There's a haze on the horizon...

I don't know what you've been told,

but time is running out, 

no need to take it slow.

I'm stepping to you toe-to-toe

I should be scared, 

honey, maybe so,

but I ain't worried about it right now.

A broken stone age dawn...

Someone to share this heart with me...

It was quite interesting, actually. But he was no more a mind-reader then he is today. As it turns out, he was weeping for an altogether different reason. When he watched you bear your soul that day, he saw something else entirely. He saw a new world coming rapidly. Something he only dreamt of, but never thought would come to fruition. A world of so many possibilities, but also infinitely more harsh and cruel. He saw a little girl, her eyes tightly closed, holding to her breast the old kind world, one that she knew in her heart could not remain, and she was holding it and pleading, never to let her go. That is what he saw. It wasn't really you, what you were doing, he know that. But he saw you and it broke his heart. And he's never forgotten.

A deal with the universe...

The reason I have to see the ocean at least once a year, is because I am fascinated by its vastness, as if it is trying to teach me something, as if it is trying to remind me to remain calm whatever the situation may be. It takes up so much space and holds such a huge amount of water, with storm after storm, yet seems to remain content and at peace. It shows me how one can keep secrets safe within. It has an entire habitat residing in its heart, but we haven't been able to explore it fully, same way, I must keep my secrets tightly bound within me. If I will share them, the world will lose curiosity, and make it its mission to see me fail. That's why I will never stop loving the ocean. It gives me hope that I too might one day go above the tide.

Burning on both ends...

It breaks his heart. Better than his words, his eyes tell us all his peril. He is not yet free, far from it, and he still searches for freedom. His discovery has fatigued him and made him too wakeful. He longs for the open heights, his soul thirsts for the stars. But his bad instincts too thirst for freedom. His rabid dogs long for freedom; they bark for joy in their cellar when his spirit aspires to break open all prisons. To the world he is still a prisoner who imagines freedom: ah, such prisoners of the soul become clever, but also deceitful and base.

He will open his hands and feel the sweat on his palms and perhaps he will remember that he was born without lifelines on his hands, without fortune, agenda, or love: he was born, and he will start this journey with a smooth palm, because all he has to do is simply come into existence; after a few hours, that blank surface will be filled with signs, lines, portents. He will die with his dense lines worn out, but all he has to do is die for all trace of his destiny to disappear from his hands after a few hours. Chaos has no plural.

Looking for a new foundation...

Darkest spot in my mind...

You gotta get bruised

before you get mad.

You gotta fall down,

before you fight back.

Was feeling so weak,

but baby I'm strong.

Little did I know,

I'm a champion.

You're somebody else...

Just me in my dreams...

I wake up scared and I'm scared all day. Scared about the choices I made and how they will unfold. At one point I'm even scared of being scared. Scared of "losing it". Of everything I worked for falling from my grasp. Scared of being seen as the pretender I am and laughed at for the audacity of trying. Scared that I am not okay, not even a little bit, not even at all. Scared of what life is and if I am wasting mine. Scared that even the place I call home has no bottom to it and I will just keep falling under and under and under. Scared that it's all just one big lie I keep repeating to myself. And most of all, scared that all my dreams might actually come true. 

Rock and a hard place...

The moon is a loyal companion. It never leaves. It's always there, watching, steadfast, knowing us in our light and dark moments, changing forever just as we do. Every day it's a different version of itself. Sometimes weak and wan, sometimes strong and full of light. The moon understands what it means to be human. Uncertain. Alone. Cratered by imperfections. And I have become so absorbed in my flaws and faults that I have forgotten the path that I have been set on. To almost delusionally march towards a destiny of grandeur, where my faults will be beautiful in themselves, and all this circus of trying to hide them, will feel like child's play.

In this world, it's just us...

I spent my life folded between the pages and glued to the screen experiencing stories. In the absence of human relationships I formed bonds with illusionary characters. I lived love and loss through stories threaded in complete fabrications; I experienced adolescence by association, because my real voice was too quiet to be heard. My world is one interwoven web of fantasies, stringing limb to limb, bone to sinew, thoughts and images all together. I am a being comprised of dreams, a character created by false imagery, a figment of imagination formed through fiction.

Sometimes ... being an adult means mastering the art of timing. There is a time for silence. A time to let go and allow ourselves to hurl full throttle into our own destiny. And a time to prepare to pick up the pieces when it you find yourself in shambles. It is then that a part of you, a very tiny but nonetheless unignorable part of you, also feels relief. Because finally, the moment you have been expecting, been dreading, been preparing yourself for has come. Ah, you tell yourself, it's arrived. Here it is. And after that, you have nothing to fear again.

Something in the orange...

I've never been a fan of change,

but I'd follow you to any place,

if it's Hollywood or Bishopsgate.

I'm coming too

if you're feeling down,

I just wanna make you happier,

wish I was around.

I just want to make you happier...

Savour my glory...

Break my soul...

I do what I can even though it feels like way too little and not nearly enough and not anything really in the grand scheme of things, and I say a prayer of thanks, talking to whoever or whatever might be listening from high above. I try to give my best without really knowing or even believing that it might somehow come back to me in some sort of karmic revelation. Whatever I'll be doing in the next few months, I primarily want to be sending small pieces of myself out into the universe. The biggest and brightest ones my murky soul can muster. It's the least I can do, based on everything I have been given. I can't really tell you where I'm sending all these scattered parts, but I know that when, once upon a time, they unexpectedly came to me, it was exactly when I needed it. So wherever it may land, I hope it lands somewhere useful. Somewhere no one would ever even consider. 

Just awaken shaken once again...

The question, of course, could be asked: why did I ever begin in the first place? And more importantly, why do I continue to do it? I guess I tried it, because that's how I was brought up. How I saw the world around me being shaped. It was so innocent at first. Two brothers hiding away from the world, indulging in their imaginations. And then one day, I don't even remember when, I discovered myself being hooked. And it's such a pathetic addiction, and no one really talks about it. There's no clearly evident harm, it can even be celebrated. But what if there is no end in sight. What if you just need more of it, even when you find yourself being completely disgusted by what has occurred. No ... I can turn it off anytime I wanted to, right? Like I could fit a window frame into a brick wall. With a little brush, the size for fingernail polish, I glue it. The window is the size of a fingernail. The glue smells like hair spray. The smell tastes like oranges and gasoline.