Steep ridge of life

Tomorrow never comes until it’s too late, all mistakes are already expedited into full reality. And this madness rules the deviant residue of thoughts as a consequence of this moral corruption, a madness that can never be undone. In the heat of the summer, jacked affection for living remains, twisted as it is, perverted to the bone, only another form of stability.

Years by now mark this living on the edge, occult dancer maintaining steady balance on the steep ridge of life, choosing willingly insomnia that also can’t be undone. Because days are way too bright, and nights are only short for what needs to be done. Actions have erased any trace of lines, and what lies ahead can’t be taken into account, nothing is predictable anymore, it beckons… all awaits undreamed.

In the forgotten need for silence of my untamed astonishments…

Pi

Here on the hot asphalt of the city, I boil in my turmoil. Those times when I’ve set myself on fire, and even now this soul is still in flames. Count zero, wondering the industrial wasteland daydreaming to reroute the connections to the motherboard of the soul, searching in craving to find elements to rebuild those burned circuits, damage so profound on so many different levels. I didn’t think I have any levels:) 

All of this creating peculiar dynamic in a spiral of life, an open system of clinical madness where everything is chaotically intermixed and it should stay that way, because this soul doesn’t need any peace at the moment, she needs… well, you know, dirty and messy;)

Alchemy of the heart

Slowly browsing through the modulations of my radio, carefully listening in an attempt to decipher the static. Receiving indistinctive sounds, inconclusive in their chaotic vigor; waves upon waves scratching their way to me, dissolved into the air. Dialect of a mystical ancient madness forever forgotten in some naive past, long before we realized the concept of mixing tenses. Form of speech from a thirsty silhouette, located nowhere, existing out of time; sending me message in a bottle, a silent secret of some sort, secret told to no one, never heard by anyone. Region full only with truth beyond intellect, an essence of every religion invented by man, metaphysical axiom of existence… pursue of every true alchemist of the heart! 

Now I know that thought is no longer a thought, because it’s transformed into a feeling, deeper urge…