Floating, drifting above their heads. A black wingless bird teetering on the edge of life. Seeing everything. Seeing nothing. Hurtling past sanity, reality and reason. Heading where? Somewhere.

Seconds ago, or was it minutes, maybe hours, I was part of the daily march. Thinking, not caring, seeing, being. Maybe thinking but not seeing. Distracted by mundane thoughts weighing down my mind.

It hadn’t come out of nowhere, it had come out of somewhere. Sent, to guide me out of this world. A giant chariot of innocent metal force. Powerful enough to nudge me out of here, out of now.

I didn’t feel a thing when it hit. One instant I was on the ground the next I was floating. No time to scream, no time to brace. It hit and immediately my body was on fire from the pain. Next instant the pain and everything else was gone. The ground surrendered my feet.

Now time has lost all meaning as I float above their heads. I know I have to say goodbye, but up here I’m all alone, so I whisper farewell to the wind. The ground greets me again, harshly, and throws me about.

I’m back together with the ground, waiting. I lie on red liquid sheets that spread fast beneath me. They become bigger and bigger as the world dissolves from my sight, from my memory.

All sounds travel further and further away from me. I can’t smell the air anymore. My body disappears. I cease to have hands and legs and skin. I’m now just a floating presence. My body rests broken, my mind is quiet, my heart lies still.




Why is it that I can look at one thing,
in two different situations,
and see two different things?
Perception is a bitch.
A lying bitch.
I’m looking at something
that I’ve seen before.
It’s the same,
but then again,
It’s not.
It hasn’t changed,
but then again,
I have.
Time and circumstance,
have scared my perception.
Changed it.
Corrupted it?
Now what was
is now gone,
and will never be again.
Somebody else,
never saw what I did at first
and now sees something different still.
Thus most things,
only acquire the importance we give to them.
Did I say most?
I’m sorry.
I meant all.

Big and Small
Happy and Sad
Winner and Loser
Right and Wrong
are all the same thing.


Mama Joe’s

“What can I do for you?” The words were simple enough, as was their meaning. It was a question asked many times before by the young and pretty shop attendant at Mama Joe’s Cake and Pastry Shop.

It was around seven o’clock, the earth had began pulling its dark star-spotted blanket over the sky. The little ants that scurried on its face prepared for another night. For most of the tiny creatures, this day would end like any other; but for the two current occupants of Mama Joe’s, it would be significant.

A young frazzled looking man, conspicuously wearing a heavy Jacket in the mild weather, stood in front of the counter. He would have probably been the last person to hear those words that day from the young lady behind the counter. A pink plastic tag pinned on her collar claimed her name was Margaret.

The question that had been asked by Margaret lingered in the air for a second, then another and another till it was carried away by the wind and had to be launched again. It was meant by Silence still.

“Sir?” Margret said after not getting a reply.

The young man was startled and reacted as if waking from a dream.

“Yes,” he answered sheepishly.

“What can I do for you?” those words again, now feeling ancient, “can I help you with something?” Margaret was being very patient with the young man. It was her nature, you had to be amiable to work in a cake shop she always thought.

The young customer found himself deeply contemplating the question. Could the lady help him with something? He doubted it, his problems couldn’t find their end at Mama Joe’s Cake and Pastry Shop. He would have had more luck at Mama Joe’s Dreams Fulfillment Shop. He was there only for a temporary solution to his one big problem.

He pulled out of his Jacket pocket the tool which he had carried. It was a small silver revolver pistol. He wondered why it felt so heavy in his hand as he lifted and pointed it at the now frightened face of young and pretty Margaret.

“Yes,” he said, surprisingly calmly, “put all the money-”

He didn’t get the chance to finish his statement. The quiet in Mama Joe’s was shattered by an unfortunate loud sound. The sound came from his tool, it had screamed. Immediately after the scream the back of Margaret’s head ruptured and sprayed her red blood all over the white wall behind her.

The young would be robber stared shocked at the freshly painted wall in front of him as Margaret disappeared behind the counter and greeted the ground. She lay there still, robbed of life.

The young murderer’s ears were ringing due to the unexpected, unfortunate sound. He had strayed a little and owed dangerous people money, but now he was completely lost. He put the smoking tool back in his pocket, turned around, walked out of Mama Joe’s and headed towards nowhere.



In a daze
Voluntary life haze
Mind consuming muddle state
Glorious kind forever
Everything light
As a feather
Day dream
Might seem like I’m enjoying it
No reason for reason
Nothing seems to want to matter
Gravity of meaning off
Everything stands for little
Clarity almost none
It’s ignorant and naive
Much more is here
I don’t want to leave
It’s not about getting high
It’s about letting your mind fly
Why do they want to be so stern
So serious
So much of the time
Why can’t they live in this place
Easy flimsy space
All of the time
It’s much less reasonable
up here
Floating in this daze

it gets clear eventually
and sense begins to make sense.

I’m sad reality always grounds my brain and it all gets heavy again.



Careless custodians
Shoot their soft canons
Careless ammunition
One hundred a minute
At innocent victims
Traces of wet
Residue on their lips
Hear the whispers and shouts
Shattering silence
Multiple slugs let loose
Striking ears and minds
Breaking hearts
Killing dreams
Strays spray bystanders
Injecting fear into the souls of men

Wielded with care
The soft cannons shoot
Powerful ammunition
That make love to ears
Lay to waste fears
Give hope
Thrill and



It shakes your body, heart and soul.
It’s there now, after and before.
You feel it churn your blood.
Travel through your bones.
Throttle your nerves.
Tremble across your muscles.
Tear tears from your eye.
Stick cries in your throat.
Cause’ when it hits you feel it even in your dreams.
Time freezes, then seconds expand.
You wait for it to end.
You wish you were never born.
You wish all pain was gone.
Then swear never to feel it again.


Ideas in a vacuum.
Thoughts in a moment.
Trapped in my head.
Trapped in time.
Only for a moment.
Perfect and without flaws.
Till they attempt to manifest,
outside my head.
Challenged by reason,
they’re not strong enough.
They choke to death.
in an atmosphere of sense.



I wonder if lucid,
what I would be thinking?
What would be going through my mind?
Probably something heavy.
Something that matters,
but matters only for now.
Only for this moment in time
and none after.
Why do we care about what matters now
and not what matters before
and after that?
Fuck before,
I left it back there.
Forget about it.
It matters no more.
After is what matters.
Mostly because we spend most of our time there.


Faux Town

A story is told about a place that was not there.

In a land that did not exist, resting in a valley that never was, housing people that were never born stood a town that was not there. No one ever gave it a name because no one ever went and no one ever came.

In rare mornings when the absent sun would escape the broken horizon and climb up the invisible sky, the missing people would rise from their vacant beds. They would roam the empty streets and all day the sparse people would play. All day they sang silent songs and danced; hollow feet thumping on loose floating earth.

The missing people did not do meaningless work from grey dawn to dim dusk so they could buy food which their empty stomachs never craved. Nowhere stood shops and markets to sell this or that for there was no need for money in the land that did not exist.

There were no chiefs, leaders, presidents or politicians in the town that no one ever saw or has seen. Rich people and poor people, sick people and homeless people were scarce in the valley that never was.

Hate and love were memories lost in whispers. Fear was a rumor, kindness was hiding, misery was forgotten. The time stops and never passes, nothing ever changes in the town with no name.

I read nowhere that the missing people were happy maybe, they probably respected each other and their opinions. Everything that was made was good I hear. Everybody told the truth to nobody and only had good intentions. Nobody died from malice, all death was natural as they all lived forever.

You did not hear of this story of the town with no name nestled in the hidden valley. Nobody told you about the people who somehow lived lives uncommon but real? You did not hear the silent songs they never sang in the streets that never were. It all took place in the time that was now, is then and later.

A story is forgotten about a place that was not there.


The Fall of Adam

It is the fate of man to destroy himself.
As we are now, we are slowly killing ourselves, we have no choice in the matter. It is our very nature to destroy everything around us and leave it bare and dead.
Never before in history has man had the ability to end his and indeed all life on the planet, until now.

And so it shall be.

It could come by many means:

global warming leading to deadly and devastating climate change;

overpopulation leading to the polluting and poisoning of the earth to the point where sustenance of life is impossible;

genetically engineered biological and chemical agents meant for war, spreading, infecting and annihilating;

the obvious nuclear holocaust;

or perhaps and most likely of all, the human being will invent and unleash a new and more efficient means to end life.

By whatever means the result is clear. The final judgment, the last and concluding chapter in the history of man will be drafted by five fingers with an opposable thumb.