Category: Quiet

Goldilocks and her big fucking bear!

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Even when I’m with people….

I’m not there,
Unfair,
I care,
but the snares,
the nostril flares,
the minds impair,
as they struggle to comprehend my lack of flair,
or care,
to their,
daily trivialities that I’m unaware,
of,
so I stay out of their,
hair,
how dare,
I ignore their very being,
and from being a small teddy in a corner,
I end up the big fucking bear,
sitting in the middle of the room on scrutiny’s chair.

That chair is gonna’ break,
it’s there for the take,
so for your sake,
leave me alone,
a calm lake,
before I partake,
In chaotic savagery,
heartache,
pen breaks,
soul takes,
rusty autumn rakes,
cant gather my thoughts, mistakes,
half baked,
life cakes,
burnt steaks,
no brakes,
like a mack truck,
of missile freight ,
Stop now before it’s too late,

And you meet your fate.

-W.E.

 

 

 

Why you can’t see me

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If you’re concerned about my inattentiveness, it’s not because I’m not present, I am. I really am here, but not where you’re looking.

I’m the spaces between words, the lines between paragraphs and the borders between pages.

I’m the gap in your front teeth, the space between your eyes, and the area from navel to neck.

I’m the valley between mountains, the breeze skirmishing between trees and the wind beneath eagle’s wings.

I’m the silence between thunder, the quiet before the storm and the deafening after lightening crackle.

Wherever you look, you won’t see me because you’re so used to seeing only what’s manifest in front of you.

I work in the shadows, I walk without name, and I cannot contain myself, but you still wouldn’t know it’s me.

I revel in this loneliness, the silence and the anonymity, because even if I showed you, you wouldn’t believe it’s me.

I’m nothing you’d expect to see.

It’s quite fine by me, thirty eight years of it and it’s the only way you know after a while.

I have family, I have a friend and I know a few people but they see it as insanity. I see their snarls, I don’t fit their moulds, and their suitability boxes aren’t ticked.

But when the shit hits the fan, they remember me. The guy who can fight, the guy who can write, the guy who’ll stand up and the guy who’ll shout.

The guy who knows no fear, who lones it year to year.

I’m that guy you want by your side down a back alley, next to you when you’re struggling to breathe and consoling you when life gets too much.

I’ve spent all this time alone so I can figure out the things you all struggle with because you don’t want to be alone.

Over eleven years ago I raised my heart on a temple step and asked God to make me invisible. I said it like a child wishes for superhero powers in their daily role play amongst peers.

I wanted out of this world; I wanted a suicide, not of the bodily kind but of being seen.

I must have been granted thousands of wishes and had endless supplications in my life answered, oblivious to them all as I take them for granted. But this one request I had was heard and it has been the best thing that has happened to me as people literally flaked off my life’s shoulders and withered away.

As I have mentioned in another post, I have a very high wall. Since then, only a few people have climbed over. I value those people; they’re courageous and courteous to my nature. I can count them on one hand!

-W.E.

Artists are not drunk enough

intoxicated art

For me, the ability to write only comes in the stillness of the night.
Thoughts, ideas, musings and pondering pass through me during the day.

A word from him, a look from her, a thought from that person expressed through mere presence, my guard is up and I’m on alert and I take notes but I only find the reaping at night when silence prevails, my belly is empty, life forms are otherwise dead and the stillness allows it all to manifest.

Like a bashful girl summoned from behind a veil, some things deserve their own stage.

You must find that place and realise the worlds most noble sages, scholars, writers, artists, musicians and poets all revelled in solitude.

Some may need alcohol to remove these filters and inhibitions, but it will always be a mask, a psychotropic drug that keeps the demons at bay long enough for you to function. But the best of your work will only come when the body is pure, detoxified of material and of ego and ripe with a fertile soil.
-ME

Loneliness – She’s a dark companion.

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This is what my loneliness companion looks like

One day when I was a boy, loneliness visited me.
It showed me the way of the world.
It promised it would not betray me like they.
As such, it has proven a noble companion.
It never strays far from my side.
Ready to take the blows of whatever anyone may throw my way.
Got words? The emptiness of my soul will allow them to pass through.
Got guns? Shoot your bullets as my invisibility fails your aim.
Got fists? The body has become numb to sensation.
Got abandonment? Thank you for adding fuel to my fire.
Got love and companionship? That’s where loneliness leaves me in a dark alley way,
Paralysed and ineffective, the cryptonite of it’s power.

-ME

Egoïste – 1

up with you

For some it’s the conversation.

For others it’s the mere presence.

And for others more, the physical chemistry is unifying.

Whatever the myriad of reasons may be, there is a person that has the ability to keep us awake and alert, pandering to whatever it is they say, do, feel or imbue.

Am I a narcissist for longing not for another human but for the paralysis of life at night where I can converse with myself and distil my thoughts?

-ME

Agitation for art

artmanifestation

Reflecting back on my youth until present, whether it was paint, drawing, music or writing even building and fabricating, none of it could occur without an underlying gnawing of agitation.
Agitation of the mind, heart or soul, something had to be agitated for art to manifest.

Forgive and ….. nah, just forget

Some profess to forgive everyone before you sleep.

Such a cliché in my opinion that it’s motions can become robotic, lifeless, soulless…..fake

I’m happier that God created me able to wake up without recollection.

 

Deprived of rest

A man who pretends to be the king of his business better be prepared to share the spoils of war with his men.
Hear ye narcissist,
Nay, here, ye narcissist.
That is of course what you want to hear.
Were it not for your ability to make others see your reflection,
Then your image would not have blinded you from realising that all along,
They let you keep your spoils because of understanding just how much you could not stand yourself.
They saw your pain, your emptiness, your discontent and let you have it all.
But of course, you’re the king and they the subservient.
You did nothing at all but a wink alludes you,
Whilst they rest their brow after a days toil.