December 27, 2006


Great night mysteries of toppling tales
come washing down the shore
there's nothing here to hide before
the vanishing sails fade nomore

Of late it appears
that the stars are near
while the sun takes a while
to smile at my fears

The waves crash along
when a strong wind blows
the shallow coast calls
for a song, dance and shows

The exotic dancers dance
to the drumbeats of a mad man
when the poets crash in alcohol
and the simple ones just take their chance

The howling night slows
and the morning rips a glow
the shadows turn longer
while the music comes and goes

There is food for the hungry
and beer for the parched
for now every soul is free
while the simple ones watch

The year is ending soon
the moon is growing old
the gold is spent in style
but the simple ones are bored

Through eyes that see everything
the old man sings that song
which talks about yesterdays
when life seemed a bit too long

The new-year party will never end
that new friend might just show up again
a trough of bliss and a crest of pain
- life is certainly not a game for the sane!

December 24, 2006

An Accidental Thought

Contd. from...

Lucy finished the devils cake.

The time had come to finally make a change.
How many possibilities can you really think about?
How many ways are there really?

“Ways to what? “

“Oh yeah...of course..out of this place.”

“What place?”

“THIS...all know...”

“No I don’t.”

Tom was sitting on a chair made of wood and leather.
Lucy was lying on a couch made of some imaginary material.

Of course, Tom had no idea about this.

How could he?

After all, is there any way one person can translate his or her experience to another? The human biogrammer is quite inadequate to communicate such uniquely personal interpretations of reality; such as EXPERIENCE for example. In a way, every one is insane, because in spite of what one may pretend to be, one is always in the grasp of an endless spiral of crazy thoughts and abysmally scary feelings.

This intensity is curbed merely by the random collection of daily chores that somehow convince us that the mundane time between sunrise and sunset is one day of our life that we must use to do what we have to do in order to accomplish what we have to accomplish.

Accomplish WHAT?

What if the fate of humanity is not extinction, but a form of pervasive madness, unleashed from the illusory bonds of "rational" thinking?

What if there is a certain mutation that is rapidly spreading into the intellectual faculties of the human mind, ripping it apart from the 15 year program of growing up, and tossing it into the eddies of chaos? Is that why the young are rebellious?

What if insanity is our end and mortality is but a stale hypothesis?
After all, death is a concept that bothers our hyperactive brains more than it does in the case of the so-called lower primates.

Of course, there is a positive way to look at this.

Madness is again a relative label.
It is just as pertinent today as it was when some crazy one told the world that the earth ain’t flat.

Or is it?

Lucy snapped out of the hypnosis.

"I’ll see you next week", said Tom.

He felt as if he was getting nowhere with this patient. What was going on in her head? Why couldn’t she find a balance? She seemed remarkably normal, and yet….

Anyway, he had to leave early tonight. The rental car had to be returned and he still had to get some grocery.

He felt a little guilty for thinking about other things right now.

Lucy, could sense that this Para psychotherapy crap was not going to explain her cognitive turbulence. Ha..."cognitive turbulence"; what a pretentious choice of words!

She walked outside the office and got into her car. She turned on the Little Brothel CD, and plunged into the busy street.

Lately, she had given up trying to control her wandering thoughts. Every motor activity seemed to feel like a subconscious activity of muscle memory. She could think and be wherever she pleased.

She took a delicious pleasure in imagining that she would run into another vehicle, and that would end this confusing existence once and for all.

Little Brothel was playing "sadness for life".

Overall, the song was good, but the lyrics were hard to figure out.

What the hell did they mean by "take alcohol with your guns, and smoke cigarettes when you run"?

The loud screech that followed could be heard in the tavern around two blocks away. People rushed out on the street to watch the violent source of the ugly clamor.

Lucy’s car had run the red and was subsequently t-boned by a speeding Audi. She was lying upside down in the middle of the street, unable to move or feel any pain. From where she was, she could see a pool of blood start forming on the tar. Beyond it, was the car that had crashed into her.

From an upside down point of view, Lucy stared into the eyes of the rapidly dying driver. His car was crushed under a truck that was following him. It was obvious that the weight and the impact had totally crushed the poor fellow’s body.

It took a while for particular neurons to register this distorted view in Lucy’s mind and overlap it with her aberrantly archived memories.

She was still feeling no pain, but something unpleasant flashed through her body as she realized that the dead driver in the other car was Dr Tom Blanchet.

At this point, some other neurons in her brain calculated the time between now and then – about 15 minutes ago – when she was lying hypnotized on an imaginary couch in Tom’s office....

Well...there goes the parapsychology crap!

December 23, 2006

Remember me?

Remember how childhood used to be?
the thoughts you had,
the visions you could see?

What happened to those memories?
why didn't you let them be?
and what about those stories,
you promised you would one day read?

What is to be a man now?
aren't you still that child somehow?
and what about that life,
you promised yourself you'd live?

Stare into a mirror
look inside your eye
who's that guy you see?
is it you or is it me?

December 10, 2006

The Devil-fly's song

left alone for a while
she cried out into the dessert
the air was a tortured smile
and such life had gone obscure

pausing for a moments thought
she gathered at the rising snow
alone in the winter night
she bought the sight for a shattered doe

the summer was a dry spell
oh what the hell would you bastards know
the blood has spilled all over here
and Joan of arc can kiss this show

those flowers in that empty bowl
were hard to watch and smelled of coal
catching dead-fish in a crystal ball
she forgot about her dying rose

somehow somewhere something would sing
and the notes would bring the fallen dead
carrying a soul in your head ain’t easy
but carry a head for your soul and you're blessed

in the rain was yet another pain
grieving sex-driven hunger and onanism in vain
the younger crowd grew proud again
"let the hag die, lets all go insane"

the seasons came to a rapid end
and a rotten friend stopped by in shame
while she was delivered back
to where from she came
and there was nothing more for him to pretend!

she rose again on a different rock
- a planet away from now and then
while here in this crazy world
I wrote poems with her blunted pen!