Ascending simplicity

It took some time, but they finally arrived, the thoughts leading me to hope again.

Here in the cold on a damp bench, water flows and ducks preen, and people walk past hand in hand.

I would gladly share this space, and yet I am gladly alone, I just am and they just are, and somewhere someone exists to sit beside me.

But now the flocks circle. And the traffic flows. Layers of sound like soft bandages wrapping my ears.

The birds. The cars. The voices. The laughter of children. Of men and women. Distant music. The rhythmic scraping of meandering soles on gravel paths.

I am trusting more and more in an ascending simplicity, spiralling out, perhaps, to a basic spiritual singularity.

Shall I name it? I do not dare.

For it exists between the soft wrappings of sound, in the spaces between things we can name.

Cold day. Damp bench. Alone.

It sits here, next to me.

Thought for food – 12

If we insist on outdueling the other, we will eventually find there is nobody left to whom we relate.

A healthy relationship is not a duel of wit or will waged behind defensive walls; but a patient organic blooming of giving, understanding, and compassion.

Through giving we may receive; through understanding we may question; through compassion we may be saved.

Healthy relationships give us comfort for we are vulnerable, strength for we are weak.

The invulnerable and invincible among us are lost and lonely indeed. Not only do they not exist (for who among us are gods?), they are trapped in the illusion they do.

Step out from your defensive walls, and others will follow.

Be vulnerable

Let them out, give them reign,

let those cleansing tears flow.

Let them pass, be not ashamed,

let those choking fears go.

Let it beat, relieve the pain,

let your heart’s true rhythm show.

Let the soothing abandon engulf you,

make its velvet touch your home.

Be cradled, pure and vulnerable,

and trust, you are not alone.

Switching costumes

This damn thing is an absurd joke.

Oh not again. Not again.

I’ve seen myself a thousand times and I have not changed a bit.

One day it will all end.

The ideals of a frightened boy: all smashed.

One day it will all end and the ideals will not save me.

We were made broken.

Now, as then, and tomorrow again.

And again.


Listen. I bore myself. And you too, I hope.

It has all been said.

What am I clinging to but broken space?

There is no substance here but hollow ideals.

And yet hear my cry: ‘Give me a war! Give me a goddamned war, and something to die for! Give me an ideal!’

I am an unbalanced pretender. And I always knew it. A goddamned unbalanced pretender, shooting a shot now and then, taking aim and shooting a shot now and then, to tip the scale in my favour.

Tip the scale, tip the scale. I lean too far I must tip the scale.

A pretender. Pretentious. A pretentious pretender pretending to be pretentious: pretentious squared: meta-pretense.

I am not even able to fail with grace. Not brave to fall off the measure. Scrabbling and clamoring to tip the scale. I’m sliding and falling off and I am not courageous. I do not dare…I do not dare!


Have you ever seen the beautiful truth, and had failed to act?

I have.

And don’t say at least I was aware enough to see; that most are too calloused to be aware.

Don’t tell me I should feel lucky to live; that most are never born.

Pretenders squander awareness; cowards squander life.

Oh, that I could BELIEVE! In something, in anything. To be calloused enough to not see, but to believe!

Oh, that I could fail to see, and truly believe!

But I have seen. And have done nothing.


Do you understand my words? Don’t make me spell it out.

The pretentious switch costumes until nothing of substance is left.

I need a war! – (to fall off I do not dare)

If you don’t get it….then get out!

You have been spared, and my envy of you knows no limits.

It knows no limits.

I need a war! – (to slide right off I do not dare)

This balance has tipped and I’ve shot my shot and my envy knows no limits.


One day this will all end. This ideal will not save me. Now, as then, and tomorrow again.

I dare not fall so I shall pretend. To wage war that I may believe, and callous my soul to regain relief.

I’ve shot my shot.

Oh that I were as calloused and deserving of life as you.

Thought for food – 9 – a psychological axiom

There is no such thing as dishonesty. It doesn’t exist in any meaningful sense.

In our deepest selves fluctuating values constantly tug on the strings of our wills.

Behind any deceptive act is a value held to be true; a belief which, no matter how wrong might appear to another, completely informs the actions of the deceiver at that moment.

We may deceive ourselves, and therefore others, but we can’t help be but honest deceivers.

Here I choose to live

A new world opened before me. One overflowing with light and love. I am neither reluctant nor expectant to enter, for reluctance implies doubt, expectancy implies dependency; I neither fear what lies within, nor seek salvation.

I know this world is meant for me. I will take my time to explore and learn. I will live.

Let love reign

Please take these words, and cast them across a crimson sky. Let the whole world read what I have been led to see. There is no pain so great, nor fear too deep, that a breath of pure love cannot ease.

Allow love the day to seize. Let love reign, and be free.

To the one I know but have never met

On nights when stars pierce the dirty panes,

And the moon casts shadows in my dark room,

With gentle embrace I cradle invisible space,

And my velvet heart beats to thoughts of you.

The miles between us are meaningless,

Crossed instantly on avenues of moonlight.

Snapshot of meaning – 1

Plump gray bird on fallow field,

Beady brown eyes reflecting setting sun,

I bike past slower than an emotion,

Which fills the scene with infinite meaning.

I walk towards the dancing light

If there is no light, then there is no dark.

I have fallen into the dark; I have become despair, doubt, infinite dread.

The dark says, ‘Turn your back on the light, there is no hope there; the closer you are permitted to come to the light, the further you will inevitably fall. Stay here, on the bottom, for in the end, all is doubt, fear, death, nothingness.’

The dark says the light is but an ideal, one that you can never reach, and thus one that will always fail you.

And I answer: ‘If light is an ideal, then you must be as well. To turn my back on one demands I turn my back on the other. You say it is folly to choose the light for it is an ideal, but then surely it is also folly to choose you.’

And the dark shudders, and spits me from its maw.

In the distance a tiny light flickers.

Caught between two ideals; I walk towards the dancing light.