The Elixir 18 – Mockery Poverty

the elixir 18

The person who finds solace in mocking others, suffers from an intellectual poverty that cannot be alleviated save through one means only, a humiliation that knows no beginning or end, silence and abandonment.

Their bitterness leaves them alone and desperate. They cannot grasp concepts, truths, divinity, see anything further than their nose’s appraisal, their ego’s lure, so they therefore ridicule what they cannot understand.

To let someone in your life is such a sacred offering and people don’t value it, nor honour its sacredness.

People just walk into your house, your domain with soiled boots, eat from your plate, spit in it, sully your wash place and walk out leaving a stench inside that never goes away.

Think twice about attacking someone’s very personal sacredness, especially if they offered you the trust to enter.

I’m at the end of my wit, with less than a handful of people I can trust with my mind, my heart, my soul. People that don’t litter inside of me or for lack of better vernacular, people that don’t waltz in and take a shit on the carpet of my soul.


Introversion Impulses – 1

The only way for me to connect with you is to disconnect from myself, now that can’t happen, it’s taken me this long to get some current running through my veins, to find a stillness in a swamp bed where all my pungency can lay dormant, and you, with your optimistic rays of sunshine want to disturb all that, bring to surface stenches that I had buried, awaken angels that I slayed, who slayed my demons, who slayed my soul, who slayed the me, the I, the carnality of breath, the inhalation of certainty, the rigidity of polarity, that space in between, I created it, I ploughed its fields and toiled its soil until it became soft enough to nestle there and all you want to do is bring those poles together, light my extremities with union, voltify my mind until it burns to a crumb, what little of it left there is, you with your happiness want to bring a smile to my face, for what, what possible reason, why, who sent you, what do you want from me, you lie, you have ulterior motives, I don’t believe you, leave me alone, I’m fine, I can’t breath with you in the room, I created this room with just enough space, enough oxygen for one, you’ll die being in here with me…. away, away, away, can’t you see my act of kindness?

The above will be my new series on introversion.
The last post for the introversion series was introversion thirty. Short poems, anecdotes, musings, thoughts etc. I may continue another series but for now, the new format will be impulsive, immediate thoughts.
Whenever I get a chance I will pen it, in the above style, unbroken, with little regard for punctuation, grammar or writing rules. They will be exactly as you see them, random, raw and real and time sensitive. They cannot be conjured and planned. They will just be expunged. I hope you enjoy.


Introversion – thirty


Were it not for the spectacle of extroversion,
I would have committed suicide a long time ago.
But there are no creative ways to die that have
inspired me yet.

So I died on the outside, to the world I am dead,
 and live on abundantly, on inside instead.


It would be much easier to leave me be,
Forget my existence, ignore your attempts at civility.
Don’t question yourself, with your soul plea,
Ignore your heart, get off your knees.

I’m numb to it all, I don’t feel anything more,
I’m struggling even, my children to adore.
I’m barren and empty, stricken and sore,
I have no enigma, I have no lore.

Nothing to offer, nothing to take,
No heart swell, no heart ache.
Mindless and cold, still as a lake,
Slumber escapes me, forever awake.


Introversion – twenty nine


I’m in a long term relationship
With myself

Another day goes by and I realise that I am in this for the long haul
The only way to go on is to ride it out until the destination
I’m my own spouse, my pair, my soul mate
No divorce papers will served
There’s no prenuptial
I own all of me
The only way to divorce is to stop breathing
Even there, I wont escape myself, death will not do me part.


Introversion – twenty eight


Go on, have one today.
Spoil yourself with something immaterial.
Have a conversation with yourself in secret.
Don’t let anyone see you. Hide your schedule from your spouse and children.
Pretend you’re doing something else.
Pretend your busy.
Switch off your phone and pretend the battery ran out or don’t answer and pretend you didn’t hear it.
Say you had to work back.
Candlelight dinner, with yourself in a park, with a book.
Wear your favourite perfume / cologne.
Get dressed for the occasion.
Rent a hotel room for the night, just to sit and read, meditate……….


Listen to your breath.
Or is it all too much to handle?
Too hard to be that intimate with yourself?
Why have we become so disconnected, so dishonest?
Who are we cheating?


Introversion – twenty seven


Monologues in solitude,
Are gardens of plenitude,
Increases of aptitude,
And amplitude of gratitude.

If it is irking you that we spend so much time alone, it is probably best you find someone closer to your social temperament.

We engage in such an internal monologue it would make you dizzy to listen. We’d make extroverts seem like mice, if only you could hear, if only you could tune in.

Granted, there are a few of you out there with such a vibrant frequency, you hear us, quiet as we may be, busy with out inner ball, you hear the noise, the music and the laughter you see the artistry. You enjoy us for who we are and in return, you receive an unrequited love. We’re drowning in our own swarm of felicitous calm and you allow us to continue on, undisturbed. How can we not love you back?

The gardens we frolic in are sagely and lavender embalmed, our intellect heightened merely from inhaling the scent until every cell in our body responds it a gratuitous love that has you begging for more of our silence.



Introversion – twenty six


Withdrawal is to remove yourself from a crowd of people.
A play of words, to suit my needs perhaps,
I will not only be withdrawing,
I will be drawing within, withindrawal perhaps.
This year I have decided to paint my insides,
Line it with sculptures,
Decorate it with crafts,
And tattoo more words, prose, poetry.
Boil the cauldron pot of reflection,
Introspection and inner manifestation,
Set ablaze my house of material,
Let it’s ashes scatter to the east winds,
Carry it, and me to my ancestors graves,
Desert sands
Barren lands
Empty, dry hands
Faces tanned
The winds whistle carrying His command
Hearts on demand
Without reprimand
Like children we tread
Like men we stand
Naked, barren in front of The Grand
We understand, through light
Through threads, through strands
I’ve tasted plenitude,
It’s flavour is bland,
That abandoned world
That wasteland,
Will be my years destination
As I turn further inward
Away from all man.