In search of perfect vacuum

2007-01-27T07:55:00.000-08:00

It begins to wail. It begins to rain.
Water moves in gutters.
White air all around...

I desire to write. I am impatient to begin.
We are in the same boat, are we not?

... I go up. Now i go down. I walk up an down. I am losing myself on the steps.
It is simple... the air is reckless with expletives.
That's why i am here. I understand you. You step up the rain. I understand rain.

I am happy to be here

Time begins and ends in water
I send a prayer, a long mysterious prayer.
I sent it into the simple shadow, water seeps it away.

Do not give up.
I pray some more.
I pray I am dreaming.

A crowd gathers. I empty hours and minutes for them.
You enter- i should be more like you.
Yet I am all nerves and knots. You are a gift. A souvenir.
I pray a little more...I am half -praying... and [you're so] perfect...
I have a little, a little, a little more.

I watch the simple clouds pass

At daylight again, there are plenty of these, not reckless diversions, but another tomorrow.

Snippets from "Limited Access"
Rappel

2006-11-28T03:38:00.000-08:00

Pain is resistance to faith.
Faith is for those lacking direction.
Direction to where?
Heaven or hell?
By the time you get there it will be too late....
There is no final destination.
So what's left then? Wonder aimlessly from place to place, not knowing where you will land next?
Not knowing what comes right around the bend,
Not knowing where it will be that you'll rest your head against a pillow to sink into the solitude of sleep?

Solitude...
So comforting. Relieving. Beautiful in its emptiness. A perfect vacuum.A mass of pure nothingness. That's where you return, after there's nothing left...

i dont want to be alone.
Solitude is a desert. A barren land of dread... i dont want to go back to that sterile place again. to that self-imposed prison. it's painful. emptiness hurts...

Pain is resistance to faith...

2006-10-15T18:31:00.000-07:00

Walking on thin glass

2006-02-16T21:34:00.000-08:00

I am numbed and my limbs are weak.
I’ve got nowhere to go.
It is too cold and I’ve got a feeling,
I’ve got a feeling I’m walking on thin glass.

Careful little steps, afraid to crack the glass that’s so fragile. Underneath are people, walking, talking, busy with their everyday life. The scenery is constantly changing, yet its always the same, and here I am on the transparent heights of my glass, vulnerable and exposed Above my head is the sky and once it was my everlasting source of inspiration, and I wish I could fly, but it’s too hard to fly on a day like this when the heavy clouds press hard on my shoulders and the air is so thick. Below my feet is a huge swamp where people live in their own shit and vomit. Looking down I hold back a wave of nausea that turn my stomach inside out, and it’s always hard, hard and empty and I am empty and too weak to walk on the slippery glass. I can’t, I can’t go on any longer. I’m afraid to make yet another step lest the glass should crack and I should fall in the rain of shards and splinters. From above I can see blood smeared on the pavement as a body hits the ground.

Dreamscape

2006-01-09T00:02:00.000-08:00

The land that time forgot...

2005-12-27T22:49:00.000-08:00

2005-12-16T03:35:00.000-08:00

2005-12-16T01:30:00.000-08:00

Pick out a face and paint it to match the mood.
It’s pale, round and thin like the sliver of the moon in the afternoon sky. Lips drooping, slightly bent at the corners, eyes like heavy beads of lead swimming in the pools of whites. Sad, sad they are and boundless. They draw everything in. Standing out in sharp relief against the background of the pale skin.

I purse my lips. Suppress a scream.
I step into the light-- the light feels raw against my skin.
I wrap myself in my mood. I become one with my mood.
This is not me. I become her. One with her insanity. Or mine. To walk the long path that seems to have no destination...

Blue morning...

2005-12-13T00:18:00.000-08:00

" I send a prayer to the sky.
I am praying for another day and a single ray of sun that will pierce through the thick ivory clouds and reach my frozen soul.
I raise my eyes to the sullen sky and today, like every other day I have to start again.
Another hundred steps on the path unknown, a path to my salvation…"

***

2005-12-11T23:14:00.000-08:00

I draw a scene. It's dull and barren. I colour it gray and let the shadows swallow the light. I watch the light grow dim. The outlines blur and the air thickens.

I create a mood— I let the mood create itself out of the scene.
I draw the mood... I draw myself in it— small, brittle, almost transparent.
I watch myself from above, I watch the mood drift through the thick air. The entire scene is on my palm. I let long hours pass as the slanted rays slide over the scene and there I remain, shivering in the wind, looking dolefully at the sky.

hacking out the reality myth...

2005-12-11T22:45:00.000-08:00

...the pale sun

2005-12-11T10:50:00.000-08:00

2005-12-11T10:08:00.000-08:00

The winter sun spreads its thin light over the city that is drained of all colours. Building dusty and dirty, trees shamelessly naked stand exposed to the wind that raises up with violent gusts tearing off the roofs, then rapidly descends with an ominous hiss, crawling on the ground, dragging dust and dry leaves along with it, kissing the ground, swirling, dancing, banging at the doors and windows, walking in the narrow streets, hiding behind the walls to spring out again, and it catches up with me, pushing me forth then pulling back, chasing, playing with me like a cat with a mouse, and laughing, incessantly laughing its laughter full of spite and malice.

Today the wind blows from a different direction. No one knows where it’s coming from. I sense trouble in the air. I can smell it, taste it in my mouth, feel the chill crawling under my skin. Trouble hanging over the city like a cloud of doom threatening to burst in a silent explosion, brining death to the dry soil that can no longer bear a living thing. Dry and hard it is under the thick layer of dirty snow trodden and smeared by too many feet.

It’s snowing.
Pillars of white dust raise above the city. Drugged, drugged it is in its slumber of winter. The wind blows the tiny dry flakes that hardly reach the ground. An artificial snow. White dust. The place looks like a big hospital, or rather a mental asylum . A squalid place with dirt laying thick on the walls and ceilings, streets that are like long corridors badly lit by a faint, artificial light. A place for the sad and wretched, for raving lunatics and those on the verge of despair, for ravished bodies with inflamed minds and aching souls. For those who have given up and lost it all, with nothing to look forward to. A home of broken dreams and shattered lives, of misery and dread, where one is left in a cell to rot in solitude.

I stumble along, driven by the wind, holding on tightly to the walls. A ghost, a passing shadow.. Borderline. Depressive. Insane yet dangerously quiet. Withdrawn.

The sun, when it does come out from behind the clouds looks ill, its thin rays hardly touching the ground. For a short moment they bring colour on my face and i smile a weak smile that makes my distorted face look even more tragic, and with trembling hands I reach out for the sun, trying to gather its rays in my hands, to save the past bits of warmth, but they fade too soon and it is twilight again..

prelude

2005-12-11T09:10:00.000-08:00

Today I woke to find gray shadows hovering over my bed and I hid under the covers not wanting to come out, because I was too afraid to face the outside. Curled like a fetus I lay, yearning to go back to where I came from— the womb, the perfect vacuum.

2005-12-10T05:35:00.000-08:00

The dark city

2005-12-10T03:55:00.000-08:00

2005-12-09T23:19:00.000-08:00

-how can you describe perfect vacuum?
what's the first thing that comes to your mind when you think of it?
-the absence of anything, pure empty space
-anything else? Is it really that simple?
-how can you describe nothing? how can you know about nothing
-can you really know what it is like or about? how do you describe what is unknown...

2005-12-08T23:46:00.000-08:00

" Dissonance is necessary for awakening
Pain is inevitable on the path to meaning.
But on the other side, wheter the sun sets rather than rises, is the rest of the story..."