Tranquility

Immersed in my world of music. A haunting tune, a heart-gripping bassline and pacey drumbeats pound in my tired mind. Grey soot choking my breath, as the afternoon sun persists in its unforgiving affliction. A neverending stream of vehicles, large and small, flit past me on the road i am staring at, all a kind of warped boomboxes, heading towards a DESTINATION.
Unpleasent moments like this always make me squirm in displeasure and discomfort, makes me wish for some sort of revival. How I yearn for the soothing therapy of quiet and calm! Somewhere that is dark and silent with a constant gentle breeze that caresses and cure. And most important of all, someone to dwell in. Someone who is intertwined with the moment, brimming with dark passion. Salvation. Been in my little nook for far too long.

The Writer's Block

A cube, without a doubt. Nothing else. Nothing more stubbornly stable than an object radiating equality (L=B=H). At the moment, nothing seems fair. What is there to expect? After all, a cube is not a red, rolling, bouncing ball.
No bigger than my fingers, them who grip your pen during an exam or now, a hammer and a chisel, after an extensive rummage throgh my tool box. Trying my damndest to obliterate the eyesore. Hear that? That's the monotony of destruction. 'Thud...thud...thud', a mere 10 cm in height, it seems colossal at the moment... can't see over it.
'Goo, goo, ga!' Good lordy hordy! Where the hell did that come from? A chubby little hand grabbed the block, adding it to the now finished creation. Voila! A bridge! A brilliant display of engineering genius! Let's see what's on both sides (in case you have yet to figure out, a bridge joins two places, physical or otherwise). On one, grass grows greener than the greenest pastures. On the other, a withered lanscape of cracked ground, on which stands a bewildered-looking man holding a hammer and a chisel. Was he trying to destroy that bridge? What an absolute fool! Wait a minute, maybe he was just trying to repair it...
A grunt, an ancient hand lined with age reached for the block. He unsrews it. In goes the tip of the felt-tip pen. Continues to work on an equally ancient manuscript, with a little help from the flickering flame of the candle. The hand accidentally knocked the block over... nothing spilled out.

Damn Banner...

today i examine my blog and other than the stupid banner on top i like what i saw if u have any tips on getting rid of the cursed thing please tell me please dont tell me to switch to tblog i know they provide bannerless blogs but their login page is too psychedelically coloured to suggest that a bunch of faggoty do-da-daes created it

this is a computer generated document no signiture is required

signiture

Paradise Of Flesh (Excuse The Pun)

A bustling street. On that street crawls a crowded bus. On that bus the passengers jostle for space relentlessly. Time is stretched, it seems. Life is not transient. No, not now.

Threescore years and ten we exist. If it be the will of the Almighty, fourscore. Accumulation of years means accumulation of sorrows. Sorrow that lies in the glistening eyes of she who lost her begottenin a flash of blinding light. A flash that spoke of a million injustices. Life. Transience.

The aftermath of the tragedy was a nasty affair. Scavengers picking through the rubble, finding pieces of dubious value. Grieving ones at the periphery, not willing to advance any closer, as though the spirits of the lost had formed a barrier, protesting their innocence. Media hounds sniffing about, begging for inspiration to descend upon their muzzles, grant them a magnificent story. It cannot be a shocking revelation, for it now breeds contempt...

Proximity

Generate the scent
Of tangerine and rose
Graze my shoulder as you walk by close
When my heart missed its rhythm
Frantic disruption of my system

Twelve months elasped, since that fateful day
From my thoughts i banish you not
That i may dwell in the fantasies...

...I wrought...

...A wooden cage for myself
Splinters pierce my skin
My captors my flesh doth slain
Shaken, broken, bleeding thin

As i shiver in my little world
Memories i can't help but unfurl
And think of how close i was,
Yet so far, so far away
And the ghosts they haunt me,
It's in this prison i'll stay
That's where i'll find respite
From this Life
So full... of spite

Train Stations (The Last One)

The old, rickety train chugged along,
On miles upon miles of endless storms.
Through place it took me far,
Past virgin hills and broken trees.

Grind to a halt, this archaic system
Look out the window, people start
Boarding, people departing.
'Midway', read the ancient sign
Mr Fiddler wishing me goodbye.

Different faces i see each day,
Different places passed away.
Moving forward, never to look back,
Do ensure your luggage is packed.

Step off the train at the very end
Of my journies, my travels,
None that i planned.
Then i saw his radiant face
He advanced, caught me in embrace
'I've been waiting for you' He said
'Me too, yeah, me too' i'm dead.

Welcome Thee, Fellow Minions...

welcome to paradise take your pick from an exclusive range of local delights sure to tickle your tastebuds and leave you all warm and fuzzy inside companionship just got a whole lot sweeter...