Heritage Day

1

Today is my last day

 

I manage to crawl off the bed that ceased to be coupled almost a decade ago

then land in my still relatively tiny bathroom, though my own physique seems to be shrinking by the second now

I look up at my reflection and I realise the purpose of mirrors

There is a headline,

my face

wrinkled and grey beneath its letters seems to unfold like an over ripe flower without ever having been touched

it says;

Heritage Day

I shuffle along until I trip over the now almost dry white board marker and I begin the list:

One: I inherited the dark lines of deceit off my mother’s core

Two: I learned how to live with being a liar

Three: I came as a foreign being full of love

Four: I was denied love but I’m still leaving filled with only those four letters

Five: Life was beautiful though the darkness is always the beginning of a new story

Six: I inherited the art

Seven: I will never forget

 

I rinse myself off and decide that it would be better to leave full of hope

After all

3 months before they expected me I was ready

13 years before I was

they weren’t

my family

 

The wardrobe whispered the call of majesty

I obeyed my longing eyes

past the dioors and my goodbye suit

I found the two letter phrase barely in disguise and I remembered why

Heritage day:

One: I learned how to judge myself better than anyone had ever judged me

Two: It wasn’t always sunny

Three: How to fake the smile through heartache

Four: How to cause the same

Five: My clothes are cheap

Six: I am unworthychocolat_l

Seven: I knew this each time we made eye contact… after all; we are self proclaimed judges

 

So neat, tidy and fresh I walk towards the lonely seat and the non functional tv

and on the top right hand corner of the screen

A phrase in white paint screams out at me

Heritage Day:

One: My skin colour murdered my first love

Two: I inherited the skill of not caring much for those attributes

Three: My father Died of a broken heart

Four: You saved mine

Five: Our life was puzzled together by vibes and muted sentences

Six: In the end, my quirks were irrelevant and your were my indica

Seven: I fell eternally asleep with the very thoughts that days and nights before had always haunted me.

 

Palm on palm now

My eye lids find their space

No tears left in me

My heritage day is eternal

and I only grew to know that the moment I looked into you!

 

 

 

 

And baby… oh, by the way;

0

Her forehead had suddenly become the home of a trillion sweat droplets

The scent of a lost race against emotion was on her like a stale ashtray left in the middle of a tiny room for decades

perhaps the ashes of that which can never be repeated was exactly that

and the thoughts; no matter how consistent could not

clear out the depths of the buds; the heart that beats without feeling

the eyes that see without seeing

the sound of music without reaction

the dripping of sacred juices without an allure of passion

 

And baby;

That phrase will never be repeated

baby

that home will never be rebuilt

skin, fingers,flowers and hair

are the forefathers of a numb heir

to an empty castle

with naught but walls, bars, creatures, dragons and demons

 

the wolf alive in me alone will continue

baby

but wolves

oh wolves love once only

and… baby..oh by the way;

once only

Blue oR Black Days

0
And the green light is illuminated next to the picture of your face
and I hate my own for yearning to touch it
Can I help it though?
Oh no!
How I search for the deeper meaning of life
beyond the sight of your eyes
the whim of the unfamiliar scent of you
I cannot smile just yet
I cannot
yet I do
With images as bright as the Canis Majoris
With the wishfulness of Canis Lupus soul
No backbone
Just dreams and wishbone
This composition of sounds through letters
This musical of broken word strings
Your wings
So keep them
Your Majesty
‘There’s green light in my eyes, and my lover on my mind…
And I’ll sing from the piano, tear my yellow dress and
cry
and cry
and cry
OVER THE LOVE OF YOU!!’
The florence passion of an untaimed wolf soul
spills out
screams back
There is green light in my eyes and I time it
minute through passing of silent minute
Do you think I do not see or notice your silence
so deadly
hollow
sharp
Yet I CAN
live without the addiction of the life you give me
the taste for thing I never had
It is yours won’t you take it?
So come on my morning
come!
Be the green light in my eyes
Be the lover on my mind
tear my yellow dress
Show me
That you will let me get around it
There’s green light in my eyes…

Sheets

2

The fields of sunflowers flowed in waves like streams down her face as their palms danced in one another’s grasp.  Her jaw-line crept up on one’s gaze as an intruder would, before stealing something very important never to return with it. Her lips were the softest blankets, wrapping in themselves every cell of one anatomy without any physical contact. No devil could match up to the commanding desire with which she possessed every breathing galaxy of men, women and monsters alike. Snapshots of them touching flash in and out of my fantasy like a film with a broken strip… Now here and sooner than the moment itself a voice begins to call her back to this same scenario with tints and blues. Like a repetitive gauging of passion from darkness, they sink deeper into their sheets, souls almost entirely in contact and an echo of ear rivers of sound.

 

One kiss…>

>

<

Is all it took…

 

And in the morning…

 

The seal of eternity .

 

 

Birds, skirts and cigarettes

2

Her name was…

I do not quite recall.

Her smell intensely reminded me of the wet dreams I’d had about, well about her. Only in my dreams she had no face, only an outline, an odor, a possibility.

I had been travelling the day, in search of spiritual connection – and without success, when my best friend called and said I would be helping out at a friend’s warehouse for the weekend. The owner had decided to chase adventure, she was to leave the next day.

He had told me about her prior to the first feast of fleshy fathoms. I had no idea whose lair I was walking into as I passed the badly secured giant steel doors of Granualie’s Warehouse. Perhaps that was her name? Granualie… what do names matter anyway. Her name would not have altered the texture of her skin, the taste of her tongue in my mouth.

There were no discreet gestures… just flesh and passion, two strangers invading one another without care or remorse, with an audience though it was – she was spectacular . A mind fuck as well  as… the other kind.

Approach was clinical and I had no desire to know her name.

Perhaps that was it; the lack of desire for whatever juices in my body she was after. I had nothing but a thrust, a thump, a grunt and a cigarette before the taxi drew me back into the comfort of my untainted world. She wasn’t sublime or taboo, she was a fantastically easy artwork to ‘work’… to obtain. I wasn’t tame, I was loose… loose enough that her grip had no control over me; I had control over me… and she got nothing more out of me than what I chose to allow her to see and for that brief period of time; believe that she had me, even if for just a moment.

So what is the point in saying to a reader that I remember her name… It makes  no difference , desire was not with us, dream was more absent still.

I cannot lie dear reader, for a writer’s reputation is always more tainted than the dark of his actual character. This was an artwork, she was finely chiseled, her voice smooth, her breasts firm… but her well was empty … indeed she was an artwork, because I decided her one, I was her creator and she was nothing more than a vessel trimmed out to catch my attention for long enough… just long enough for me to find my feet again.

Now I stare at the artwork on her designated spot and my fancy evaporates as the last traces of sweat dry on her skin.

She didn’t see the winter start a little early this time around.

Winter, pulls me to just that one sound…

Thump

Thump

Thump

Heartbeat

Spiders

0

These spiders begin their conception by 

recollection of innocent crimes

These crimes we comitted were admitted by

energy-lots, delivered by rain drops of lip pairs

which moments ago confessed their greatest sin

It is a sin like no other

poorer than grime

richer than platinum

It awakens the deeper cores

pores opening

calling Them to surface

like a war-cry

 

This phenomenon that rests

to the left of every man’s chest

covers its fickle castle in glimmering shakes

 

Desire instills a limitless thrill

she whispers

kisses

caresses

seduces the Will which so 

desperately attempts to cut-off these moments

 

I struggle in the center of my own

Alone

cradled in the arms of sweat

of bliss

Inspiring whatever art is in me

to deliver the epitomy

of sweaty spiders

desire

in the shape 

of scenes to come1091299_14534040_lz

Pre-Noir

0

I need to create an instance, a circumstance where light is eradicated. What would humanity be if we were to live in darkness?

What would humanity see?

How would you react if you were to suddenly be shown that the core of humanity is actually demonic?

Is it so difficult to understand that darkness is at the core of our natural state of being?

When you close your eyes… you re-generate into a state of darkness. We wake to light – to

live the surface life of flesh and ‘sin’… our fake i.e: carnal-lives are composed of what we term as “light”.

Darkness does not provide for the flesh or the body… even so – some of our most physically gratifying moments stand out in our memories as moments of pleasure under a dark blanket in the arms of someone we love.

Black_4

The blind may not see but they dream as we dream and imagine as we imagine!

Switch your light off and see what happens!

Become still and unfettered.

We need  to be freed from the blinding light in order to win beneath the veil, to fight the battles that many are still unwilling to acknowledge!

What is the use of making love if our souls fail to sing out louder than our physical bodies do?

Where am I going with this?

We all want to be heard or seen, but in reality, all we actually strive for is to connect, to be FELT and RECEIVED instead of rejected. In darkness rejection would be impossible… there you would simply have the magic between souls and the texture of it.

At some point in my life, a sip of Gin could help place a smile back onto my face.

What a paradox…

Loving something as clear and see-through as Gin yet romanticizing the darkness.

The hero of my own literature shall then be named ;

Noir…

Gin Noir!