a whole lot of nothing, and a fistful of anything

swings and roundabouts.

i discovered something new, something fresh. My opinion has been changed, the world has revolved around me.

I think I know less and less about what is going on, and though i suspect schemers, it turns out that this is all you can expect from the 'other' gender.

- - -

Two men walked along the road to Certainty. They alternately talked and said nothing. The weather was pleasant. They came upon a sign post containing two signs pointing opposite directions: one in the directing in which they headed; one the opposite direction.

The sign pointing in the direction they headed was marked 'Truth'
The sign pointing in the opposite direction was also marked 'Truth'

They sat for a while contemplating this enigma.

"But if truth lies in both directions, why should we be engaged in walking towards 'Certainty'"
"Because if 'Certainty' lies in the direction we travel, surely we must be leaving 'uncertainty'"
"But both directions lead to truth. Why should we be focused on what we are certain of?"
"Wouldn't you rather be sure?"
"Doesn't being sure spoil the excitement of the unknown?"

- - -

Pawn to K5

- - -

Wouldn't you rather a nice game of chess?

- - -

The gentle whistling of the kettle pulled him out of a dream like state.
What had she meant. Was this really the start of something? or just another mind game.
Mind games were a paradox, in some ways exciting. But frustrating when you remembered that you would never have any idea what was going on until someone sat you down and explained it all too you.

- - -

I think I just always assume that 'that is the way things are'. I hardly ever stop and think, maybe it shouldn't be this way. Perhaps this is all horribly wrong.

Yes. Yes it is. I have fallen and I can't get up, but at least the pain is manageable.

- - -

The pit is deep, but as I gaze skyward I know I can see the light. a slight pinprick which ever invades my sense of the depths to which I have plummetted. or perhaps not, perhaps I was always here, and all that changes is my pre-occupation with the light. sometimes I sit and watch it, bathing in it, feeling it grow, feeling myself grow and change, other times I have turned away. gently sobbing or comforting the screaming voices in my head. Some yelling one thing, some yelling another. All this screaming. But as soon as i turn back to the light, it dissipates. why is this? what magical properties does the light have.? why do i insist on turning away when sometimes I have just reached a point of true serenity.

- - -

Open hand, grasp at dagger. Yank. extract dagger. blood spurts out covering my hand and the latter portion of my chest. I feel a slight sinking feeling. Crumble to the floor. I look at my hand, covered in blood. My blood. I've never seen my blood before: at least not like this. There is a returning sense of my nakedness, exposed for the world to see. For they have demanded it. The price of rising to the top is always exposure "you spurt out red and turn so yellow, and then you make me kill my own" the truth comes out like so many litres of blood.
It is soothing though. Like all of the unspoken words and ignored tensions. It frees you like nothing else. Free to think, to feel, to breathe, to bleed. For it turns out that whilst I am naked, I am unashamed. Nothing can touch me now. Nothing more can be taken away. An irreducible minimum. All I am left with is me.
Get up damn you, get up. I rise gently placing my weight a little on my sword before shifting it gracefully onto my aching legs. A new day appears to be dawning. A step: gingerly at first. A few more. I walk forward with my sword. Look down at the wound; at the blood. It is still flowing, but it has mixed with water. As I continue walking there is less blood pouring out and more water. finally there is a steady trickle of clear water. Look up, stride, stride. Look left others are rising. Not all of them, but enough... enough. Forward, press on to the goal. There He stands. Like a mighty warrior surveying the damage he has wraught forth.
But a strange thing happens. As I walk forwards and point my sword, he seems to get smaller. Perhaps it is only perception. I stop just in front of him. I glare at him. His nostrils spurt forth whisps of clouds. Others fall in behind me. We raise our swords in unison, and plunge them down deep into the earth.
A silence follows.

suddenly a noise. a screeching noise. Look up. He is screaming. clutching at his chest. His chest. Something is coming out. There is a roar in the distance, getting louder. Like a thunderstorm approaching the coast. Louder until even the high-pitched screech is not enough to compete with it. Louder. Louder. We rise, and as we rise we feel the shock. Look down massive shockwave. everything is flattened, all is laid to waste. But we are held tight. We are raised up.

- - -

Everything must change
theres a mirror showing me the ugly truth
these limbs they ache with holy fire
but i've got nothing to give
just a life to live...

- Delirious?

- - -

nothing is seen, for all good things are hidden until their appointed time.

dare you to blog... like today never happened...

so many thoughts rushing past and blinding..thrilling...

a light turns on in my head, followed by others. like ***** I suddenly see what i have been blinded to.

the truth frustrates me a little, due to its relative nature. It looks one way from this side, and on the other completely different.

I feel like a new born, kicking and screaming...

cause you've seen too much, too young... soulless is...


If i look deep enough and dark enough do i simply find a broken jar? or do i find little blue gel crystals forming and coating, filling the gaps and making more of me than i could ever be. These industrius nanobots, constructed someplace else do find fit to reconstruct and deconstruct me.

they've found pieces i didn't remember, pieces from long ago. Like sand crystals washed from continent to continent. Also there is a distant roar.

you don't know when the end is, but its coming fast...
a roar like an ocean, but also like a lion. Now we hear only the premonition; the image of things to come. But soon we will know and we will know in completeness. For this is merely the beginning

I can't let them win

cold. echo. selective or remote.
incapacitated.
solitude or sanctity
silence or noise.

blinding light

sometimes i think about a drill in my head. the warm melting me away.
boring a deep hole into the depths of my imagination and rescuing me from this symphony of destruction.

i feel a warmth on my hands, rising and flowing...

its like a river, a river of sadness, but also of glory. Not a glory of my own, but a gift.

and you, you touch my life...

wash me in blood and let me be...

take all of me, my desires that keep burning deep inside...

there's not a part of me that belongs here... i dont belong here...
there's not a part of me thats settled with the way I am.
I still dig deeper and want more and cherish time spent in deep pools of consciousness.

sometimes a note speaks more than words. sometimes i feel like my only friend...
but i can't sleep...

Truth is a manipulation that i can't afford to follow. for the rules he makes and the rules he breaks assuming i can swallow, for i have tripped a thousand miles just to see your touch
and i should not lose hope again until i've seen as much.

that is... assuming theres someone there...

is there anybody out there?

...my wheels in constant motion...

for if i should live a hundred years to feel this way again
there should at least be someone else to accept this sense of blame.
for enough of silent snuff has left its mark of shame
and i should be content to be as much as I can be.

the cat likes my beard.

such a tender moment. sitting silently, gazing at you. i look into your eyes.
and watch, wait, i'm still expecting you to attack, but instead there is imitation. constructs..

is there anybody in there?

i don't know what i see, but i know that i want to see, want to know... want to...

theres a story about a boy chasing a girl who follows her to the cliff face and jumps after you, for if only he could grab her before her death it would be enough.

sorry, thats not me.

but it could be someone else.

could it be you.

where are you?

what do you make of this?

what happened when you look back, and just watch.
do you like what you see or are you frightened,..,., why?

what could scare you. what could frighten you so much.
where is your limit and can i take you there.

theres sometime poetic and redemptive about having a gun pointed at your head.
it shows you where you are in the world, and how much you care and about whom.

I remember sitting there, hands rubbing against the tightly bound rope, around my wrists were already raw, flesh stinging in the muggy air. my mouth had been closed, temporarily. Even so i had nothing to say, for people must do what they must do, and I can simply sit there and gaze into their eyes.

***** held the gun at me, and let it slide across my face. the cold sharp sensation of wet steel carving a memory into my cheek. then it move up to my forehead and stayed there, daring me to move, daring me to move.....

then they did sometime quite unexpected. The gun was pulled away, it feel sharply to their side as if the power had vanished from their limbs. It then clanged heavily to the ground. My captor's strength fading until finally they fell too; a righteous thump as they lay there staring back at me whispering ' i am nothing '.

the cords which had bound me so tightly loosened themselves and draped over the chair. I arose and looked for the exit, running and running.... running and running.







































Then i stop and turn to see myself, lying there, blood oozing and pouring from quarters of my temple. I return to my body and pick it up, pulling it too myself and gently rubbing its shoulder whispering... 'be the one to carry you, when you can walk no further...'






ode to the truth that lies deep inside and yet above on high.