July’s end


Oh God, it’s July already?
I swear the time is going faster than I can perceive
Yet, at the same time, it feels like it should be December
I always feel like time is lying to me
Yet I seldom have conversations with the clock

If there were a pocket through
Would it reveal itself loud and unmissable?
Or as a quiet whisper?
Calling to star picked heroes chosen by cosmic fate
To take the journey through time’s creases
And its cracks
When they’ve clawed their way through
The jungle of words that make up the story
Perhaps they’ll be back before August begins
But they would have seen multiple seasons
And maybe it’ll beckon them for another adventure
Or maybe reveal itself to another cast of thrill seekers
Or maybe, just maybe they’ll bring back the gift to the rest of us
To propel the earth right around the sun once again
Dammit!
Why didn’t anyone tell me it’s July again?

Last notice


You know son…
I sometimes wished I never had you
Now don’t take it the wrong way
You are by far the best thing to ever happen to me
But I often question my motives
Growing up frequently haunted
By the pointlessness of this chaotic world
Afflicted by the frayed nature of the human condition
And in my desperate need to create meaning beyond myself
In a bid to possibly immortalise my essence
Albeit temporarily, my instincts pointed to you as a solution
In this moment I’m reminded of Nietzsche’s unsettling words
The best thing is never to have been born
The second best thing is to die soon
Though I understand where he came from
I have a few thoughts of my own
The best thing is to love
The second, to be loved
Ironic…
Well, son….
What’s done is done
I love you till the very end
But this is where I choose for this story to end
And it’s up to you to find your meaning in the pandemonium
It’s a beautiful life and it takes some agony to find the phenomenal
With love…
Your silly old man

Pushin’


I’ve heard you don’t sleep 

Your eyes as baggy as the nineties 

When are you going to rest? 

She raised her head and then she said 

.

When I’m rich, great or dead 

That’s when you’ll see me rest my head 

I don’t know if I’ll make it 

I’ll work this heart until I break it 

When I’m rich, great or dead 

That’s when you’ll see me on the bed