Thursday, March 31, 2011

The ocean calls to me in disquieted waves
It's been far too long
Oh yes.


Tuesday, March 29, 2011

My psycho heart etc. etc.

Our scars match, visible or not. Physical reality's as overrated as any other pseudo interests we may have. And we forget where our loyalties lie. We forget so soon.

A broken piece of a song walks inside of you
And it's made a secret place for itself
Hazy sorrow and quiet longing
You're filled with autumn leaves and glass beads
That flow away with the winter rain.

She lies uncoiled, awaiting luck
And other fickle friends
A dark night flooding red
She embraces, with an unpoised charm
That ruined many a heart.

He's quiet for the most part
Indulgent to a point
But not reckless like you'd want men to be
And there's that little painsizedhole
That she's always trying to not see
But watches wearily anyway.

And she's downed a far too many
Not knowing what to say
Green bottles stacked against the wall
The paint's peeling off her face
But she's only thinking of his gentle ways.

And he knows what she's remembering
The halfdreamhalfreal vision from past morning
Cos he reads her like she's the God's book
Every line on her face that she's so desperate to hide
He reads her like she's the book divine.

But there's only so much to tell
Before ghosts reappear and seize everything back
She needs an obsession new
And he's far too tired to pursue.
So before he could make a plausible excuse
She takes the knife and plows it through.
And redstainedcarpets are a bother enough
Without a body to haul and a heart to rip off
So he quietly picks himself up
Takes not a single image to remember
And walks himself out with a cat in tow.

And any other night we'd all be asleep
Dreaming of hippie littered beaches
And black shiny rainbows from hell.
But tonight's something else, oh yes
We're giving the world a skip
And hitching a ride to the moon
Where the stars are just a little brighter
And our souls far behind in the dustbins.

Sunday, March 27, 2011


It’s all stop gap, my heart

Split second reverie

And a canoe shaped moon.

It’s only survival, at best

Paper cut love

No nonsense, no.

Its quite a revelation

Deep fears

You know less, every time.

It’s however no mystery

This patience

We are just passing by.


Friday, March 25, 2011

Friday Night Blues

Elmo (this cat I know) likes to sleep a lot. He's still a kitten, so I guess he needs it. I, on the other hand, don't need as much. But on a Friday night, I find myself on the bed, with my laptop, staring at a screen littered with people I don't really give a fuck about. And Elmo's looking at me, wondering when I'll shoo him off the bed. Honestly, I just let him stay because I need the company. This cat business really makes me feel like an aging spinster, but that's not really true, is it?

A prancing pony takes flight mid prancing somewhere but you're still a distant memory. Wisps of brown hair caught in sunbeams ohsobright, you're the epitome of lost loves. Come back and say a few nice things and maybe we could be friends again.

There's no use complaining though, is there? Right now there are 59 other people on my Friends List, online. I imagine them, little glowing souls waiting to connect, waiting for a sonic splash of color SPLAT!, waiting for a little anything that'll pick their fancy. Not consciously waiting, either. But it's there. Elmo waits for Oceanfishy, mostly.

Some nights your voice takes human form. Scribbles in my notebook, a hand brushing through my hair, orange flavored icecream, R.E. M. songs, - pockets of memories I'll never throw away. Maybe, you were here to never be here, afterall. Like the ghosts I used to tell you about.

I'm not always like this, though. I like my time alone, most of the time. I spend it in reflective solitude - munching on a book or some music or a tv show. It's surprising how much of our time's spent in looking at other people's work. But not tonight. Tonight I wanted to be out there, finding something new, SEEING something new, treating my senses to new delights. I sound dramatic to myself and I wouldn't really subject the blog to so much trite, but I made a promise to keep writing and that's what I'll do. Elmo's licking my foot clean now.

So called friends, you are being let go of tonight. Like starlight that never made it to your eyes, you're being forgotten, once and for all.

Friday, March 4, 2011

Long Division.

Some impasse this turned out to be. Between cold, dead words and warm life there’s this little crack where I managed to get myself wedged into. There are no epiphanies here, only choice revelations of amoral overtones. And I have been no saint. No siree. You can rejoice now but only there’s this question of sleeping business and so forth and so on. You get me?


Ofcourse not, you’d say or I’d think you’d say but that’s not what we’re talking about. I thought I’d write you a poem, one of those Neruda-esque heart warmers, beat skippers, mill of the run types. But that’s all been done and said and whispered in ears too many with little results and much ‘too many’ dismay and sorrow. We perform our way through life not knowing we’re on stage, not realising that we’ve created scenes that we have to probably stash away in the deleted scenes section of the blue ray disc edition. But YOU are no deleted scene, my love. You are the disc cover, if I could be straight with you here. With you around I know where I stand, centre of the universe, centre of you, centre life. You are shiny, new and quite the collector’s item and you’re all mine for now. Get me?