How long is now
This moment
Will last a lifetime

How long is now
My body endures the hours

But my mind took a halt

As soon as I entered the hall
I stopped minding the clock.

I shut my eyes
The goosebumps never lie

I awake in paradise
The soul dancing to the bass.

I lose myself
As much as find



Exactly who I am.

The music becomes
My second skin
I look around and
You too, have the same discipline

How long is now

We are infinite in this crowd

Then, I will remember your smile
Your heart sounds just like mine in Berghain.

Maybe if you leave, we can work it out.

I need a permanent blanket of nimbus clouds more oppressive than a Roman Catholic Court.

But, moving to London might convict me back to the cityscape of wasted Fridays and Saturdays.

Because without it, the Betrand Russell in me might just start to wake up. And then I’d remember - there has to be more to life than the 9 to 5 daze.

Washington DC stopped being fun after week two, and now I see it for what it is — a crush of desperate tourists blowing cigarette smoke in your face while you sweat last night’s drinks and Jumbo slice crash.

Anywhere that sells Nutella crepes is pretty sweet, and I love all the kite flyers and buskers festivals. I long ago realized that while Christiania has hundreds of market stalls, they’re all selling the same material things on a Groundhog Day loop: baked goods, stolen bikes, old furniture, cheap phones, and bags of open air hash.

Climbing up Carcassonne, a fortified medieval French town, probably is the best thing ever, but somehow, the two-hour lines to get into Berghain seem more worth it — all that dirt, grunge, and spinning feels as close to Dante’s Inferno; as close to feeling alive as it gets.

But now my Sunday afternoons are spent curled on top of my clean bedsheets, twitching about like a decapitated blue whale - batshit exhausted and depressed but somehow grinning like The Joker, wondering if sleep ever sets.

Concrete Jungle Exposed my nature
Such beauty can only play one role
In a culture so fragile my fait had already been sold
To men with money and the materialistic beating heart I found myself so fond
Large houses fast cars so old and me so young
But possibility only limited to what I was willing to do
And so I would never do a documentary for there's something so dangerous about my truth
Sentences foreboding the whereabouts of those financial emperor's with secrets kept tightly diamonds in a fist
bleeding superiority into my bed drained of financial safety through my fatal transactions
Objectified by the bankers so my malevolence is unforseen
So silent in how I claw fortune, through the rabbit hole of love
Desperate and rich they see me as a one night freak until I steal their possessions and they lose possession of me
Easy obtain but so hard to keep hold
The only boy in business
Who kept the house, the keys and stayed bought,
never sold

Tekoşer studied for three years;
Shed tears, and tore hair,
Locked failure in a stare,
Pushed sleep down the stairs.

He grit his teeth and rolled up his sleeves;
He thought on his feet and took no leave.
Exams came around, and then went on their way.
He aced them, and could finally call it a day.

All he had to do was wait for the fateful morrow;
Marked ‘x’ on his calendar,
A day of great joy, or greater sorrow.
Everything banked on that one set of results.
He waited for whatever followed.


Amy was one night’s sleep away from Gustav -
6 months away from the one she loves!
She couldn’t believe he was coming back;
How painfully her heart had cracked.

But now, she’d finally get to see him!
It would really be him,
Not a text, or an image on her phone;
Asleep next to him, not crying alone.

Just one, more night of lonely sleep;
Just a few more thoughts of blades running deep,
Of red rivers or her haphazaradly slit wrists.
She was terrified of herself,
Of the unfettered abyss, of death’s kiss.
She waited for whatever followed.


Another day, another 14 hour shift.
Michael had it up to here with all this ****.
He was one shelf-stacking away from losing it,
From giving his boss a stabbing and calling it a day.

There is no place in the world worse than a supermarket.
When it came to work, he’d rather be a hornet’s target,
But this was all he could do, for the time being.
This was as far as he could go without hitting the glass ceiling.

But alas, his only breather was around the corner!
His one holiday, his one escape to Berghain;
Drugs and music, nothing to lose, nothing to gain.
Better to live recklessly than to die lame.
He waited for whatever followed.


Tomorrow never came.