saturday’s now rather tarnished. thinking of it alone induces diarrhoea like symptoms. work is work is work a good thing? I’ll never once again give myself in to life’s cruel tendencies. realisation retrieved. aftermath of succumbing. regret filled. quite distant from my limbs doing whatever it is required of me, of the world, of traditions, of religion, of circumstance, of this goddamned routine we re-live, only to get by. we have such needy souls ceaselessly desiring to be understood. if only we could come to terms and apprehend for good that one can’t ever be completely understood, perhaps we’ll be much closer to understanding ourselves better(being understood). these days I’m rarely alone although we’re all somehow always alone; with what we are. how I yearn so. to be alone with the rustle of leaves with the aimless wind as company. a certain reoccurring yearning ache within. ironically comforting. dressed always for another weather, an alternate season. could it be perhaps I’m made for another continent, a separate world altogether. mother, tell me what sort of a child I was because I can’t seem to remember if I’ve ever been this distant in speech. never in presence though for we’ll always be bonded by blood, forevermore. how can I ever forget how we look when we smile and how your laugh sounds every time. unsettling to think someday we all shall eventually leave. superficiality’s so very consuming. fake smiling my way through social ordeals. some were born to love and breed oh god how I won’t ever be. I wasn’t born to fit that mould. can’t be any other obligations more burdening than ones like these. yet go on. thrive on joyful happenings. present, past and gone.
remembering is forgetting too.
a certain alphabet
shoulder length hair
are only some of the things that reminds me of you.
just earlier this morning a strange thought came to my mind, in the form of a favour, a conversation between two (for dialogues in books most often resonates) to mend it all for it was nobody’s fault,
I:"would you built me a swing then I’ll forget everything"
he: "if I built you a swing how will you ever forget everything?"
I: "but remembering is forgetting too."
and then everything dissolved into wind and we were back to being strangers feeling nothing as it should be in the first place, as it should remain, always.
I’ve never wanted more than ever now to drop everything I’m doing to be doing only the thing that would make me relentlessly free and happy and that is by making music for no monetary achievement and no particular selfish reasons regardless of however it shall be perceived/received. music gets me through even the most turbulent of days. I have never felt alone ever since I found it.
I draw because I can’t draw. what makes me unhappy are assumptions of unhappiness when I am quite the opposite condition. how prejudiced the measure of contemplated joy. the sky’s my one true loyal companion, rain or shine. I only believe in unrequited love. be gone the envy I feel for the one you relentlessly pine for and think of without any tire at all. positivity’s been around consistently yet I keep forgetting it needs to come from within. some young ones I love, some others I loathe at the thought of the sort of adult they might grow to become. sometimes technology makes us appear foolish. no other antidote quite more powerful than music and solitude. you’d come to mean so much to me.I know. my dear.my heart isn’t here. my soul is tied to the music of yesterday and the tugging promises of tomorrow. ever pulled by its hopeful woes and sorrows. we’re merely strangers amongst strangers. normality is disinteresting just as perfection is a bore. what will become of we.of I. of my beliefs.my hopes and dreams. perhaps like a forgotten memory it’ll all drift away quietly, like a destination-less journey entwined with the wind.
I’ve lived with not much for so long,I can live with not much for longer.non reciprocation’s residue is a relentless trail of mustful kindness resulting in an ever present guilt(in me).I won’t ever be bored I can but I won’t how could I ever when there’s so many books to get absolutely lost in yet so little time.why do I always yearn to be elsewhere.not that cynical happy doesn’t suit me just fine.I’ll be alright as long as there lives music.pretentious fair weathered friends aren’t as terribly loathsome and disturbingly offensive as daft ones who asks for nothing but favours only.if I’d wanted to come up with project’s concepts and write thesis I’d have continued art school at the cost of losing myself and my head that by now I’ll be passionless, dead.
perhaps when one loses the courage to be bold one finds the courage to be wise instead.odd to come upon a rather sudden realisation that school might just in fact be the thing that taught me how to be myself again.however loathsome a journey it was.all bad things must come to an end.astounding are some of the things I hear myself say to myself in my head.not always.berlin’s calling.dresden frankfurt bremen especially.oh germany.these days it’s anywhere, anywhere but here.today I wanted so much to ask someone, are you happy? the friends I love they’re so far away.I like distance though.it keeps me whole.
hope can be a perilous form of comfort yet consoling it can be.sometimes that’s all one needs.your son who does not always want to come but would quite often ask for money whenever you have some.one out of a million of those curious human tendencies that perturbs me occasionally.forlorn they leave me as life is how it is.I loved you because I let myself did.shadows of trees are so very very incredibly lovely do agree with me please.will betterness drop me a visit or is it harder I have to seek? poetic imagery lyrical dance paintbrush markers pen and colours passing hours less stagnant time’s alive.
If I could nullify last night’s episode off my memory,I would.relentlessly I remind myself that hate won’t ever exist.respect won’t ever cease surely.yet I feel so much anger inside me now it’s uncertain I’ll be able to just dismiss all of it.forgive eventually I will though.as I always have to.as I always do.for you are as a matter of fact the man whose blood runs in me.oh mother how your strength comforts me.