All I hear are my own footsteps, as I’m walking alone, thinking to find him in these empty streets. He doesn’t have a name, he doesn’t need one. Any name would only compromise his clarity, undo his figure.
I’ve only seen him a few times now. First I thought he was just a figment of my imaginative dreams. I found out he was real, when I saw him doing something which dreams are unable to do: appearing in my wake reality.
From then on I was amazed by this appearance, knowing it to feed my desire to connect with him on some level of resemblance. I used to watch him from a far, and cling to those brief moments, to then later on imagine what kind of person he could be, what kind of thoughts we might share, what kind of things he does in life, what kind of purpose he has been chasing.
One day I saw him in those empty streets, and for a short single second, I could swear, he glanced back at me ..for a moment.
For an instant we locked and connected and a rush of crushing waves flew through my body. Or at least, that’s what it felt like.
Locked away in a prison of my own makings, bars built of cognition, walls of emotional intellect. That is how I remain after I’ve been with or around him. It feels as though he tries to reach out to me, in attempt to gain access, seeking my response. Whenever he moves, it seems towards me. Whenever he speaks, it might be for my ears to hear. His eyes made to register my presence, every movement, any visible appearance. His hands designed to hold me in an embrace of sustaining grace.
Knowing whether it should be like that, I never will.
But faith does certain things to people. Faith which descended from my observation, the plausible interaction, our relation. Though not to be mistaken with ‘relationship’. Any bound or connection, even that which exist only from frequency or contiguity, can be called or referred to as a relation. Only thing necessary to construct a relation is at least one common factor, one feature that is alike.
As cause and consequence follow each other up like shackles of the same chain, so do we repeatedly approximate one another by time or distance. Like leafs in a twirl of spinning wind, we keep each other in eternal rotation. An endless game to play.
Love is overrated..
Love is overrated
It does not solve everything
It destroys more than its made of
Like breaking after entering
Burn the building to the ground
Swallow the ashes and choke on it
Learn to let go what doesn’t count
Forget the sacrifices you both offered
Memories, both good and bad
Mean less than nothing
And should be forgotten
No loss of pride in feeling sad
Our cries hide behind raindrops
And tears will dry by sunshine
Breathe on until the pain stops
And keep your heart close to your mind
Leave the past for the history books
Grow towards a future that you decide today
Don’t worry about the time and difficulty it took
Focus on your own power and walk away
Because love may come
But don’t let it change you
It should’nt control your person
Or what you go and went through
And then love may go
But remember to know
That everything happens
Exactly as it has to
There are no reasons or patterns
So start every day as new
And remind yourself to remember
That coincidence doesn’t exist
There is no more to it
Than what it really is
Don’t fear for jealousy or hatred
The worst things are often also the greatest
Don’t try to make unworthy feelings sacred
Cause truth is, love is overrated ; )
Heartless
Keep myself on a level
To where no man can travel
No one would be able
To handle what I have
No matter how calm or stable
They’ll only get through half
The other part stays on lock
Cause I don’t need to get stuck
In some other person’s life again
Got myself to live with
And that’s already more than
I can handle or care for
Don’t feel the need to share more
Cause it doesn’t bring me nothing new or good
Knowing better is what I always do or should
And if somehow I fall
In love or in darkness
I’ll get up with no help at all
Because I’d rather be heartless
Just to make sure I get scarred less
Ready
Time for a fresh start
A new view
Roads less hard
To follow or pursue
You can travel a milion miles
Only to find nothing more
Than what has been here all the while
Just waiting in front of your door
Sometimes the little things we see every day
And don’t notice as special or outstanding
Are the things that can take our breath away
Even beyond our wildest wishes and understanding
Train me, tame me, tie me down
Teach me to love and cherish
Without a fear or frown
I don’t care to drown
Cause I’ve been to the bottom
And swam back to the top again
So I’m ready to become
Someone who dares and can
Geef mij maar lust..
Geef mij maar lust. Heerlijke nietsontziende, grijpbare, alles-consumerende lust. Gebruik makende van de energie van de liefde, voort bouwende op de energie van de passie. De perfecte combinatie van elementen met als enig doel en oogpunt een volmaakte en complete vervulling van onze meest roerende begeertes en vurigste verlangens.
Lust, zij overheerst en overleeft de liefde, op menig vlak. Wordt nimmer geleid door emoties als angst, verdriet of wanhoop, maar slechts door de voortdurende zoektocht, de voortstuwende ambitie naar geluk, plezier, vreugde en genot.
Lust is de enige echte doeloorzaak voor pure optimisten. De weg naar een beter, prettiger en tevredener leven is nimmer de liefde, welke slechts gevolgd wordt door een spoor van tranen, en vervolgens verdrinkt in de zeeën die daarmee ontstaan, maar liever de lust in al haar glorie. Dus, zodoende en als zodanig, geef mij maar lust.
A modest translation:
I prefer lust. Deliciously ruthless, tangible, all-consuming lust. Making use of the energy of love, building on the energy of passion. The perfect combination of elements with as only purpose and view a flawless and complete fulfillment of our most moving avidity and fiery desires.
Lust, she dominates and survives love, on many levels. Will never be guided by emotions like fear, sorrow or dispair, but solely by the enduring journey, the propellent ambition for happiness, pleasure, joy and bliss.
Lust is the only teleologic cause for pure optimists. The road towards a better, nicer and satisfied life is never love, which is always followed by a trail of tears, and then drowns in seas that are formed thereby, but rather lust in all her glory. So, therefore and as such, I prefer lust.
Newsflash
lovely ugly rain, straining down my window pane
you aim to see me drain, or drown
but I can see the flames, go down
and in my brain I remain, static
I don’t fear the pain, so dramatic
you can tear in vain, I won’t panic
cause I am way to sane, and dynamic
you don’t know what it looks like, or ought to
I have nothing to prove right, so I forgot you
and all your no use fights
you thought you thought through
you know it’s not who
starts or ends
or is heartless within
the farther you went
the more you would lose
and the part that you win
is the force of abuse
the margin of sin
you pour, I refuse
stop acting so clueless
I’ve recovered from my bruises
and you can’t make me move less
guess you didn’t see my newsflash
I’m only doing what I do best : )
Broken Core
Filled with flames of anger
Agressively aggitated and furious
A heart so hurt it lost purpose
A soul so scarred and tangled
It’s now unrecognisable
Though aware the disguise would once fall
We kept on pretending to try
You continuously neglecting my cries
I constantly defending your lies
But what does one do when..
Your worst enemy is the one you are
What is there to know when..
Your own mind speaks nothing but hatred
Where can one go when..
Your own hands tore up the road that you follow
Where is one to hide when..
Your own feet crushed the roof above you
When you have no one…
to trust or believe in?
When even your own self…
is out to take you down?
How do you manage?
To what can one hold on?
I was taught to trust in love
But sadly enough
Just the wrong sort of
The love I clung to
Was a selfish prideful shimmer
Merely an image
Of what I wanted so badly to have
No reality, no truth at all
Just the wish telling the tale
A broken core to follow the fall
But something’s leaking from the cracks
Flowing fastly, building up in stacks
It’s a sweet fluid
Soft and thick and dark
It has a taste of home in it
Like hitting something sharp
It tells me where to go now
It tells me not to stop
Leave behind all the baggage I’ve been carrying
And get ahead with what I’ve got
Even if it’s not much
Nothing more than my body, mind and soul
Had to leave my heart behind
It was too heavy and my bag was full
The ability to write…
Periods of time gone by, I only find myself now in the right place and time and most importantly in the position of ability to …write.
It’s hard to specify what makes it possible for me to write. What are the necessary factors that play a part in the proces of writing.
First of all, a certain sense of peace and rest, calmth and emptiness. Creativity and inspiration get killed by an overflow of information. Both visual as auditive noise can murder the flow of a thinker, a writer. Anything breaking the chain of concentration has to be diminished and eliminated in order to keep steady a stable progress.
It often occurs that one finds him- or herself in the right place and time and even ability to write a piece. The concentration flow has been sacredly kept save and isolated from any interference or ‘contra flow’. The creativity and inspiration seem close at hand, but somehow remain unreachable. Writers call it ‘writersblock’, although this term can also refer to not having any creativity or inspiration or whatsoever at all. I call this ‘flow lock’. All the right features are in place, the mental space filled with nothing but emptiness, calmth covers the senses. A river of creative cognition and intellectual inspiration is running through the mind rapidly. Until it hits a barrier, a large iron watergate. You can feel the creativity and inspiration bubble up and burst into the gate. But there seems no way to let it loose. Like a mime player, in an imaginary box. An enraged lion in a golden cage. A dancer whose legs got amputated. It feels like a handicap, a disability. Failure.
Failure means, making an attempt that turns out to be or become unsuccesful. Failure does not have to be taken negatively. Failure can be seen as the road to success: after falling off your bike a hundred times, the hundred-and-first time you manage to stay on it! Failure can also be seen as a process of learning: the experience you gain through the many failures you make, can be or become useful for other purposes. Generally, people link failure to a feeling of guilt. They somehow feel bad because they weren’t succesful. They thought they should or could have done better.
I think this sad ‘shoulda coulda woulda’ story is nothing but an excuse to the easy way out. Failure is the first step towards success. Without failure, success would not exist as it would not be distinguised as such. Without failure, every attempt, every action, every plan would be a success, because failure would simply not exist. And to be honest, not every attempt, action and plan is worth a success. Failure is necessary to learn, to grow, to be humble and greatful, to stay grounded and keep relativating. Seeing things in the right order and perspective clears the road to success. Practising and improving yourself continuously is the one purpose of failure.
Not being able to write, makes me able to write. The imaginary box, the golden cage, the iron gates and the amputated legs make me search myself thouroughly. It makes me investigate my mental skills, put them to the test and stretch their limits. The disability makes me ambitious. Ambitious to be able, be stable, be capable of doing what I want. Putting my creativity to product, injecting my inspiration into a project. Making dreams come to life, by keeping dreams alive inside. Reality begins and ends in the mind.
One can mentally kill or give birth to, neglect or nurse, destroy and destruct or enjoy and conduct any thing. And any thing mentally can be put to reality, through writing alone. Writing makes any idea, any concept, any lingering figment or thought a concrete thing. To read or learn, wonder about or teach. Language by itself, is the key to reality. And the writer…
The writer is the goldsmith that forged the key.
Salt
It burns in my chest
I don’t know how to cry anymore
Or how to feel what I felt last
I’ve lost love before
But I never feared I’d miss violence
Cause that’s what you imply
You have a side so evil
And I’m not exactly in my right mind
Together we’re more than lethal
But it’s the only real thing
That I’ve ever known
I can’t express in words
How this hurt feels
How I hate that I could not defend
Myself again
Against your angry hands
Not because I don’t love myself
But because you are stronger always
I wish I could have done something
To not let my weakness win
But fighting you is a sign
Of being suicidal
And I want to live now more than ever
Because you took my freedom
And my safety and my trust and all I had
You tore it apart
Because in your thoughts
I don’t deserve to have anything
On purpose you cursed me
With what you call love and so on
You wouldn’t leave or let me run
Forcing me to swallow your hatred
And take from me what’s sacred
My innocense and pride
Glad to say I’m still alive
You couldn’t take from me
What you want and miss now so bad
>My love, my heart you’ll never have
And I will haunt you with that
My presence will be the salt in your wounds
That you carved in your own skin
And will never grow to scars
Cause I’ll be sure to keep them open
Silent Revenge
I should’ve ragged the blade through your face
When I had the chance for it
When you laid asleep next to me
Before you could fire your rage against me
Next time you dare to care to come around
I got a surprise, I promise
You won’t see it coming
When you try to act up or hurt me again
I got a bullet here waiting
With your initials on it
My revenge is silent and motionless
Like when your body falls
Emotionless
And I will never regret it
Because it’s only justice
My way to deal with
What you did