Please don't fool yourself

Please don't fool yourself

You don't fool me

I know that we are all sad little fellows

You, behind that palace wall

You behind that Roll Royce, behind that Bentley

You too are a sad little fellow

You, the singer

Yes you, the famous one with the millions of fans

You are a sad little fellow

You, with all that money

Yes you with all those servants

You are a sad little fellow too

You, the trigger man who does the bidding of the “rich”

You are indeed a sad little fellow

You, the one labeled beautiful

Yes you, who caved in to the label and can't leave   without checking in the mirror

You are a sad little fellow

Lost and found

Somewhere it will be said (or thought) that I became a lost case

I know I’m lost but I don’t want to be found

What would it mean?

I’m stranded at my own fault

I walked around cities and graveyards

I talked to city dwellers and frightened them

I explained myself but

People walked right through my explanations as if through imaginary friends

“I thought you saw my points,” I complain

“I did,” people reply, “I still do,” they assure me

And then they walk right through them again

There is no use in getting upset

(Who wants the awareness—or to hear the scratches of —the bug trapped in a bathtub?)

In the end let it be known

I fought against depression

– And material success wouldn’t have helped—

Material success would have meant talking in circles to avoid the darkness and the terror

It would have meant never crossing the line that we barely see

– And when we do see it, we shudder at the thought of drowning–

You may be a canary or a dove; I’m a raven, a crow

A progressing condition

I feel it going on

I long for the desert

Overcast days

Sentences born on melancholic days carry more weight than airy light ones brought forth by bright sunny days

These sentences were brought by the rain and by overcast days

Many times I tried to go along with the tide, give my fellow humans the benefit of the doubt and follow them

But the overcast days would not allow me

These overcast days with their light drizzle, broadcasted bitter sweetness of discontent,

And mellowed my mood

They brought with them longings mixed with sadness

And a yearning for something yet to come

Thankful

Why can’t we drink and eat as much and as many times as we want? 

Why must we get sickly drunk or morbidly obese?

Why must we get tired and bored of beautiful views?

Why do we get tired of what we have and bored with what we do?

Why not consider this when planning lives?

We thank god for the food, but don’t thank him for the hunger without which food would give us no satisfaction

We don’t say thanks for the tiredness, the cold, or the extreme heat without which a bed, a coat, and a house, would have no meaning

Do we thank god for loneliness without which our fellow humans would be a burden to have near?

How about horniness without which sex would be a chore

Do we thank god for boredom without which excitement would be boredom?

Cities

I like western-style cities, where one can – and ultimately does – lose oneself in anonymity. In western-styled cities, everybody seems to be utterly concerned with him or her self, and because I can get by just fine with the small compensation I get from the U.S. Government, I can survive in some of these cities outside of their usual exploited/exploiter cycles. I like cities.

I also hate cities. My impression is that they live on crushed bones, they devour stillborn dreams like unhatched eggs, and drink from the cold suffering of the thinly covered bodies sleeping on its dirty-gray sidewalks.

To force it to cradle these monstrosities, humans mutilate the very ground, and once built, these aberrations, these cities, continue to destroy what's around them: the air, the rivers, the very soil on which they stand, and even their own creators, for it is in their very nature to destroy.

In a constant fluid motion and with the lure of tall buildings of glass panes, shining brass and stainless steel, with reckless music and reckless styles, these cities attract their unsuspecting preys, mollify them with various nepenthe – you can marinate in beer, wine, vodka, lose your self with heroine, cocaine, weed, men, women (whatever you want you can wallow in), tenderize them with hard hopeless work, and then, with no pity or concern, and without hesitation, devour the soaked and tender ones while spitting out on their own bellies the carcasses of those already consumed.

Gone realization (missed fish)

I had it earlier; it materialized itself before me as I walked through a plaza. It made perfect sense, and it made me feel good. I marveled at its existence, its tangibility, its usefulness, and at its emerging seemingly out of nowhere. To ensure its accessibility, I pledged to write it down as soon

 as I had time. “There is no way that I'll forget a realization this good,” I said to convince myself that there was no need to stop, get my notebook out, and write it down.

But as it often happens, time passed and I lost my precious realization. Seconds stole a small portion of it, minutes took bigger chunks, and hours devoured the rest until I retained only the faint memory that earlier I had a sweet, delicious, satisfying realization, the essence of which I simply could not bring back again.

Rebellion and resentment

Today is a Wednesday, a spring day

Before taking the next step make sure the plank reaches to the next pole and not just teeter-totter in the air

It’s a long way to the ground

Watch out for holes

And don’t get frustrated

In the dark, the surface will always come up to you and give way under you

Concave surfaces made of stainless steel are slippery and so are convex ones

Today is a melancholy day

Today we call our flat mate “an annoying little munchkin”

Today we rebel against what we’ve been taught,

Resent the teachers who led us astray, and even more, our ancestors’ failure to leave us a better world

The fight will not be abandoned.

The implanted receptors will be uprooted