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DevelopmentI write this in light of the recent celebration of my 25 years that I have lived on this earth. It is a reflection that has certainly been made more poignant because of this important landmark, I think.
With each passing day in my life I have come to realise the nature of my development as an individual. I mean to say that I have come to comprehend that the person I am now is not—and I can say this with certitude—the person I was 10 years ago, and it will likely not be the person I will be 10 years from now. Moreover, I now understand that within the past 10 or so years it has been the case that I have progressed through particular discernible phases or stages—epochs has a nice ring to it—of development. They have been multiple and varied, some having occurred concurrently with others and some that are still ongoing.
Details of these epochs would require a separate posting altogether, one for each in fact, but to give just two examples: The first, nebulously put
BoxesQuiet conversations alone are nurtured
in this, the smallest of rooms;
a six-sided cell
sealed tight by the clamouring voices of
those of the outside world,
aliens to her own World.
Ten years of outgrowing and
when the realisation eventually
like a sledgehammer
to a house of discolouring glass,
that she has always held the room
in the palm of her ever strengthening hand.
And that just
—whatever, but of her own—
leading to a
The box, the room—
a womb to escape.
M.M. — 26-May-2013
In the StateFear was the best oppression. A perfect violence simply because it was an implied violence. It crept and skulked throughout the cities and in the remote villages like a mist that came out abruptly from the deeps of the impenetrable forest. It kept close to all like an inseparable companion, draped over the shoulders of hunched men and hushed women. Its tell-tale signs impressed on the children more and more as they grew older, they unfortunate enough to not know a world without the fear. It hung everywhere. In the streets, in the shops, in the dance halls, in the temples. It was a life form of its own. And perhaps it had become untameable, even by those who thought that the rope was theirs to wield. How could this be living? How could this be life?
But a passion still glowed in the eyes of Simon Daschink. He was a single man, a quiet man—a dangerous man. Or so all the men without names and sombre suits believed. Condemned for being just who he was, for loving another man. An abom
The ArtistI feared there was no stopping it once it had begun to set in me. The first incision split open my mind like an orchid entering its bloom. Everything suddenly became so clear, suddenly became so...real. I scarcely even knew what to call it, all that was happening to me: An epiphany, a revelation, inspiration—love? An electro-firestorm had let itself loose upon every one of the mindscapes in my head, and it ravaged everything it came across. But there was nothing I could have done about it. Not that I wanted to, anyway. I put forward no protestations and presented no opposition. The only thing I did was pick up my brush, prepare my paints and approach the blank canvas. If this was some craft of Madness's making then I wholly and willingly tendered my sanity and my mind to it. And then I began to paint.
M.M. — 06-May-2013
'Starting again'Starting again is one of the hardest things you could do,
To have to let go and forgo the certainty of what you've known;
When it seems to you that an entire life you've lived is through
And another needs to be built and once more made your own.
I cannot count the times I've lived a life, loved a time, and knew
It would eventually end, only for the process to revert to the beginning.
This is the theme of my song, the motif, the chorus, the tone.
M.M. — 30-Jan-2013
Emilia's EyesWhat I saw in Emilia's eyes,
glazed over in a translucent film of tears—:
The walls inside had finally toppled over,
on top of her
She was drowning, struggling
in the bottomless sea
under a grey storm that drowned the sky
Behind those eyes her story
and was hers to suffer
Everything else she did or said,
the way she tried to hold herself
could not hide the truth in her eyes
There was nothing beautiful in her exacting pain,
M.M. — 26-Dec-2012 | Amendment 22-Jan-2013
'She came onto me'She came onto
me like the onset
of winter, gradual
until I was caught
and my heart
was lost in her.
She set into me
and a claim was laid, silently,
my control from me. The best
of me was now for her,
ever to be; the sentence mine to incur,
willingly or otherwise.
M.M. — 14-Jan-2013
Threnody[Ex Tempore XXXV]
It is a hollow world we live in,
a hundred million cries reverberate
and shudder the mirrored walls of the city.
Death is no reverent thing here;
it is cold, heartless and rapacious.
It takes from us, with silent hands,
all the light in our lives,
and leaves us cracked and crumbled
and spiteful of the ostentatious motions of life.
Love is the most impossible of pursuits:
the chase enervating,
the loss end-closed.
And what life and love we may have...
the line we walk is precariously taut.
M.M. Ianuarius MMXIII
The PirateStealing is a simple task
once you’ve done it once or twice.
I am the pirate that steals no gold.
I don’t steal jewels, or food, or any material thing.
No, what I steal is young women’s hearts.
I take them, keep them, and soon, toss them away.
They fall to my every need
and are used as pretty little dolls.
They fall for my charms and good looks.
My smooth voice.
My sweet words.
They can’t see that I’m the dreaded pirate they’ve heard of.
Soon, their hearts are mine to play with.
Their bodies are mine to enjoy.
But I get bored easily
and I leave them like that.
Hm? What’s that?
Another pretty lass?
Big eyes, awkward posture, screaming innocence.
Oh! I’ve found my next toy!
That pretty lady blushes and says no,
but I keep pursuing.
Not taken, pure, and very gullible.
My kind of girl!
This girl, it seems, is different.
She took longer than the rest to get
and had boundaries that I can’t break down.
But I’m a pirate, and nothing w
Return When I Am EmptyDistraught though I may be
And all the darkness of my worry
Come back to me, when there is nothing else in my heart
I catalogue our conversations
And in a series of contemplations
Come back to me, with bottomless passion in your eyes
The night terrors rack my sleep
And make me held apart so weep
Come back to me, and stop the gap between our embrace
The linen is a sallow shade
As sun beams glow and moon dreams fade
Come back to me, to blanched world brighten again
Nourished off the ash I intake
As gravestone ground into my daily wake
Come back to me, refill my plate with honey lips
My hand is on your place
As languid days would pass in haze
Come back to me, and make my fingers warm in holding
My pillow I wet with feeble words
In attempt to console the clinging burrs
Come back to me, and cover these plants of self-destruction
Into a weakness I fall head first
In failure watch the teardrops burst
Come back to me, clearing the cumulus that took your face
Soon I shall misfile a mental fact
Regarding That Night Two Years AgoHe shut the door without a final glance.
Her tears flooded the ocean, releasing
The misery with the “status quo” trance.
Their hearts both felt a tight, painful squeezing.
The moon, full and bright, halted its orbit.
He sat alone, hidden inside the dark
Shell he calls home, and stared at her portrait,
Drawn on their night at some amusement park.
He wished to live again the memories
They shared together, when time flew away
And commitment was handled with such ease.
He understood his life was hers every day
And wondered how she’d cope with emptiness.
No matter, she’s now found true happiness.
404I tend to work under a layer
Of symbolism and metaphor
Which might seem esoteric –
Unreachable to the uninitiated.
If this is the case with you, talk to me
For a minute – or maybe more –
And you’ll find that the arcane references
Are but a fragile mask
Hiding a void –
Signifying nothing –
Except for the one I thought might see –
Might have me pegged without having to ask
With this one I thought there was a prayer
To get out from under this shell
Of sideways glances and glancing blows
Beyond to something more that might tell
Something about myself and the way I am.
With her it was always simple things –
Nothing grand and nothing great –
But something real nonetheless.
With him it was always bless and be blessed
Seeking nothing but the will of fate
To lead his life down a path of purest offerings.
With me it was always a matter of that which is seen
And that which is not, but is like the backdrop of a dream –
Felt, but not real
Als ein Schatten an der Wand
Sich mit Ruß und Träumen paarte -
Über schwacher Glut verharrte
Von ‚Vielleicht‘ zum ‚Ist‘ gespannt -
Schälte sich aus dieser Szene
Eine schlangendünne Sehne.
Jene Sehne zog Verstand,
Aus den halb versäumten Träumen -
Aus den alten, kalten Räumen
In der sie sich wiederfand,
Zog es sie hinaus ins weite,
Wo es weiße Wunder schneite.
Kaum berührte sie das Weiß,
Spürte sie mit einem Male,
Kälte bricht die zarte Schale
Ihrer Haut wie dünnes Eis.
Durch die eisig wunde Blöße,
Wuchs sie zur zehnfachen Größe.
Nur im Innern blieb sie klein,
Und sie suchte wachsend Wärme
Länder ohne Flockenschwärme,
Oder einen heißen Stein
Auf den sie sich schlängeln könnte…
Der ihr eine Zuflucht gönnte.
Als es Nacht geworden war,
Sah sie über tausend Sonnen,
Die der Schuppenschmied gesponnen
Remarks on October Festivities‘Twas the day before Halloween, when all through the school,
Not a student was present, not a seat was full.
The pumpkins and skeletons were taped to the walls with care
In preparation for the children that would soon be there.
The buses pulled up and the parking spots filled.
Students in costume straggled through the autumn chill.
And Sister with her pumpkin spice coffee, and I with my scarf
Had just stepped out of our car to see a classmate’s hair looking like candy corn barf.
I looked at my sister and she looked at me,
Her eyes gleaming with a festive glee.
“It’s the transfer student,” was all she could master.
I nodded. “Yes, his hair’s a disaster.”
The orange dye bled into the yellow—
Well, blonde—it didn’t look right on such a pale fellow.
And what with my wandering eyes did I see,
But the transfer student coming towards me.
He grinned and waved, dressed mostly in black,
While I took a surreptitious step back.
Becky's LessonBecky is a little girl,
She has everything she could ever want in the world.
That turned her into a hateful brat,
Even worse than Grumpy Cat.
One day she turned five,
She was now old enough to go to school with the other kids.
There she learned what life was about.
There she was laughed at every time she would pout.
She started to say school was no fun,
Even that it was dumb,
But then she made friends that helped teach her a valuable life lesson;
One that she would cherish even as an adolescent.
The Tale of Mr. Dark's FateOnce, a feared enemy of Rayman
And now a forgotten foe of the Past
So now the question does stand
Where did he go after defeat
Where to hide in a world so vast?
With a name such as 'Dark'
What did you really expect?
He was known for leaving his mark
Not showing remorse or paying his debts
Where to find solitude, safety at last
From the hero he had run from so fast
Time went on, and one being interfered
Though not without humor, Dark's wish they adhered
Now this rouge of the shadows had a new home
Not one of sweets but one from which he needn't roam
His company, though not silent, was loyal and not quite so cold
Though now he had lost his cloak and mysterious guise
He still had his defiant, brilliantly yellow eyes
Here in the darkness, a villain starts a new, peaceful life
For many years, there was happiness
That is, until a certain hero came again to fight
And was met once again with a mirrored face
Where once had been Mr. Dark
The form, at least, of Dark Rayman had taken his place
Truth hurts/Secrets KillE:I saw her looking around nervously,
As if she had a secret to hide.
She walks slowly towards I familiar looking guy.
My heart shutters realizing she’s lied.
S:I told him I’m hanging out at my aunt's place.
E:The pain was unbearable recognizing my best friend’s face.
S:I told him to come over Saturday. I’ll end the secrets there.
E:Nothing I do can help me prepare.
I can’t imagine her telling me she doesn’t care.
S:I feel sneaking around his back isn’t fair.
E: Walking through the halls I hear people whisper, and I know what they’re saying.
I know they know about the sick game she’s been playing.
S:Word’s getting around school fast.
I hope he doesn’t hear until Saturday’s past.
E:The day is finally here.
On my way I’ll down some beer.
S:His friend and I planned so hard for his birthday party.
He knew being here was important to me.
Hours pass by.
I can’t help but cry.
The phone starts to ring and I fee
'A goddess once came to me' [Incomplete][Ex Tempore XXXIV]
A goddess once came to me
Slipping in like sin,
Dreary in a lithesome dream.
Telling me of what had been,
And worse: what was to be,
I plummeted from my pedestal
As a newly prescient king.
My reign was subject to fall
And I, a subject to whims
Of Fate, fickle and mercurial.
M.M. Ianuarius MMXIII
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