The line

26 Jun

What is this line that determines fates and lives?
The line that separates people, families, communities, humanity.
This line imbued with so much power and anger.

One side is the promise of something better,
Or at least the hope, the chance of that promise.
One side is desperation, frustration, fear and sadness.

A sacred line for some,
Crossing it is to commit unspeakable outrage,
That anyone would dare without the proper condescending authority.

It is a line of self-bestowed superiority,
You stay on that side and we will stay on this side, okay?
We know the right way to cross, not your way.

The line is a creation,
An idea made palpable through imagined morality and righteousness,
Brought into an obscene existence by brutal rules and commands.

A line with a hostile, sparing welcome,
It can be crossed with a trick of papers and data,
Only, if, these paper and data lives fit neatly into tiny squares, maybe.

The line is governed by rules, indifference, paranoia, morality,
Hiding the punishment, purgatory, despair, and inhuman cruelty,
Felt every second of every life shut far away to stifle the heartbreak.

This line is a test,
Those are the rules, this is the game, designed especially for you,
Are you ready to play?



Paper universe

20 Jun

Open the cover and flick through the first few pages of disinterest, eager to start.


Begin with trepidation. How will the words taste in my mind, how will the story feel inside me.

Adjust to the style, form, pace and rhythm. The scope, landscape and details are obscure. Orientation takes time, measured in words and pages.


Gradually, I am well inside a new world, but still trying to find a foothold.

Subtly drawn in. Slowly, wending my way through.

Starting to recognise you, your tricks, turns, biases. You feel more familiar now.


Attachments develop. Pulled in deeper. Learning your mysteries and passions.

Going further down your unlit path. Willingly, hungrily.

Obsessed. Consumed by you. Time, thoughts, dreams become filled with your words.


Lost in a bliss of words on paper. Nothing else exists except your story, its promises, discoveries and revelations.

Right in the middle of your world, but only present to see it unravel and reach its inevitable conclusion.

Slowing down, not wanting this story to end. But it always does. For you.


With your finality, I am discarded. There is nowhere else to go.

Your smell and feel linger on me for days afterwards. I miss your beautifully unfolding words. Words that repeat over and over in my head.

I can visit you again and relive it all, but it will taste differently the next time.


Reluctantly I release you and find another, with its own style, rhythm, words and logic.

Turning the pages with trepidation, drawn in, being held in a tight grip, not wanting to be let go.


The intoxicating perfume of words, passions, obsessions, intimately bound together in a paper universe.


Future musings

30 Apr

Possibilities beyond current limitations
Sounds unheard by human ears
Sights too incredible for eyes to see
Languages spoken by incomprehensible tongues
Knowledge unfathomable to stumbling minds
Beings too complex to name

Art that is unimagined
Spectacles like nothing staged before
Machines and technology not invented yet
Structures made of materials unknown
Nature and elements undiscovered

Stories untold
Passions lying dormant
Histories waiting to unfurl

Time ticking differently

Wondering when it will begin


Hiding (again)

25 Mar

Hiding, away from the world. It has become a habit, instinctual. The world is frightening. Life is frightening. Mental and emotional paralysis takes hold.

Hiding from everyone. Lose speech, voice and communication. Words and thoughts slowly crumble, falling into a void.

Continue reading

Tired eyes

11 Mar

Tired eyes, tired eyes, oh I have such sore, tired eyes.

So much to do, my mind is willing, but my tired eyes say no.

Tired eyes are burning, burning, burning.

Nothing, nothing, nothing can be done with these tired eyes.

Tired eyes refuse to read, watch, look or see.

Talking, walking, listening, thinking are a struggle with my tired eyes.

Tired eyes won’t even let me eat.

Trying so hard to fight tired eyes.

Tired eyes are staging a mutiny, taking over my brain.

My senses have succumbed to these tired eyes controlling my consciousness.

Tired eyes will give me no peace until I rest them with sleep.


Cloud dreams

11 Mar

Floating, gliding, silently and carelessly loitering.
Take your time, you have eternity to make your way across the sky.
You won’t last for eternity, but only a tiny fraction of time until you dissipate.

Aimlessly wandering, so you’d like us to believe.
Lazily brewing an itinerary for tomorrow.

To the abandoned metropolis baked by time, and frantic cities recently born.
To the mountain, its slopes decorated with beauty and danger.
To the ocean, deep, vast, blue, frightening and magnificent.
To the forest, the desert, the canyon, and icy lands.

I watch you, ambling along, against temperamental backdrops.
Your strange shapes and slumberous crawl bewitch me.

What magic do you know?
What secrets do you hide?
What confessions do your whispers reveal?

I keep watching.




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