it's a pleasure to see
the way you move
when your bones can't settle
because running through them
is the pulse of music, the dance of life
it's a pleasure to watch you
lose yourself in what you love
to see you know the words to every song
and be so nonchalant
as if you don't hold all the magic in the world
it's a pleasure to see you be passionate
when the fire burns in your soul
and you are starry-eyed all of a sudden
as you speak about what you love,
and you climb every mountain
to do what you find comfort in
it's a pleasure to see the way you love
your heart is open in every edge
and you would give it to anyone if you could
it's a pleasure to see you be
for you are a wonder in every sense
love is probably hidden in the most profound corners of the harrowing edges of a human heart. the soul craves for something that makes you want to see another sunrise. it's death, but clinging to it with with such desperate pertinacity. you see yourself disintegrate to a different form until you forget who you are.
love is a series of tragic uncertainties but it is something you would still risk for. it is what keeps us alive, probably what we're all made for. it's seeing the ugliest parts, sharp edges and the most dangerous curves. seeing them drenched in salt water but still choosing to grow old with them.
love is completing the other half, being an extension of his limbs and doing the things he can't. it is whispering and holding hands in half dark, giving all that you have and more without expecting anything in return. using a whip for the first time but don't know who ends up getting hurt.
love is someone you prayed for every night but it could hurt to a certain degree you couldn't take and would make you feel alive at the same time.
- love is a paradox, a nostrum humans take desperately waiting for it to work.
I never cast my head down or bow down to the alphas.
I never shy away from their predatory glances.
I never tease the hunters by pretending to be prey,
and I never asked to be part of the savagery
of this world's animal kingdom.
We're Naked Apes, as Desmond Morris would say.
We've evolved to be less sturdy than our primate cousins,
but you'll see the wilderness inside us all if you look closely
at the nuances in our social interactions.
As omnivores, we're no less fierce than carnivores
and we're scrappy in ways other animals have yet to know.
We make the conscious decision to be civilized every morning
and hope the beast in us does not make itself known
throughout the rest of the day.
We are vigilant of our primal side and every moment becomes
a struggle for control of our most visceral reactions.
We ponder. Do we smile, or grunt? Show teeth in warning?
Show warmth, be charming?
Go against our cannibalistic instincts?
Ignore the need to assert our dominance,
to display our canines in all their glory?
To make others submit and fear us?
Do we defend the space we stand on like it's our territory?
Should we choose docility?
The comfort of the zoo?
The excitement of the circus?
The safety of the concrete
jungle that surrounds us?
To me, every day feels like I'm going on Safari.
I can read humanity like a book while walking on the streets;
the whole library of behaviors that define our species on display,
passing by me on the sidewalks without a care in the world,
unaware of the fact that they are being watched and observed
by another member of their genus.
But sometimes I wish I didn't...
I wish I didn't know how cruel the world is,
But I do.
The more I know,
The more I hate people around me,
Hate on people who don't even try to understand,
But I also envy them,
I remember how much easier being selfish is,
When you simply do not know better...
Can I proceed perfectly, both empathically and practically?
Am I too weak?
Too selfish to surrender to my ethics and moral?
Will my life be better if I suppress what I've learned, ignore my inner voice and follow blindly the path ahead, no extra thoughts or worries?
Just living, simply being, following instincts that's been taught upon us,
Because that's how it's meant to be,
Even when it feels as fucked up as can be,
When everything inside you screams it's wrong,
But your selfish mind pulls you in,
Convinces you to continue to sin,
It's like you'll never win,
Because what's comfortable is safe,
What's safe is comfortable,
So you try to forget as good as you can,
To continue to live for you,
Not for them.
Not real people,
the stage dressing
In one small spotlight,
not to call
the other character,
picks out a
not ringing, and
the second character,
call the first,
the few metres of
represent the cold,
separating sea, or
the shadowy uknowability of
the inner self, or
They don't elicit sympathy,
these characters, only perhaps
an intellectual empathy,
critical and objective.
They are devices
by which we might learn
some abstract lesson about
the human condition.
They cry, or don't,
soliloquise about their fears,
their guilts and their woundings,
or are silent;
they damage each other,
themselves, and seem
incapable of learning
But they are not
only the roles
It might be heartbreaking,
if it wasn't all so