Post colonialism

as you may have already guessed, most of my titles are just for ornamental purposes. Decoration to the mundane blog post. which i am typing right now. Problems Problems. not worth ranting about them so i shall go on,  my class is starting a LAMY revolution. I am not trying to promote a product but rather complain about it. These people are clamming up my space. My uniqueness is well spoilt and all thanks to my class. Oh oh !!! and Saint andrews beat ACS I 17 to 10 which is a 

7-up of them. Apart from the useless blabbering that seems to make sense I have decided that i shall write a poem, well about sex. Sigh yes yes it has already been done like a billion times but please don't criticize me just enjoy. ok ok ? just enjoy my deliberation on the sex idea. (it just popped into my head) honest! 

here goes -- 

The sense of release 

movement, a catch of breath, heavenly 

like a handkerchief, the white 

stained with the red red. 

achoo, tuberculosis 

fearful disease. cough out the gravel from within 

Flutter like a wind 

dresses, the street lit with a hundred lights 

angelic, halos above the heads 

the dinner, a michigan man.

The food arrives 

platters close and open 

the dead laid on the table. Queasy, 

the silence is tenuous. 

we mumble our way through. 

The signals 

blow away the inhibitions, swans.

the Beast swayed by the Belle 

the music a samba beat, pluck pluck. 

A violent dance 

the two, muskets, the duel 

power struggle betwixt 

the Gothic empire. Towers in high 

Pierce sky, moon looks down showering on us 

stars fall out of the sky, they are her eyes 

transfixed on the joint.

The man used as a toy,

Slave to the witch 

bubble brew the cauldron 

the arsenic, the acid creeps 

eats the heart. Burns 

Flesh body carnal sin. 

Accursed,dying every time, everyday

Lilith kissing eating the sin

the incest, disillusioned, the lustful screeches. 

Devilish, the imbalanced two. 

one ruling the other 

nail in the tree, the dart pierce, the slamming 

moment pervade the shell. Feeling of pain 

pain pain, Passion.

The bed a big bang 

As the birds dance, each giving to each other

blood, plush, the pink the red, 

lips ears breast body 

thighs and 

Feet, kissing the healer, the teacher. 

Teasing, ecstasy, drug lord bring to the gate of heaven.

and you pierce up, up! the blood pouring from the side 

white and red the blended mess.

drip flow drip 

my wound stitch it up 

ooze ooze the pus on my fingers eat into her body

the scarlet flesh of her, and her voice, the jazzy rhythm.

The red, pink skin 

the illustrious artist paint nude 

her towering over me 

the scent 

blood 

vampiric and a monk 

blood, the holy grail, the man which i devour. 

flood, fill and reach. 

Oh! god god god ! 

------------------------------------------

there really is'nt much that i can say .  

FORMLESS, TO BE EVEYTHING AND NOTHING !!!!!!

My heart is burning and aching. The anger within me burning consuming my soul. Taking ALLLL ALLLL my body down with it. The Madness in my soul, Tormenting tormenting tormenting !!! I am Irrational and Insane. The daemon eating, killing me inside. I refuse to fall, REFUSE To subject myself. My muse, the drunk driver taking me away my mind soul body ALL into the pits. Hellish fury. Volcanic, eruption TO BECOME SYLVIA PLATH. TO BECOME TO BECOME DEMENTED, burry me under the covers of the coffin. Let them ship me away, to olympus. Not to Hades, where I am. Love is Hellish. Love is demented. Love is no more than the feeling in my head that causes the Enemy to take over. Love love love .... the gates of HELL !!!! 

Empty 

Narcotic desires 

The voices in my head are dizzy 

with the sounds of echoes.

Culminating into fleshless beasts 

zombies with no desire 

only to 

kill kill kill.

Hard rock 

the granite rock I cannot etch 

the blood boil over 

over into maddening desire 

I cannot work 

cannot, weather 

words all create 

Red sky in the night 

Pour Rain 

rain to wash away Bring me away with you 

into the Sewers where I belong 

In the depths of hell. 

Mulsh My brain full of nonsense 

the pain and suffering the tongues of hell 

burn me from inside.

Creatures birth from my soul

Daemons 

Pregnant woman feeding them 

devour them into a complex desire

breast feeding the shards of glass.

I break from convention 

Refuse to accept and run into ruin 

the place of new beginning 

to enter, bacon eggs ham 

The early morning nutrition 

is not required 

rather them the judges stand 

firm. The jury mocks 

and rings out: 

Guilty Guilty 

murderous fiend. 

Love is the cause, it is the cause it is the cause ! 

November the time of desire 

kill me now and take me away into the wintery furnace 

the wicked wicked pain that I will change to Passion 

the suicide note left behind.

Hanging hanging in mid air 

refusing to return 

the balloons in my hair

pulling me up. Like gas 

leaking into the neighbours floor 

melt their house 

tear it down 

and I no more. pain and sorrow Hate 

is all i can muster 

Wrapped under the red cloth 

they bong out my name

and ring the church bells 

offerings laid at my feet.

Like a god 

unable to manipulate desires 

irrational thought 

mess of mind 

NO MORE OF I.

serpents round my legs coil 

suffocate my soul 

formed in red 

painted stake in the demons heart. 

give it up 

there is no chance of more any more 

lacking lacking in the capacity 

loathe me 

I will cry a thousand tears 

till my eyes are worn out and 

my face melted 

like the wax dripping off. 

Silence plays the noise of sulfurous

vapors eating into my flesh 

breathing it all in 

and the narcotic smell 

heroin to me 

the drug that keeps me 

alive in the cool dew of morning. The ash of the eruption mask my misshapen mess

forming a mould.

And you come 

yes the witch, cold and yet so steady 

poking and prodding this ash, this grotesque monster.

eating it, licking it 

the coal on your tongue 

muddy and coarse 

coating the hurt 

repress the gate. cover all like pompeii 

Floods covet the land and sucks it in 

the waters wash over 

tides reside and blood makes the man rise 

the liquid veins filled with salt. 

heavy hands,cannot type the misunderstood words 

salvage the jew, the black, the gypsy

and it comes

it runs 

After, avoiding and beaming 

in the mad 

mad leafy morn. and i stand 

on the stool. 

praying my last breath 

will be swift and cool 

the pain turned to passion 

the cutting takes me only one last waft of air.

and i spin 

spin in the dizzy room 

blank walls 

blood all about, the surgical house 

wars and tors and hill and mountain 

peaks in my blood 

and I am floating 

floating 

my eyes dried out

my tongue dry, the palate a black mess 

and the stool 

rests on the floor, the bed the bed the covers pull them over the child.

love hear me

i no longer speak, whisper 

mesh and wires entangled 

a bear entrapped 

only desire 

the rebirth of deathly hearings 

my guilty name 

a sentence forever made. Halt and let me fly into 

the fury 

the pain and looping torture 

take take take my desire take loaf 

eat me from within 

this writhering soul 

curled up 

a cacoon hear me 

Lover the red 

scarlet scared kiss. soft and tender biting and poisonous 

and i flounder and 

it reaches my 

middle and kills kills kills 

no antidote 

take flakes of snow 

the tender soul 

flow away... river styx 

Confessional or not ? hmmmm

to be or not to be ... that is the question.

Confessional ? Anyway I have been receiving my new inspiration from the French world. However Sylvia Plath has greater and greater influence on my own life. I see more and more similarities nearly everyday... which sort of creeps me out but also give me great pleasure. hmmm duality - a clear Plath trait. Along with the face that she did not want to reside in a single form but in many formless and substance less state - stasis. So I must go and read other books, Anne Sexton, Robert Lowell and all the others. Currently i have given up on Ulysses for now. I have proceeded on to read Freud's interpretation of dreams. It is fantastic. So Reader, I pray you will not judge me but just enjoy my poetry for what it is and not compare it against other poems. so here goes.

Oh and one last thing : A poet's occupation is not to form words which rhyme, or sound beautiful. It is all about capturing the emotion at that moment. Poets do not depend on the words, we depend on the speed of capturing that emotion into stanzas. 

Ok now here goes :

Stupid man who is an idealist 

disillusioned by his own words.

Questions being asked, 

incapacity to reply. 

To stare is to cause trouble 

trouble is no matter to him 

Abused and stricken by the silence and 

static actions.

Disturbed both mind and heart 

inability to function. Paint me 

floating above, magpie, refusing to be grounded.

Logic, just a thorn in the flesh.

Test, tomorrow, 

Procrastinate and refuse to perform, the circus of balancing acts.

maladuous self induced 

anesthetic, ease. Narcotics freeze my senses.   

Love is a passionate thing 

only given to a few.

a chimera, changing and turning turning into 

a serpent. The demon turned inside out. 

the car must still move on 

the engine left along the road. 

the barren dessert 

with one blooming flower, naked in the sand. Teasing. 

Heat burns and cleanses me 

the operation on my skin, my sin.

sears the numbers I.O.I.I.T.4. 

the mirage. 

it cuts, stings, the chloroform  

wearing off. 

The gods standing around this 

baby, born. Screaming and shrieking. 

The Leaves are no subject to this 

only us man. 

The groveling creation of the lord.

Purity, a Rubbish love. 

Fine line between love and 

obsession. Dogma Dogma. 

let no man draw in the sand, nothing concrete

formless shapeless all contained, in a box. 

There the lovers 

the two sitting and swaying. Nothing 

Action speaks louder than words 

bending and their voices, a mix. echo echo in the deep

mindless. hands clasp 

the fan spinning over them dizzy.

Breathless, pain 

and I breathe again. 

Poetry, A torture 

a deception. 

corrupt practices that kill my miracle. 

Attached to the shadow, 

the nigger I control 

insoluble, feasting on me. 

Solemn, as the pope serves the communion wine 

spilt everywhere. Clumsy

dreams fill my head

the floating, fleeting moments of amnesia 

empty empty 

darkness. 

I cannot reign sovereign 

the machines overtake me. 

I am run over, I rise but am compressed 

the glass ceiling above me. 

look but cannot touch 

hear her voice 

as the gas begins to fill 

and starts to kill kill 

kill. 

_____________________________________________________________

Notre Dame de Paris ... searching the skies !

The coloured stained glass... the gothic architecture and the mysterie the mighty mysterie of Le Cathedrale Notre Dame de Paris. And it has currently been my current inspiration of writing and the beauty of the architecture is manifique ! 

so here is a clip from Notre Dame de Paris le Musical. 

And now carrying on. I have been thinking too much and nuff said. Here is a poem. 

Clouds 

Linking Heaven and Earth 

the bubbles rise up ward 

like the clouds of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. 

Man made clouds 

the pursuit of reaching God. 

Climb the ladder 

and find the nothingness at the end. 

The cirrus clouds 

spirits floating above from heaven 

they see hell 

the hell we suffer below. A

Party is being held. 

My mind encapsulates it all 

fixed in abstraction 

I destroy all Creation. 

Damn Gaia ! Damn Demeter, Damn it all. 

Fire and Brimstone I call 

upon this sodom and gomorra! 

God has abdicated. 

 

And I take control. Destroy it all. Rebuild it from the beginning again !

In my beginning, 

In my anger, I made separate the heavens earth 

call the sun the luna, throwing into empty space the violent stars 

black seas conjured up 

sky, the mist covering this rock rises from the demon grass. 

lecherous blossoms plague the land, as beasts and monsters roam the land.

And now, now I take the clay and mould 

pressing and on the wheel 

I make 

man. A formidable opponent. Let him 

Fail, the woman cutting into his rib, 

split his mind. 

The demon in the angel

white

gruel is what i feed on 

the sparrows eat better than I. 

Recreate Recreate ! 

The priest with his mindless chants, in the lost tongue 

and I, the pope, see all, 

instructor of my minions.

But who comes pass the gate

who make the prayer

that haunting voice 

the candles flicker at her entrance.  

The great warrior 

waits waits outside the mighty gate 

waiting patient and 

I, a prisoner in my heaven. 

And she brings my paradise 

to hell. 

________________________________________________________

Right that was one rant... carrying on, my second poem on moi lolita ( yes it is very seldom that i write 2 poems in one day) 

Ghost

Missing from consciousness

I have not seen 

not followed, the gypsy that has bewitched my soul. 

Her dance 

is a tease to me 

poise and petit, the manner of her 

from the tip of her nose to her feet. 

takes my breath away. 

The ballet of her walk, all balanced. 

the stained glass of her eyes 

reflects beauty, the montage, painting the mona lisa. 

Guarded by gargoyles 

the towers with the saints standing by 

to judge the man 

to condemn him, let him claim "sanctuary !" 

the child like scrawl 

covers the paper 

a beauty, a childish nature

moi lolita. 

sitting there 

enticing me, I would have made a step if i were brave 

but no no, though my weathered exterior 

I am a timid dove. 

But it is she 

witch, putting a spell that causes my heart to 

beat, put back my life in me 

sew onto the linen of my heart. 

Threading 

piercing and weaving in her 

tender touch 

but firm the tension. binds it all. 

And I am trapped in the cage of desire 

the lost creature who is in 

love. With the great lady warrior.    

the other poem i will post later... enjoy 

glug glug glug.... and it all down the drain

Woot! I am done for the week, it is over, I don't have to stand around emotionless serving customers at the bookshop !!! Ok ok on to more serious stuff... I need a new fountain pen, the old one is growing on me and I have a unquenchable desire for a new fountain to scribble all over with. Hopefully a parker vaccumatic, really saving up to get that bugger. Oh... and I have this current fascination with gypsies. Why ? I really don't know, maybe it is their lifestyle, free and nomadic. Also their superstitions and beliefs along with their music and of course who can forget, freedom ... hmm i think i already mentioned that. Anyway here is a poem which i Wrote a day ago and forgot all about it. here goes. 

Winter! Turn back time 

Autumn,Summer

Spring, Love in the air 

cool nights, breeze in her hair 

fluous language, no words can tell 

the volumes, the scriptures all permeate the unenlightened. 

And I stand 

the train is late, half past four.

Sickened, hundreds waiting, baggage 

clutter the station.

And she stands, resting her head against the 

mighty pillars holding up the architecture 

curves and lights, play, ignorance is bliss

the train arrives 

Fills the station with white fog 

Blocking vision 

suffocating senses, olympus ? only a state of Nirvana 

a God induced madness

relieving the past, i board the train.

Carrying my dead feet, 

rooted to the platform 

the moving animal 

the noise is unbearable. 

I am haunted by her figure. 

she stands there 

the shadows engulf her 

dark figure in the pillar. Ghostly, stained glass windows. 

Repeated announcements waft on the air

muffles, muffins being ordered from the boulangerie

I sit in the cabin, claustrophobic

and call out to her, still by the pillar. 

She stands outside the window 

the window, a frame of the mona lisa. 

Birth of venus by Michaelangelo

Le Grand Louvre.   

Her breath misty, in the winter cold 

steam emits 

misting up the window, I no longer see her, the beauty of Paris 

gone. 

Cathedrale De Notre Dame, her eyes look down in sympathy. 

Her Silhouette, remains entranced in my mind 

her figure, the Madonna 

stately, standing, justice and proud, 

Arc de Tromphie.

A horn blows through 

ricochetting through the station 

her body livens up 

the sleeping beauty, arising. Poison waning. 

Dawning, moving upon the train station 

pillars move, the smoke emits 

chug through, picking speed. 

blur. 

I run through 

abandoning, luggage all behind 

a passport and my wallet. 

the final moment, jump! 

My knees grazing on the hard floor. 

the blood line, on the marble flooring. A bohemian art. 

Back on the platform, still there ? 

ma cherie ? 

No more, the pillar abandoned, 

the Eiffel tower, her figure, structured and composed. 

The station abandoned. 

Only clocks and numbers, the Montmarte ! Oh Mon Dieu 

Band of thieves, darkness ensues, the station plunged into the Revolution. 

Red, the sign of the Communists, they have come. Dieu ! receves mon ame! 

The newspapers litter the station 

tales of fiction. a mess, tossed up by the wind. 

A note left, a scarlet letter, 

written in the language of the lovers. 

J'ai lassie la station,  

ne me suis pas plus !       

I have left the station 

follow me no more. 

The next train comes next morning 

3 'o' clock, Tres bien 

I rest, on the bench. Open to all. 

the magpie lands near. 

cold, cold. 

and faintly i can hear her sounds. 

Et le cloches sonnent 

sonnent a ma vie. sonnent dans la station 

echo d'echo. 

________________________________________________

must... have ... coffee...

As you can see I am suffering from coffee withdrawal. No it is not because Singapore does not serve coffee, it is just that the coffee is not quality coffee. So it has become apparent that i require external supplements to stay alive and stall my own sleep deprived state of mind. 

Now onto more, I am still carrying the lolita virus, it has partially affected my mind. Also today is the first day that my muse is completely in power. It has been fruitful, and i feel more in control of myself surprisingly. however this is only the first day so ... much more is to come. 

So why have i been blogging ? and always at the end of my blog i leave a piece of poetry ... ? 

I really don't know. When I do I'll get back to you.

Oh !!! and I got an A for PW.  I really am happy but at the same time I really somehow seem not to care anymore. It is like as though i have decided that how good i score is no longer a gauge for me anymore. Study though it gets you far in life I have realized that it is no real yardstick to how good one really is or can be. I pray my prejudices do not slip in. 

I really intend to read out my poems and record them really soon probably after this then i will post again to post it all up. Quite genius is'nt it... 

I am reading Ulysses right now by James Joyce, It is Confusing as hell... not even halfway through and i am already lost. I probably have to restart ... really sickening... slap slap ! Oh and today is good friday ... errr ya ... don;t really know my point but ya it is good friday.   

Ok here is a poem, i don't care anymore. 

Lights, the light of day 

the fray, little stars in the sky 

jewels of the heavens 

tell the sun of your beauty 

walk the cold winters 

alone 

tread lightly lest you awake the man 

who sits beneath the fir trees. 

My mind darts back and forth 

like a train from Chatsworth to London

confusion breeds 

the mixed signals sent, emails. 

intelligence 

foolish, natured written on paper IQ

falsehood 

writing with a fountain pen, 

ink all o'er the place 

Beauty of the sun 

displayed in heacate 

Beltane approaches 

the season of love 

The two great lights dance as we on the earth 

prance to the mighty drums of Earth's hollow 

The Holly and Oak 

mighty and exalted above us all. 

we dance 

till lost in the sound of the rhythm 

the two doves meet 

the swans them bowed to each other. 

Floundering in madness 

the opening of a Merlot 1982 chateau de france

pour into the glass 

the rest offer to heaven. 

smash on the ground 

and open to sky and earth 

merge the two into one. 

the red dew on the green. 

roses bloom 

beauty surpassed 

picked and thrown into the fire 

charred and trampled upon. 

cold and dark 

the light i stand under flickers 

the lamp post hinges on going out 

desolate, quiet, on the stony road

I wait I wait 

my beating heart still 

the screaming silence 

and I am there in the ward 

abused and stricken 

disease bound 

no surgeon can cure 

yet they cut me up 

Slice and dice 

the butcher shop 

tearing open 

my festering body 

what a mess they make 

they are dogs 

they work for Hitler 

for Nero, and i try to hide beneath the green curtain. 

But still they find it 

and rip it out of its place 

and put a system in me 

mechanize. 

I am no more the man 

no more the product of the earth 

the dust has settled and I rise 

a cyborg 

Mix of man and god 

soil and metal 

let the farmer's sharp sickle slice through the wheat 

pluck and let live 

empowered but hardened 

warm cold 

heart still beating 

beating 

in your fist

in your open hand

there there I stand 

a rock in the fire. 

________________________________________________________________

ma belle...

Bonjour to all... lords ladies welcome all... due to the fact that i am studying Literature I need to somehow have this innate ability to use the romance languages, German, French, Spanish,Latin whatever ... So I have decided to use a little French in my blog. 

Lassie aller... right, so I am annoyed. I have just finished watching the importance of being earnest. However there is a more pressing issue... My muse desires my lolita... horrid because i am afraid of saying anything to my lolita. Only hi, bye and nothing more than the superficial words that pass our lips. This poem would better express it.

Muse and Lolita 

I love and yet fear the consequence 

I have not given up 

the sickness which bothers my heart 

light bulbs of my mind flicker 

running low on her presence 

inspiration closes her door on me 

the accursed one 

The organ blows deep 

rings through Transylvania. 

And they barge in 

wearing their cruxes and bearing offerings of garlic. 

They pin me to the ground

tie me to the stake and try to kill 

Kill an undead ?!

Impossible  

Logic is lost 

let my muse take over 

I relinquish altogether 

Assassinate the Czar. 

My shadow diminish and enlarge 

What does it matter 

of no importance ! 

only my muse knows. 

So i offer it all, 

to my emotion 

no more to my logic 

for my muse has overpowered me, become dominant. 

My reflection 

once pure 

Muddy and choked. 

only darkness surrounds me 

Let me be exposed to the elements 

naked and bare 

I take on the responsibility as Lear 

Singe my white head ! 

Let me be Lear 

free and mad 

this torture is murderous 

black and dark, Gothic. 

I refuse to accept a dogma 

i cannot be bound by strictures 

all of them point their pharisaical fingers 

and condemn me 

stone me

to death. 

Muse Lolita 

continue in struggle

for i shall resolve the issue 

i shall tell her ...soon. 

So ... I just have the urge to write ... the muse is over working !!!!

I think my muse is slightly irritated at me. I am overworking her, Yes it is a her surprise surprise... and no i do not know what she looks like. Nonetheless, she is rather frustrated that i am slave driving her to work for me. Well I think I am forgetting to feed her with inspirational essence, (god knows where that comes from). Love somewhat short circuits the inspiration thing and quickens the muse to work, something like coffee for the muse, expresso. And so my muse is bored and tormenting me. kinda. Anyway, I am writing this in response to many things, friends, school, (my muse really wants coffee-no no !!! ) and family. 

Yes i seldom talk bout family, so here goes, I need to get out, but at the same time i cannot live without the provision of my family. I am in a dilemma, lost and unsure if i should just take the plunge. Ah heck it, soon soon I will trot away free from this place. I have become somewhat of a stranger in my own home, I am hardly at home, mostly in school and out. nearly non existent at home. No really, I and my parents now hardly speak, oh trust me but we do speak on the dullest of subjects, like how was school and all that courtesy nonsense. I hate it and hopefully it does not turn into a mad thing where i become resentful against my parents. No no I pray it will not descend to such depths. I still respect them as my parents but it just sometimes get frustrating when you live under the same roof but you seem to now hardly know them. 

Onto school, Apparently my second home, all i need to do is just sleep there and transfer my library there and voila it officially can become my home. However it is also where tremulous moments are made. I will not speak of them for you already probably know the story head to tail. ( Muse ! Stop, i Will feed you afterwards ! go sit aside first!) Ok back to the story, Ok i am really really annoyed with the fact that a project that we are doing is reduced to 4 pieces of white paper! Seriously !!! And the project is supposed to spark creativity and we reduce it to 

4 SHEETS OF PAPER WHAT THE HELL !!!!!!!!!!

I hate it, seriously, It is absolutely unacceptable for me, for others that are bloody lazy i can understand but I refuse yes I REFUSE to just reduce my ideas to paper and pen. Also for other subjects which I take (shall not tell you which) Nonetheless, people are just cramming for my opinion. IRRITATING! I hate it when people clammer for my opinion, seriously ! WHERE THE F*** IS YOUR BRAIN ??? i guess they just left it in their car. absolutely sick and stupid. 

Finally, seriously friend ... get a life. No no, don't diss me aside. I don't think it is my place to say much but i will say my 2 cents worth. Studies, crap it through, we are all under this curse of knowledge, it is sick and stupid but it is our burden. Tracy, Sharon .... hmm seriously they are busy, you are busy, it is commonplace ok... And finally the playboy issue ...Seriously ? playboy you ? erm ... i don't really see that side, at all.... ever, through those 7 years... not a drop of casanovaness (if there is such a word). So I don't see how poly will be a problem. I shall try to be kind to you, You apparently are more ... friendly than I can ever be so don't just try and get all the girls, and quickly try and find a girl. No no ...PLEASE I BEG YOU don't ... just let things play its game. Really it will somehow all work out. really. 

Ahhh... finally I sort of ended my rant. 

Ok now i shall entertain my muse, she is calling, annoying as hell. Emotion is indeed getting in my way. Coming coming ! 

   

Lolita , beauty beyond compare...

firstly i shall annoy you ... elton john is not gay .... 

Ok back on track... oh i dread this daily posting of my own terrible stories. It seriously is painful to relive them especially that of my lola, Lolita. 

so here goes... i think i just cant get over her, i guess that it is her, just her that somehow attracts me to her. which kinda drives me slightly insane. So here goes 

Plummeting into desire 

and we dance the samba in the corridor 

one ahead of the other 

amnesia. 

desire and passion 

suffocate me, force me to say what i refuse 

a torture 

gas chamber, it is her presence which drowns me. 

tall chambers 

arbeit macht frei 

the lie 

i am confined to

chains bind my feet, unwilling to walk over. 

regaining my muse 

singing her song in my ear 

precious music 

yet, sinning against myself 

it pains my heart 

bloods red words, strands of self 

poured out.

we cannot be mixed 

only blended together 

crushed and destroyed

a mess, of ships planes and men 

lying on the harbor, dead dead. 

playing hard to get 

and I waltz along 

dancing the foxtrot

trying to keep pace with the note less beat. 

I captured the magic of her eyes 

pearls. 

I look at her, 

not knowing, not hoping, loss of mind, soul and 

left with disdain for myself. 

refusal to speak 

waiting for the other, begin the killing of Franz Ferdinand. 

Revolution waiting to happen 

and still i wait

 

have i missed the caravan ? 

the gypsies call out to me 

the guitar strings play round my ear 

and my muse is drowned by noise. 

No no more ! 

I break out 

reaching the nirvana 

the nothingness, 

and grasp for 

Hope, The curse of Pandora.

I travel in circles 

cross country and fields of gold 

you sit in my car 

no words are mentioned 

only actions. 

Actions speak louder than words. 

i cannot hear her through the glass 

I see her but dare not reach out 

not afraid, tempted by the serpent 

the bossa beat 

guitars and music kill my red heart 

my sweeeeet 

lover, come be mine. Tell me tell me! 

let me not wait 

No No patience is a virtue 

to hell with it !

Love is irrational and mad 

the red wine that i drink 

heart burn. 

kills the organs in my body 

suicidal 

maniacal, like a witchy brew 

she and I, potion of madness, a killer. 

Jack the Ripper 

find her tonight. 

don't kill her, bring her before me. 

no more no more 

cortigo ego sum 

Liar, Descartes. 

How do thoughts express emotion 

only words and blood 

blood, a river of forgetfulness

leave me there to live in 

nothing but 

Amore 

Amore 

Amore

there with  

Moi Lolita, lost muse of the sun.

there you go... think what you will, but good luck dissecting it.    

I float above the storm... kissing the wind

surprise surprise ! I am back here again. I do this for my sanity and to keep my writing spirit up. 

and i really need coffee. I think I'll go get it after this blog post... hmmm i can already smell it wafting through the air ... arabica beans the smell of coffee is ... beautiful. Lost in the love for coffee.  zzzzz... oh whoops sorry, I live I live... carrying on with this post (though how lost and annoyed I am) 

Ah reader ! believe me, the lolita saga is pretty much over. But this gives you no reason further to neglect this blog and run off into the sunset. No no, even more you should stay, reader due to my ending of the lolita saga, it has resulted in a slightly more anti-social me. 

Yes I have somehow adopted the stance that I cannot stand the human race anymore. Which results in my closure from people. That my faithful audience is going to end, in great disaster. 

I am no longer surprised and shocked, i think i saw it coming so I shall leave it here first. 

on to poetry : scream scream 

no no poetry is my sanity my life and pretty much what i do for my recreation, apart from working for the mafia on a full scale,rubbing out people and burying them 6 feet below (oops! i think i said too much). Moving along here, I write a poem on the ending of the lolita saga and what is currently happening and affecting the writer i.e. Me. so sit back enjoy... 

on a side note I should try and read out all my poems one day and record them and post them up here, I think that would be fun ! hmmm soon soon. 

Pressing on ... enjoy, seriously I cant believe you are still reading this. 

oil and water 

divide 

the heart and soul. 

sonnets tell of her love 

I have heard them sung 

in church, in school, the choir wearing straight jackets. 

Flowers blossom in her wake 

Persephone, 

goddess, nymph perfect - divine lady 

Lolita. 

I suffer as Demeter 

As Hades prosper I loose her. 

I call on the Almighty 

there is no response 

I am speaking to the sky 

to the elements, 

all static, all immovable furniture in the house of the mother Gaia. 

Winter follows my temper 

the snow, cold, hatred and unfeeling 

Madness I shall drive into the man 

who curses me. 

Damn him Damn him ! 

Hades is no man 

he is a beast, perpetuates the mind of the innocent 

and yet they fall at his knees 

while my temple is desolate 

with the last few candles flickering out. 

Stained glass windows 

painted on with dust 

i refuse the sun to enter 

The rats are my friends. i can take this no more 

No more ! 

My tears, the rain that pours and washes the snow away 

no heat in them 

no love in my heart 

only hate hate and death. 

Tears grow into apples

The fruit of life  

the glad sword opens me 

slices deep into the core of my being and I reach that ecstacy 

that calls me to pour out 

a fountain 

of life and rebirth. 

Through the sword I live anew 

Hail ! the glorious dead ! 

Spring, unimportant 

the daemon still holds her sway.  

the pomegranate her curse 

the lost of love, my love, my lolita 

shattered into a million seeds. 

each birthing a tree. 

I mark it with red 

keep it away from the two lovers in the park. 

And it is then that i see her 

the serpent on the tree 

persephone, empowered, reborn 

queen of hell, daughter of life. A mismatch, a disaster ! 

throw her into the pits of Tartarus ! 

Make poseidon sink her ships 

the lord Zeus smite her ! smite her ! 

Hope, Pandoras box unleashed 

upon me 

that curse, cure 

madness inducing, fleeting heart, take me away 

back into olympia 

where I belong. 

Apples that lead me to life. 

Red shoe goes 

click click 

into my wonderland. lost in paradise. 

glorious obsession dissolved.

Ok ... i understand that the poems that i have come up with recently are rather sub standard. So please i beg the reader to be understanding. I am still somwhat studying and have not been living on the earth for long and at the same time i have just lost my muse, lolita. so please don't judge on what you see now but rather what you have seen and hopefully it will come back to get me. soon. ok ok i must get coffee now ... seriously before i zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz (too late) 

Lolita, the frigid queen... and I stand alone. The Narcissist

hmmm pains the soul does'nt it to imagine that the person whom you adore is the most incompatible person with you. Well for me I had to lay aside some of my selfish desires and acknowledge the greater good of both parties. of course after great admonishing of myself I have come to the conclusion that Moi Lolita is indeed one whom I would not woo nor should i bother about because of the great contrast in ideals between us both. There of ends the Lolita saga and ushers in a new era of slogging like hell and undisturbed concentration on the battle ahead. 

so here a final poem in tribute to the Lolita saga. 

And so i stand here 

the cold darkness surrounds my green tunic 

and i pull out the cold body 

lay him out on the table 

open the bag 

the body, a freezing mess 

of two eyes one nose and a mouth 

distorted. 

And I take this last look at him 

not family 

not friends 

no one to say goodbye to this man 

and still he hopes for that closure 

strip the body 

naked, hairy, the darkness 

lights up his body 

I live under the light bulb that burns the brain 

incision 

slicing, the body open 

the red words flowing on the table 

poetry of guts and mess 

deeper i cut

there is no soul 

nothing left behind but heart and body 

search search. 

his cause of death was pride.

a human default, a weakness, shallow and yet

pure 

pride is what we stand on, glory and honor 

yet one slip and we go tumbling down the cliff in to the mausoleum 

I am his soul 

the black hearted creature 

the red juice in my hands which one pumped through his heart now 

nothing but to be bagged up and taken away 

away by a stork 

his blood is to be poured into a cup 

conforming to the shape and curves 

the goblet, the holy grail. 

Good friday 

resurrect from the dead? I think not 

die! this passion that i had 

not worthy of me, it is sick and flawed. 

i dissect him, splitting to recreate another man 

another body 

with mine

my hand in his body, connection 

there, his heart, layered with a plastic food wrap 

zip locked and hidden away 

his organs only to be used, 

and we dump this bloody mess six feet under. 

no more i offer 

no more poetry 

no more inspiration 

end it all so i can begin again. 

yes it is a pathetic poem. i know i know. compared to my previous literary genius this is absolutely unacceptable and I agree should be dumped far far away. But writers have their day offs so i guess today is mine. Don't be prudish about it, no no it is sick and stupid. If you really hated this then just go away and don't come back ! 

so you wanna challenge me ?!

HUMPH !  so dare to challenge me ? me ?! absolutely DISGUSTING !!!

fie upon you 

here begins the poem : 

So dawns the prehistoric age

the beast roams the land 

stares into the water 

the narcissistic creature. 

and so he boasts against 

the writer. 

absolutely awful and distasteful and plague

And so he talks 

and speaks proudly announcing his 

finger prowess 

to imagine that 

a beast a creature 

reaching an ecstacy 

unknown off, an obscene connection. 

evolution, Darwin's origin of species 

a scientific truth 

in the mind of a warrior 

is useless 

he is only to be left there a corpse of his own 

own dead body 

so he pulls his anger and strikes 

in vain 

against a hard wall he breaks a finger or two 

a ridiculous relationship 

him and the wall.

so the writer laughs 

loudly 

and scoffs the poor soul 

and so now he searches 

for truth in what remains of his heart 

to find 

love ? or loss? 

nothing left but a three fingered salute to the glorious dead. 

so you think I can't one up you ? 

macaroni and ... cheese ?

oh ... the title has no relation to the rest of the post. 

apart from the fact that I am craving for that right now ! 

Well here I am... speaking to my Lola, and blogging. Today's blog will not be about me. This is because I think you want to hear bout something else. So here goes, Well my friend has a lady (WJM) and you probably will not know about their relationship so I have decided (with his permission) that I would write a poem about their hilarious relationship. 

here Goes... I will remember to get a mac and cheese after this post. 

No myth, only fact 

yes fact, unbelievable and even one which was completely unexpected. 

Out of the scarlet 

the bleu rose blossoms 

and shadows the virgin flower, picked by another cupid 

their perilous journey 

treading on thin ice, others look upon 

that decision the ribbon which binds the two hearts as one. 

careful making the scene as a common

theater, riff raff attending. 

A monstrosity of words 

hyperbolic language- an exchange 

really ridiculous and creating epic myth 

which render the reader asleep. 

they lie in the wait of the next wake.

No ideal, only a savage love. 

let their violent attraction drive their actions 

puppets to the wind. 

the coloured wind 

colours their unenlightened, repressed souls 

let the howling wolf 

paint their love, on the forest firs. 

The two run through the forest 

as time passes 

lost in the spring, summer, autumn

winter, blessing and 

that warm embrace of the two.

alone,cold 

together,warmth, heat, passion, 

how easy their ideal changes from delight to love in a 

second. 

A month passes 

the wake of it blowing off 

over a communion 

offered by a pope. 

italian, japanese,chinese 

gourmet food is common place

eliminate the unknowing mind 

bloody fool ! 

bubbling champagne 

melt the two into a glass a mix of liquid and bubble

memories never to be forgot 

the gods stand over with great in-trepidation 

and so they ignore the almighty one 

together 

blended into accord the two cleave to each other 

beautiful poetry composed 

when the two harps play 

the messy love  

oblong and square 

the two inter-joined 

a puzzle they are. 

I pray you found that rather ... interesting. messy but interesting. So reader believe you me, I will continue posting bout me, it is just that i reall need sustinance now and i have already entertained you so... go climb a tree! Mac and cheese here i come ! 

So I got my results ...

and the computer is not helping me by its constant jamming and buffering... sigh and i thought technology would make it all better. 

ok now on to more exciting news (or more dreadful-it all depends on how you look it) 

right, I got my results today, officially, to tell you the truth I already knew my scores so no surprise there. Well today was the meet the parents session and guess what? My parents were too lazy to go, I mean can you imagine that ? sigh ... anyway I had a chit chat with my teacher on behalf of my unbelievable parents. I can't believe that my teachers are all so, easy and friendly to communicate with, though they were disturbing me and teasing me I managed to get along with them quite well... 

Now onto even more exciting news :Lolita 

So this lolita of mine, who is she, I shall reveal her today ... no really, however I will not tell you straight but rather through a poem 

.Lolita a sweet sounding name having a ring, of three syllables: 

Uno-Lo Duo-Lee Tres- Ta, in the intrepid mind of the unenlightened. She remains, a figure, mysterious and hiding in the shadows of my mind. 

I trust that the reader is not too dull to be unable to guess my Lolita's name. 

Anyway, she has trapped my soul in her eyes, she looked at me today, with eyes, fragile and innocent but with a playful disposition. None that I can complain about, Yes, it is this obsession which steals my mind, and soul from that broken contorted mess of a body. 

Here goes, another poem which describes my Lolita and my blind obsession of her. 

A drunkard 

kissed by an Angel 

Yes she, my Lolita 

a girl, standing no more than 5 feet 4 

Yet she stands over me 

defeating my mind in a game of silence 

we do not speak but 

know each is around, aware Beware.

Art and artifice a picturesque image 

of ships sailing into the nothingness 

there is my mind 

knowing nothing, and leaving her, alone standing in my obsession. 

She runs away and hides in the shadows in my mind 

like a child, no, no, 

a lady, mature and glorious 

goddess divine. Perfect in her pride. 

let me lust in her presence 

my pride and prejucices fail me

leaving only a naked empty soul 

an open wound, festering with the sins of the eyes. 

So here i am loving her 

a drunkard wobbling through life

through it all 

kissed by an Angel, goddess, Lolita. Divine. 

unbelievable bliss... dreams

ahh reader, (yawns) i had a brilliant dream today, but the dream felt so real. Beautiful. all I can say. 

I believe you have heard much talk of my lolita, well in consolation i was kissed by her, or at least i managed to feel, or somewhat feel her lips press against my cheek. tender but not sloppy, thank god, anyway the rest of the dream was not as important (i really can't be bothered to tell you-I am way too happy) 

It was what i would recollect as a beautiful dream. 

Bubble and brew 

the goblet of my soul 

rising up, up and away like a balloon 

floating in space

floating across the lake styx 

i have lost everything 

memories and photos 

my mind a blur messy drawers. 

fusion of hearts 

she and I, hearts twined round a pole, she more vicious than I 

melt away 

saliva, her tender peck, soothes the pain in me 

I am lost, in all bliss for i have released 

it all 

my lo 

my love, my sweet. 

end. no more to say I am just a really happy man.