Ashley Mar 24
Everyday caught
In the labyrinth of mind,
I am,
Where dreams,
And desires
And lust,
From nothing
Conspire something.

Destination: Canada Water.
The next station is Surrey Quays.
Doors will open on the right-hand side.
Exit here for Goldsmith's College.

In the cerebellum
Fragments flash cerebrum bright:
Wheels in tunnels burn,
A neural screech amplified deep,
As waves of electrons churn,
And in multiple places keep.

This stop:
- My birth -
Is in Westminster!

It’s time:

Do you love me?
DO YOU LOVE ME?
          Yes, No, Ohhh (the audience).

In the space-time continuum,
The labyrinth is forever,
Within a fourth dimension.

It’s time …

You love me, right?
YOU LOVE ME, RIGHT?
    Yes, No, Ohhh (the audience).

DO-MI-NA-TION
DEATH FREE
DO-MI-NA-TION
ASH FREE

Lost in the labyrinth: a journey to an exit.
The Overground train pulls!
And from floor to ceiling,
Between vertical orange pins,
A medley of languid listless limbs lulls,
       Seated hips,
       Angled legs,
       Dangling feet,
And neck-less heads,
Lost, ghoul-like,
The disconcerted move doggedly on,
Everywhere somewhere; but forever nowhere
Through London's hills and bogs.

From  STOP to STOP,
In the labyrinthine network,
In tubes splayed out on cubes,
Of bright brushed viscose comfort,
Overhead, the ads exhort:

       Top Up Your Soul,
       Fast Forward Your Escape
And
       uSwipe
       uSwitch
       uSave

Like these,
A hundred escalating messages,
Each more insistent than the last,
Compel, enough to distract,
So man’s desire enslaves his heart.

Its time…

         You love, right?
YOU LOVE, RIGHT?
    Yes, No, Ohhh (the audience).

DO-MI-NA-TION
DEATH FREE
DO-MI-NA-TION
ASH FREE

How? Why?
Has bacterial sludge,
Built these edifices of glass and steel.
This labyrinthian cage,
Whose walls race up at the speed of light,
While the inner commuter flame gutters,
Everywher, in multiverses,
Supernovas explode in showers.
And for a moment, in the moment, The Overground chromatic glows.

New Cross Gate, Southwark, Canada Water.

Lit and digital and LCD:
        
  ALL CHANGE, PLEASE.
  THIS TRAIN TERMINATES HERE

A few automated steps, and:
       Southwark,
       Green Park,
       Then Baker Street,
Appear, fade and disappear.

Now walking down Belsize Road,
On the evening of the
Super Gibbous Moon,
As it rises high over the Ziggurat dimensions of the Alexandra Estate,
And all is blood orange at dusk,
As I, a slinking silhouette,
Make for the event horizon of home,
For surely given, and taken,
A few more bends, another turn,

It’s time, again.

         Love, right?
         LOVE, RIGHT?
    Yes, No, Ohhh (the audience).

DO-MI-NA-TION
DEATH FREE
DO-MI-NA-TION
FREE ME.

To the event horizon of consciousness,
To that black hole at the core.
In death's star-like eye,
Embrace, pass through,
(Fear not),
On, through the labyrinth northward,
Entering and exiting,
We go awhile, a little longer.

Stars, my Stars,
Again, it's time.

You love me, right?
YOU LOVE ME, RIGHT?
Yes, No, Ohhh (the audience).

SU-PER-NA-TU-RAL
SU-PER-NA-TU-RAL
DEATH FREE.
LOVE!
BE,
WINGS FREE:

     SU-PER-NA-TU-RAL

One more stop:

       New Bond Street.

GET BEYOND
DESIRE,
BEYOND THE LABYRINTHEAN LIE,
CONSUMER, DIE!
BE
MATERIAL FREE.

Last stop:

       No-name, this one:

BE:

     SU-PER-NA-TU-RAL.

SAY IT:

     SU-PER-NA-TU-RAL
     SU-PER-NA-TU-RAL
     DEATH FREE.
     LOVE!
     BE,
     WINGS FREE:
    
     WE ARE:
     SU-PER-NA-TU-RAL
Dedicated to Steven Hawking, RIP, this poem is designed to be read to a live audience. To this effect, it was performed at the Hundred Year Gallery in Hoxton, London, and has been altered considerably ahead of being performed at The Mediterranean Cafe, Berwick Street, in Soho, London. All welcome, March 28th at 7pm.
Umi Mar 12
The start is empty and dark, a realm of shadows consumes your mind, your soul and your fragile eyes with no hope for light to unfold
Try leaving the rest, or better,leave it all up to your imagination,
So you may not get lost in this loitering darkness which everlasts!
As you progress it becomes clearer, the picture begins to form alike pieces of an distorted puzzle with discord in between each of them.
When you close the door and enter once more however you will never know what you find, the image truly has corrupted itself,
This place is a secret which holds no meaning; Absolutely Undefined
A shadow can change its shape, reconstruct itself and resize too,
What you get may be what you see, though is it really what you get if you aren't able to trust your eyes through this ominous tenebrosity
A labyrinth, unhinged, seemingly endless cast away in illusion awaits those who make it through without being blinded by their eyes,
But why make progress, I will send you back to the start, empty and dark so that the joy of exploring this world of change never ends.
All or nothing, what is the goal, in this undefined loitering darkness.

~ Umi
Maverick Feb 6
Your name lingers on my mind
Like the damage done by a hurricane
And I think maybe if I use an understudy
To replace the feelings I harbored
You’ll dissipate into the sea
Instead of projecting ghosts
That do nothing but haunt me
There must be an end
To this desolate labyrinth
Where I meet you at the beginning
And start over again.
I need to go to a burning man. I need to lose myself in the woods for a year. I need to make my threshold and enter through. I heard my call a long time ago but I just never...
   I can't stand myself any longer! I must lose who I am to find what I am to become. And I can't do that in a world where I exist in everyone around me. I need a place with none of me and plenty of else. So much that I can spread myself out to one thought thick. Finally be raw, enough to see myself clearly.

   I shouldn't worry about forevers, because forevers are simply composed of nows.

   I want quiet place to sit against the tree, look out over a lake, and read until my eyes bleed pleasure, my brain secretes knowledge, and my heart wisdom.
   A place to harbor a gentle haze of mind, a place to leave myself behind. Just and think and think some more, until and passed the point of being head sore.
   I want to place with plenty of glasses, and plenty of cracks, plenty of muses and no ways back.
   A place full of forevernows and nevermores, where people are stupid enough to cross the desert because of a recurring dream. A place of pink purple sunsets and endless shores.

   How mirrors have learned to lie I will never know, because I don't recognize the person they show. I have to turn them around because even my own eyes try to deceive me.

  If I don't I will always want to. If I do I won't enjoy every step, but I will a few.
   The hands that shaped this road are now, older.
   I don't know how I will, and a not even sure I understand why I will. All I know for certain is I MUST.

   Because I can't stay here. If I do I will fall in love with possibilities, and not realities. I will fall in making people out to be more than a person. I will lose my heart to and afterimage of a dream, and even if I do I would never have pursued it anyways. I want to leave the field, sell my flock, and start my full circle, or square.
   Wherever I go I have no plan know method know fall backs, but the beautiful hair of uncut graves. With only the Spektor inside my books to hold me.
   I want to hear the symphony of stars each night and have the wind tell me its stories of its travels that day.
   I want to sleep knowing the poppies stand guard.
  
   I know nothing, and I'm ready to listen, but first I must get out of my hand made prison, burn the map smashed of compass. Put my feet anywhere besides in front of the other that way I'm going nowhere fast and never looking back.

   I want to teach myself the song of my soul, so that I can hum every bar by heart, but I can't do that here. Not in this place of paper people and towns who live their lives never getting wet.

   It says if I can ever catch my breath, that I'm strangle lading in the stench of mold and excitement of leaving and never coming back.

   Mark here this day, as I lie awake at night as the last moment I spent outside the labyrinth. I need, no, I must leave find a place where I can listen to my heart and drink and its wisdom. But that place is not here I don't know where to, but I must start.
   Thomas Edison last words were " its very beautiful over there, I don't know where they're is, but I believe it somewhere, & I hope it's beautiful"

                                                     ­     ~Crow
it is always nights like this, where everything is so quiet you can hear beneath the absolute threshold, when i begin to wonder if i am going mad. technically, if one were truly losing their mind, they wouldn’t take much notice to the clarification that their reality is nothing but intricate lies spun by their brain.

pushing onwards within the dark, i can feel it. a whisper of a dance in memory slices gracefully across my cheek. the hungry caress of a lost lover. it is a random number between three and four, counting the days of sleepless solitude; as my lover is playing tricks on me.

it is just before dawn. the house breathes and groans like a wretched soul trapped in a bottomless pit long before midnight. in the gray morning light, delicate wrists stained with ink serve as maps through a desolate labyrinth. “lasciate ogni speranza, voi ch’entrate.”

from the corner of my eye i see shadows of uncharted men that feed upon the protective covering, encasing us; separating our world from theirs. the barrier is a shield at best, yet doorway at worst.

try to detach your eyes from their persistent, wandering gaze; and you might just catch a glimpse of a shadow gliding out of sight.

don’t second guess yourself sweetheart, you know exactly what you saw.

shadowy figures slightly out of reach, but still quite visible – gliding silently amidst, whispering quietly to those surrounding. looking directly at the figures, a gauzy lace veil delicately masks and covers each shadow.

unseen claws shred the thin barrier before it is tattered and torn. one by one, little by little, each figure sharpens into perfect visual acuity, wholly in sigh(t). as you slowly inch back, eyes unblinking with disbelief, their voices are no longer whispers.

the gaping pits of opened mouths drown you in hollow prattles, screeching rasps; the cruel high pitched icy sneers of laughter.

petrified with terror and shock at the shadow’s newfound ability to speak, you acutely notice that the house is creaking and wheezing. you can hear footsteps on the opposite side of the house, and with your eyes averted, they are gone.

with this, you must take into consideration that i have spent far too long with eyes wide shut, drowning in utter fear fueled by morbid curiosity for this world: things seen and heard. each is a cancerous tumor mutilating my mind beyond repair.

to me, the shadow figures’ tattered veil appears to be a doorway, a portal to another universe. this sheer possibility spawns the magnitude of infinite and parallel universes.
much like the shifting hallways concealed in an e(in)ternal labyrinth.

amidst this never ending maze, man is forced to wander blindly from birth to death; where he then circles back around to his exact place of previous conception, only to be born anew. condemned to blindly roam and repeat his unbroken cycle for all eternity.

in this labyrinth we are all gods, we are all monsters. each creation story is universal, yet individual to each new life.

the sinner and the saint are both born into divinity.
November 26th, 2010.

on the fringes of desolation and delusion.

this is myself at my most naked. my most vulnerable. this is the raw, berating honesty.

I remember this event in its entirety.
this was the peak of my downfall, the climax of my psychosis.

this piece was scribbled frantically during the fact, in a tiny red journal, as I watched this abhorrent atrocity unfold in the darkness that surrounded me.

this is not fiction. yet I cannot tell you with utmost certainty that this wasn't real.
Lose me in his labyrinth, in his futile endless maze, for when the hunt is over I'll be lost upon his gaze.

He is not curious as a cat nor furious as a beast, we are just men within this maze but too him were his feast.
Daedalus- the creator of the labyrinth in which to hold the mighty minotaur.
Trevor Dowe Jan 2
Last night I dreamt again
Of a place long lost from memory
You stood beside me
On a darkened shore
The waning moon overhead
Inky waves crashed in with the tide
The ivory of your skin
Glowed radiantly
And illuminated our way
The island, so small, so large
Was a labyrinth
But you couldn't get lost
And I followed your luminescence
In the core of the maze
Sat an ice statue of us
Locked in agony or ecstasy
So lifelike, so vibrant
And then you sang
A haunting aria of love of loss
Of loneliness and pain
Tears poured down my face
Or maybe it was the ice melting
As I became colder
The statue came to life
And you ran me through with a dagger
My blood froze around us
I watched the sculpture depart
Horror Poem
Ollie Dec 2017
I think if I were in a place right now
I’d be in the eye of the hurricane
It’s like, I can see the world falling apart around me
But it’s calm here where everything floats
The problem about this
Is that if something happens to you, it happens to me
That’s hard to explain
So I’m not gonna try
Another problem is that the eye of a hurricane can’t do anything about it especially when I’m visually impaired and my eyes don’t work
So what am I supposed to do with another eye, attach it to my forehead and hope it works?
That’s not how it works
I wrote a poem called The Way It Works not too long ago
And the problem with that is that I’m getting too relatable
But that’s all I know how to do
I have this hobby of memorizing things
If you give me anything I can memorize it if I have the interest and the time
Another bit is that I know how to rhyme
Right off the top of my head, sitting here in my bed
Goddamn, I could win a rap battle
But I won’t
Cause I stutter and I trail off my sentences and I’m second best and mumble anyway
There’s more room in the eye, I swear
Come sit next to me
Stay awhile
Make me smile
I’ll do the same for you(as long as your words are true)
I keep changing my background on my computer to space
So I think maybe my mind is one of its own
But what if I’m just a hurricane
And this series of poems is me trying to figure out
Until eventually I’m not a labyrinth
Or a galaxy
Or space
Or even a hurricane
I’m just a good, dead, 6 feet under goddamn blunder who didn’t know what to do with their life, not exactly
Right now I’ll be the eye of the hurricane but it’ll change tomorrow
So be careful
I don’t want you to be sitting next to me in here when the playlist plays Strangers
Well. I dunno anymore.
Ollie Dec 2017
One of my weirder obsessions is just how beautiful outer space looks
It’s beautiful and complex and we will never be able to understand it
Despite our best attempts
We will never, ever, ever be able to understand it
And yet so many of us love it and admire it and launch ourselves into it
And some of us even let it tell us what to do
It’s just an endless abyss that doesn’t know where it begins or ends
It doesn’t know the words
It doesn’t know of a sky or an earth or an Ollie and it never will
Because it is above us
And yet it does not know it is
And it does not see worlds fall beneath it because it is infinite
And it does not know these things or the power it holds
In all of this thinking of words and outer space
I ponder why is it called outer space in the first place
Why not inner space
And is inner space just the cracks and pieces inside my mind, left there by an unhealthy janitor(all of this unbeknownst to outer space, of course)
Am I thinking inside inner space or am I inner space myself
Should I dwell too long on these questions?
I’m figuring it out
One measly step at a time
On and on my smallish feet tread
And bend and if I were in outer space maybe I’d be floating
And once I said my mind may be a galaxy and then a labyrinth but I’ve redecided I’m space
And I’m not quite sure whether I’m outer or inner yet
Because one is vast and powerful and the other is small and broken and never talked about
Which means one is who I could be and the other is who I am
And it depends on which one my mind is
And how I’m going to get there
So let’s not share wealthy and broad deductions on how to end a poem with my tediously small hands
Because I need to get back to think I need to figure out who I am
And that’s a shame
My belly button is an inny so that may be a clue
I’m having a night, I think. A night.
Kylie Nov 2017
The world we live in which so peautiful offers me nothing but deceit and death, my dear mother.
The world in which Im going soon, yet may be ugly to you, offers me more than here, mother.
He got you mother now he’s coming for me, and no matter how far I run he’s got me.
I ran to a place, with a small case, I took brother and blood to take us to a place much more calm, but he found us first, mother.
mother I am here now. I am happy.
Inspired by film “Pans labyrinth” (2006)dar mother
Next page