titling not necessary.

wow, here's something that's actually entirely 'blah'. But I did write it, so... yeah.

propel some bullshit

to make it sell,

a mark of things not going well;

a mountain adventure

for the mole I need,

slipping down to make ends meet…

what’s with a fall

if you’re not falling hard?

what if it’s futile,

what if it’s not?

I mean…

I just found the flower

in a knowledge spark,

that if ends did meet

then there’s no end at all.

and I guess the problem is living with it.

It's confessional, conversational, I'm just springing something up. Could be potential enough to make you want to not come to this place ever again, but did you ever in the first place?

midnight train

the night was noiseless, so I had to talk. But I needed place, ‘anywhere’ didn’t seem viable enough as the moment saw it. Consciousness came with this ‘no vacancy’ sign, and I had decided to sit it out anyway. On a pair of legs and a changing road.

“I don’t drink.”

“I don’t play football.”

And I saw her smile, between me and her. And I smiled back because I got to see her for once at a place where I’ve not kept her but where she actually could choose to be. Because I know she won’t choose me, the ‘Which Will’ way and that’s knowing asphalt by the crunch of it.

“I’m this…”, I began, only to shake my head. “Consciousness freak, I... cannot let anything control my emotions, I… cannot lose my emotions… palm-of-my-hand, you know-”

“Do you really think I don’t see what’s coming?” she cut me across, when she wasn’t listening.

Gesticulation, overdramatic pauses and excessive emphases? I should stop writing dialogue.

Writing’s all about writing what you don’t think you should be writing anyway. But how would that work? You know what, I don’t want to write this.

----------

I think ‘Once’. I’ve this vivid visual of Glen kissing Marketa on her cheek and a dying sort of audio on ‘When your mind’s made up’, but is it only natural that I think that? Although it is unnatural that I seem to be going with a force of nature than conjuring up my own toothpick bit of bravery.

“but you are just a wisp of smoke,

in daffodils and diamonds, clothed;

no ocean strained,

no feather moved,

as off my chest to the world I blew…”

These bunch of lines are serving to be my present ‘Northern Sky’, the sort that gets me emotionally soaked within a moment of construction and faithful recount. Of hours of thoughts in the minutes I felt them, the time where my clock had stopped to pass me by. And then I think of the times that I looked down on the road that I was walking on and waking myself up from this state of mind that only completely refused to believe that I was where I was.

Like the time when I absolutely need a sign of green to let it flow; to let it grow. And it’s like these trains are full of people who aren’t meant to be leaving in the first place, and that they’ve stoked its chimneys full to fit a million years of stay.

kid on the Block

At an initiation-level, I thought of using this write-up to relate what could seemingly be the most outrageous twosome of all times, considering the fact that they simply cannot be seen together. Justin Bieber could disagree with me while his historical counterpart would abstain from comment, but that was precisely when I checked out one such ‘childhood’ album of his and figured what I figured loud and clear: The king was a king when he was no king at all.

A ‘performing monkey’ could be a better way to put it, for he danced to tunes adding songs to them; tunes that weren’t his, melodies he was to completely avoid throughout the span of his life and a form of music he would take to completely revolutionize in the course of his time, to an end product that lacked what he was most known for when he sang those lines he hardly realized. I had a fit of joy when I heard the fourteen year old render ‘Rockin’ Robin’ at the top of his voice, Chuck Berry should have been around then, you know, and Michael apparently had five such before his adult debut and sixth studio album the world knows as ‘Thriller’ (1982). The boy would definitely have not known the magnitude of vocals he seemed to be doing, but that didn’t really stop him from doing them good. Kind of those days when one goes by a pleasure of mind than to-do lists or the weight of a wallet.

I don’t care, I don’t want to know what went wrong, I don’t really need a look-in on how it came to be so, I could just walk it off, be the critic and size him up to be a wasted act that went with the flow, except that his heat had it turn to gold. I could go ahead and label the best of his years as not being his, but of a brainwashed world set to return the favour with complete compliance; with surrender. Everyone would find some tears to let out on his ‘Will you be there?’ or a ‘Childhood’, the statistics overwhelming. Everyone cried to him, cried to whatever he had to say, and it was just a matter of time (of which I know nothing about) before the effect handled the cause. And that was when the world knew for sure that their greatest star was completely theirs.

‘In our small way’ did something to me, ‘The girl is mine’ (additional thanks to a certain Paul McCartney) helped crack a jig and keep it going. I don’t think I’m one to be sopped up by a ‘Human Nature’ or a ‘Heal the world’, but seriously, this monkey knew his wares pretty well, or perhaps he was made to. Just like how they made the clothes he wore, stitched some flesh under those and pushed a mind in to work as they willed it to. And then the mind just worked.

This could be considered as a tribute coming in late by about a year and a quarter and I can’t be blamed for the same. He just found me, you know, only ‘just’ and I’m just crazy, not blind. I guess it’s entirely like how she said, this girl I know: the world needed him to die to get to appreciate how good he actually was, and maybe he went exactly when he had to go. A couple of years could have meant oblivion, and he could have hit the ‘God’ button with something more premature.

In the end he’s just what he is. A cob of gold with diamond-sleeves and a painted heart that once was.