It happens with all the holes and wounds: they grow their own face, mend their gaps, heal their rifts — those new skills of yours are but entities that emerge: to grant shelter, to stand guard, replace the old, thicken the crust, weather this human storm — through and through.

But will the skin ever return to its soil? It linger on forevermore. How tight its grip? How hardened its sappy brooks? When will it nourish those delicate roots anew?

These thoughts arise as doubt breaks free. It pours and flows as I gaze down and lower still. Shadows seep and leak as the wheel spins and drills the soul evermore hollow. Anonymous is our tree of life, but it keeps faces in store.

For it happens with all the holes and wounds: they bleed, they mend, they heal — and what don't they do as I stand here, as I bend, as I kneel — as I carve these seats in shapes of departure. Those skills thicken under my feet like growling tremors.

My past was but a dream — and I'm ready to slide like a crumbling leaf. My weariness is universal. My knowledge heavy. There cannot be a conclusion. I am growing thin.

Let me feed those roots anew.
Through and through.

Sorry but not sorry
For the things that I have done.
Sorry but not sorry
For all the pain under the sun.

　And all the longing to set ourselves apart
　From the will of the masses,
　Though we clearly stand as one.

　And the reticence to play our part
　In building on new bridges,
　Though we clearly need them now.

　　Short story long,
　　Long story short -
　　Sorry but not sorry
　　For writing off this song.

Sorry but not sorry
For all the excuses that I make.
Sorry but not sorry
For not owing back what we take.

　And all the mannerism along which we pretend
　To care so much about the future,
　Though we clearly act for our only sake.

　And the conflicting messages that we must send
　As we aim to **** the messenger,
　Though we clearly all covet his fame.

　　Short story long,
　　Long story short,
　　Sorry but not sorry,
　　For writing off this song.

Sorry but not sorry
For casting off one more blame.
Sorry but not sorry
For the ills that one must name.

　And all the finger-pointing with no concrete action
　As we forget the final hour,
　Though we clearly hear the call

　And all the conflicts that we set in motion
　As we bow to the god of power,
　Though it clearly draws our fall

　　Short story long,
　　Long story short,
　　Sorry but not sorry,
　　For writing off this song.

Shades of yellow cast on our dreams
Skin burning through layers of sunscreen
When gifts of foresight weigh on our beings
Let great powers grow evermore carefree

To satisfy eternity.

Empirical evidence against the empire’s truth
Makes humankind akin to a neurotic fool
Who comes to think that it’ll always nullify
Oh for we all must die!

Young and old both playing their games
Seduced by the baits of short-term gains
Unable to afford the bail out of prison
Wait for great powers to relieve this addiction

To satisfy eternity.

Spawns of decadence in the wake of our new tools
Let us deter suicide with the poisons that soothe
They all say everything will fall, to act seems futile
Oh for we all shall die!

Whether in shame or in desire
Must we forget all we’ve acquired
For yesterday’s pride, tomorrow’s glory
Shake hands with friends and slain the enemy

To satisfy eternity.

Where is that hand,
That motherly embrace,
Which comforts in its ****** -
That motherly hand I can trust?

Where is that hand,
That warming caress,
Which eases the nerves -
That cocoon of soft curves?

　　There is no rest anymore
　　In thoughts of exile and escape;
　　My being is shaken to the core,
　　My soul bent under the stress.

Where is that hand,
That soothing absence,
Which cradles you gently -
That silence of calm and mercy?

Where is the hand,
That promise of better days,
Which relieves innocently -
That convincing “don’t worry”?

　　There is no rest anymore
　　In thoughts of exile and escape;
　　My being is shaken to the core,
　　My soul bent under the stress.

There is a god for every thing
There is a god for every thought
There is a god for every spring
There is a god for every drought

I walk amidst their creeping shadows
Swim in the deeps, crawl in the shallows

There is a boat for every sea
And there's a buoy for drowning men

But there ain’t
One god.

There is a crown on every being
There is a staff in every hand
It doesn’t matter what you have seen
It only matters now where you stand

I walk amidst their flickering shadows
Bask in the breeze, dance in tornadoes

There are birds for every wind
And there are wings for broken men

But there ain't
One god.

Now come to grip
For grip to release
And come to think
For thought to appease

I’ll be honest
Not that I always try
I haven’t felt much
And it's been a little while

Herein lies
Brokenness personified

It lingers that longing
For a genuine taste of life
These words I scribble down
At the dawning of the night

That fragile short moment
Of our ripened reflections
That we're all so endeavoured
To steer clear and far from

Now come to grip
For grip to release
And come to think
For thought to appease

La sensation s'apparente à une simple présence
Incongrue et abstraite, tant sa distance
De ces souvenirs qui exigent le poids des vivants
Comme promesse qu'ensemble nous traverserons le temps

Et tend à cette conviction presque vide de sens
Que les acteurs éternels de la tendre enfance
Puissent ainsi, pas à pas, suivre nos traces dans l'ombre
Pour que ce peuple d'éther ne s'ajourne que dans la tombe

Et que tombe cette folle histoire insensée, peu à peu
Que le temps calcinera de son souffle de feu
Ranimant en nous la flamme de ces instants d'ivresse
Pour que reste derrière nous ces souvenirs délestés

Et mieux vaut de son gré engendrer la cadence
Que de subir dans la l'angoisse les désirs de délivrance
Délaissant patiemment toute envie de se réjouir
Pour que s'endorme dans la cendre ces trop lourds souvenirs

Et quand viendra finalement la sensation de dissonance,
Que la lourdeur de l'homme aspirant la transcendance
S'exténue et s'allège dans l'accord des déceptions
Pour qu'enfin vive souverain ce pays d'ombres et d'illusions.

Et que sombre dérisoirement chaque pensée, peu à peu,
Que le temps effacera d'un seul geste d'adieux
Renvoyant au néant l'âme de ces habitants célestes
Pour que ne gise sur la toile qu'une confuse fresque.

Here is just another thought
Going down the stream,
Just another thought.

Leaking from a tap
With the label "purity"
Just another trap

　　The obsessive mind gullibly bites the lure,
　　Obscured by clouds connections,
　　Concealing the large picture.

　　　　How every blast creates a reaction!
　　　　Panic attacks to draw the attention.
　　　　Where’s the crack in the grand ****’s wall,
　　　　So we can strike down the reservoir?

Diverting the river that must belong to all
Before our eyes - wider worlds shrinking small;
Cradled by the uniformity of lies that appease,
Those grazing in the dunes still tarry at ease.

It’s no wonder!

Insecurity has grown into a most lucrative market
As danger becomes the currency on which to place the bet;
Release the flow from the control that profits hold fast,
Question the junk food that's become the pasture of our mass.

　　Continuous diversions
　　Feeding everyone’s greed
　　Fulfilling false concerns -
　　So easily believed!

　　　　How every blast creates a reaction!
　　　　Panic attacks to draw the attention.
　　　　Will the facts in knowledge’s downfall
　　　　Let us unshackle the repertoire?

All of those past events
The mountain climb, and the descent
They're scrolling past to lay my
Destruction.

And once I'd gone to the other side
Despite all that I had left behind
They've started hunting for my
Salvation.

And they're gone,
Yes they're gone,
While I'm torn
In the maze of my
Contortions.

And they're gone,
Yes they're gone,
While I'm tearing
The fabric of my
Illusions.

When within my cells there rages war,
For a second breath I’d stare at the stars;

The old world thickened under my feet,
Yet across my sorrows the ends would meet;

So to renew these aspirations of ours,
Perhaps on a missile on its way to Mars.

　　("We are past the third wave,
　　　past the coastline,
　　　past the coral reef.")

No I haven’t always been there for you,
In these gardens we’ve walked around and through;

From green to red, vice-versa and so forth,
We’ve gone past Saturn many times before;

Now I’m on my way to a distant shore,
Paddling the bloodstream of my heart.

　　("We reach through the gate,
　　　the threshold of no-return,
　　　far beyond Saturn.")

Amidst curiosity and its pulsations,
Of skies infinite, a stubborn astronaut;

It’s time to decline and lose it all
Or time to rise up and answer the call;

Fractions of a split-second, a trigger;
Wings spread to the dark yonder.

　　("The moon now floats behind us,
　　　It cicatrizes our scars as we sail
　　　Far into the night.")

The journey into the unknown
Always finds a way to take you home.

A beauty that causes awe, that's your aim,
And a defence, this strategy called "it's all the same";
But there are cells for the marrow and cells for the brain,
And to call them similar seems rather quite insane.

Cause it takes mind to understand patience,
It takes defeat to finally accept the loss;
For only when all is lost, all can be regained;
That's the price to pay to understand the cost.

　　And if I didn't have that pill to swallow,
　　I'd call it bang for the money first thing tomorrow.

Around they gravitate like you're a shining star,
To take part and implode and beg a mighty roar;
It's a science for the desperate — no it ain't no art;
A beauty for the primates more than a beauty of the heart.

They slide down the usual paths of expansion
While we swim against pale currents of fog;
With my renounce I won't pay this ecstasy a call,
I won't beg a mighty roar, no I won't beg no more.

　　But if I didn't have that pill to swallow,
　　I'd call it bang for the money first thing tomorrow.

Now twice-spoken idioms might ring a bell or two
Like missed phone calls in the middle of the afternoon
I've gone out of my way to move out of the road
But I know that your fake beauty's just waiting to unfold

It's too easy to cast the blame, too easy to throw a bone
I've seen lightning bolts fall, I know who's on the phone
The dogs always bark along when they hear the thunders roar
It shouts across a sea of life, it's calling from afar.

　　And if I didn't have that pill to swallow,
　　I'd call it bang for the money first thing tomorrow.

"Life holds such unending beauty"
Said I trampling on it like a madman.

If I told you to visit this moment
To look around just an instant,
Would you refuse, would you consent?
Would you see what no-else can?

If you did, how could you share?
In penumbra, light up the flair?
What if you did, what if you dared?
What if you did yet no-one cared?

Everything sees through its essence,
Anything else it may comprehend.
Here lies the Fog, a forest so dense,
Spreading across, throughout the land.

Right up in front, close to your faces,
Written in crust are a thousands promises.
And along its growth at increasing pace,
At each of your blinks a few words erase.

Now you look back, but now it's too late.
Now's what you'd purchase at any given rate.
When there's no time and where there's no fate
Nothing no longer ever has to wait.

Plunged in darkness, see that you're blind;
Even there lurks something that shines.
Here is the Way, that path you must find,
Hidden within and without any sign.

When life stretches much too far to see,
To look way further is never to be free.
When gazing below, deep down the dark sea,
Know that beyond always floats this clarity.

So here I've been asking, but I'll ask one more time:
Having been through, is there two of a kind?
When raised in this manner, no question's ever clear;
Thus poems and rhymes are allowed to end here.

Maybe
I won't speak again
Once I cast this stone,

I'll leave
This whole train of thought
To a lost memory.

Feeding this enemy;
In enmity we may conquer
Anew our identity,

But I need you to resist,
For strength grows in anger
Despite the fatality.

Must there be the voice of an old man
To be inspired by wisdom?
Must there be intelligible words
To guess out the intention?
Must there be vulnerability
To presume the proper truth?

　　There ain’t a single channel
　　On the interface of dialogue.

Must we lie only in whispers
To keep hurt under the seal?
Must we sigh only in earnest
To show others where we bleed?
Must we die only in peace
To pass the torch with ease?

　　There ain’t a single channel
　　On the interface of dialogue.

In a tectonic motion
Mountains have formed
Ridges deepened
In the blink of an eye
In the breadth of a gasp

I recognize myself
Asking why they assume
That we find who we are
Within the singular grasp
Of a mere single soul

For I feed a thousand of them
And they feed themselves alone

Your so-called meditation
Must be taken elsewhere
You must see that it was
Never yours to begin

Watch the rearview mirror
As it enquires the wisdom
I am but a multiple
Left merrily unresolved

Vous a-t-on parlé déjà
D’un temple sans nom -
Sans mémoire et sans nom?

Il fût oublié et pourtant
Quelques-un croient encore
Que le temple existe bel et bien;

Qu’il se trouve juste ici,
Entre le jour et la nuit,
Entre le soleil et la pluie,
Entre le silence et le bruit;

Et que lorsqu’on s’y rend,
Lorsque l’on ouvre,
Lorsque l’on entre,
On y entre toujours;

Et que l’on vienne de ****,
Que l’on vienne d’ailleurs,
Que l’on prenne son temps,
On y est toujours à l’heure;

Et quand enfin l'on s’y trouve,
Quand enfin l'on y est,
Entre et parmis ses infinis murs,
On n’en sort jamais;

Si l'on ose y discuter,
Que l'on ne prononce qu’un mot,
Celui-ci devient discours,
Interminable fardeau;

Et l'en son sein une seule pensée
Bien que plutôt éphémère,
Se transforme en grand brasier,
En immense calvaire;

Et que si l'on regarde,
L'on peut voir très bien
Que ce que l'on observe
N’est à peu près rien;

Et si l'on prête oreille, que l'on écoute,
Qu’un seul son enfin résonne,
Ce bruit sourd que l'on espionne
N'est nul autre que l'écho du doute;

Et quand finalement l'on oublie,
Qu'à tout jamais l'on s’y perd,
Lorsqu'enfin l'on s'y abandonne,
Se trace béante le contour d'une sortie;

Et que cela exige de souffrir,
De s'y faire saint, s'y faire martyre,
Qu’il nous faille le supplice d'y périr,
Finira-t-on au moins par en finir;

Et lorsqu'un jour l'on en sort,
Lorsque que le voudra enfin notre sort,
Ce n'est qu'alors, seulement qu'alors
Que sauront coexister vie et mort.

Et ce jour-là, cette nuit-là, dira-t-on,
Que l'existence fût un temple -
Un temple sans nom.

So we may be taken — there
　　without further adieu,
As the morning sun — shines
　　on the morning dew.

　　Irremediably
　　　　connecting two dots,
　　In immediacy,
　　　　what we have lost!

Among the lunatic — and
　　the natural fraud,
We stand unprepared — so
　　ready to applaud.

　　Irremediably
　　　　connecting two dots,
　　In immediacy,
　　　　what we have lost!

Sol vaste et immense de notre monde,
Contient et abreuve ceux que tu abrites;
Ces pensées sombres qui t'habitent,
Enterre-les à nouveau dans leurs tombes.

　　Lorsqu'apparaissent souvenirs et angoisses,
　　Lorsque démons d'hier refont surface,
　　Sache ne plus raidir, tel pierre, tel glace,
　　Sache enfin te démunir de fragiles carapaces.

Sol vaste et immense sous lequel gronde
De larges et longs couloirs couverts de stalagmites,
Ces désirs profonds qui jamais ne te quittent
Éclateront un jour comme des bombes.

　　Lorsque surgissent ces intimes miasmes,
　　Lorsque tentation refait surface,
　　Sache ne plus raidir, tel pierre, tel glace,
　　Sache enfin te prévaloir de fragiles carapaces.

Ayant élevé ainsi nos corps au-dessus de ces ombres,
Que jaillisse à jamais les flammes par-delà les décombres.

Incapable d'agir. De quoi parlent-ils tous?
Est-ce encore un livre, la perte de ses pages?
Où que l'on creuse, là n'est pas la source;
Déduira-t-on ainsi qu'elle est introuvable?

Écoutant les murmures au travers du ciment
Encore qui mugissent des propos absurdes;
Puis d'une jointure, l’on cognera dedans:
« Encore et toujours vide, l'écho ridicule. »

Criant au secours, qu'on leur vienne en aide;
Celui de tout perdre, connait-on le sacrifice?
C'est donnant ainsi tout qu'enfin l'on nous cède
Le vrai pour et contre l'artifice.

Incapable d'agir. Que racontent-ils donc?
Lorsqu'ouvrir la bouche est un pas de trop,
À la course ils se ruent vers les fronts:
« Cette inertie qui maintient en sursaut. »

En ouverture vers le vide, voici le message
Des parois décousues d'un fort abyssal:
« Écouter le silence, le silence qui n'entend rien. »

I wanna make it simple
But it ain't
Though it is.

I thought it'd be easier
If I stopped
But I kept going.

I tried to correct the course
But no excuse
Could be admitted.

So I keep on writing
Just to seem
Like I knew it all along.

I am a beat, I am a clock,
I am a rhythm of some sort;
I’m a carrier on a mission;
The byproduct of an invention;
A battery that is being charged
And depleted low and large.

I am a ball, I am a cell,
I am the will of higher selves;
I’m a layer of the kernel,
Flying on seat "57L";
I’m a letter that was sent to mail,
Set outbound when rings the bell.

I am a curve, I am twirl,
I am sustained motion still unfurled;
I’m necessity in the system;
Of absorption I am the emblem;
I’m a branch of fractal downward;
Of struggles past I ain't no award.

I am a beast, I am a fork,
I am a breach through inert soil;
I’m a head of the hydra snake;
Consolation in all of mistakes;
I’m the blood of the wounded,
The brain of memories faded.

I am a blink, I am a cause,
I am the storm after the pause;
I’m the pity for the angered;
Whose duties have been tempered.
I'm the eye that's about to drool
And the tooth that's bound to fool.

I am silver when I am gold,
Yes I am pale when I grow bold,
Like an etching on a clean surface
I'll be sanded just to be varnished;
I'm the most certain of prediction,
Foreseeable beyond provision.

I am ludicrous, I am lukewarm,
I am commitment amidst cold wars;
I’m the frontier around the form
And the earth that drowns the worm;
Of victory I am some defeat,
Accomplishment left incomplete.

I am a meter, I am a yard,
I am pain that causes no harm;
I'm the scepter of the peasant,
The suffering in the pleasant;
I'm everything that's ever been said,
All that's forgotten once it's been read.

I am a sin, yes I am sought,
I am a child yet to be mourned;
I’m resistance to the inevitable,
Recurrence of the unstable;
I’m the distance of departures,
The first minutes of final hours.

I am a beat, I am a clock,
I am a rhythm of some sort;
I’m a carrier on a mission,
The byproduct of an invention;
A battery that is being charged
And depleted low and large.