break before you turn

when bones break, they snap askew, they bleed on blanche, they mend anew.

when banks break, they wrangle votes, they live on debt, they burn our notes.

when hearts break, one cannot feel, it shred apart, and does not heal.

when minds break, what's left is void, with lifeless years, addled and toyed.



when spirits break, awkward and odd, one strayed too far, from love and God.

when eyes break, with pupils fray, from casting gaze, that looks away.

when hands break, they smash and shatter, they do not do, what else that matter.

when men break, they go awry, they do break down, all night they cry.



when i brake, it's vegas or bust. woo.

woods from the trees (omg there's a flying lizard, too)

sometimes i like to think that life is like a giant forest. it doesn't have to be a conventional forest with trees and such, and most of the time i end up dreaming that the objects around you change. perpetually. incessantly.

you're not really trying to get to a point on the other side of all these trees; you don't really know where you're headed except you're moving around in this vast and practically infinite world of events. which is not to say that life is such a big adventure for everyone - in fact most of the people i know strive to make it linear and predictable. there is a sense of security required as a basic need for many persons to just keep moving. and (unsaddling my high horse here) i am happy to admit that i am one of these persons. in the most extreme of senses, too. monotony, how i love thee. say you'll never leave me?

the themes explored in my brief ennuis are neither alien nor novel. attaining maturity, convolution of events, unpredictability of life, so on and so forth. i am not trying to claim grounds on any of these ideas. the only thing i do want to claim is having learnt from my mistakes. and there should be a godaymn prize for this, too, because it's not something that came easily.

one of the greatest things about life is the fleetingness of it all - the fact that you can be scaling a tree one second, and falling to your death the next; or swimming a lake today only to wake up adrift in a sea of madness and mad men. women, too, if you like. gender equality and all that jazz. so, for a person such as myself, where ecstasy is taking a couple hours from a daily slog to engage in escapism, only to return when i need to instead of when i want, coming to terms with that life will not grow the garden of idealisms and set-goals you've (i've) worked for all along is a very scary idea. that, and in converse, life will probably mutate into that scary and exciting forest we wanted for metaphor earlier.

the next big step would probably be not just coming to terms with this, but embracing it. loving it for all it's worth. and best of all, living it to the fullest. feel free to insert your cliched remarks here about having no regrets or seizing the day. i would care to banter with you but there's some pterodactyls flying overhead that need to say hello to my steam-punk grappling hook.

i love his craft

i sought to best this stormy night,
and 'gain to walk amongst the living;
but ill prepared, this soulless wight,
for in his house, he waits dreaming.

Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn...
Cthulu fhtagn!

serve thy rightly

of stormy seas and flowing gales,
of desert suns and arid winds;
hath not it spoken whence thine fails?
from folly wrest our mortal sins.

and thought this i were heart of stone,
come lovely sights and lightful days;
with tongues 'tis tied and honour hone,
a mind breath stillborn passeth ways.

alas, i heed no summer's day,
and naught doth sorrow winter's night;
come reckless 'bandon fortunes may,
with starry, boneless wings take flight.

i preached and swore 'gainst God's best will, i said so convicted so true,
how would i know of what is best? of this one's faith lies but in You.

the young man and bacteria

i am dumbfounded. my experiments have failed yet again. though they have not failed me inasmuch as i have failed them, as they have taught me more than i could ever garner from success alone.

and still i do not understand, what has gone where wrong how whyly? maybe a fresh start will cure this ailment. maybe a fresh start will cure everything. maybe a fresh start will absolve all the sins of a once old man, and rejuvenate what youth is left of embalming hope.

one can only freshly start once he has shaven his beard and moustache. this, i believe to be the true irony of youth. much like how marlins struggle for days before dying at the hands of incompetent old men, and becoming fodder for sharks and tourist cameras.

knight

in the year of farms, where animals nightly roam,
outside the bounds of human's, pig's home;
toils mighty the strength of slightly in fright,
of death for others, the chivalrous knight.

for money or hay, there is not naught,
for queen and country this old mare fought;
only but to not afford, his coffin in blunder,
through taken in wreaths, his own six feet under.

in selflessness lives, in lonesome is death,
to each knight lies, and lives through last breath;
and cannot repay what is valued by none,
until there's left all nary but one.

so, queen, dictate and steady your hand,
'tis not without love lost in reprimand;
and tell him, your knight, of moon-lit - star shine,
while intoxicated with bribe and sickly cheap wine.

then feed him no meal, and feed him no love,
until comes death's angel from low or above;
then forget him just as you had with your brother,
when in fact he was ready to give smother.

and know that this knight will forever love thee devotee,
even when your heart and hand is with he.

temporal displacement

like whoa.