The Tunnel

It’s called time, the measuring scale standing between I will and I didn’t

And it’s all a matter of time till I convert promises into regrets

like a jet lagged traveller stuck between date lines and time zones;

I cant be sure that I left those moments behind like a hit and run with no witnesses

Is that why I try to forget more than I try to remember,

I can’t remember what I need to but I remember each moment I fall like I need to…

Time becomes a draw bridge slowly opening and thinning it’s planks into a sheet of paper

so thin that it’s transparent but this moment’s text will forever be recorded onto it

and folded to be tucked underneath my pillow as fodder for my nightmares,

even in my daydreams; my recollection is so vivid that I don’t call it remembering;

I call it time travel and I time travel so often there no longer is a now

just past moments that I’ve experienced much too late,

social cues that have reached their expiry dates.

I wish I could time travel back to the moments where the promises were still fresh

Not even now could pull me back from your smile

Where I am now get’s harder to reconcile

But I know there’ll will be a place there for me to spend a while




I can’t tell if you’re balling up snot from your nose or playing the worlds smallest violin for me. (Senile Ramblings from a wise old homeless man pt 8)

And I’m emotionally done; nervous system on collapse, all neurons have fired signals heavily and erratically and now lie exhausted from stress, cognition on the decline, synaptic connectors have unplugged themselves like friends who are now enemies, head hangs low, anxious – so anxious that I shake on the brink of paranoia and insanity, all muscles and limbs twitching like the tail of a dying lab rat, I need to escape or else I think I’ll die here, my soul will patter out like an old light bulb, the grief will kill me, I don’t think I’ll get up if I dont find some leniency, some form of reprieve, I’m so exhausted that I can no longer launch an argument to explain myself, I’m an outsider in what I’ve thought was my home; it’s always been that way, I thought it would get better but it didn’t and I find myself crushed under the solemn pressure of my own past and pain, the recriminations echo out from the dark, I’m my own accuser, I’m hated because I exist, all I want is justice like anyone else who’s been wronged, there is no forgive in me. I feel claustrophobic in my own head. Now I need a rope to use as a means of escape, to climb from or hang myself from.

Gathering leaflets

One day the mayor woke up and realized that he was no longer enamoured with the glitter of his fancy fetters; his neck tie had become a noose, his head had become an anchor and every thought was a bag of cement. Where a smile came so easily, it now looked painfully forced. It’s as if he had to stretch the skin back from his lips and mouth using the muscles in his forehead, it would accentuate the elliptical shape of his eyes, sweat would dampen his brow and his teeth would surface out like old tired relics. He looked like a badly drawn caricature of the Cheshire cat.

He was tired of the slow felo-de-se of wine and smoke. His suicide letter was dispersed as leaflets across an already litter ridden city. It read:

“I’m afraid of death, only when I’m alive and I haven’t been alive in years,

not all dead things deserve funerals, the only dead things that we mourn are the dead things we love but why haven’t we hosted hourly funerals for our dead dreams. We should have hosted funerals for our youths and childhoods but I think the Jews call those Bar Mitzvahs.

You see,

I’m not afraid of heights, only of falling.

No, I’m not afraid of falling, I’m afraid of throwing myself off (I already have)

I’m not afraid of throwing myself off, I’m afraid of the mess I’ll make when I hit the ground (literally and figuratively)

I’m not afraid of the mess , I’m afraid of death

and because of that I think it’s time to shake of the fetters of fear and parliament…

This is my political suicide note….”


The bloody edges of a jigsaw puzzle AKA Fuck this shit, Im going home.

I set my feet on mars to discover that it was empty..

This time, there is no healing that time can provide
No story that it can clearly articulate,
This time ,Time will stutter when it tells
Because in our lives things that shouldn’t speak have become our spokespeople and representatives
We gave mouths and wings to abstract ideas..
Here money talks and time flies
But we did not realize that money talks in riddles and white lies
But this time, you need not shy from bite but fight back
Because some of us take pride in well worn road while some abide by bypath
This is it, church of mouth where gullet clashes against pallet
to vibrate in mantras that stand themselves up as hymnals
Hear my heart erupt out in praise,
fighting out against its four walled cage

My tears ran down my face to muddy the red hot soil, clinging to my boots…

Every breath is an act of faith
Because I stand scattered
I fail to be seen, I fail to even matter
So I breathe in like every exhale would leave me shattered
When the positivity runs out long before your stomach succumbs to debt
While Staring at your blue lined paper plate and nothing but crumbs are left
And your feet cannot be summoned to step
Can you blame me for being a wallweed, unable to dance
Cant move the frozen gears, they’ll creek awake when the sunlight creeps away
They are shy
Nothing can overcome their desire to stay silent and hide
That’s why I feel like an outsider inside
I can no longer care when my efforts go ignored or when they are denied a reply..

Can I even move against the dust…

Why so soulless
Why is your face plastered with hopeless frown
You should really learn how to dance in something either than half steps and procrastination
Even if we look like hung corpses flapping in the wind while we’re doing it
We’ll epileptically seizure our way out of the pain
This dance will never ever be called unsure again.
If not we’ll just learn to die on command
We’ll learn how to die where we stand
Because 1 million coffins are clapping closed like a studio audience in applause
in the news and in movies our obituaries will all be written in closed caption
And overworked and underpaid, death will be caught gasping
but we’ll dance like this dance has all the answers
Rain dance till we flood the earth and drown ourselves

I set my feet on mars to discover that it was empty and I was happy.

Spokesperson (They will set us to teeth)

There was once a Spokesperson 
Who spoke till the broken spokes of the wheels worsened
When the smoked cleared, all that was left were remnants of a
hearse that carried the ghosts of every dead person.
Every dead person that had passed because we ask no questions 

Even when it strayed off the path, 
Our leaders still found a way to remain unabashed
And Beelzebub and Lucifer could not withhold their laughs
When our journalists were clutching snakes instead of holding golden staffs 

They will plant seeds in empty speech
And life will wind down into a matter of weeks
They will set us to teeth 
Stress will make us pace till we wear out the floor into an empty 
ditch that we eventually bury ourselves in

The hard broken earth
rest in in our scars and cloaks of dirt 
Hope will be replaced by hearts soaked in mirth 
You thought you heard harps when he was speaking but hardly,
because you now see all his actions strayed far from his spoken words 

He will set his mouth to deceive 
and they will set us to teeth

Rectangle (Senile Ramblings from a wise old homeless man pt 7)

Is there a difference between death and amnesia? I mean a true amnesia, one where you’re forever exiled from the past memory of your life(lives). Whats the difference between that and death because who you were basically dies and there is no heaven to reconcile with. They say you only live once but in truth you live everyday, almost a thousands lives between sleep and unconsciousness. Your memories elude you into thinking that life is a single continuous stream. So in a few days, parts of this moment will be forgotten. You’ll probably have forgotten ever reading this status one day and in truth the you who is the you at this moment will be replaced by a new you with similar traits but in essence who is not you. This you is going to suffer an existentialist death and he/she wont be mourned, just forgotten. The worst deaths are those that the eyes cannot see. I’ll address this theory as an absurdist – life is too short to ever have a fixed and objective meaning and nothing tangible can save it from being meaningless. Even worse , your likeness lives through a thousand lives that will never have meaning. Nothing can save your lives from this ultimate meaningless, not love or knowledge or money. You see, you are useless too but you don’t even know it.

Gathering Feathers (1 November 2013)

Its become a matter of finding a place in a world that ultimately hates us. I’m a hobo, going from domicile to domicile in search of a home. That’s what keeps me going, the sweet dream of a home. That has become my one word mantra, I echo it in meditation like – hoooooooooooooommmmmmmmmmeee


Max Payne is such a well written game – how did the movie turn out so shit?


I prefer Nina Simone’s version of Strange Fruit over Billie Holiday’s.


I wonder without a truly successful political background or career, without even the accolades of running a major profitable business to justify why I should be given the keys to the country, could I run for president or even a party leader. One of the greatest arguments against Obama when he ran for president at the age of 44 was that he was too young and unqualified to run a country because he had never run a large organization or successful business even though he was a Chicago State Senator. Not to compare America to us or any country but should we not have high standards for our politicians as well. With any job, you need a certain amount of experience and education in order to be considered for that position. If I was to simply start my own party, write speeches aimed at the impoverished majority, speak of every fear and unrest of the common man’s mind and mind you, I’d be lying half the time, could I become your president? I look and sound just like you, I’m the axes handle, there’s no reason why you should not believe what I say.Could I appeal to your tribalistic sensibilities? I’m not pointing any fingers at anyone. I’m just saying Politician’s lie and one day by the time we realize what big teeth grandma has, it will be too late.


I am shit scared of socialism.


I dont think anyone appreciates kindness more than me, especially if its from a stranger.


They like cars and alcohol. I just really dig books and art.


Capitalism – The government works for corporations

 Socialism – The government is the corporation


They’re worried about fashion, hair and nails; I’m worried about the human condition both existentialistic – esoteric and physical.


Money is thicker than blood. My parents taught me that.


When music becomes a mocking interpretation of everything we are.


If I was a wrestler, I’d just play the heel – the villain through my whole career.


Sometimes loving a broken person is like playing a game of tetris. You put them together again, just to watch them disappear.


The daily politics of being human


Albert Einstein said “I am convinced that He (God) does not play dice.”
Stephen Hawking said “God not only plays dice, He also sometimes throws the dice where they cannot be seen”


Now, I have to learn how to fake confidence. This would be easier if I was still a Christian #NoOffenceToAnybody


The problem is Im too deep or rather I think too much, cant seem to get out of my head, who can blame me, its a nice place when its not cloudy with recrimination. I need to learn how to be as plastic and seemingly shallow as these bathroom models who post naked pictures of themselves for likes? Self gratification? To be noticed? I don’t fucken know, but the implications are still weird if not scary. Sometimes the puddle is just a puddle but its still embarrassing when the water splashes your face.


Things will get better, if they don’t you’ll adapt, if you cant then oh well *Shrug*


I wonder if the dead envy the living or pity them?