Are you in control?




If you ensure that the words you use are not comprehensible by the general mass of people in your audience, you let them feel inferior to you. This becomes the way to hold authority over them whether they want to be subjugated to it or not.

Subconsciously from a young age, we are trained to fall victim to such methods.
The ones who think they are free are the most controlled.

The bread and circus for the masses continues and the people in power continue their ways. The negligence of the layman to care, is ironically a type of laziness and slavery, not freedom.

There are many methods to do this. Money, education, pharmaceuticals, fear, wars, water and more.

One of the simplest and most unrecognised ways is control of language and nomenclature, putting it just out of reach of the laymen enough to make them think they posses no power to effectuate change.

You wouldn’t be doing yourself a disservice by expanding your cultural and literature awareness of various types of languages and nomenclature. In fact you’d be engaging in one of the most liberating experiences possible. When you do come to awareness of it, you will regret the lost time being unaware of this condition.
Educate your children, give them as much exposure to people outside their comfort as possible.
The easiest way to do that is for yourself to lead the way. Kids are great imitators.
I will continue this in another much lengthier post.

Narcissist ignorance

Picture Credit:

So you want to own me,
Threaded patience, subtlety,
Bottled rage, love silently,
Naught felt on ears, lest you flee.

Palpate, gnaw flesh, gently,
Ridged skinned, rough, emphatically,
Sighs, under breath, punishingly,
Break loins, chew collar bones, frankly.

Talk is not cheap, exquisite, exclusivity,
Them fighting words, I hand feed, savagely,
Claws, palms, knuckles, ragingly,
We dine, we intoxicate feastingly.

Prattlers carry on ignorantly,
What of love do they have experientially?
Byron, Shakespeare, Wordsworth or Emily?
Hucksters, children, phases of Mockery!

You’ll get over them as soon as you get over yourself.
The only reason you hold your hurt so grand, is that you have been led to believe you are precious.
This has been the single most destructive lie by either being taught, indirectly or directly adapted into your life, through affirmations of others or perhaps this person you once had used it as a mantra to get what they want from you.
You’re not that precious.
If you were, you wouldn’t end up in the same place every single one of us is going, and many greater people have already reconciled with.

So realise when you’re someone’s object of desire, it won’t be fluffy, and gelato licking fun. In fact some like it quite the opposite and outlast the love prattlers, the Romeos and Juliets. Some love the erratics, the fighting, the debating, arguing and call it on, but they’re mature enough not to hold the other persons love to account because of it, and what remains unseen, outstrips the superficiality.

If you think you’re owed this grandeur of love unrivalled, you’re deeply mistaken. Your heart isn’t broken, it’s diseased with egotistical narcissism.


Picture Credit:

The Oceans defenders

oceans defenders

Waves are martyrs and the shore it’s battlefield,
Don’t you see how selflessly it dives on to the sands sword,
To the alter of sacrificial yield.

That is why you can’t win against the ocean.

The engineers of the titanic all but tried,
The arrogance of men caused others to die.
A relentless never ending army of love,
Angelic backing from heavens above.
Torrents of soldiers rolling on,
Reserves of men, horizon long.
Sunken secrets, surfaced to spume,
Subtle ripple or rip tides to consume.
Poets have mistaken it, metaphors of romance,
But it’s cannons are loud, waves crashes advance.
The ocean is an empire on its own,
Solitudes of peace, if you leave it alone.
There’s no place for fancies of ebb and flow,
Plagiarised words, done to death row.
To speak of love and the ocean, there is only one connection,
It’s of the waves devotion, to the ocean’s protection.


Irony, wake up!


A person who hopes on dreams

to escape their nightmares.


Most people are prodding along unaware of their slumber.

Like cattle, they prattle
Like mules, fools
Like sheep, they graze
Hamsters in a maze
Unaware of the craze
The mess of their daze
Foggy haze
Until six feet deep, their body lays
They wonder about lost days,
Wasted, ablaze,
Oh the irony, hell’s inferno,
How heavy it weighs,
Once, you stood over it
Now sun burning soil over you, with bludgeoning rays.

There’s a better way to live than to be asleep.
Don’t wait until death rings your alarm bell.


Lies about truth


‘The truth shall set you free’ is a lie.

The truth will captivate you and
hold you hostage to its majesty,
you won’t ever want to leave.

For the sincerely truthful, that is, for the brutally honest, the truth is not something that grants you freedom. It chains you at the pillar of unnerving bravery and courage. With chivalry you will stand, with honour you will die, if you only just live with truth.

Truth of excavating your soul, mining deep within it’s uncertainties and swimming in the ocean of ‘I don’t know’, but being sincere enough to dry yourself with the sand of ‘I believe’, when the trinket of gold, the diamond or the pearl falls into your hand.

More importantly having internal eyes that can see it even amongst the dirt, the rubble or the foam.

We lie to ourselves confusing being honest with trivial daily dealings as being the definition of truth.

Steal my money, tell me I’m beautiful when I am grotesque to look at, tell me my words are poetic, when they are pathetic, lie to my face as much as you please over all things mundane, but don’t lie to me about truth. That, my ears don’t need to be trained for, my soul will filter you out with ease.


The Elixir 16 – 2016 Unclutter


theelixir16What I want of this year is less.
I don’t want a vein, not even an artery.
I want to inject my elixir into my jugular.
My elixir has to grow from within, it must start from my body.

2016 will bring for me an uncluttering, a detoxification, a removal from societies frivolities, a cleansing of mind, soul and body.
I will attack every subtlety of my existence.

Starting with my body, it will receive only it’s bare necessities.
There is no mind, there is no spirit, there is no soul without the body.

The body must first be pure for the rest to be pure.
Your cellular energy carries with it vibes of the stuff of it’s make up which permeate your mind and soul. If it is unclean, the rest is unclean.
There is no grey area, only utter cleanliness. This will mean many of my favourite things will become my enemies.

I won’t lie to myself and allow treats to creep in. My body has to learn to survive on less. Much less. I don’t care if I reduce my appearance to a skeleton, it will be a cheap price to pay.

My mind must follow suit. I will not tolerate people or words that are frivolous or harmful. I will not tolerate lies and hate. I will not tolerate gossip and back biting.
I will remove luxuries one by one until they are naught around me. I will endeavour as long as it takes to be as minimalist as I can be. I cannot have distractions if I wish my mind to be centred and aligned to the end goal.

My soul, I can only pray for it. I have no control over what happens to it. My job is with my mind and body. My spiritual exercises will hopefully heal my soul, take it to higher plains and let it rise above my carnal self. But I still won’t know.
My job is just to do, to unclutter and wait patiently with no expectation of gaining an iota.

When every devotion of above is done without expectation, perhaps then the clutter will disappear, the path will be cleared of shrub and vine and the river of purity will become apparent.


The worship of lies.

The longing of the ego’s martyrdom

Comprehension is dependant on your brutal devotion to Truth.

What you arrive to understand,
Is dependant on your level of commitment to truth,
How far you’re willing to challenge your ego,
Your own beliefs in search for the ultimate reality.
Those in search of its brutality will arrive.

The domain will expel cowards,
Only those willing to be carved by the sword of Truth,
Can revel in its plenitude.
Tis a fierce environment,
Though thoroughly rewarding,
Only sages spring forth.

The truth doesn’t hurt, that’s a liars perspective.
The truth murders you and leaves behind your corpse for proof.
The ‘you’ we are referring to is your innermost core, the cellular erratics that cannot sit still, and buzz with a fever for martyrdom at the alter of truth.

Your perspective of it matters naught,
Your preparedness to die, does.