Dormant

Tags

, , , , , , , ,

The cold freezing impulse

of frightning reality

flashes of incidences

happening coincidences

raisng terror, planted by the seed of history

of acctual tragedy

documented

felt

experianced

legitimate

fear

sparked by fear of

unexisting

yet awaited

an anticipated

mirrage of justifications

I say not its fear

nor fear sparked haterad

ignited by fear of the strange and strangers…an old song

I say not that its defence nor action of self (eigen) protection

I refuse the lies

and masks

gaurding the view

of blatent hatred garden

and clear gear

in other words

hoggish, piggish

esurient

greed

adacious

avidly construted consumption

of forsaken voltourus sheep

hass based on what

despicable me on what account

on faulse foolings of religious criminality

leading you to believe in your superiority

from idiots fluent in idiocracy

let me be as my animosity

towards your animosity

is no longer a glance in contempt

nor sypathy for incabability to tap into ur brain an sensebility

but an animosity

freightning away all the sensibility in my reality

leading the fear to turn into an erruption for equality

to revolt against all hatered

not with hatred but calculated clearance and desinfection of braindead zombie viele.

Advertisements

Zombies Exist

Tags

, , , , , , ,

I am sure zombies exist

As the mass, obviously, is brain dead…eaten by zombies. My question is, do we offer the zombies our brain on a platter…. Or is it really true that we, or at least some of us, have no other choice but to willingly lie down with shaved heads to facilitate the smooth feeding of our brains? The only thing nature had intended to give us for survival…

Survival of our flesh,

Survival of our consciousness,

Survival of our emotions

Survival of our soul…spirit…whatever you call the essence of your being

I feel deep sadness. A deep sadness that overwhelms the drive of the fight left in me. As what’s left of the brain cognitively sees the pointlessness of it all ….and the danger of the zombies coming….

Moving

Tags

, , , , , ,

Part II

The answer is prostitution. Not the kind where you constantly feel used and ashamed, aware of what is happening you don’t want to be there, no that comes later. You want to be there. This is the kind where you are pretty woman; your boss, your bills, your local bar, your lover and to an extent a part of you take up the roll of Richard Gere. If you are just desirable enough and wait long enough and fulfill the expectations…you will get there…you will succeed. You will have what you long for…love, security and happiness. Only in this version Richard turns into a large pimp with his musky fat knuckled fingers around your neck, just tight enough to so that any attempt to break out could lead to suffocation.

The taste of artificial freedom, overwhelmingly real and scary, inhabits your morning breath. You are really managing on your own. It looks that way to an outsider. Behind strangers doors, not furnished exactly according to your taste: its temporary, well behind those doors, you are preparing yourself for the times to come. Just work hard enough to get to that job, diet well enough to keep him interested and act so independent that even you begin to believe it.

Underpaid, you keep on carrying out your job description, not nearly close to what you are educated for, but the unconscious knows it needs recovery. And pretty woman hopes it´s THE step stone to the next level. A brave face Monday to Thursday, well you can´t work Fridays. This independent woman has yet again set her schedule around to maintain the relationship that has no ground. Fridays to Mondays, you spend your earnings. For traveling into dream land. Such passion. Was that all I had to do? Leave?

Some weekends, you riot! Rebel! Enter another very different dream land. A parallel universe created just for relieving aggression in the most enchanting way possible. For restoring your fragile ego. Yes, embarrassing but why deny it: you are as vain as they come. Vanity combined with a broken heart is certainty “the pimpers paradise”.

During these riots things happen for which you can not be held accountable. They started out quiet nice actually, after all it is an open relationship. You have everything to prove: you can not just move but also move on. Naturally it was the most foolish and naive thought, as the subsequent weekend after riot time, pretty woman in love: as submissive as they come, as coquette as can be, has her reunion with prince charming. Sometimes known as Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

So really there was enough activity to fill up your new won freedom. You might even have been at your peak. So high, not realizing it was a slippery slope and Richard Pimp Daddy was getting buffer and buffer giving you a helpful nudge down the slide. The speed is good! Can you let go? For sure, he will catch you at the bottom…foolish and naive thoughts.

MOVING

Tags

, , , , ,

Part I

How can it all come to a complete stillstand, a void…vacuum? It seemed very dynamic and happening at the ready steady line. Ready for takeoff and full of hope, fear and excitement. The unknown seemed very familiar, very comforting and manageable. In a way that you can steer the wheel and dodge the speed bumps. A few splashes here and there. Those are nothing…brush it off, dry your self and keep steering. In the middle of the wide, fast and well paved highway you steer frantically and feel you are swooshing past all vehicles when you raise your head up and notice you are standing still. The famous illusion of the moving train next to you making you question who is in motion…you or them?

At the moment of realization…not only are you not moving, but that wide paved road is no longer there. Look down and for the first time you perceive the pit, the black hole of nothing and as all cartoons have taught us…that´s when you fall.

Where to begin? There are quit a few beginnings…the choice is even if one should begin at all. Who cares really?

Where to begin? A wet pavement, you can feel the cold through the thin black street shoes made for spring, slightly worn out yet very fashionable. A new feeling, the eastern cold air mixed with loneliness, independence and empowerment. It is a nice kind of cold, wet on the ground dry in the air so your eyes can stay open head up and perception of the new world around you loud and clear. A beautiful sight, you can see everyone…no one can see you…not yet.

After having carried all the material worth you are, inside the well furnished family flat, a temporary home rented to you by a very nice and frighteningly happy and upbeat couple, first thing is first: call to say you have arrived safely. How are you going to fill your new won free time after that?

 

A Moment

Tags

, , , , ,

Cold eyes

What lies beneath

all those highs

what´s the price

 

it´s a fast move

the vast majority has had the last groove

but your identity, is an entity

the liability, to your mortality

 

goose bumbs

drive the motor of those pumps

thumps and jumps

ignite a cold fire

inside your heads choir

as you perspire

get higher and expire

 

Cold eyes

What lies beneath

all those highs

what´s the price

©2014 This work is the property of the author.

Still Real

Tags

, , , , ,

Please lie to me

I can´t take the truth

then in your lie lies hope

lying hope leaving room for proof

Unless the truth is proven, even then

I will take the lei

as my reality

Then in your lies, lies hope

giving me a reason

to wait and stay  

and listen

and breathe in the air

of deception

Sweet, sweet deception

a false sensation

that feels so real

so real for me

my reality

my truth

©2014 This work is the property of the author.

What

Tags

, , ,

Why are you bothered…and why does it bother me? I’m too heated, too expressive, too loud, too direct, too open, too excessive, too too too too too too much of everything!

So why do I feel so little?

Always bottling down my self, sealing the jar so no bit of my true spirit evaporates to contaminate your picture of who I am…who I should be. Any time that bottle is reversed and pours the potion of self destruction into my gut…all that vacuum tight sealed concentrated being of mine, enters me in a rush…and jumps out to feed…and feel great

So why do I feel so little?

I’m certain,my so called friend, this little anecdote of our interaction is too much, too much, too much

and again, I feel so little.

©2012 This work is the property of the author.