PASSION PLAY

Ayad Gharbawi




Location: Desert Shore, Bitterly Cold Night, next to strong waves from the ocean.
Characters: Man ((M) and his Lover, a Woman (W).

----------------------------------------


W: “Search as I forever do, in manifold ways unknown, I seek but to love thee, and the meagre goodness from Life, with steely ardour - my armour faithful.”
M: “Alone I may be, and still, yes I love thee; these days heavy are and beset I am by burdensome trivialities, but I remain trusting, though my corner so narrow remain.”
W: “My Love! Your speech I hear aloud and thine lips I live within and yet, my Love, all Solitude I am. Man! I am unaided! In this journey of sinful thorns, my love, in this unforgiving journey, this blurred odyssey, I stand alone”.
M: “This trial you speak of, but I do know of it well; so, listen then: within the strength of trusted togetherness we can plough on, though everlasting harm shall do its spiteful tricks, warm to our united truth shall we remain.”
W: (Surprised) “O! My love! This thought I cannot hear! My life, my destiny, is but mine. And all have their own solitary roads of jagged rocks to embrace, like it we or not. We heartbreaking earthly sad beasts, either fiercely clutch at integrity, or we do let it go to perish away.”
M: (Confused) “My Love! I do hear, I do hear. But when Times decide on burdening us, what then can we achieve? To face Reality within the frail arms of solitude is to ignore, to refuse the severe threats of repulsive grins.”
(Silence)
M: (Passionately) “O! My sweet! Only in us, can we envelope, through joined, clasped warmth can we be as one united! The screams that so truly are meant to slice us off, only we, our Unity, can destroy. For mine eyes can only find sleep in your ears, and it is so - for otherwise nothing and no one can be.”
W: (Angry) “My Passion too is bubbling for thine bewildered ears. Am I not your soul? Do we not suffer as one? Do we not reflect as one? Am I not your lover true? Is not our warmth not weighty to our fickle bones?”
(Silence)
W: (Passionate) “But, Lover, this much ought I to formally declare unto thee: For our eyes, and all eyes, envision unequally at one another. Till eternity, in its casual, indifferent flicker, snatches at us all wretched mortals, the gazes from lords to paupers remain veritably mismatched. O my passion! My woeful heart! These words I thunder forth defines love unfeigned, and what mine eyes do pour out unto thine ears is authenticity true.
(Silence)
W: (Passionately) “What joined mem’ries you choose to caress may possess thee, but your exactness for what love is to you, doth not dwell in mine mind. What tears, what weepings you do, fall stormily upon thine own soul’s wildernesses. You choose to be chained by changing visions and indefinite sentiments of light weight – though so poignant at the moment they veritably are?”
M: (Inquiring) “My love! I cherish thee; where hast thou been in thine mind, for now ye talk of that truth you relate to in your heart. Your pronouncements, what depths I do feel! Can it perchance be that my passion has strayed our winds far from me?”
W: “No, my love! Why is anger, I feel, lush on thine tongue?”
M: (Surprised and Frightened) “Anger! I am too distant from that affliction! But yes, I feel my words make only for unstable murmurs in my breath.”
W: (Quietly) “Then, do tell me, lover, who do your murmurs betray - myself or yourself then?”
M: (Quietly) “Perhaps so, perhaps so. But my anxiety wilfully demands of me to eradicate your vision.”
W: (Firmly) “You answer naught from my undemanding question. Or, are mine meanings too violent for you? What aches thee?”
M: (Passionately) “My sweet! In so many moments, I created mysterious planets for thee! Bizarre worlds of contrasts and opposites and musical words of antiquity and sensual ravines. My love! I, my soul, my life, my inner deepest breath, tempted as I am by Fates’ inscrutable cruelties to ashamedly yield, I have yet always expressed to mine eyes’ heart, though they be in bleak darkness, to faithfully fight without pause all shades of vice and still yet - with loving integrity; I have stood with arms of righteousness and love for thee up and never down! Yes, sincere good and venal ill remain joined in life for all to feel, but you knew it was not for me to disentangle them. And so, I pronounce unto thee, still, and yet ever and ever more, my love for thee, though still beholding a thousand mountains before me, I remain sturdy for thee; I remain undisturbed by burly laws, and by exotic dictums, I stand fierce and unhurt, save in your absence.”
W: (With Sadness) “My beloved, your vivid voice stabs the falsehoods for thee, and I say unto thee, unto thee your excessive and unreasonable chains, and for myself my unreasonable and extreme chains remain.”
M: (Shocked) “But I burden thee with no steely chains, nor verbal fetters! For naught I produce for thee save grace, passion and freedom to love for us both to be in Unity Sacred! Dost thou embrace my visions as ‘shackles’, then ‘tis better we agree to class that which we are as but madness! Hear me, for my tears now must truly change their colours!”
W: (Determined) “Your feverish hands clutch only upon mine erratic wings!”
M: (Anger) “Never! Never! For I clutch only to destroy all malevolence; as for thee, Lady of the purest, untouched, guarded, secluded Ponds, I seek to unshackle for you the scattered, scared shadows that yearn for thine sovereignty. And what is this ‘sovereignty’ but our Sacred Union? What curse deemest you I impose? Do you equal my purest passions with atrocities? Murmur unto mine ears, your clearest love for me.”
W: “Ah! You enquire of me my ‘sincerity’ for thee? What demands!”
(Silence)
M: “I see naught but heaving forests of love betwixt us, and yet, you discover my words being ‘demanding’?”
W: (Drily) “Perchance, your visions are indistinct and ever more blurred, through these years cannot be ignored.”
M: (Begging) “My love! All mine life, though it be lengthy, I fought most venal tyranny, and for this moment, you question my righteousness?”
W: (Indignantly) “I have been plunged into seas hostile and I have plunged in a thousand miles of inert minds troubled beyond conceivable comprehension and I have yet to have my Right for my own greedy, ravenous flesh to be vigorously and forcefully embraced by sensuality and serenity. Yes, I do love thee, and yet in our union, as in all unions, I have been adorned with naught, save snickering, gossiping scenes of festive *****, games, chatter and farewells, themselves festooned within silly and sincerely stupid smiles and frowns, and shallow tears and never ending ludicrous chatter unworthy of monkeys conversing. I have met programmed rows of pats, respect and all other so-called decent intents and gestures, but, where, lover that you are of mine, where does my personal heart, throb and manically vibrate, save in your heavenly imaginations?”
(Silence)
W: (Quietly but Determinedly) “My love! I truly thee love and with passions, I tell you, of proportions of precise exactitudes; in your eyes I have witnessed symphonies of exquisiteness; and, I of thee ask: where dwelleth your own love for myself in thine body?”
(Silence)
W: (Passionate) “Do you recognise the changing structures that form this, that I name ‘My Love’? In my solitude eternal, I do evermore and always do pause, and be pensive, and be thinking of questions, such as ‘where’, ‘why’, ‘when’ ‘how’, and ‘which’ should be my path; I am forever and ever more searching, seeking the heavens of every corner, and the irritable tempests, within my changing self as they themselves do try to seek me, and we forever, through inconceivable murkiness, do try to assemble the everlasting entirety of these disorganized puzzles into some measure of comprehensible cohesion that ‘I’ am. That is how the ‘I’ you love is forever changing and thereby formulating itself, and within all these meandering passions, and endless errors, where am I to feel thee? Where? And where do you seek me? In which land? In which forest? You trivialise my beingness as you focus upon my lands as being that which so effortless to find, and yet, you are much too distant from an understanding of my conflicting, emerging civilisations.”
(Silence)
W: (Passionate) If the utterance ‘Never’ is pathetic for thee, then allow me to introduce you to my latest heart: for it screams out that single, protracted utterance! Never! My love, these winds of raging wraths, both within and outside by flesh, must and can only be annihilated by mine own sincerities – were I not to play against my own self. My uncontrolled desires and, yes, thirsty manic passions can only be tempered and thoroughly satiated to the utter brim, by mine own loving, sources of pleasure, my own uncontrollable ecstasies. As for the rest of ****** pleasures, my own erroneous words, speeches and utterances can only be severed and sliced by my tranquillity.”
M: (Resigned) “I hear thine words. Do not abandon me. Do not destroy our civilisation of justice.”
W: “What we share, the bonds, are enjoyment. Listen though to mine lips: enjoyment is what - when it is to be compared with convulsive ecstatic quivers of satisfaction?”
M: (Puzzled) “And what of all our journeys to attain that unity? For all that, is it to be of mere insignificance? And if that be your truth, for what then did we toil and labour for unity of minds and bodies?”
W: (Laughing) “Did you understand from Life itself, that here it was, grandly to proclaim its furtive faces unto thine own awaiting face?! “
M: (Baffled) “It was so far too plain and vastly clear unto me these sceneries we faced before our loving bodies.”
W: “Yes, and I too, did see them with thee. Our four eyes, did see unity for that flicker of time. How true you speak! But, time clocked on, I saw you as you stood there, moving nowhere, unawares that it was your duty to squash onwards whatever vile breaths faced us.”
M: (Desperate) “And did I not? Did I abandon thee in these crushing paths?”
W: (Accusing) “No, you did not. Never, once did you abandon me. I ask of thee; for what sense do we feel a need for a continuation of these gruelling marches? For unity? For love? Or, is love unity? Was that and is this our reason for us to carry on with these shackles?”
M: “For assuredly, yes, and more yes, I tell thee! Toil and gruelling dawns, and unbearable evenings and the whitest of nights are all for the sacred attainment of that heavenly summit of joy I name as blessed ‘Love’.”
W: (Assured) “And, Sire, what if my nerves, blood and ****** hunger tell thee in truth that we, all of us, need no longer, and need never in truth, to undertake these paths, for we find naught that nourishes us at the blessed summit of your definition of what ‘Love’ is?”
M: (Confused & Sad) “So, I falter here and now upon understanding your speech; do I reason from thee that our loving days in unity are frivolously bygone now?”
W: (Calmly & Gracefully) “Do the wandering birds, and do the blind bats, and do the reckless storms, and do the blindly, raging waves and do the supremely arrogant oceans eternally march on in but one direction only with the savage passage of time within their particular lives? You did pronounce that you built planets for our unity; well then, did you not view how planets endlessly revolve along the same path?”
(Pause)
W: (Calmly & with Dignity) “For, Sire, I am not as a Planet - could you not feel that throughout our journeys? You endlessly query and question ‘who’ it is that ‘I’ am? Well, I speak this much on myself; I am as the birds, and the bats, and the storms and the waves and the oceans.”  
M: (Angry) “Woman! I can only then tell of thee that you are naught but feuding clutter and violent disarray!”
W: (Unconcerned) “Those are your words. Not mine. Speak for what you wish, Sire.”
M: (Angry) “And I stand here, before thee, in anger – nay, more, more! In fury!”
W: (Laughing) “For what? For the deeds that created but sticky, and grimy grains of sand for the undoubted pleasure our eyes?”
M: “And so you label our truths, our love so much! Fair indeed, you speak, Woman of Justice.”
W: (Arrogantly) “Man! Express your delights for your own delights. And, alas, there the circle and reality ends – and it ends only for you. That is one morsel of truth for you to ponder. What we ‘created’ and what we ‘loved’ was never and never, ever be the same for you as it is for me. Are you a sincere believer that your personal vision is the same sight all other seeing creatures envision?”
M: (Angry) “Woman, you enrage me! Your arrogance is drenching thine rags.”
W: (Sarcastic) “Tis the Man with no reason who allows his breath and words to be a veritable cesspool of fuming stenches!”
M: “But I, that I am, no longer can define your contours?”
W: (Pointedly) “Precisely, Man, precisely. Perhaps, now you have come closer to the vulnerable shores of reality!”
M: (Confused) “Do you express that you are ever varying and so for that reason there is not a one unified you?”
W: (Calmly) “For we are all ‘varying’, to borrow your word – if you do so allow me, Sire. There was never ‘unity’ of soul, nor mind, nor self, nor of any one personality. This, I desire, that you may understand.”
M: (Aghast) “Then if that be your truth and then, are we naught but multitudes of ever changing confusions, Lady of the Desert?”
W: (Calmly) “Yes and no! For those who are muscular and full of fertile vigour in their flesh, and in their intellects, and those that are severely and strictly scholastic, then they do need and they can succeed in time, in their never ending struggle to bring together the mutually antagonistic factions of that which constitutes our beingness. And, as for the dense brained soulless beings, then, it is equally veritably true that, a descent into madness can be rapidly produced, since from their erratic constituents, they cannot attract together these antagonistic and mutually-hating emotions in some vision of cohesion, and thus mayhem can be fashioned.”
(Silence)
M: (Calmly) “So, pray do tell me, where does Love and Justice and Truth and Morality stand in your universe?”
W: (Serenely) “That has been mine desire to hear the words being produced from your lips, Man!”
(Pause)
W: “So, now perhaps, your sight may be getting clearer, for your question is certainly apt. Foremost, we pathetic mortals, we the be are forever slimy specks of sand that  crumbles, must necessarily seek to survive and flourish within whatever forest, desert, meadow we find ourselves cast upon.”
M: (Startled) “At what cost, Woman? At the expense of Morality?”
W: (Rapidly) “Yes and no.”
M: (Shocked) “Horrendous! How can you spout out such filth?”
W: (Quietly) “Restrain your stupidities, and give more room to your intelligence, Sire.”
(Silence)
W: (Gracefully) “In times of trouble, what can Man do when he be forced to embrace evil, even though he finds the act of the embrace loathsome, but he does what he does for the truth of his vital existence to continue. Only when he need never embrace vile, and then allows himself to commit the act, then he is for certainty to incur the everlasting wrath of God. Evil is thus never one truth to be utterly rejected, perchance you may now see. ”
M: (Calm but Tired) “I follow your words and their ideas therein.”
W: (Gracefully) “When you talk to me on Man and everlasting, conflicting changes within that self-same creature, I tell you with all the earnestness that I possess, of what God has scattered and endowed upon me; for this beast, we all call in unity Man, this creature has far too many a numberless number of mutually self-contradicting, distrusting, loving, hating, inspiring and a never ending number of feelings and emotions that are in constant flow and change – as in any rapid river descending unto its eventual destination, which in its case, is the sea, while in our case, it is Death itself for sure.”
M: (Despair) “And how can this beast ‘love’ anyone within this welter of confusion?”
W: (Rapidly) “He cannot!”
M: (Rapidly, Begging) “But Man and Woman do love with bristling passions! Do you deny that, Woman?!”
W: (Calmly, eyes downwards looking) “Yes, and no. Since the beast has needs, based on his vastly intricate constituents, to ‘love’ his fellow beast, he imagines and believes

PASSION PLAY

Ayad Gharbawi




Location: Desert Shore, Bitterly Cold Night, next to strong waves from the ocean.
Characters: Man ((M) and his Lover, a Woman (W).

----------------------------------------



W: “Search as I forever do, in manifold ways unknown, I seek but to love thee, and the meagre goodness from Life, with steely ardour - my armour faithful.”
M: “Alone I may be, and still, yes I love thee; these days heavy are and beset I am by burdensome trivialities, but I remain trusting, though my corner so narrow remain.”
W: “My Love! Your speech I hear aloud and thine lips I live within and yet, my Love, all Solitude I am. Man! I am unaided! In this journey of sinful thorns, my love, in this unforgiving journey, this blurred odyssey, I stand alone”.
M: “This trial you speak of, but I do know of it well; so, listen then: within the strength of trusted togetherness we can plough on, though everlasting harm shall do its spiteful tricks, warm to our united truth shall we remain.”
W: (Surprised) “O! My love! This thought I cannot hear! My life, my destiny, is but mine. And all have their own solitary roads of jagged rocks to embrace, like it we or not. We heartbreaking earthly sad beasts, either fiercely clutch at integrity, or we do let it go to perish away.”
M: (Confused) “My Love! I do hear, I do hear. But when Times decide on burdening us, what then can we achieve? To face Reality within the frail arms of solitude is to ignore, to refuse the severe threats of repulsive grins.”
(Silence)
M: (Passionately) “O! My sweet! Only in us, can we envelope, through joined, clasped warmth can we be as one united! The screams that so truly are meant to slice us off, only we, our Unity, can destroy. For mine eyes can only find sleep in your ears, and it is so - for otherwise nothing and no one can be.”
W: (Angry) “My Passion too is bubbling for thine bewildered ears. Am I not your soul? Do we not suffer as one? Do we not reflect as one? Am I not your lover true? Is not our warmth not weighty to our fickle bones?”
(Silence)
W: (Passionate) “But, Lover, this much ought I to formally declare unto thee: For our eyes, and all eyes, envision unequally at one another. Till eternity, in its casual, indifferent flicker, snatches at us all wretched mortals, the gazes from lords to paupers remain veritably mismatched. O my passion! My woeful heart! These words I thunder forth defines love unfeigned, and what mine eyes do pour out unto thine ears is authenticity true.
(Silence)
W: (Passionately) “What joined mem’ries you choose to caress may possess thee, but your exactness for what love is to you, doth not dwell in mine mind. What tears, what weepings you do, fall stormily upon thine own soul’s wildernesses. You choose to be chained by changing visions and indefinite sentiments of light weight – though so poignant at the moment they veritably are?”
M: (Inquiring) “My love! I cherish thee; where hast thou been in thine mind, for now ye talk of that truth you relate to in your heart. Your pronouncements, what depths I do feel! Can it perchance be that my passion has strayed our winds far from me?”
W: “No, my love! Why is anger, I feel, lush on thine tongue?”
M: (Surprised and Frightened) “Anger! I am too distant from that affliction! But yes, I feel my words make only for unstable murmurs in my breath.”
W: (Quietly) “Then, do tell me, lover, who do your murmurs betray - myself or yourself then?”
M: (Quietly) “Perhaps so, perhaps so. But my anxiety wilfully demands of me to eradicate your vision.”
W: (Firmly) “You answer naught from my undemanding question. Or, are mine meanings too violent for you? What aches thee?”
M: (Passionately) “My sweet! In so many moments, I created mysterious planets for thee! Bizarre worlds of contrasts and opposites and musical words of antiquity and sensual ravines. My love! I, my soul, my life, my inner deepest breath, tempted as I am by Fates’ inscrutable cruelties to ashamedly yield, I have yet always expressed to mine eyes’ heart, though they be in bleak darkness, to faithfully fight without pause all shades of vice and still yet - with loving integrity; I have stood with arms of righteousness and love for thee up and never down! Yes, sincere good and venal ill remain joined in life for all to feel, but you knew it was not for me to disentangle them. And so, I pronounce unto thee, still, and yet ever and ever more, my love for thee, though still beholding a thousand mountains before me, I remain sturdy for thee; I remain undisturbed by burly laws, and by exotic dictums, I stand fierce and unhurt, save in your absence.”
W: (With Sadness) “My beloved, your vivid voice stabs the falsehoods for thee, and I say unto thee, unto thee your excessive and unreasonable chains, and for myself my unreasonable and extreme chains remain.”
M: (Shocked) “But I burden thee with no steely chains, nor verbal fetters! For naught I produce for thee save grace, passion and freedom to love for us both to be in Unity Sacred! Dost thou embrace my visions as ‘shackles’, then ‘tis better we agree to class that which we are as but madness! Hear me, for my tears now must truly change their colours!”
W: (Determined) “Your feverish hands clutch only upon mine erratic wings!”
M: (Anger) “Never! Never! For I clutch only to destroy all malevolence; as for thee, Lady of the purest, untouched, guarded, secluded Ponds, I seek to unshackle for you the scattered, scared shadows that yearn for thine sovereignty. And what is this ‘sovereignty’ but our Sacred Union? What curse deemest you I impose? Do you equal my purest passions with atrocities? Murmur unto mine ears, your clearest love for me.”
W: “Ah! You enquire of me my ‘sincerity’ for thee? What demands!”
(Silence)
M: “I see naught but heaving forests of love betwixt us, and yet, you discover my words being ‘demanding’?”
W: (Drily) “Perchance, your visions are indistinct and ever more blurred, through these years cannot be ignored.”
M: (Begging) “My love! All mine life, though it be lengthy, I fought most venal tyranny, and for this moment, you question my righteousness?”
W: (Indignantly) “I have been plunged into seas hostile and I have plunged in a thousand miles of inert minds troubled beyond conceivable comprehension and I have yet to have my Right for my own greedy, ravenous flesh to be vigorously and forcefully embraced by sensuality and serenity. Yes, I do love thee, and yet in our union, as in all unions, I have been adorned with naught, save snickering, gossiping scenes of festive *****, games, chatter and farewells, themselves festooned within silly and sincerely stupid smiles and frowns, and shallow tears and never ending ludicrous chatter unworthy of monkeys conversing. I have met programmed rows of pats, respect and all other so-called decent intents and gestures, but, where, lover that you are of mine, where does my personal heart, throb and manically vibrate, save in your heavenly imaginations?”
(Silence)
W: (Quietly but Determinedly) “My love! I truly thee love and with passions, I tell you, of proportions of precise exactitudes; in your eyes I have witnessed symphonies of exquisiteness; and, I of thee ask: where dwelleth your own love for myself in thine body?”
(Silence)
W: (Passionate) “Do you recognise the changing structures that form this, that I name ‘My Love’? In my solitude eternal, I do evermore and always do pause, and be pensive, and be thinking of questions, such as ‘where’, ‘why’, ‘when’ ‘how’, and ‘which’ should be my path; I am forever and ever more searching, seeking the heavens of every corner, and the irritable tempests, within my changing self as they themselves do try to seek me, and we forever, through inconceivable murkiness, do try to assemble the everlasting entirety of these disorganized puzzles into some measure of comprehensible cohesion that ‘I’ am. That is how the ‘I’ you love is forever changing and thereby formulating itself, and within all these meandering passions, and endless errors, where am I to feel thee? Where? And where do you seek me? In which land? In which forest? You trivialise my beingness as you focus upon my lands as being that which so effortless to find, and yet, you are much too distant from an understanding of my conflicting, emerging civilisations.”
(Silence)
W: (Passionate) If the utterance ‘Never’ is pathetic for thee, then allow me to introduce you to my latest heart: for it screams out that single, protracted utterance! Never! My love, these winds of raging wraths, both within and outside by flesh, must and can only be annihilated by mine own sincerities – were I not to play against my own self. My uncontrolled desires and, yes, thirsty manic passions can only be tempered and thoroughly satiated to the utter brim, by mine own loving, sources of pleasure, my own uncontrollable ecstasies. As for the rest of ****** pleasures, my own erroneous words, speeches and utterances can only be severed and sliced by my tranquillity.”
M: (Resigned) “I hear thine words. Do not abandon me. Do not destroy our civilisation of justice.”
W: “What we share, the bonds, are enjoyment. Listen though to mine lips: enjoyment is what - when it is to be compared with convulsive ecstatic quivers of satisfaction?”
M: (Puzzled) “And what of all our journeys to attain that unity? For all that, is it to be of mere insignificance? And if that be your truth, for what then did we toil and labour for unity of minds and bodies?”
W: (Laughing) “Did you understand from Life itself, that here it was, grandly to proclaim its furtive faces unto thine own awaiting face?! “
M: (Baffled) “It was so far too plain and vastly clear unto me these sceneries we faced before our loving bodies.”
W: “Yes, and I too, did see them with thee. Our four eyes, did see unity for that flicker of time. How true you speak! But, time clocked on, I saw you as you stood there, moving nowhere, unawares that it was your duty to squash onwards whatever vile breaths faced us.”
M: (Desperate) “And did I not? Did I abandon thee in these crushing paths?”
W: (Accusing) “No, you did not. Never, once did you abandon me. I ask of thee; for what sense do we feel a need for a continuation of these gruelling marches? For unity? For love? Or, is love unity? Was that and is this our reason for us to carry on with these shackles?”
M: “For assuredly, yes, and more yes, I tell thee! Toil and gruelling dawns, and unbearable evenings and the whitest of nights are all for the sacred attainment of that heavenly summit of joy I name as blessed ‘Love’.”
W: (Assured) “And, Sire, what if my nerves, blood and ****** hunger tell thee in truth that we, all of us, need no longer, and need never in truth, to undertake these paths, for we find naught that nourishes us at the blessed summit of your definition of what ‘Love’ is?”
M: (Confused & Sad) “So, I falter here and now upon understanding your speech; do I reason from thee that our loving days in unity are frivolously bygone now?”
W: (Calmly & Gracefully) “Do the wandering birds, and do the blind bats, and do the reckless storms, and do the blindly, raging waves and do the supremely arrogant oceans eternally march on in but one direction only with the savage passage of time within their particular lives? You did pronounce that you built planets for our unity; well then, did you not view how planets endlessly revolve along the same path?”
(Pause)
W: (Calmly & with Dignity) “For, Sire, I am not as a Planet - could you not feel that throughout our journeys? You endlessly query and question ‘who’ it is that ‘I’ am? Well, I speak this much on myself; I am as the birds, and the bats, and the storms and the waves and the oceans.”  
M: (Angry) “Woman! I can only then tell of thee that you are naught but feuding clutter and violent disarray!”
W: (Unconcerned) “Those are your words. Not mine. Speak for what you wish, Sire.”
M: (Angry) “And I stand here, before thee, in anger – nay, more, more! In fury!”
W: (Laughing) “For what? For the deeds that created but sticky, and grimy grains of sand for the undoubted pleasure our eyes?”
M: “And so you label our truths, our love so much! Fair indeed, you speak, Woman of Justice.”
W: (Arrogantly) “Man! Express your delights for your own delights. And, alas, there the circle and reality ends – and it ends only for you. That is one morsel of truth for you to ponder. What we ‘created’ and what we ‘loved’ was never and never, ever be the same for you as it is for me. Are you a sincere believer that your personal vision is the same sight all other seeing creatures envision?”
M: (Angry) “Woman, you enrage me! Your arrogance is drenching thine rags.”
W: (Sarcastic) “Tis the Man with no reason who allows his breath and words to be a veritable cesspool of fuming stenches!”
M: “But I, that I am, no longer can define your contours?”
W: (Pointedly) “Precisely, Man, precisely. Perhaps, now you have come closer to the vulnerable shores of reality!”
M: (Confused) “Do you express that you are ever varying and so for that reason there is not a one unified you?”
W: (Calmly) “For we are all ‘varying’, to borrow your word – if you do so allow me, Sire. There was never ‘unity’ of soul, nor mind, nor self, nor of any one personality. This, I desire, that you may understand.”
M: (Aghast) “Then if that be your truth and then, are we naught but multitudes of ever changing confusions, Lady of the Desert?”
W: (Calmly) “Yes and no! For those who are muscular and full of fertile vigour in their flesh, and in their intellects, and those that are severely and strictly scholastic, then they do need and they can succeed in time, in their never ending struggle to bring together the mutually antagonistic factions of that which constitutes our beingness. And, as for the dense brained soulless beings, then, it is equally veritably true that, a descent into madness can be rapidly produced, since from their erratic constituents, they cannot attract together these antagonistic and mutually-hating emotions in some vision of cohesion, and thus mayhem can be fashioned.”
(Silence)
M: (Calmly) “So, pray do tell me, where does Love and Justice and Truth and Morality stand in your universe?”
W: (Serenely) “That has been mine desire to hear the words being produced from your lips, Man!”
(Pause)
W: “So, now perhaps, your sight may be getting clearer, for your question is certainly apt. Foremost, we pathetic mortals, we the be are forever slimy specks of sand that  crumbles, must necessarily seek to survive and flourish within whatever forest, desert, meadow we find ourselves cast upon.”
M: (Startled) “At what cost, Woman? At the expense of Morality?”
W: (Rapidly) “Yes and no.”
M: (Shocked) “Horrendous! How can you spout out such filth?”
W: (Quietly) “Restrain your stupidities, and give more room to your intelligence, Sire.”
(Silence)
W: (Gracefully) “In times of trouble, what can Man do when he be forced to embrace evil, even though he finds the act of the embrace loathsome, but he does what he does for the truth of his vital existence to continue. Only when he need never embrace vile, and then allows himself to commit the act, then he is for certainty to incur the everlasting wrath of God. Evil is thus never one truth to be utterly rejected, perchance you may now see. ”
M: (Calm but Tired) “I follow your words and their ideas therein.”
W: (Gracefully) “When you talk to me on Man and everlasting, conflicting changes within that self-same creature, I tell you with all the earnestness that I possess, of what God has scattered and endowed upon me; for this beast, we all call in unity Man, this creature has far too many a numberless number of mutually self-contradicting, distrusting, loving, hating, inspiring and a never ending number of feelings and emotions that are in constant flow and change – as in any rapid river descending unto its eventual destination, which in its case, is the sea, while in our case, it is Death itself for sure.”
M: (Despair) “And how can this beast ‘love’ anyone within this welter of confusion?”
W: (Rapidly) “He cannot!”
M: (Rapidly, Begging) “But Man and Woman do love with bristling passions! Do you deny that, Woman?!”
W: (Calmly, eyes downwards looking) “Yes, and no. Since the beast has needs, based on his vastly intricate constituents, to ‘love’ his fellow beast, he imagines and believes

Precarious Life
Migration in the Age of Globalization
Various Strife
Cessation in the wage of translation
Starvation in our under age narration
Is opportunity worth the cost
Bifurcation of our to be nations  
Will we make it across

Vicariously rife
Location of our permanent vacation
Hilarious fife
Hesitation in the living wage stagnation
Resignation of our own home nation
Will anything become lost
Frustration in this age of relocation
Will we make it across


Gregarious life
Migration in the age of inflation
Precarious Life
Stagflation been gauged with low expectations
Automation when we enrage damnation
It shall be worth the cost
Fixation on a whole new acclimation
Will we make it across

Kneeds prayer
For ma dear friend
He jus disappeared don know where he been
He meens alot to many
But he been hurt real bad
Bye wone who kouldnt preciate him
But one will in the end
Ma friends a  truu king
A king not a child's.
He drive manee women crazies.
As only one drives him wilds.
Though the one he luvs
As othas can see don't luv him bak!
If he kould only see
He has a tuns of women who got his bak.
If only he kould see
So many will givee him
What he truly deserves.
Though he luves her
Get me enrage...
Tho he luv her
Every women wants him to stay.
Tho he luv her
She Kant even see him.
He luv her
She don wan him
He love her
Yet I'm starting to reelize
I want him so bad
My boyfriend and I just friends now
Since my boyfriend just wanted friend!
But its OK bekause,
I want another
Who don want me back.....
He luv her
Mad chicka enraged
I think I'll cry lonaly,
Sleep-in a cave
But see agin
I want him!
He don know.
Or wantee me at all.
He loves her.
His queen in his kingdom ball.
But I want him
Jealous? Am I????
**** yea!
But I kan be betta,
I kan be bad.

Journal entry #2

Today I finally decide to truly let go.
I no longer want her friendship, just like she has countlessly rejected my love. It is cruel and unfair to expect opposite feelings of the other.
We found each other against all odds, she approached me with intrigue and decadence, hoped for comfort, but let it all go when the bell rang. Like holding an infant in your arms, looking for care and attention, begging for patience and vision to give it the chance to grow strong and beautiful. Instead left under a bridge too weak and brittle to keep it.
I think I made her happy, but her warmth dissipated as soon as I had to leave, the mistake perhaps was to tell her that I love you. But she never wanted a serious relationship, she just wanted a connection with a man who acknowledged her, made her feel good, desired, important and seek out thrill in her stressful mundane life.
My purpose was served, and I felt disposed of. It has been one long year since the day I had to go, hoping to return.
I don’t want to know anything about her life anymore. Any news will hurt and enrage me. She hurt me so deeply and profoundly she is afraid of what she has done, she feels guilt for not loving me and rejecting a loving man, while I now feel guilt for expecting and forcing feelings onto her fragile soul.
We are equally selfish.
I burdened her with emotional presence from afar, when all she desired was peace and repent in silence. I don’t want to keep hurting her by caring. Today she said, “as soon as you appear in my life it becomes too hard and painful that I will not answer you in return”. Being friends with me would make her happy, she wants to be friends. But being friends is all that it will ever be while we shared such passionate and intimate times together. Her friendship is not enough, I want her in her entirety. I am convinced at this stage there is nothing I can do or say to change her mind. You may think you’re not good enough for me or that you cannot be with someone who you cannot love because love is alien to you, or because circumstances make it so. If you just let go, I would travel across the world and catch you.
It is all in your mind…
Now… By letting go of you entirely. By letting go of the constant hum of your omnipresence in my heart, of wondering what you’re thinking and if you will keep remembering me. We let each other heal and gradually forget a little more each passing day. You will find a man, I am sure. But you will never find someone who loved you more than I do now. Never.
I cherish the time I had with you. I wish things could go differently. I may still decide to go to Russia, perhaps not so soon and for different reasons. But I would also like to deliver on my promise, the promise I made to you a year ago. “I promise to come back”. Perhaps as friends this time, if I’m ready. Oh God. If I become a new man.
To my beloved Nastya. I love you. Goodbye.

I want to be a man.
I want the broad,
Sculpted shoulders.
I want the deep, gruff,
Musty vociferation that roars
From within the pit
Of his stomach.
I want the veiny, *****,
Callous hands. The ruffled,
Strong hands that hold dirt
And flesh without hesitation,
Or dubious grasp.
I want the broken nose,
The ****** teeth,
And the enraged, inflamed eyes.
I want the hair, the dark,
Damp, coarse hair that grows
From his every pore,
Resembling more and more
The body of an ape.
I want the smirk,
The arrogant smile splat
On his face.
I want the swagger,
The saunter that is
So impregnated in his walk,
That one which steps the earth,
Waiting for it to shatter
With his every advance.
I want the commanding voice,
That which with his footstep,
Orders the world to be held
In his hands.
I want to be proud,
Be primitive,
Strong.
I want my immediate desires
To be quenched
By the milliard.
I want to destroy
And create.
I want to seek,
Seek with zeal,
And desperation
Despite stability,
Despite being pleasured.
I want the dissatisfaction
That comes with being a man,
The constant unhappiness,
The constant yelp
For something
Other than what is being offered.
I want to hate,
I want to enrage,
And be enraged.
I want to punch,
To butcher till that which I despised
Is nothing more.
I want to rip that which is his,
And his, and mine.
I want the lack of restraint,
Because it is all acknowledged
When you are a man.
It is all pardoned,
And when condemned,
There is always exile,
Exile to then live in solitude,
Still seeking for that which isn’t his.
I want to breathe freshness,
And deliver the putrid breath of
Meat, ***, and saliva.
I want to be a man,
For I am not.

I have travelled, many a weary step, so long, and for so long with baited breath,

ANXIOUS

ready to be relieved of the responsibilities of life
craving freedom from calamity and strife
frantic and frenzied
as though at some point i might find the answer
to an oft ignored question

i look up at the stars, as they look down at me
and bask in the glory of the past and present's symmetry
because there are so many of us...
all bound to humanity
now passed through the flame of mortality
the "others"
the ones who have asked themselves why they're here
the intellectuals warriors who have no need for fear
when they look into the veil of death
and sense the first vibrations on the pulse of life

when i used to dip my pen into the ink,
metaphorically, because my  computer helps me to think

i used to doubt engaging in the process of creation
it used to enrage
my self serving denomination

the sensation of never quite being able to express yourself as fluidly as option b
or the devilry that comes from hiding yourself within the layers of flesh referred to as anatomy

i use to cower by act three,
run from the stage before the audience saw through me,
never receiving my final bow

but now i realize,
that at the core of my existence
imbedded in my instincts
is the ability of my creator....

and I'm a fan

so now when i dip my pen to the paper
I'm a masked crusader
cool, liek darth vader
and i aint never going back
to that tired dusty beaten track
refered to, in passing, as memory lane

Oh, How God test us?
To change us.
To impress us to see our truth.
When confronting your self racism?

We limit our views on certain level and express on others.
A Jewish soul marry and Italian soul.
And instantly we attack the marriage and play the religious route concerning them.

Even addressing this upon the children's blessed between them.

We, get more intense and enrage when we see another perspective.
A black male marry around white female in union.
And quickly we run the route of vengeance toward them.

Maybe because of the slavery past that so closely connected to the races.
Instead of seeing love, we see race without confronting our self racism.
Oh, the heat is more upon the white race.
Although various blacks can be just as worse.

And strange to admit, we hear the best racism preached in the house of the Lord by the church leaders.

And odds as it may seem to many.
Being racist doesn't get you any closer to heaven.

Breathe in the air of the past
and relive the memories of our ancestors
forget not the blood
paid for our freedom
which in every drop
holds a martyr's story

The land we live on
is the same land which they died for
Giving us the land
that we borrowed from our children
and not putting it
to any waste

Enrage the heart of our history's heroes
with pride, gratitude and nationalism
for they sacrificed the
sunrise they longed for
to wake us up in the beginning
of the sun we call *freedom

It was written in the beginning, a beginning before Britain, before folklore, gore and war. A beginning then, when the lords created, decorated and separated the night and also the bright, bright light. Therefore, a delight! In the beginning, creating the seven ways of days and the rays. The birth of earth, the black ravens, the havens and the heavens. A beginning of clean slates, dreams, schemes and themes!

As I blink and wink, badly and sadly I think… An ending, with fate or an ending with no ascending or commending date? Let’s debate and negotiate! A beginning, of Pharaohs, their arrows and the sparrows. An ending of sorrow? A beginning, borrowed from our hour’s tomorrow? An ending, I deem, that forever bends, defends, depends, pretends and never, ever seems to end. The heavens specialties and

hell’s cruelties. Governments and their restraints! Negative and positive lengths and strengths. A beginning and an ending; betrayed and strayed, long before many of us were to play or say. Stories of cities, glories and their pities! Starving nations and Haitians! Expensive vacations and relations! The elapsed and relapsed! Perhaps, the mishaps and disruption of our corruption’s eruption and ending

destruction? Hey! I say, let’s turn a page past the basked, the masked and vast. A fold past the cages that enrage-rage, wage and old age.
The detained delights, the petty fights and plights. Why can’t we each reunite? Unite forever! Drop and stop this harm and fight. Fly into the night, together with our almighty arms and mighty charms. Primarily, in the beginning or ending, let us not negatively but too positively and ultimately amend! Children, men and women, amen.

would it really be a crime,
for you and i to stand side by side?

would it truely bring dispare
for you and i to share

would it bring joy
for you and i to enjoy,

this soft embrace
just one time?

a kiss as soft as snow
a subtle touch of hands,

oh darling,

would it truely enrage the land
for us to just hold hands?

lets just say
there is
           no wrong or right
           no black or white

all things being
                          equal

it is all inconsequential

dance
laugh
scream
cry
engage
enrage
dissapate

transform through time

One day these grey clouds that linger above
Will give up and allow their rain to fall
The droplets like an echo of my love
A shadow of the leaves that fell in fall

I long to reach up with my hands and grab
Those hideous clouds I wish would crash
Your sign is cancer, the sign of the crab
It seems we are not meant to be, we clash

But I know your eyes, eyes I can't evade
For that I become a slave to that grey
They bear into me as if to invade
I have no complaint, I only say stay

My hearts the flame that you always enrage
Trapping me in passions bottomless cage

Years had gone by since the boys eyes were open,
All around him his life lay useless and broken.
He clung to distractions and hated the silence when it came near.
The boys absence had suddenly descended into utter fear.

Wherever he went the boy couldn't escape the terror he felt,
And things that never bothered him now made him stop and melt.
The confusion that followed the fear he felt began to enrage him.
Liquid hatred started to quickly fill his tiny cup to the rim.

He took his anger out on himself knowing everyone was in enough pain.
The only times he felt normal was when he walked alone through the rain.
The boy forgot how to take care and love himself truly,
Though he acted and carried himself like he desired this cruelty.

Anger became his main defense mechanism and shield,
Alone and broken he found his only solace in desolate fields.
Sorrow became his trusty companion and loyal friend.
Letting tears fall quietly was the only message he'd ever send.

No one seemed to realize the pain the boy was in anymore.
Spending any time with him just felt like a chore.
The boy felt like he was getting away with ****** these days.
Not realizing he was the only victim here in oh so many ways.

Passion.
What a defining emotion.
It calls and beckons all of us.
It wraps it’s light around us.
We seek it out in all aspects of our lives.
Sometimes, if we are lucky,
It can find its way into our lives.
Like our breath in winter,
True passion can be seen.
It can be felt.
It can be a source of warmth.
It can be a reminder of the world around us.
True passion is what we strive for.
Passion in our arts,
Passion in our dreams,
Passion in our hearts.
What do I want?
I want love.
Not just any love,
But a deep and passionate love
That breaks the stereotypes
And brings me to my knees.
I want a love that will break all walls
And deliver me from my fears.
I want a love that comes naturally.
I want a love I have to fight for.
I want a love that fights for me.
In this world,
Where everything is fake,
And everything is material,
I want a love that will and can be real.
A love that will pick me up,
Lift me from my ashes,
Bring me to a whole new world
Of fire and pure emotion.
I want a love that will,
Above all things,
Love me for everything I am.
That will go the distance and back again.
I want a love that will tear me down,
Destroy me as a person
And bring me back to life.
I want to feel as if I am breathing
For the very first time.
I want a love that will
Take a risk.
Make a leap of faith
And find itself standing tall
Against all odds.
I want a love that is full
Of passion and reality.
I want a love that is going
To push me to my limits.
I want a love that is going
To envelop my mind.
To figure out exactly who I am
And what makes me tick.
I want a love that will be
There for me when I need it.
And give me space when I need it.
I want a love that will
Make my blood boil.
Enrage me and make me cry,
Just so that I know when
All is said and done,
Love will be there still.
Like a champion among lesser men,
I want loves ties to never break.
I want a love that will punish me
For my wrong doings.
I want a love that will pleasure me
Without me even having to ask.
I want a love that can make life stand still
Like there is no one else in the world
And the only thing that matters is being with me
In that moment
In total completeness.
I want a love that can make me smile,
Just by being present.
I want a love that will
Cast out all doubts and suspicions.
I want a love that I can be care free
And allow myself to just be me.
I want a love that doesn’t need words
Or reassurance.
I want a love that is an extension
Of not only my body
And my mind,
But my soul.
I want a love that I can be selfish with,
And never want anyone else to know
As well as I do.
I want a love
That I can plain and simply
Call my own.

poetry, oddly enough, falls the easiest as pray to that beast plagiarism; now all the more easier, like loving the sort of poetry that's not easily inspiring is to me what generic poetry, the sort of material for occasions and birthday cards and anniversary rhymes that's blatantly reproducible, is to invoking "inspiration." did anyone say the word peacock? no? good: here's a whiff of my skunk and sailors' socks lettering.*

what i know of poetry i use from the lack of knowledge i have of life,
so why would i suddenly follow suit with metaphor
and other tools so blatantly, so consciously, as to write
for an essayist or a critic? why? i have no need for that sort
of nit & pick approach, just so i can have someone say
something about it: easily recognise the alkalis and acids
and yeasts and the final product of dried brains and sugars stored
in liver. i heard a poet talk once about how drinking and
blasting music made him write the most terrible poetry,
a generational gap it would seem prompted me to say:
it's music, it hushes my thought to such a measure that i automate
my writing - hardly a thought concerns the writing - it's
impulse, instinct, impulse, instinct - the unknown river winding -
until i reach the other side of this styx - it's sometimes a sober
journey, but it's never a journey where the river is as if the hush
lullabying mute lake - and i even manage to strain music,
never allow it a completion, and thus the chaos of intro, a part,
no song entering its crescendo - sometimes just the mundane
bits of it, and that's it! i also heard the same poet talk about
the writing ethos: three hours in the morning, one at night...
why would i also do that, stand in the iron maiden of "professionalism"
and rigid matchstick packaging into specified slots of the everyday?
as i heard the same poet speak about practicing, comparing
the poet not to a composer, always adrift on the blanks with
spores against blinking and seeing blanks without inky caterpillar winding,
i'm not a ****** pianist, i'm chopin, there's a difference,
i'm not competing for laureate laurels, i'm competing for the
emperor's clothes: and in the realm of my ever expanding empirical
vocabulary, i'm the sole provider of such similarities to imagine
myself in toga and sandal drinking wine with bacchus and molesting
the nymphs with drunken song - as once in craze on a birthday,
making such cocktails and providing such crazy muses due from
music by cedric 'im' brooks that i swooned into lust and power,
taking a girl to my room and doing her all over in pitched pleasures
of darkness while the modest celebrations continued - the guests
didn't seem interested in helping themselves to barbecue or
the cocktails as much as this one girl - who noticed i was educated
in her own leather contrast with me: so let me tell you,
girls of such countenance enrage heaven with you and solomon and sheba,
for a girl who sees you take interest in her cultural output
is marked to take interest in anything else by you, esp. if it's
after a cosmopolitan, or that cocktail with galliano, or cointreau;
hmm, that last line about "cultural output" sounds hypocritically leftwing
stiff... well i know that something was... stiff... ah crap, now it
sounds all too very much carry on movie giggles; feet ashore!

Press it to your lips, breathe in deep,
let the smoke fill the car with guitar riffs
while you tear down the street.

‘This stuff will give you a lift,’
says John from the driver’s seat.
I pass him the joint and turn the volume up.

Good hard rock pumps our blood with a wild beat
and the heat of summer night keeps us on top
of the world, the six of us, crowded

in a rusted, five-seat pickup,
pushing eighty, with the music loud, and
the backseat flirting getting rough.

We’ll pinch and tease the girls ‘til they
sink, slyly, into our arms
and enrage us with eyes begging for mischief.

So we give them mischief, and pull the car
up to a gas station.  John turns to me to ask if
I’m up to try this place.

‘It’s just right.’
We step to the asphalt in pace
with the radio’s thump, the white

glare of the floodlights hard
against the damp black night
and the shadows of trees.  I start

to review the plan, but I know it alright;
the door jingles lightly as we step inside
to rows of multicolored bags of chips.

Inside it’s cold and quiet.  John coolly strides
to the back for the drinks, and I pick
out a pack of cigs from in front of the counter.

The man is reaching, John is ready, then lightning quick,
we bolt from the store; round the
corner, find the truck; ‘Hey you *******!’

But he’s too late, we’re racing away
and flipping him off.  Our laughter
is loud, the girls are blinking in the spray

of beer popped open.  That’s just after
coming back all smiles, the victors;
flying into the truck, I sat

a girl, Joanne, next to me.  We soaked her,
freed her, ourselves, with foamy suds,
the alcohol, and young nights on the road.

There, signs and shadows rushing past,
we sing to the radio: “I hope I die before I get old!”
and drum on the dash.

Throw the bottles out the window,
who cares what happens!
Spread the glass shards, let the whole world know!

Press it to your lips, drink to the intoxicating purr of the engine.
You laugh, listening to the tinkling
as bottles shatter, one by one, on the pavement.

the beast in me wants to romp
and enrage the beast in you
tonight

you see my beast is locked up
in chains, a fearful cell--
locked tight

but when yours calls mine
it answers with unabashed
delight

"set me free," it begs
and the shadows grow
with fright

with myself and my desire
my deadly determination that I—I
am right

then your pet answers me and
out they fly—sparks and gunpowder
ignite

the beasts in lethal fury
grievances, protests, objections
recite

unfettered, unchained, and uncontrolled
they spin, they soar, they destroy
they fight

we lock away our agency
our wisdom—our love
from sight

our pets are eating us, my dear!
we look at each other and mourn,
contrite

too late.  the damaged flesh
has uncovered our bones and shown us
each bite

there is no return.
but perhaps if we wrestle,
unite?

with every power we strive:
we send those animals back into
the night

when the morning breaks at last
have we gained
insight?

are we richer than before?
do we know any more with
hindsight?

is it worth the blood we bore
as our beasts fought before
daylight?

silence. there is no good
from letting the beast pretend to be
a knight

we have not won this day;
the events do nothing but
indict

we must build cages that hold our beasts
that constrain this ugly temper
more tight

and keep our hands off the latches
because love is always better
than spite

Come, he who seeks my disquiet,
Does it please you to see my total fury?
Must you enrage my soul, enflame my emotions?
You’ve awoken the volcano in me, and it writhes in waves of anger,
So be it.

Come, he who seeks my grief,
Does it give you satisfaction to see my despair?
Must you depress my heart, dampen my sentiments?
You’ve awoken the ocean in me, and it flows in waves of sadness,
So be it.

Come, he who seeks my insanity,
Does it comfort you to see my struggle?
Must you sever my mind, obliterate my senses?
You’ve awoken the cave in me, and it echoes in waves of madness.
So be it.

Least said and nothing to mend
nothing to defend and no one to lend you an ear
and light continues to bend around the posts of the day,so whatever you say is distorted,reported by magnates controlling the press and however much less there'll be more, and the implausible causes of any decisions are picked over by vultures and revised into later editions.

Free press
get your free press depression read about free press aggression and say what you will,we'll all read our fill until we can all read no more and no less than no more.
Barons in Wapping now moved
and Wapping will be another new century, of debatable consumables sold in charcuteries and pharmacies and no more free press to distress the dressing rooms in boom towns and where once printers stood they will now sell returnable (deposit required) wedding gowns
it's no wonder I feel down and need a little lift as I sift through the remnants of yesterdays news,my own views irrelevant as I ride on another elephant all painted in white
another bending of light which we fall for.

There's always more than is less,
more to depress and distress me and drinking Darjeeling leaves me with the feeling that it could always be more
another front page to enrage me
another bent light to distract
and if you don't know it we're all being attacked by the news that we pay for
I think that's a bit more than I can take
I can fake things myself and don't need some gnome or some elfin in Tooting or Fleet Street to sell me a rag that tells me of nothing that I want to know.
So I'm going
We're all being snowed by the establishment gurus whose raison d'etre is only to abuse us
I've had enough of their bullshine
if light's going to bend I'll make sure that it's my light that glows
and not some nosepicking,cityslicking, lickspittling critter who couldn't see beyond his...
..well enough of that
I'm out of the next deal
if you want to get real you will be too.

Glaciers are melting away, as shadows in the darkest hour,
Nature’s enrage, has now turned into a war;
Even at a place so uphill,
There is no cold wind nor the chill.

The trees that we cut down fell,
And the green heaven turned to hell.
We pretend to be deaf of what we hear,
And stay blind of what that happens here.

Our voices never have raised,
Nor the fire inside us has blazed.
So, let us all stand straight and tall,
If not, we all shall fall.

I think the clock is off now
Conversations getting soft now

Thank you for talking to me
Why did you I don’t know
I got nowhere to be
Got nowhere to go

I could sit all day
At this table
All alone
Looking at you
Ill leaving in awhile baby
Nothing else matters but right now

Your words of hysteria
Verbal cafeteria
Speak of necrophilia
Learning new things
Making my head spin

I could sit all day
At this table
All alone
Looking at you
Ill leaving in awhile baby
Nothing else matters but right now

Your eyes engage me
Your opinions enrage me
Your insults don’t phase me
Let’s just share a laugh
Make these moments last

I could sit all day
At this table
All alone
Looking at you
Ill leaving in awhile baby
Nothing else matters but right now

Across the ocean's dome,
Controlled by piercing shouts without a doubt;
On an altar in the distance:
An open book with censored words!
Tear a page,
Observe the rage.
Not what any freedom fighter would.

In a rowboat in the open,
Draw the source of their devotion.
Pencil sketch the jagged beard,
And stretch the nose a thousand years.

What a time to strike some fear!

The terrorists will echo with madness,
The pen is your sword.
The innocent will run to the forests,
And the artists make war.

Across the desert homes,
Contained by giant seas to some degree;
In a planetary orbit:
A crying team with crooked teeth!
See the page,
The winds enrage.
Not what any freedom lover should.

Bullets charge at the comedian's door,
Burning down all the carpenter's lore.
Sculptors mourne over severed stones,
The innocent turn, yearn, learn...

The invasions form, warn, and burn.

As the terrorists echo with madness,
Hold the pen as your sword.
As the innocent run to the forests,
Let the artists make war.

Throw the drawings ashore!

Fire questions to the sky
so many bullets rain back down
Cruelty abound by the bookstore in town
Where skagheads rob ragheads and laugh
back to broken scuttle-bug alleys and rain
the pain
I hope your age doesn't enrage you
or I hope the town doesn't become you
Burn all your Matterhorn replica symmetrical dreams
guard all bars by the backdoor sullied sweethearts
the ally of your ally is an enemy of somebody's enemy
but the enemy of that enemy is a friend of the state

Liquid LSD spilt on the raptured structures of this ***-
King city and the all encompassing simultaneous trip
is only the perception of reality we're made to endure
the title you hold is a roll of paper by the door
and we burned them all for heat when the powers that be
rolled over you and me

Le ciel me parle des mots doux
qui brillent comme des feux rouges
et brûlent dans la poitrine,
piquent sur les champs créés des espères
et des possibilités oubliés.

Peut-être que je suis perdu,
sorti de la maison des conséquences,
rendu malheureux par des phrases simples
et lavé par les eaux de ton étreinte ;
peut-être que je suis oublié,
pas connu par les gens qui se crient
pour l’amour ou la douleur
ou contaminé par le sang bleu
du jour qui reste dans l’air timide.

Peut-être que j’ai peur,
peur de ta regarde, peur d’être  
frappé par tes yeux sympathiques
et éclatants, peur d’être jugé par
le bon dieu de la tristesse,
embrassé par le cœur qui me fait pleurer.

Peut-être que je vis avec
l’incertitude de tes pensés éphémères,
avec l’obligation de ne rien se faire,
avec l’impression de doute sur ta bouche,
avec la sourire malhonnête
qui ne me respecte en plus.

Peut-être que je dois vivre sans toi,
car tu me rends fâché avec ton voix couché,
car tu me montres ton cœur mais
ne me laisse pas de le tenir,
car tu me dis que tu es sincère  
sans avoir assez de témoins,
car tu me fais faim
mais ne me laisse pas manger.

Peut-être que tu n'es pas pour moi ;
Peut-être que tu es vraiment pour toi.  

/

The sky speaks to me sweet words
that shine like red fires
and burn in the chest,
sting on the fields created by hopes
and forgotten possibilities.

Maybe I’m lost,
parted with the house of consequences,
made unhappy by simple phrases
and bathed by the waters of your embrace;
maybe I’m forgotten,
unknown by people who cry
for love or pain
or contaminated by the blue blood
of the day that sits in the timid air.

Maybe I’m afraid,
afraid of your gaze, afraid
of being struck by your lovely
and gleaming eyes, afraid to be judged
by the good God of sadness,
afraid to be kissed by the
heart that makes me weep.

Maybe I’m living with
the uncertainty of your fleeting thoughts,
with the obligation to do nothing,
with the impression of doubt on your mouth,
with the dishonest smile
that doesn’t respect me anymore.

Maybe I have to live without you,
because you enrage me with your cloaked voice,
because you show me your heart but
don’t let me hold it,
because you tell me that you’re sincere
without brandishing enough witnesses,
because you make me hungry
but don’t let me eat.

Maybe you're not for me;
Maybe you’re truly for you.