Let me keep you company...

Sometimes I feel proud of myself, not because of any success I've achieved, but because I'm aware of all the difficulties that I had suffered. I am an eyewitness to all the fear, weakness, frustration, failure, depression, refraction and bad luck that I've been through alone and which have affected me significantly, in ways I can never explain, but never able to beat me for so long. This is why I'm proud, and that's why you should be proud as well. Because we're here now stronger than yesterday. We're able to stand and continue on our way, still following our stupid dreams, still trying our very best for our lives to amount to something - anything at all.

Before I let go...

We wanderers, ever seeking the lonelier way - begin no day where we have ended another day; and no sunrise finds us where sunset left us. Even while the earth sleeps we travel. We are the seeds of the tenacious plant, and it is in our ripeness and our fullness of heart that we are given to the wind and are scattered. Because initially, we travel to lose ourselves; and we travel, next to find ourselves. We travel to open our hearts and eyes and learn more about the world than our everyday surroundings can accommodate. We travel to bring what little we can, in our ignorance and knowledge, to those parts of the globe whose riches are differently dispersed. And we travel, in essence, to become young fools again; to slow time down and get taken in, and fall in love once more.

Beaten and bathed in blood...

You need to calm down...

You just need to take several seats,

and then try to restore the peace,

and control your urges to scream 

about all the people you hate,

because shade never made anybody less gay.

Sticks and stones will never break my bones...

There is no escape for him now. Everything is over. He had his run. He lived in a house of cards all his life and now it's all coming back to punish him, and there is no escape. For morality is the monologue of the unexcited and the unexcitable, the revenge of the unsuccessful, the punishment of those who tried and failed, or who never had the courage to try at all.

When everyone was busy playing their cards, guessing others hands and counting chips, I took a deck and a bottle and a corner table. At the end of that dreamy night, rattles stopped, the bottle emptied, everyone gone. But there on my table was this beautiful house erected of cards, stories, hopes and secrets. Something I built quite unknowingly. I looked at the night sky with starry eyes and whispered: can we keep it? Even though there was no answer, I somehow knew the answer was no.  It was then that I made a pledge that I shall come back tomorrow and make a new one everyday. And so I did. Every day. Until my last day.

Sunshine on the street at the parade...

There's no reason we should hide...

In life we don't always get what we want; hopes and dreams get washed away so easily, hearts are broken, chances are missed, and we always seem to end up right back where we started. The only thing keeping us afloat in such circumstance is grace - the celebration of life, relentlessly hounding all the non-celebrants in the world. It is a floating, cosmic bash shouting its way through the streets of the universe, flinging the sweetness of its cessations to every window, pounding at every door in a hilarity beyond all liking and happening, until the prodigals come out at last and dance, and those above finally take their fingers out of their ears.

I don't play, I slay...

A liar and a thief...

We might not be able to know what reality is about, but we can be aware of the explicitness of facts. To get a better grip on the intricate nature of the truth and its ambiguity, we have to scrutinize facts and find out about their codes. Yet, we can’t ignore that reality is a very intriguing place, since facts may be construed, receive variant contexts and create alternate outcomes, which, in turn, might spark new realities, over again. But how it hurts to dream of these things, to promise, to think when you have absolutely nothing in hand. When the future is looming only by its ambiguity leaving you distressed, afraid of your destiny. Where to go and how to know. That suspense is serving its mystery. Let it be not his misery, he already has that anxiety void of any tranquility.

Surrender myself, surrender my soul...

I came on my own,

I drove my way home.

Rode on the drive by,

like nothing tonight.

I'm still in my zone,

I am my own clone,

and the clock starts ticking.

You know the love is hiding 

if you find it 

wear it, ride it.

Now I follow light...

Generally, by the time you understand real love, most of your hair has been blown off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are loved you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand.

It's risky, falling in love. He should know, for he has been in love before. It's like a narcotic. At first it brings the euphoria of complete surrender. The next day, you want more. You're not addicted yet, but you like the sensation, and you think you can still control things. You think about the person you love for two minutes, and forget them for three hours. But then you get used to that person, and you begin to be completely dependent on them. Now you think about him for three hours and forget him for two minutes. If he's not there, you feel like an addict who can't get a fix. And just as addicts steal and humiliate themselves to get what they need, you're willing to do anything for love. "What a horrible way to put it," he thought to himself.

The clock starts ticking...

And here I am sitting again, yes, sitting again by this faithful lamp, feeling indescribably serene and unhurried. I shall travel this day's path quite calmly and just take a little trip in my mind that leads me who knows where - my eyes and head are slightly overstressed and overstrained. One must have the patience to do a little less. Because sooner or later I will realize that the very things I most desperately need are the very things I am unable to give myself. Therefore, I will either be left despising the fact that I am doomed to live out a life that is perpetually empty, or I will realize that an empty tomb is the single thing that will eternally fill me.

Let the river take control...

Flip it and reverse it...

I trip and cross the line...

A few years, and just like that,

my head still takes me back.

Thought it was done, but I

guess it's never really over.

Oh, I was such a mess,

but wasn’t it the best?

Thought it was done, but I

guess it’s never really over.

It's never really over...

The boy is walking through the street of his town. He is thinking of the future and of the figure he will cut in the world. Ambitions and regrets awake within him. Suddenly something happens; he stops under a tree and waits for a voice calling his name. Ghosts of old things creep into his consciousness; they whisper a message concerning the limitations of life. From being quite sure of himself and his future he becomes not at all sure. If he is an imaginative boy a door is torn open and for the first time he looks out upon the world, seeing, as though they marched in procession before him, the countless figures of men who before his time have come out of nothingness into the world, lived their lives and again disappeared into nothingness.