Weakness

yes there have been times, when i've been alone and lonely
she's been my only friend
and times when i've felt unheard and unwanted
she's always lent me her ear
and all those times when i've known i have lost it all to mistrust
i've also known that i can believe in her
times of loss or happiness
i've always needed her
yes i am a weak man
but she is a worthy weakness
many a drink i've sipped with her
she's always gotten me sober
and my times of grief and misery
have always been soaked by her
sometimes i like to be with her for no reason at all
she understands
there are times i've left her
but i always come back
she never complains
even when it seems that i may never return
she waits patiently
sometimes i share her with my friends
but she is happiest with me
though she's never told me in so many words
i know she feels the same
my thoughts are only complete with her by my side
her slow gentle poisonous advances
always allure my mind
but never distract
just force concentration
i use her i know
but i am a weak man and she a worthy weakness
in an ode to her
i thank her for all and more
and blow away her ashen remains
only until i pick on her and light her again
and watch her, help her burn
only to light up my inconsequential existence
i kiss her then
and blow her remains in the air with a soft whistle
then i step on her when she no longer gives me satisfaction
and walk away
never caring where she ends up
a heartless weak man
with a worthy weakness...

Lost & Found

Lost,
I did my scarcely used mind at the edge of the water,
Splashing by the muddy banks, playing with the turtle necks,
Crafting mighty castles in the sand, I walk on the pebbled rocks,
A mighty breeze does come and blow down their walls,
No I do not think aloud my fears, they’re enacted out before my eyes,
I cannot now retrace my steps, for they have been forgotten and covered by these sands of time,
On the shores of life, the stream of health does shower a rain of hope,
But the loose grains of misery soak it in to the core of them,
What can I do, but question them, the loose grains,
No they do not answer, my plight remains, shower-less the night remains,
A sunlit sky at the time it may rise, a burning light streaking up the skies,
A sunlit sky as the sun may set; a pale, sad red fills up my horizon,
The sands, though still remain as they were, some now moist, some dry,
Some just settling down from after a ride in the windy sky,
The gentle breeze of harmony, was invaded by a stormy lash of angry winds,
And as I stood at the edge of the water, I saw it sprayed upon my face,
Exposing itself to me,
All over my body little droplets, now only travel down, back to where they belong,
But as they go, to me they sing an enchanting song,
The spray hits me again and now I know its for real, not just a dream,
As I sit there without my mind at the edge of the water,
I think to myself and I know now that the hope that presents itself to me now,
Is what’s true, and my rain, she might never come,
I run along the water’s edge happy and ecstatic, overflowing with emotion,
And amidst all my joy and the untamable commotion,
I knew that there was something that day, something… my heart, that, I...
Found

So what do I need?

I am a nothing, a nobody, a lifeless lump of matter,
So what do I need?
A mind, a body and someone to write their order letter,
15 days for postage and handling, cash on delivery and someone to glue it all together.

I am now a man with a mind and body,
So what do I need?
Some children, a wife, a car and a house,
A job to pay for their needs and someone to get rid of those roaches and that ugly mouse.

I am now a husband and father, the owner of a house, the murderer of the roaches and the ugly mouse,
So what do I need?
Money: lots of it, to pay for my wines, my clothes, and that new fleet of stairs,
My servants, their helpers and hotel rooms for my innumerous affairs.

I am now a rich husband and father, the owner of a house, the murderer of roaches and that ugly mouse, having an affair,
So what do I need?
An Aspirin, a Valium, to calm me and rid me of headaches from my wife’s shrieks and that carpenters hammering to reshape that stately log,
A doctor, a surgeon, and maybe some poison to shut up that stupid old dog.

I am now a very ill rich husband and father, the owner of a car and a house, the murderer of those roaches and that ugly mouse, having an affair, feeling sorry he ever got married,
So what do I need,
A damn good lawyer, to rid me of my wife and her children and her car and house,
A generous amount of alcohol that I will share with the relatives of that expired mouse.

I am now a very ill drunk, who was a rich husband and father, who had killed a mouse and made up with its family, who had once had an affair, feeling sorry he didn’t stay married,
So what do I need?
A motel room, some drinks, a TV, those roaches and mice and something to eat,
If I have all those things I don’t need any more, my life will be complete.

I am now a nothing, a nobody, a lifeless lump of matter,
So what do I need?

On Love... A distorted history of all times...

Okay lets talk about love, tell me what is love really, I mean isn’t it like an emotion, at least that’s what I believed until all these people started feeding me all these new ideas of ‘falling’ in love (making it appear like wide open chasm of nothingness) and the depth of the ocean of love, now where do you go about getting an idea like that, you don’t fall in sadness or happiness do you, then how and why love and even if we (for a moment) assume that love is a physical space in which you do ‘fall’. Why do people carry it around with them, to lay on the ground at convenient points of time only to fall into, if that isn’t the case then the other probability is that love is omnipresent, if so then why the hell don’t we fall into it while look at another man, or a woman we’re not remotely interested in, now that reminds, isn’t love supposed to be blind, then how the explain the following statistic that 99% of all couples consist of partners who may be considered equally attractive in their respective sexes by the opposite ones. Any way, maybe all that is just a coincidence, lets just get back to humans and their selective plunges into the depths of something that (even though there are strong arguments of disagreement) is described as an emotion. And the best part is “love” always “hurts” so why the hell don’t you parachute your way down, or hold on to the other guy you’re going down with, unless, everyone has a hole to themselves which they can retreat into when they are done having sex.

I mean, come on, love is definitely a new emotion, it might be even called an invention of the new world, life existed before love, all one really needs is the art of making it, and we don’t even need to call it that (‘they’ do though, so we might as well, otherwise we don’t get any), instead term it having sex… truthful and effective, short and sweet (I hope not), Birds and bees, stings and spewing venom, and then the spread of wings and flying away.

I truly think some smart witch in the early centuries created a giant and a big pot and ordered the giant to ‘pick’ interesting men ‘up’ (hence the phrase) and put them in the giant pot, where she (and all her ugliness) would lie waiting, panting, wanting, desiring, and the poor men for lack of anything better to do would do it with her only to be thrown out of the pot soon after… the pot was called “LOVE”.

Then these men and other artisans united from across the world and decided to create a magical pot called “LOVE” of their own, they tried and tried and tried again, until man perfected the ART of MAKING “LOVE”, and this ancestral knowledge has been passed from man to man, generation to generation, and now truly forgotten is the art only a few handfuls of mortal souls still practice the act of sex in a large bowl (pots are passé you see) while still others mistake their bowels for bowls and are satisfied within themselves, any way… “Sex will make more people and more people will make more sex”, oh and yeah before I forget… “Love will find a way… to hurt you.” (Yes love your friendly neighborhood voyeur, Love. He’s like a sex maniac, you know. Lock your doors at night, or not, going by everything that’s been written about him, he will find a way to hurt you, THE BASTARD.)

The truth about liars!

The truth about liars is often misunderstood or misconstrued.
Lying is not the trait of a born loser, or an insecure soul but is a factual (or ‘nonfactual’) art, a way of life that is silently but quickly becoming the order of the day.

The artists and artisans (those who haven’t perfected the ‘art’) are present in every sphere of everyday life and most, if not all are well-respected pillars of society (those who aren’t are mere beginners, the artisans as mentioned earlier). There are many forms of practice of the art and many methodologies, misinformation, warping of facts, alternating perceptual maps, environmental conditioning, incorrect or incoherent representation of strands of logic and scientifically coating in some extreme brush strokes the color of darkness with a bright shade of pink, or yellow. These modern day maestros also downplay and frequently use the effectiveness of stealth to their advantage. There is a high overlap in the art of lying and the new reasoning that is entering the world, many now claim that it is closer to a developing science than an art form. I on the other hand am still inclined to the later nomenclature as it defines the subject in a freer, much more open space, a huge white canvas, in which he can paint at will and yield his masked webs of nothingness.

Liars often display traits of genius, as the common adage goes “one lie breeds a hundred others,” now imagine presenting a theory and then substantiating it with a hundred others, all at the drop of a hat, in awkward circumstances and doing so without a second of warning on the spur of the moment. This is what liars do, good ones do it flawlessly, bad ones often end up with too much fat on their fried bacon.

Good liars make the best lawyers, bad mothers, lenient fathers, good husbands, healthy doctors, wealthy mechanics, creative children, fascinating writers, prominent politicians, great salesmen, valued friends, respected administrators, and most of all wondrous, captivating, sensitive, romantic and generous lovers.

So I suggest to anyone presently in or attempting to be in any of those roles in society, remember these words: -

“Any fool can tell the truth, but it requires a man of some sense to know how to lie well – Samuel Butler ”

“ He who permits himself to tell a lie once finds it much easier to do it a second and a third time till at length it becomes habitual – Thomas Jefferson”

“Everything that deceives may be said to enchant – Plato”

“A lie can travel half way around the world while the truth is putting on its shoes – Mark Twain”

and my favorite,

“You say you are lying. But if everything you say is a lie, then you are telling the truth; you cannot tell the truth because everything you say is a lie. You lie, you tell the truth ... but you cannot, for you lie. -- Norman the android, Star Trek”

Repetition in the recitation of our ordinary lives...

Repetition in the recitation of our ordinary lives,
No splendor or grandeur, no extraordinary grace,
No time for timing or timing for humor,
A hundred days or twenty one, seem to me the same,
Eventless,
Each one even less worth the effort than the last,
But then something has to be different,
Or does there?
No, forget it, it remains the same,
Routine bludgeons all thinking ability,
But there lies hope still, in death,
Or old age, or retirement, or just in making better choices,
Choices exist as an optimist’s dream,
I really don’t have any control over my set of choices,
Neither, sadly, does anyone else,
Choice of life or death, of activity over slumber,
Choosing aggression or depression, a choice in knowing what you want or who you want to be with,
But that too is restricted to that which you see and those you meet,
Most choices are like most people and coins,
Two-faced and laden with hidden truths, or untruths,
That’s how helpless we are,
Our lives dominated by the two faces of a coin or man and you can only pick one,
Choices are nothing but a false sense of control in a world hell bent on losing it,
Fate is what is real; yes the myth is what is real,
Fate determines your set of choices and your hand in the final deal of the final deck,
Our choices have already been made, but only time can present them to us, to help understand, where we have been and where it is that we now stand,
No one has a choice, not in life anyway,
The one thing you can choose is to die,
To die before it might be destined, in circumstances that you want,
But it might so happen that even that choice of yours was destined to present itself to you in due passage of time,
Time and fate, fate and time,
Driven by each other they map our existence,
And we live then in these plotted days as pawns, or rooks or knights, never kings,
Not even of our own destiny,
You shouldn’t place too much importance in your next move, for your plotted existence will present itself to you,
So lead your meager, mundane life as a piece on a decorated sixty-four cell table,
And know,
That is what is real… fate is what is real…Repetition in the recitation of our ordinary lives,
No time or need or want to think,
All the time in the world to justify the lies…

The inadequate meal

Fiery raven eyes, shining in the night,
Large silvery wings, reflecting the moonlight,
Cold, frozen stares, an icy wind blows,
A pack of wild wolves promptly arrange themselves in rows.
Hellish shrieks of a scared mountain beast,
Fallen to the ground being prepared for the feast,
Four legged reptiles slowly rise from the swampy marshland,
And from afar stare convicts, as from the feast; they’ve been banned,
A feline family of large monstrous cats,
Arrive at the scene, under the shade of vampire bats,
The blistered bleeding beast is now screened for consumption,
Every tender inch is felt leaving no room for assumption,
A thorough investigation of the meal and its size,
Creates a sort of panic, as the guests realize,
That the poor monster is not enough to feed them whole,
And the hunger in their stomach takes on them a very heavy toll,
Verbal atrocities begin to flow,
And physical abuse is beginning to show,
A fight to the death, to the end, to the point of no return,
A nightmarish duel where all participating end up in an urn,
Nothing left to do now, nothing left to feel,
All that is left remaining is the inadequate meal.