29 May 2008
When someone's yielded you, or has the power to direct your moves, it is really a matter of perception. Now we all know, that for A to have a meaning, there is a heavy reliance on the corresponding binary, as an example, B to be defined. I know i'm bordering on esoterism here, so to make a little more sense.. for something to be 'above', there needs to be something that is 'below' it. So if someone were to declare men were superior, they cannot be superior unless they have something to be superior to..
To continue with the same logic, for someone to be strong or powerful, there needs to be another who is neither. And I find, we often let those who seem more 'whole' or 'complete' as compared to us, dominate us. We find that their life has more meaning that us, or rather, they are better at meandering through life, decoding the codes with ease. The same codes that leave us confused or restricted.
Hence we actively opt, as opposed to passively accepting, to guest star in someone else's life, because we find ours relatively lull. Coming to my point, if this is true, and everything I know so far tells me that it is.. when we want to weaken the hold of those who dominate or yield us, we need to actively deconstruct them.
Pull them apart into bits, erase the line that connects the dots, and disconnect ourselves from the notion that they are more complete that ourselves.
23 May 2008
05 May 2008
When the warmth of the women that passed turned cold on your bed, I crawled into the sheets, my shame out the window. I put my arms around you, while you slumbered on and brought you close to my body, begging what the other women got liberally. If I was a dog, I'd be licking your feet in gratitude, for a life that was given so easily. To think back, when you pronounced your palms on my face, I felt nothing. Now, I feel everything.
Every frown line on your face, like waterways along sparse ground, spell trouble. I juggle my emotions like popcorn in heat, try to make you happy. And if you notice me at all, you say nothing. You do nothing, and as summer after summer passes by, with wilting plants and torrential rain, I fade in your brightness. To you, I might as well be the cheap hanging frame on the wall. Brittle and dry, easy to break.
And Fanny came along. My joy. An accidental miracle, conceived after a night of your drunken self hurriedly satisfied its urges on this servant. If you noticed the bloom, you did not say. If you noticed her cry, you did not say. All you did was wash your anger out on me, watched me bleed while she wailed. And you grab some beer from the fridge, and walk into the shower, to leave a few minutes later to be greeted by another one of your women.
I wonder now, if they knew. That you were a child inside, a monster man outside. Perhaps they did, and they liked it too. To feel so powerfull or maybe even lucky. Glad I was keeping you happy, that they didn't have to replace me or substitute me. Because they knew, if they had to, if you said that they ought to, they would. Gladly bend over. Let you use them. Only difference was, you wouldn't spit them out once you were done. You'd chew on them, till they became me. A lowly being, unfit to be recognised nor remembered. Just holding onto the happiness that became you, the life that became you, and the heart that became yours.
02 May 2008
the red nailed bitch dips her finger into your mouth, and as you suck it, she removes it out and trails her nail on your face, down your chest. when you close your eyes, you find yourself bobbing with the waves, your small boat. moving slowly away from the island that is me. you cant see me, but i'm watching you from behind all the trees and peeping over the rocks.
as you drift, i look around. this isolation nauseating. i will not, i know, ever see you again. renegading on a promise made from false hope. and just when i want to cry for you so far away, so quick, you open your eyes and look at the bitch getting closer to your manhood. and you forget, that i was ever there, and enjoy the feeling of her stroke and her purr.
and while your whore away, i sit with the darkness closing in all around, my sunburnt body caressed by the gentle sting of salty water all over my body. and as the water swims over my face, i run out of the strength to stay afloat, i give up. i open my eyes too now, and look at the life around me.
don't you understand? you left me stranded, you left me first. with you gone, i had no choice. i had to wake up.
01 May 2008
On thy cold gray stones, O Sea!
And I would that my tongue could utter
The thoughts that arise in me.
O well for the fisherman’s boy,
That he shouts with his sister at play!
O well for the sailor lad,
That he sings in his boat on the bay!
And the stately ships go on
To their haven under the hill;
But O for the touch of a vanish’d hand,
And the sound of a voice that is still!
Break, break, break
At the foot of thy crags, O Sea!
But the tender grace of a day that is dead
Will never come back to me
Alfred Lord Tennyson