The sun shines

The gull cries

The daughter weeps

The father dies

The mother drunk

The sun miles away

The school without care

The hospital without bed

The lions are jubilant

The rats, extatic

This little town of ours has no fanatics


Coercing Discipline

A smile is all it takes. One smile will be a fine reminder of peace. A good joke will bring the frown of your forehead down to the lips. A good laugh to help you forget of the past. Of the truth. And this is a responsibility for the one who garners pain. Understands what it means to be hurt. Comedy is the sweetest lie. The terrifying truths of dreams suddenly come to be of grand humour not for the mere oblivion they have reached but the optimistic sham of a belief we once had. It is thus far of no acceptable nor comprehendible capacity; the desperate attempt of justifying satire. Dragging it through all the concepts, ideas and individuals brought to complete destruction and put comedy upon the pedestal of respect.

Political correctness was never a worry when our greatest steps were taken. It is damnation upon humanity. For all of us to be politically correct, would mean for our species to be satisfied of the idealist absolution reached on the verge of extinction. There is no light where the tunnel ends.

We must take the hammer to all the barriers built to prevent any ray of thought not shining in accordance with all the individuals who have come together and formed groups with badges and signs and little hats, forcing all to respect their entity and abide by their posed decalogue. They crave change in constitution, forcing change in the people, when they bear greatest the need to consider the perspective of another.

Everything but life dies. Life strives to adapt, the rest of us however, we are simply here to live. Let us not complicate any, further.


From the sun in the north, to the moon in the south

From the love of a king, to the killing of a man

The sentence was given for us to live and lie

Fly through the skies and weep upon the grounds

To abandon principles and never take a stand

To dive into the cave and forget of the past

Progress at the edge of chaos, destruction at the feet of perfection

The sound of the hills, or the roar of a house

A father and a child, a mother with her daughter

Radish wine, bread and butter

A woman on her own, a man on his tract

These days of our lives, the end of our journey

Her existence a failure, her patience a loss

Let us forget our forefathers and build a new past


There is a strong fog. Strong enough for the vehicles outside the window to be seen with great difficulty. This is common in these parts and the people treat it with the very same approach as they would a sunny afternoon.

If the ice sheet in Greenland were to melt, sea levels would rise 7 meters. If the ice sheet in Greenland were to melt, the name would at last be of reason but not to all who questioned it.

It will lift, they say, tomorrow evening. Every day, some 4 people throw them selves in front of a train. In this country alone, that is the supposed average. And when one shortly ponders upon the matter, it is amongst the best suicidal stratagems. I hope they would all die! After all, it was their deepest desire.

Words These Days

Many have never read ((Ulysses)). Of those who have not read it, some have heard of it. Of those who have heard of it, some have tried. “I’ve put in so many enigmas and puzzles that it will keep the professors busy for centuries arguing over what I meant, and that’s the only way of insuring one’s immortality.” 

I know of two terms with not one equivalence in the English language. It is so very fascinating. Perhaps, in literature there are more boundaries than other constituents of the arts. And perhaps, it is easier and better for one to express and to communicate in the language of mathematics or portrayals. There stand less chains. For the simple reason literature is rationalized sounds, all animals, amongst them humans as well, have come to celebrate it as their official language.

There has been much in ways of prosperity and progress. Even today, however, there are impediments. Not in the new-borns of humankind’s innovation. But rather in the fundamentals of any individual and the desires of any being and the vindications of our existence.

“It is difficult for a woman to define her feelings in language which is chiefly made by men to express theirs.” Thomas Hardy

Words were meant to clarify. But some are so very ambiguous; like love. Or reality.

Something Wonderful

Today, something wonderful happened. Some 8 years ago, I came across a website by the name of ““. Filled with statistics from live world population, to the number of cellular phones sold today, to the number of books published and forests lost. One number was, for me, the most staggering. The most depressing and the most crucial. There were nearly 600 million people with no access to a safe drinking water source. The feeling of disgust was of great strength. It seemed the further we progress, the more we leave behind. It seemed.

The horror was how this number was rising. When, in early 2016, I visited this website for what seemed to be the last time and came to the conclusion; our species is doomed. The number had passed 650 million. Still rising. Today, nearly 2 years later, worldometers has been once more visited and as I scrolled down along the lost trees and the undernourished and desertification, the section for numbers relating to WATER appeared and as the litres of water consumed this year and those dead due to water related diseases were being ingested, my eyes were suddenly filled with water and ready to holler. 587 million and descending, the number of people with no access to a safe drinking water source. Right there, looking out the window, the blue sky showed herself. Beautiful and peaceful. It has been raining for days now but a bit of blue, even momentarily, brings smile to faces all over and every where.


Failure is a strange feeling. The bitter taste of it is oddly settling. Specially on those occasions where one has not prepared or, in the least, been precise.

The sun has been gone for a while now. These grey skies have been weeping for days. The beauty of a rainy day with grey clouds and a foggy sky is the peace. Not so many in the streets or on the roads or on the swings or in the boats or on the pavements or on their bikes. So there, where insanity hits and you begin to sing from the depth of your throat with a rusty voice “When The Levee Breaks”, there stands not as many confounded eyes. Those who sing, getting wet under pouring rain, do not do so for there are less people surrounding them. The singing comes along for nature is felt with all of her beauty. The singing comes along, not for others to suffer the killing of records, but for nature to enjoy our contentedness.

The Little Things

These days, nearly every morning I get wet. Riding a bike to and fro for 40 minutes through the country side is of great pleasure since at times it feels as though one is running wild through the woods as free beings not bound to the thought of tomorrow and the nightmares of the past and simply living today for it is the only truth. Time is a false concept.

For our selfish justification purposes we chain ourselves to the sun and the moon. There have always been those who see themselves apt and condign of sounding their very own “unique” perceptions of an idea or event. This, of course, only happens due to a lack of common sense. And when these blithering idiots come to sit behind desks which makes them accountable and beholden to their constituencies, a new side of humanity comes to show itself. Then, those who understand the value of knowledge and have come to ascertain there stands much to learn and then there stands much more to be discovered, these true humans who treasure their evolution begin to not care. They will go on, living their days with the simple aspiration of living life and helping those who surround them, simply to the extent where it would not exasperate their every day freedom of will. They will live their lives with no care for the news. They chain themselves to the little things and keep little in ways of extrovertedness. And every now and then they glance at the sun and glare at the moon and are reminded of how much more there is.

Thus, perhaps, it is good to be bounded to the sun and the moon as our gateway to the universe. We are so very small in all of this and so it is right to base it all on the little things.


Autumn is upon us. One tree is red, another still green and one completely nude. The sun still shines. They say this is her last day. A bit of wind with white clouds and blue skies have all come together to create a masterpiece. One deservant of Caspar Friedrich‘s genius. No matter how cynic one is, all could embrace a bit of fresh air by taking to the streets. And this is one day, I presume, there will be no arguing with cynics over the values of life and the life alongside and with nature. Autonomy and monogamy are so very much in conflict with one another. However, one could make a rather convincing argument that due to their luminous contrast, they are in perfect accordance with one another. Perhaps that is why some marriages last.

The pure beauty of nature. The day has been rather warm and all seems bright. Hopefully, it will be a long day.

In Melody

Still Light

It’s when all these things
build up inside me,
like thoughts I’ve somehow
not yet found,
the right order of words
to express in language
what the heart, it feels.

So I sit by the window
instead in mournings,
and watch how the wind,
it speaks to the trees,
but I’m sure, the trees,
if they could tell me,
would say the heart
it hears in melody.

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