Dreaming... dreaming... dreamed...

Dreams... A distortion of reality as we live it?

I saw things, beautiful things - in my mind's eye... and then they were gone, these beautiful visions, replaced with versions of your reality.

Your reality is cold and implacable. Your reality dictates that everything should revolve around profit and personal gain of some sort.

Reality is so cold... Frozen with the same old 'feelings', really. I dare YOU to try and narrow down what feelings people actually get to experience in this reality when they are above the poverty line (meaning when they are above basic instincts of seeking food, or refuge, for mere survival)... What is it that repeats itself over and over again in this world - what makes this whole world turn?

Greed. Want. Profit of some sort - be it purely personal or genetically-based ( I mean by that wanting to secure the best for some so-called progeny, or 'children').

I am SO sick of all of you... no one has any idea how sick I am of you lot. Yeah, all of you. None of you is strong. None of you is ready to die for what makes sense, what is simply righter than wrong... I'm not even saying 'what's right', I'm saying what's 'righter' than wrong.

Oh, but wait, I can hear it already, the same old excuse I used to give to myself... 'but I'm too small and insignificant to be able to do anything'... Yeah, I know that one really well, you see. I used to tell myself just that. Well, guess what, I say fuck off to that pathetic excuse. We are I, and we can do anything in this world... we really can.. because we are I...

The only reason we feel overwhelmed by this corrupted world is because we allow it to destroy this notion of together-ness, this... notion of a whole even beyond the fact that each of us is one.

I know this, and you know this too, deep down. So why is all this bullshit happening?

I'll rest my case soon, but not just yet.

From this gloomy and sombre night
A thousand and one glass eyes at a stand-still
In the distance;

Across the dead city
Wrapped in its ebony shroud,
A thousand and one icy lights shimmer.

Such a sinister picture painted
From the grey, moaning window,
All these yellow eyes staring at me
In spite of white curtains waving
Akin to dead eyelids…

To reach beyond the dreadful black veil
Shared only by rust-covered iron lions,
A soothing music luring me away
To see at last the true sun
Glowing,
Scorching,
Melting away the icy walls,
Tearing away at each ghastly shroud
That haunts the beyond of my sobbing window.

01/03/2011

Still listening to a song that takes me back in time. The song in question is this one.

Funny how songs or music in general manage so well to capture memories in time... but not just images - oh no... Not just that. A song or music can capture an exact moment, including a scene, a scent, the emotions experienced, even the things said or thought at the time. Just like good wine, the key to preserving such moments captured in music is to let that piece of music be 'forgotten' for a long time so that the memory attached to it will grow in strength and power. After a few years, listening to it again is garrantied to make the precise captured moment come back to mind at once. Well, that's how it works for me anyway.

I wonder... about so many things... It's night again in the city but the sky is a starless sheet of darkness.

Let's light up a candle and let it rest by the silent window, and as we let it burn to nothingness, let the mind escape and dream of things that will be, and of all those that never will.

'Don't tell me the moon is shining, show me the glint of light on broken glass.'
- A. Chekov

Words, words, words... dancing in my head. One side of the mind occupied with understanding all things, another busy imagining stories, yet another reined in to deal with your reality. Guess which sides are happier, and which is the one that constantly rebels against the task?

I would truly hate to be writing cheesy stories for the sake of it... No, I'd rather cut off both my hands. Each must have a deeper point that would allow for my thoughts to be better 'digested' by others.

It's so strange... every time I think of one of the stories I have in mind, I realise that each bears its own main struggles in terms of writing it. One I am still unable to write the right introduction and first chapter, yet most of the story itself was flowing almost painlessly out of my head... but without a first chapter, you might as well kill the story as a whole, in a way. Another story brings about the greater difficulty of thorough research and language style. With yet another, I have no difficulty writing the beginning, but get stumped with the 'heart' of the story itself, or rather the structure that should be used for it (because of jumps in the timeline within the story), etc, etc...

Then there is the issue of me getting lost in my own head, seeing stories like a movie, and every time I 'watch' them, more intricate detail is added in layers... But it makes it too easy to just keep watching while forgetting to write.

I'm not worried though, for I experienced how it felt when the time was right for a story to come out at least in a draft form... when the idea has matured enough in my head, it seems that I am quite capable of complete dedication to the task.

Words, words, words...

Once upon a tide
Washing over my life,
The breathing ocean
That knew no boundaries

Stretches over the land
Drenched in sorrows forgotten
In the pit of the mouth of hell
Opened one day, and only by chance

When all was blind and withered,
And only tears came out from a single eye
On the forehead of Time fleeing
The senseless rule of Man.

20/02/2011

It's a quiet Sunday afternoon. A cool, almost freezing wind keeps swirling into the room through the window I keep open even though my whole body is numbed by the coldness.

Lost as I am in deep thought, I delve into the intense swelling waves of emotions that keep rolling along the shores of my whole being. Earlier, I went to make myself a cup of tea and went back into my room... my feet took me to the window, and as I stood there blankly looking out at the grey and overcast horizon, I caught a glimpse of two men by the building's large rubbish bins in one corner of the parking lot. I gazed down at them with sudden interest and watched as they seemed to be looking for something inside the bins. First I took in the men's appearance... They were wearing caps so that from where I was standing I could never really see their faces clearly, but they looked rather young, no more than 30. One of them retrieved a large bag from the bin and found in it many electrical cords and other discarted battery leads, which he proceeded to shove into his own backpack. The other man was busy looking into the other bin... sifting through all the rubbish in a very expert way, at times throwing something of interest to his friend who would swiftly shove it inside his backpack.

Scavengers of modern times, I thought to myself as I observed the two men from the window... I grew so fascinated by the scene that I forgot everything else as I watched them carry on their scavenging expedition.

At some point, one of them found discarted bright yellow vests council as well as construction workers often use when working outside. The first thing the man did was check the pockets, of course. As they were empty, he threw them aside... and then hesitated for a second or two before pulling one of them back to him to try it on. I watched that man try on the bright yellow vest just the same way people do in a clothing store. He seemed happy with it because he kept it on and then threw the other vest at his friend, who proceeded to try it on as well. Suddenly, they no longer looked so obvious as scavengers... and people who passed them by no longer threw puzzled glances at them. No, they simply thought they must be workers of some sort because of the yellow vests, you see.

I grew so fascinated by what I was watching that I didn't even hear my mother come into my room. Standing at the threshold she said: "What are you looking at so intently, hmm?"
I just smiled back at her and said: "I'm watching these two men taking stuff out of the bins, it's fascinating." My mother gave me a perplexed look, but soon enough she was standing next to me to have a glance herself... and at once she, too, was watching them as they carried on exploring what they could salvage from others' discarted things. It went on for a while, and then the two men picked up their bulging backpacks before disappearing as suddenly as they'd appeared.

They left no mess behind, careful to put everything back as it was, and truly no one could have known they'd ever been near those bins.

Another thing that shocked me although it shouldn't really surprise me... it's the amount of stuff people just throw away even though it probably could be fixed easily. Some things even looked brand new, but I guess people keep throwing stuff out to make room for 'newer' things. And then looking at these two scavengers working so seamlessly as a team reminded me of the natural order or chain of nature... In nature, you get the hunter-type of animal that will catch the prey, eat what it needs from it and discart the rest while other animals then come into the picture to finish off the rest, etc... In the case of human beings, it seems that we have our very own food chain within the species itself. Or something of the sort...

It seemed so stupid to me that apparently it's illegal to take things out of people's bins. I mean, why not? If you choose to throw things out, and if others could still have use of them in some ways, then why not allow for it? No... apparently it's not proper to allow for that because for some reason you have a 'right' to own your own rubbish till it's collected by 'officials' or something...

I had found this old audio tape with cartoon songs the other day, which my mother had saved for 'posterity' along with my slight speech 'impediment' many children have at a young age... and as I was reminded of all things past, today I remembered that the first ever 'pop' song I really liked was this one.(It starts with a little 'story').

The song, from a French singer called Mylene Farmer and entitled 'Pourvu qu'elles soient douces', was a very daring one for the times (mid-80's). I was exactly 4 years old. I was absolutely mesmerised by the video... but of course the one I just linked to You Tube is the extended, uncensored version... the one I used to be able to watch on TV was the censored one, but I clearly remember the officer using his whip to uncover the girl's bottom. And everyt time I heard the music starting on TV, I would run into the living room to watch it... I was like that little boy peering inside the tent, I guess. I was only 4 years old, and I had no notion of sex or desire, but this one song along with its clip resonated in me from the start, I just had no idea why. It just felt so... sensual and erotic, without understanding why.
I'll be honest and let you know that even though I was only a tiny child at the time, I remember strikingly feeling things in my body... the key difference here is that I had no notion of what it meant.

Today, I can go on wikipedia and learn about what that song really was about, and then I have to laugh at the thought that in the household I happened to grow up in, it was quite okay to call me every time the clip came on TV (the censored version, obviously). but this one song... it was the first ever modern song I listened to and actually really liked.

Apart from that, I was also listening to the Batman Begins soundtrack today... especially this track, but it has to be listened to from start to finish. This one track actually happened to suit my mood perfectly today, especially the softer passages.

13/02/2011

I guess I will never understand that paradox within me... how much pain I can endure while at the same time, I already know the taste of everything that is most peaceful and loving.

I knew it was a 'mistake' to allow for my being to take in the scent of this person... but could I prevent it? No, I couldn't. Do I regret it? No, never. Not in a million years. But does it hurt? Yes, it does. Why? Because if I never see him again, I shall spend the rest of my life looking for that exact same scent.

Does it matter? No, it doesn't, for I am only a drop in this vast ocean of life. I always knew this from the start, you see.

Is it ridiculous, or funny? Yes, it must be.. go ahead and laugh your head off, but to me it was very real. It was more real than this reality that dictates everything. It was unique, and it was mine.

And I never want to hear about things ending, because in my heart of hearts I already know that everything meaningful never dies. It just never dies. It cannot die, because something happens deep within, and though I cannot tell you what it is that happens exactly, I just know that it happens, and it can never die.

These moments we share, that is all that we have. And I promise you from the deepest of my heart that they can never die.

You can lose everything, and yes, everything does come to pass... but not those moments.

Never.

Feeling so intensely that I have no words... You know emotions are running high when tears sting your eyes, but your lips are still smiling. Overwhelmed as I am by the intensity I feel within me... how can one even attempt to describe the might of a neverending swelling wave only the heart can see?

The touch of a hand, but not any hand...
Stolen moments only your heart can retrieve...
Images solely engraved in memory...
Each of your five senses remembering... a touch, a scent, a sound, a sight, a taste...