a rudaali wake

of the plaintive wailing and the rotting flesh, is the regular one. its not really possible to realize sentience without knowing what without is exactly. all the people who can see thestrals, they know it, they see it every day. the symptoms, the faint antennae, a murmuring loss.

but the flat screened people, thats we, we see sentience upon sentience, and when enough lifetimes have passed, silently through, in a bare minute, death is close, all the time, everywhere. its not possible to see panic anymore, its a faded memory, suddenly loud and anime.

and to see me, is a curse, for I have 3d vision of death. past and future. and of course, everyone shoots the messenger, its a time travelled comfort. but I am not a messenger. death has no message. messages are for the living. I am a nothingness through which you will fail to see, what I already know about the way forward, and you and I, we'll play it out in unison. thats another thing death is. entirely self unaware.

dont get me wrong, I dont hate you. I always love you. but I do know our expiry date. As well as a grocer knows which apples to pick, which to sell, which to eat. no apple is forever. and I want forever, with a desperate seething demand. but the longer we sit at this table, the more we fade, there is less to say, to do. our apple is painted, photographed and shared a billion times. life takes two, ten, a thousand, and we are all absent.

among the blueberry curtains

and zip is only a few minutes to rainy breeze, but cold, so cold so soon, and I cry daily for all of us daily, a few thousand less, every day, every day, as if we are nothing, as if we can never be, and I have a child.

so wonderful in the house, with a husband and a son, so glad I married, after ten years, close to a daily life and death, the gladness strikes. will mother ever come here again, will I go there? will I ever go anywhere again, stuck in a random time loop with no people, no countries, a distant cruel sort of justice, im grateful to have a life. and a thousand more died, on a flat backlit screen.

and now is the time to think of a legacy, I could so easily be next, a random look, a touch, an inability to cope, a sadness shutting down all the fight, where are the children of these old people, why are these infested teeming billions alone? the angle of the wall, has never seemed so sharp and deadly. but no one cried, no one screams, no one can get close enough to each other to bellow at the injustice of it all. who am I kidding, it was always unjust, if you aren't born with certain skins, certain body parts. life is very weird. why that? almost as if, justice were created to protect its creators, and life is for its own sake.

the rage demon

from all the centuries
of wiped yin
still haunting, still a memory
that does not breathe
but is, yes it is
hate, disgust, jealousy, rage
for we forget, we keep forgetting
we're all going round and round
forever, and this is it
you do your part
I do mine
and life, is not optional

neither is hope

the scales just changed

Time, as it passes through
a rainfall shower
is a rush of fear
to a tune, to the tune
but fear to a dream world
is fear to dream
to dream and to do
are quite enough
flooded with kindness and estuary
courage and loyalty
to scale an impossible
and trust, and trust
with eyes wide shut
is the final frontier
the stupidest thing
most days, when I look
in the mirror, yet I
yet we, do it a billion times
most days, every day

Culto, famiglia, la patria, il mio universo e in te - Ferrari

just add water

with the trembling
of fingertips
reaching toward and toward
the moral vacuum
and of course
the thunderbolt
should be
no no a thousand times no
but its usually
who the scapegoat
and this too shall pass
then a thousand years
back in time
to do old old things
the bones just denied
in a new new way
the great leap forward
and meanwhile meanwhile
my dear
the nest is empty
the nest is empty