I am an artist. At least that’s how I work.
A piece of this, a chunk of that, put it all in a pile and pretend it looks like something innovative.
Puked out creativity. And everyone is cheering. And everyone is mesmerized. And nobody knows who you actually are. Once you’re gone, they will remember.
“Yeah, that was him, and he did something. Appreciated.”

Something like that. A lot of emotions and a thread of character.
Deadly. People look at me and learn to smile. I give them hope in such an absurd way. They take what I give, agreeing and celebrating.
And then they answer.
“Yeah, you’ve got it. But not that way. It’s true, but not that way.You’re right, but that’s not how I want it to end”.

I haven’t slept in days.
When this first started, I ended up so exhausted that I would imply collapse and sleep. But tonight, I’m electrified. When I close my eyes, I see things. I imagine memories, I never actually had. I’m living through moments, that I’d love to have lived. That I wanted to feel.
I draw pictures, and none of them are mine. They’re stolen, used and abused by others. Changed, adopted, improved and summoned. Without me, the faces around me wouldn’t even know how good life was before we met.
I can’t let that happen.
Hate. Rising, pushing, plugging.
Truth. Fiction.
I see potential. Limitless energy. Stars in their eyes and an eternity in but a kiss. I see myself. The thought to set free this potential. To live it, to say it out loud. Without my pictures, I’m emotional cold. Calm. Nothing.
But I need the force. I need the despair of loved ones, when they suffer in the reality of my art. Then I push even more sparks of hope. And another one. No mercy. The enemy still breathes.
Reality. Lie.

I don’t get it. They’ll come to me. They want more. They’re seeking the suffocating warmth of my worn out ideas and imagination. But then it’s me, who goes too far. That gives too much. That fights.
No difference. No bitch’s still beating with my heart.

After they trust me, there’s no way back. With me, it could be so much better. Because I give. Because I see. Because I understand. Because I am. But no. Before, it all was better.
Mass-consciousness of a bubbling modern world. Like a rash, A scratch until it bleeds.
That’s why I can’t let it happen. Man, fuck your life one last time and leave the whore behind, drugged up and worthless. Just-let-go. You’ve got the tools. Bend over and let it happen.
Plug, force, pressure. Until I will simply go.
Good bye. Nice meeting you. You’ve got a great personality, but your soul smells like stale stupidity. Ignorance.
I don’t hate anymore. I just don’t care. I turn around, swallow and forget.
Sometimes they beg for more. They argue with hallow voices. No relation to reality. Waste of time.

What do you want? And why are you complaining to me that everything is even worse with me, and without me,  it wouldn’t be as bad, and that’s just bad, period, thanks, period?
Think. Push. Speak.

Six in the morning. Reasons wants to sleep.
My newest creation is a true piece of shit. Pure around me. Pure despair without me. No idea how got to that idea. I just felt like it. I painted love and romance. It’s like she never something like it, the way she begged for more.
Truly pathetic. I gave all strength left in me. And that’s been a lot. But it was for naught. To ignorant to bend over. Wants to be fucked, but doesn’t want to doit herself.
Turn around. Forget. Time destroys. Everything.
Again, lost Again, her.

Again, another one.
I love.
She agrees, and says, “Amen.”

Dinner for one

Today we arrived in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, because my girlfriend is the maid of honour for her very special friend this coming weekend.
Since my beloved girl is out and about with the girls from the bridal party, giving the bride-to-be an awesome time, I had to fend for myself tonight.
Luckily, there’s a Ricky’s. It’s within walking distance, and since the girlfriend took my car, I, coincidentally have to walk. So, I dress myself and march on down to the restaurant.
It didn’t take me long to order, at all, since it’s only me there. I opted for a pop and a burger–big surprise, I know. Fries, ketchup, coleslaw on the burger, and the whole nine yards.

I remembered Ricky’s to be decent.

It tasted as it should. The consistency was just right. I mean, there was a spongy, gluten-filled bun, a nice, thick patty, and everything I remember there to be. Sure, Ricky’s isn’t the best for burger, but they still are pretty decent there, and, as I said, I had to walk and this was close.
But I didn’t like it. It all tasted right. It all looked just fine. But I didn’t want any of that.
I’ve been living just a little more conscious about what I’m putting into me, and while I’m by far no role model on healthy eating, I start to understand what shit we put into our mouths day in and day out. And I’m tired of it.
The ketchup bottle prides itself to be made out of 30% plant. Great. The ketchup is still full of preservatives and additives, that enhance all this and that, but don’t do anyone any good. The patty was amazing in shape, but I’m sure that cow wasn’t treated well before pressed into this round mouthful of over-prized meat. And even if the meat was okay, the deep fried onion straws surely weren’t. Yes, they taste great. They look even greater. But, come on, deep fried in boiling grease of some sort of vegetable oil. Saturated and what-not.
But it was in walking distance and I was hungry. And I remembered Ricky’s to be decent.
I didn’t miss it, though, nor any of the restaurants, that we never go to anymore.
I’m disappointed in food. In big consumer chains. I just paid $20 and felt dirty afterwards.

I can’t believe I put on pants for that.


Breathless, like the quiet breeze,
rests your silence in my strife.
Timeless, as a soul at peace,
but worthless, as emotions freeze,
is it my heart that leaves your life.

But you, still, look deep me in my eyes;
say, is there madness or a star?
Though still, you pull the string of lies;
Don’t you know, we yearn demise?
We drift away from what we are.

So taste the bitter in my kiss,
the ashes, that I now adore.
We cry for what we surely miss;
the wounded wind becomes a hiss,
till nothing chokes of life no more.

Beyond dreams

I will dream like wolfs astray,
in worlds made for the silent lambs.
Conform, in fit with holy scams,
I stood no chance as willing prey;
too scared of truth to dare the fray.

I go to bed with snakes and shame,
with forked belief, Uroborus;
’till deadly my own vice arose –
and now, awake, the beast lays claim
to set my world of peace aflame.

It rips apart my view of Me.
As snake bites tail, and wolf claws deep,
I drop the rotting skin of sheep,
the mask of fake and unity,
Real is all I seek to be.

Did too far my dream has led?
My very soul assumes no more …
I watch the life, that I once wore,
and wished I’d feel at all, but dead,
as air is filling full regret.

I’m choking on enlightenment.
Reallities, they sufficate –
and None means All before my fate,
here, where all my time is spent.
There, where death and I ascent …

I’ve dreamt as lamb of the mundane,
the empty shells, the herds of skin.
In dreams I gave myself to sin,
and wished I could just once regain,
what stirrs behind my hope; in vain.


We take the names we once possessed,
and lay them ‘pon our eyes to rest,
for they may see the soul as star.

Though we walk tired, we march far.

Are we now doomed for all etern’,
seek we no more, yet, still we yearn?
Like dead, these crows lead our way,
farther more on paths astray.

So look we back to sorry lot,
we were not child, though grew we not.
What’s left from there, what we once knew,
but many lost and from us few?

The names forgotten and no more deserved,
and faded the eyes, and our souls are unnerved;
we are just a face in the dust of our time.

So turn we away from home and our prime.

We are but crumbs for crows to pick,
not more than restless, wicked, sick –
and tired of a world unknown;
The world to which our home has grown.