a new mask selected from the galleries,
its fresh, smooth texture feels glorious
what does it matter that it cold and clammy,
it stirs me, the feelings in me stir,
a mask unknown to me yet i selected it,
walked by hundreds in the gallery, and yet i stop at this one,
its all blood red, black spots sit on the eyes and the mouth,
the mouth, an abyss in which everything is swallowed,
horns sprout from the chin and the devils peaks
they turn in unnatural patterns,
the cheekbones are pushed far to high and the mouth,
the mouth is pulled down and contorted,
baring its hideous fangs.

Am i trying to inspire fear or reality,
do i lie to tell the truth, do i hold more value in simple actions than other people,
i think to much, so i choose a simplistic mask,
a mask that is black and white
a mask that dosent hide behind veils
a mask that means one thing
the end, what I've aspired to, DONE

does the mean justify the cause?
does the end justify the means?

321654987789654

another day another dollar
another day held by the collar
chained to my shell, iron cast by oneself.
but loves this forgiving sun bliss

my my

this is a surreal, medieval kind of world
in which a box, with eyes it held
was seen across the world and withheld
the precept ions of our mind, clogging and held
together the very stitches to which civilisation
through a protagonist, and subliminal recruitment
an army held together by wireless cables
cant move a step without the others knowing
the new media has clouded our mind, dumbed the senses, regurgitated wits.

nothings original, no stories to tell, what you see is what you get
and what you get usually gets repeated.

this new media i cannot let go of
because it hungers, and greedily prowls on the one thing i adore
the one thing that still allures me
the bait to the trap, my unicorn
the unattainable

my November

i wonder if i'll ever be loved

i wonder if people go to the city at night, to see the bright lights, the buildings that block out the sky or to see other people. i wonder if they do all that to be assured that they are not miniscule and the world belongs to them.

i wonder if people would find it unusual if i said i love the isolation, i like being reminded that people are like ants in the sense that they are everywhere and through travel i could be conquer a pursuit of first hand knowledge.

From Zulus to Samurai
From Monks to Inuit

a scorpion without its tail is still a scorpion, it just dosent know it.

the swan sang, in a refined lullaby, its notes depicting a soft stone reality

lost

i feel a strange emotion, i feel like i lost something I've loved and still loved, it just feels like the window has shut, i fucken fucked up, fuck my indecisiveness and my lack of courage. now forced to look through the fucking window when i had my foot in the door, good bye November, you have left a impression that will never be overcome.

every sunday i think of you, your features and of our conversations to come

wonderful

when i go home, i lay down
and make up a new life

i wanna see some palm trees

we can live beside the ocean
leave the fire behind
swim out past the breakers
watch the world die

welcome back.
you may look but you cannot read
for i have words meant to be spoken
to keep their meaning left unbroken
their meant for the one
the one that will remain loved
treasured until four horse men come for us
until the ones perfume fades to a whisper
a whisper to my ear.
though subtle ever powerful

the bat and the dove

once there was a bat, he lived high in the trees and never came down. once there was a dove, it was beautiful, mother natures finest work, and flew where ever it wanted to and wasn't afraid of an adventure.

one day the bat saw the dove and was overcome with feelings of passion and desire, but he wouldn't venture down, he was afraid, but one day the dove noticed him and came up to him, this surprised the bat as he wasn't expecting anything of the kind from the dove.

they talked for hours on end about their tales, but eventually the bat ran out of tales to tell(mind you he hardly said anything), and he was left to the wonder of the tales that the dove told. the tales themselves were grand, inspiring all kinds of emotions, fear, suspense and intrigue.

without knowing it, the bat grew to liking the dove and thoroughly enjoyed her company. in fact he enjoyed her company so much that he would make time to go and see her, and hear her, and look at her. but he could never ask anything of her.

that put the bat in a bit of a pickle, because after all the tales, after all the times he seen her, he felt like he could never be with her, and he was under the belief that the dove was with some one else. this put the bat into a conflict of the mind, he wanted to be with her but lacked the courage.

and throughout this, he still visited the dove, and they shared their stories, they laughed together, ate together and generally had fun together, but they would never be together.

i don't put titles anymore

you, u, you, u, you
need hmmmmmmmmmnnn
aaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhh

this is weird