INCHES

Inches.
Inches of panic, life
and death.
Unclaimed disturbances.
We walk
down the same road
but you stopped
to tie your shoelace.
You didn’t see it coming.
And now:
our universes spin and spin
in webs of incomprehensions
as we try
to understand
what cannot be touched
by the other.
I’ve slithered around death –
maybe you haven’t been as lucky.
or maybe I’m the unlucky one
the haunted one.
I can feel them following me around:
GUILT FEAR POSSIBILITY.
An omen of what could happen,
a shadow of what never did.
A parallel outcome,
Pain beyond all I could imagine:
LOSS DISTRACTION BLAME
I killed  the old lady.
I can feel the crinkly skin
of her neck in my palms.
Impotence disguised as power
HATRED.
I killed you, I killed you
and you die every night
I was laughing
and I wasn’t quick enough.
I was happy
and I wasn’t quick enough.
And now cars are demons
Sirens deafen me
and lights blind me.
And people are evil
They kick dogs and live off arrogance
And I
live off bloodlust and compassion
I live off my own confusion.


 

Featured image from CRASH by  J.G. Ballard. Panther Books 1975. Cover Art by Chris Foss.

Choke.

I can smell the lethargy in the air as the rain comes down.
Who told you you could write all over my skin?

Territorial disputes.

Casually manhandling death and the rain
don’t stop, the rain           don’t stop.
Biting breasts under neon colours.
Stuffing your face and drowning in the barrel-
Drowning in the rain of your pain.

Contempt for conformity. Body builders of human agony.
The vivid dreams stopped months ago.
Flashes of blood running down my neck.

This winding road is damned and this skin is too tight.
Grinning mouths with men hanging at the corners.
Unsteady flooring and gums aching.

I’m heady from the drinks, the want and the sweat.
This tube smells of metal, blood and piss.
There’s a nightmare pulsing in between my legs.
Laughing hyenas pull at my clothes.           I give in.

Vaccinate me for control.

Chapped lips in the cold. Stomach acid scratches at my soul.
Flashing streetlights, cars, dancing on my window.
Magnetic network of obligations and purpose.

Buzzing in the world and screeching in my ears.
Monotone high pitched frequencies and I’m going mad, I’m going       mad.

The itch, the itch the pulse           in the eye,

the everlasting night, the bite,

the blood.

I’m a mess of filaments,

my nerves are barbwire.

Your fingers feel like bombs.

Psychosis, migraines, want.           A hollowed out gut.

Out of body,

overlooking this city.

You stand next to me, naked and shivering.
My cigarette shakes at the lips.

It falls and I          let          myself                               fall.

Control

a blanket
on a clothes line           the stains
all washed out
I hang out in boredom,

to dry

I am sick
of the clips
that so wearily hold me up

of this washed out sanity

I am sick.

This is not the best me I can be.

Stop this, run again.

      madness
                    drunkenness
                              silliness

dance away control:
colours bodies           laughter

c a r e l e s s n e s s

the frenzy the rush
the high.

I miss life and I have lied.

burn books thoughts dreams.

They aren’t enough,

I’m going to die.

burn lists
          projects.

I don’t need to be clever and ok.
people movement fear anger           lust.

– to touch

and

be touched.

to feel alive.

Featured artwork by Jonas Fyhr. Find him at jonasfyhr.deviantart.com

People, goodbyes.

The brute, astute revelation
Of a painfully insignificant fade out:
You never were, the specialness I craved for.

You never were.

Forcefulness embraced me then,
And now your face I cannot colour with my pain.
I craved the ethereal self, I imagined through your eyes.

I was your portal –

To feel love, for yourself, to feel worth.
A portal for big words, and comforting elation.
I was a beast of beauty to subject,
Like the beast within us all we cannot tame.

I am tall now –

Taller than you now, navigating higher comfort.
We seek the same fulfilment
And project ourselves in winning battles.

I was your projection –

A mirror of the self you wished to be.
Through lust and ego you created many me’s.
We are all just shadows of each others dreams.
My existence depends upon you all,

And I need you.

I could only ever gage myself through you.
Only when you were inside me
Could I smell and taste the colours of me,
Never where they mine to be felt.

I touched myself when you were inside me,
And the walls for a moment crumbled
And we floated, for a moment, in the same chaos.

That me, you made me.

Forever yours it will be and you, will forever be mine.

National Poetry Day and Collaboration with Mental Spaghetti

It’s National Poetry Day and Mental Spaghetti have published and illustrated (thank you Marie) one of my poems and accepted my offer to collaborate with them on their project!
They are a no-profit organisation that promotes art development and creativity as means to combat mental illness. Check the post and their blog out here.

surprise-party4

Why the “Mercury” Thing.

I’ve now been writing on this blog for more than a month, so I suppose it’s about time I explain the meaning behind it’s name. It’s really quite random: it comes from a dream I had a few months ago, that I came to interpret as a metaphor for the duality of my existence (yay to over analysing everything).

So, I was slightly manic, I guess, or at least excessively high spirited, and I had this kind of weird dream (as happens often) that I was this beautiful, goddess-like, amber curled creature dressed in silver, floating above pools of mercury right next to the blazing hot sun, bubbling with purpose and a secret. Pretty cool huh?

Except that all of a sudden, I was sinking into that same surface, watching the godlike me floating away and contemplating me with a mixture of pity and disgust. I was immobilised and uncomfortably warm: I wasn’t burning (as you would kind of expect, seen as I was pretty much chilling in a pool of corrosive substance right next to the goddamn sun). No, I was just uncomfortably warm. And I knew I was stuck there: never to drown and never to be free.

While the other me floated away towards bliss and immensity, towards a world of hope and possibility, I was signed up for eternal apathy and discomfort, and completely incapable of helping myself.

In the morning confusion that followed I also wrote this poem about my ‘mercurial’ (and grandiose) persona, so I might as well put it in as well!


I dropped the thermometer:

What a thrill to chase
Little bubbles everywhere.
Acrid shiny silvers –
They are drops of mirrors.

Look there: it is me!
It is my reflection I see,
Blazing sunlight and glee:

My volatile moods,
Etched with smiles and deadly fumes,
On my ever-changing moons.

An eternal river,
I gurgle with promise
In the soil, the air, the water –
Breathtaking and flawless.

My shiny surface
Draws you in closer.
I’m your road to gold,
the gods’ messenger.

But my scalding skin
You cannot touch
You greedy treasure scavenger.

You’re too avid and bitter
With your truths and reason –
Your reality addiction!

In the gaping darkness
I will eat you whole
Like a death trap –
A black hole.

I’m liquid metal,
Quicksilver.
I will melt your brain,
Destroy your swollen liver.

Only the mad can dip their toes
In these pools of chaos and clatter.
I’ll be the gloss on your top hat

If you’ll be my mad hatter.

A Storm

The air smells like South America
I am cold and damp and the sky is lilac,
Lit up like the fields in Valensole.

(And I suddenly miss something that’s not there.)

The wind shakes the trees,
A neighbour’s drain gurgles distinctly
and I always loved the smell of the rain.

Oh, to be unlimited, to be free!
To flutter in the reality of possibilities
I’ve discovered for myself out here.

(I close my eyes and smell the air.)

And I’m running now,
With my feet on the damp grass
Alongside my discomforts and fears.

On the tepid sand of a beach somewhere,
With Northern Lights flashing above me
And christmas lights burning within me.

I do not care now.
Those distant judgements and colds,
cannot touch me, cannot hurt me!

I slip into memories
Of humid walls, sex and adventures.
Of bright white mornings without sleep, yet at peace.

(And I float back, into the stormy green.)

Five trees: I never knew there where five trees.
I wonder why I never count the things around me!
And the lonely nails on the wall

where the wisteria climbs in the spring,
All the way to the roof top where I lay.
And time shifts into darkness, but I feel no fear.

I am immense, and for a moment
the world is imperfect like me.
My finger tips tingle and my ankles sting.

I feel myself, wet and eternal
And for a moment, just a moment,
I am free.

Post #14 – Incomprehensions, Reason and Grandiose Beliefs (featuring Edgar Lee Masters)

Today, dear friend, I realised I had become a faulty puzzle piece: incapable of communicating with you. The sound of my voice left the bubble of my mind with powerful distortion. And my magnified words, filtered by anger and resentment, would weigh heavily in your ears, incomprehensible. And of course you would confuse the strain on my face for disgust.

I think my words might have changed, grown darker. Maybe what makes perfect sense in my mind is gibberish to your ears. Was I really that simple, only five years ago? I wonder what happened during this time: I have not only lost my mind, but maybe my grasp on reality as well. Or rather my ability to settle and adapt to your reality. I envision myself as clever and thoughtful, and for this reason maybe I feel superior, to the likes of people who avoid preoccupation. But maybe I am delusional. The doctors say I’m delusional: they say my ideas are grandiose and impossible and, unlike everyone else, you seem to agree with them. If I’m delusional why am I like honey to all these clever bees? But who are they to deem me a role model, who are you to profess me unreasonable, who are any of you to judge? Every unexplored and unconventional field of science, knowledge or consciousness has been deemed grandiose at some point in time.

I am not convinced that there is a page for me in the annals of history. I’m not even sure I shall contribute to the world order in anyway. I am simply following my gut, which for once in my life seems to be in accordance with my ideas, with science and with progress. So what if my ideas are grandiose and unrealistic? If any of you could give me a semi-accurate description of what reality means to us all, I might take your arguments seriously. But you are all clinging with a vice like grip to what you know and you’ve been told. You call me irrational but even logic and reason are irrational! You are accusing me of deviating from a perception of the world that has been proved incomplete. Who is to say that mine isn’t more accurate?

Maybe this “psychosis”, “dissociative state” or whatever, has been the most realistic aspect of my life. I have no conscious grip on this part of me. And my conscious reflections are made up by all I have learned and stored. But what we’ve learned and stored may be wrong. Maybe my thoughts are too influenced, and I cannot see clearly. I am only ever certain of anything when I hear things and see things that others do not. I am certain then, that that is my reality. If only I can see it, it means no earthly phenomenon has put it there to change me and teach me. It is pure, immoral and inhuman. Maybe it is a very visceral and honest part of me and my essence.

I cannot know this at this point in history and certainly cannot claim such a folly through scientific logic. What I can do is listen to my gut a bit more, and do things that make me happy, whether they be clinically validated to do so or not. I may go through many ups and downs, critiques and miscomprehension’s, but never will I ever give up on a life of courage, love and beauty. I will not let fear control me or let apathy grasp me in it’s comfortingly numb tentacles. To understand and to accept the beautiful and dangerous beast that is life, but not to fight and push it away. To contemplate all with lightheartedness and childish curiosity, but not to empty my head of all that could potentially harm me.


On this note, here is a pretty awesome poem by Edgar Lee Masters:

I have studied many times
The marble which was chiseled for me —
A boat with a furled sail at rest in a harbour.
In truth it pictures not my destination
But my life.
For love was offered me and I shrank from its disillusionment;
Sorrow knocked at my door, but I was afraid;
Ambition called to me, but I dreaded the chances.
Yet all the while I hungered for meaning in my life.
And now I know that we must lift the sail
And catch the winds of destiny
Wherever they drive the boat.
To put meaning in one’s life may end in madness,
But life without meaning is the torture
Of restlessness and vague desire —
It is a boat longing for the sea and yet afraid.

(George Gray, Masters E.L, 1916)

Post # 11 Ventotene

I

My stomach churns and my brain sways with wine and waves. The sun burns and I feel ridiculously happy. My feet skip gently on the volcanic rock, my body high and moon heavy. My rock, I am a rock! My empty space, my nature – a habitat where the buzzing stops, replaced by cicadas and a clash of deep blue. The mighty cshhh… The world is shut out by the echoing silence. The people are cactuses, blended in mud and rocks. The only colour is blue. Everything is blue, I think I’m turning blue. Maybe if I sit still enough, I’ll fade into this rock. If I sit here long enough the tide will rise and the blue will eat me whole. Maybe it will kill the green and I will be one with this cave, my true colour at last.

II

I can’t put my finger on the people over here. They seem lighthearted, merry and intellectual. Yet I still feel clumsy, heavy and uncoordinated. I remain awkward and I can’t express what I’d like to express. I feel as if their camp of love is too structured in its being unstructured and I can’t find my place in it. I feel embarrassed and awkward at the intimacy, of losing my fears and inhibitions in their midst. As if I have a role to fulfil and I’d be judged a prude if I didn’t live up to expectations. I suppose I just don’t like being a sideline. I do not sparkle here, I’m just a fish in the sea. Here I don’t even serve entertainment purpose. I’d rather be alone maybe, where I can gawk at myself and my thoughts.

III

I thought this year would be a blank slate. I’m not new here, I’m old and consumed. The comments and judgements remain those of my childhood and everyone here is missing a piece. A rather large, constructive piece. Isn’t it ironic that it is easier to communicate with strangers that with loved ones? We see each other through the lens of our history and it is often too hazy to be clear.

IV

Up the gods rock,
To the top of the island
I climb – a lucky guest.
I’m crowned in laurel

And bigger than the sea.
Round and round
The sparkly heavens shove me;
The pitch black

Catches me.
I’m a microbe, a quasar;
A pillow, a knife!
I’m ready, I’m hazy

Your nightmare, your prize.
Have I yet the courage
For the dive –
The big dip.

I’m still green and weary
I shall dry up or slip,
Into death
and oblivion and dread.

Newton is dead.
Why are we still clinging to a flat Earth?
Observe the atoms,
Ride the waves.

It is me I see
In every crook and corner.
It is me who sees,
It is me I see.

I am your Frankenstein
You mighty organiser
You puzzle maker
You forgot to flip the light switch.

You stuck me, colourful
to a monochromatic Earth.
Unrelentingly chasing
Hidden meanings,

Fireflies.

Post #10 Dear god, gods, fate, absolute, moirai, fortune, karma, destiny, chaos, whatever…

How does one lose one’s mind? It is the loss of control that is feared, and ‘pathologised’. The big dip into the unknown, the unscientific. But have we not passed this phase? Newtonian science is dead: why are we all still clinging to a flat Earth? We’ve broken it down and it doesn’t make sense. We must observe, observe, decide the atoms, ride the waves! It is me I see in every crook and corner, it is me who sees, it is me I see.

Where is the will, whose is the will? I’m not black and white, nor a perfectly imperfect human being. I’m orange, purple, gold, blue, red and green. You’ve made a mistake – I am nuts and all-seeing! I am your Frankenstein, oh godly unknown. It’s hilarious really, how rational you are to the defeated rational mind, you mighty organiser. You puzzle maker.

You screw, screw, screw with our minds, you screw with our kind. You curse us with godly curiosity and ungodly means. It’s a laugh! And all I can say has been said. Has the magic all run out? Nothing new is to be born here, it is a dying Earth. Minds and bodies are drying up. The weak and meek succumb, and the fiery hearts fight the wrong monsters: desperately chasing fireflies, distractions for the petty minds.

This is the kingdom of human deceit, where Politics, Economics and Allopathic Medicine rule. Where people believe in Human Rights and Peace; in Happiness, Art and Morality; in Love and Revolutions. Where woes are drowned in inebriation, technology and addiction. Where the desperate seek solace in corporal death, mistaking in concrete reality the source of their sickness.

I don’t know how to change, I don’t know where to start. I’m no visionary, I’m no warrior, I’m no god. My path is drenched in ever-changing colours and I’m not incendiariously motivated. Why me, why me? I’m quite typical I feel. It is their words, their faith, that burn inside of me! Why did you make me despise death? I see colours yet you have stuck me with indelible glue to a monochromatic planet. Tapered down with obligation and fear, you made me despicable and immortal.

You could have, at least, made me blind and content.