Woven in a fractured word

Broken, incomplete,
faded in my completion.
Hollow shells, pixilated with
nothing beyond,
questionable intensions.

I traverse the intricacies,
worlds created by words,
words that bring I into existence.
Holy are they, molding me into flesh,
Describe I when I come here,
evil are they,
for keeping me prisoner.

Here is aloneness,
Here is this, separated
from you, only by words.

Still here

Im here, where I always was,
only time has changed.
The more I think about it,
things happened, years past,
but im still here, in this moment.

I miss things, even things I never
had, wishes, dreams, desires.
Memories of past experiences,
bits and pieces, wiser I grow,
learning from my mistakes,
things that brought me pain,
wishing I could do some things better, and some, just to re-live them,

I’m still here.


A seeing is happening, witnessed from here, there, a placeless place, where no words can touch. The idea of nothingness, though such an idea being in the realm of duality, placing the need for its polar opposite, somethingness, it’s none the less the closest to visualising, This. How can you visualise such when the very ideas of nothingness and somethingness arise in This? Not even the word This, can suffice.

From it, within it, out of it, I am becoming, im seen, i see too, into the world. I see my many faces, many eyes i stare into, clothed by forms of humanity from all walks of life, life form everywhere. All these are I, I’m staring right back at me, yet not always knowing, hypnotnised by the fickle nature of my existence,  the blindness, darkness of the unknowable around me.

Everything about me is fleeting, my ideas, opinions, moods, feelings, like clouds, I witness my body die constantly, new cells replacing old ones, growing, ageing, the outside from my skin seemingly beyond my control, im in a world apart from me, yet i am part of it, sometimes pushed by it, sometimes I push back. I believe in my existence but I don’t know where I came from, or how I came to be, like a dream, the closest back in memory can never take me back far enough, to origin.

A hapening, a dance, a dream where to exist, is to continually become, experiencing, in a journey made to return ultimately back into This that is beyond the world in the most intimate way. Everything is This, everything happens in it, comes out of it and goes back into it. This is it.


Before i fade away
back into nothingness,
dream me further,
deeper into form,
lost in transience,
divine nature through born,
death into birth,
Immortals come here,
wishing to cheat death.

Further, much deeper
than that, past knowing
that i am, glimpses caught,
glimmer no more.
the myth of i be,
eternally sleeping,
dreaming of me.

Hellish pilgrims

Hellish places being negations of we, murky stains on this divine reflection of being.
Un-life an’ un-created, spilt an’ spawned by heaven’s traverse, all that which we adore and reach for, subconsciously, aesthetically.

Wraiths in their envy swim in the sea-scapes, shared unconscious formless. Desolate, only nightmares give us glimpses, things that could have been,
If we chose it so, now huanting us, leaving scars in places, fragile and precious, subtler than this temple of flesh, asking, are we not filthy enough for you?
Are we not worthy?


My love,
so deep in your creation.
self consciousness flickers,
lucidity only a nuisance away.
Its not needed.
No interest in self right now?
Play then, build castles in the sand, start fires that turn into stars,
strum your tune and dance to it as the cosmos,
and that which is in it.
Act as if it’s not you but I,
go on,
allow yourself to forget,
just for a while,
I promise you, for you,
I will pretend to be surprised.