The stallion flees the stable...

Life is what we make it to be; maybe it belongs to other people or it can be our special one. The difference is that the first we sit and watch and basically we know the ending but the second is defined by us and requires lots of work and effort to define the way we want to live by. It is a journey with no end in sight, no distance measured behind, just going. It is a faith similar to the faith in the universe but this one is just faith in yourself and your capability to define a path with a vision of the future that you really can not see but rather feel. A religion, where you are god, and the goal is genesis. 

Nobody else makes me feel like...

It's not for me to tell...

Have you ever had a dream that you were certain was real, only to wake up and realize that everyone and everything in the dream was really you? I was told that's actually how our reality works, as a dream in which we think we are individuals, but eventually, like in all dreams, we will wake up. Except in this dream we do not wake up to realize we are still in the world, we awake from the world to realize that we are the universe.

He sits to be heard. To speak without being judged. To listen and rekindle the ancient art of listening with an open heart. To spill tears and laughter, and to see truth. To have parts of himself revealed. To speak words spoken that shoot into the heart like a lightning strike. To be pulled into the expansive river of consciousness that he didn't know existed. To experience a oneness with himself and the universe that feels like floating along on gentle rapids. He yearns to have his cynical mind opened by a shooting star's approving appearance, or to watch the clouds pass over the face of the moon and be flushed with the deep sense of belonging.

To all the pain and suffering...

A field full of fireflies...

If I had it my way, 

I would blink and we'd disappear.

Somewhere, somehow,

watching the stars come out.

We'd have a record on,

dance a little by the fire placе,

thеn we'd just lay.

If I had it my way.

I guess I'm not better alone...

He knew that there are many ways for a heart to break. Sometimes it's from the crowding of life, the compression of responsibility, and burdens that squeezed you until you couldn't breathe anymore. Even though your lungs were working just fine. And sometimes it's from the casual cruelty of a fate that took you far from where you had thought you would end up. And sometimes it's age in the face of youth. But sometimes it's just because you're looking into the eyes of your lover and your gratitude for having them in your life overflows. Because you showed them what was on the inside and they didn't run scared or turn away, they accepted you and loved you and held you in the midst of your passion or your fear. Or your combination of both.

Live my day as if there was no past...

He closed his eyes and began to weave a story. He abandoned the familiar threads he'd played so many times before and went in search of something new, no longer wanting a journey fed on pain or guilt. He needed one that could replace those wounds with strength, with resolve, with confidence. He needed a tale that could heal and build anew. The words warbled and fell, haphazard, chaotic, settling without flight. His forehead creased, yet he persisted. He let his fingers wander on their own, reached out with his mind. He chased the fleeting story he'd glimpsed once before. In his dreams he'd felt a hint of it: something wild, untamable, a thing sprung whole and flawless from the instant of creation.

A gate, a hedge, the same low hill...

Engraved on my mind...

Sever all ties. The words in his mouth like ash. It was not the coldness of the words that horrified him, their utter opposition to anything human, but rather his own affinity for them, the way he was drawn to this vision of solitude with a feeling almost of nostalgia. He had the kind of loneliness that battles everything, that makes a person strange forever.

They say in extreme moments time will slow, returning to its unmoving core, and standing there, it seemed as if everything stopped. Within the stillness, I felt the old, irrepressible ache to know what my point in the world might be. I felt the longing more solemnly than anything I'd ever felt, even more than my old innate loneliness. What came to me was a flicker of a dream of the lost boy who somehow still remembered how to conjure it. And how he carries that dream from place to place, like a sad, decaying hope.

As I get older I get more afraid...

Been finding it hard to be kind,

since I've been lost out there, 

losing my mind.

Only one knew my name,

nothing left but the autumn rain.

Drag me around,

let me drown.

I'm a crack in the pavement...

They keep moving the line...

Nekoč, 

morda, 

nekje, 

nekdo.

I stare at the stars and wonder if they are the same ones I swore upon so long ago. And even though there are so many and they look so close together, I know they are light years apart. The glitter in the sky looks as if I could scoop it all up in my hands and let the stars swirl and touch one another, but they are so distant, so very far apart, that they cannot feel the warmth of each other, even though they are made of burning. This is the secret of the stars, I tell myself. In the end, we are alone. No matter how close you seem, no one else can touch you.

Don't want to draw the line...

It struck me, sharp and hard, that I had been given so many chances to save my soul that my entire life had been constructed around these chances. That was my nature, going from temptation to temptation, not to sin, but to be redeemed. Now I no longer live in the beginning, I have lost it forever. Now I find myself is in the middle, knowing neither the end nor the beginning, and yet knowing that I am in the middle, coming from the beginning and going towards the end. I see that life is determined by these two facets, of which I know only that I don't not know them at all.

A sun killer lullaby...

Hold me like the pebbles in your hand...

No one is strong enough to withstand seeing too much of the universe's plan in advance. It must be revealed daily. And we must be led to it and through it slowly. There isn't any timing that seems like the right timing to be shattered into dust. There isn't any plan life could present where I would willingly agree to be broken into unglueable pieces. I just wouldn't, and what a tragedy that would be. My controlling things would prevent the dust required to make the new me I so desperately desire. Adversity breeds advancement. And I am ready to ascend. 

All amber lights and warning bells...

I'm just staring at the ceiling,

can't describe this feeling.

I've got in my head,

I'm out of body in my bed.

And I'm just searching up my symptoms,

desperate to fix them.

I'll do anything,

because lately I've been spiraling,

I'm not feeling like myself and

nothing ever seems to help.

Call me mister know it all...

His life was at a teetering point, and he was about to fall off the edge of a cliff. He was spiraling down a black pit, and there was nothing that was going to stop him. Once you're falling through the air, it's impossible to turn yourself around. The gravity of my actions was pulling him down, down, down. He saw black until sanity began to creep from the confines of his mind, leaving little more than a skeleton-like remnant of who he once was. Not inanimate but inactive, still alive but very much aloof, he started to passively float through the steps of life, numb.

As seemed to be the theme of my days recently, I was questioning my reality, questioning my dreams, questioning my mind, questioning what was real, what was imagined, and then questioning why. I was feeling displaced, like an outsider, as though I were simply doing a pale impersonation of myself. And not even a good impersonation either, with steps too long, breaths too quick, smile too wide, blinks too slow. Get a hold of yourself, idiot. So I searched the room, searched my world, interrogating the shadows, prodding the corners, acknowledging the spaces, seeking for something to ground myself. Anything at all.

Well I hope you do...

You will hear thunder and remember him, And think: he wanted storms. The rim of the sky will be the colour of hard crimson. And his heart will be on fire. Despite what it may seem, Time does indeed exist here, in small amounts. Feint forces of the universe they were, nearly indiscernible from the nothingness. A wind of change is blowing at him from behind and he needs to push forward with iron determination and a mental clarity hereto before unknown to him. Something in the microcosm that didn't even have a name went bling and against all the laws of probability, he is starting to open his eyes.

You're the only place I need...

I've seen it all too many times...

Riding on the wind...

When days are long, 

I drift away,

I play that song,

I used to play.

When skies are always summertime blue,

just like that, 

I'm back to loving life again.

Put me in the slammer...

These feelings aren't going away. They are linger. Hovering. They are with me always. These emotions are my roommates now, bunking up beside me at night. They are determined to ruin me, and yet I can never fully evict them from my brain. Most days now, they lie dormant in me. Sometimes it gets so quiet in my brain I think they've finally packed up and left. But then, suddenly, I start raging over the smallest of things. At first I'm perplexed, and then I remember: it's here again. I am still quite a bit mad.

Drop another hammer...

First: breakdown, impossible to sleep, impossible to stay awake, impossible to endure life, or, more exactly, the course of life. The clocks are not in unison; the inner one runs crazily on at a devilish or demoniac or in any case inhuman pace, the outer one limps along at its usual speed. What else can happen but that the two worlds split apart?

Everything turns in circles and spirals with the cosmic heart until infinity. Everything has a vibration that spirals inward or outward, and everything turns together in the same direction at the same time. This vibration keeps going: it becomes born and expands or closes and destructs, only to repeat the cycle again in the opposite current. Like a lotus, it opens or closes, dies and is born again. Such is also the story of the sun and moon, of him and his life. Nothing truly dies.

The moment or the night...

It was literally true: I was going through life asleep. I was both a body on the verge of sleep and a mind determined to stay awake. My body had no more feeling than a drowned corpse. My very existence, my life in the world, seemed like a hallucination. A strong wind would make me think that my body was about to be blown to the end of the earth, to some land I had never seen or heard of, where my mind and body would separate forever. Hold tight, I would tell myself, but there was nothing for me to hold on to.

Hold me it’s just another dream...

So I guess that it's true...

Rein me in...

In the cold,

to warm me up again

the weather's coming in.

Breathing out,

a force to breathe back in,

the panic's setting in.

Let me out,

so I can get back in,

I'm freaking out again.

When days are long, I drift away...

He wonders if there is something wrong with him; that he can get so much from so little. All his joy comes from not doing much of anything at all. And especially nothing that involves other people. How he came to be like this, is uncertain. He must be very selfish, he thought, for he sets nothing and no-one right; all he wants is to be left in peace to make what he can of this problem called life for himself and his family. Is such a life sustainable? The only constant so far has been that people have left, for he knows he isn't really someone that brightens your day. And he has never really had a problem with that at all. 

If I stop, it's just pain...

It is warm, he is alive, he is calm and sad, he hardly knows why. In this existence so even, so tranquil, and so gentle as he has here, he falls into melancholies of honey and roses. It seems to him that all those friends he loves forget him.

The unreality of the past weeks lifted like a fog, but its residue remained. All of the past is like that, but most especially the parts that are out of the ordinary. I step back further, until I feel cold tiles against my back. It is then I get the glimmer that I associate with memory. As my mind tries to settle on it, it flutters away, like ashes caught in a breeze, and I realize that in my life there is a then, a before, though before what I cannot say, and there is a now, and there is nothing between the two but a long, silent emptiness that has led me here, to me and him, in this home.

The one who always runs...

Leave it all in my head...

In that moment, I felt the canvas of my life lift away from my head, walls flying off me, and a pressure I've never put into words hisses somewhere at the back of my mind as the size of the universe assembles itself in my mind. If I close my eyes, I can see it, the endlessness beyond my ears, and knowing I'm only in a corner of that vastness doesn't make me feel tiny. It is amazing that, though I am small and so insignificant, even I can appreciate the scale of life. And from this perch in my mind, for this moment at least, it seems unimportant whether I will go somewhere, anywhere, when it's all over.

Tell me who's to blame...

All of my favorite stories,

end in some kind of catastrophe,

but I don't need someone to save me,

because this thing that is not a blog and I will never die.

It's such a fucked situation,

petal in the pavement,

just as long as he keeps getting it right,

heartbreak won't bite,

here in paradise.

I hear her in the silence...

Tomorrow is coming faster than expected, as if the future were never somewhere else, but all along part of the fabric of my every present, merely untwining itself again and again into a new distinction that could never truly be new. So I start now to move on not forgetting, but taking the memories with me in my heart and in ink. It's the only way I can somehow hold onto them. Or at least slow down enough every other day to remind myself that I am still here. Somehow the leaf has fallen and it's time for a new one to grow before I let my life live me to death.

Endless pictures of a life that isn't mine...

Each wave that rolls onto the shore has to release back to the ocean. I am the same. Each wave of action I take must release back to the peace within me. I get the most stressed when I resist this natural process. If anything is evident, is that I need a break. Denying it, isn't doing me any good. I need to let myself go and settle with the notion that sometimes, the best thing to do, is absolutely nothing.

He is not a victim of circumstance, situation, nor any external condition of life. He is an active participant in the creation of his reality. He is actively participating in the creation of what he thinks, what he feels, what he spends his time on, who he spends his time with, what he consumes mentally and physically, and all the blessings and contrastive experiences that come his way. Every effect has a cause and every cause has an effect, all of which include him because it is his life to live, his life to use, and his life to throw away.

Loving you like that...

I'm sure you've heard it all before...

Put me in the sky...

Heartbeat, slow and low,

moving like a shadow flow.

Every step, every breath,

pulls me deeper in your chest.

We don't need a reason why,

no tomorrow, just tonight.

If we fall, let it be,

you're the only place I need.

I feel like the last one left...

A piece of writing comes to life, when I can feel it, when it talks to me and starts raising questions. It may dispel biased perceptions; make me recognize ignored fragments and remember forsaken episodes of my life story. And it may sometimes even be nasty and disturbing, especially when I don't want to consent to its philosophy or concept, but it might, in the end, perhaps reconcile us with ourselves. So after twenty-some pieces later of woven tapestry of words, we cradle our hands together, holding a hefty bronze key the size of his palm. There are cracks all over from how it's puzzled together, but it's in the proper shape of a key, and most of all, even if it was once broken, it looks whole again.

This fate of mine...

I knew I was broken too. I was scared and anxious and sad lots of the time, and I didn't know why. Sometimes we really aren't supposed to be the way we are. It's not good for us. And people don't like it. I've got to change. I've got to try harder and do deep breathing and maybe one day learn tricks so I can pretend to be more like other people. But maybe she was right all along, and all those other people were broken too in their own ways. Maybe we all spent too much time pretending we weren't.

Hit the wall...

He is not ruin, no lighting-struck tree: he is green and vigorous. Plants will grow about his roots, whether he asks them or not, because they take delight in his bountiful shadow; and as they grow they will lean towards him, and wind round him, because his strength offers them so safe a prop.

I'm not sure about all the particulars that led to this moment. Do I believe life is a series of dots to be connected, or that no one can outrun destiny, or that all roads lead to truth and coincidence is a lie to distract us? The reason I was in this place no longer mattered. The harsh reality stared me in the face and demanded an immediate decision. Walk away and blame it on fate. Or stay and try to find a way out of the mess I find myself in. Who am I kidding? A mess I intentionally created. 

My home for tonight...

Know I'm not blind...

Of course, in the stories I read and would want to write about, people's hearts break, and they die, and that is the end of it; and in a story this is very convenient. But in real life we do not die when all that makes life bright dies to us. There is a most busy and important round of eating, drinking, dressing, walking, visiting, buying, selling, talking, reading, and all that makes up what is commonly called living, yet to be gone through. And that is by far the absolute worst thing about this journey; that it goes on, even when every fiber of my being would want it to hold still, just for a moment.

Too little, too late...

I've got nothing on,

but my hands are tied.

So save your breath, 

you'll need it dear,

it’s cold out on that limb, I hear.

Isn't it funny how much you see,

when you stop moving fast?

Slowly getting better...

When days are long, I drift away...

I'm trying to catch a new rhythm. A peace of mind that will prepare me for both grandeur and failure. More so the win, failure I've gotten quite accustomed to. I've wondered a lot recently, if I'll ever reach the top of the mountain again, or if I'm destined to trail the summit and then turn back just as the peak comes into view. I wouldn't mind, the journey is still quite beautiful, and I find a bit solace, that I am not alone. Perhaps this is the natural realisation of every life. How one is human, inherently weak and unimportant. I've got some strength left, so I'll keep walking for a bit longer. What I'm trying to say is that I wouldn't mind turning around. I wouldn't mind at all. 

There go all my high hopes...

I feel like I'm in the dark...

Nobody thought it could be done, so nobody had tried before. Standing with one foot in the abyss and the other with a foothold in his dreams, he stood on the edge of a cliff. He took one look behind and with one last deep breath, he leapt with reckless certainty and decisive confidence. Blurring through the sky, for a moment he looked like he would fade into darkness, but in the very last moment when everyone else had given up on him, from his back spread wings. With a leap of faith, he learned to fly.

Have you ever thought; while looking all this time for the magic in the world, it's been inside you all along? For me, it seems that no matter how far I travelled, how wide I spread my wings and learn to fly, the only real comfort I was ever able to find was within me. It's been very hard to accept though. The notion that I am self sufficient, and what that means for my friendships, relationship and family. If I don't need anyone, why have someone at all? If the treasure is inside me, why keep on searching for it in places I know it could never be?

Let me free your mind...

Let me ease your pain,

there's a feeling that I can't erase,

I promise you, I won't give up,

tell me that you feel the same.

You are the place I go to hide,

every day, every night,

love is, love is kind.

Like a train off the track...

When skies are always summertime blue...

It's quite the irony that the writer is unable to finish what is essentially just a longer layout of words. It's a special kind of hell knowing that you are capable of doing something, but unable to navigate the labyrinth of your own mind. Unable to direct your thoughts to put pen onto paper and just fucking finish what you started. That's why I'm not so secretly hoping to simply be derailed by something out of control. That way I can cling to the notion of being denied, instead of throwing in the towel. Not sure it makes a difference though, the ending is the same. Once again, the boy who wanted to fly, realizes that in fact, he does not have wings.

Anything he was...

Fires burn up canyons...

In my daydreams and fantasises I become timeless. I can stretch one breath to the infinite, nestle deep into that single heartbeat, and create something wondrously impossible. I can shape countless new worlds and live each of those imaginary lives to their fullest. As many lives as I want, and in any direction. But I don't know at what point that breath, that heartbeat, will reclaim me and transform everything I've built into forgotten dust. Not even a full memory, only a ghost of a dream, replaced by the incessant light demanding that my body adheres to a reality it so desperately wants to escape from.

Wash my worries away...

Say you want the moon,

watch me learn to fly.

Ain't no mountain you could point to,

I wouldn't climb.

It's crazy, but it's true,

there's nothing I won't do,

I'd risk it all for you.

I can't need this anymore...

I think I need to empty my mind, and relax each other muscle group until I feel like I'm going to melt into the floor. Then I just have to let it all go. All the expectations, all the unneeded worry, all the things other people want for me but I don't want myself.

It's getting quite hard to understand what exactly is wrong with me. And very much impossible to articulate it. I can hear myself saying words that make sense in my head, but I keep hitting a wall with people that are supposed to get me the most. How many more times and in how many more ways can I say that I've had enough? That I need a break. Even if it's filled with delusion, I just want a moment of peace. But I think I'm slowly starting to realize, as we get older, that is a luxury none of us are really awarded. It's just a constant barrage of life happening all at once. Time folds into itself, and unhealed bruises bleed out into the future. 

Go where you don't belong...

He speaks of the power of trying, because he has fallen and struggled to stand. He speaks of generosity because he battles selfishness. He speaks of joy because he has known sorrow. He speaks of faith because he almost lost his, and know what it is to be broken, in need of redemption. He speaks of thanks because he is grateful for the totality of this life. Not just the easy parts. And it seems it won't be getting easier. Not at all. Not one bit. 

And so it spins...

A spark in the dark...

I have a hunch the future is darker than I could ever imagine and there is less reason for hope than I am able to see. It makes me grateful there is only so much I can see, and I am left mostly with questions. Grateful, also, that hope is not a reasonable thing. Though I have seen my share of darkness, I am spared perceiving much of it. And here is why I hope beyond a reasonable doubt: I think that as the darkness grows, it makes the dim lights that are left seem brighter. And the darker it gets, the brighter the light appears, until it is so luminous, eventually, even falling shadows are filled with it.