Plummet with fear, eyes fill with tears.
Black alley cat purr, my darkest years.
When something can be read without effort, great effort has gone into its writing. – Enrique Jardiel Poncela
Writing is not publishing, and one of poetry’s teachings I most cherish is the way it refuses the capitalist logic of production value. Awards can offer recognition and amplification of your art, but the worth is in the work, not in its reception. – Claire Schwartz
To us, the value of a work lies in its newness: the invention of new forms, or a novel combination of old forms, the discovery of unknown worlds or the exploration of unfamiliar areas in worlds already discovered – revelations, surprises. – Octavio Paz
Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end. – Seneca
My mind fizzle with letters into words; forming sentences after sentences throughout the stormy night. Stomping aimlessly in my mind with words forming vivid imagery scene. The mind is a wonderful playhouse. God’s greatest gift for his most beloved creation here on earth. I do believe life is suppose to be written on pages. Thoughts staying alive. A voyeur experience to some who love reading the pain and pleasure of others in the shadow. Encouraging them with standing ovation, applauding aloud to encourage indecent exposure. We are convince there is reality in fiction. Why not? Are we not here to play a role in life to be somebody; the world is a stage. The show begin when the curtain rise. As far as the eye can see are empty seats waiting to be fill. A blank script in my hand awaiting to have a dialogue with me. Mask my role.
All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages. – William Shakespeare
I have a horror of not rising above mediocrity. – Robert Baldwin
Squatting on top at the edge of a double deck bed, staring down upon myself laying still on the rustic wood flooring. I can’t feel anything; like a lifeless dead corpse. There’s a funny deep hollow sound ringing in my ear. As if the wind is circling inside a long and narrow tunnel. I am numb with silence. In a state of total confusion. The small hand of a round white wall clock is pointing at four. I think it’s too early in the morning. In front of me stand a wooden cupboard with one mirror door. A faint shadow of someone is reflecting back at me; with a pair of silky black wings unfolding gracefully from the figure’s back. They flap itself to loosen their stiffness. The room’s door bust wide open without notice. A stout old lady in old english dress came rushing in, skipping across my still body lying on the floor.
She head towards the window to swiftly open a dusty thick curtain with both hands. My eyes squint to shield itself from the strong glaring lights shining into a room fill with thick smog of dust. She turn around to face me. In a sudden float like motion; her disgusting and scary amateurish painted clown like face appear just inches from mine. I fell backward and float on thin air. Everything around me disappear. Both her claw like hands pin me down to the darkness surrounding me, while her long and wet tongue lick its way to my right ear. Leaving behind a trail of thick, slimy and sticky substance on my cheek. She speak to me in a husky hissing tone, “It’s not your time yet. My dearest. The day is not dead.”; follow with a melodious laugh.
Dammit; not again. It’s MONDAY …
Make Peace with Your Broken Pieces ― r.h. Sin
Not one person I know have not being sad about something in life. Sadness is part and puzzle of emotion, but it can sometimes be just selfishness leading to sorrow, depression and a broken personality. Children having no memory of their mother in the early years of growing up, may not notice loosing something of significance in life to wallow in sadness. Until they grow up to ponder on their loss of a mother love. I have witness eyes swell with tears for these children; pitying them. It is not always about life’s relationship. Sadness can come from loosing something of valuable resources or material possessions; could be something of sentimental in value. Life is better to sow than to own, because nothing really last forever in life; grow to evolve. Like the expansion of the universe continuing or enduring forever. We can only lose what we cling in life.
The Daily Post: Broken
Everything is ceremony in the wild garden of childhood. — Pablo Neruda
I grow up leaving behind the many simple ritual I perform randomly in my everyday life. Most of the these simple things is done with finesse and care. My curiosity mingle with everything I sense surrounding me as a child. I play and eat with my food as a child, I talk to thin air as though they were my best friend forever as a child, or stay up to watch the moon turn into the sun as a child, only to fall asleep and wonder what happen as a child. Again and again. My childhood days can be seen as an event of ritual significance, performed like a special occasion. Until one day I just stop being a child. A coming of age ceremony was perform to make me aware that child has gone. I grew up. Today, I wonder has he gone forever in my life; doubt it.
The Daily Post: Ceremony
Believe nothing no matter where you read it, or who said it, no matter if I have said it, unless it agrees with your own reason and common sense. – Buddha
Those desperately seeking shelter from pain of life can find themselves spiral down the most twisted madness. Something not any human mind can ever dare imagine in their lifetime. It usually starts with a harmless and fulfilling celebration with close ones. Only to realize everything is not what it seems to be and ending in a horrifying bloodbath. Clarity came too late for some of these believer. Cult mass murder is not new across any civilization throughout history. From Vietnam ritual suicide of self-immolation in the east, to America Heaven’s Gate cult based belief suicide of the west. Twisted ideology mask as religion to eccentric beliefs in extraterrestrial life. A dangerous cult group traits can usually be dictatorial in nature, isolating themselves by disregarding opinions and ideas other than their own, discourage independent thinking and fear of being deny within their group; sadly the world can be in twisted order.
The Daily Post: Twisted
Sometimes I wonder if I’m as famous for my wheelchair and disabilities as I am for my discoveries. – Stephen Hawking
I walk through the door of a restaurant, and the first thing I would search for in any menu is the recommendation from the chef or special of the day, and obviously I would not even think of having the same meal again the very next day in that same restaurant. Famous is like flavor of the day. A publicity; or stunt to become famous can come and go like the season or wind. It is not suppose to be the goal, but a means to an end. The dedication to excel in something, in becoming a successful person is better than being famous. Public relation expert will tell you money can buy instant fame as an investment; it is no-brainer. Instant fake links and likes on social media is not surprising, but being real does these days. We, as human make mistake, and not faking perfection to be famous.
The Daily Post: Famous …
Everything that’s created comes out of silence. Your thoughts emerge from the nothingness of silence. Your words come out of this void. Your very essence emerged from emptiness. All creativity requires some stillness. – Wayne Dyer
Staring at nothingness.
Wondering what to write. Word after word forming sentences. Hoping it would eventually made sense of something worth telling. Everything is motionless; as though they were suspended in time. Numb fingers are floating above the keyboard. Both index fingers twitches occasionally, the dull mind awaken but stay speechless. Silence is golden.
Staring at nothingness.
I am here waiting for it to happen; anything. Nothing happen. Again and again; I try. Failure is when I quit trying. Every step forward is still progress. No matter the speed forward is forward. Flashes of endless memory. A deep breath in silence.
Staring at nothingness.
A face I so longing to remember, but it was never meant to be. Life is as it is; for better or worse. I don’t understand then, and never will. His mighty works on my one and only life; being here.
Staring at nothingness.