Wrong turns in the road. Standing there, looking, but still, not seeing.

By midday I’m

Day dreaming

of being no where

being with no one at all.

Deceiving myself

that if I left from here

I’d find something more.

Sitting in the kitchen

Closed the door

Daydreaming of being, no where at all.

I’ve closed the windows

shut the shutters

trying to keep out all else

to find out what matters.

The refrigerator buzzes, and a light comes from it.

And a queer yearning invites me, to close myself in.

As the space gets smaller

And I feel frustration

My mind comes back to me

And my will for deviation.

2000

to the Unknown

I waited for you until dark, and then I walked

all the way home

to wait for you there.

I waited until morning.

till the milkman came, and the postman did the same.

And I’d ask them if they’ve seen you,

but I do not know your name.

I went down to the town,

and I looked around

in the crowd

for you.

But I do not know your face.

May 2000

a true revolution

A true revolution can only take place in your hearts and then the social change is only its outcome. Otherwise it’s just an act of frustration without a true understanding of the problem, and so you overthrow the one repressive regime, only to make space for the next one.

April 2002.

whilst flying

Today everything is soft like the air and I am almost afraid to go home: where emotions are strong and people are loud.

People become nations with borders and sickness and death,

And I can travel between them but I cannot be in them

Because they are only ever around you, outside you.

Lies based on lies lied by liar after liar,

Words, sounds, definitions,

Mostly made to differentiate, separate. End.

Traveling through time space from one reality to another in the aircraft

with people – ‘others’ – traveling through time space from one reality to another

sitting down breathing.

April 2002

a dispelling

Love the day and love the night,

For never has there been a truth more bright.

Where there is love there is life,

And without, the darkness is in reign.

And death.

1998

The revolution

Love is not static. It is the ultimate revolution. Ultimate in the sense that it is infinite!

This fact means that it will overthrow every wall, and you will need to be able to go with it. Accept this.

To love you cannot be devoted to anything else other than love.

2000

morning

I am mourning

the morning

I saw the light come out from

behind the mountains

A bastard light

that came to life

from whatever went on back

there in the dark

a bastard light

that came to life, from God

I mourn the morning

until we are well into the day

for what is here is here to stay

I take off the black

and I sit naked in the shade

1999

itch

I want to consume something
a fruit
food, icecream
a boy, a feeling
a punch
to reach in with it
and scratch that itchy part.


2002

Season 1

Can hope be green?
But what about the color of pomigranates?
Can't hope hug and kiss the color of pomigranates as much as it can green?
And can't it sometimes quieten and ride alongside mustard yellow just to feel it there?
No, I don't think you could say that hope is green and be finished with it.


Let's just say that colors are descriprive, they are informative and engaging, talkative and demonstrative, kind, considerate, and sometimes over the top: so soothing and comforting that you can feel at ease when you are not.


But 'hope', well I think it's the bundle of air, the oxygen that keeps your body alive even when you think you breathed it all out.
Let's just say that hope is cool with all the colors.


And since we are here, lets say that love is the force that keeps everything together. 
Physically.
Otherwise, why would it stay together? Why wouldn't it dissolve into the infinite possibilities of 'whatever' and 'nothing-really'?


What's with this life? So many colors. Is someone making fun of me? Jocking that they love me enough to let me be here? And I am so much smaller that I can't even laugh at it because I avert my eyes from what I see just so that I don't burst?
Like a shape found in a vacume?   


Anyway so here I am, so I guess we'll see.

3 things

1. 
Are we deseased
Are we cruel by nature,
and evil.
Are we ruthless and 
faithless and so shapeless
by nature that it takes
a life, a death
and even a long 
moment
to become
free of
our malice?
or Is it only me?


1999




2.
When it's dark outside
And your alone inside
and there is no one there to re-affirm
your being
Then you can loose the fight
And dissapear
Into the Nothingness
that threatens me.


26.10.03




3.
I don't think about him that often,
Because I said I don't mind and I don't.
I said it's over and it is.
Only sometimes, in the shower when I am by
myself.
I am not caught up in it or anything.
Just sometimes it catches up with me.


24.10.03

forgetting and remembering

I pawned what I felt with
my body, and knew
with my mind
for some pride
and an easy ride.

I had forgotten that what I
store in my closet will with
time deteriorate
and what I try to organise
is bound to deviate.

06.05.2000

dream

I had a dream
 that we were lost at sea
Just you and I

And there was nothing around
us, but water and sky

But I woke and the dream
was over
and the good feeling was
gone

And I cried over our love
and for what we've done.

06.May.2000

Wallenius beaver

And you won't lift your head to look at me
And you have tears running down your face
And I feel like the bigger asshole,
with the artificial grace.

I don't know how to touch you
So I sit by your side and watch you
And I don't know what to say.

fine

i've gone outside and I've sat in the rain.
I hear nothing, and further away
there's some noise.

I am a little bit cold, and a little bit wet, but most of all I'm ok.

18.04.2000

bullets

I got my love proof jacket on
and i am going to town.
I'm gonna find the enemy,
and I'm gonna shoot him down.

12.04.2000

devil

The devil, he lives in my bathroom.
And he watches me as I bathe.
But I dont talk to him
and he doesn't talk to me
For there isn't much more to say.

11.04.2000

An old, pointless piece of writing

or,
Another Complaint that Tells Something about Me, but Nothing about the World


or,
an ode to my heart




23.09.08


Are you living with the man you love?
Because I am not.
When cold winds came we sought shelter separately, and left each other to manage alone.
and then
Time,
and The World came in and sat between us.


I lost him amongst the corpses and the ruins that populate this earth
and which keep us living apart for decades on end,
by breathing their lies into our ears and guiding us falsely
to that NOWHERE;
where one despairs and spits blood.


But for all my faults and willingness to entertain substance-less figures,
my heart never betrayed me or my love.
I imposed on it,
asking it to accept other men and situations which I fancied.
I insulted it,
for its stubbornness.
And I tired it,
with endless attempts to stuff it.


But my heart nevertheless stayed true to its core.
In its silent resistance
and forceful dismissal of what was not true,
it pulled me out of pits.


For this I am grateful
and because of this I am happy.

a short story passed down through the ages

With sexual relationships I feel like I am alone on a sea of broken bones. Or that I walk against a cruel wind seeking shelter and crying.

In life I feel both joy and grief. The grief I carry with me in my backpack. Sometimes it even eats through my bread and I find it hallow when I want it. But my joy is not exactly mine; it is all around me. I find it in the places where I am. It’s really only about being able to commune with the ecstasy of life and share in it. So let us say then, that my sorrow requires patience of me, as every great weight does; and my enthusiasm requires ability, attentiveness and skill.

To be clear, a ‘sexual relationship’ I mean a bond with another where your sex and their play a vital role. We have these all the time don’t we? And if I may tell you so, I sometimes find it hard to process all of it. Bits hang loose and create a mess.

This story is about one such relationship whose smell lingered on with me long after it had ended. It stayed in my hair and clothes from where a soft breeze could bring it. Rather, this story is about how I travelled so far and long to speak to that man again; about how I never found him; and about how one might accept that I shall never be without him.

I still feel a pang in my heart about it but in general I am more peaceful. I have opened my hands and let the sorrow go, drift off with the wind. I have opened a hole in the ground and spoke into it my pain. And now as a result a calmness touches me lightly and it protects me gently from the grip of what is left to happen still.

Dear Socrates (a poem),

There is pain in my heart and confusion in my mind. 

And I am trying to find clarity, I seek it. 

I want it deeply. 

But all that I find is when I close my eyes, and put on a 80’s love song really loud, and dance to it like a retard, I find that my heart reaches out and joins other hearts, and at those moments I feel something good happen, something real. 

I try to be ethical because I confuse it with being good. I am ethical, because it’s an easy thing to be. And I sit on my ethics and I look down and around at the people and I feel like I don’t want to step down because what’s around me is stinky sticky and gross, unreliable and sad.

I want to be good because I believe that it will give me an immunity, it will protect me, and I will be able to walk through a land of crap and rotting untouched, and unharmed.

I doubt that my senses can discriminate between what is real and what is not, and this leaves me sometimes without a guide in this labyrinth. Though I don’t doubt that there is a real and an unreal. 

I am happy. 

2.

how painfully beautiful, how varied, colorful, disturbing, and beautiful has my life been? 

Very. 

So much so that it is painful.

What would my life have been if I hadn’t love these men and they hadn’t loved me? 

Emptier?

 But how can life go on after I’ve loved these men and we’ve shared so plentifully? 

How can life go on and leave them in the past, further into the past? 

How can I bear to leave each source-of-running-water-on-which-the-sun-lights-and-the-birds-by-sing? Each open wound? 

How can I leave it as something finished.

When will I see Karldon again? 

And when I see him will the world go-do-something and leave me near him, to touch his face, smell him and hug him.

Can I show him my heart and his room where he lives and matters?

Or will the world be so that I am not me and he he?

Will he be Married With Two Children and I With Boyfriend or What-have?’