can i breathe?

from the wind that has dissolved your presence. can i wake up? from the dream in which you no longer talk to me and slip in to the one from which i wake in your lap. can i touch? your hands that keep slipping away in silken daze in the mornings. can i look? at your face that keeps turning away one corner ahead towards the window. can i float? as your face blurs and floods a million reflections across the sky. can i listen? to the wails that tell stories that you are waiting. can i let? your love, that without you clings to my heart with it talons ripping it open. can i weep? for the tears to fill and bring you up the well into which you've fallen.

clouds are spaceships

I'm tired of generalizing and unbelieving, of the fact that everyday has just become an attempt at finding something to be enthusiastic about, and still some can decorate it with infinite beliefs and hopes. It is quite difficult to be logical and observe a community drenched in beliefs and how a singular happening, immaterial of its value or severity, is interpreted in their own million comfortable ways, through their filters of beliefs. At the end of the day, it makes sense too, because they believe it happened so and for such and that's all that matters for a person and his existence. Often it feels as if the soul is a blind network of arms reaching in every dimension to hold on to something, to give itself a reference in astral void.


When I become neutral to beliefs, and have absolute disregard for every generalization, I do not understand what else everyday is about. As a being, We've evolved into nothing but animals looking for enthusiasm, to look forward to do something. Yet if I have beliefs, I can look at the same thing as the only reason for my existence. If humans are evolving intellectually, then why in the most demanding situations does man become an animal and resorts to violence or submission? Why can't a game of chess solve issues between two countries? We've moved too far into the complexity of our race. It has turned into a disgusting system of belief-run profits and that kicks you back in a cycle.

When I think about the extents of belief, there are doubts. Is the moon artificial? I just believe it is not and it is making my life a whole lot easier. Looking for extra-terrestrials when I myself am projecting the whole universe in the back of my head is like playing hide and seek with my shadow. Yet, if it interests me and I am enthusiastic about it, my life's purpose is met.

How much outside this system of beliefs can I get? I want to exit the system and look at it from a lighthouse. A sinister projection of colours from a fourth dimension constantly distracts us from the hopeless entanglement we are in. At most, I can imagine that my existence is unreal and my consciousness is nothing but memory, and that I'm an undefined portion of a blind network constantly being fed with information and as I process it and perceive it and project it outside myself and build my own frame of reference and believe that I exist in it, something is watching me.

103 degree celsius

forest

there is an animal, wounded
it has fears, a leash around the neck
the forest is on fire,
courage burns like the leaves
in ravenous orange glow

the clouds feign strangeness
whispers of distant rains
the leash has an other end
it cannot drown, cannot burn
it smells of wet earth

pain is a leaf in the maelstrom
storms die after the kill
leaves tell you the story
leaves guide the turbulence
like smoke in a light beam

the leash dissolves in memory
the leash is an animal
changing in form and time
it is the memory of an animal
a wounded animal

vapour shell

I've always clung to mildness, felt safe and comfortable, but what significance does it hold if it lacks definition? Where do I stand if where I fall is unknown? Where are the extremes?

All phases I've been through have been unworthy of the extreme. Then she called. I fell down, I defined my extremes in desperation. I've let my instincts take over, I'm engulfed in the smoke of change. Hope has transformed to faith and belief. What is truer than what I believe?

Mildness dissolves into nothingness, leaving me exposed, vulnerable. It is impossible to be unreactive while being instinctive, further unrevealing. And in the end, it is not even about myself.

time machine

strange how the balcony calls me to the city, gives me a desire,
to jump into the vortex of routine that I once detested.

strange how I cannot conclude that the weather is brilliant,
strange how it would have been better if it had rained,
stranger how it would have affected.

strange how my hope has not deterred,
stranger how there could have been no need for it.

strange how I crave for a time machine,
stranger how I wouldn't want to travel.

cliff

soul fastened to a dying animal...

singularity, a point of override. a point when artificial intelligence surpasses human intelligence. what is conquered? or what is lost?

...because his body, which you can always conquer, gives so little purchase upon his soul.

what do you fear? or what do you fear admitting? it prevents you from thinking. it stops you from exploring and finding courage. you need courage to act, action kills fear, are you afraid of conquest? you cannot stop the advancement, you cannot kill the scientists to stop progress. progress is darwinian, it will find its own means to exist. think of what you can conquer. does it disturb you to think that you can conquer death? will it question everything? the one conquest which will defeat you, the victory in which you will lose.