The Old Man and the See

Some times the chaos seems friendly.
Some times it seems to be a foe ready to plunge its rusted sharpness through your petrifying soul.

I just gave it all up when I couldn't take it anymore.
The old man in front of me could not see where he wanted to go.
In the past he probably knew, but now he was lost somehow
in this modern show.
He spoke to me and asked me for directions.
His questions did not make any sense
while I wondered how he was thinking.
What was he thinking?

The light from the afternoon sun hit the glasses on his partially blind eyes.
He moved on to a different moment completely oblivious of his being...
... lost.

Its times like these that the blips of fluctuating feelings rest for a second that is unusually longer than that typical one on that symbolic clock.

The bus moved on and in the mirror the old person faded - just like he was fading in real life.

REAL LIFE?
What could that be?

Surely the old man had some day been as young as I.
And perhaps I may become someday just as old as him?
But certainly thats not the answer.

What is the question?

What is really important then - for both of us - in this mercurial frame of reference?
Is it the directions that we keep asking for - like speechless children drooling over endless bowls of cereal - or empty old minds waiting for the funeral?

His image disappeared from the rear-view mirror,
being replaced by the relentless claim -

R.E.A.L. L.I.F.E.

I was more confused than ever.

Some words fell into my lap
and I began to read my book
I could not look beyond this gap
that stood under me -
so un understood.

Question-Answers

To hold on to nothing and fall deep into yourself is your mission - the child told itself as he walked trough the city that was borne out of the fantasies of innocent imagination.

The clean slate reflects lines that mean something but never seem to shed light on that something. Fallen pieces from the worlds around make the mind grow into a pod while the birds in the sky and the waves of the sea speak to each other about secrets yet unknown.

For however much time the child lay still, it couldn't help to wonder about things that have been and the things that could be.

Working out the riddles of paths that laid down the myths and facts entwined into a puzzle that never seemed soluble.

Disintegrated artifacts remained the only clues through which the creatures of these worlds deciphered the meaning of their own selves and their lives. Meanwhile, the world changed again to only leave behind a pattern of stories partly finished.

Few things grow as much as the thoughts about trees, branches and cracks in dry earth. few things remain constant like the turbulent oceans and the clouds in clear skies.

As time went by, the fantasies came real. Somehow the picture didn't fit well and more work was yet to be done. He was so tired. He could give up any moment only if he knew what would be so worth it.

Leaving behind the days and the nights and the loves of yesterday the approach became clear - life happened with or without you.

A smile faded the subtle tears that ran across the skin worn out by the clocks and calenders.

The cubicles always rearranged into something else but remained a constant reminder of the same old geometry - begging for the curves from different dimensions.

These affairs with reality had never brought him close but only closer.
But closer to what???

And as life went on,the people and the events around seemed unnecessary to take in.
All that was needed was within.

Stop by in frustrated contemplation

Time passes in irrelevant motions
the eyes on this side listen to jazzy notions
and the sounds of the sax ebb and flow
in my mind I suspect there're some things that I know

where time comes from
and from where come I?
we are all in this together
like the clouds in the sky.

Below the levels
of worlds in parallel
come ideas and pictures
and scriptures and gospels

turn around this ground
in sometime I wonder
where does my mind wander
what lies asunder

Above the sound
the notes flow alone
random and mischievousness
colored off tone

please don't shout
or go out to the ghosts
will we place our bets
on haunted old posts?

Love ya...
and thanks for stopping by!

Some Times

Through the invention of the word the thought missed the point that its existence was to be and not to assume the attire of symbols that were eventually clad by its confusing sense of identity.
Eons and eons passed before the magical dance of illusory particles gave way to a sequence of limitations through which the primordial ideas flowed like water through a stream of troubles, waves, and ripples.
After a while the dried up instances of a seasonal phase sunk the world of created visions and dissolved the background into a purposeless noise of unsurpassed magic.

How will you come to terms with this fabric then?

And what about that?

Here we seem to dabble in war and peace while sorrow and bliss elude us in a way that feels strangely familiar.
Apparently a deja vu exploded before this moment.
The future holds a secret that we create as we close in on it.
It claims to be an elusive quest begging for a change.

How is it then that this unique moment that we experienced with such convoluted attachment was borne out of chance events extending back into eternal space?

someones hell is your heaven
sometimes you are that someone
above the clouds a thought whimpers
but the sky is constant to the chosen one

In a race you jump the gun with a subconscious intent to win the finish line.
Although success is guaranteed in such a ploy you didn't play the game that offered its joys: the medals bronze, silver and gold - a certain place on a geometric pedestal.
The symbols are striking!
The depth of our struggles is unquestionable.
We drive to survive but when it comes down to it we are merely living.

The mind is locked in a body that dies.
The body describes the mind that it ties.

How is it then that this unique thought scintillates with detachment?

Someone spoke
like a loudmouthed bloke
trying to win the fates
while the friends and foes
dragged to the shores
treasures from an ancient cave

Opened beyond the words of swords
the blood and water merged with the gods.
Dramatic events twisted our worlds
the ultimate questions washed to the core.

Before the message in a bottle was read
the light in the eyes began to fade.
The sounds that are white were all that remained
before you could grasp it had all re-arranged.

Touch the tip of my imaginary finger
kiss my lips when you cease to linger
our souls were matched before we met
I am waiting for you beyond these dangers.

some times you are some one.
.