You ain’t shit (we ain’t shit)

Big goals, huge targets and all that go getter stuff,
the motivational speaker snake oil,
the performance coach mantras,
all do fuck all if you don’t comprehend the reality and meaning of it all.

The purpose of a larger than life goal is to understand your smallness,
not to mantra dumb shit.

It’s to make humility your staple,
to show you how insignificant you are in the grand scheme of things.

And here we are,
2019 and cunts with a vocabulary that doesn’t extend past their thumbs are telling you that you matter so much.

Well you don’t,
you’re gonna die and rot with the best of them,
because guess what,
as we said,
the world is bigger than you and doesn’t care for your insignificance.

does that mean you become a hopeless despot?
Fuck no!
Have those fuck off big goals but in the right context.

Know your worth doesn’t mean you’re worth alot,
it means know how worthless you are amongst the sea of other worthless beings that will all find their allotted time waiting for them.

if you want to live your life from one post and feed to the next,
one update and story to the next,
panting for the next drip feed,
then suck it up and eat the pain that comes with it.


perspective – seeing beyond your SELF

perspective – seeing beyond your SELF

i’ve never wallowed in my misfortunes,
never questioned my lot,
whatever I have or don’t have,
all the broken things,
and mended things,
and things and things,
i’ve kept.
i’m no hoarder,
but herewith, is this mountain of me,
i stand on top of these things,
and see so much better.


Underneath me are my woes, my troubles,
My failures and shame,

Everything I hate about myself,
And all the blame.

And I know, when peoples fingers will fly,
Towards me like sidewards rain,

I’ve yet another molehill to add to this mountain,
And height to gain.

I’ll see further,
And beyond the plains,

I’ll take whatever, add it to my pile,
And improve my reign,

That’s why I don’t fret, don’t wallow,
But invite the pain.






There’s a stench that accompanies self love.
Usually, it is the death of your soul


I’ve never met a person of worth,
that wasn’t perfumed with the truth of self scrutiny.
Never will you see them repeat a mantra of loving themselves,
regurgitations of utterly selfish inclinations.
Justifications, for lack or purging,
laziness in holding themselves to account,
for the most mundane of passing thoughts.
Nay, the fragrant ones are those who would saw away at their sinews,
if it meant purifying themselves from the egotism of self flattery,
adoration of their own reflection,
narcissism passed as self development.
You don’t see them seeking dispensations for their lowliness,
creating escape routes from their abased natures.
They stop, and won’t travel further than where they are meant to be,
until the room they reside in is white noise of purity,
operating on another frequency,
than the clemency,
people offer themselves in conformity.

what do you want to be when you grow up?

-what do you want to be when you grow up?

At some point,
you do have to ask yourself,
do I want to be a weed,
growing wild, yet annoying the garden,
and all that pass by,
do I want to be an oak,
slow, patient, yet offering, shade, breeze and
comfort to all that pass by


then be kind and gentle with yourself
wait and the signs will surely come
one by one
one by one
always one
but kindness and gentleness do not translate to laziness and laxity
attack your ego with the utmost of ferocity
that’s how you calm the storm
that’s how you go from being a raging sea
to a pond in gentle tranquillity
kind to wildlife
and a reflective mirror
a sign for narcissus
but he had no humility
yet there the sun relects
in all its majesty


Until death do us united


Rumi Said:
“Our death is our wedding with eternity.”

If that is the case
Life must be the engagement


For those who know where they are going, perhaps death is the wedding, the night of elation, finally, it is here, you sigh, you exhale a years, two or eighty of planning. The longest wedding plan in history with the goal in mind to meet their maker.

What is the honeymoon then? Is it being able to finally face Him and the mere presence of Him alone, irrespective of your destination, the final effacement of self? Just to be there in His presence? What is it going to take? Embarrassment on the day, regret, biting of ones fingers off wishing one could return? To make that engagement all the more beautiful and orientated towards Him?

Here is the whole poem, you make up your mind about this profound wisdom.

Our death is our wedding with eternity.
What is the secret? “God is One.”
The sunlight splits when entering the windows of the house.
This multiplicity exists in the cluster of grapes;
It is not in the juice made from the grapes.
For he who is living in the Light of God,
The death of the carnal soul is a blessing.
Regarding him, say neither bad nor good,
For he is gone beyond the good and the bad.
Fix your eyes on God and do not talk about what is invisible,
So that he may place another look in your eyes.
It is in the vision of the physical eyes
That no invisible or secret thing exists.
But when the eye is turned toward the Light of God
What thing could remain hidden under such a Light?
Although all lights emanate from the Divine Light
Don’t call all these lights “the Light of God”;
It is the eternal light which is the Light of God,
The ephemeral light is an attribute of the body and the flesh.
…Oh God who gives the grace of vision!
The bird of vision is flying towards You with the wings of desire.

Liar Liar Soul on fire.

soul for sale


I won’t lie

I’m like everyone else

My soul is for sale

The highest bidder hasn’t even reached half the reserve


Who are we kidding? The right person with the right words, with the right mind, with the right touch for all the wrong reasons and you could be sold for a few pennies.

Let’s be brutally honest and stop regurgitating this cliché. We all have that spot, somewhere or something inside of us that if it is found puts down all our defences.

I have experienced it with the most hostile of souls and the most gentle. Everyone has something about them.

The problem is, the navigators of the human soul have become few and far between.

I’m a rebel without a cause in most of my pursuits.

Authority? I stick a big proverbial in their face.
Law? What law?
Sensitivities of humans? Push me and I’ll tear you down in a heartbeat.
You want to get physical? I’ll hit you seven ways before your anger has fettered to your fists as I’m on my toes all the time.

It’s hard to tell my stubborn ego what to do.
But one look from my teachers and I melt.
They bought me and have me shackled, key thrown away rusted chains to my ankles, anchor me to humility in their presence.

They know how to spear my heart from all vain desires with a line of prose or an anecdote of a master sage.

What did they pay for my capture?

A smile.

I love you teachers.

May God sanctify your secrets.

In loving memory of her, who gave me the lantern niche illumed with oils and lit the flame for me to see the way to him.

Him, who carries the torch with love and forbearance, with patience to my folly until the day where my ego can finally be slain a mighty death on the alter of the masters before me.