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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
Lost LightsPeter Pan, with his hands cupped,
tempts the Moon Mother with his smile.
Shy stars peek past her skirts,
wondering why such a soft soul
holds heartache an ally.
"Look closer, children; he's here
to guide ghosts--lost lights--home."
*Powercut*Climbing stairs by candlelight
Darkness thick with mystery
Alert to danger, cold with fright
Curiosity this dark night.
Candle's flickering shadow
Dance macabre clearly seen
I'm not intrepid blood runs slow
Sinister spectre, malevolent glow.
Frozen moment on staircase
Imagination likes to tease
All is well powercut ended
Electric light - the stairs a breeze.
A Day OffOn a day of no responsibilities my conscience sleeps
allowing me to become a part of a movie,
fly through stories as I read,
time with loved ones who are so much more than friends
reverberates laughter sweeter than music
and lets me slip into myself, completely relaxed.
I lay, stretched, looking like a cat in its blissful state for relaxation
dozing and waking, dreams and daydreams blurring as I go in and out of sleep
Soft sound comfort me, and I sing along to the musics
Tunes from movies
mingles with parodies made by friends
all recited in a lazy perfection, as if I were seeing the words in front of me; reading.
No one watches my actions, or attempts to read
my thoughts so that I might never relax,
instead I surround myself with old friends:
warm pajamas, fuzzy socks, and a forever sleeping
doll. Our story rivaling those in movies
set to instrumental music.
Should I choose to make music
through flipping pages as I read,
or setting a soundtrack to the inevitable movie
that will follow
The Princess is DeadHer survival was hung on a thread
For her body was covered in red
The only taste she had of life
Was quickly ended with a knife
For, alas, the princess is dead
She lay in her eternal bed
As her deep wounds slowly bled
Death clasped her soul with malicious grace
As lifeblood taints her gorgeous face
For, alas, the princess is dead
The young girl was then led
To a place to escape her dread
She watches the spirits through sun and snow
Her home now Hakugyokurou
For, alas, the princess is dead
LimerickingMy Neighbour upstairs is upset,
He can't find a name for his pet.
"Tell me, what should it be?"
"Peanut, Lucky maybe?"
The Goldfish cares not, I would bet.
Judgement, Part 1until you breathe against your will
for long-lost hope, caught in a lie
by desperate screams for one last pill
to stop life warping, but your eyes
still see, and insomniac fear
(from blood-soaked wrists at two a.m.)
twists the world you once held dear
to shreds. Only you can see Them,
eyes mocking every crimson smile
you paint - but it's the only way
to hide yourself, just for a while
before they whisper: that girl's cra...
Valhalla Awaits(Valhöllr biðar)
Ek veg harðliga.
Ek tek brand ok veg vándr fjándmaðrinn.
En hær dey ek hræða eigi.
Ek ganga prúðr við Valhöll.
MistsPericles wandered around
Through the leaves of red
The ones that fell aground
The trees that were bare ahead
Cast strange shadows faintly
On his slowly walking form
He hungered so blatantly
Wanting so much more than norm
Eyes searching for real worlds
But his surroundings offered
Empty and thoughtless swirls
Blank songs the world authored
He felt a sudden entrance
The Spirit of another man
The two began to dance
As only two lovers can
Like two deer as they prance
Pericles closed his eyes
He fell down onto his knee
His heart let loose cries
World suddenly so free
"Open them" Spirit said
"See what this world can do"
Slowly Wolf lifted his head
Other creatures had come too
Great masses of animals
They felt the Spirit's chance
Each gathered for the great dance
And each eye full of wonder
A beautiful mist arose
Orange and sweet it did wander
Like the pretty water flows
Revealing them their founder
Swirling about their bodies
Lovely tendrils of smoke
Forgetting all their
'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
I Belong To You I hate rain. Not really, I love it. Just not when the most beautiful, perfect, wonderful, perfect, comfortable, waterproof, perfect coat in existence has been savagely butchered by my so-called friend’s Dalmatian. Every slap of rain on my naked arms is a stinging reminder of the irreparable hole in my wardrobe.
Some people might try to fill the void with lesser coats but I can’t bring myself to betray Valentino, even after her death. Instead my slippery arms grapple with each other in wet shock as I stumble to the op shop, clinging to one last thread of hope. I know in my deadened heart that I’ll never have another coat like her. Yet here I am, blundering through the elements in my vain search for the acceptance and warmth I found wrapped in Valentino’s woollen sleeves.
Thud. My body slams into the door, making the ‘open’ sign quiver and the bells tinkle in offense. I fight for entry, the door’s assault doubled by the stale funk of
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^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More