A Short Yarn Slashed Shorter.......

Weathering the winter chill he walked toward the terminus of his journey, what he thought had been an odyssey; was fast becoming an epos of his deeds. The lambency in the far distance. The willed yet compulsive trudging, of his tired torso hurdling hummocks of snow. All connived to partake in his necrosis. This consumption he knew not of, for he was the paladin of nescience. Nor did he know that the next four paces were not toward the aureole he so desired to contact, but were steps he so willingly was taking towards his impending exit……..Yes he did die, but not for naught, for he left a bequest for all drifters; “the journey of thousand leagues can end with a single step”…….

"Watching You"

Sitting alone on the bedside table, denouncing away;
The mos that makes up someone else’s day.
I hear nothing but the marking of every second within the confines of my dial;
I wish much too much, that I was alas once again agile,
I see but a mere reflection of my world through my concave view;
The tenners of me unwinding with someone else’s coiling have left me knackered beyond a repair or two.
As I sing my last ticking song;
I know in this world I did belong.
For being the coveted trophy, that adjourned the wrist of my victor;
I was their pride, joy and time hector.
I wassail thee my owners with the last clank of my sound;
For I, was your timekeeper whom you so lovingly wound.

My Joust with Myself & Nihilism

If something worth living for is worth dying for, then what about something not worth dying for? Why can't we rectify our artificial notions of order with the worldwide reality we encounter every day? Just a few oppugns that perplex, complicate and gravel my very hub this day.

Is it the privilege of a broken of a man to seek answers? The existentialists; mock the notion of a complete and fully satisfying life. Man cannot help aspiring toward the goods of this world, nor can he help aspiring toward the serene detachment from the things of this world which the traditional philosopher sought after; but it is not within his power to achieve either of these ambitions, or having achieved them to find therein the satisfaction he had anticipated.

Should I deconstruct false values, highlight social absurdities, criticize fractional logic and the fundamentals of faith. Given that no one can deny anyone else the ability to describe themselves as they see fit; whether the description is accurate or not is another matter. Whoever wants to be a creator of good or evil, must first be an annihilator; break, rupture and destroy values. Thus the highest evil belongs to the greatest goodness; but this is being creative. Some would argue that life is more than just survival, perhaps so but if this is the case only you can create a sustainable, valid reason for living beyond the inviolate basics. Even just sticking around to burn it all is a far more sustainable reason that will put more in your clenched fist than the hazy fog that most people grasp at for self enlightenment.

Regardless of who we are or what background we come from as soon as we are confronted by any alien belief or an idea-set that opposes, debates, refutes, questions and criticizes; our faith. The vehement and violent you are propelled to defend what you in essence do not understand. Because religion isn't just repetitive rituals and praying to some spirit in the sky, religions are fundamentally defined as any idea-set that disallows a public challenge to its validity.

So from this day forth I shall;

Shatter Myths

Defeat Isolation

Defy Tradition

Contradict Habit

Reorder Routine

Repel Convenience

Upset Convention.........

Mortifications of a Discombobulated Mind

“Bonjour mon amour. J'ai de nouveau la charge avec vous mes réflexions, et à confondre les you.However ce n'est pas mon intention, je veux que tu me connaître mieux” (hello my love. I again charge you with my thoughts, and confuse you. However it is not my intention, I want you to know me better)

I sometimes cogitate as to why are we actually here… I mean our survival continuation our very subsistence. Is it to merely just walk a certain preconceived path called life as we know it; be born work love copulate conceive and finally perish into the annals of history or become another idea in someone’s remembrance.

Why is it that I want more from life than just the basics… is it this eternal greed that consumes my being or a quest to reach a higher level of consciousness, a perception, a realization that; We are not who we say think we are? For we are the mechanics of some larger ruse that we as beings “content within the confines our mundane lives” know not off.

I have this unquenchable thirst to be loved and love profusely, copiously and relentlessly. Is it “normal” or have I become an obsessed muse within a within a muse. I want a union with the world, where I just live to love and be cherished. Alas I am too fickle and capricious for I cannot even return the love of a devoted and untainted love such as yours. What is it that I want? I know not, but this I know its is a chaste an innocent moment with someone anyone and everyone that lasts a lifetime.

We all have so much to give and yet we are more engrossed through out our lives in receiving rather than generously giving. Are we ravenous vultures feeding off unborn generations of emotions and feelings? Or are we simply self-seeking and selfish, beings that would if they could obliterate rather than create.

I want you, I know you are spoken for and it also goes against the very nucleus of my beliefs and virtues, but I can not stop thinking of you. I am entrapped and ensnared, and yet all I wish is for captivity and not freedom from my impasse. I hope I have not passed the wrong verdict on my predicament. However I know this that loving you in this life or another is not my delusion, it’s my song.

Tonight’s Nights Soiree with the 5th Element; The Beach Banging

With peckers in unison giving a standing ovation to the Sexed Goddess; Pikey A.K.A Anita… the question however was whose wiener would be the winner. The rat race began at about 8pm, when a partially doped dong barely managing to stand tall made its way across the garden in a desperate attempt to nab that illusive one eyed kitty cat; Anita. Who by now had the brains of every hominid present in their groins! The lions in winter had hibernated to the remote depths of their quarters at the loins, only it seemed like rather wet dwellings.
Nectar
Robin was at his flirtatious best; alas he would have to wait for his nightly dipstick. For tonight there were no queer’s, not a soulful pecker willing to part with its heterosexual preference for my dear host, only men with a singular purpose to snatch that snatch, thwart any advancements toward the cherished twat. This was a combat zone my fellow knight I amidst it; a silently sitting spectator, carefully watching learning and imbibing all explicit maneuvers (for future don’ts of course). This was nookie wisdom at its best.

Mildred amid all this lack of interest for her shapely torso draped in a purple gauzy number, wanted to retreat from the battle grounds. But not me my fellow equestrian; this was a pedagogy prospect of a life time. I was all prepared to stand my ground right to the end. And reflect upon the outcome of this battle of shafts of varied ethnicity, shapes and sizes.

My attention went on to the host for a brief second and I was confronted by the slit trophy itself an introduction followed. Robin at his composed best built a castle for me, much to Mildred’s angst, and Anita kitty Cats sizzling delight. Not before long I was in the thick of glancing swords all trained towards me, with a singular purpose at hand; Circumcision of this sudden intruding woody. I frantically and fanatically started looking for Mildred The general of all my flanks. She was the only environmentalist there worthy enough to free this Willie; regrettably she was trying to hold her own from being marauded. For now the battle heat had prevailed over the entire experienced peckers battalion desperate and frantically stiff! Wanting to steer themselves in any nook or cranny for the much needed comfort.

With a coagulated mind, I looked straight at the object of every ones ache; and blurted out an invitation to her for a walk down the beach. The Anita Kitty cat meowed and jumped at the carnivorous opportunity…. Tonight night I was almost ambushed rogered, banged and knobbed, alas never laid to rest for my Field Marshal Mildred showed up on my central flank and besieged My Mojo Mutiny!
Your ever worthy Templar

“A Suicidal Tail”

I awoke to today’s dawn with a notion that life wasn’t one of my finest assets, a thought that burgeoned at about 7:00 am this morning with a sprint as though it would run over my very survival. By 7:45 am my idea was no longer a notion, it was wicked certainty. My vim and vigor were both prisoners of war, caught within the mêlée of my inherent suicidal contract with my self. The door bell rang at 7:58am amidst my self-destructive catch-22 should I or shouldn’t I; answer the doorbell!

As I walked doubtfully to greet my unwanted company, my thoughts wandered from last night’s argument with her to the meeting for 9:00am. Which undeniably I was going to pass over for a day spent in desperate deliberation followed by the performance itself. 8:00 am I reached the door it was ajar, I sauntered out but came back right in wasn’t in the mood for a social casualty with the new neighbors across the hall over the ledge. Time was airborne I peered out of the window and it was 10:00 am, there was a commotion across the boulevard. Seemed like a scuffle between a canis aureus and a hominid, ugh! I couldn’t stand the fracas; I have never been a morning being. I love my mornings sluggish with a good stint of milk for the power that I always seem to lack. No thumping to blaring music beats in the morning like my flat mate. I really wonder where she gets the vigor from to be out all day, no siestas in the day and then to come back to the flat and stare at the wall, for hours and hear others making strange noises.

10:46 am, am almost dosing off got to keep awake and figure out my problems once and for all, take that decisive step to end this misery. I decide to tramp the carpet in contemplation, but change my mind and walk towards the rare end of the flat across to the balcony. What a relief I was almost choked in there with the smell of her perfume trailing across the whole apartment. I don’t know why she fights with me, it’s now become a daily routine just before we try and snuggle up in bed together. I almost wish she would disappear at nights after our meal; I definitely wouldn’t mind sleeping unaccompanied.

Its going to be 11:57am, Come to think of it I have always been a recluse, and never really had the chance to know my mother, about my father I haven’t the vaguest clue. Legend has it that he was the strongest and heaviest amongst his siblings. Well am sure it’s just a myth because one look at my wretched frame and Id put even the retard round the block to shame. I must end this frivolous existence, what or who am I living for. She doesn’t care anymore about me her actions toward me reek of phoney love. I have reached half my life on this planet and I still haven’t found that one person I could snuggle up to for the rest of my life and who would contribute to my dreams.

12:19 pm there was one once but it lasted for only a few glimpses and then she was gone taken away as though by design so that I could never get to know her. Life is vindictive mine is spiteful. I must drink something to muster up the courage to take the step I have been contemplating for so many moons. This tastes good wonder where she got it from, she leaves it lying around as though she knows what I am contemplating and she is just there to give me that last shove across the hurdle; my life! Am drowsy she must have mixed something in it, is she trying to exterminate me.

4:00 pm gosh I must have been knocked out! Haven’t slept like this in days, I must shake this lethargy out of my head. I need a stroll to collect my thoughts and resume my singular purpose for today’s existence, my Death! 4:32 pm am out on the street, she locked me in again today I have expressed my displeasure at that so many times, that I am beginning to nag myself now. But she doesn’t care, I loathe this about her. It’s like I just don’t exist for her anymore and we are living separate lives within confines of the same walls and its stifling me from within. When did we become so detached?

It’s pleasant outside, 4:45 pm ever seen that line of people walking from one end of the block to another looking all grim and purposeful, but in actuality they are as clueless as I am always. Then why this facade, this deception this never-ending pretense. That’s it I am going to find the ultimate solution to my anguish. 5:12 pm I turn around and start hurriedly towards the flat. 5:15 am in that was a speedy retreat back. Home again to the numbness of the walls that resist my very being and defy my love for death.

I amble along across the corridor reach the balcony. We stay on the 19th floor; this isn’t going to be that easy. I precariously perch myself on the railing. There is a sudden swishing sound its all so confusing I can’t see a thing is this it. I am in her arms we are in the kitchen she lets go of me with out saying a word turns to the fridge pours me a drink and as always I let out a bogus purr and wag my tail at her.

“The Emancipating Jounce of Inspired Uselessness"

I have always measured; Art as the ability to transform anything in to a chimera of itself. A veracity that excludes the very object it personifies. A kernel of art can evolve anywhere aided by boundless catalysts, for art is but a mere alteration of the bona fide. For certain, art is omnipresent. It can be profoundly appealing – Sensually, Spiritually, Intellectually even provocative or just simply innocent. Art can be so beautiful and powerful that it can move a witness through its astuteness to tears or even render one staggered with silence and trepidation.

The Encyclopedia Britannica Dictionary defines "art" as such:
"The conscious use of skill and creative imagination especially in the production of aesthetic objects."

This definition offers no insight as to the chicanery of art. Rather, it explains how one may produce it. Art can transmit ideas, places, perspectives, and even feelings to the observer that he/she has never seen or experienced before. In other words, there is no prerequisite for art. However the fundamental question is; what makes art “ART” is it through the hands of the artist or is it the through the emotional core of the observer?

Art is a vehicle for the transportation of the perceptual stimulus (i.e. aesthetic). The primary purpose of art is to evaluate the external phenomena registered by our senses. When the composition that delights, thrills, captivates or challenges our sensory receptors has been created for that very purpose, we call it “ART” This means that when a piece is created with its primary purpose being that it stimulates the onlooker's senses (whether it is the artist or the observer) it becomes art.

The primary purpose of art must be to be purposeless – to serve no practical purpose other than to excite one's sensory perception. At the heart of any genuine aesthetic response are sensations that have no rational application, material or psychological, yet somehow manage to enrich our lives.