained in the other stories which are written here.

I will only write that finally,
the conclusion of this long month has arrived.

Looking back,
I can now tap myself on the shoulders,

Looking back,
I can now say that I have managed to go through all of it..
once again.

A new beginning always offers a new hope,
a new light.
It almost feels like a refreshing spring of water,
in the middle of a barren land.

It is true,
that I had to undergo that feeling of moving along a different way,
of letting someone go,
and well,
being myself,
saying Goodbye is not an easy thing,
but I was fully aware when I was cooking this sour medicine,
I was aware that eventually I would be the patient to take it,
yes,
I was always aware of that.
But yeah,
being the idiot I am,
I followed the Carpe Diem motto,
only to follow a way which led me to huge, thick black wall.

***********************************************************

Peter and I became really close this month,
and I think we are in for a great adventure soon.

Yes,
we did lose a flower,
we did let her go,
but for sure,
we did find other ones,
which are now slowly filling our garden with the colours which it was missing for so long.

And I will always remember,
and appreciate those flowers,
which offered their assistance,
to keep my garden bright,
appealing,
warm,
and alive.

Their bright colours will always be on my mind,
and I, being a person who often views the world from a monochromatic lens,
can say that I am deeply impressed,
and deeply grateful,
to this beautiful blossom,
which greatly inspired me to look ahead.

***********************************************************

What else can I say?
I guess for this month I have said enough.

I've been humble enough to admit,
I've been helpless enough to accept,
I've been hurt enough to write,
And I am an idiot still,
for still hoping,
that one day,
this May will be looked upon with a smile.

Black Gold

2010-05-27T09:06:00.004+02:00

I have to admit,
I am someone who often gets pulled, or pushed away,
by first impressions.

A person in a suit,
or in a fancy dress,
well groomed hair,
or well prepared make-up,
may give a pleasant taste
to the famished eyes,
which constantly drool for affection,
meaning, and attachement.

Very much like a piece of dark brown chocolate,
or a teaspoon of white sugar,
it all goes down pleasantly well,
over and over again.

********************************************************

Back into the waves of symbols,
and hidden meanings,
Peter became intrigued by an announcement.

The news were calling out for a search,
a search for The Gold,
a resource, which was is so badly needed..
by everyone.

There was an uproar,
and everyone there,
in their black and white clothing,
grey garments,
good and bad intentions,
and in search for meanings or answers,
soared out from the safety of their humid caves,
and braved out, in the open,
to ride on the black birds waiting in the white sky.

Peter,
being my good friend,
got on his bird as well,
in search of this resource,
so maybe,
just maybe,
he could get the right ingredient,
which was much needed by me.

*********************************************************

Every morning,
and every evening,
I constantly think how it would have been,
if the small decisions which I abruptly took,
were somewhat different.

Every morning,
while stuck in traffic,
craving for my first cup of coffee,
I always wonder,
what decisions I should take next,
so that in the following morning,
I would take a different route,
just to avoid the long lines in the roads,
just to arrive earlier,
so I can buy more time,
which is so freely available out there.

*********************************************************

Thousands of black birds stormed the clouds,
with their Masters hunting,
and searching for The Gold.

Amidst the confusion,
Peter noticed,
that most of the Flowers riding on the waves of the sky,
were heading towards a glittering mine,
which was well exposed,
well accessible,
and very well available..
for everyone,
anyone who seeks safety and refuge.

They pulled down,
and started to collect as much material as they could,
day and night,
dawn and dusk,
week after week,
they worked, hypnotized by the magnificent and bright light,
this curious, presumably ore, was showing.

Now Peter ain't that dumb,
he may be an idiot sometimes,
but if there is something that he is aware of,
is that Not All That Glitters Is Gold.

So he rode on his bird further,
and flew over yonder,
away from the confusion.

While flying over the horizon,
he couldn't help himself but shake his head in disbelief,
for among the Flowers back there
there was his faveourite,
the one he cared so much for.

Upset,
and disappointed,
that she also fell in the trap of many.
But there is no turning back,
so on he went, in search for his Gold.

********************************************************

The day arrived,
when the Minister of this imaginary world,
called for everyone,
to present what was collected.

The Flowers walked in,
and laid down their hard work.
Still hypnotized,
still dwelling in their illusion,
they were still smiling,
unaware what was waiting for them.

The Minister looked down at them,
and while pitiful for their lack of knowledge and experience,
he informed them that all their hard work,
and time was in vain,
cause they only collected salt,
which was only glittering by reflection,
by an optical illusion,
caused by the bright sun,
and by the bright colours,
which constantly distracted their focus.

He then threw the flowers out,
and put them were the Summer can be as harsh,
as the coldest Winter.

Peter wanted to do something for his flower,
the flower which worked so hard for,
but it was her choice,
and he could do nothing now,
except pitying her misery,
and not to look back.

***********************************************************

I found myself in front of tens of journalists,
with tens of photo cameras,
flashing constantly.
And there I was, shaking hands with the Minister,
which was disguised as Time itself,
and congratulated me and my fellow imaginary friend,
for being well aware,
and the gold which was needed,
was not at all the gold which many thought it was.

It was just a bucket of crude oil,
taken from a remote, distant and well hidden well,
by a brave Peter,
who kept his attention on what lays beyond,
not on what shines and smiles.

Irrispective of its colour,
its greasy look,
and its particular smell,
that Black Gold was all what the world needed.

Painting the Night Sky

2010-05-24T08:19:00.002+02:00

Early morning,
The fresh air fills my shallow lungs,
which have been the victim of a tense period.

Cigarette,
after cigarette,
yellow fingers,
foul breath,
all reflect the real might of the heart..
When she breaks,
everything start to fall down..
piece by piece...

*****************************************

Right here,
right today,
I felt a light drizzle,
and it felt refreshing,
warm..
It felt like the soft hands of a woman,
which, by their soft touch, they make me feel safe..

This unusual rain,
will definitely wash my feelings away.

I tried,
I did all I could,
but sometimes,
one has to move on.

"Bye" is a three letter word,
but it is for sure the hardest word to say.

Yet,
it gives strength.
Strength not to look back,
Focus not to fall down,
Courage not to give in,
and motivation to look for a new beginning.

Unusual as the Summer rain,
so are the reactions of everyone around us.

Unfair as the world,
so do some people treat their gardens and its flowers.

*********************************************

Last night I had a beer with Peter,
and we went through all of this..
and did realize,
that ultimately,
we do reap what we sow.

And lately,
Peter did try all he could,
to make his fields greener,
his flowers brighter,
and his heart warmer.

And thus,
very soon,
his harvest will be very fair indeed.
It may be too late for some,
but it will be just in time for the one who will really matter.

*********************************************

Dear flower,
I do not know if you will ever read this,
but nonetheless I do wish you all the best.

I did learn my lesson well,
and I will ask no further questions.

Stay well,
live bright,
and when the night sky will talk to you,
showing you her beauty,
painting the silence with distant shooting stars,
always make the right wish..

Mine will always be the same,
and that is,
that one day,
both of us,
and none other,
will unearth the truth,
which has been so badly distorted.

Cold Cup Of Coffee Interview - Little Spider

2010-05-23T17:36:00.001+02:00

Ladies and Gentlemen,
We are back again,
reporting from the imaginary land,
which is far far away,
safe from the malicious grasp of the world.

Today we are interviewing a new symbol.
We tried to contact the Purple Flower again,
but she did not give us any sign of life.
We tried, over and over again,
but she just couldn't be reached.

We have no idea where she is,
and we have no idea what she is doing,
but that's okay,
we still need to keep our show going.

Therefore,
in order to keep our irregular appointments with You,
we are going to have a small chat with our fellow here.

******************************

************************

"Hello fellow spider, how is your life today?"

'Life is now getting slightly better thank you.
The rain will soon come,
and it will wash everything away.
It wall wash the pain which I had to endure in the last 3 weeks'

"What happened during these 3 weeks then?"

'Nothing much,
I just had to change my exoskeleton.
I needed to grow,
I needed to change the shell which I was in for the last 4 years.
I realized, I needed something new,
something fresh,
something satisfying.
And the old exoskeleton just wasn't doing the job right anymore'

"That is.. interesting. But what triggered this change?"

'Choice.
Choosing to look at my world from a different perspective,
Choosing to feel the climate arond in a different way.
I chose that it is time to grow,
to let my tiny limbs grow,
and to have fresh, new fangs,
which will never ever allow me to put my guard down again'

"How was the process though? Tough I assume.."

'Very tough.
But because I am brave,
I did what was necessary to do,
in order to grow,
and explore this malicious habitat differently'

"And now.. what is next?"

'In the coming 3 weeks,
I will just wait.
I will try not to think about the pains which this shedding process made me endure.
I will try not to think what is happening out there,
there,
in the right side,
of the cruel Sun,
which made this experience even harder.

I will wait,
until the new exoskeleton grows,
and once it is ready,
I will bravely venture out again,
and see the world from a different,
yet stronger and more comfortable shell'

"Thank you little spider".

**************************************************

Another interview draws to an end.
We are very sorry that we were not able to intrview the flower again.
We tried all our best,
we did more than we could.

We just hope that she is well,
and the only thought that gives us comfort,
is that of hoping,
that like we returned to the show after a while,
she may return to it again.

Until then,
keep well dear spectators.

25th

2010-05-20T07:42:00.004+02:00

25th,
and another year draws to an end.
But I don't mind anymore.
I read the posts I wrote for my previous birthdays,
and realize that sometimes,
somehow,
some people do change..
do change their attitude,
their view on their environment,
They change for themselves,
and for others.

Still,
not much I can say anymore,
since the feeling of waking up alone,
going to places,
feeling uknown,
is simply the feeling one would want to avoid,
if a new beginning is planned.

*****************************************************

The end result is what ultimately matters,
that is what Peter used to say.

And that is what led me in spending this day
in my own company,
with my wandering thoughts,
leading,
yet again,
to many assumptions,
but nothing concrete.

On one thing I am certain,
that the end result is ultimately The End in itself,
therefore,
I think,
I'd rather focus on the path which lays ahead,
rather than the dark destination which is somewhat out there waiting.

*****************************************************

Next year,
I shall give a gift to myself.
I shall buy myself a nice,
warm , satisfying
and peaceful smile...

And with that smile,
I shall write my 26th birthday note.

Poland

2010-05-18T09:50:00.008+02:00

Back,
outside the entrance of the train station,
I felt the light rain softly giving me the comfort which I needed.

Ahead streets lay there waiting,
and I asked myself,
if these streets can still remember me.

Well,
I lit up a cigarette,
and slowly, my thoughts flew back into my world.

********************************************************************

A flower was expecting a visit,
from an expected friend.

She needed comfort,
and she needed care.
She was badly hurt, from the bright Summer sun,
and it needed shelter.

Peter eventually came,
a bit late than usual,
but he still came.

He just sat next to her,
and told her that she did whatever she could.
What has been done, has been done,
and the flower wanted to take her time,
and see whether the bright new world which she thought it existed,
was actually true.

She only needed some time,
in order to have a final decision,
about which side is greener.

Deep down,
she always knew that the Sun is not her friend,
but the struggle inside only led her to try it out herself.

Without any colour,
waning,
the flower begged for help,
she just couldn't handle the grief.

Now that she is willing to go back,
she found a locked door,
a door locked by the very reason she chose to undergo this
test for.

****************************************************************

I threw the filter away,
and looked ahead once more.

Slowly I started to walk,
and to remember.

But I felt safe,
I could cry,
but no one would notice cause the rain will now be my shelter,
and will hide my emotions.
I felt also safe,
cause the memories I have in this city,
will always be carried with me,
and I know,
that somehow,
somewhere,
there is the other missing part.
I may not know where she is,
and I may not know how is she doing,
but after all these years,
I know I will always be present in her gallery of emotions.

But this land is fair,
and I will keep on looking ahead.
New memories are waiting for me,
Emotions,
laying low, unpatient,
waiting to be discovered.

It may be a cold city,
a foreign country,
but it sure does keep the hearts warm.

Frankfurt Airport

2010-05-13T11:41:00.001+02:00

A long night lay ahead,
waiting, and waiting,
looking pointlessly at the flight schedule,
wondering,
from where the other travellers are coming from.
And to which destination they are flying.

Waiting,
Every minute looks like a long hour,
and an hour looks like a whole night.
Cannot do much,
Cannot worry about things much,
My only concern was to find somewhere where to lie,
and maybe sleep the long wait away.

***************************************************

With a small bottle of whiskey in my pocket,
I felt somewhat in control.
I knew I could drink it all down,
and I knew that if I did,
I could sleep more easily,
but somehow,
I did have second thoughts about it.

I just did not feel like it,
I just did not want to enter into the waves of paranoia again,
the circles of thoughts,
which only lead to misunderstandings,
and suspicion.

I just could not keep lying to myself,
I had to admit I was becoming jelous.
I had to admit, that for the first time ever,
I really wanted to be in Peter's shoes.

Not to go back to the monochromatic world again,
No.
I just wanted to be accepted,
talked to,
asked on,
and maybe be a little bit weird again.

**************************************************

Laying low is sometimes necessary,
hiding can sometimes be the best form of defence,
But the grudge inside me is getting heavy,

Even heavier
now that I am just waiting,
now that I am not distracted.

I started drinking,
I just wanted to feel dizzy again,
or rather,
more in touch with myself.

I was not sure whether I was sinking into a deep lake of self pity,
or I was looking for something more.

**************************************************

The night was still very much alive and kicking,
and suddenly my thoughts shifted somewhere else.

I became suddenly aware why was I travelling alone,
why I was sitting, and waiting alone in the terminal.

Well, lonliness was no longer an issue,
I was getting more and more submerged in my own world,
a world where everything is filtered out,
except for the thoughts which I tried to avoid.

And I could not help but think,
what kind of water I am drinking,
what kind of food I am growing,
and what is going wrong with the garden I worked so hard for.

***************************************************

The night was drawing to an end,
and my flight was finally visible on the schedule board.

I stood up,
with my mouth dry,
and a little bit dizzy,
picked up my luggage,
and looked ahead,
reminding myself that I am here not to escape,
but to seek.

The Summer Ahead

2010-05-09T14:49:00.003+02:00

Summer's approaching,
Four long months lie ahead,
But I don't mind,
Time will no longer be mislead.

The bright sun is showing a different world today,
and after a long time,
I took my sunglasses off.

Had to cover my eyes first,
I ain't used to this.

Had to shut them down tight,
They aren't used to all this light.

***************************************************

I was finally able to leave the room,
I went to thank the personnell.
I wanted to express my gratitude,
and in some odd way they were surprised.

Well,
I do not blame them,
odd before,
odd after,
but that's the situation,
that is how it was meant to be.

I could be able to feel my wrists again,
I was able to blink again,
and I was able to put on a small smile,
so that I'd look good in the photos.

I looked inside the room for the last time,
and I was now able to see only one,
I was now able to recognize only him.

We bid farewell,
and I moved along.

****************************************************

"I am glad things are somewhat more clear now,
I am glad the struggle is now coming to an end.

No more screams,
and no more wishful thinking,

No more games,
and no more lies.

No more fighting the wrong enemies,
and no more sippin' whiskey with fake friends"

****************************************************

The great outdoors feel great,
and the colours there are calming..
almost hypnotizing.

It is very easy indeed to fall into the trap again,
to fall into the spiral of ditraction.

But time will tell,
and for now I will just enjoy my freedom.

I will just lie down,
smoking gracefully,
waiting peacefully,
until the side gets more greener.

I will just relax,
and think over,
no more,
on what can no longer be changed,
but on what can make a difference.

I will keep a watch out,
cause now, right now,
things can only get better.

I'll keep watch,
and I will entertain myself,
with little green eyed monsters,
who are somewhat in sight.

I don't mind them anymore,
cause she knows what shes doing,
the sweet purple flower knows.

****************************************************

So let the Summer swing by,
cause next Winter ain't gonna be like the last.

Next Winter will be different,
brighter than any Summer can be.

The Two Sides Of The Coin

2010-05-06T14:32:00.000+02:00

Head down,
eyes firmly shut.

Hands through my hair,
I couldn't feel any touch,
except for the firm grasp of my own fingertips.

My nails almost bitten down to the flesh,
clearly showing an uncontrollable nerve,
and anxiety.

But it had to be this way,
and,
unwillingly,
I had to swallow my own medicine.

***********************************************

Tied down to a chair,
there was nobody else in the room,
except the three of us.

I had to witness,
again, unwillingly,
a struggle between the three of us.

Unable to prevent any noise,
any words from entering my ears,
I had to listen to what I always ignored.

My eyes locked open,
running dry,
I had to watch what I always feared.

The clock, ticking slowly,
and for once,
I wished that time would speed up its pace,
and pass quickly,
swiftly.

************************************************

Back into the past,
I am here,
writing differently.

I am here,
still in the present,
looking for the right substance,
to anesthetize my emotions,
to put everything else to sleep.

I am comfortable on my own,
thrashing all the unwanted,
unpleasant things on my imaginary friend.

I am ok here,
as long as I survive,
everything goes.

I do not care if I deprive the flowers from their shining beauty,
I do not care if I take their wellbeing for granted.
The End is what matters,
and thus it will take them away anyway.

Why should I bother anymore,
I am what I see in a mirror.
What's inside is just a matter of mood swings..
and it can be suppressed very, very easily.

***************************************************

Stepping even further into the past,
I am still here,
writing in a completely different manner.

I am here,
still in the present,
wanting to get the right opiates,
but no,
I cannot do that.

I can never run away from the loud screams inside,
I am unable to ignore them anymore.
I know which pain I wanna choose,
and being on my own,
is making time go very fast.. fast indeed.

I feel free,
I feel,
I feel I am myself now.
I plunged myself into the deep blue sky,
and I am willing to accept whatever it will bring.

I no longer care about achieving on my own,
I just care about cultivating my flowers very well,
I only care about them.
Nothing else really matters anymore.

****************************************************

I slowly opened my eyes,
gradually,
not allowing too many distractions flowing in.

My hands free to reach whatever they can,
My eyes are now able to see, and observe again.

Now I can choose which music I want to listen to,
and now I am able to reach a compromise.

Between what inspires,
and what discourages.
Between what calms me,
and what angers me.
Between what makes me breathe,
and what turns me cold.

Hypnotized,
I will now just follow.

Vigilant,
I will now simply understand.

Cold Cup of Coffee Interview - A Different Point Of View From A Different Flower

2010-05-05T14:33:00.001+02:00

Dear loyal spectators,
after a very long break we are back on air.

It was a time of relfection,
a time of restructuring,
so our interviews will now be more fair.

We are back,
and we do not know for how long.

Nevertheless,
in spite of what the critics say,
we are now united, singing the same song.

Today is a bright new day,
and we are now here,
in the same green hills,
interviewing special flowers.

Only this day,
we are interviewing a different one.

"Good Day dear flower"
"How are You Today?"

************************************************

I often sit down,
trying to think,
and trying to figure out what's in Your head.

I often feel that I am following a dead end,
but that is normal I reckon..
Since, like The Black Wall in front of me,
it is always there, but I am never able to reach it.

Sometimes,
I pray day and night,
to get to this dead end,
just to be sure,
feel secure,
that the end has been reached.

I know perfectly well that it won't ease the pain,
but once I get there,
once I find the barrier,
I will then know that it is time to go back.

************************************************

'Hello there dear journalists,
I was not expecting your visit.
But since you are asking,
I can tell you that now I am alright.
I feel better, the weather is no longer harsh.

Winter was tough,
I did not think I would able to survive it,
but I managed,
thanks to friends, family, and somebody else',
the flower replied.

"That is nice to hear.
So tell us, what happened during this Winter?"

************************************************

Yesterday night,
I decided to go through some memories,
and remember about the people I met throughout my travels.

I always keep something from those who affected me,
in one way or another.

And,
I do not know why,
but some of the letters which I read,
even though I do no longer keep contact with their senders,
I still feel that they make sense.
I still feel that the seasons inside havent changed yet.

*************************************************

'This Winter was harsh indeed.
I never thought I would be able to survive.
Nothing much has happened,
except for the fact that I had to accept a decision,
to move onto different grounds,
to let go of the beautiful lands I was in,
and settle somewhere else.

The cold was unbearable,
the voyage was indeed heavy,
but I managed,
and now I am happy', the flower answered.

"So what is next?
Are you willing to go back to the lands you were before,
now that you are wanted again,
more than ever?"

**************************************************

Like many out there,
I do not appreciate someone,
or something,
until it is no longer there.

Sometimes,
I feel as if I am heading towards a trap,
but I cannot help it,
I just fall deep in it.

And while trapped behind bars,
the only comfort I get is that,
I knew about it,
and,
even though I could not do otherwise,
it was still my choice.

**************************************************

'I do not know what is next.
I am too scared to go back.
In case something goes wrong again, I am unable to undergo that journey again.

Now,
I feel safe,
comfortable.

Even though this land may not be as beautiful as the other,
at least here,
I know that somehow,
somewhere,
I may survive'

**************************************************

We all mistakes,
and most often,
we would be fully aware that we are making them.

Now,
I am not certain whether I'll get my flower back.
This uncertainty simply inflicts more doubts inside my head,
of what I, or we,
are able to do,
and to achieve.

Reckon I'll just wait until the cursed Summer season passes by.
Smaller decisions lead to bigger ones,
and I have just made my smaller one.
I will just wait,
quietly,
until the bigger one comes knocking on my window,
if it ever comes...

**************************************************

"Thank you dear flower for your time.
It was a very interesting conversation indeed.

Dear Spectators,
we hope you enjoyed our comeback,
until next time,
take care & good day"

**************************************************

Before leaving,
the Cold Cup Of Coffee journalist went to thank the flower for her time,
and while they were shaking hands and petals,
he quietly whispered..

"You will survive no matter how much voyages you embark on.
Survival and safety is no longer an issue here.
It is about taking a smaller,
calculated risk,
which you know very well,
that it will be worth it this time.
Things change,
people change,
and seasons change.

Everything Will Be Good, I Promise"

Yesterday's Future

2010-05-04T11:53:00.001+02:00

Today I am planning to go out there again,
to fill my lungs up with some clean, fresh air.
Sometimes I feel that all the routine,
and its habits,
are polluting and clogging every artery in my body.

I do not remember how I got myself in such a state,
and I do not remember what I told Peter yesterday.
I only know what I am going to tell him today,
and tomorrow,
but something seemed to have gone bad..
Really bad.

****************************************************

Earlier today,
I asked Peter whether he wants to join me in a trip around Europe.
I carefully planned the trip,
and I took care of every detail.
I shaped the travels according to his likings,
and I including the places he wanted to visit.

But I was surprised,
negatively surprised,
when he refused to come with me.

"Why have you changed your mind?" I asked him,
"Weren't you looking forward as much as I was?"

"I was, but I have decided otherwise", he replied.
"I am not embarking in a trip with someone who told me
that he is going to leave me alone all along.
Someone who told me that during this trip,
he wants to have his time,
and spend every second of it on his own interests and pleasures.
I am not going to take such risk.
This has already happened, and you know it,
and I am not going to risk again.
I want to come,
I would love to come,
But I rather stay safe"

******************************************************

Indeed,
I am confused.
I do not remember myself telling Peter such things.
And I feel disgusted, upset, and even angry at myself
for allowing such words come out from me.

I do remember that I had such ideas,
and I do remember that I said something,
but this,
this is just way too much.

And I do remember,
the flower inside of me,
screaming out,
telling me I was doing a mistake,
that my fears are all unfounded.

******************************************************

Today,
not yesterday,
and not tomorrow,
the flower has come out,
and is now living in a mess.
A mess which,
apparently she contributed fully to it,
but simply doesn't remember happening.

Reaping What We Sow

2010-05-02T22:06:00.000+02:00

The best feelings I have ever had were not neccassarily the ones that felt good.

Sometimes,
a tear feels warmer than a smile.

Sometimes,
lonliness gives you the safety you would need.

Sometimes,
silence pleases your ears more than the best musical masterpieces.

Sometimes,
we are stranger than truth itself.

*********************************************************

I am very fond of metaphors,
and I also very fond of symbols,
and their meanings behind them.

Sometimes,
I find it funny,
how something is interpreted in various ways.
All in all,
the symbol itself may have no meaning whatsoever,
but still we seek to stick something to it,
anything.
As long as it has a meaning it is okay,
it becomes justified in our heads.

*********************************************************

My good friend Peter is somewhere out there,
but I cannot know where.
I am unable to follow his actions,
and I am unable to interact with him and myself.

Maybe,
I am too concerned in giving this poor fellow a meaning,
just to constantly remind others out there,
that I am well in the head.

Still,
sometimes,
I get the impression that people wouldn't listen,
no matter what, they stick to their own interpratation,
no matter what the explanation behind the symbol may be.

Therefore,
should I bother?

*********************************************************

We all have our special and loved ones,
Sons, daughters,
wives, husbands,
boyfriends, girlfriends,
mothers, fathers,
friends, relatives,
we all have them.

I got mine as well,
but I rarely mention them here.
Maybe they never disappointed me,
maybe they never got me upset.
Or maybe,
they never make me concerned about anything,
or maybe,
I take their warm hearts for granted.

*********************************************************

We reap what we sow,
and now,
I am getting back what I sowed throughout the last few years.
Whether it's bitter or sweet,
sometimes it does not matter,
I just keep on doing what I want to achieve,
distracted,
drugged and often blind,
I just do not notice what I am doing.

But when it starts to matter,
when the reward slowly flows in,
when I stop for a while,
and check inside my garden,
I often get the results which I did expect,
yet feared to get.

Shaping Peter's Past

2010-04-30T09:13:00.002+02:00

Peter's history can be very much entertaining sometimes.
It can take whatever form I like,
and it depends entirely on my capabailities,
and my imagination,
the experiences he had,
throughout his journey of life.

But I am not much of a creator myself,
I am not much of a story teller,
and my imagination,
is very much limited.

But my friend needs a history,
so I decided to shape his,
right from my own.

********************************************************

Up the staircase,
turn right,
open the door,
enter, and switch on the lights.

Open the windows,
put on the music,
and go online.

Pick up my guitar,
unable to play.

Pick up my books,
unable to read.

Pick up a pen,
unable to write.

Pick up a photo album,
and I am unable to smile.

*********************************************************

The other day,
while having a warm coffee out there,
Peter asked me to shape a little bit his character,
aware that a character is shaped upon an individual's past and experience.

So I wanted Peter to act very much like me,
I wanted him to be my mirror,
to see myself whenever we communicate.

And that isn't hard to do.

*********************************************************

Time flies,
and after a short period of silence,
I got a phone call.

"Why am I like this?
Is there a reason why I am unable to recognize the myself I was yesterday?
Is there a reason why my closest flowers are now waning,
losing their colour,
getting blurred,
diffusing in thin air?
Is there a reason why I feel I am not in the right place?
And in the right moment?
What the hell is going on here?
I do not belong here."

"Dearest friend", I replied,
"Time does fly,
but you have plenty of it today.
And it will help you overcome this.
Take good care of your garden.
Your closest and most special flowers may be gone yes.
Just take good care of the ones which may grow in the future.
Cause they will make all the difference you need.
And together, you will achieve much more.
Much more."

Me, Myself & The Marketplace

2010-04-28T23:38:00.001+02:00

Walking down a main road,
walking back home,
to relax my fears for a little bit,
to shadow my uncertainty with further doubts;

Walking back seemed quite pleasant.

Today it was busy,
Today, during the mid-week many people flock in from every corner of the island,
just to visit the damn market place.

I was too distracted,
maybe too way thoughtful on irrelevant matters,
worrying about issues which ain't mine,
wondering about the time I lost during the day,
sweating,
paranoid,
scared,
just by thinking that one day I won't have Her anymore.

But it will happen, sooner or later.

******************************************************************

I kept my head down,
I did not dare to look at nobody.
I did not want to show myself to anyone.

My tiredness,
my weakness,
and my blurred iris,
they just wanted to stay hidden.

Nevertheless,
I could feel almost everyone.

I felt that
everyone looked the same,
as if no one had an identity.

Everyone talked a different language,
But they seemed to understand each other perfectly.

The gibberish was overwhelming,
and the temptation was too big,

I had to look up,
I had to actually see what was going on

*******************************************************************

No one noticed anything.

Sometimes,
I think I am blessed with the gift of invisibility.
Sometimes,
I feel as if I had to scream out loud in the middle of a crowd,
nobody would listen,
or care.

I looked around,
this time the experience was different.

*****************************************************************

I saw
I listened,
I percieved,

Musicians playing exotic instruments,
pouring out unsynchronized music.

Artists finger painting,
sharing their own, most personal mystical visions.

Poets reading their verses,
which seemed to make sense to many.

Puppeteers cheering the young
with way they did their job,
as if their own souls were in their wooden puppets

Nothing,
Nobody,
seemed to make any sense.

So as soon I will be back in my own home,
I will start my own way of showing the world what an ordinary person I am.

Greetings To A Guest

2010-04-26T15:48:00.002+02:00

White chair,
a black door
and grey window panes.

Striped curtains,
unwritten books,
and a leaking water valve.

This used to be Peter's room,
before he moved out.

In this room,
he used to spend his days and nights,
pondering over the same paranoid thoughts.

Now,
I am dwelling in this room.
I got nowhere to stay.
I do not afford to rent a place.
I am unable to look anywhere else.

But I do not mind,
I like the place.
I feel safe,
and I feel focused,
concentrated,
and I can keep my eyes open.

******************************

*********************

I spend hours looking out of the windows,
and I never grow tired of it.

The world outside no longer hurts,
the life outside no longer bothers me.

Sometimes,
I look out for details.

Without colourful distractions,
I can see what others cannot.

But that is not always the case.

***************************************************

The windows aren't grey enough,
and the curtains aren't dark as they used to be.

But it's ok,
I will wait here.

This time,
I will accept anything that comes through that door.
No more excuses,
No more distractions,
No more illusions.

I will never be ready,
I will never be special,
and I will never wake up from this slumber.

***************************************************

The lights flicker,
the wires hum.

The water is still leaking,
and the prayer is ongoing.

This time,
I am eagerly waiting behind the black door.

This time,
I will greet Her with a smile,
a warm welcome,
and a nice cup of cold coffee.

A Minute or Two

2010-04-22T19:25:00.001+02:00

Slowly,
and gradually,
the stratosphere is being cleansed.

Slowly,
and gradually,
the signals from outer space are joining us,
once again.

And there I was,
with my arms wide open,
waiting to be blessed,
waiting for a meaning,
explanation,
understanding,
anything which would aid me in finding a way.

Should I submit myself to faith?
Should I commit myself to the search?

Sometimes I wonder,
from where should I start,
if I ever had to confess my sins.

Sometimes I wonder,
from where should I start,
if I ever had to repent.

******************************

********************

The transmission phone sometimes sends wierd messages.
But Peter is able to decode them all.

The caller often sends its comments,
asking what kind of imagination,
makes people kneel down.

Asking,
what kind of imagination,
makes people discriminate over each others way of life.

Asking,
what kind of imagination,
holds people's journey in the limitation of their conciousness.

****************************************************

Reality,
they say,
depends on an individual's perception.

Time,
they say,
depends on how we percieve our experience.

Excess
they told me,
depends on how far I can reach,
how much I can feel,
and when what used to be new,
is now a just a monotonous habit.

Black Wall

2010-04-09T20:33:00.000+02:00

It's been a while since me and Peter met for the very first time.
I can hardly remember that day.
As a matter of a fact, I can hardly remember that whole period.
What I can remember for sure is that time went by as quickly as a blink of an eye.

The fact that the memories are somewhat obscure,
may clearly show that nothing of great importance happened,
except for the forging of a friendship with an imaginary being.

No,
I do not think it's sad,
And it's not sad,
that most of the flowers which used to decorate my glasshouse,
are now gone.

I may not remember their colours,
And I may not even remember how they looked like,
but for sure I can remember the benefits of their healing powers.

******************************

************************************

Sometimes,
some clever folks out there would need to lay low,
quietly, and silently,
some would just lock themsleves in.

Reasons may be various,
and each reason is as personal as the most perverted thoughts of every individual.

And Peter would sometimes need to stay behind his bars,
and think about everything.

Anything which would be relevant for him at that given point in time.
And whenever that happens,
I'd be the first one to ask him why he's behaving like that.

And the answer is always the same.
- "Trying to breach my black wall."

******************************************************************

I have my own black wall too.
It's very real,
and it's always there, right in front of me.
It's height is never ending,
and its dimensions are beyond any explanation.

Before,
I totally ignored it.
I thought it was something which can wait,
I thought it was some kind of a childhood illusion.

But it seems,
the wall isn't there waiting.
It's there to stay.
No matter what I do,
and no matter how hard I try,
I am unable to touch its foundations,
I am unable to understand its structure.

Nowadays,
I just spend my days sitting right in front of it,
thinking what lies beyond its black bricks.

And the path towards its towering malice seems to be infinite.
And the more I walk in this path,
the more I feel as if my perception of distance is indeed corrupt,
almost like a perfect hallucination,
where time and space play clever tricks.

April's Fool

2010-03-31T23:17:00.001+02:00

Peter never had any sense of humor.
Sarcasm isn't in his vocabulary,
and sometimes, well..
mostly, he never gets any jokes.

Therefore,
it's no surprise that he simply doesn't get the point of April's fool.
For him, it's just a day like any other,
an ordinary day,
where he is submerged in his usual routine.

To the contrary,
I have a good sense of humor,
and I am always up for a good laugh.
Sometimes my humor is pointless to the ones who don't get it,
and sometimes, some take it too seriously.. very much like Peter.

***********************************************************************

Chocolate is bad.
It has sugar,
and excessive sugar ain't good.

Coffee is bad,
It has caffeine,
and excessive caffeine makes you anxious.

Running is bad,
It strains the knees
and excessive strain ain't good.

Religion is bad,
It's a convenient excuse,
and too much faith is indeed noxious.

Since Peter is my best imaginary friend,
it is my duty to look after him,
when his behaviour is irrisponsible.

Therefore,
it's no surprise that I warn him every time he drinks soft drinks.

Yet he never listens,
He keeps on drinking.

It never makes any sense,
to deprive my imaginary friend from his soft drink.
It is something which he likes,
and I reckon I got no right to deprive him from that.

Soft Drinks are bad,
they are poison for the system,
and too much poison may kill you.

Control is bad,
it deprives Peter from his freedom,
and too much control makes him drink even more soft drinks.

I Disappear

2010-03-25T20:57:00.001+01:00

It's late afternoon,
and I am at my desk,
staring at the pink and purple walls outside.
I feel weary,
but the coffee next to the keyboard is of no good.
It's cold.

It's late,
it is time to go home.
I pack my empty lunchbox in my black backpack,
and move out.

Before I leave the room, I say good evening to everyone.
And its a hollow goodbye, since no one is in there.

I move out,
locking the door behind me,
and start walking down the narrow corridors.

I try to avoid walking into people,
but, it's not difficult to do so I believe,
since no one is around.

The photocopier is printing ... again.
And quickly I grab a paper from the pile,
and check what's printed on it.
Only to find out its blank,
like all the other sheets of paper in the pile.

Outside,
the damn sun is too bright,
and I run towards my white car,
to avoid as much sunlight as possible.

I check in my compartments,
underneath my car seats,
but I can not find my pair of sunglasses.

I try not to panic,
and drive slowly.

The traffic is quiet,
no cars around.

Traffic lights are boring,
they are only showing white lights,
so I drive on,
and on, and on..

Everyday.

I unlock the door,
and say hello,
and finally, a voice greets me.

And there I sit on the white wooden chair,
and look up,
at the bright neon lights.

I say hello again,
and the same voice greets me again.
This time, you are asking me what I want.

"Nothing in particular,
I am fine with the way things are"

And there you are,
still there, writing,
and mumbling to yourself.
You haven't changed a bit.

And there you are,
ignoring the apathy around you,
living in your own greenhouse,
and mumbling to yourself.

And finally,
there you are,
working damn hard for a colourful future,
but you know, deep down, that you are going to end up pretty much like me.

Another Sunday Evening

2010-03-08T00:19:00.001+01:00

It was a bright summer afternoon.
It was sunday,
and it was the start of a new fresh week,
and I thought it was a good idea to take my guitar
and go somewhere alone, just to compose a new song
along with the calm sea.

And so I went,
I drove on,
and there it was, my favourite spot.
I lit up a cigarette,
and starting playing,
singing.

I kept on thinking,
and translate my thoughts on to musical notes.
And there it was,
the sweetest melody that my ears could ever hear.

It felt nice,
it felt peaceful.
It is such a relief,
to know yourself.

The sun was bidding farewell,
again.

I slowly got up,
and realized that,
yes, this is all way too colourful.

I looked down,
and there I saw a colourful spiral,
and I realized, this may not be true.

That all of this is just an illusion.
The thought of being just a second,
on the clock of the earth's infinite timeline,
makes it feel even better.

It has to happen anyway.

So I looked around for the last time,
and threw myself down,
down, along the long spiral.

**************************************************

And here I am,
writing,
my music. my melody,
here.

Interrogating For An Answer - Part III

2010-03-01T20:17:00.000+01:00

I spent a while attending to these sessions.
I tried my best to open up and explain,
making things more clear.

Now it's over,
I said what I had to say,
and now I am done with this farce.

Nowadays,
I often spend my evenings smoking the last cigarette and think,
think about the day that passed,
and the tomorrow..
often with a dull expression on my face,
since I have never been optimistic about the future.

Seems I always was fond of the past,
maybe that explains the fixation I have about my enemy,
Time.

***********************************************************

What Peter represented before,
still applies for the present.

Actually more than ever.
Maybe, his influence may not be as strong as it was before,
yet nowadays it is more discreet,
and perhaps more concise.

************************************************************

In our last meeting,
I clearly pointed out that following the comments, words,
insults, and wrong advices of others was the mistake of the year.

Yes, I did re-adjust,
I believed that by re adjusting, I was going to be myself.
I did believe, that by doing so, I would satisfy my inner me,
and others.

Well,
It's not too bad though.
I learnt what colour I am made of,
and that colour will never be there to give an additional pleasant
feeling for the eyes of others.

************************************************************

Therefore dear reader,
in these 3 parts of this note,
I believe I gave a very clear explanation of what Peter,
and all its related symbols are all about.

And I am pretty certain that,
you, as an intelligent being,
know perfectly well that it was never a game.

And I am also pretty certain,
that now you are sensible enough that before drawing your own conclusions
on something or someone, you would have a clear understanding about the whole
picture, even though this picture may always have its missing bits and details.

Monochrome

2010-02-23T20:41:00.000+01:00

This is getting really annoying.
Sometimes, I start seeing so much, that I would lose my way,
then, when I find my way back, I start to lose myself again.

Sometimes, I take my normal stroll out there,
to meet my fellow flowers in the great outdoors.

Sometimes, I find too many of them,
and sometimes I find none.

But the flowers never knocked on my door.
The flowers never thought of leaving the safety of their sun,
and come to me.

Peter, may be back, but things would never be the same.
Like the face of a clock,
the same hour strikes twice in the same day,
but the scene is different.
The act is always different,
and sometimes, our roles in it are different too.

The seconds tick without ever pausing for a breath,
and I always see myself chasing life,
always missing what is actually passing by.

The other day, I asked a flower what she thinks of me.
And the answer I got was quite surprising.

***********************************************************

Sometimes, I try to see more than I am supposed to see.
Sometimes, I try to open my pupil more than it is possible.
Sometimes, I try to understand the imaginary in terms of the real life which is moving by.

But like the note on a guitar,
the mellow music will slowly sink into its surroundings,
until it gets silent, leaving the heart empty.

And when silence will conquer, a new noise will be heard,
a new noise, a new music, a new feeling.

A new noise, composed of a note, which,
it doesn't require a different skill to play,

It only requires a different guitarist.

Meanings and Misinterpretations

2010-02-21T21:01:00.002+01:00

Lately I have been wondering about the meaning of my very own friend.
And, as expected, it did not lead to much.

Then, instead of finding a meaning,
I consulted a bright, sunny, and humid day,
and the advise she gave me was indeed very fitting.

"If the meaning cannot be found, then just come up with one yourself"

******************************

****************

I always take my watch off during work,
during study,
and during the whole day.

Yet it is always around.
Not much meaning in that I suppose...
except for the fact of reminding me of a meaning which I myself came up with.

**********************************************

Sometimes, I just want to write,
just to give my own pulse to the outer world.

Sometimes, I want to express myself,
and then make sure my expression is well hidden.

But most of the time,
my fingers have more understanding of myself than my head can ever have,
so I just leave this text in their hands, or rather, in their tips.

I trust in their writing,
even though it is gibberish for most heads out there.

**********************************************

Peter is very much like the face of a clock..
It is always the same;
Dull,
Easy to describe,
and easy to read.

And simplicity is bliss,
and like the face of a clock,
it can be interpreted in any way we fancy.

Slow moving or fast moving,
it is up to us.
yet it never really changes,
as it will keep on ticking until the end.

Interrogating For An Answer- Part II

2010-02-05T16:25:00.001+01:00

"Goodday William,
Hope to meet again"

"I hope so too,
only next time,
the day should be brighter,
with a little touch of grey"

**************************************

Back in time,
back in the narrow corners of my memories,
I kept recalling the conversations I had.

The next day we met, it was different.
I was pressed with uneasy questions,
and uneasy questions can only provoke uncomfortable answers.

But this time, it had to be different,
because it is time to explain what was really going on.

Peter was never really gone,
because he was never here in the first place.

I cannot possibly be nuts;
Silly imagination cannot possible fill psychiatric wards,
but apparently, that is the way it is,
since I see madness everywhere,
all the time.

I explained,
that it is not my fault if Peter was believed to be true.
I had to explain,
again,
that not getting a point does not necessarily mean that the concept was pointless.

****************************************

Expression,
that is all that matters.

Getting something off the chest can sometimes be rejuvinating.

Symbols,
are given their meaning by the people.

The Flower,
a symbol of love, peace, and harmony..
a symbol of us, in these notes.

Peter,
an ambigious stick figure used everywhere,
a polymorph, an abstract symbol,
taking countless meanings,
symbolising the less clear parts of the picture.

And the reader,
you, have all the freedom to give your own meaning to anything you see,
have your own opinion about anyone you meet,
And giving your own interpretation of anything you understand.

Saturday Night In

2010-01-30T23:09:00.001+01:00

It is warm inside.
I am sheltered from the cold,
I am sheltered from the rain.

I am going to spend yet another fantastic night in.
I got plenty of weekends ahead of me,
so I might as well keep this in.

I do not need anything,
I got everything,
Why bother with my hairdo,
and why bother to take a shower,

I got everything I need.

***************************************************

The magic hour has come.. and gone,
and here I lie,
all alone.

Here I lie, as if I walked away from all of us.
I cannot stand, I am so not well.

But I can look over yonder,
and I can see all the moonlit sky above me.

I remember when I used to join the whole crew,
and I miss those times as if my life is already over.
or is it?

But, I do not need anything else,
I got my shelter, my refuge, my safety.

***************************************************

This morning, I went to do my normal workout,
and there I met my flowers.

They noticed a big change in me,
they noticed I have become better, calmer.

They told me,
that without Peter in my life,
I am way much better...
But then, "better", does it mean being the way the world wants me to be?

And I wonder,
now that I am writing this note,
it is because I listened, I have become what I am now,
but not what I am today.

The People I met Along the Road

2010-01-16T23:51:00.001+01:00

I remember,
some time ago,
I was walking again in the same road,
in the same city.

It was cold,
and I liked it,
so I lit up a cigarette,
to warm my lungs up.

And I still can remember the people I met along that road.
"Why do you need an imaginary friend?" they asked me.
"Why shouldn't I? Why do you need real friends?"... I always replied the same.

And they never gave me a proper, concrete answer.

And I wonder, what they would have said,
if I had bad people around me,
bad people surrounding me.

And I thought, maybe,
maybe, they would have had a bad opinion about me,
maybe, they would think I am bad too.

And I wonder, what they would have said,
if I had good people around me,
good people surrounding me.

And I thought, maybe,
maybe, they would have a very high opinion about me,
but alas, they would be disappointed.
Cause I ain't perfect.

So I chose an imaginary friend,
who would represent whatever I wanted.
So I met Peter,
the friend who would never take advantage on me.

But, it seems,
I was mistaken.

It seems,
I understimated my own imagination.

So I looked around,
I looked for them people again.
I walked the same road again,
and I offered my hand,
but they were too busy.
They had their own affairs.

They had their own concerns,
they had their own lives,
and they took their own choices.

And I had to mtake the same decision again.
I had to cross the road, and walk on.

And then, I learned,
these people,
they were the first to mock me,
they were the first to indulge in their own point of view.
Yet, when I asked them to see the world the way they wanted me to see it,
in their own colours,
in their own perspective,

they walked on.

An Imaginary Chat

2010-01-14T00:32:00.001+01:00

Peter: Hello There. Long time no see.
--
me: Hey! Been a long time yes. Where are you?
--
Peter: I am right here. Where else?
--
me: Yes. Sorry for the stupid question.
It's just, it's just, I cannot accept it yet.
--
Peter: It's ok buddy. I couldn't accept it either.
But it seems this is the way it should have been
right from the start. Right before we boarded onto
our venture together.
--
me: Sure, but now you're free, back in your own world,
still enjoying the pretty age, which hasn't changed.. yet.
--
Peter: And seeing how things are going, I do not think
it will change sometime soon.
--
me: So, any chances of you coming back here?
--
Peter: I do not know. There might be a chance yes. But I do not know.
Anyway, if I come back, I guess I would need to add a year up.
--
me: Indeed you have. Things have changed. People change.
Everything changes around here.
--
Peter: I have changed too.
--
me: Still you will always remain imaginary. Still you will always remain
a comfortable refuge.
--
Peter: A different one..
--
me: So what should I do to bring you back here?
--
Peter: Nothing much. Give me a call, and I'll return.
--
me: Still using the same number?
--
Peter: No, I've changed it.
--
me: So how am I supposed to call you?

Peter is now offline ...

******************************

****************************

I made sure I was unable to see any form of shade.
I made sure that silence would be the only music I'd listen to.

And hence, I started to flip through the plenty of lists which
I acquired in the last few years.

I read them all, one by one,
and I am still reading, again and again.

I just need to decide,
which phone number I should use,
and if I would need to use it after all.

Interrogating For An Answer - Part I

2010-01-09T23:26:00.000+01:00

The lady on the microphone called me in.
I listened to the announcement,
so, without any hesitation I entered the small room.

I sat on the striped armchair,
and observed the dull walls.

Really, how can they interrogate people here,
I wondered.

I waited,
I patiently waited for the door to open.

I waited,
I lay still on the comfortable chair.

I waited,
I was still wondering what they had to ask me.

******************************************************

"Goodmorning William,
A bright new day isn't it?"
- She asked

"Indeed it is. Indeed"
- I replied

"You do not usually like sunny days, do you?"

"As a matter of fact I may like some days like this, yes"

******************************************************

"William, I am here to ask you some things about your late friend"

"He ain't dead. He is just gone"

"Still, your relationship intrigued me"

"Who do you want to know more? Me or Him?"

"You"

******************************************************

The conversation dragged on,
Nothing came much from it.
At least I got to drink some liquers for free.

Well, she aksed me about the shape, the name, and the age.
I elaborated in my answer, and sometimes I exagerated.
Can you imagine, at one point I even told her Peter was twenty three years old for three years in a row.

"Is he still 23?"

"Indeed"

"And why does he never grow older?"

"He does grow older. Only when i want him to"

I told her about the age, and she seemed to understand.
I told her that for now, he will remain 23 years old.
And she seemed to acknowledge.

Then, I tried to explain, in my typical exagerated why,
why I baptised my friend as I did.

"I wanted Him to be simple. I wanted him to be like a drop in a large pond
Reason being is simple. He was my mirror image."

She doesn't know however, what I see in my mirrors.
Whatever she sees in hers, it must be awful indeed.
I noticed her flaking make up,
her heavy mascara,
her overgrown lips,
her deep eyeshadow,
and terribly pale face.

********************************************************

"Goodday William,
Hope to meet again"

"I hope so too,
only next time,
the day should be brighter,
with a little touch of grey"

Warm And Welcome

2009-12-26T22:14:00.001+01:00

The air around me smells nice.
The warm smell of whiskey, making the room welcoming.

But I leave the spirit there,
It is not the right time.
Not the right time to drink,
not the right time to think.

I slowly look up,
I try to focus,
to understand,
to work.

Yet I am unable to bear the light,
I reckon it is late,
I reckon it is fate.

Fate not to understand now,
but to look down,
believe, and go forth.

I am eagerly waiting for the hour.
The hour in which I will say my daily prayer.
No,not to God.
Neither to any fictitious figure which most of them out there trust.

*******************************************************************

It is time to look at the outside world.
It is time to see what is going on.

Yet, I see no movement,
the damn weather is crystal clear, again.

The season is supposed to warm the hearts,
to inspire the masses,
to trigger forgiveness.

Yet I am unable to acknowledge some facts,
which would put my paranoid thoughts to rest.

They keep on going in circles,
in perfect diameters they thrive.

I try to burst some of them,
but my hand just slips through.

In a neverending ascent,
In a neverending climb,
I try to move forward.
But the damn escalator is way too fast for my legs.
So I give up,
and relax, so I could go down.

But the end is never near.

********************************************************************

The road is long.
The barren landscape is still ahead.

The wind is warm and humid,
and the sun is slowly setting.

I sometimes feel the need to stop,
to think, and to reflect.

But I guess,
I guess I do not have time to do that.
I guess I am unable to stop now.

I would like to stop,
and wait for you.

I would like to rest,
and search for you.

The road is still long,
and the horizon never shrinks.

The wind is warm and humid,
and the sun is still setting.

So I drive on,
and I ask myself questions,
in which the land can answer.

I keep asking,
and I listen intently.

I listen to the songs of the road,
which still lays ahead.

An expected phone call

2009-12-08T00:59:00.001+01:00

I had one of my usual dreams the other night.
A very pleasant one,
which reminded me who I am.
Who I am to myself, and to you.

The dream had a very particular detail,
a detail which I do not think I would have ever imagined.

Right above the annoying blue sky,
I looked upon the tedious light.
I am so annoyed by the weather,
I am so frustrated by the colours around.

But I still try to look up,
and I still try to believe, or hold on to something.

And up I went, almost in a constant ascent,
towards an emotional conciousness,
which I knew it was always there,
yet I always tried to keep it hidden.
In denial.

******************************

**********************

The phone was ringing,
and we were all shocked.

It kept on ringing,
and a shaking arm went on to answer.

"Hello. Where are you?"
- It's me. I am by myself
"Are you alright?"

No, he was not alright.
He was never alright,
and we always took it for granted.
We always assumed his emotions,
We always assumed how the interior of his temple were.
I always assumed it was all in a constant design,
in the same manner, and fashion.

"I will not leave you alone"
But we are alone,
or rather, I felt alone.
But, the irony always rings a bell,
a bell which reminds me that lonliness has always been the best companion.. for many.

*****************************************************

Time has been kind,
and finally, the moment has arrived.
I looked upon a mirror,
and I saw myself.

I was colourless,
projecting a stoic aura,
towards an eye which is now weary, and needs to rest.

The reflection was still breathing,
breathing air which was years old,
and I could listen, to the silence which was within..
silence which almost made the whole, white room collapse into a neverending void.

I looked around, trying to find myself,
and there I was, rooted down in a corner,
with petals coloured with light red, almost purple,
and for the first time ever,
I saw myself with a pigment of imagination.

The Irrational Room

2009-11-30T23:44:00.001+01:00

All by myself,
I was undergoing my daily visit.
This new routine is quite a surprise to myself.
I quit such a habit a very long time ago,
but I think They are right. It will always come back.

The faceless men, wearing their black dress,
and their white collar, somehow, influence my decisions.
Still.

Somehow, they resemble my old friend,
who disappeared weeks ago.
They are like him,
They look like him,
and they relate to me, as I used to relate to him.

They want it, they need it,
yet, the worst part is,
they actually do it.

------------------------------

----------------------

I had to undergo a very easy process,
in order to find this room.

A room which I was looking for quite some time.
I found it without following any directions,
I found it without following any particular pattern.

And I opened the white door,
and I peeked inside.
All was empty inside,
All was quiet,
And all was somehow, at rest.

I pushed the door a little bit more,
so I could see more.

And I wasn't surprised at all,
the walls were all white,
almost transparent.
Almost hidden.

So,
I lay down,
and closed my eyes,
so I could listen to this silence,
so I could understand what was it all about.

-----------------------------------------------------

I woke up,
my eyes wide open,
and I realized I was yet again,
praying.

Praying for something which I never really believed in,
something which I never really felt like doing.

I have, or had an imaginary friend, and people laughed at me.
Yet people pray to the irrational, and they make wars about it.

I am confused now,
confused to what, or to who should I laugh about.

The 3 Phases Of Time

2009-10-09T23:45:00.001+02:00

Phase 1 - The Preperation
********************************************

Without Peter around, I'm kind of feeling quite lonely.
Seems like I have lost some sort of meaning.

I admit, sometimes,
only sometimes,
I have thought about the possibility of sending him away,
make him disappear in thin air.

The reason being is still unknown to myself.
Maybe I wanted to forget.
Forget something which is meant to stay.
Untouched.

So, I wore my backpack on,
and I walked on.

I went on looking for a Friend,
a very special Friend,
who or which could replace my imaginary game.

I walked on, and on,
I went up the steep hills,
and down the vaulting valleys.

I challenged the white sun,
and I kept my eyes low,
always careful,
always attentive,
not to see what is meant to be seen.

The days grew shorter,
and the sunrise was becoming lazy,
somehow, it started to replace the black night quite late now.

But it wasn't that bad afterall.
Along the way,
I made some new friends,
which soon made me forget about Peter... at least for a while.

Some friends were more special than others..
some friends made me think..
made me explore my mind more,
made me aware of what I was unaware of.

Some friends helped me to evolve,
and some friends taught me the magic of being concious,
or rather self concious.

So, I asked some of these new friends to join me,
in my search,
in my mission,
to find the new, conventional Friend.

Phase 2 - The Execution
*****************************************

This time,
the lazy one was the sunset,
as it took ages to take place.

The annoying, dreadful sun was still making life pleasant,
with no respect for what I was going through.

Right ahead, the people were under the same silhoutte,
all together, in front of the same wall,
and I could recognize no one.

They were all wearing black,
black suits,
black shirt,
black ties,
and black shoes.
They were all there, giving their final farewell,
to a Friend I spent ages to find.

Right ahead, I could see the picture,
the moving picture,
which I was expecting,for a long time, to see, and experience.

A picture, or rather a movie,
a very slow movie,
of four tall familiar figures,
with four familiar faces,
carrying a coffin to its final resting place.

I was expecting it,
since sometimes I feel as if I am immortal.

I was expecting myself to live this experience,
of losing another special Friend.

Phase 3 - The Aftermath
******************************************

It is very strange,
almost funny,
how, all the memories,
all the moments me and my Friend spent together,
now only last a few seconds.

And it is strange,
and almost sad,
that the memory which takes most of these short seconds,
is the memory I want to forget most.

''Back.. and Comfortable''

2009-10-03T23:35:00.000+02:00

The sky got cloudy again.

The heat was losing its battle again,
and the media, finally, stopped whining.

I am now witnessing a looming view,
yet, I am feeling somewhat very much comfortable.

Peter is gone yes,
maybe he will not return,
but his significance is still present.

I am now living, once again,
in a very comfy, and well known place.

I cannot hear any more,
I cannot listen to the music I like anymore.

I am unable to observe the vigilant full moon again,
And I am unable to define what clear weather is... again.

Yesterday,
right when it was still very hopeful,
I made a strange decision. I decided to take a walk.

I tried to cross the damn road, but it took me ages.
I did all I could, I tried to focus,
I tried to narrow my eyes, and lower my eye brows,
just to define, what colours are the semaphores showing.

I tried once, I tried twice,
and still I could cross the strange road.
The cars couldn't hit me.
I just wasn't there.

Then, still strolling down the same paved road,
I noticed them people again.
These people, were rather normal. Nothing has changed,
or rather, I haven't noticed any particular difference,
except for the fact that I, for sure, will not be called racist,
or some other fancy name.
Name, or names, which nowadays have become a trend,
or a cliche,
or a conventional way to shelter a thought.. or a blame.

I stopped for a moment,
I searched in my pockets.
I found nothing.
I searched again, and again I found nothing.

I looked around, and the view was somewhat familiar.
The paved road, was no longer visible,
the people, were no longer there.

I realized I was exposed to nothing,
not even a single colour,
which would rest my weary eyesight.

I searched again in my pockets,
and there they were, finally.

I lit one up, and started to taste, to get,
finally, something different.
I became so used to the other perception of this planet,
that I somehow started to forget my own roots.

Yes, yes, the smoke was dancing slowly,
but it had no colour. I couldn't see it in this monochromatic environment.
But I could sense it. And, I could also sense and hear,
the ticking of a neverending fear.
A fear, which made me so very concious,
so very aware, of a truth which many souls ignore.

I am seeing the world as I am supposed to see it,
as I am destined to see it,
as I want to see it.

Peter Is Gone

2009-10-03T23:24:00.002+02:00

Peter is gone.
I miss him.

We did not communicate for a while.

I understand,
I understand he has his own way of life,
his own stream and routine.

I also understand,
Understand the fact of existing in a temporary moment,
a moment of fine, unsynchronized friendship,
in which it had its golden times.

"All good things come to an end", the individuals state.
Pessimistic thought?
If pessimism means being real,
being aware of reality,
then optimism is indeed the antagonists here.

******************************

************

I unlocked the white door,
and went inside.
The room was empty,
the apartment was tidy.

No more pets around,
no more comfortable couches.

Only a table, and two chairs,
and a clean ashtray,
filled with aged ashes.

Yes, it was clean,
the ashes made it clean.
Made it the way it was.
They undefied the purpose,
they unsheathed the ugly truth.

I looked around,
maybe Peter left a note or something.
But I couldn't find any.

I started to draw my own conclusion,
on a piece of canvas, which was hanging on the white walls.

********************************************

It is sweet,
and it is fitting,
to fool around when time is young.

It is okay,
and appropriate,
to live as if the hours went into a deep slumber.

It is fine to understand the fact,
that what me and Peter have done,
was purely non coincidental.

We both needed each other,
as much as light needs darkness to exist,
as much as the silence needs loud noise to define itself.

And so it was,
and so it started,
a few years ago, a very uneasy friendship,
which was based on mutual understanding,
and sometimes, on mutual disagreement.

We had common goals,
but on different grounds.

We had common ideas,
but for different purposes.

An so it started,
we opened ourselves to each others imaginary worlds,
we used each other for our own, self centred purposes.
But hey, it is not wrong,
we were just symbols to each other.
And there is nothing wrong with symbols right?
What's in a symbol anyway?

*********************************************

I do not know why he left,
and maybe, it is better if I'll never find out.

I do not know if he will ever return,
but,
which survivor would return to a sinking ship?
Which survivor,
would put his or her life in risk again,
right after he or she finds out how precious the Gift is?

But frankly,
I do not care.

The hours are no longer in their slumber,
and once awake, they leave nothing behind.

Or rather, they just leave vague interpretations of
past moments, which we call memories.

"Over There It Is Better"

2009-09-04T22:47:00.001+02:00

I know for sure,
I know the future.
And I know the only certain thing about it,
is uncertainty.

The headlights are no longer dim,
night has fallen,
and I wanted to drive back home.

The air was cool,
and the sky was dark.
My head was heavy,
and the road looked way too long.

I was not able to look at the mirror.
I was scared of seeing what was behind me.
So I kept driving on...

******************************************

Peter was painting another picture the other day,
the picture looked okay,
it looked fine.

He was trying damn hard..
but I was not fooled.
He wasn't trying hard just to paint a picture;
He was only trying hard just to paint.

I felt it alright.
I felt his inspiration was gone ages ago.
And I also knew why it had waned..

His paintings were now complete,full
They had all the faces the people looked for,
and thus,
they only filled space in a gallery where the air inside was so heavy,
that one would need to breathe hard in order to keep focused.

This gallery, which was very, very long.
Very, very deep,
with a white and dead long corridor,
had no life whatsoever.

It clearly showed,
It clearly projected the stillness in the artists' creativity.
In the artists' inspiration.
In the artists' motivation.

********************************************

The flower was complaining today.
She was complaining yesterday,
She was complaining all week.

I sat next to her,
And I asked her,
a difficult question,
which requires lots of thinking and reflection...
"How is your life today dearest flower?"

"Life is adequate. Life is good.
I am not complaining about life.
I have everything here,
I have got the rain,
I have got the gust.
I have got all what I want,
and maybe a little bit of sun too.

Life is okay, Life is good,
I am only complaining about the sky upon me.
I am only complaining about its colour.

I mean, look over yonder,
there, the sky is more blue than here.
There, on the other side, the sky looks better.
And I don't like it"

So I picked up a paint brush,
and started painting the sky,
just to make the flower happy.

**********************************************

And I kept driving on,
I kept driving unto this long road.

I felt sleepy, my head was still very heavy.
So, I pulled off the road,
and moved the seat backwards.

I slowly unfastened my seat belt,
and lay my head slowly backwards.

And looked up, beyond the unclear windscreen.

There the sky was pitch black.
And I didn't like it.
I wanted to paint it,
paint it blue,
or maybe in a different colour.

But I couldn't,
cause this time,
it wasn't about imagination.
it was only about accepting.

And while trying to understand,
my eyes slowly shut.
And I do not know for how long I slept.

Friendly Observations

2009-08-28T09:13:00.002+02:00

I was standing on the sidewalk the other day,
I was invisible.

But I could see very clearly what was going on,
and I could learn very quickly what the flowers were whispering to each other.

I laid back,
leaned against a dusty wall,
and stayed there watching.
The paintings were inspiring,
the talent was admirable,
and the achievement had to be respected.

But I remained invisible.
I wanted to feel heavy,
I wanted to feel clogged.

So I lit up a smoke,
and burned the time away.
Yes, Yes,
I wanted to feel that way,
I needed to feel that way.

And I remembered again about that flower,
which tried very hard to blossom.
I recalled again how she looked...
and God, she did look awful..
she looked dull,
plain, simple.
she had no colours;
they gave in to the scorching heat.
she had nothing to offer,
she gave in to the distracting light of a merciless sun.

I tried to explain to her,
that sometimes you have to accept facts..
facts which are sour,
difficult to take in..
difficult to live with.
Facts which make you realize that sometimes,
one have to live in the sides, right next to the curtain
of a very bright and brilliant stage.

And I remembered again, how shocked I became,
when this flower turned itself into a sharp and clear mirror,
only to make me realize,
that I was actually saying all this to myself.

I remember, yes I remember very clearly what I saw in that mirror.
What I saw in in the background,
and how I couldn't bare looking what was in its foreground.

Shocking as it was,
I somehow understood the scene.
And I felt peace.
No, not an uneasy peace,
but a very blissful one.
I felt that the person who mattered most to me,
understood me.
I felt that the most important friend,
brother,
parent,
understood me...

A friend in need is a friend indeed..
and that true friend can only be that flower,
can only be myself.

A White Lie

2009-08-21T00:07:00.001+02:00

On a comfortably warm day,
and on the green, rich plains,
our flower met a somewhat, interesting friend.

This friend, also a flower, was talking all the time,
about her adventures over yonder.
She was describing the scenery in every detail...
detail, which our flower found somewhat irrelevant.

Irrelevant, cause the view & description were always the same for her.
Always black, or always white, with a slight touch of grey.
Whenever she tried to understand,
whenever she tried to picture all the descriptions in her mind,
she would, somehow get frustrated.. maybe annoyed.

The friendly flower kept talking,
kept describing,
and she started to open up.

She mentioned, how sad she felt,
when the details that matter, never really approached her.
She mentioned, how empty she felt,
when all the other flowers were able to obtain elements which made them more beautiful,
while she waited in vain.

Yes, yes, tears may not flow sometimes,
but what is the use of crying when the fact is accepted, and embraced.

"No, do not talk like that!", replied our flower.
"You are beautiful already. You are one of the nicest flowers I ever met!"
"Your colours are rare, they blend together maginificently. Something which I have never seen."
"You are unique. The details which matter will eventually come "

The friendly flower's frown turned into a smile.
Her voice changed into a happy one.
She seemed so glad, so happy.. so understood.
She bid farewell, and promised to visit again..
and went on her path.

"Why have you lied to her? Everything is monochromatic for you. Why did you lie?", questioned Peter

"The details which matter may never bless her life." , answered the flower.
"She has something missing,
and I cannot tell her that, cause she will never get there anyway.
Therefore I lied...
But, what is wrong in giving hope?
What is wrong in giving that fresh air to an asphyxiated friend?
Yes, she will never get there, she will never get what she is living for..
but I cannot possibly tell her that right?
What is wrong in helping her to move on, move forward,
even if she is following a lie
and happy.. and hoping?"

A Stupid Dream

2009-08-14T00:03:00.002+02:00

It hurts.
The pain is not insane.
It feels like a deep scrath,
It can be easily forgotten.

And from fathoms down,
where light has not yet been,
the centuries old prayer is drawn on flesh.

Most of the time, it is meaningless,
in many occasions it is ignored.

Often, it loses its purpose;
rarely I remember what it is for.
Maybe I am too distracted,
or maybe, it wants to be forgotten.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Life feeds on irony.
Irony.. is Her daily bread.

"And the Irony!", recalls the flower..
"The irony, the few moments of rain are what I cherish the most!"
"And yet, I cannot remember how it felt"
"The irony, when the sun scorches down on me, and I hate it"
"And yet, here in the world of no mistakes. In the world of symmetry, and opposites,
the heat,
the thirst,
the stiffness,
the sweat,
is what I remember most!"

The flower looked down.
The earth was barren.
The gust was continously humid.

Only to feel the tiny pigments of a common disease,
which was corrupting her sweet petals.

"The Sun, is what I want to forget!"
"It lies to me, it cheats"

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

This morning I woke up to embrace a new, dull day.
And yes, I need a dull day, since I need to rest.

But somehow I cannot stop thinking about my experience.
An experience of a friend, who was telling me about..
About..

About this big big house,
which was the shelter of madness.
Pure, and fine insanity.
Where patients were painting coloured, blurry images,
Where patients were screaming, hallucinating, and banging their fists
on every corner they could find.
Scratching off their illusions,
and slowly rocking their head to and forth..
glaring and staring and watching,
without noticing anything worth seeing..
just waiting for the event of the day.
The event when they recognize the face of a Parent,
a face carrying a fake smile.

A nursing Parent..
caring..
delivering, to what they believe , mind settling medications.

And while the meds are taken in, the purple iris re-appears,
and this time, it can be found whenever you look,
whenever you glare, or stare, or watch,
again, shes watchful,
watching everyone, while they,
move down in a mind confusing staircase,
which spirals down to a corner of a blue room.

Shocked,
I woke up, to embrace a new dull day.
It was a stupid dream,
I need to forget.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Peter was on his knees,
praying his daily prayers.
His prayer is always the same.
It never changes.

"I call upon You!"

That is what he prays,
on and on and on..

A prayer which reminds him where he once was.
A prayer, with a sound memory,
a memory which can never be forgotten.

A Colourful Taste Of Reality

2009-08-04T20:59:00.001+02:00

"A few days ago, while strolling quietly along a Summer Shore,
I met a strange person,
a person who had no particular characteristic.

He offered me a world, where everything was blissful,
he offered me a world, where time was non existent,
and he offered me a world where everything had its own colour.

And I accepted this generous offer.
And there I went, into this imaginary world,
where children had voices,
people had faces,
and I had an identity.

I ran by,
i lived the life which everyone is meant to live.

I ran along,
and there I met what I thought it was a colourful feeling,
where the dullness and stiffness laid upon my heart were slowly lifted.

And I looked beyond the tall trees,
and the spiral of infinite possibilties met the once friendly purple eye,
and everything was as it should.

I lay down,
and lit up a smoke,
enjoying the illusion of eternal life.

Everything was as it should have always been..

And the music played on and on..
which silently hymed upon lands of blackfields.

However,
I realized then, that I couldnt escape my arch enemy.
And with a smile,and with a faint tear in the eye,
I bid farewell to everything,
and returned to my real world.

And the colours were lost..
children went dumb again,
people became all the same,
and I was yet again, a sorry,guilty stick figure."

-- Peter

Myself-ophobia

2009-06-30T20:15:00.001+02:00

Up the staircase,
up two stairs at a time.

I just woke up, I just had the usual dream.
I was late, I had to rush, I had to race against my arch enemy.

I entered the room, I had to take a quick shower.
The tap was open, pouring cold water, ready to freeze anyone who exposes itself in it.

I had to look, I just, I just had to look in that mirror again.
In the neverending mirror, I gazed in.
... I slowly took my hands off my face..
and I slowly opened my dilated eyes,
eyes which were still tired by the constant struggle of the night.

And there it was.. again.
The other face..
watching me, from the other side.

Grinning, with no emotion.
Grinning, exposing a pale yellow lining.
Grinning and glaring at me.

The make up was still there,
it has been flaking for ages.
The lipstick was still present,
and it has been fading for ever.
The eyelashes were still heavy,
still pitch black.

Yet the grin defies no one,
the stoic face is ever so watchful.
Ever so careful,
not to miss any tiny detail..

And he grabbed my shaking arm..
and pulled me in, in the neverending mirror.
I could no longer see what was around,
just fog..
the air was cold..
and the smell was indeed familiar.

The scent of humid, wet blankets,
which are covering something which is meant to be uncovered.

The noise was still very dim,
and the voices were always silent.

Yet I listened intently,
I had to listen..

I looked at my fingernails,
they were long, they were hard..

I looked at my skin, and it was pale...
I wished it was him, I wished it wasn't me!

My face felt heavy, as if it was falling apart.
The itching was unbearable.
yet I couldn't scratch..

I looked down, and saw tiny buds,
all dead, all dry... all scared to death.

The fog started to become lighter..
only so I could look at the neverending mirror again..
and only to see myself,
covering my own face,
cowering behing an illusion.
unable to look,
at the flaking face of a familiar clown.

Virgin Lung

2009-05-29T00:53:00.002+02:00

Air lay low,
the atmosphere was heavy,
the pressure was unbearable.
as the tiny spiders crawled along

And she gasped,
but she lay silent,
as the night drew in,
while the fine webs sang their song.

And I lay watchful, looking right into the purple eye,
and I reached out, looking for the untruth, a sleepless lie.

I still know how she was, I still know how she looked.
And I can still hear them creatures, and to every prayer i hooked.

But it was, yet again, for nothing.
or was it?

I do not remember much, cannot tell as such,
but what i do recall is the image,
of a proud white, Virgin Lung.

It was pure, it was neat,
and while it thought he was well in,
it got distracted by a picture the Almighty hung..

And then, the view changed,
the wiew became blurred,
but I saw Peter again, running,
running among the black spiders.

As they kept crawling along,
the view became louder, painted with sleepless nights.
Nights polluted by chants of pain, glittered with a pigment of grief.

And while I kept hitting my pillow down,
and while Peter was still running,
and while the spiders kept crawling,

the singing cancer took over,
and reached out his skinny hands,
and slowly enchanted corruption into the lung.

As it slowly succumbed,
I wondered how the spiders crawled..
why Peter was still fleeing...

And as I bid farewell,
I got myself a packet of cigarettes,
and started puffing the blurred view away.

The 24th Circle

2009-05-20T00:04:00.001+02:00

As usual, I was praying my daily prayers,
I was next to the shore,
talking to myself,trying to unshield some more layers.

All alone, with my only companion,
I was enjoying the same routine,
I was seeing the same old scene,

And slowly, sinking,
the vision became mostly obscene..
nothing new though. I am very well used to that.

There was no Peter this time..
I looked thoroughly,
But I could not see any flowers around.

I just looked up, hoping to find a familiar face,
but the night sky greeted me with the same expression,
which always promoted the same reflection in the water.
And I looked closely to this reflection,
And unsurprisingly enough, I saw a different face.

A face which which was long gone,
a face which I could hardly recognize.

The shore was crowded,
The shore was busy,
People cheering, People having fun,
Living their own Summer, feeling their own sensations.

I could smell the air.. of burnt coal,
of cooked food, of white spirits,
and red wine.
I could smell the faint smell of a labelled sin.

And while observing my watch,
biding my time, so I can return back home,
the reflection became static.

Nothing moved. Except the tired arms of my wrist watch.
The atmosphere came to a halt!
People stopped!
The different scents united as one,
and everything froze.

I went closely, tried to touch,
tried to move the wheel again..
but I felt like a ghost, in an afterlife which was not how I thought it was..
an afterlife which is not how the folks promised me it was.

I went into the background, and I laid down..
and the arms of my watch were no longer moving alone.
My world was in motion again,
but the people there were getting younger..
the grey ashes formed into the proud black coal they once were.

And people were fading, only to be replaced by new ones..
familiar faces, too familiar..
faces which echoed from way back.
And while I recognized most of them, they kept coming..
coming and fading,
returning and going back,
only to come back as younger,
bolder,
more daring.

And a familiar shout rattled a familiar me,
and I found myelf running those few metres again.
Chasing someone,
laughing, and living as the tomorrow would be like today,
and is if today was a continuation of yesterday..

I woke up.
I became concious again.
I looked at my watch, and nothing much changed..
the hours were still benevolent.

And I went to meet the tree again,
to carve out the 24th circle.
There is still ample space to carve out more.
But there isn't much left to uncarve the ones present.

And as the coal turned back into ashes,
I went next to the water to see..
Only this time, I recognized the reflection way too well.

Peter The Artist

2009-05-01T11:37:00.000+02:00

Peter is indeed an artist.
An artist who tries to explore all the realms of creativity.
He tried music, drama, dancing..
but he could not get the grasp of any.

Then he asked to himself,
"Why shouldn't I try painting?"

And painting was next.
Englufed in a world of cliche and bounded creativity, he exposed himself to all methods he was aware of.

Yet, he couldn't achieve, he was not satisfied.
He was not talented, he never was.
So he wanted to work his way through it all..

He painted churches, golden towers, landscape,
cities, architecture, nature,
purple sky, white suns,
dead stars, full moons,
fast moving trains, flying planes,
sleeping ships, and stormy seas,

tired sailors, desperate thieves,
stoned and sober men,
pleasant and pretty women,
depressed and distracted children,
stranded animals,

various places, various situations.

Slowly, but steadily, the paintings started to make sense,
started to feel real.

Then he asked to himself,
"Why should I keep my paintings to myself?"

And he put them in a gallery of art.
This gallery was his faveourite.
It had various forms of art, and in itself it was a work of art.
It was long, and very deep, with narrow corridors but wide rooms.

There were Plasma screens on the walls,
showing all kind of perverted footages,
of expressions which are so common to us all,
but all of us deny.

And there were noises from hidden speakers and amplifiers,
which made sure to keep their noises present in the visitors' ear drums.

So Peter found a spot in the widest room, and put some of his paintings there.
He felt so proud, content.. and open.

People came and people went,
they observed his paintings, they were impressed by his creativity,
and lack of talent.

But they moved on..
they were completely satisfied with what they saw..
so they cheered, they clapped, they murmured words of approval,
and moved on...

This was shocking for Peter!
Why should they move on? Why weren't they bewitched by his manifestations of expressions?

So he came up with a bright idea.

Back home, he started to paint again,
paintings of fair people,
and while they all lacked colour,
while all their skin was pale,
he left their faces blank. Pitch blank.

And he exposed these new pictures,
in this strange gallery.

And strange people came,
they observed by his paintings, they were impressed by his creativity,
and by his talent.

But they asked,
"Where are the faces?"
"How would the faces look?"

And they kept asking,
all sort of strange questions,
and they wondered and they pondered,
and tried to figure the missing faces for themselves.

And they did come up with all sort of strange and weird faces,
all sorts of ugly and horrible faces.
Yet they weren't happy, they knew that something was missing..

So they asked,
"Where is the artist?"
"Where is he?"
"We need to know if our faces are the right ones, so tell us where is he? We need answers"

Cold Cup Of Coffee Interview No.3

2009-04-16T23:28:00.000+02:00

"Good evening...
Ladies & Gentlemen..
We are here again, interviewing our faveourite flower,
which still resides, and will probably always reside
in these convenient, Grey, yet Green Grounds.

Hello Flower! How Is Your Life Today?"

'I am still recovering.. I am still..
The Devil came to me the other day..
I wasn't surprised.. not very surprised..
She muttered something which I cannot tell now.
She smiled at me in a way I cannot describe..
It was familiar.. strangely familiar,
but I have been through it all before.

And when She left, I noticed a much younger flower growing shining brightly right next to me!
Yes, Yes, Right where you are now Mr.Journalist.
Right next to me.
And this flower so looked like me.. like me when I was little,
when I was still hoping of painting my petals with artificial colours,
colours which seemed so deep, so strong, so..
so inspiring!

Her white petals were much whiter than mine,
and her black was far much darker.

And we discussed things..
day & night.. she was telling me her story..
her story slowly evolving while she was gradually growing older..

And I could not notice however,
the fact that she was also slightly waning..

Yet, I couldn't not feel the disappointment which slowly started to englulf my guts,
how angry I became..
how disgusting it was what the flower was telling me!

And the flower slowly grew... and her white slowly started to dissolve..
started to become lighter... it was fading..

Her black was becoming ever so dark..
and she moved.. she moved and faded right into me...

And she disappeared into myself,
it was,
it was like as if we became one!
The disappointment became like a friend,
the anger became comfortable..
and what was disgusting became pleasant...

This flower taught me something, a lesson which I will never forget.'

"That's a cute story indeed flower! What is the lesson this imaginary flower has taught you?"

'That I should buy a new soul, every year.
A soul which I can colour freely with my own, conditioned hues.
Conditioned by the past, the present, and the non existent future,
a future which is very well certain in its own uncertainty'

"Thanks Flower.

Gentlemen, & Ladies,

From Cold Cup Of Coffee TV Station,
we wish you a nice evening!"

"1600 Hrs"

2009-04-10T02:33:00.002+02:00

We are born,
and we are happy.
we cried, we laughed..

but we dont remember.

We grew up, and realized that our world was not just our family.
We made friends, loyal friends,
whom we all believed it would last forever.

Mr.Time was not important, Mr.Time was irrelevant.
We were shadowed by security, and we were willingly conditioned.

We grew up, and we knew more people.
Life was good, everything was good, I was good.

We studied just for the day, while we played hard like our life was just for the moment.
We woke up every morning, unaware of the aging skin..

We didn't care,
We didn't care if we overstrained something..
We didn't care, we were young, it seemed as our life would last forever.

The future was something that could wait, and the past was something which was never really calulcated..

Then the flowers grew, the fields began to smell nice..
The Sun reached its mid day.. the night was still asleep..

And we grew once more.. what we took forgranted was slowly, slowly disappeared with our faveourite colours..

Lost among the red, the blue, the yellow or the black..

We grew, yes we always grew,
and then we reached ourselves.. where at one point we realized it was afternoon..

the shadow is slowly getting larger, and the flowers can no longer embrace the light..
the light which feeds us.. the light which gave us the breath we needed..

and slowly.. very slowly, the fields began to lose their colours again..

And I lay there.. smoking the afternoon's first cigarette..
slowly noticing this waning atmosphere..

And I remembered how I grew..
But I couldn't remember whether I cried or not,
whether I laughed or not..

I cannot, I cannot remember what went on..
I cannot remember what happened..

My memory seems like its leaking,
leaking into eternity, an eternity which.. suddenly I realized it was indeed finite.

And the afternoon was becoming slowly darker..
The Summer Sun was becoming slightly cooler..
And the night was slowly waking up.

And when the night comes,
when the full moon will shine like it has never shone before..
the fields will be colourless..
only reflecting the black sky, and the white of my stars,
stars, which are long gone.. hypnotized by the lullaby of mother earth.

Have a goodnight..
a night blessed with merry dreams..
dreams which will then become haunting in the following morning..

a morning of an afterlife which we are so unsure of..
but we still cling on to it.. cause the night is ever so dark.

Colourful Imagination

2009-03-30T00:05:00.006+02:00

I can no longer try to ignore this fresh air,
i can no longer try to stop breathing,

the land is nice here,
the balance is well kept.

and I am surprised why I was still trying to fight this,
this,
this feeling, this now annoying feeling, which its time has run out..

finally..

but yet, sitting on this plain beach, with white sand and black sea,
I started noticing that not everything was the way I was seeing them.
Not everything was black, or white..
not everything was embracing this monochromatic bliss...

and i looked again, looked again at the setting sun..
a sun which was no longer yellow,
which no longer had colour..

but i could see, i could now see.
i could imagine the colours coming out from the sky,
i could imagine the bliss and comfort of this world.
and i smiled..
and i almost shed a tear,
a tear which should have been shed a long time ago.
a time where everything had its own place,
everything had its own perception.

yet i am sitting alone here... along with this little flower,
this flower which so looks like me,
which is in fact, is like me..
which is in fact, feeling my feelings,
living my life..
believing what I believe in..
holding faith in what I held faith in..

Dear flower,
tell me, tell me how are you seeing the sun.

"I am seeing it in pure black and white,
but I can imagine..
I can imagine the spectrum coming out from its rays..
I can imagine the cheering of its own light..
yes.. yes I can now smile..
This is how the sun is...
the way this imagination sees it.."

Uneasy Favours...

2009-03-16T00:27:00.002+01:00

Taking a short stroll in imaginary hills,
Peter was slowly wondering how much would all this last.
He returned back in the old habit of smoking,

Apparently habits do come back again..
or rather we go back to them.
Thinking why, Peter was suddenly realizing,
that what is labelled as bad, may not be entirely that evil after all..

He went on walking,
went on thinking,
went on talking to himself,
trying to find the bits and pieces of a now senseless explanation..

"Hey, hello there. Can you see me?"
-- the flower asked.

"Can you do me a favour? I can no longer breathe in this field.
I can no longer talk, I can no longer smile here.
Can you uproot me slowly? and put me there where the colours sing?
Where the other flowers reside, in their psychedelic petals?

I need to go there, because the dim light coming from the stars advised me so.
And I trust their whispering voices.. they seem so comforting..
so sweet..
so secure...."

-- I am unable to take you there dear flower. What is best for others, may not be
the same for you.
There, the sun shines, and the wind blows fine. There, the colours are indeed singing,
and the flowers are in fact, blissfully happy..
But taking you there, where you have grown and lived in black, and white, will be a
suicide...

Remember flower, the flowers there can take care of themselves.
There,
the air protects them already,
There,
the earth is ready.. already..

Take care of yourself flower, and do not listen to the light.
The light which has been traveling for million light years,
is only whispering silent echoes of stars which have died long before you were born.

I am sorry flower, but for your own good, I am going to leave you here --

A Common Place To Be

2009-03-11T23:08:00.001+01:00

"I despise you, I don't like you"

"I miss you, I want you!"

"I'm scared, scared of you.."

"I'm embraced, embraced by you .. "

"I want to run, I need to run!"

"I need to hope, I got to hope!"

"This feeling inside me is burning, burning like the last day's cigarette..
burning quietly, burning peacefully..
so peaceful, one could actually hear the ashes burning"

"This cannot be, this must not happen! Besides, he is imaginary.
He doesn't deserve it. He shouldn't have it!
He needs to learn his lesson, he needs to endure more.
How can we ever walk hand in hand, if we look at each other with suspicious eyes...
How can we ever achieve together, if it is indeed unachievable.
I feel tricked, I feel betrayed once again!

These paranoid thoughts are now an old company,
I feel safe, feel safe in their own rythm
Their beat,
Their flow...
Their neverending motion of circular movement.
They are , as if they are almost dancing..
dancing a dance which is indeed familiar.. which is indeed very ,very attractive"

-- Peter

And here we go again.. a symbol which is slowly finding his place again.
A place where it should have stayed since the beginning of the present!
It is time to re-synch the un-synchronized...
To build the razed..
To touchthe untangible...
To see the imaginary...
To have faith in fiction....
To unprove our fictitious faith...

To change the direction of a road which just leads on..
leads to a destination which is commonly known.
A destinaton in which, all people feel secure..
all people feel safe..
all people feel safe in their fears.
Or rather, safe from their very own fears.

This place is warm..
This place is warm..
very warm,,,
very .. welcoming.

Welcome dear reader, to the place where everything is common.
Where all feelings are shared, are distributed,
like old shillings in a street built with sorry cobblestones.

Welcome :)

Cold Cup Of Coffee Interview no 2.

2009-03-01T00:12:00.004+01:00

Good Evening dear viewers,
this is a live report from the great outdoors.
Great as they may seem, green as they may look,
we are here, yet again, interviewing this flower here.

''We have heard that you have made great improvements!
We have heard about impressive achievements!
Achievements which are indeed the result of some hard work!
Can you tell us your secret flower?"

'I have no secret! You see, it's all in the head, in yours, and in mine.
You perceive this as an achievment. I see it more as a duty to do!
I have worked hard, I have thought, I have studied, and I have wandered
in realms which no one can imagine. I have uprooted my weak roots, and started
wandering...
wandering in a world where I was so safe, I was so loved'

"Loved?By who? By what?"

'I was loved by my own vanity. My petals looked good, so I was good.
They flourished, and I have reached the stars.
And I kept wandering in my own realm, in my own world.
Safety became my companion, and we got along really well.
This is the secret of my achievments. Embracing safety. Locking away
all risks!

Now I am back. With my fellow flowery mates. Life is good, everything is good.'

-- Thanks Flower.
From Cold Cup Of Coffee TV Station, we wish our viewers a very good night.

Comfortable Cold

2009-02-11T21:22:00.003+01:00

And thus we meet again, after a wonderful trip.
We both enjoyed ourselves,
We both had a great time,
We enjoyed the cold,
the arid sensation of an immaculate thought.

A thought, similar to a kiss,
touching the upper lip of a lamentation which is eternal,
a fear which will always be present.

Our smiles are subjective,
only to the distant hope of a very dim light,

And here I am, staring at a reflection which no longer seems familiar,
and I see Peter again. I hug him again..
I embrace him again....

Only to see a deja vu which was once a pleasant view,
a sensation which I truly missed...

He is looking at himself, looking at the disappointment..

and he waits..

he hesitates, until the merciful hand smashes his head in a mirror of a thousand souls.
Tiny fragments in the midst of dusk,
blinding anything on the way!

The monochromatic illusion is no longer with us!
Red pigment of the most darkest and perverted blood is finally flowing..
And it quenches the thirst.. like water quenching the thirst of a dying child in an arid desert...
And I cannot rest, I lie waiting,
for a reaction which seem fitting!

And no point of staying sitting..
loitering..
wondering..

The Synchronization Must Get back to where it was...
And in a spiral of dark imaginary drops,
Peter's Pleasant Pain is now back...

Shall we try to talk again now?
Shall we give it another chance?
Shall we give birth again to the Colossal Confusion of His existence?!

The mirror lays shattered...
Imaginary blood taints the purest of curtains...

I close my eyes.. close them tight...
only to realize that once opened, I see Peter again....
Smiling... grinning.. as though we were indeed like brothers.

An Old Man's Lament

2009-02-09T22:36:00.001+01:00

I was watching a slide show the other day,
I had nothing to do..
I was weary of studying,
and I was tired of wondering,

Wondering why I am doing this,
Doing what I feared most.
Feared what I was most afraid of,
Afraid of being what I did not need,
Needing only the non-essential.

And the show started!
It was so amusing to see what I have forgotten,
Forgotten along the way,
a way which i was so passive in,

I couldnt help not remembering,
the good times me and my Peter had,
the adventures we had,
in the good and the bad,
but for sure they werent at all sad!

And it kept going,
different phases, different moments,
This was indeed becoming interesting.
Interesting to note what we have been through,

Ah there you are! My dearest of friends,
the times we lived, they were for sure fun!

Time kept ticking, it all rolled by,
and while I was lost in the show,
The moon was setting in the darkest of nights,
nights which offer shelter to remote memories,
which were indeed remembered during the previous sunset,
a sunset which has proved to be kind it is merciless approach.

As my breath becomes shorter,
we will happily close this event,
which was only good to waste my own time.

Peter is no longer here, but I am glad,
at least I shall be forgotten apropriately.

Do not switch the slide show please Sir, I believe I haven't seen enough,
I haven't smiled enough, to the point where my eyes could close,
and while they are closed, they will become a bit lighter, a bit cleaner,

And when I will open again, them tears can flow.
But now, not today, the pictures are still moving,
in their own pace, true, but they will not stop just yet.