Monday, February 18, 2013

Balaclava


My friend called in this evening time
when I was wrapping up for the day,
and beginning to slip to Otherland,
swim in the burrows and cat-flying molehills,
into the subconscious pathways of mental cities.

He asked me meandering is not easy.
He asked me for change, and retibution.
He asked me if younger people are cocky, and selfish.
He asked me for understanding.
He asked me ten thousand questions, all abound with picture frames, illusory glasses.
He asked what he had to ask, what he meant were difficult questions, which he thought about day and night.

My answers were simple.
Into the darkness and out of the light, my answers were not double, or triple.
Younger flesh is smoother flesh, I answered.
The greatest saints are more selfish, I answered.
If you look at old and young together hanging out, it's the old that is steamy, cocky,  unclear, bavarde, ill-posed, prostituted, caring too much, hiding, fighting, expecting, I answered.
Worst of all, the old are encouraging, as if they have tamed life, and charmed it, and answered all its questions.
Flowers don't grow, flowers don't grow, the earth starts growing.

And so on and so forth we went talking into the night, early morning bliss waiting to be cracked like a walnut, and clearly our paths were not too separated, maybe we were cocky and jealous and frightful, but we were hoping to undo it, to understand, and transform, and all these beautiful little words which make more sense than hatred.

Thursday, January 10, 2013

Random Re-beginning

Every time a new day dawns, we find ourselves again. As we open our eyes, the very first thoughts in a way define what kind of day it is going to be. Then as we look around, all that we see we use to build up a new story, our minds dive into the surroundings trying to explain why and how we got where we are. Passing time makes us see things more clearly and sounds become less blurred.But of course we know who we are. Our pants and heads are all joined in a single pool of identity. Then as we get up off our beds, and walk into the day, the night is left behind slowly. Our images of ourselves start filling up with more matter, several well formed metaphors and facts fill up our immediate consciousness, the room appears friendly. As we charge directly to the next room, some minute details strike up against our faces, as our fantasy begins to break. The dreams of the previous night are thrown against the wall and we are reminded gently and subtly...Thanks to the conversations of yesterday, thinking independently is not much of a problem. We have friends who make us see what we do not see ourselves, and our ideas improve in their living rooms, when we least expect it. Such benevolence is a gift from nature. All accidents are waiting to happen while we trigger episodes of designed light. And designed sound.While boarding a train, it's important to not lose your mind to the imagination. And hold yourself together until the next revelation, the never ending cycle breaks into a single stop before we settle in the new...Let us take this up more carefully. The first step into the train is an initiation, whether you want to admit it or not. Something about the air inside a train makes you doubt the possibility of a clear conversation during the journey. You are almost tempted to step off and suddenly say that you are not going. Getting inside can be a contract, though, especially as it is a journey, and not just a silent film. The conversations are going to begin and end, and the meals are going to be short and small, and the air inside will smell and break, the wind will be fast and slow, the light will bring back memories and show. Letting it go is not an option. Or maybe it is, but not until the beds are made. Aboard a train, nights are welcomed differently, with much excitement. Sometimes, almost because there is no jostling in the night-time, the energies are confused. The body demands much exertion and it will not sleep until it is tired. The journey itself is not tiring enough, the body is demanding in its own right, and it says I'm not sleeping. Not sleeping until I run and brood and think enough. The lights should be according to my moods, the pillow is too small, and the gap between saying and doing is another problem. Classifying, partying, muttering, joking, winning, running, pelting, belching, I do not get time to do anything of importance...