Am I a painter?
-No.
Am I a sculptor?
-Yes, but not primarly.
        A writer?
-Whether I want it or not - yes. But words are only a tool.
I think of myself as an electrician. Some mad scientist electrocuting others, experimenting, playing with reactions, creating or recreating. You can call me a time travelling machine guy too, these roles are connected though. A sower, yes.
I'm a vomiter as well; a cold sweating frog.
An anchor throwing man.

You ran into the night
And I know, I'll never
See you again

And then the clouds
Have formed all these
faces for one
brief moment
They were sharp and clear
Just to blur
And fade away
In a matter of minutes

Heat,
Is what I crave
Smoke, smooth lights
Don't let the cold
Fill your hands, my love

Ripe and splendid,
  the summer day
In luscious sun
  - the trees they sway
These worlds await.

Ether winds caress,
  Stroke the strings
of fleeting time
  While I sleep,
While it all flies
                     & lies

Under the summer sun,
Under the summer sun.

Words echo in the chamber of skull,
             in the auditorium of mind
& from time to time
they resonate
through muscles & bones
through fingers
through steely nib

             and become dark drops of ink
              that fall
              on the surface

✦-----^/-^------^/-^------^/-^------^/-^------^/-^------^/-^------^/-^------^/-^------^/-^------^/-^------^/-^------^/-^------^/-^------^/-^------^/-^------^/-^------^/-^------^/-^------^/-^------^/-^------^/-^------^/-^------^/------AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO­UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu...uuuu...uuu...mee...maa­...maaa...paaa...maa...
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa­aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb­bbbbbb
cccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccc­cccccccccccc
abcdefghijklmnoprstuwxyzabcdefghijklmnoprstuwxyz
123­456789123456789123456789123456789123456789123456789
->all the wise words, all wise combinations of these words, language perfection and progress<------^/-^------^/-^------^/-^------^/-^------^/-^------^/-^------^/-^------^/-^--------------------------------------------------------------­-----------------------------------------------------------------­---------------------

Smoke in my Forest,
Swirling all around
the branches of trees,
On the timeless day.

Lack of it, causes
stagnation of my
playful animals.
Too much - kills my birds,
making them unable
to fly and to see.

                              
                            ­  The trees' dim branches,
                              twisted and leafless,
                              In the land out of
                              this world, where fairies took
                              a place of the birds,
                              and where the fog floats.

‌  ‌
        Movies don't convey to real life.
     Romanticism isn't alive. In fact,
     it wasn't even alive in the past.
     It only remains inside heads of
     the sickened ones.
     Witful and vibrant conversations
     don't happen over the course of
     our dull, primitive days.
     Those who understand it
     are bless'd
     Lustful stares, funny accidents
     and bold events
     -Never manifest.
     Those who gullibly await'em
     Tired eyes, fake smiles
     End up stomped
     Gnashed, mangled
     By some
     h a m m e r
     Hitting hard
     Hitting bad
     Hitting fast.
     Ha ha
     Bang-bang
     Bye bye

     Movies destroy'd
   My mind and behaviour

A chill spot in summertime
Sweet'n blessed
I had a slightly long hair
back then
Some wind was blowing calmly
Shopping for a tent
to spend the Summer nicely
Time, time, time
This special moment,
when Summer is chill,
wind blows,
mind stands still

So, you think the tower of Babel
Is a thing of past?
Look around and see
The frenzied termites and their mounds of steel,
Hoping to reach the Sky.

End the suffering
of our potato-head hero
Button eyes & witless smile
Earthworm's dim mind                  
                                          ­­        

Your multitude
is my one
Unique cloud      
Which I adore                                
   I get obsessed                
   with an idea of
    a single dime    
And when it's over
I drop, and fall down                      
                                      ­­                          

I miss these days.
Would play the game again
with the straying dog
off the leash.                                      
The clouds pass the moon              
Through may's nightair.

A desire to see again
     in the macro scale,
     to bring back
the shape of world.
All of the bricks have scattered.

I am emanating slime
So that no one
Can pull me out
While I'm falling
Down
The abyss

The meat and flesh
crystallize on the frame
of bones, in a womb

Hardened by the Time.

we are nothing but
meaty worms
with our ******* dim minds
restricted like
earth dwelling worms
crawling 'neath the surface
dim minds, fragile soft bodies
   just accept that fact

The local ******
suddenly had pink hair

‌‌
How do you want
To remember
About these birds?
How do you?

All their souls
Trembled a bit
At sight of reflections
On the Great sea

And my heart
Shook
At sound of her voice

R., stay away
Watch OUT
The Big Blue, red

If I had a gun
Would I
still run?
Or would I sit calm
And have a brief
honest conversation
between the skull
and the metal
of the bullet?
The most simple,
brief, and honest
of all?

The world has ended.
Few survivors gathered
round the fire in their camp
before the night has come,
and flooded the earth with her presence

Then, one man, without any hurry,
breathed the evening air filled
with cicadas sounds, and stood up.
He sat on the boulder beside the cracking wood and weeds,
and started to declaim poems,
and no one interrputed,
everyone listened

‌‌    ‌
& how do You
tell me, how do
You find
Sippin' whiskey and
and listening to
         japanese jazz?
   oh
'n looking through
                window
to find pink with blue
unfurl out and in dusk sky

all these blend together
so well
that liqours drop
  on paper
hazes hues
comes out dusky

   some
  somehow
  somehow
  
    slide
        down~







   Peace of Mind

All i need to snap
           out
  of these
is the song and a drink
      to
fall back into
these blankets of
  mind of mine
They wrap arms around me
so softfuly
‌‌    ‌
‌‌    ‌

Went to an old abandoned house,
Chilly, wooden, dark & vacant
    I stoked up the fire

  the heat went up.

Time to tell the truth.
As I do so, I won't use
the poets' tricks and tools.
Simple words will do.

My poems are a cry for attention.
A cry that hopes that
one day someone will see them.
        "You are writing poetry? Wow!
         You are truly an insightful,
         sensitive, open-minded and
         artistic person. You have a gift."
        -The words I want to hear.
         Yes, deep within me.
               Time to tell the truth.

A hope that someone will:
•see me gazing into a nature
•watch me while I'm gently smoking a cigarette
•look AT my deep eyes
•see me reading a book(a sign of intelligence,
                                                             obviously.)
•see me with my eyes closed, meditating
                              (a sign of self-awareness
                                               and sensitvity.)
A hope that someone will say
I'm intelligent and
A p p r e c i a t e   me.
Constant shaping. What is real? Is there "real"?
Nowadays, I strongly doubt that.

All these things
I've seen through
& through.
I've investigated their roots,
deep within the silent earth,
I've looked at every fossil,
and analysed the course of evolution
Yet they rule(d) me.

I'm leaving it all
beyond the glittering doors
of the Acid Poem,
with a corpse of ego.
I'm abandoning my-self
and all my theatre roles.

Buried with a sword,
axe, and spear
On a far island
of Scotland

The lake has melted
wind and sun
stroke the surface
slowly
and birds play there
(deceptively seems the same)

A switch
a 180°
Different realm
A Parallel dimension



    Leaves and misc. items
    are burnt in the gardens
    they crack and disappear
    into the smoke
    (last clear-outs)

            Winter metabolites

    Rain falls
    and cleans the air
    off all the sluggish-dark things
    that accumulated
    through this bad time

            Winter metabolites






Winter leaves a mess
which we're meant to clean

Some people have a role
of flowers.
Their only strength,
                       power,
                         form.
And while the gardener
looks over his garden,
the bees continue
their pathetic,
high pitched buzzing dance.
Do you know what
I'm talking about?

Darkness is easy to craft,
However, what's also easy
is to get stuck
with your creation

As I was having an evening walk
Through my neighborhood
I suddenly saw a figure of a giant man,
Like seven feet tall, running quickly

I see these strange, gargantuan
humanoid like creatures
from time to time
Pale and bald,
Moving impossibly fast
compared to their height

Oh, please, help me

Free me from them
Help me

‌
I'd rather have my cigarette
Alone,
or in great company.
No in-betweens.
  ‌

My heroes encourage me
To smoke cigarettes
And get wasted
Beyond recognition.
What have i chosen?
They even sing odes
Full of melody
About these things
And I often
Find myself not having
The choice
Not to join
With my voice
And dance
Along



The flowers etched
Deep into my brain

‌
Sleep moves
   In serpentine ways
And the moon's been
Glued to sky
   For years now
  ‌

A Cobra's venom
got inside the veins,
and killed.
That venom is also called
"The Fire".
One should not be afraid of it.

A man walks down the street and notices a coin;
He picks it up and looks closely.
After a brief investigation he sighs, and throws it away.
He's found no value,
*******

                                 Please, decorate the interior of your heart,
                                 Tattoo the words, quotes and sentences,
                                 Engrave the walls of your skull.

                  You are all killing me
                  with your smiles
                  Cold needles, dead icicles in my heart.
                  Birds wallowing in mud.

Dogs meeting each other for a first time,
Stiff bodies, sniffing, looking
-building distance.
Stiff body
"I don't like him" - thinks one dog.

                  Penny with no value,
                  **** him, let him rot

                                 You don't realise at how deep water
                                 you are looking at
                                 and refuse to probe it.

Leaves on the wind, soil,
Hyacinths growing(think about their smell),
Cold receding, come, spring.
Oh, I used to be there.

A man sitting at
The edge
Of the ending world
Singing, wailing with his
Raspy, low voice
Whiskey & smoke voice
He swallows dimmed stars
In his mind.
Drink another one


Living through infinite worlds
Infinitely,
Through the clockworks
and mechanisms
of the machine
******* each world dry
off its juices

I was a king, a sickman
A star-eyed bizzare one
This girl, and every girl,
In fact.
This africano suited in leathers,
And a sound vibration in some canals
Only to wither away, again
Like a dying plant
And to repeat,
Infinitely.

Sing on, at the edge
Of the ending universe
Swallowing
Dimmed stars
Throwing these words to waste,
To jaws of changing rails, or
to turn to gold
Or night-bone
-the string broke--
And... Oh

The dusk's sky  -  We've burnt it to ashes
The dawn's sky  -  I've scattered it's crystal like glass

The battering ram
Smashed incredibly hard
Against the metal shell around me
-My fortress
               My heart started to beat faster.
          "It's time to go."
                       -sword fell down
                         and killed it.

I'm so ******* sad
and hopeless.
        Broken mind
     Birds are going to wallow
         for ever
  Trees & months & moon
      cry
   for ever



                   There must be something wrong
                      with the outside
                                         I know it.

The clench of fist.
Veins, tendons, bones.
Alive.

The frown flooded the face,
A grim cellular crown.
Guess we'll have to wait,
Just wait
Till the moon moves

To know the dark sides of
Each one of us.
We would get along, together,
pretty well, everyone. You know?

Rain seems to be the final solver
of all the  b a d   t h i n g s
we weren't able to get rid of.
        We just have to stay at home
     and wait,
                       till it's over.

A short term quick evolution.
Span of 70 years.
I'm a paleontologist,
Archaeologist, and a
Wildlife observer.
Traces appear so obvious to me
Shifting of characters each day,
Growing claws, fangs and shells
Blooming flowers, colours.
The beaks must be useful.
Searching for balance and a safe spot.
Wildlife environment,
Behaviours of herd
Eyes in bushes.
Observation.

We're all ryders
    on our own,
   of our own kind.

There was a time
       Where i had Time


The sky is free
The sea is free
To be
   & eyes are made
  For views like these


I know everything
I know too much
I know nothing
At all
I am also very tired,
Of writing in "I",
And are you?

_


She's the Queen
Of the Western Shore,
intriguing monster
Among scented words

Send one home
Way back home
Away,
       back,
                  Home.



The Sea whispered
To me in my dream,
In white words,
That it plans to
Swallow me

So i allow myself
To be
dressed
by women,
For a journey,
That's never meant
To reach
the end,
the end

Rain increases
like nightjars' growing
              thirstful
            clamor
She wept
   -the rain is over

A random moment, sound, word, sentence, scene
act as a grain of salt
thrown into a concentrated solution.
A poem crystallizes and branches around it.