Give it to my straight Doc, none of the sugar-coated nonsense
It’s not looking good sir, you’re going to want to sit for this
You’re becoming cynical
I’m afraid it’s terminal
We ran some tests to see how bad
And when we played you that song with the new dance fad
We noticed aggravations here, here and especially here in your facial areas
Not to mention muscle tension in your arms and shoulders
We might run a few more tests on some TV shows
Although we’re concerned a vein might explode
How long do I have doc? Just give me the damn news
Maybe 2 to 5 years before you become insufferable
So what should I expect?
It’s going to start at your bum and spread
Eventually, you’ll just be an asshole with a head
I don’t see any chance of recovery barring a miracle
But I’ll prescribe these to get you through
You could start on those things you’ve always wanted to do
Maybe try something new
Spend time with the ones you love
A few doses of daily hugs
Sir, you’ve become cynical
And I’m afraid it’s critical
She steps softly
From her battles, through the trials and tribulations
She hoped she would one day be more than the sum of her expectations
As the time unfolded itself in the form of a black carpet
Unrolling into blinding winding white lights
Unravelling, cascading into words unsaid
So she stepped her bare foot unto the dark velvet
It felt warmer with every step
So did the light, and so did her breath
Hoping to one day be more than the sum of her expectations
Hoping to be stronger than the weight of time’s revelations
She walked softly, into the winding white and blinding lights
She stepped softly so she could find delight and find respite
In the veil of time beyond her line of sight
Her name is Beauty
What does it mean to be truly beautiful?
Is it in the things we see? The things we hear?
Or just the things we experience
A moment that seems to freeze itself
A moment that captures itself
A moment whose very state challenges our state of being
A moment that forces us to redefine what it means to be alive
We live so many moments in a haze of subconscious actions
But when it strikes us, our souls are awoken from our monotonous slumber
As if to remind the soul that it is alive
And we hold our breath because we ourselves are frozen in time
Unshackled from the nagging pulse of clocks
And we willingly submit ourselves to the moment
That complex emotion of being free from time yet trapped in a moment
All wrapped into one question, what is beauty?
Is it the souls of painters spilling into drops of smeared mathematics?
Delivered to our optical nerves by the wonders of quantum mechanics
Or the collective consciousness of an orchestra radiating a fragrance of vibrations through the room
Arriving to knock at our eardrums and we respond with an mmmmm
Or the explosions on our taste buds when we have a bite of that “I must have more”
Oh the flavours, oh the temperature, oh the texture
Is it something we humans choose to observe and quantify?
Or was beauty inherently made to be observed and quantified
Can’t be captured, can’t be defined, devoid of time
Like a dream
An experience that even the gods dare not discriminate against
A force to be reckoned with
Sometimes I wonder whether she even existed before the invention of senses
Was the universe dancing away its beautiful soul to an empty auditorium?
Or maybe practising, practising behind closed doors
Tirelessly, dedicatedly, passionately waiting for an audience
And
Indeed every day she puts on a great show
A magnificent choreography of breathtaking performances
A round of applause for the universe,
Everything there is
Everything there was
Everything there ever will be
Beauty!
The book of love
I think the book of love Peter Gabriel spoke of is an area of the brain, a collection of neural pathways. The same place music comes from, and appreciation of flowers, sunsets and rainbows and such. The source of stories and poems, of legends and gods, the part that keeps us in awe. A book, lost in the endless library of the neocortex.
The book of love is written in us
In tiny sparks and drops of blood
The book of love is encoded in us
Down to the beat, down to the pulse
He said
The book of love is long and boring
No one can lift the damn thing
It’s full of charts and facts and figures
And instructions for dancing
Its evolution is probably vast and mundane and made up of confusing dreams that haunted cavemen. The book of love, a closed book with cryptic words. The book you read with your eyes closed, heart on your sleeve, palms to your chest and your face to the breeze. It has sent many a man to bliss and many to their graves, in search of wonder, in search of the sublime. It’s sent us on quests to abandoned castles to slay dragons and save maidens. To the edge of active volcanoes, to the ends of the universe. The book of love, a tiny boat on a vast lake sailing to a horizon full of stars. A mirror in a jungle of chaos showing us who we are, our place in this play, placating us, distracting us from the truth of our scenes and acts, the plot might be beyond us, but not the facts.
The book of love, the one you can’t deny
The book of love, the log that sails the Nile
The book of love is spoken in our dreams
The book that’s written from our deeds
The book about giving more than you get
About the triumphs and regrets
About the agony of desire
A book with billions of authors
As he said,
The book of love is long and boring
And written very long ago
It’s full of flowers and heart-shaped boxes
And things we’re all too young to know
Time Stream
Even after all the years spent in this reality
I still don’t fully get the concept of time
Like deja vus and birthday blues
Coincidences and weird time loops
And how things can change in the span of a few decades
One minute you’re an adorable child playing
Next minute you’re being told to get your life together and pay taxes
Lol
Though some people seem to slip right in
Flex their fins and swim upstream
While some drown in the shallow end
Taking gulps of time without consent
Wondering where the daylight went
But every ecosystem needs diversity
Some salmon, some tadpoles, some alligators, some algae
Some creatures brave the rapids
Others circling, catching rays in the calms of the stream
But time keeps flowing, passing through their gills
Scraping scales and shedding skins
Fisherman
I often wish I was the man in that Lynyrd Skynyrd song
A simple man, a ship riding its sails in the ocean
Maybe it’ll all come together a bit easier
Then I’d have fewer conflicts with my mother
To plant my feet into a steady career
To find a lovely lady, marry her
A full house and a family car
Wouldn’t that be sweet? Oh, wouldn’t that be grand?
To be a simple man, an earnest man
A picture-perfect nuclear man
A man whose soul is rooted in land
Wouldn’t that be sweet? Oh, wouldn’t that be grand
For my sails to puff their chests towards shore
Undistracted by the other side of the horizon
We are who we are, by fact or denial
Happiness elusive like an eel in the Nile
But with patience and persistence, we cast our lines
We listen and we learn through the ripples in time
When I can feed my soul I would row to land
Wouldn’t that be sweet? Oh, wouldn’t that be grand
Maybe it’ll take some time, maybe it’s who I am
Maybe I’ll enjoy the ride, maybe I’ll find a plan
To be a simple man, an earnest man
Wouldn’t that be sweet? Oh, wouldn’t that be grand?
Tomb carver
I once heard a story about a stone carver
From a faraway desert land
One morning he felt a cold gust in the market
Then a thud, a scream and from a body, a soul left
He caught a glimpse of a shadow whizzing past his ear
“Oi! Who goes there!” he said
“Why it is me, death” said the silhouette
“strange… I’m supposed to be seeing you at noon”
Shocked by the words, he gathered some tools
Then ran into the mountains and didn’t hesitate
He found a rock at the mouth of a cave
He worked tirelessly, chipping away at the rock
Until he had a circular stone to seal the cave
Where he hid away from death for many years to come
One day
When his bones were feeble and his breath was slight
When he felt like he was finally ready to die
He rolled the stone over and emerged from the dark
He looked up at the moonless starry sky that burnt his eyes
In the middle of the blinding light was a fluttering silhouette
He said to death “I defeated you but I know I can’t run forever”
“Oh did you? In my books, I paid my debt to you “
“but I know I got away from you”
“who do you think was feeding on those minutes you refused to chew?”
Who do you think wandered to your loved ones to carry the bowl of tears
“I guess unlike most, you get to choose your second death”
“But, but… I defeated you, I lived past noon”
He said with a solemn tone
Did you? Did you live? Or did you just carve your own tomb?
Ridiculous thoughts #2: Atoms and Coffee
Soooo am I just a bunch of atoms that came together and decided…
“Yep! We’re doing a series of existential crises and coffee, lots and lots of coffee”?
Ridiculous thoughts #1: Skipped songs diaries
There are still songs in my playlists that made it there because I heard the first 20 seconds and decided I liked them, by the end of the songs though, they came up short. Now they’re part of my life forever because I can’t bring myself to admit I was wrong… Or maybe I listen to those first 20 seconds every once a while to remind me of a simpler time, a naive special moment.
Stages of turning 30 – Acceptance
At 29
For a moment there
It felt like a sentencing, the noose was tightening
They raised the guillotine, blades were sharpening
The guns were loading and eyes are opening
Storm is clearing now, life doesn’t get better, no
You just get better at it
You’ve spent so much time trying to accept this skin
It’s too late to be anyone else or any other thing
Look around you, see how far you’ve come
Do you really want to be all those things you dreamt of 21?
Do you still?
Because I suspect you despise that guy
When those Facebook memories pop up
How many have you kept to yourself?
How many make you ashamed of who you were?
Look at you
You’re kinder with your words
Gentler with your heart
More generous with your light
You’re human, and you just arrived
New to the chaos, an infant to this universe
Reality can often be disappointing
Like truth, like mirrors
Like magic, like love
But we shy not from beauty
We fear not the truth
Yes you are going to be 30
And yes you’ll still be you
Just with a three instead of a two
And maybe a grey hair or two
Give yourself a chance to be happy
To be loved, to be saved
There are no happy endings
Only better beginnings
At 30
So…
Do you now know who you are so far?
Take a deep breath, and then another
You’ve got this, you’ve got this far
This is going to be the best decade of your life so far
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