A night that won’t end soon enough

Silence and distance in the hours and moments I can’t talk to her again

It rises, the sun

Everything is back to normal again

The silence ends when she rises as well

The distance feels like a made up memory

And then I begin to wonder through the day

Not mindlessly or aimlessly

But with her images circling

Her happiness,

Her beauty,

Is lain flawlessly like rose petals,

That rest on the surface of a sea

I see,

How she effortlessly is starting to seep right through me,

The sun,

She’s asleep again,

But her radiance,

It’s never shone this bright in my direction,

She’s happening to me,

I’m inexperienced to her,

‘Bon Voyage!’

As my memories of her part ways,

‘Auf wiedersehen’

I greet them back,

Silenced until she rises again 🌻♥️


The Past’s Eyes

The Past’s Eyes are wary about what is happening now. They hold what is to be gauged and not what is yet to be changed. The eyes are hiding in events, in people, in mistakes. The eyes don’t see, they have insight. The eyes don’t speak, they inform. The Past’s Eyes are none the wiser and is ever being repeated like history on a pendulum. The eyes don’t discriminate they disintegrate into pieces of information to be retold by masses whose interests evoke revolutionary narratives. The eyes are interesting, in that, they see the now unfold only to be locked away into a deep alley of time that could never be revisited. The Past’s Eyes know that someday, you will also need to use it to examine the future that is now before you with your time already locked away into a deep alley only to be re-imagined into a reality which already existed.


Thales of Miletus

as we begin to question what we are thinking about, we begin to understand our own conditioning in the reasoning behind our thoughts. To be rational is to actively seek pragmatism in a world that is rife with capricious gods and invented beliefs.

Thales of our own ignorance.

Thales of all the answers we hope to find, and so we tell ourselves to “dig deeper” as if we hold an essence within us with an all knowing compass to life,

Thales of our insanity.

Thales of an enlightened mind grappling to tell the world that it is nothing but material and matter,

Thales of silence,

because why does it matter to empower sheep?


“numbed by everything that we know. knowing can be so paralyzing at times. at times i think of all the moments that lead to here. here is what seems right. right now nothing else matters except you. you are the memory that ive always needed. needing your presence, your laughter, your care, and your warmth. warmth of your skin, your smile, your breath. breathing has never felt so purposeful. purpose can sometimes be defined by what we know and not what we do. do you really want us to try again? Or do you know that this will eventually come to an end?

The Irony in Karl Marx’s Death

We are so certain about what we are predicting that we fail to realize who else is observing us in our certainty. Who else exists to introduce choices that lead to alternative possibilities. The irony is in the outcome of our predictions than the very painstakingly analyzed research we present. The irony is in a world that divides its borders with concocted names to enforce political and social sovereignty already caricaturized by emperors who established verbatim governments from imagined orders. The irony is in believing in our liberal identities created by a liberalized generation which does not exist except through the myriad perceptions and truths that we hold of one another. The irony is that the death of deities will be due to a re-organization of social and ethical institutions when they were imaginatively created a millennia ago by organizations with their own social and ethical institutions. The sky diety emerging from the ether, descending onto earth, organizing its followers to march with to a promise land where an inevitable death will ensue only for the next millennium to rewrite a book to be generationally resocialized. The irony in Karl’s death: appealing to the proletariat, challenging the status quo, predicting the fall of communism only to later die impoverished. The only thing closely related to irony is the fallacy of hindsight, and may you never encounter an irony that could easily have been avoided if only you predicted its hindsight.


The Power of Ignorance

We are in deep contemplation about all the knowledge we have missed. Realizing that we have been incapacitated by our own ignorance. The Power of Ignorance has always been the anecdote to everything we ever lost. This power is the only entity that can freely be disseminated and performed in doses: A completely democratized power. The banality of our creativity can be traced in it. The power of ignorance has enthralled our governments to act merely as administrators and not as vanguards for an already melancholic future. Ignorance has warranted the complacency of masses to follow adage ideologies and to ignore, understate and suppress their capabilities. The power of ignorance is an edifice with a duplicitous point of view, always  deluding and eluding us with impractical information. The power of ignorance has left a progeny of more ignorance to be sampled as new truths for commercial value. Because ignorance is more profitable. Ignorance is more comforting, coveting, condoning. Ignorance can be socialized when knowledge poses a risk to organizational power. The power of ignorance is undoubtedly stronger than the last piece of knowledge you find. The power of knowledge is irrevocably weaker than the rest of the ignorance you don’t admit to.


…it occurred to me how entrancing it was relating to an idea that I once lived. An idea I once lived in, and continue to live through. 

It’s an association with some of the most intrinsically unique gestures that continue to pique at the very peak of my cerebral understanding.

A tune, that erupts a point of view I once shared about you, with you and now alone. There’s something about a perspective that just doesn’t give you the full picture of a moment.

…it occurred to me how vulnerability is worn and internalized when I exposed myself to the inconsistencies of your past and now the  memorable frequency of your soft beautiful voice. 

How could I exist within two lives when I only shared one side with you? How could I live and dream a reality that remains multifaceted and hidden by untapped into desires and confessions? How could I let go when my heart syncs into the tone that you embody to metastasize our bond? 

At the very core of where I’m coming from is my reason for moving on. At the end of my pain is this sound that guides me through your apology and my defiant, quiet weaknesses. 

At the very end of my silence, is my heart used as a door that you’ll never walk through. 

I love you.leitmotif

Catching Up 

We fear gaps. We fear that the in between will never be bridged with the now and the later. So impatient with time we overcompensate our efforts believing we are going nowhere fast. Catching up with the blind spots of our inactivity. Threatened by the imbalances of growths we hold. Conditioned that there’s only one way to be ergo no roots to stretch. Catching up with knowledge as if it’s not already contained inside you. Catching up with love as if you don’t already emanate it. The beauty lies in the realization that you can still improve. In the realization that your failures can be separated from your identity. A generation besotted with instancy for ephemeral gratification bury their sanctity early. We don’t believe that we can do it all so we do a little bit of nothing to achieve the bare minimum.

We burden ourselves with the falsehood of reality browbeaten down our conscience to make us feel insignificant. Small. Catching up with our greatness so we over-assert our importance and shortchange our competency with company that leech & latch onto our brilliance. Catching up with people who caught onto other people already. Catching up with discussions & ideas that already evolved & now we find ourselves a few good ideas behind schedule. Catching up with a currency that does not involve your existence but requires your identity to make sense of its context. Catching up with twenty years of your unconditional devotion but death has shown more permanency than your lingering presence.



this vision, this hope, this space that rests at the back of our mindsalways thought of, always sought for.this area that is out of reach & so we reach within ourselves and remember that we are empty, selfish and inadequatethis love that is away, this person that rests in soil you could never dig up to see themthe unknown that appears in our dreams, as if to say we greet the future while the present is unattended and pendingthis irony of a land that is so aloof, so unobtainable that we settle where we are used tothis hinterland that is a euphemism for uselessnessthis vision, this hope, this space that rests at the back of our minds…