Two sides of a city


The night.
Its cover of darkness, the comfort of a well worn duvet.
Its quite stillness and calm, a welcome to respite to the heat and bustle of the day.

I want to sit, in the moment; walk, alone with thoughts; smile, with the wind; and just be.

Instead, because it is late, I head for the train. I want to linger, but I should just go home.

Too bright, too hard, too shiny, too plastic and too choke full of people. Garish. It repulsed me so much, but I stepped into the crush anyway.

Which is reality, and can’t I choose?

Keeping yourself company


The sound of silence;
all there is.
I’m sick of my own company.

The sound of silence
is deafening.
Thoughts and words banging,
bouncing soundlessly
around my skull.
No outlet, no listening ear
to borrow for a while.

Blast the wall of sound.
Pretend it makes you feel better
and maybe it will.

Everything sounds better in a foreign language/
Everything sounds better sung– or screamed.
Everything sounds better with some rhythm.

Distractions, keep yourself distracted.
Keep yourself occupied. With distractions
Just keep moving.
Don’t stop, or you might sink.

That can’t be all there is.
That can’t be it.
Slay me.

Enough.
The silence is deafening.
It starts ringing, after a while.

My words bounce around in my skull.
I’m sick of my own company.

Maybe the secret to happiness
is being able to enjoy one’s own company.

Words are meaningless


Sometimes I wonder what’s the point of writing anything; it seems like anything I would have to say would have been said better, more succinctly, more poignantly, by someone else. And when you see it you just feel like pointing to it and going ‘Yes! that! exactly that!’ and there’s absolutely no need for you to add anything else.

Have you ever been in a mood where every song you listen to seems to be speaking directly to your heart? Every line you read seems directed specifically to you? Every wave, smile, wink or comment from a person seems to answer something you have been muling over? It’s a sign. A message. From god, or otherwise.

Words are so limiting, words are so meaningless. Words only mean as much as we let them mean. We give meanings to words, we give them power. And we tend to give them LOTS of power, so I guess words, in the practical sense, aren’t meaningless after all.

To someone who can’t read, they’re utterly meaningless, just squiggles. To someone who has a good command of the language, they could probably ‘read’ any piece of text in any number of ways. Different interpretations, so many possible nuances in between the lines. In certain cases it’s probably more than possible to read in it something that runs completely counter to what the original author intended.

No matter how good you are with words, can you really communicate your innermost experiences to another reader in a way that perfectly reflects your private reality?

We are only individuals, and are always necessarily alone in our own heads.

Whatever our output, it has to necessarily go through someone else’s perception — all of their knowledge, understanding, language skills, life experiences, personality and mood– before if arrives at them. Whenever we see, hear, read something it necessarily goes through the same process. We can’t help but see things through our own eyes, and our own eyes are coloured and tinted. We can’t help that, but once aware of it we can be on our guard to acknowledge its effects and don’t presume to know or understand more than we do.

When you read a text, it can say different things to different people. A simple song can resonate deeply with so many people.

This says less about there being omens, signs and messages form god in the world, and more about the way humans perceive, and how we are all more alike than we are different.

The most meaningful words are the most meaningless, for that can’t be quantified, qualified or proven and yet can be said by anyone at all.

I saw a picture of you hanging in an empty hallway. I heard a voice that I knew and I couldn’t walk away. It took me back to the end of everything; I taste it all, I taste it all…the tears. again.

Outside the rain’s falling down–there’s not a drop that hits me. Scream at the sky but no sound is leaving my lips. It’s like I can’t even feel after the way you touched me. I’m not asleep but I’m not awake after the way you loved me.

I can’t turn this around; I keep running into walls that I can’t break down. I said I jut wander around with my eyes wide shut because of you. I’m a sleepwalker. 

Let me out of this dream. 

Everywhere that I go, I see another memory. And all the places we used to know, they’re always there to haunt me. I walk around and I feel so lost and lonely. You’re everything that I want. But you don’t want me. 

I’m a sleepwalker. Let me out of this dream.

A similar feeling to my Limbo.