PAIN
drops of pain disappear
into bottomless depth of my heart,
echoing wet sound
into the hollow emptiness.
and like a snail
crawls along the slippery walls
in circles,
looking for escape
from the round closed chamber.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Saturday, February 26, 2011
fragments (when we were kids)
WHEN WE WERE KIDS.
we were kids
when we tormented
our first grade teachers,
and made our mothers cry
we were kids
when we exercised cruelty
among each other.
we learned to betray
and get away with it..
we went to department stores
and perfected the art of stealing.
skills needed in a later life.
we were kids,
young and foolish.
we healed each other’s wounds
and tended for each other bruises.
we haven’t lost the compassion yet.
from our innocent hearts.
we picked homeless animals
that our parents
dumped on the street earlier.
and pleaded our mothers
to let us adopt those
unfortunate ones.
and we promised slyly,
painting tragedy over our faces,
and confessing all previous sins,
that we would be angels
in return for the favor.
we were lying!
we had to learn
the art of deception somehow.
we were young
and we molded ourselves
into adulthood.
we were kids
when we tormented
our first grade teachers,
and made our mothers cry
we were kids
when we exercised cruelty
among each other.
we learned to betray
and get away with it..
we went to department stores
and perfected the art of stealing.
skills needed in a later life.
we were kids,
young and foolish.
we healed each other’s wounds
and tended for each other bruises.
we haven’t lost the compassion yet.
from our innocent hearts.
we picked homeless animals
that our parents
dumped on the street earlier.
and pleaded our mothers
to let us adopt those
unfortunate ones.
and we promised slyly,
painting tragedy over our faces,
and confessing all previous sins,
that we would be angels
in return for the favor.
we were lying!
we had to learn
the art of deception somehow.
we were young
and we molded ourselves
into adulthood.
letters (surrender)
SURRENDER
power that is lesser
surrenders into the greater one.
I say, you think, we mean.
the world is broken; it is in fragments.
order hopelessly dissolves into chaos.
the cloak of darkness
wraps around the light.
one belongs to one…
no senses beyond the boundaries…
power that is lesser
surrenders into the greater one.
I say, you think, we mean.
the world is broken; it is in fragments.
order hopelessly dissolves into chaos.
the cloak of darkness
wraps around the light.
one belongs to one…
no senses beyond the boundaries…
Thursday, February 24, 2011
letters (deception)
handful of words, limited to the number…
colorful pebbles vary in shapes and weight…
just so many could be juggled at ones…
mixing shadows from darkness and light,
keys to the world of deception, guides in the land of lies.
I let them sifts freely from my hands
like sand, like water, like wind….
If you meet me at my darkest,
the only one would remain,
lay flat on my palm,
colorless, weightless and attractive,
like void, like emptiness, like nothing…
colorful pebbles vary in shapes and weight…
just so many could be juggled at ones…
mixing shadows from darkness and light,
keys to the world of deception, guides in the land of lies.
I let them sifts freely from my hands
like sand, like water, like wind….
If you meet me at my darkest,
the only one would remain,
lay flat on my palm,
colorless, weightless and attractive,
like void, like emptiness, like nothing…
fragments (nothing)
Today I write about nothing.
The blank page stares at me,
ready to embrace anything.
I draw a stick figure over
the bare body of the lifeless sheet.
it pretends to be me; I pretend to be it.
I spilled my wine... Purple landscape.
I drown in it. The phone rings...
“No one alive to answer!”
A crumbled ball... Trash can
The blank page stares at me,
ready to embrace anything.
I draw a stick figure over
the bare body of the lifeless sheet.
it pretends to be me; I pretend to be it.
I spilled my wine... Purple landscape.
I drown in it. The phone rings...
“No one alive to answer!”
A crumbled ball... Trash can
Thursday, February 17, 2011
letters (fortuneteller)
Fortuneteller
The Fool, the Sun and the Hanging Man
upside down, from the major arcane.
The Seven of Wands and the Ten of Fire,
from the minor one. The fortune teller
was a fake-blond, middle age, next door
women. She started her reading
from the Sun, I asked her why so.
She told me that it was her favorite card.
I told her that I was glad it wasn't the Fool.
She looked suspiciously in my direction,
and I guessed with certainty that in my case
should be the Fool. If I come to think
there was not much of a choice,
I couldn't pick the Hanging Man,
even in my darkest, especially
upside down. She told me, that
there is much light in my life,
without any visible source or reason,
along with betrayals, hardships and losses.
She was partially right. I did not tell her
that hell is a very bright place
from all the eternal flames.
The Fool, the Sun and the Hanging Man
upside down, from the major arcane.
The Seven of Wands and the Ten of Fire,
from the minor one. The fortune teller
was a fake-blond, middle age, next door
women. She started her reading
from the Sun, I asked her why so.
She told me that it was her favorite card.
I told her that I was glad it wasn't the Fool.
She looked suspiciously in my direction,
and I guessed with certainty that in my case
should be the Fool. If I come to think
there was not much of a choice,
I couldn't pick the Hanging Man,
even in my darkest, especially
upside down. She told me, that
there is much light in my life,
without any visible source or reason,
along with betrayals, hardships and losses.
She was partially right. I did not tell her
that hell is a very bright place
from all the eternal flames.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
fragments (fragment)
One of my friends used to say “stop to survive, you have learn to do it so well and start to live your life”. I think that to live in a mode of survival is harsh but natural, my friend thought that survival is self-inflicted and a pathological state of life. My approach to life is simple, if you want to eat you go hunt or die from starvation. And I don’t dwell much on the idea of “life is a luxury”. In philosophic terms it is a luxury in comprising to its opposite. But mostly, human existence is so horrific that no human mind or heart can endure the reality of it. Take for example any segment of our history end imagine all the pain, suffering and humiliation we endure communally as a species. The argument would be that there is plenty of love, happiness and joy. It is true, but all the goodness of our existence is fleeting and all of the negativity stays forever in the form of scars and quite often crosses the boundaries of generations as heavy luggage to carry. No one is exempt. And no human mind or heart can endure objective clarity on the subject. That may be the reason why we create lies and self-deceptions. And, of course, later we condemn ourselves, pretending that we have a choice to behave differently! In reality there is only one choice to survive, and it is dictated by evolution. So, welcome to human hood!
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
fragments (portrait)
Portrait
If I would be a painter,
I would paint a portrait
Of an old man.
I would paint his skin with the bronze colors,
For everyone to see the years, he spent under the sun.
With the darker colors I would draw deep lines
Over his forehead. I would paint his eyes
With light brown background, and yellow twinkles
Darting silent wisdom around the black pupils.
I would paint half of a grim and half of a smile over his lips,
Wounded by grief and thirst. I would paint a beauty
In his fingers with broken fingernails, filled by dirt,
Holding a wooden stick for a cane.
I would paint snow in his shoulder length hair
And his beard, long and tangled.
I would paint his feet into the dust of the road,
And his clothes in fading colors,
Old and ripped, like his life. And I would paint the sun
Above his head: hot and glorious, and limited in its immortality.
If I were a painter, and finished my painting,
I would wash my hands and look at the portrait,
Until tears start to roll from my eyes.
If I would be a painter,
I would paint a portrait
Of an old man.
I would paint his skin with the bronze colors,
For everyone to see the years, he spent under the sun.
With the darker colors I would draw deep lines
Over his forehead. I would paint his eyes
With light brown background, and yellow twinkles
Darting silent wisdom around the black pupils.
I would paint half of a grim and half of a smile over his lips,
Wounded by grief and thirst. I would paint a beauty
In his fingers with broken fingernails, filled by dirt,
Holding a wooden stick for a cane.
I would paint snow in his shoulder length hair
And his beard, long and tangled.
I would paint his feet into the dust of the road,
And his clothes in fading colors,
Old and ripped, like his life. And I would paint the sun
Above his head: hot and glorious, and limited in its immortality.
If I were a painter, and finished my painting,
I would wash my hands and look at the portrait,
Until tears start to roll from my eyes.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
fragments (illusions)
.....The waiter silently materialized himself by my table “You are back ma'am. Would you like more wine, or perhaps a dinner?”
“Bring me a burger, make it rare” I replied. The waiter disappeared faster than I finished my phrase. I was tired; I closed my eyes for a moment and drifted into the comfort of darkness.
“Ma’am, here is your burger. Would you like to have more wine?” I opened my eyes; I meant to say “Yes”, but it was already too late. Red thick droplets lazily crawled down over the bare mirror's body, that a moment ago reflected my appearance. The sharp smell of iron unpleasantly tickled my nostrils, made me nauseous and I threw up all over the table, observing with a horror that the surface of the table absorbed blood and vomit and shined back again with virgin cleanliness…
I was not concerned anymore about my long and tragic past, nor my feelings of disgust, unanswered lingering around my heart. I was dining and it was about that time, after all that wine….
The dark cloud of the sand storm were moving away, south, pushed by strong gusts of wind and pulled by the invisible horizon. The occasional bursts of flame appeared within the clouds, and disappeared with the speed of lightening.
Lazarus and his Camel were hiding from the storm in a deep pit that he dug earlier, before the storm. He looked at the distant clouds and tongues of flames and he thought he smelled the smoke of tobacco and a distant woman’s voice asking for help. But he knew that deserts like the afterlife are famous for their illusions.
“Bring me a burger, make it rare” I replied. The waiter disappeared faster than I finished my phrase. I was tired; I closed my eyes for a moment and drifted into the comfort of darkness.
“Ma’am, here is your burger. Would you like to have more wine?” I opened my eyes; I meant to say “Yes”, but it was already too late. Red thick droplets lazily crawled down over the bare mirror's body, that a moment ago reflected my appearance. The sharp smell of iron unpleasantly tickled my nostrils, made me nauseous and I threw up all over the table, observing with a horror that the surface of the table absorbed blood and vomit and shined back again with virgin cleanliness…
I was not concerned anymore about my long and tragic past, nor my feelings of disgust, unanswered lingering around my heart. I was dining and it was about that time, after all that wine….
The dark cloud of the sand storm were moving away, south, pushed by strong gusts of wind and pulled by the invisible horizon. The occasional bursts of flame appeared within the clouds, and disappeared with the speed of lightening.
Lazarus and his Camel were hiding from the storm in a deep pit that he dug earlier, before the storm. He looked at the distant clouds and tongues of flames and he thought he smelled the smoke of tobacco and a distant woman’s voice asking for help. But he knew that deserts like the afterlife are famous for their illusions.
Monday, February 7, 2011
fragments (regression session)
Regression session
In my life I have experimented with a few things, like we all do. There are many reasons for those experimentations but only one underlying cause, we are looking for answers and we want to step out from our current mess and step in to the next level, whatever it is. Boredom is a motivator. And graduating from a bear drinker to hard liqueur has as much psychological validation as an enrolment from a flimsy associate degree to the more solid, masters.
Anyway, back to my experiences. I have experimented a lot in the realms of psychology, spirituality and the supernatural. Yes, sure call me a relic. For what I am.
I never hold any strong beliefs other than belief in the results. My generation was naïve, we were so” close” to discover the Way, formula of enlighntment and a free pass for all humanity into nirvana. We worked tirelessly. From the perspective of time it reminds me of a Philosophic Stone in the Medieval Ages. But back in my time, I was an enthusiastic forerunner. To my defense, I was skeptic and when my friends were grouching in disappointments; I was thriving in collecting all the negative results, in hope to sneak on truth by process of elimination.
I have an exceptional memory and in addition I have a nasty habit to write everything down. So nothing passes by unnoticed or lost. And if I have never found any Path, I accumulated plenty of notes I can tell and write stories to the rest of my life. Here is one of them.
All my friends were fascinated with expensive life regression sessions. It was a hot topic for years. From those sessions, we all were royalty, heroes and generals in the past. I was skeptical about the fact where all of the peasants, thieves and prostitutes go. I did not join my friends in this endeavor; I knew I would have to pull that bad card. For another reason I didn’t trust any of those greedy sneaky therapists, who got a degree in psychology as a minor in addition to the other big and useless one. And probably they got so many psychology credits because it was their weak spot.
After years of “convincing” talk about the benefits and freedom that the therapy offers, I finally gave up. I agreed to one regression-cession. And I thought I still outsmarted my friends. I agreed to have that session with one of them. I convinced one of them, that after so many sessions he knew the routine. I hoped that he did not have sufficient training to mess with my mind.
And here we go “count to ten… feel relaxed… follow my voice… go deeper... where are you?”
I am thinking “in your family room” and in relation to the regression it is nowhere. “ nowhere” I said.
Question “ what do you see?”
I think again ”In relation to what?” I answered “Nothing”.
“How do you feel?”
My thought “If you just shut up for a moment, I will fall asleep.” Answer “ Relaxed.”
“ Good. What do you hear?”
“Nothing!” and my hearing was completely gone in that instant. And son-of-a bitch, the images started to flood my mind like water from a broken dam. My critical mind was meekly protesting somewhere from afar. My logical mind whispered that these are just hypnotically induced visions. I did not care, I enjoyed the ride.
It started from complete silence and rapid spirals descend. The deeper that I spiraled I noticed a green forest from horizon to horizon. I did not see nor feel myself. I was NOTHING.
“What a prig, he let me hypnotize myself” I thought as I continue descending down. I see a body of water; waves were hitting the shores, no sound. White foam sticks to the cliffs, looks soft and attractive, I land into it. And my hearing was back; at first it was the waves hitting the stones and then I expanded, I could hear the wind in the woods. The vision stopped there but there was another and another and another fragment from different times and settings.
Later I wrote it all down and put it in a shoe box, just to find it later. There was about a half a dozen entries. And every next one was longer and more detailed from the previous one.
When I analyzed it, I was astonished at how correctly it portrayed my character, twenty years later, mind you: my likes, dislikes my strength, weaknesses my secret wishes and desires…
On second thought, there are no barriers for our twisted minds to fit anything into any frame to please our ego and continue to remain anonymous and rampage unrestrained.
In my life I have experimented with a few things, like we all do. There are many reasons for those experimentations but only one underlying cause, we are looking for answers and we want to step out from our current mess and step in to the next level, whatever it is. Boredom is a motivator. And graduating from a bear drinker to hard liqueur has as much psychological validation as an enrolment from a flimsy associate degree to the more solid, masters.
Anyway, back to my experiences. I have experimented a lot in the realms of psychology, spirituality and the supernatural. Yes, sure call me a relic. For what I am.
I never hold any strong beliefs other than belief in the results. My generation was naïve, we were so” close” to discover the Way, formula of enlighntment and a free pass for all humanity into nirvana. We worked tirelessly. From the perspective of time it reminds me of a Philosophic Stone in the Medieval Ages. But back in my time, I was an enthusiastic forerunner. To my defense, I was skeptic and when my friends were grouching in disappointments; I was thriving in collecting all the negative results, in hope to sneak on truth by process of elimination.
I have an exceptional memory and in addition I have a nasty habit to write everything down. So nothing passes by unnoticed or lost. And if I have never found any Path, I accumulated plenty of notes I can tell and write stories to the rest of my life. Here is one of them.
All my friends were fascinated with expensive life regression sessions. It was a hot topic for years. From those sessions, we all were royalty, heroes and generals in the past. I was skeptical about the fact where all of the peasants, thieves and prostitutes go. I did not join my friends in this endeavor; I knew I would have to pull that bad card. For another reason I didn’t trust any of those greedy sneaky therapists, who got a degree in psychology as a minor in addition to the other big and useless one. And probably they got so many psychology credits because it was their weak spot.
After years of “convincing” talk about the benefits and freedom that the therapy offers, I finally gave up. I agreed to one regression-cession. And I thought I still outsmarted my friends. I agreed to have that session with one of them. I convinced one of them, that after so many sessions he knew the routine. I hoped that he did not have sufficient training to mess with my mind.
And here we go “count to ten… feel relaxed… follow my voice… go deeper... where are you?”
I am thinking “in your family room” and in relation to the regression it is nowhere. “ nowhere” I said.
Question “ what do you see?”
I think again ”In relation to what?” I answered “Nothing”.
“How do you feel?”
My thought “If you just shut up for a moment, I will fall asleep.” Answer “ Relaxed.”
“ Good. What do you hear?”
“Nothing!” and my hearing was completely gone in that instant. And son-of-a bitch, the images started to flood my mind like water from a broken dam. My critical mind was meekly protesting somewhere from afar. My logical mind whispered that these are just hypnotically induced visions. I did not care, I enjoyed the ride.
It started from complete silence and rapid spirals descend. The deeper that I spiraled I noticed a green forest from horizon to horizon. I did not see nor feel myself. I was NOTHING.
“What a prig, he let me hypnotize myself” I thought as I continue descending down. I see a body of water; waves were hitting the shores, no sound. White foam sticks to the cliffs, looks soft and attractive, I land into it. And my hearing was back; at first it was the waves hitting the stones and then I expanded, I could hear the wind in the woods. The vision stopped there but there was another and another and another fragment from different times and settings.
Later I wrote it all down and put it in a shoe box, just to find it later. There was about a half a dozen entries. And every next one was longer and more detailed from the previous one.
When I analyzed it, I was astonished at how correctly it portrayed my character, twenty years later, mind you: my likes, dislikes my strength, weaknesses my secret wishes and desires…
On second thought, there are no barriers for our twisted minds to fit anything into any frame to please our ego and continue to remain anonymous and rampage unrestrained.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
letters (FORG...)
For no reason at all I will flip the new moon
Over and sit under its canopy with the
Rosary in my hands. Inappropriateness of the scene
Gives me crawling ants and horrors,
I can feel the chills in my bones… you aim the
Vortex of the cold silver at my brow.
Everlasting moment. Pull the trigger!
My heart is filled to the brim!
Ever-ending moment bleeds my pain away!
Over and sit under its canopy with the
Rosary in my hands. Inappropriateness of the scene
Gives me crawling ants and horrors,
I can feel the chills in my bones… you aim the
Vortex of the cold silver at my brow.
Everlasting moment. Pull the trigger!
My heart is filled to the brim!
Ever-ending moment bleeds my pain away!
Saturday, February 5, 2011
letters (talk to me)
SILENCE
Late evening silently drifts into the night…
rains outside. Heavy droplets
occasionally, unexpectedly knocks
into my door.
It’s locked!
…talk to me…
Some nights are dark and others full of light.
Some snowy days are cold and gray
and other days are white and bright.
Some days are drenched
from the rain.
…talk to me…
Talk to me!
Dispel the silence from my life,
break doors that locked
and let me fly away.
Talk
To
Me…
Late evening silently drifts into the night…
rains outside. Heavy droplets
occasionally, unexpectedly knocks
into my door.
It’s locked!
…talk to me…
Some nights are dark and others full of light.
Some snowy days are cold and gray
and other days are white and bright.
Some days are drenched
from the rain.
…talk to me…
Talk to me!
Dispel the silence from my life,
break doors that locked
and let me fly away.
Talk
To
Me…
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
fragments (just a thought)
In today’s world the institutions designed to protect certain aspects of human life, in fact sabotage it: objectivity is buried by media, truth by history, law by attorneys, health by medicine and list goes on. It is a wonder how the human race continues to exist, what keeps that balance from tilting to our disadvantage and demise. Although with the rapid advancement in technology and accessibility to information, there are less and less believers exists in this world. I mean “believer” in generic terms, a person who lacks the capacity to” ground existing knowledge by emotional or spiritual means into certainty”. This is an excellent sign, because when one will live through the ruins, one can rebuild his wholeness again, but with ruthless indiscriminant objectivity. And empathy will replace coldness and compassion, thought and action will be guided by the current knowledge and pride and stubbornness would not stay on the way to change the behavior when new knowledge will surface.
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