run-a-tum

 

Since I was young

I am on the run

Now, more old,

I am still running,

so I am told

 

I ran away from that,

that ran towards me

Upon reflection, I can see

how I was getting lost

in loneliness and fear

and rejecting even that,

that was dear

 

Running is my freedom

from the prison of my fate,

and the buried past

which keeps a live debate

and reminds of something

which stayed behind

Now I speed along malaligned

 

Running is my surname

Loss and pain, a restless brain,

a song  in minor

with a sad refrain

Sometimes a tear in private

often I am running with disquiet

 

A constant fear to be too late

Imagine dreams thus escape?

The death of me is any wait

Therefore, night and day

I follow and obey

Running is my way,

bluffing also is okay

 

I run even though

my running days are done

But,

some say it looks like tumbling now

’cause all my pose is gone

 

The further that I disappear

the happier I be, — I think

But, there are teardrops in my ink

as happiness runs too,

from the one who runs

from you

 

Running, — my escape

towards a destination called ‘Away’

Tumbling, a persuasive way

to stay and not forsake

 

*Picture credit: The Emoji Movie

 

Advertisements

egging around

Life is about sitting on an egg, — partially.

When you’re sitting on top of an egg,
– and be honest, I think we are all trying to hatch something, –
and nothing happens for too long,
there is something wrong with the egg you’re sitting on.

Nothing is wrong with you, — of course not.
You did your time and probably more than was necessary.

No bird sits on an egg longer than they intrinsically know they have to, and neither should we.

If you want to bring something about:
manifest something,
change your circumstance, change your beingness.
If nothing happens,
get off and find another egg.

If you water a seed or seedling and it doesn’t grow,
you don’t continue indefinitely, do you?
Cui bono?
There must be a benefit; else, what are you doing it for?

Maybe herein lies the problem:
We are the egg and the hen.
Between being both we get side-tracked.
We hen around when we should also egg around.
And both hen and egg have a best before date too.
Or, perhaps our egg got swapped while we were inattentive or in cloud-cuckoo-land. We might be sitting on a dinosaur egg that takes epochs to hatch,
and we only have a human lifetime.
Another more sinister reason could be that there is no egg for us. A hiccup in nature, an oversight, or perhaps a deliberate message of:
“You are wasting your time here, you should be somewhere else, sorry (hu)man, internal error, – reboot.”

I don’t think sitting on an egg is that much fun,
especially when the dream of what that egg was supposed to become has lost its verve.

In the process of incubation and brooding, you have probably also attracted a severe bout of eggshaustion.
Rest is advised but time is limited because it is now already ‘time minus one egg’.

Time and eggs clearly have some agreement.
Maybe ten time units are one egg unit, or who knows?
And, you are entering into major guesswork as to how many time and egg units are available to you.

At this stage of disillusionment with reality and eggs, you might want to run away to an island and just hangout and relax.

When that escape starts feeling like another egg, is it now the right egg? There’s nobody really around that could answer that question. Eggvisors are few and far between, if not entirely mythical. And, other islanders egging it out don’t strike you as the right reference model.

It is not inconceivable that at this moment you might decide,
“WTF, I’ll just grab an egg that looks nice and sit on it and see.”

The point is that when that first egg doesn’t hatch
and we finally decide to move on to another egg,
unless some inbuilt direction finder kicks in
and sets our compass pointing north again in our life,
we could become abandoned eggs or hens without a head.

Now, the second (nth) time around,
we have to apply extra amped-up effort and employ every ounce of skill and wisdom to bring our life together and make sense of it,
— and not accept a watered-down make-believe or a shortlived fake brochure version, —
so we can find that satisfaction which is inherent when our right egg hatches.

Day of Dismay

A day…

like watered down milk…

– indifferently choreographed between white and grey

– tasting like soup with too much thickener and too little salt scooped from a burned pot

– conducted by a metronome seesaw clock stuck on one hour for half the day,

and then suddenly nothing happens, again, and it’s evening

 

A day…

of night aeons and darkness’s conquests and shadowy ghosts infesting my mind

– preserving its light in a heart-locket necklace in memoriam

– where Nothing sticks like clueless glitter lost on my forehead

– when angels were sought and found only in thought but never caught

– of skulls and crossbones destabilising sanity with orchestral irrationality

 

A day…

of X-rays beaming through my skeleton ignoring my transient flesh in their own celebration of reflection…

– where demons dismember my heart and grill the tendrils of my feelings

– of ego-tripping maniacs grinding me to dust with their mortar and pestle rhetoric

– when my ashes become the spice of the devil’s lust,

–  when ‘burn his soul’ is chanted by the karmic choir at the tortured gates of reincarnation,

and the cosmic eraser is bigger than any of my dreams

 

A day where…

Angst is the fire and defiance the air…

– blood is the drug knocked back with a double shot of death

– the soil that I stand on cries louder than hell pronged on a pitchfork

– I am misplaced like a bee on the sea

– I am like a butterfly squashed in the cooler grill of an abandoned racing car

 

A day…

that none of us asked to be part of…

because it perforates and slices with its shrapnel,

it blinds and dumbs the mind with chaos,

it breaks every ethic and moral and belief,

fatally demanding life and remuneration through recurring vengeance,

this day of the feasting vultures of dismay

Echoing passage to the future

I lay out there drifting weightlessly
 somewhere in empty space
 surrounded by the darkness of the universe
Floating on nothing
Lost in nothing
I and my thoughts

Unimaginably alone, — solely
Unsad, content, clueless

Too distant even to the nearest star
Immersed in timelessness
About 1:53 am in the feel

The past an ashen memory
No smoldering feelings

I see my future
 winding through an echoing passage
 tiled with absorbing pictures turned into movies
They distract consistently
I am confronted with a view at the end 
A lookout point into future space,
 unlike anything I could ever conceive
Visible is an indeterminately gigantic, 
 colorful, spoked wheel of dimensions

At the hub,
 where all dimensions meet:
 the bright center of fertility
The source of anything,
 known also as nothing
Close together here
 unfathomably far apart further out

It is all so clear now:
 In order to keep on floating, I must stay lost
 and I must stay in a state of not-knowingness
That is pure freedom,
 unbound from existence
My only way back to source

From this virgin source of nothing
 I can follow any spoke leading to any dimension
Each dimension is another universe
Probably entirely unimaginable from our reality
As I engage thus
 I become un-lost in my new knowingness
Now I am bound again

I don't drift towards a new future
I am the new future 
 ...soon to become the newest past
 and be lost and clueless once more

Drifting,
 floating,
 clueless,
 lost in nothing

Towards a new future

The Scream

The Scream

Pastel on cardboard created by Norwegian Expressionist artist Edvard Munch 1895: was sold for nearly US$120 million, at Sotheby’s, in 2012.

I wail and scream. I howl
I bleed and I implore
Desperate cries distort my lips
Torn into a grimace
fearful open the visage
Clueless and lost I am
Anguish is upon my soul

Dark wrinkles now remain
where tears in streams
once hoped in vain

A devilish nightmare
horrible and mean,
from inside my ulcerating stomach
and my flailing heart,
forced its shadow onto my scene
Warning me, ‘beware’

A thousand cellars deep in agony,
dank with acid, bile, and irony
It’s me

I bang my head and bite my nails
My soul from sorrow is impaled
and my spirit poison has inhaled
wishing for the comfort in the grave

Eyes in white rage ajar
now burned out,
once upon a time two sunny stars

My fists are clenched,
spiked with ragged bony hands
stabbing aimlessly at burned out plans
I once knew another side of this fence

Screaming threatening,
helpless windmills are my arms
Harsh and vile the words accusingly escape
Hear me whoever and whatever you may be:
You are fearsome, belligerent, debilitating,
uncompromising, ruthless and emetic
I am on a vertex uncontrollably forlorn
Sickeningly, rhymeless, unpoetic
Pushed too far, beyond repair I’m harmed
I suffocate
It’s deadening

Disappointed, disillusioned, hurting bad
Events heaped upon me that made me crying sad

Life’s definition –
amongst buried papers, dogmas, egos
and coated in red tape:
An endless suffering caravan of greed and hate
Controlled by law enforced by society
I scream some more
It is too late
Piety, sobriety, and deity, notorious dubiety

What now?
I scream again, I scream
I tell the universe I’m sore
Sick of all the hell, right to the core
Liberate me, bring about a change
Never will I accept some fate
Turnaround my life
I still believe it can be done somehow

But scream I must
till then
Before I settle into dust
and blow away,
Scream, scream, scream in pain
Amen

The devil, me and I and you

I couldn’t sleep for thoughts of you
Morning, feelings, cold and dew 
Everything was just so fine
Clueless, lost that was my crime

Nothing in my dark lit up
Thoughts of you kept coming but
the loneliness kept holding tight
This opponent was my lifelong fight

Seldom happiness would have a say
All the vivid colors turned to gray
Forsaken in my ice age day by day

A cul-de-sac, a dead end stop
I would rant and rave until I dropped
Nothing changed, it wasn’t meant to be
Even my dreams and wishes couldn’t set me free

Some force was negating, maliciously intent
a life of accomplishment and content
I bargained till my beard turned white
the other one just laughed at this my plight

You could have cashed your soul for fun
and lived a life of sin and some
he even mentioned that my soul was worth a bit
he’d talk to Karma even Hades could be skipped

Then he left for he had other things to do
I should call him if I'd feel I’m through
In between he came around
telling me I wasn’t sound

I should think about a deal
Rap it up and put a seal
What’s the point when nothing works
and your days are filled with hurt

Life’s too short to live in pain
All agree that is a shame
and there’s no one here to blame

But who was he who tempted so 
What energy did make him grow 
I made him up that much I know
therefore why can’t I let him go 

Worry, fear, and disillusionment
helped in his establishment
Sunshine, love, and laughter
will destroy his term as master

To beat him at his game 
and bring happiness again
my entire life I searched for you
questioning exhausted if you could be true
often clueless, lost, I lived through years of rue
and spent much time talking to the stars with tears
hoping that someone might open up their ears

My angels came a running, just before it was too late
They called the wind to blow a storm and change my fate
You greeted me and we knew before a word was spoken
that we had scars from many places we were broken

Even now I do recall the times alone
when my thoughts run away from home
and I dig in places dark and drown
forgetting all the joy you've brought
and everything I ever sought

There was no crime
and no disorder
Clueless, lost, I crossed the border
Deep I sank into some feelings
fleeing from my heart and being
till you came along
and stroked me with your song
Finally, my life is mine to shine
There never was a crime.
 









When that happens?

A ginger cat called Flash slinks through my garden regularly ignoring me as if I am vapour.
It’s four in the morning and I sit at my desk and thinks.
The streetlamp across the road is in a forty-five second on/off cycle.
Suddenly, poof, I have found an answer.

The answer is the SUN.

However, all the other questions I have, sadly, remain stubbornly unanswered. Two things generally happen to me: Either I am flooded with opinions or drowned in silence.
Instead, I really want to be surrounded by clarity and then engage with resolve.
I think that if I separate myself into an infinite number of parts it should be easier to become part of the whole, go with the flow and emerge with the answers.
To do that I cease thinking. Now I am not. The ‘I’ becomes an ‘It’ without an ego attached or a particular outcome expected.
I realise quickly that if this was the way it should be I would be a brainless grain of sand on a beach or a rock. After all, I am only one in a few billion not a googol gazillion. I’m special. Although…from a uni/multiversal point of view I’m so small making out I’m such a big deal, and in competition to the dumb universe, that my brain blows a fuse every time I try comprehending just a bit of this magnitude.

I start thinking again and I decide to ignore stuff like the Brexit.
I always wanted to live on an island and I trusted the wisdom of age to make visionary decisions and not create a dystopia. I just revised that.
Some things are so stupid they stick out like a grumbly square wheel with a puncture.
Democracy: a 49% – 51% guillotine; a really worn out flat tire and no wizzkid, political scientist or other boff rewriting that dusty, outdated bible. Ouch!

I still want to live on an island, but not that one.

I wonder what the sun thinks every day?
Just warm them up and give them life, they’ll come right some time.
Clearly, when you come from a sunny (dis)position, you can make better decisions. You gotta blame it on the weather. It would drive anyone bonkers and vote ‘Exit.’
And, in hindsight, to decide matters of such profound importance and far-reaching consequences during or after a full moon, when the sun is past the solstice and in pouring rain, shows a disconnectedness and ignorance, dare I say arrogance, towards all of nature’s powerful forces.

Chuckle.

Now what? Another illusion? More reality?
Nothing, clueless, lost?
Hop on board.