One step to the right...

My goal for this year is to begin depriving death of its great advantage over me. To adopt a way clean and contrary to the common one. I want death to loose the hold it has on me. I want to deprive it of its strangeness, to frequent it, to get used to it; to have nothing more often in mind than death. Because here's the thing; I am so ill prepared for it that it might ruin me, when it manifests itself. And while I don't know where death awaits me: I must wait for it everywhere. Think of infinite scenarios how it might come knocking, to practice it so much, it becomes my freedom. To learn how to die, and unlearn how to be its slave.

I know I’ve got enough...

I think ... I'm going to be okay. All the no's, don'ts, shouldn't haves, the what ifs, what abouts, the complaints and the noise I make to soften the voices in my head ... all that doesn't change the fact that my manifestations seem to be coming to fruition. At least one way or another. Usually not quite how I fantasised about, but there wouldn't really be any fun if I were able to predict all the outcomes. I'm getting quite old. I know that soon the time will come when I'll have to let go of quite a few of my dreams. But I think that these beautiful things that I've got, will help me through it. They'll help me find my faith, and live a little while, until I die.

I've lost my mind, I'm feeling insane...

Life is plenty pointless, I've found. We're all put here on this plane of existence, such a minuscule thing, really. This tiny consciousness, in the midst of an ever-larger universe. Put here for reasons unbeknownst to us, reasons that may not even exist. And, above all that, we try so hard to discover things, to try to create the greatest new thing, to learn everything, to find answers. But those answers are pointless. Because one day, this world will end. And whatever mark we may have thought we left, will vanish, like it was never even there.

So picture this; a wave. In the ocean. You can see it, measure it, its height, the way the sunlight refracts when it passes through. And it's there. And you can see it, you know what it is. It's a wave. And then it crashes in the shore and it's gone. But the water is still there. The wave was just a different way for the water to be, for a little while. You realise then and there that the wave is one conception of death: it returns to the ocean, where it came from and where it's supposed to be. The good place.

I'd rather be lonely...

I'm going to miss the dance...

There's no going back,

my presence fades to black,

my anxiety attacks,

rim tim tagi tigi

dim tim tagi digi.

Throw your keys up...

Leaning on old memories...

If you think this has a happy ending,

you haven't been paying attention.

It takes so little, so infinitely little, for me to find myself on the other side of the border, where everything - love, convictions, faith, history - no longer has meaning. The whole mystery of my life resides on the fact that it is spent in the immediate proximity of, and even in direct contact with, that border, that it is separated from it not by great distances but by barely an inch. So I take in a few deep breaths, walking forward on this never ending limbo. Never daring to look down, for I have always been afraid of heights. And the fall ... would be too much to bear. 

Red blood, white snow...

It was one of the nights which do not come often in a lifetime, and which I am quite certain I will never forget. The darkness seems full of meaning; the hush, full of sound. The universe is beyond, evidently pulling all the strings, making sure the threads of fate spin exactly as it was foretold. In the meantime, I shall wait. Holding the sunrise in my right hand, holding the sun of my earthly hopes as well; will it dawn in sorrow or in joy? I dare not ask; I can only wait.

Boy, just come along...

These beautiful things that I have...

For a while there, it was rough,

but lately, I've been doing better,

than the last four cold winters.

And I see my family every month,

I found a boy my parents love,

and I think I might have it all.

Shadows dancing down the hall...

I'm here, I said, and it felt shockingly comforting, those words. When I'm in an utter state of panic, I say them aloud to myself. I'm here. Because I don't usually feel that I am. Almost seems like a warm gust of wind could exhale my way and I'd be gone forever, not even a sliver of fingernail left behind. On some days, I find this thought calming; on others it chills me.

He is here. And he comes to you, and he does not speak, and the others do not notice him, and he takes your hand, and you ready yourself to die, eyes open, aware that this is all an illusion, a last aroma cast up by the chemical stew that is your brain, which will soon cease to function, and there will be nothing, and you are ready, ready to die well, ready to die like a man, like a human, for despite all else you have loved, you have loved your father and your mother and your brother and your lover, and you have loved everyone in your fantasises, you have loved beyond yourself, and so you have courage, and you have dignity, and you have calmness in the face of terror, so that he may confront the end. Confront it a little less afraid.

For awhile there, it was rough...

You make a mess of me...

Najdi me, rani me, brani me. 

Dvigni me, pusti me, ljubi me.

But before he could react in any meaningful way, exhaustion had swept over him like a cold gray wave. An exhaustion he had never felt before, or even imagined, deep as a knife wound. His fingertip grip on alertness had slipped, tumbling him into the darkness of his own mind, where time swayed and lurched like a ship in a storm, and she could hardly tell whether he was awake or asleep. He knew that this was a deciding moment. One that would define all of his future steps. If only he'll have the energy to take them.

Burn this goddamn house down...

My whole self is laid out before me like hacked flecks of bloody spittle on a white page, forming shapes I misinterpret as my being. I'm like a monkey looking into a mirror for the first time. I'm shocked and enthralled with my image. I pull at my distended lips and twist my face in caricature. I hiss and bark like an idiot, then weep with grief. But I am the mirror. If you look closely you'll note the mirror is empty. Nothing is here in this place, least of all you. I'll cut everything away until eventually I'm reduced to a single sensation, a soundless scream in a muffled void. My scream connotes nothing - not pain, not joy, not loss, not fear, not love, just the raw fact of my existence, eating itself forever.

It’s been a while but I’m finding my faith...

Better not steal the moves...

If you think you're getting away, 

I will prove you wrong.

I'll take you all the way, 

boy, just come along.

Hear me when I say: hey!