The dreamy bloom

Trust me now and block out the universe. Refuse it. Abhor it. Let’s find our own rhythm away from this all and dance to it – just let go and move out of sync of their world. Imagine anything and let it be, but more importantly take me there with you. Rebel against their reality and choose the little fragments that we love and believe in.

Peel away the world and look at everything that’s waiting behind it for us. The way we want it, the way we dreamed it, building it like Lego bricks the way we always imagined it. I just want to be with you and no one but you as we do this. Let’s smash our dreams to little bits and build something new from the shards. Even if they don’t fit together, who are we to decide – the misfits of the world?

Let’s drive away then fly away then evolve away from this all. Take my hand and let’s build our own soundtrack and tune out the noise of their world. We do not owe them anything nor do they have the right to expect anything. Like black petals blowing on the winds, we don’t know where we will land nor do we care either. We do not need to take root anywhere we don’t believe in, we can phase out and exist on our own plane of thought.

I’ll slip into your smile and lose myself in the freedom as I break my restraints. We will draw fantastic beasts and ride them as mad wildlings when we burrow into the purple soft pus of our wounds. We don’t need them to lick them for us, we’ll find worlds there and be one again. I’ll listen to the groaning of our crippled limbs and we will rise to its rhythm and tear the skies apart in our anger and our love.

Take my hand and trust me and let’s leave this all behind. Somewhere, somehow, no one cares if things make sense. And that is where we will finally bloom into an idea beyond control.

The drums

I miss you brother, even when I do get to see you I still miss you. We sit and talk like the old men we are becoming, rather than like the young angry youths we are inside. I guess that is their final joke isn’t it? That’s the one the spectators will laugh about the longest, the one they will remember after you and I have faded like they always wanted us to.

Something has changed in us hasn’t it? In all my memories you are dancing around like a fiery entity out of control, igniting everything and everyone you touched. You took my hand and I followed you to the frontline, knowing I might not walk back again but never caring. I am proud to have known you, proud to have stood by you, even when you didn’t see me. It wasn’t physical anymore.

I still hear the drums my brother. They wake me up, they jolt me when I’m sitting at my desk in the office, confused and disoriented. Sometimes I look out the window and I forget where we are, because you are not out there anymore brother. I still hear the drums, and I hear our footsteps to the drums as we crossed the river. Our fury was enough to bring down the bridge that day had we wanted to. Like ancient tribal beings of lust and hunger we fought through. They had woken the sleeping dragon that spurned us forward like armless berserkers and we would not back down. We stood together and they would fall before us.

I look so different today my friend. They have doused that fire in me when they took you from me. Now I’m old and dying, and when I see the look in your eyes I often consider taking my own life for failing you. I don’t regret one bit of it. If I should have to do it all again, I would do it all again happily over and over again, and live through this again and again, to be with you again and again my brother.

I can still hear the ringing in my ears, a hundred metal bars banging against the railing. We were a fearful visage to behold, while our hearts cowered in fear themselves. We knew we could be maimed, but never broken. We knew we could die, but we could never lose.

Today we are maimed, we are broken, we are dead and we are losing. They’ve sucked the life out of us when they smashed those pearls that we fashioned our dreams into into a thousand pieces. Look at us today brother. We are so much older, but not a bit wiser. The wrinkles on our faces are not marks of laughter anymore, but of the pain we bear. We kept lists till they were too long and our friends became numbers rather than names. But call on me brother and I will be there. I will be weak and feeble and useless, but show me that fiery dream again, and I will stand again by your side.

On that day

IMG_2390One day we’ll walk out into the sun again and we’ll stand together like we did before. It’ll be a peaceful, bright early morning. The midday sun will not burn us as we talk of love and dreams. You’ll speak like you did before, and I’ll smile like I did before, and the little kids running around will chase the bubbles of fantastic dreams that come out of your lips and giggle when they pop them and the colors splash on them.

On that day there will be no more tears. I won’t cry for you again, nor will I see those little pearls at the corner of your eyes as you close them in pain. There will be no place for pain anymore. There will only be us and we will be grand. We will never talk of hopelessness again. We will only talk about the small and simple things we will do, and no one will ever think they are grand. But to you and I, they’ll be ivory towers we climb to court the stars and befriend the comets.

We will smile at the passersby who will look at us, smile back and never recognize us. But we won’t really care if they know us or not. The only thing I’ll care about is you next to me my friend, and how we laugh as we catch broken bits of chatter from others out on the square to enjoy the sun. No one will ever turn their heads down in fear again, never again my friend. We will raise our heads and scream our thoughts out and the elements will bow down to our wills.

On that afternoon we will bring down all the walls. For the first time ever, we’ll finally see each other for what we all truly are – balls of blinding potential just waiting to unwind. We’ll all unwind and tangle and untangle and flip over into a maddening display of color as we trade bits and become something larger than the sum of us all. It would be a good day for all my friend. There will only ever be love for each other. It will guide all our actions and in it we will finally find deliverance from centuries of frustrated line drawing to mark our mental and physical territories.

We’ll dream into each other and become formless, we won’t care what we look like or how others see us anymore. We’ll be endless thoughts and float on an endless sea of creativity where we will be the gentle trickle and the raging storm. The destruction they bring will have no place among us. We will only ever build dream upon dream, never believing there will ever be a ceiling – and if there is one we will just burst through it and build on as we become limitless. We will finally be us. Just us. Not them or their thoughts or their demands. On that afternoon we’ll walk hand in hand, my friend, and we will be free. And only then will we know what it really feels like.

The setting sun will smile at us for all we are. We will finally become what we were born to be after hundreds of years of struggle to find our place. In that orange-red hue we will splash water at each other in the fountains of youth. We will share our tales with the pebbles and the dust for a fleeting moment before they go and spread them across the earth. For all will wait to hear of us my friend. And the sun will smile at the kids hopping through the grass where we once spilled our blood and be grateful to have seen us on that one day.

On that night, we will lay back under a sparkling night where the full moon will never set. We will defy time itself, for that day will not end, nor shall we wake up to what once was again. It will be eternal and so will the people with us. We’ll sit in a circle and hold hands as we make up songs of our glory on a night much darker than this one. We will sing of love, of our hope and for the ones we lost along the long winding road. We will sing in peace, we will sing and our voices will not be heavy with the burden that was forced on us.

On that night, it will all be ok again. It will all be worthwhile and we will know it. And we will be together my friend. We will not be stories in a dusty book or pictures on a fading billboard. We will just be us, and the world will be us.

Withering roots

He stood in the sandstorm defiant but weak. He knows it was happening, it was only a matter of time. In arrogance, he’d dug his roots deep into the ground, dreaming of giving it life. Instead, his roots have long since died – they were only gold and glitter in his mind. But deep inside, they were fragile – they were dying like the dust particles strewn around by the wings of a butterfly.

His tears his the ground and the sand breathed life, but his sacrifice has died long before it was made. It was ridiculed, it was hated, it was shunned by all as he stood there wet in his confusion. The tears left trails of memories across his face like dry lakes and rivers. Death slowly spread up from his roots into his legs. But he just stood there, dying in the gloom of his despair and fears.

He’d never been the kind of person who would look at the future – that was the realm of the clairvoyant. He only knew how to dig into the dreams and chew on hope to sustain himself. He regretted the falling petals that left him bare to the elements of the chipping little axes. He pushed his roots down deeper as the singing continued to drift from far away.

The floating fish appeared in and out, one minute at his roots the other whispering in his ear. It was not comfort anymore, however. When it found him again this time, he was broken – the remnant of who he was when he bloomed in that fateful winter. Now it was too late for him. He had failed to make piece with his dreams and his fears, but they couldn’t care less. They both just stood there, unlovable witnesses to the rot eating away at his root.

There is no life in that soil anymore. What once stood defiant was now just one more sick lie made in the face of the piranhas that swam through the sandstorm. All he could see was their stealing little knives biting at his proud branches that once picked color directly from the sun. In a purple storm, the sandstorm consumed him, bringing him down to his knees.

In a last frantic attempt he cried out to the ground, looking for something to hold him in place – to save him one more time. But the ground had no life. It never did. He only thought so in his arrogance of blind. There had ever only been death that moved through his blood. He was born to a grand visage, only to die in the piss of failed dreams. He cried out to the sun, but he knew it has long since forgot him.

His roots withered, and the stings of the sandstorm took away his eyesight. All he could see was his lifeless blood, drawing out cosmic rays of life around the world. All he could do was sigh as the rot spread out through him, finally bringing him to his knees to lay with the other lifeless dreams that have died here.

Of loneliness

I only miss you all the time. It’s been so long, way way too long, and I feel so lonely without you. I keep hoping I’ll see you again sometime, that we will sit and talk and laugh like we used to when the world was still spinning.

I have tried to make sense of things since you’ve been gone. I tried to explain to myself why you are not here anymore. I tried to paint your face, but it’s always distorted. The colors are never right. The lines are always shivering. It’s never anything like you. I learned a lot, unlearned a lot, and moved on to end in the same spot again. Only this time, I can’t find you there anymore. I wouldn’t mind ending up here forever if I’m with you.

When it’s too hard on me, I write you letters. I write my heart out and it darkens the paper. I take one look at it and then toss it away. How can I send you something like this? I try again, I search for something to write – something to inspire your heart and make you smile again like the last time we met – but then all I have are demons swimming inside my head.

I used to write about tomorrow, now all I can write about is yesterday. You were my yesterday, you made it better, you made sense of the flow of dreams that crushed the rocks they threw at us. But when I try to write about tomorrow, it’s always lonely, and I hate the darkness because I keep thinking maybe you are there and I can’t see you – and that drives me crazy.

Sometimes I want to read to you. I mean, I know you won’t be listening, but I still want to do it all the same. The words may carry you to me, or me to you, and it would all be worth it. I never really know what to read you though. It’s all too purple, like that color a few days after you put a drop of ink into a bowl of water. It’s ugly, persistent and it isn’t going anywhere. I could read you the lies I write, I think you’ll like these at least. I think they will make you cry, then they’ll make you laugh, then they’ll make you cry again.

Once in a while, I go out walking and pretend I’m walking with you. The hard rough asphalt gives way to lush greens. I really just want to listen to you and your stories. I want to know what it’s like where you are now. I’d like to think you don’t think of me anymore. I don’t want you to even remember me, even though I can’t ever stop thinking about you.

Maybe when the flowers bloom, we’ll be together again. Maybe when the songs of the insects at night take on words we’ll meet again. Only we both know the flowers won’t bloom, and the insects don’t care about us, and all we have is sand bruising our skin now.

So for now, my friend, I sit back and talk to you again in the darkness, hoping maybe you are somewhere there. I talk to you about the weather and the shapes I see in the clouds. I would like to tell you stories, to tell you how I feel, but I can’t bring myself to do it, not after all you’ve done for me, and what I’ve done with it.

The devouring unicorn

When their swords clashed in a silvery storm, the sand beneath their bare feet shuddered. Fear. There are no two outcomes from here, only one. There is no winners and losers. The sand has already lost.

They danced around like lovers drunk on deep black ink. It flowed around them like drops of black rain and threads of hollow music. Ducking and jumping, twirling and waltzing, it all became a blurry blaze caught in the eye of the sun.

The cloudy unicorn floated lazily above them, shielding them from the burning screams of the fiery moon. There are no two outcomes here. The unicorn will feed on soul tonight. It hissed them on, tasting the angry tentacles of their souls with each clash of their swords. So close. Just a little longer before the scope down.

The sword flashed like a stealing whip out of nowhere, finding it’s soft home deep inside. There was no flash of lightening or naked nymphs. There was a silence, profound, traveling endlessly between the mountains they could not see.

The silence echoed out across the universe. Every being held its breath and bowed in reverence and awe. The deed was done the debt was paid. Now there was only chaos.

The unicorn burped as it floated lower to get drunk. There are no losers and winners here. Only a winner – as it was always meant to be. And it had no blood on its hand, just lots of it on its smile. When it spread it’s wings, it covered all the land in darkness. They both shivered, one on his feet and one on his knees, like the sun was sniffed out.

The dry sand wept blood as he crept slowly bit by bit to lie down. There are no losers and winners here. Only a devourer – as it was always meant to be. They can play their little games, speak their ages old lies, it did not care. It will always feed anyways.

Like time

I was huddled in the corner next to the bed when the spaceship swayed close to my window. Aren’t you guys stupendously late this time around? I watched lazily as the lights changed. This isn’t really as bright as I remember, or maybe it’s just darker than I remember – there’s very little I can remember anyways.

Come sit with me and read me your favorite line from that book again. Flip through and find it, I have time. I can wait as long as I’m looking at you. Just give me time, and I’ll be here looking at you. Tell me stories, you know, like that story I once told you in a delirium but never completed. Tell me the same story again, make up an ending and tell me the whole thing. You know I’ve waited for years and years to hear that ending and it’s all yours now.

It’s not unusual to be me. My hair just looks weird and my eyes have this sagging blackness around them. When I stopped time short so we may never grow old again, my body made up for it and aged at triple the speed. But I’ve still got time. At least, I hope it’s enough time to tell you the one story I actually believe. You know, that story that will change everything for you and me. And I won’t be delirious.

I love you. I love the thought of you, the presence of you. And there’s always time to love you more. As it ticks on, I’ll be fine. You know there’s nothing you can do so just relax and smile for my sake. You watch it closely like a little girl in a candy store. You watch closely and every time you see a crack, you rush to fill it up with your soul. But we both know cracks have a tendency to grow with time. You can’t fill them all all the time. You can fight but you know you’ll lose, like time.

Just keep your eyes on the spaceship. This time around, at least the sky won’t shatter to pieces again and cut my face. I’d get up and watch the spaceship too, but I’m just way, way too tired this time around. Time has painted me very differently from the last time the spaceship was outside my window.

Let’s play video games, or fly a kite, or blow bubbles or paint little dots on the walls and ceiling. Is that all right with you? Can I lean on you a bit? I’m fine but, you know, I haven’t yet made amends. We can ignore everyone else, like they never existed, as long as you have that happy look on your face.

You always wanted to play the piano. I wish you can play the piano for me today. I wish I can sit next to you and watch your fingers fly across like wild fairies. But all I can really watch is the sluggish lines made by time. It’s sticky and messy, broken even, so let’s just run barefooted straight through the grass. We won’t get anywhere, but that’s the last thing I will be thinking about.

The bright light of the spaceship outside silhouettes you, so that you may never leave the room. I’m feeling kind of broken right now, but I’m glad we broke all the rules. I’d go back and do it all over again, then break a few more, then laugh a lot more, then lie a little less, then try to make sense of the spaceship yet again. Just like time.

Fly a kite

Courtesy of poissantfamily

I just wanted to fly a kite.

I wasn’t asking for too much. I had a beautiful kite and it was in my hand. It was right there along all the dreams and hopes of a younger me. I just wanted to run across the vast emptiness, throw it high in the air and watch myself become a giant through it.

I wanted to touch all those places I couldn’t because I was so small, even though I was born to rule them. After all, there’s a reason why I never quite managed to grow up. There’s a reason why every single time I was cornered, I ran away. I had to fly the kite because I had to get a touch of that heavenly bless of leaving everything behind just for a while.

I wanted to write a million poems that I fell in love with for fleeting seconds. I wanted to tell stories that live in the prison of my mind and bang against my skull like madmen waiting to make their escape so they may dance in the undercurrents of the flowing spring. I wanted to juggle toothbrushes in a circus and kiss a bird’s beak behind the bushes. I wanted to make critters cry at the songs I write when I am laying in the tall unkempt grass of the dying garden. I wanted to get bit by a spider because, you know, it just might work.

I just wanted to fly a kite.

It could have solved everything – everything in the world. It could have made sense of the morning insanity and made peace with the maddening nights. It would have been my way out of mediocrity and into the true greatness I’ve striven for since I started looking at the stars.

Except it wouldn’t fly. Just when the wind was picking up speed, just when I was starting to run fast enough, just as my feet started to lift off the ground, it plunged straight to the leathery ground. It quickly shattered all those dreams of duality; of being man and god, of being part of the bigger scheme of things while also drawing it.

It all started slipping through my hands and all that I was left with was the elusive rain; wetting my hair and wetting the kite. Grounding us forever in the muddy remnants of what we sought to leave.

Survival struggles here, greatness dies here, and everything in between never really existed.

Flicker

It’s not the darkness that scares me. I can learn to make my peace with that just like I made peace with the light before. It’s not the thought of an endlessly stretching black pearl of an existence that scares me. I have learned to deal with stuff before, there’s nothing I couldn’t handle there.

What scares me is that moment when the light starts to flicker. It is then when I start glimpsing the lurking figures at the far sides, just barely out of my sight but slowly heaving in the dark. The light flickers again and they move ever so closely, ever just out of reach, menacing me with their sightless stares.

It is right there on the edge that my fear takes hold of me. There’s no reason to be scared, says the tiny voice that’s always besides me, but I don’t listen to it. I can’t listen to it. The truth is, the light is flickering, heaving it’s final sighs before it goes off – the start of that eternal morbid storm of teary eyes streaming with watery makeup.

And they move ever closer, with their ruby eyes and deathly tentacles, to claim their prize. It’s been light for too long after all, and I have done my share of terrible things. My dreams were never mine to keep, they were just there to remind me I’m still human.

There’s nothing proud about me when the light flickers again, almost dying out but coming blinking back for one more go. Nothing proud there at all. How long has it been since the lights were bright anyways? How long since the shapes weren’t distorted? How long till it all ceases to make sense, and starts to make sense?

The lights heave one more time, it smiles sadly at me. I tried, it says, I tried for as long as I was given.

I stand, a man, and the flickering stops.

Colors

I would take the colors and splatter them all over you, I don’t care what color lands where, I don’t care if it fits together or not. I’ll just breathe color back into your dead soul. You’d be beautiful, even if you’re a mess. You’d be alive.

You’d be less vile. I’d be less angry. We’d go on long walks again that won’t end up in us fighting and cussing. We’d be best friends again. I’d kick my shoes off and wade into the waters with my clothes fully on while you laugh, and I’d feel safe knowing you dream of me on the same nights I dream of you.

I don’t care if you’re beautiful – you’re not beautiful. You’re probably uglier than most. But who am I to care? I’m far from beautiful myself. As long as your imperfections reflect on my soul, I couldn’t care less. As long as I can tease you and you’d smile, as long as you speak fondly of me when I’m not there, I’m happy.

I’ll rub my fingers into the colors and draw my crappy doodles all over you, watch them break apart, and then redraw them again slightly better as we laugh till we cry, then cry till we laugh and lay back in the mud – shooing away the tiny insects that creep over us. As long as I got you, there’s little they can do to harm either of us.

And when it’s the flowery season, and all we get is dust in our eyes, we can just huddle closer together and cough it out. I’ll wash your hair with the colors and you’ll be as good as new. If it gets too bad, we’ll just dream the flowers back instead of the dust and color them together. Not reds and violets, let’s color them electric aqua and vibrant green – because why not, right?

With the full palette of colors in hand, let’s paint a new dawn for you and I. Let’s be friends, or lovers, or friend lovers. Let’s paint colors of hope and resilience. Let’s bash the walls and run, alive, wherever we want to go. Let’s color life, because I can’t take the darkness anymore. I can’t take not seeing or touching you anymore.

Let’s not die. Please let’s not die.