The Nature of Dark

"I love you" said the Dark to the Light
"Even when you destroy me,
I love you for that very reason
which makes me your vanquished,
And makes you my conquerer."

"I love you when you lift my cloak,
And peel off layer after layer of my skin.
When your warmth branches through my being like veins;
Like cracks in a glass poised on the edge of collapse.
I love you with a million eyes shining above me,
And a million eyes looking up from below,
Marvelling at your beauty, Light,
But their gazes pierce right through me
As if I'm not there.

"I love you Light, and it kills me each day,
And each night I pray to be murdered again.
To stand my ground for once and, come what may,
Fade into non-existence with open arms,
Embrace you, but I don't dare.  I swear
By the silence that is older than me,
And the vastess it claimed before we were born,
That I love you Light."

"I don't blame you for not trusting me.
I've run away countless times before.
And every time you see me creeping
Back over the places you'd left,
Hiding behind the corners waiting for you to depart,
Sulking inside windowless rooms,
Behind keyless  doors, In the cold and damp.
In all of these, because I love you light, I stay.
That's what keeps me around the corners,
That's why I inhabit those rooms.
That's why I put up with the cold.
Because I love you light.
It's in my nature." 

Oh no my friend I'm not here anymore.
Only my mail arrives here on Tuesday,
But even then it rarely ever finds me.
I've faded into the patterns on my wall.
All I see are endless fields of grass.
Maybe they end somewhere (or maybe I'm walking in a circle.)
I'll probably never get there.
People these days are ordering egg'n-a-half omlets,
They want the crust cut off their toast.
You'ld think that somewhere out there
Some orphan has half an egg and some crust
To be thankfull for, but you'ld be wrong.
We made so many coffins this year,
We also mad planters out of bomb shell casings,
But the plants keep dying in them.
So I say, "It must be the water."
But I know it's not the water.
Even though the water is poisoned,  
I know it's not the water.
Plants just don't want to grow for us anymore.

A Toast

Here's to cool nights and quiet days,
To whisky and the sound of crickets
And  thunder in the distance,

Here's to the gold in my glass
And exhaled dragons that carry
The sweet scent of rememberence,
And the dull agony in my bones.

To the fallen moth,
The watching crows,
The hungry dogs,
The engorged sows,

Here's to learning the words,
Acting the part,
To liberty in a cage and freedom in a nightmare.

Here's to the fire in my throat.
And the frost in my chest,
May they embrace,
Like long lost lovers
In every cliche ever written.
May they be happy with one another.

And to Dharma!
Here's to Dharma, to Karma,
And all the Mantras that have ever been sung.
May they resound until the last gong,
Is rung by the last orphan,
On the last hilltop,
For the last sun.

What lips my lips have kissed by Edna St. Vincent Millay

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why, 
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain 
Under my head till morning; but the rain 
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh 
Upon the glass and listen for reply, 
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain 
For unremembered lads that not again 
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry. 
Thus in winter stands the lonely tree, 
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one, 
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before: 
I cannot say what loves have come and gone, 
I only know that summer sang in me 
A little while, that in me sings no more.

Disclaimer

I think I'll tattoo the URL for this blog spot on my arm. I have grown more forgetful of late and I think that, given my family history, there is a high chance I will not remember where I write these thoughts in the near future.

It sounds bleak but my bark is worse than my bite. I just need a corner of this virtual world to come back to some day in the future. Something that serves me better than a daily journal, which I have, but nothing very interesting makes its way there.

I do my most interesting brain droppings on this electronic page, and I think I will keep on doing so.

For those of you who have stumbled into my page by accident, don't be too judgmental. These writings remain the rants of a restless mind. Nothing useful, to you, can come from reading my page. The experiences are personal, the imagery is comical, the words are mostly miserable, but the effect they have on me are indescribable.

My thoughts taste of strawberry to me, and that is something you will never get.

One more time (or Day One )

Molten copper, red and gold,
In rivulets, cascading over her sleeping face,
And, across the plains of my chest, snaking, they flow.
With every breath, the land swells, and the rivers sway.
Deep in the earth my heartbeats quake,
And I prey to God she does not wake
From her dream.
“Give me one more minute”, let her stay,
One more second, is not asking much,
For a whole day I've spent away.
Let me watch the curve of her lips,
The shadows on her arm,
The sun in her hair, and feel warm,
When I touch her back with my fingertips.
Let me trace the valley of her spine,
One more time.
(One more time)
Lightly so as not to excite, but that I might
Feel and believe this bliss of mine.
This bliss is real.

The beat, beat, beat, in her breast
Sends jolts of pleasure like waves over me.
They engulf me, and shake the foundation of my faith.
(Could this be God in my arms?)
The beat, beat, beat, like battering rams,
Against the four gates of prudence,
As a roar in my ribs gathers like a storm.
Where the caged beast that abates, and is grudgingly still,
Craves the flesh and pines for the thrill,
As it gnashes its teeth on the chains of my will.

“Wake her. Take her.” It growls.
“One more time.
"Taste her flesh, drink her breath,
"One more time,
"Bite her neck.
"Rake her back with my claws
"One more time.”

My eyes dance across her skin,
Tracing the migration of autumn birds,
On warmer winds,
Chasing the salty air,
To that familiar unknown.

"When was it, that you last fed?
"Loosen these bracelets and I'll save us both."
The smell of burnt matches,
Sulphur and wax, hangs in the air.
"You need not hunger" my striped ward adds
"Heed my advice and you will dine together.
"You and I."                                  

Once more I draw breath.
Deep, and slow, life's flow back
Into me lifts the veil of dreams,
I see my bare chest,
And the beast is gone.

I saw you at Sixty

I saw you at sixty, you still had your hair,
But the fire I'd known in your eyes wasn't there.

I saw you at fifty, your hair was a mess,
And asked myself why you would drink in excess?

I saw you at forty, your hair was so long.
I would never have guessed that something went wrong.

I saw you at thirty, your hair was tied back,
You were proud of the fact that your life was on track

I saw you at twenty, your hair was cut neat,
You stood ten feet tall when you walked down the street.

I saw you at ten when your hair was so fine,
And smiled when you said that "She'll someday be mine."

On the day you were born you barely had hair,
But those fiery eyes made me stand back and stare.

Don't Do It

I told you not to do it. When I was still a voice in your head I told you not to do it. When I was still a figment of your imagination hiding in the damp and dark corners of your dull mind, before you woke me up, before you gave me the black leather jacket to wear, and the shoulder length wavy hair. Before you made me sound like Tim Roth with laryngitis trying to speak through a mouth full of skittles, I told you ... Not...To... do it.

For a year and a half you toyed with the idea. For a year and a half we fought. I'd keep you up at night whispering in your ears. I'd yell at you and squeeze your heart with my fingers. I'd pound the chair (that stupid wooden chair) the single piece of furniture you'd allow me in my concrete cell. That incubus you had built to keep me bottled up inside your head. I'd scrape my fingernails across the walls knowing that you can't shut your ears to my bleeding raw fingernails. That you can't just turn off your imagination, or the sounds. I'd watch you flinch and I'd sing it , over, and over,

....... dontdoit-dontdoit-dontdoit .....dontdoit-dontdoit-dontdoit .....
....... dontdoit-dontdoit-dontdoit .....

Do Not Do It!

I had hoped, your ears would bleed if I kept it up. (Which they didn't.) I hoped your mind would snap and we'd both go tumbling out of a window somewhere. I knew that after the last time I stopped you, you would never go back to another one. I was hoping this time you'd come up with something more final. But you're still here.

It wasn't always like that. Sometimes I'd ease back a little and resign to watching you for a while. And for a while you'd be smart. You'd go about your daily work, pushing your past out of your head, burying yourself in books and numbers, in accounts, in clients, in hobbies, and I'd breath easy -- but only for a while. Then it would be back to that same old habit. Back to the sleepless nights, to the stupid smiles, to the tossing and turning and checking your email, or your phone fora message, every ten minutes.  You're thoughts would wake me up like a siren going off in my little cell. Your thoughts would be back to their nasty business, turning you against me, turning you against yourself and pushing you towards what you want to do instead of what you ought not to.

But you're an idiot. And what else can I expect from an idiot.

Tell me, does it live up to your expectations? Was it everything you imagined it to be? Was all this worth those three little words?

You just HAD to tell her that you love her. That was a mistake you have lived to regret. Do you even learn from your history?

"I love my mistakes. They're probably the best things I've done in my life."

That's bullshit speaking right there. That is the typical you I have to live with -- saying contradicting terms and pretending that you said something profound.

So mistakes were the best thing you've done your whole life? Well La-Dee-Da princess because mistakes are all you have to show for your miserable excuse for a life, and thinking that if you keep making mistakes then you will be adding meaning to your existence is a sure way to make me suffocate on my own vomit.

And if I die, you are coming with me.

Mistakes are mistakes. They are to be avoided in life. They cause misery. They waste your time and effort. Stop glorifying every "mistake" you ever made in an attempt to vindicate your sorry ass, because, like it or not, we're stuck with one another and I for one am sick and tired of tagging along inside your brain while you waste the few precious days we have left in this world by persuing MORE "mistakes".

 Do something right or once. Fuck Love. Turn around and say no. Lets just walk away from this while we still have our sanity and do the right thing, the rational thing, the healthy thing, for once.

What do you say?

A fleeting thought

Time dips it’s arrows in Vinegar. No doubt.
It wounds and adds to its injury salt.
Tugging at the strings of our life,
Day by day it draws the threads, until
In the end we are thread bare and worn thin.
And when we are picked clean, transparent,
When our strings are fine and frayed and in
The closing hours of the loom, it snips the chord,
And leaves the rest for the wind to spin.

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark,
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
     If this be error and upon me proved,
     I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

This is a recipe for suffering. To believe Shakespeare's words in this day and age is to suffer silently for a lost cause. How can you believe in Love in the future when you lose faith in your past love?

A paradox, no?

How can you hope for love when you think back on what you thought was love and try to convince yourself that it was not what you made it out to be?

If you have loved and lost that love, then it must have been altered, bent, and made a fool of in the end. 

I was recently told that it takes two to fail at love. What a crock of shit. It takes only one. One who is fooling themselves that they were in love while the other was sincere. One that was willing to take the chance while the other was looking for an out. One that was planning to pop the question while the other was looking to be just friends.

One that tried to burn themself because they could not bear hurting the person they loved, because they thought they were not good enough for the person they loved, one who made all the wrong decisions because they loved truly, and another that could not see anything except that they were a victim of an inconstant lover.

The only regret is that I wasted my time being faithful to a ghost while Love stood laughing at my plight.