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KT Sep 2019
Love, such a big word
Creeping for years around
With presumptions of its meaning
Floating around
With emotions far from disjoint
In a flurry
Through your body, mind
Momentarily present
Yet timelessly thrown
Into your toddler meaning of love
From your empty Bayesian trap
That builds you whole
Until your end you've met

So many different versions
Certainty will never be met
Yet trapped in a single word
It doesn't do it justice
But that just might be alright
For love
Is not meant to be spoken

You start out in a fairy
Unscathed from reality
Especially
After a mother's love
You think the world is kind
Without a mother's love
It's cold but you still have hope

You throw your youth outside
Into the gust of eyes
Where you catch a glimpse
Of a girl or a guy
That makes your blood boil
And you're still flying
Throw all your *****
Without thinking of dying
And no matter if it lasts a moment
A reciprocated month
Or an unrequited year
You come out shattered
Reality didn't care
Nothing after mattered

But there you didn't know
That that guy or girl
Is a girl or guy too
You're not the only one
There's everyone else too
Your initial lust
Or a try at a shell of love
Is selfish at base
How ever much
Your emotions
Pointed else

But that did pass
And the several next throws too
Whether months or years
Summer or winter or summer
A cloud followed you there
The cloud carrying
Your void of attention
However big or small
Your loneliness sharp
Whether seconds long or
Weeks on end, quiet yet loud
Your need to be loved,
Recognized, understood,
To be acknowledged present
To be accepted, alive
By a person
Rattling your lust

However above,
In the cloud where you placed
Every next spike of passion
Of a guy or a girl
As bright as the sun,
For the moment
Their face on the idol shone bright
Following your daily life around
And with every next crack
Of reality's peckered constant tap
Your idol cracks
It falls down
Thunders,
Your heart it smacks
The sunshine is over
Your cloud is empty again
The idol faceless remains,
Yet follows you still

Time on end,
Time,
Time, it goes blank
Faceless the oddity remains
Your concept of love
From solid, to liquid, to the cloud
It migrates - shapeless, formless,
Horrid, repulsive, addictive, banished
Away
But hey
But hey!
There
Another glimpse
Lights your fire
Puts on a face
Energizes into matter
The shapeless concept, of love
Quicker than an arrow
Throws down its mollusc, fiery and sparkly
Tentacles, now into form
Grabbing your whole body
Obsesses, possesses
Choking your insides
Paralyzing you whole
"Oh hey
Hi
It's you
I liked a thing you did
How you look
A thing you said
You formed into my eyes
And now you're in my head
And oh
That thing you did, how you look, what you said
Repeats every day for you
Wow
I want that"
Paralyzed there you stand
Seconds you shared turn into hours
Time stretches
Your mediocrity devours
But wait a second
This world of yours ain't the realm we live in
That person is its own
With all the background it comes with
As heavy as your own
Much richer than your conception current
And not richer than the sunshine you imagine
But in reality that person weighs
However uglier the truth it makes
However much real hurt
To your table brings
An amalgam of truth and desire
You idol feeds

You go home
Maybe you create
Something out there
Portraying
As a proof of your time
Spent in that oily chokehold
No matter if you get close to that person
Or not
No matter how much time is spent
How much sunshine you think you got
You'll learn your idol
He or she, is not
Your concept of love
Still selfish
Putrid

But maybe
Just maybe
A random person walks in
A friend
Of mutual ****** preference
Of course
Someone you'd not write poems about
Someone you'd not draw in your thoughts
Someone your lust smolders at best at first
Someone that sticks by your side
Someone your idol accepts not
While there your idol
Faceless or not
Slowly fades away
Your voids are filled
By giving
And having being given in return
Equally self-less
Your base is solid now
Out of the dead molusc
Your meaning of love,
Bam!
With the speed of a supernova
With the frequency of a pulsar
With the density of a white dwarf
Blasts into you like a shockwave
Lights into you like a furnace
Is finally thrown into your Bayesian experiment
A meaningful, concrete test case
That you can rethrow however much again
And even if you reach its last throw
You've learned to self-lessly accept
Whatever comes next
For it's grown on you
And it'll never leave your side, till your end
And your model now knows
Where true warmth lies
Even if the coming days
Shiver in the void's cold grasp
Remember
Remember the light

For it has once grown on you
In its countless shapes and forms
Real, true love

Let's hope
For nothing does truly last
KT Jun 2019
I'm making you more beautiful than you are, aren't I?
Until the next time I see you, and I say hi.

Playing it over and over in my head.
For a shimmer what you did and said.
For a moment what you waved around.
It got sealed up tight and sound.
Like from a crime scene I got it all.
All subliminal ticks, however small.
I knew when you saw me in that hall.
When I saw you in that room against that wall.
That was the moment I was hungry for.
I knew whatever happens, I'd be hungry more.
The instant you presence near me was taken.
I knew that I'd be dealing with a break in.
You robbing from my thinking space.
My thoughts building your perfect face.
For days after we've met in that place.
I'd think of your pristine grace.
What you held in those moments few.
Behind those eyes pearly two.
Of the breathlessness I hazed myself into.
Did you see me like I saw you?
I hate holding on to hope and belief.
But that's all I have now, reveries, reality is a thief.
Until and if you ever tell me your side.
The wall will stay up, our thoughts never collide.
But did you, did you notice me all over the place?
How I puppy-eyed your sunbathed face.
How we both warmly occupied that space.
Impatience will now eat away my days.
For the next time I see your face.
Will I be out of this exit-less maze?
Get me out, please let me hear your voice.
One more time by chance's choice.
Now with the remnant flickers I've gathered.
Of those memories chaotically scattered.
And processing turned up to eleven.
I'm half-present in my every twenty-four seven.
Working on what should be, could be, would be.
Did you, do you, will you, remember me?

Until the next time I see you and say hi, again.
KT May 2018
I dream of God
I dream of me
I dream of me, being God, being me.
I dream of life
How fragile - life, the dream
I dream of life, beyond a century.
I dream of power
I dream the world
Unconstrainable, irrepressible, me.
I dream of knowledge
Limits, never-ending
Vast capacities, knowing, more.
I dream of nature
It being kind
I dream of breaking, building, it apart.
I dream of existence
Something more
Than banal feuds, than rocks and bones.
I dream creation
Destruction, change
Meaningless, meaningful, who's to say?
I dream of time
Washing, over me
I dream of a dream, a bit more..
I dream alone
I dream a dream
Where space is not, this empty.
What maniac would make it
Like this
There isn't one.
I dream of humanity
All trying to dream
In vain, it all goes away.
I dream of people
Not being *****
Why do we do this, the loneliness, oh my.
I dream of laws and rules
Society, the hypocrisy..
We're all swine, apes, as benign?
I dream of you
You reading this
Pick up your jaw, you thoughtless stale ****.
My dream is hope
My dream, I guess
Not going anywhere, as with hope.
I dream of others
Dreaming with me
Away you blank faces, don't look at me like that.
I dream of the sun
I dream of the open
Freedom, huh, my dream is more real..
I dream of doing
Dreaming, doing everything
Not quite possible, as far as possible is.
I dream of more
Me being more
More than my cracky body, brain.
The dream is here
It will stay
My dream, my cry to reality.
I dream of me
I dream of my life
Being more
Than a single human life.
I dream
It's just me
Me
KT Apr 2018
Not the first thing to come to mind
Hidden in the back of your head,
A fragment of once passed,
I am almost forgotten.

Not that I ever knew much about
The touch of your breath or how it felt.
Stripped from presence, I only knew,
From a far what I felt and saw.

Day after day, every next day's the same.
You with your own, and me on my way.
Rarely, and not lately, our paths intersect.
And you, don't have a clue, that you live in my head.

Just so you know -
I don't mean to persuade, ******, flatter,
Or somehow try to appear to you and start to matter.
My image for you is of something greater.
It's an unfeedable hunger,
An irresistible need, a longing,
And nothing other.

It's just that the thoughts of you
Bring calmness and create
Bits of tranquility in my mind,
Where I find solace, help and companionship in thought.

And on those rare moments where I glimpse in your life
I spend my day with a grin,
Because I get to taste yours,
A second life, other than mine,

Sometimes, I am even jealous for how distant we are.
But that's how you grew on me, and that's all we are.
You grew roots on my loneliness from very very far.
You grew together with my experience, me growing up.
You hold ground only in the world, that borders nothing but my skull.
It's really nothing much, don't mind it all, at all.
I don't think I'd ever get involved in your real life after all.
You're just a highly improbable wish, I'm not quite sure I wish.
You're a daydream, you're a thought,
A flyby memory, a comfort imaginary.
My muse, my fairytale,
In my perfect deck, you're in the back of every card.
The face on my cereal box.
Your image pumps together with my heart.
KT Apr 2018
My current thoughts in my head and all that I am
That nobody sees but me
One day will be equal
With all that is real and ever will
When all is gone and rocks are sand
Reality and me, we will both be the same
Both equally dead, both equally real
And that thought makes me disturbingly calm
KT Jan 2018
As the ripe of night passes by
he lays on his back and looks to the sky.
His eyes, shivering, turn to her face;
Covering her gently, fixing his gaze.
Staring back in the broad open he thinks
of how this creature came to be next to him.
He runs his fingers from her thigh to cheek
and he counts all the stars reflected in her pale, ivory-hued skin.
A cascade of raven black curls rain down her neck,
they wildly gallop across her slender white back.
Contrary, and just as the Sun rays in darkness alone;
Her photo-negative palette, a universe of its own.
She's a creation delicate, painted in colors opposite to the night;
She almost seems like she'd been chosen to be,
long before the stars gave birth to their light.

As dawn comes by,
even before sunrise, she lights up the sky.
He has never seen something so beautiful,
as that slow waking, oh her eyes!
No other sight in this world could feed his gaze
like that half-woken confused look, oh her milky face!
Her body rustling, her arms tingling, a voice silken,
she tries to speak - husky and brittle, oh her crimson lips!
And as she whispered, still slightly in her dreams,
he silently chuckled and praised all,
all that stardust since the birth of time,
for gathering for but a moment, into life,
for gathering into something so rare,
so rare, this girl and her wild untamed hair.
KT Nov 2017
There came a time for time to be,
And for an unknown reason,
Or simply the absence of one,
A lump of hot primordial pudding or something,
jumpstarted the universe into being, for whatever that means.
That's what I was told anyway.
After some time dictionaries came to be on this not so particularly special rock, which were meant to connect words with meaning, or so were they told.
But dictionaries did a poor job there, as the creatures that invented them didn't have a clue what meaning and purpose is in the first place.
Yet they were the ones that invented them too, probably as means of comfort for their existence and survival.
That comfort was almost always fictitious though, as purpose was also.
The Universe, by now, was just spinning lumps of rocks and matter, why would it need something as primal as these creatures' purpose?

They called it time, yes.
Mixing around the universal soup, with a spoon which was nowhere to be found.
Whoever was making this soup was a terrible cook though.
What idiot would want that much rocks in his teeth?

Anyhow, rock after rock,
those dictionary creatures started thinking they they thought, and that's where it all went bottoms up.
They were creating more of them all the time too, or at least that's what they called it, reproduction.
But little did they know, this (re)production of theirs would make no difference whatsoever to the soup's taste.

Their reproduction involved exchanging fluids between two specimens to make a new one out of a countless possible ones.
You see, many factors like time, place, what opposite specimen would one choose out of millions at that particular time and what those specimens have ingested that morning, or did they simply spill their previous load on the floor, played part in this most improbable lottery where a spawn spawned into existence and all other possible ones went down the drain, just like that. The most cruelest of fate did these creatures had with their reproduction, but not any less cruel as the rest of the universe.

On a sweaty midsummer evening, in an insignificant place and in an  insignificant time on the rock these creatures called their own, in a little shack, all was set for the reproduction lottery to happen yet again.
A single protein cell made it to the egg, which whom from now on we will call Billy as that is the name his makers gave him. Most of his Billy-brothers and Billy-sisters never had the chance to even form as protein cells, but most unfortunate were the least in numbers; The ones that were so close, together with Billy in grasping existence, just got spilled around or inside the parents genitals - or just on the ground, never seeing daylight like Billy will. Their existence just ceasing there and then. Not such a happy life story, huh. Some might argue all of them were half-Billies, which really, makes it even worse. You might even argue that Billy becomes Billy at the moment of his first breath, and becomes more Billy as years go by, and memory sticks to his existence in a single thread of time. That is also true, but in that case, do I choose my fate or is it already chosen for me? - asked Billy. From future old dying Billy's perspective, everything is firm and single in his life. Everything is written and done. But was it already like that for Billy's parents? Would Billy be anyway? Is everything we see as random, already done, simply because the path is one? Those were the questions that bothered Billy through his life. One day he would see the world as his own for the taking, sunny and free, a world waiting for Billy, and other days were gloomy and Billy wouldn't think or decide anything, simply because he thought it was already decided.

A mediocre and simple life Billy had, with some ups and downs and a few non-Billy events, with a job he did for the food he ate and the home he had. Billy said that he enjoyed life. There were times when he didn't want his life and wanted to prove to everything that he can do whatever he likes and decides, and take his life, but wouldn't that still be fate? So he thought that life is always worth it, because without it, there is nothing. It's empty. There is no Billy. So multiple times, Billy came to the conclusion that he could just go Billying around until there is Billy.

Billy was a kid, went through school and all that, and Billy asked:
Why am I? Why?
Billy went on to be an adult and had his struggles and fun, and Billy asked:
Why am I? Why?
Billy was 30, met a girl he liked and she got pregnant, and Billy asked:
Why are we? Why?
Billy was 50, with his kid grown now with questions of his own, and they both asked:
Why am I? Why am I? Why?
Billy was 70, with his wife, his kids, and even grandkids now, and he asked again:
Why am I? Why?
Billy was dead, with his legacy ahead, for a few years, yet still there, remembered.
And Billy did not ask again.
His wife held his life to her thoughts most, until she died too.
Their kids mourned them most, and remembered them often, until they died too.
The grandkids knew Billy only when he was aged, kept his memory fond, of their childhood days.
Billy's youth was lost, his adulthood too, and now it's time for his elderhood, as the grandkids die too.
Billy is now a picture in his grandgrandkids' attic, and a name they know, they've sometimes heard, of a time long gone behind them.
Billy is now a story, rarely mentioned, until all the storytellers die too.
Billy is now gone, except for some factual data in an archive somewhere, a number in history, a stack of bones slowly decomposing.
The future becomes history, Earth goes around the Sun still.
Until humans are something else, or simply no more.
And all have left Earth, until the Earth is no more.
Scorched by the Sun, the Sun is gone too.
And the Universe goes on, until it does no more.

Long past, long long past, long after the Universe is dead;
And nothing is all there is;
An echo is there, an echo is heard.
The whole of nothing trembles and as loud as it can in nothing answers:
WHY WHAT?
Billy
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