Trust

 Sometimes there's choices in our path that require sacrifice, sheer willpower and resolve. I have learnt that lesson through you and the way that you conveyed your missions to me. I have inadvertedly given you tough choices and intriguing questions. Not once i felt i you were at fault in the way that we dealt with past and present. Always true to yourself you have guided me to better places and to a peace of mind which i had not yet reached until recent years.

For years i have been a guest of your generosity. Being a host is as natural for you as if it has always been so. But giving you a title of a host would be diminishing what you have been all along. And that is a friend. 

"Flattery gets you anywhere but trust gets you love" and it is with the kindness of your nodding smile that i am assured again and again. Even when i didn't trust myself you will always had the simplest most endearing answer to tell me: "It's gonna be fine." And that's how i know you got my back and it's really gonna be fine. Cause in the end... it always is.

Astra

 You saw the excitement in my face as we kept moving north. Through the car window I basked in the beauty of the landscape. Great white plains laid before me broken by sparse wooded areas covered in snow. Small snow flakes coming down from cloudy skies fill in the gaps of a stereotypical Christmas postcard. 

"What's a hot blooded man in a cold environment going to feel like?" was a question that came to mind while we silently drove in direction of your hometown. That made me laugh and I asked myself if I was prepared for what was coming. The snow was really the least of my concerns. It was your whole backstory and all that came with it that created these questions inside.

Later, in the evening, after our arrival we went for a walk through the covered fields while you took my hand and showed me where and how your childhood was spent, where your roots belonged and where I would fit in all of this. 

Looking back now, this was more than 10 years ago but whenever I see snow I cannot help but smile and think about fjords, your blue eyes and how dumb our jokes were and how they fueled our day to day lives. "I was happy once" I said to myself with a slight smirk and went back to work.

dialogue

we have come so far to be understood, we created new ways of connecting ourselves to all, to an infinite and boundless flow of information. from rudimentary grunts, wild gestures and childish symbols, we needed mediums to pass on our unwritten biology to our offspring. we released our inner worlds and fears into tales and pictures, into the sole purpose of being understood and maybe more important, to be heard or seen. 

the gift of communication lies within our desire to express ourselves. the magnificence of thought is laid in audible interjections. complicated equations are brought to simplicity by the sheer power of voice or characters. the same ones that took us from rejoice to pain, from sacred and intimate emotions to raw battle cries. 

we have found ways of recreation within this primal urge of understanding and the discourse is what seems to define us through non physical connections, making music as close as one of the most stunning ways to communicate. 

one of man's greatest achievements is the ability to make others imagine what he feels and is with great pain that the sound we hear the most is hate. our ancestors certainly are turning in their graves seeing how we vilify what was one of man's greatest achievements.

concrete

 a pair of shoes lies abandoned next to a soiled bench. a couple of teens light their cigarettes and stare at the homeless man at the entrance of the supermarket. it reeks of urine in that little corner next to the columns and the hotter it becomes the more nauseating it is. An elderly man is walking his dog, unfazed by all of this. he looks like he has seen this picture many times, with different characters in different places. indifference reigns amongst the passers by.

the tram spews bustling citizens and denizens on the street and someone turns on a portable speaker which cries what some call music. a beggar joins the scene, using the sound as he crazily dances for money. everyone is dressed in dull or neutral colors such as grey,blue or black. the contrast is stark when we see the fast food places or big billboards and signs, full of colors and dreams that one cannot afford.

a man rushes for the train station while hundreds of others line up at the public transportation stops. some go home while some only wished they were heading that way. their faces are drab, their movement is automatic. tall grey and glass buildings hide the ocasional rays of sun coming from a grey sky. sirens at a distance complete the picture as such are the tales of the city. nobody talks everybody walks,  a reflection at the tram window reveals my face and without hesitation i think - im one of them, but I don't know if I'm going home after all...

Aqua

 the muffled thuds of the waves upon the rock, echoed regularly without falter. the promontory stood defiantly inert at the mercy of the waters. the incessant and relentless powers that be, clash without hesitation on an infinite parade, a wrestle of the eons, an immortal struggle.

there at the darkness of night i found some solace in such an inhospitable place, there where the fear of the great unknown stood before me. - a dichotomy - i thought, caving in to the feeling of of division. soon enough other emotions came to be and for a moment i forgot that i was not alone.

throughout these self reasonings, i realized that your presence was a mirrored projection of my wants and want nots, a mere husk of my physical desires which do not represent a fully whole.

 suddenly ashamed by my own conclusions i hid my true nature before you and amongst the sound of the tides I decided to immerse myself in the ever giving, ever unforgiving ocean of my mind, for better or worse.

Continuum

The brain falters, and the breath shortens. The heart rushes its march and pupils dilate. I just cant be quiet, as my hands reach for my sweating forehead. I feel my body contract and expand with every breath i take. My mind races through all of those innuendos and reveries. It is almost inhumane the way i feel right now. My eyes follow every second of your moves and i cant brush off the urge to reach out to you.

I refuse to utter any words as im afraid to break the spell im under and i slowly surrender to my natural impulses. My mouth becomes dry and i clear my throat as if i was looking for water because i feel as parched as the barren desert. The music intoxicates me and cradles my utmost desires to get up form my chair and take you. 

And surely like any other inebriating and feverish dream, i wake up and realize that through all of those obsessive processes, in none of them i found the comfort of your embrace. 

beacons

 

i have been contemplating this painting for years now, and its a timeless classic. i share its emotions and its classical struggle. once in a while when i find myself in Paris i have the chance to admire it. today i contemplate it from a screen and even though im not physcally in front of the painting itself, it evokes so many memories in me, that i feel transported beyond the scenario of this representation but into its many concepts inside me.

the flotsam brake the waves while a bunch of men cling on their last hopes. the blueish and grey tones convert your awe into fear while you admire the scenography of the injured and dehidrated, the dead and the barely alive. it reeks of rot and inhumane. from what we know, Géricault was much invested in telling us a story, which event as gruesome as it was deserved do be immortal in history.

The Raft of the Medusa is masterful example of art, concept and anatomy. but it is so much more than that, it's a tale of how humans are resilient in the hardest of moments, it's a tale of courage within the vile harships of life. and because of that, like a moth to a flame, im attracted to what i conisider is a mirror of some aspects of my life or myself even.

even though the composition is as heavy as it can be, it finishes in a focal point where a man waves for what it seems to be a beacon in the middle of unknown. in small point in the horizon where he seems to spot a glimmer of solace. while i admire this, a plethora of thoughts run through an emotional spectrum, and i force myself to i close my eyes because i still hope that small beacon is still there, and that it just takes one moment of belief to turn our lives around. i pray that we may one day find strength in hope.

mirror

 

setting aside some flaws and the minor deadly sins, i preached righteousness like a fervent prophet, i championed justice as its immaculte paladin, i abhorred the vile and deceitful lies like a healthy man in a colony of lepers. i proudly held my values as the pinnacle of virtue on the chasm of the world.

until today, for when we look in the mirror, the reflection we see shows us the best version of ourselves. or so the mind tricks us to believe. because in all of my actions, others were driven aside by my pursuit, my own selfish drive of the unscarred

i was never a "good soul" i think. and i thought i was. i was absolutely convinced of that. but looking back now i'm not so sure of my morals, the sanctity of my actions and the purity of my thoughts.

i dare to ask now, how many hearts have i broken, how much pain have i inflicted on others knowing and not-knowing, how much despair i caused and how many white lies have blackened other lives

and as i shamefully look away from the mirror i brazenly admit that we lie to ourselves everyday, and today is no exception.

Bereft

 The unbelieavable desire to create something is immense, it overpowers me and yet im so still and sterile. When did i became so impoverished? When did i become a disbeliever of oneself?
I wonder if when a man is in the brink of greatness and discovery he feels at the same time a degree of despair knowing his potential has reached its peak and before him lies the descent?
It takes immense courage to surpass oneself, and more altruism than it appears. But i do not possess that strength and im afraid i never will.

I knew that i was not destined for great things, but here i am am. Naked of ambition, unfruitful in my efforts and overshadowed by my failure. A coward, the worst kind of human.

I always knew those answers, they were revealed to me when i lost sight of juvenile laughter and embraced the world as it is. Even though one may hope for a late blossoming, the truth is that after all, pain is the definitive confirmation of being human.

the lake

 

tranquility in solitude is something that i could never really fathom. appreciating my moments alone is as important as a shared experience. the beauty of the lake and the mountains surrounds me as gather these thoughts. - as it pleases the eye it also pleases the heart and the mind - i thought. the soft breeze makes the branches of the pine trees shake and the sound of the cicadas spread out through the park. it's summer and it is warm and sunny. the two shades of blue between the sky and the lake are only interrupted with the stone grey and olive green of the mountains around us. nature should cradle me to sleep and her lonely tranquility. that is really something i could never bear because im always expecting your voice to fill the gaps of my silence - i muttered.

Against

The gusts of air coming from the desert had proclaimed my futures. They were as desolate as I had foreseen. - no surprises there – I muttered. – what if I can’t escape this penitence? – i muttered again, afraid of being heard only to realize that I was completely alone in this sea of sand and its silence was as overbearing as being in the middle of a angry mob or a trial from my peers.

Stumbled footprints were erased behind me as fast as the sweat accumulated on my brow. I tried to gather my bearings but the unmerciful heat had me doubting my navigating skills. The curse of knowing better had no weight here, not a single plan or carefully logical clairvoyance would make a difference now. It’s just me and nature, battling out on the millennial stage of survival and by the looks of it, the scale was not tipped in my favour.

The gusts of air were again singing their lullabies and enticing me to further stray from my path even though deep inside I knew that these songs were nothing more than a mirage. And there I was, stumbling towards these dreams regardless of every inch of me saying otherwise.

kafka

closing that door was hiding the silent pain of retreat and repressing the servitude with pride. i would never be same, i swore. and here i am, babbling and dabbling with my own thought that i so hard subdue. to little or no effect.but not the same. immutable formula of metamorphosis where the rearranging of mind follows the heart and vice-versa. where once a mould stood lies now an imperfected piece, rearranged and forged from other selves. where are the defects now, now that i am whole but not intact. where i am sound but not sane.

vomit

as the convoluted train of thought gives way to the perception of reality

i clench my thoughts as if they were my hands

i decode our language to the bare choke of tongues

like babel's apocalyptic demise where words begat mere sounds of disgust

where the reason becomes emotion and my actions become my path

i realize there is only the extinction that will envelop what i once was 

vile taste of distrust in oneself as i hope to reach the event horizon

shadowed

are you there? if so, let me know somehow. yes, i do know that you have never replied so far. at least not in a traditional way. but endless questions do pile on, because i always considered my actions neutral upon myself.  so tell me those answers. i feel entitled to them as so much faith was placed before in you.
yes i am here. what do you mean i never replied? well let me reassure you in more traditional way. does writing work for you? implying neutrality is a mistake considering that if anything you are biased by your own instinct and therefore any answers i might reply are tainted and flawed. we all place beliefs in dreams but no one should be accounted for wishful thinking.

or so i thought.

kintsukuroi

how can i question the empyrical if i dont break away from conventions? on every beat of existence, the drive of our survival ensures that we plough through and reinvent ourselves.

how can we find reassurance if every option brings forward a multitude of hypotheses? because at every moment of reflection, a new hope of success presents itself, even if it only exists in our dreams.

how can i search tranquility through quietude, if i always wait to hear your music between my moments of silence? no other language can soothe a broken idea more than the melody of your smile bestowed upon me.

karma

how much will i have to pay? are tears or apologies the right currency? how many hours must be given to remorse or doubt? how many lifetimes must we live? tell me the measure of time, the measure of my debt.
surely i have done horrors before to deserve such punishment. but i do not remeber these faults. all i can recall in this ephemeral passage of millions of seconds, are particles of  troubled memories. relative spaces and places that no longer generate force and drive.
if such pain is the norm, why should i bear this burden? who bestows upon me such grievance? how can i get rid of it, or to aspire a cathartic effect in redeeming myself? if that is needed at all.
so far i always felt this everpresent omen because in the end, what we are is what we have done before; and as is his will, so is his deed; and whatever deed he does, that he will reap.

egotistical

while trying to rise above the murky water that we call humanity and look into the surroundings, it is  harder to recognize a proper landing place or a safe haven. times were that wherever you drifted to, there seemed to be a harbor, a place to welcome you, a good natured welcome, an honest handshake, a polite courtesy.

and if today that is no longer, while we observe this bleak, inhospitable grounds where we stand, we remember the foretold prophecy, the ever so expected outcome that we had already forseen. as good liars we are we simply turned a blind eye and procrastinated on the faint and vain hope that it would all go away.

it was us who poisoned the well upon these new generations eagerly drink from. it was us who did not push further enough our own responsibilities to provide a better future for ourselves. but we keep on opening the crevasse where upon the beliefs lie, withdrawing ourselves from the benefit of many to bask in the profit of one, regurgitating our ideas of wealth and well being for all to see and follow. lying in dormant states waiting for our time to be fed and validated. forcing and consuming, rearranging and destroying, vilifying and deifying our own virtue of humanity, the same that nurtured our existence.

but do not expect me to bring forth any answers. just call me prophet of doom, call me pessimist, call me any other ill fated name as i will scoff these words for i have become what i advise against. for whom who has already lost his hope i have no fear in passing judgments as my sentence is already written; and like any other one of us, i tread the same path, willingly locking my chains to the next beside me, slowly counting the days to my oblivion.

bile

it makes me cringe in disgust, it makes me clench my grip and feel the muscle fibers in my hands cry hatred. i always preferred the physical agony over the mental disconfort. therefore i am willing to suffer to purge your existence from my sight and mind, i am willing to pull my entrails inside out to breakaway from what ever shackled us together.
this spear that has run through my innermost secrets, now serves as a token of perseverance, and the lashes of the whip will only serve my ultimate purposes.
bowing down to no one, i'll muster what is left of my courage and will to excise this foul appendix, to let me exorcize your demons from me.

nomad

even amidst the monotonous strife, ill just wait over something new. and upon the humming and the bustling and the restless toll, everyday a new a sunrise prepares himself. but how for can i wait for anew if the morning calls awake and ready. so i place myself in the same rut, in the automated routes, constancy of voices, the requests of many and the drive of the few.
unending multitudes running the same paths, though never home and never satisfied.

the hindered resolve

it comes to me so naturally that i rarely place that much momentum in it. it is a place of familiarity and of strange reassurance. the fact that i do not see other options to what must be the correct outcome is the steady promise of its deliverance. in the biblical sense i might just add.
nonetheless, it does not mean there is no sacrifice in it or that it is not limited to its own form. it simply is and exists and is an extension of me. in all of my ages, in all of my decisions, in all of my speeches as a small reminder of that bent fork that you insist on using for every meal or that incomplete poem that we still keep that draft around, waiting for the day to be finished.
but unlike its strangely flawed nature it is resolute in it self, it revolves in its own existence and outshines everything else as the only possible solution.
forcing its way into my thoughts and actions, my old friend, necessity, once again nurtures so well the process of creation.