Saturday, December 15, 2007

Prologue

You've been so good to me, Queen of tragedies.
when there was only one closet to be hide in,
dizzy with the smell of soiled laundry.
and only one door that could be locked, in my entire universe,
hearing my own humming, echoing in the white space, between bathtub and the ceramic floor,
"So I can live on water alone for couple of days in here", I would think to myself childishly.
while you my Queen, were defending your forever lost youth, digging up dirt.
I could picture your every facial expression, moving around the room dramatically,
fragile and tired afterward, regaining your powers in the corner.
you owned the stage.
It never took a whole day for me to come out,
"Wait 30 minutes after hearing nothing but silence", I made that rule.
Wondering what to expect.
Once, you left me a burned doll, her clothes spotted with your cigarette,
that day my room was the chosen place.
I came out to watch you, I was drawn into it.
There I learned about self-pities, and rotten lucks.
Under layers of Dostoevsky's and Balzac's, there it was, a deformed superstition.
Full with fascination for my Queen, I refused to let her walk out,
for the price of thousand words and unworthy tears.

It wouldn't be long until the next Act.

Sunday, December 9, 2007

Thursday, November 22, 2007

Life Delicioso

The end might be around the corner, but never close enough to stop him from missing, remembering, loving, and imagining constantly. His nostalgia so strong and almost permanent, he misses everyone. He remembers everyone... With every name that he calls, dead or alive, there is a tale... Once there was a childhood, an adulthood, genuine one in fact... Humane enough to be missed. His mind hasn't completely stopped recording, but new events aren't important anymore. Sometimes when I sit besides him, he asks me if my kids are doing good... I don't have kids, I tell him... then he gives me an embarrassed smile, or cracks a joke if he is in a good mood..., his jokes are witty.
He hates family reunions, he hates having to say goodbye one by one, it leaves him empty and sick... First time I saw him cry was in one of those damn reunions. Not too long ago. No! He was sobbing... He still sends imaginary money to relatives, to places that existed once, before an earthquake, a revolution, a war, or just an industrialization project. So I like to see him alot... as much as I can... he reminds me of how late I am, everytime, and how he has been waiting.... The only time I hear him complain. His life so full and so empty at the same time... Not for anybody to say that is time for him to stop... for his current existence is all he desires...then there will be nothing... Death is death... with nothing beyond it... Not necessarily scared, just not done yet.

Monday, November 19, 2007

Hipocresía Expreso

Disgust took over rage,
silence took over a lumpy throat,
paranoia took over the conscience,
Melancholy took over the World.

Consumed by absurdities,
loved by pities,
injected with obligations,
frightened by nostalgia.

Forced to cease,
drugged to persist,
promised to be deluded so impeccably.
While time exhausted the body,
and routines dulled the head.

Under layers of filth,
still remaines
an untouched state.

Monday, October 22, 2007

Death of a Fishvane


If it wasn't an absolute stillness...!?
Deluded by the wind, the Fishvane was convinced of flying
While the very existence of the stick denied it.
Gravity pulling, while the passing by breeze promised the moment of departure.
Mesmerized by the wind's sweet words,
Fishvane couldn't hear the earth whispering,
_"You are only a fool dreamer, selling your soul to the seductive sky, in return of a moment away from me! Me! The generous Earth"!
Furious by the Fishvane's betrayal,
The earth pulled on the stick violently,
and swallowed in the Fishvane.
The wind stopped blowing for a moment... sorrow heavier than the air.

Saturday, October 20, 2007

Autotomy


In danger, the holothurian cuts itself in two.
It abandons one self to a hungry world
and with the other self it flees.

It violently divides into doom and salvation,
retribution and reward, what has been and what will be.

An abyss appears in the middle of its body
between what instantly become two foreign shores.

Life on one shore, death on the other.
Here hope and there despair.

If there are scales, the pans don't move.
If there is justice, this is it.
To die just as required, without excess.
To grow back just what's needed from what's left.

We, too, can divide ourselves, it's true.
But only into flesh and a broken whisper.
Into flesh and poetry.
The throat on one side, laughter on the other,
quiet, quickly dying out.

Here the heavy heart, there non omnis moriar
just three little words, like a flight's three feathers.

The abyss doesn't divide us.
The abyss surrounds us.

Thursday, October 18, 2007

The dried veins of Morality

Sometimes an object has to be broken into tiny pieces, in order for its deformity to be taken away...Its uselessness and impracticality to be stopped immediately. Obsessively re-attached pieces are made to become one unit and serve a common purpose, as determined by the creator. Its physical being no longer could be ignored.

------------------------------------------

So I ask her, why are you here?...It could be a question just echoing in my mind... And no! there was never any sound because my lips never moved to free the words into the silenced air... As she suffers in her own special ways and as lines appears on her face for every suffering day by day, I wonder if it wasn't one wrong notion that dragged her into this! Sobbing in every corner of the room, she begs me to feel, to snap out of the numbness... So I try, and I fail everytime, for it's been too long and too cold... And survival has its own price! My own version of living. She is determined to believe that the alien she is seeing everyday, is a deprived soul...The creature must be connected to the feeding tubes of morality in order to recover. As human as I ever felt, I pull the plugs stubbornly.
Finally, her sobbing turn into an innocent, soundless sleep.

Tuesday, October 16, 2007

Avoided awareness!



Unexpected incidents never to be expected,
When so busy waiting for things to happen, intensely...
As nothing works the way one wishes for,
it disappoints and frustrates, but it also fades....
Then, forgotten as an old mid-summer day dream,
it existence hardly even counts...
an insect coming out of dark,
expected to be respectfully welcomed...
and wishfully taken back...
unaware, being under curse of complete unawareness,
Unaware as Oedipus.
Not deserving pity, not deserving the second chance,
Swallowed by time, to be digesting regrets.

Wednesday, October 3, 2007

Monday, October 1, 2007

Parasita

Sound of expired seconds,
Taste of Blah-Blah-Blahs,
Smell of sour moods,

Rusty,
dry,
nauseating...

It deafens
It numbs
It sickens

A sucker called Boredom.

Friday, September 28, 2007

Only under special circumstances!

Surrounded by delirium,
light headed and numb,
time slowing down, stretched out seconds...
craving Melody,
to be echoed in every hollow bone, every blank space of the head.

A pleasant vertigo, so convinced to fly...
Only, and only if I could jump so high and never come back down again...
High for eternity, serenity nearby.

As I open my eyes, I fall back down again,
What is left is nausea, disbelief and sadness,
Labelled realities staring me straight in the eyes...

Was I high or just Naive?

Wednesday, September 19, 2007

The Persistence of Memory


Not so far away... Just around the corner, someone had a flashback.
Tiny pieces of memory, being pushed to the first row, where they can be touched, not ignored...
In the 5th floor,
where there is a strong smell of melancholy, somebody tried to forget,
while in the first floor, there was a slight hint of nostalgia in the tasteless air molecules, for anything that ever existed.
Impossible to block, they are the muted screams...
Dusty and old... demanding rebirth... With or without a soul.
Frustrated past... trapped into the time's cemetery...begging to be dug out, buried again, decomposed.
Too far... Too old to be brought back again.

Monday, September 10, 2007

Shhh...

Slowly,
with a great uncertainty,
words pouring out of her head into the muted space of the throat,
Disconnected violently...Unable to scream out the wasted words.
How sound becomes the misunderstood logic, sewer of head.
Standing there... breathing heavily, making an effort to make sense out of nonsense.
Just few more seconds, and it wouldn't matter anymore...
Urgency is just a disfigured moment after all.

So she turned her back and took a deep breath, as if air could wash everything down from her
blocked throat.

Sunday, September 9, 2007

An alien called "Human"

Smell of humidity,
Taste of metal...
dreams that live and die one after another...
People who are close, only when they are at the highest point of their miseries...
Something worthy to hear... Fear of loosing it...
is gone....
Blank papers that takes no time to turn into the proves of the human insanity.

Saturday, September 8, 2007

Just a thought!

Apples are gone,
the last words of the insane man...
let me run, let me spin.
The voice is wrong, Signs aren't made of Neon lights after all...
Click, click, click, and there is my lost times in some lousy frame...
By the way that plastic bag that you're wrapping around your head has a hole in it...
Light cream is not light anymore, victims of congelation.

.....

I was there... or at least that's what I thought.... There could've been an accident when nobody was looking...... Something cracked and I tried to cover it with my hands...It didn't look like a big one, but it continued all the way down, passed my hands, passed my feet, passed the ground I was standing on... At some point I couldn't see it anymore... My hands got tired and numb but I didn't want to remove my hands... There was something underneath that cracked... As an UN-stoppable pressure, forcing it's way through... It's existence so strong....Nobody could deny it anymore, even those who weren't looking...
Then pressure and exhaustion turned me into a shapeless creature .. And I could see through my hands, and I knew that everyone else can see through my head... So I stopped thinking and I stopped completely because I had nowhere to Hide.

A Short Pause!

While so high on caffeine and conversation... a sudden sharp stroke on the temple of my head revealed the bareness of the moment. It seemed as if nothing matterd at that moment, not even the lightness of body and soul... It was meant to be nothing! Heart was racing fast and I demanded silence with certainty as the solution... Realizing is rather impossible to demand such a thing in a place full with life and smoke and talk and coffee, I blocked my ears with my hands... Not fully deaf, I looked at excited faces with moving lips... Did they know something I didn't know? Was I excluded from their secret? Was I too naive to believe fantasies and delusions are the only truth? And if I was wrong, then what was the truth? Maybe there was no defined truth... As far as I was concerned, I could be carrying mine inside... and the guy next to me could have his! Then why forcing one's personal truth into the individual's or from a bigger perspective, into a nation's throat? Isn't that what politics and religion and so many other craps are all about? And somewhere in between the messy arguments over imaginary rights and wrongs, morality and colorful humanity, you realize the phoniness of it all... Out of ignorance or awareness, doesn't really make a difference, for the result is a blindfolded generation living in search of what is beyond things that they've been taught... And for nothingness is an active form of life!
So I put my hands down while silence surrounded my existence, and I took a deep breath of air filled with nothing at all.