Humbug!

         Well Christmas is coming up, and I usually hang my good cheer and joy on the hanger and stuff it in the back of the closet. Here is a truth, I hate Christmas. Why? Well I myself find it pretty stupid . So many people have grown tired of it, most of them admitting their dislike, but whatever the reasons are opposing this disturbing holiday are drowned in the sole argument of "It's tradition!" Well you've seen where traditions have gotten us so far...
           The time before peace is always lined in war, I constantly keep getting into arguments with everyone around me, I hurt them and burn myself in the process. Tongues are sharper than knives, their residue is worse than battle scars, it echoes in our head, our most vulnerable place, our Achilles heal if you will. I don't want this.
            Another reason why i hate it is that it has become about presents, and not about giving them, about getting them. Whatever happened about the child that was supposedly born on this day that many feel the need to worship? Where does it fit in between gluttony and greed? The tiny Bethlehem underneath the Christmas tree or wherever you position this decoration? Yeah, well though its meant to revolve around the Nativity scene, even though its the babe's birthday, we don't treat it as such. No, we think of ourselves instead. We've long since figured out that in order to get presents we must sacrifice a few minutes and pennies.
          Perhaps if the holiday had a center, a point, I would at least consider it honorable and regard it with respect. But the hollow, forced and highly commercialized tradition doesn't impress me. I admit, I too was once hypnotized by the shiny lights and colorful wrapping paper, but no more of that now. This year I'll try to bear my way through it the next I'm putting on my Grinch suit.
           All I want to say is, please think about what you are about to celebrate, because if its greed ,gluttony, envy, anger and your own self importance, perhaps you might want to call it off. You cant wrap love or belief in wrapping paper, you can not serve it to anyone on a platter, you can not steal it if it is truly there. So when you sit under the Christmas tree, and start guessing what you will get this year, and before you start saying the obligatory thanks, please think about the true reasons for going through with this annual ritual.

Mindles routines

          There is an obsession with the truth these days, with the coming of equality amongst a certain mass of humans, everyone wants this rare high-priced commodity . Knowing makes us feel important, makes us feel a part of something. Thus truth is very important to all of us, it seems as though we might just go mad without it.  And yet, we also have the desperate need to lie to each, and of course our selves including.
           Perhaps the most innocent form of lying to ourselves and others is the basic absurdity of routines. Each and every morning, throughout the day, and as we get ready to go to sleep again, we go through our fair share of routines. Why do we do it? Many can't remember anymore, and those that do, say it's so they would not forget. It makes me wonder, because everyone is oh, so comfortable in each their own, why a practice of deliberate self-induced  brainwashing  is so popular in such conscious days. I know people do not like to forget, and sometimes a correct routine is in fact the matter between life and death, but I believe that many a person stops thinking when performing the usual tasks of the day. Our minds go empty fed with the monotony of another mindless task. Suddenly brushing our teeth, putting on shoes and opening and closing doors is but an automatic motion.
             And thus, just like breathing, these tasks are being taken for granted. We forget how much of us is put into each and every thing we do. And we lie to ourselves that its going to be like this forever and that its the best way to do things. Comfort is a lie, it is but an illusion, it  makes us want it, forever to be held in warm embrace, well fed and happy. But dreams, just as they do, come crashing down.
            Supposing routines are necessary, a necessary evil as is grammar, that in some ways defines us and in others strips us of our humanity. Though at the back of my mind, that long forgotten little voice, starts whispering again: "You dear, are so sad, huffing and puffing, and nothing to say, trying to ventilate that poisonous anger out of your system when it comes to be too much. The only reason you have a problem with routines is because you are hardly capable of them! So very sad, to preach about the faults of something out of sheer revenge..."
             People may say that this was my conscience speaking, but no, its the monster, it finds faults in me, it finds faults in every word I wright, it simply loves to mock and torment me, but about that another time. Whether my arguments have been discredited by my notions or not, I do believe one good can come of these few paragraphs - think!

Life is worth pretending

Life is worth pretending,

even if it gathers dust.

When with every bitter ending,

You lose some hope, some trust,

You ask why of rotting fate

Which dragged you to posterity

To things she knew you’d hate

With soberness and clarity

And yet, life is worth pretending

As Shakespeare wrote on page

Men, women are attending

The world is but a stage.

For whom or what we play?

Why were puppets waken?

The answer heavy lay:

Not to be forsaken...

But if all men puppets are,

And god may be misgiving-

Still, options are ajar

Find happiness in living

Barely Beating

Life's a fragile art,

for locked within my chest,

A barely beating heart,

That never gets to rest...

               

Aef and Eaf

          "Hello!" someone screamed from the infinite darkness.
"Anyone out there?!" another scream more helpless than the one before...
           Than the world fell silent, the screamer swallowed by the black hole of nothingness. There were no casualties, no one would miss the voice which tried so hard to save itself, no one... And as he spiraled into oblivion, as he tried to swallow every last tear of self pity, though no one was there to judge him, he knew that all was lost. With this in mind the screamer closed his eyes and gave up as many did before him. He did not notice the tiny speck of light that flickered before him, the tiny speck of hope that could have saved him. Nothing mattered anymore, he no longer possessed his status, he no longer had his name, he was no longer a man, just a body of mindless matter falling to the floor.

         Two figures approached the body, they were skinny and old, fragile looking, with long white hair, sharp noses and tired looking eyes. Their frail old bodies were covered in spider webs, leaving their long crocked limbs bare and free to creak as they like. Their lips were covered in dust for they rarely spoke to each other, though one might imagine that time would pass quicker if there was someone to talk to, in their life they've talked enough. They were neither male nor female, the only difference one could notice at first glance was that one was taller and the other a bit shorter. Aef the taller one had a limp in its left leg its twin Eaf was the shorter of the two, but in their old age height no longer mattered. Aef and Eaf did not eat, drink or sleep they did nothing but walk and look for the falling men and women they called screamers. When they heard the pathetic scream they rushed, well, went as fast as their creaky old selves could carry them to the place where the noise came from. When they got there, time enough, they could blow a few sparks of hope up to the screamer, none but few ever reached for this last safety, most fell to the floor and their wasted mangled bodies had to be covered in dust and dissolve into the very old soils of the Undeunderearth Aef and Eaf were not obliged to bury these unwanted creatures, but as they did not desire to trip over the bodies of the silent screamers, they did so.
        Underunderearth was a grim place to be alive, perhaps not alive, thought that's what the two ancient figures called it, conscious, yes a grim place to be conscious. In a certain way they both deep in their soul wanted to do what the screamers were doing, though neither would admit it. Perhaps they would have done so in a week moment of before, but not now knowing that if you jump from hell, the only place you can land is just another hell. But Aef and Eaf knew they were waiting for something, they knew that their purpose was not solely confined to blowing devils hope at the naive falling screamers, within their long silent hearts they knew something was about to happen.
         Aef and Eaf, though their sight was no longer what it used to be, came to see a glorious speck of color in the near distance before them. They could not understand it for the only thing that they have been seeing for the past couple thousand years was death colored specks with perhaps a crumb of a red flame here and there, if the dear screamer happened to be on fire as he or she fell.
         "iiiitttsssssss a ....." Eaf tried to say with its dry and dusty mouth, but stopped midway because he grew tired.
         "turquoisssssssssssssse" Aef finished in the same dusty wind shaped voice " a turquoisssssssssssssse screeeeeeemer"
          The two exhausted after this conversation failed to notice that the falling body had hit the floor, but gently so. When they shook it off and started walking again with their long aching steps they came to see that no burial was necessary, the creature, whatever it was, was alive.
         The it was a her. She had bright green eyes that shone into the forever dusty gray fog, her lips were not dusty, her nose began to adjust to the stale smell of this new place. Her name was Ro, her sole was sweet and the two creatures before here came to sense that as soon as they were enveloped by the aura of her presence. They felt hunger which they had never felt before, they felt their wicked hearts begin to beat. They felt alive, and suddenly, for the first time in ages they did not feel tired. The two looked at each other and than the girl, they knew what the other was thinking. Thus it was decided the girl must be sacrificed for their better fortune.
         They ripped the girl apart before she could even speak a word. The eyes that once shone so brightly, were now dead and rolling on the uneven dusty ground of Underunderearth. They ate the whole of her except one beautiful green eye which they had lost and forgotten about. Now that they were well fed, they felt younger and the greed of the times before filled them both, they wanted more and more feasts like this one. They looked to the black heavens above the foggy grounds and started to scream.
        " Helloooo, sweet, sweet beings come down, come down..." screamed Aef in its newfound honeyed voice, that was so warm and sly that it would convince an iceberg to melt within its will.
        " Don't be scared of the fall, we will catch you, catch you..." screamed Eaf and gave Aef a sinister smile, which was return with the same, as they were twins indeed.
         Nothing happened, nothing special nor regular occurred, there were no green-eyed babes falling from their sky, no screamers either. At first they thought they were only to scream louder, but soon they realized that the screaming was as useless to them as it was to the helpless screamers. They sat and waited, they walked and waited, and with each step they became older and older, becoming the ancient fragile beings they truly were.

         When at one point they finally came to terms with the fact, that they were never to see another screamer again, had they been younger, they would have argued, their dusty voices were no use anymore. They stood in what could have been the middle of Underunderearth, though no one could tell you for sure, and the ground started shaking. They were too old for fear but knew something was amiss, they knew fate had a cruel surprise for them in store.  Suddenly the earth bellow them caved in, and they went falling, like the screamers. And knowing that from one hell you could only fall to the next which could only be worse they gave up and closed their eyes. They did not hold each other for comfort they did not see each other, the only thing that was watching them with a certain shine of revenge was the girls green eye.

       

What I stole while no one was looking...

There is a thin line at the horizon, that does its best to keep heaven and earth apart, but sometimes, sometimes it forgets and lets itself be erased and swept away by the rising sun. Thus being done for a tiny moment there is nothing obstructing us from heaven, except perhaps space and time. So many obstacles, the judges are strict and the little voice in my head has gotten a sore throat and became quiet, I doubt  that my sore feet will ever touch the carpet of heavens marvelous floors. So instead of patient waiting, filled by good and humble deeds, which I probably should be doing, I do what I'm best at lying and cheating and stealing heaven piece by piece. Whenever the line is not cautious, and before it ever comes to reason and rebuilds itself, I steal a heaven for my own. My greedy human hands take as much of the unguarded treasure as they can carry, and I don't even feel a stitch of guilt....

The few...

just the few stars in the sky,

covered by the few clouds,

but perhaps I'm mistaken,

because the few glasses of red wine are clouding my judgment...

and as I fall asleep, the few tears in my eyes cloud my sight as well.

So it doesn't matter whether or not the few stars are really there.

in the few most articulate words lie to me - just a few lies...

and than, in the haze of this room, I'll fall asleep, becoming the few things that I love - in my dreams...

Forget and blame Fate

Go home and go to sleep,

there's no one here to blame.

Forget and go to sleep,

I'll try to do the same...

If there is some home under the sun,

that would take us knowing what we've done.

My soul is dark as night,

for I know whence I came.

But don't you shield your sight!

We're equally to blame.

So we roam the world upon this baggage claim,

with no one to claim us, doomed to endless wait,

 you've come to know we are one and all the same

twisted and molded by the hand of fate.

A Little Story - Part One

         There once was a little boy, who had no name because he did not need one. He was alone in the world with no one to care for him or offer a kind word, there of course was no one to beet him or insult him either, but unimaginable torment can come from solitude. Since he could not remember a better time, solitude did not bother him so much, what in fact did bother him was the fact that aside from hunting and scavenging he had nothing to do. He walked and walked in search of some sort of fulfillment.
         One day he found something strange, something the likes of which he had never seen before, drawn by curiosity he tiptoed closer and closer to the structure that lay in front of him. He felt warmth that came from it and all so suddenly he felt afraid because he would also feel warmth when he approached some great wild beast. He drew the sharp stone that he always carried on himself, as he was always ready. The thing made no move, so he cautiously touched its stone like surface. Nothing. The boy soon realized that what the tips of his fingers had touched was not only stone like, it was stone. It was not a cave, it was not a nest but something in between, at this the boy imagined a great winged bear. Hence he has never seen such thing, yet again curiosity got the best of him. He found an opening in the structure protected by wood of some sort, he gave it a little push, and with great hardship and screeching it opened and revealed its seceret
          There was no winged bear inside, in relief or perhaps even disappointment, the tightened muscles in his back loosened. It was warm inside and welcoming, there was a little fire in one corner and what he reasoned a place of sleep across from it. The room also had a large pile of white stone, those must have been the creatures provisions, he has seen bears carry meat back to their caves on few occasion, though they seemed well fed, they were most dangerous then. The muscles in his back tightened again as he readied his sharp stone.
         The place of sleep, covered in skins and strange soft, comfortable looking fabric, seemed to stir, slightly so but it bothered the boy. He uncovered the creature and to his great surprise, it took incredible resemblance to himself. The creature woke to the sudden change and when it realized its situation it screamed. Terrified the boy backed away, which was of course a grave mistake. The creature was on its feet at once and very to protect itself with some sharp object more defined and sophisticated than his.
         The creature, unlike what he expected, did not charge at him instead it started to make sounds trying to communicate with him. It reminded him of birds song and crickets though the sound were much smoother and flowing, they soothed him. He of course did not understand.

A fallen beauty

    On my way from the store this morning, while walking down the foggy streets of the city, I encountered a rose stem. It had leaves, thorns and lay straight without a single twist or imperfection, and yet it was missing its head and therefore trodden on with muddy shoes of all sorts. Trash is what now people call it, rubbish that flaws the stone streets, and with that in mind its frozen fragile body is swept up by the cleaning crew, without a single thought of guilt. But I felt guilty and probably, were my hands free from the groceries, I would have adopted this crippled homeless rose, as I have with many before it. But this morning it was not the case, this post is to commemorate the fallen beauty.
    We pick flowers, bring them home let them endure a slow and painful death in many a fancy vase and as soon as they begin to crumble and loose their looks and scent, we are done with them - we through them away. The earth bares it, even if time to time goes on a spree of revenge, this is of course just one of the many insults we pin to its sore back. We are incredibly vain creatures, obsessed with perfection and beauty, as we see it and how we see it, that we forget to take a moment and look at the headless rose. How is she not beautiful or miraculous how can anyone just step on it or pass its little soul and not pay a compliment to what she has to offer? In a way its the least we could do after the murder we committed. Don't try to deny your part in it, it is all our fault, those who have done the killing and those who have not stopped it.
        I do not care to preach about not picking roses, that would be to abjure the way we were programed. I do however care to point out that there are dead roses among us, and once we decide on their unimportance, apathy crawls in and swallows us. First we trod on roses and later on our foggy way we trod on people. the world becomes a number game.
        The foggy city has long forgotten the meaning of empathy because it has become stone a long lime ago. The fog lulls it into sleep. And soon the fallen beauty too is asleep and is slowly incorporated into the stone walk. As day turns into night the world will blot this little tragedy out, as it has done with so many others, at the snap of its fingers. Good bye fallen rose sleep well.

Mermaid Hour

3am is mermaid hour,

wake you up in soft cast spell,

dawn dances in the light so dour,

magic voices stories tell.

Tell you how you wake - a mime.

And wonder where's the morn's sharp sun

you know the world takes time,

under blankets legs are one.

You slip your legs out of your tail,

and gently plant your feat on earth.

In lack of light you glow in pale,

Every morning your rebirth.

3am is mermaid hour,

when your legs are still in tail

trusting light, sweet and dour,

magic under fragile veil .

As I lay Insomniac

Have you ever seen the dark?

Out of this world it seems...

Hides deap within caves arc

while light rules the world and dreams.

Have you ever heard the silent,?

That, only dead or deaf can hear

Always killed by noise so violent,

and always seems to miss our ears.

As for you conscience, without fear?

No guilty scary thoughts to creep?

Answer no. Still night grows near...

And how are you to sleep?

Deathly gasps

If you have lived a while,

upon this crocked circle earth,

you've come to know the smile

death gives to children at their birth

At which they gasp for air

- that lives only for giving -

For death knows how to scare

us all into the living...

Mug to mug

Two steaming mugs of tea,

in the morning light so dour.

The first one is for me,

the second greets the hour.

The mugs stand ear to ear,

as mug to mug can only,

as I disappear,

into the bitter taste of lonely.

And the gods within my view

say my life is but their trinket.

I'd leave a mug for you - 

- were you here to drink it...

The litlle argument of "Who are we to say?"

I love a few books, one of my favorites being Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes. It would be grand if you would take the time and read it. It was in the belly of this certain book that I found yet another lost puzzle piece to human wisdom. I do not care to discuss the story, but I must give you a quick glimpse of the background to what i am to tell you. Here it goes, Charlie is a mentally disabled man in his thirties who undergoes an operation  in order to become smart. Now I shall sin and rip a few words out of context, so bear with me... At the hight of his smartness Charlie is standing in front of the mirror and sees his  his old self, he talks to this reflection, saying, "Who am I to say my light is better than your darkness, who am I to say?" That is what so many people forget these days, or rather not forget, they chose not to be humble. They might argue that to be humble is to be weak, I believe that to be humble is to be human. To be able to ask yourself "who am I?", and answer with some carefully prepared and highly detailed answer is not the way of a mature man, as many would say, it is rather foolish and naive thing to say. The question is hard to answer because it does not require one , and yet we try... Aside from those who say they know everything are those who say they know nothing, their answer of who they are may contain words such as nothing and nobody. But still who are they to say? I say we do not and cannot know. And there is beauty to not knowing everything  but one must posses a power to humble themselves, at least for a moment, for in not knowing you find wisdom and the more puzzle pieces you find the clearer the picture is.

Light and Darkness

Light and darkness are but one,

though one is with, one without sun,

intertwined by dusk and dawn.

Till the contrast is all gone,

yes, light and darkness are but one...