The machete of death is
Coming closer closer closer
Blood and bones and
My eyes are strained
From too much existential contemplation.

Not good for the soul
To consistently ideate
About it’s utter and absolute distinction;
Throwing your living body, your living soul,
Swiftly and without warning into
A raging flame that cobbles you up
Hungry to dissolve you, disjoint you,
Consume you into her wild flames.

Blood red and yellow as the surface of the sun
All breaking down into
The black gravely ash.

Where something cognizant
And living and organic and dynamic
Has fallen from grace like Satan falling
From his place in heaven
Arch-angel transformed into the anti-christ

And at times, I relate
I feel myself falling falling falling
Like Lucifer
And Alice
And Persephone.

We are falling and we cannot stop.

From our homes, the only ones we’ve ever known
Tumbling manically into a new world
Whose rules we were never told
Whose customs are foreign
Whose reality fills us with this
Dread of confusion.

Once we were home.
In heaven
Reading a book in the dabble sun
Spreading spring and life with
Our mother Demeter
And in a moment
It all changed

Without warning
Without any choice in the matter
So we watched outside ourselves
As our bodies flailed through the air
Our lungs bursting with screams
Our bodies lost to our own control,
Now just flesh being dropped
From Olymus to an upside world.

And yet…
We grew to love it
The devil, Alice, Persephone and I.

We learned to love our forced new world
And decided there was something majestic
About climbing through time and space
Traversing reality
Entering into a new world that flittered---
Terrifying at first, like the slit from a knife,
But then glowing, glinting with flame
And pomegranate and tea parties.
And as lost as we were
We began to find our way.

We sat down with the mad hatter,
We stopped ourselves form being swallowed
By our own gushing, oceanic tears.
We grew large and small.

We came to reign a dark, black world
That somehow become our own
So sinister, gaping with evil, think
With the sinners. But still, in my own way,
Perhaps the heavenly remnants inside me
Loved them. Watched them float here from
Their corpses like dancing skeletons on display
And I welcomed them into my dungeon
Of fire and flame and blackness and death.
I punished them. And yet, I loved them.
Punishing them like my children,
Wreaking the havoc they had caused.
They were sinners and they were mine
And no longer was I ugly and tarred and shamed,
A monstrosity. Suddenly, I was my own god.
And my sinners, so broken, hearts filled with black bile
Spewing out angry and hatred and violence.
But they were mine and all the fear
I used to hold that I was a sinner,
Not good enough to be good,
Dissipated. I was here in the bleakest part of
The universe, a black hold that gaped on for hours
With spikes and flames and wading pools of human blood.
I was a monster among monsters. They were my monstrous
Children, soulless, void of humanity,
And yet inside of my some fleeting thing existed
An undestroyed part of my early life:
For I loved them. I love their sins and I drank them
In like blood and wine. We are all sinners, but the sinners
Who have made their way here…their sins are so catastrophic
I believe they may in fact be divine.

The digital exhale
Pushing out
Content creation and idea regurgitation
Outfacing ideas, concepts
These things become the shell, the defined exterior of us
The fodder for perceptions
Of others
About us
We update, share, ideate and create
We post, pronounce and proclaim
We share with trite exclamations
Cute cats
And clever #hashtags
We spray forth our digital exhale
Hoping
Believing that we will be, become this feed
Of me
Until we are
Out
Of breath
And then
We must, gasping
Pause. Stop.
In the momentary emptiness of ourselves
The frightening hollow
Of our millisecond of solitude
Touches of singularity
Haunting, taunting us
With ourselves

The reversed desire.

Over years and years of striving and adjusting, adapting from the real life after school, learning, working and building everything from careers to a home - eventually you will get everything most from material things and desires, your pursuit, to stuff and state you’ve initially dying to get.

And when you’re there. Your young self will realize that there might be bigger things in life, but your core self will realize that your contentment is at peak. Now you’re starting to feel rusted, perhaps, sometimes, pragmatically bored.

Through experience you will see light in every darkness, from different kinds of human beings that became, and is part of your life. You’ve known it. You see the motives, you see through everything. Two steps ahead, the outcomes, the results, the fallback and the possibilities. You map the unmapped and if there are new branches of the path you expect and you realized it’s a breeze to know how to navigate it. You will come to a point that there are few things in life that matters to you. A love one, family or a passion. Yes - You achieve it all. You are an achiever. You don’t beg. You have it. You can have  it. You’ve mastered the art of timing, and the art of going to different kinds of war. You got nothing to ask for and you’re not thrilled with life.

But the thing is - you’re just in your thirties. You don’t have the luxury of life like what people see in social media, and you don’t mind. You have a sense that you don’t need anything anymore. It happens. Now there are instances that you mindlessly self destruct. People may view this as a kind of immaturity, but they cannot understand you. You know their stand, all those stereotyped uncle’s and friend’s judgements blow in your face, But still, You’re cool with it - but it ***** that no one understands your state of losing your sense of purpose.

It comes. The bad thing is - you’re young. There are people who reached a state of “Whatever life throws at me, I can handle it” phase where they are millionaires at their 40s, 50’s, 60’’s - Or, the other side, when all other things are well handled, You still can forecast that you can handle everything without any volatility in terms of your physical, mental, financial and emotional health - but what if you’re just in your early 30’s. It will seem that a lot of people will not understand you. You are still in the build phase and still a ‘baby’ essentially in terms of the human lifespan, and yet, you are telling that you are having your peak?

True enough, it sometimes, happens. And it is quite difficult. Mostly, you are a giver. You’ve spent vacation-less years working like a dog, pursuing everything at a high rate of speed, going on to finish-lines earlier than your peers. Taking care of people around you, loving without any expectation of returns at all aspects. You become an eagle. An eagle that roams the bluest skies and stormiest weathers hunting for your self. A wolf, that provides sufficient resources for the pack. A loving human that is always misunderstood yet - you’ve become a person with a wisdom, not caring for things you cannot control, with an indestructible armor of self belief, smashing every goals and roadblocks in the way. And yes - you will reach a point where you don’t lose. You are a super machine adapting and leveraging to every scenarios thrown at you. You are a master of everything. Nothing can bring you down. Not even any lowest point of your life, which you’ve experienced and evaded smoothly because you have an amazing comprehension on everything, both intellectually and in relationships. You pick your battles, and you are a hustler. But when you go home alone, your mind spans big like the universe. You’ve mastered the art of contentment. Whatever is lacking, you supply. So in short, you are young, you don’t need anybody. You are a giver, and you can maneuver on anything - Now there comes a time, what is next and what is the point? Moreover, what makes you happy? What is the next stage? What is the inspiration?

You are reading up to this point because you might be one of them. I’d tell you, there are a few people who can relate, and are self-sufficient. We’ve been too wounded and scratched to worry about anything. Sometimes, too strong for our own good.

Sometimes, we own our own mind too much and overrated as it sounds, we’ve mastered the battles in our wars too much in our own ways that we come to a point that we cannot move forward due to a lack of drive to anything. We tend to misunderstand if this anxiety is some form of mental illness. Maybe? Maybe not? But how will we move forward like you usually do. You solve everything. You are used to failures. Failures are normal and you learn from it. What’s next? What thrills you? What’s the point of living?

Sometimes you will get so consistently efficient in everything significant to you, could it be work, career, passion projects or people - to a point that all you wanted are the reverse of things. You go hard, you achieve it, but then what? There are moments when what matters are those things that you ‘must-not’ have, that you currently have - and you’re thrilled about it.

Wait, what? Yes - sometimes, you will reach a point where there is something called “The reversed desire”.  This is your challenge at the back of your head. This is the hidden martyrdom that triggers fuel from your soul. The what-if’s inside your heart. You know you can get anything you want, and therefore, what if I could lose something valuable? A death maybe? A hard reset?

Just like what is happening right now. We are in the middle of a pandemic. This is the time where all your creative juices should be flowing. You think of silly things. You ideate. We can conclude that anything has a reset button, even the world itself. Now what if you don’t have what you have? Will it supply the needed fire to your heart to continue living? What if you reverse your desires just to make a dent to your cold soul and continue thriving to the given norms?

You don’t get satisfied with anything unless you un-have it. Brings to a point, that man is a pleasure seeking animal. And if you’ve mastered the most stoic approach at life, Your spirit might seek the alternative ways to satisfy your inner life crumblings. It’s always a reset essential that enables you to do more.

The reversed desire.

I made a neucanse out of my luxuries


the wine worries me


and the high only takes me so far


want the words an the numbers and the faces to ean something?  can't you accept nighilis?


spit out another phrase to make sense of it, fine


I type in order to avoid bedrest, I haven't begun makes my own arrangements for that yet, it doesn't even make sense, really


as the battery begins to die, my wine runs dry

and,seriously, out of things to say as the orbit on tv goes tp mir o,,ideate sp;ar system, impressive to the 80's physicist

using their finger s and thumbs to re enact the satellites behaviors

I pity their inaccuracy

If only the string theory folk

could get their act

together

The Verge
S. A. Marshal
15 Jan, 2021

Hey! Look, it's me!
Not at verge
nor for your mercy,
and certainly not at urge.
I too dream
a presidential hope.
To ideate a creation
from deep kaleidoscope.
From within my ingenuity,
I colour the skies of Aurora.
I know how far I can go
to challange the Zeus'  Pandora.

Look! It’s me,
not a roadside verge.
You may think to
not to merge.
For I too think
no life in you.
To create a stanza,
for rhythmic tempo
needs to beat a super-hit,
but it cannot be the you,
so off you go, shoo shoo.

And hey, it’s me!
Not at verge
but about to center
a time of surge.
Where you'll see
chants of my people.
My pride-vibrant in glory of ripples.
Lights and flashes,
stages that sounds
to see of my last
at Turin another shroud.

The stone monolith of judgement

presiding over myopic movements

casting a glare of rage-red, bleeding

residing restfully, on an ivory balcony

wherever I seem to go I'm always leading

the shadow of your gavel ever over me,

like Damocles; I can't stand trial on broken knees


Ideate suicide and violence, stranglehold thoughts don't relent

choking reason, chasing down common sense, my time is spent

fear is a stronghold, you can hide in it, safe from an open view

it's a choice that's harder to make when only pleasantries are tunneled in front of you

I've lived with anxiety in control, giving my madness a voice was never a conversation piece

eyeballing me for burial in a pigeonhole, exploiting the pressure of this lonely sadness,

isolated, on the outside it's easier to justify peers' peering hatred, give it a rest, social police

I wouldn't raise a hand to you if you were my teacher, self-taught, classless, I've had this

streak of luckless love, always alienated, never exonerated


Never been interesting, patience testing

a patient, temperament foul and festering

not being all there might be the best thing

daydreams, Elysium reeds in the wind sing

home calls me, that empty lot looks a lot like a golden ring

free to decide on paradise, no longer lifting the weight of dawn

just to see the next day, conscience flowing, glowing outward on

trickling rainfall association, loose-connection, brainstormed concoction

grow and groom personal Yggdrasil, a bonsai tree, in this place

meditate on the realization of the vision, every clipping is a footfall towards grace

persecuted for the image, behavior, for the portrayal

conceived, thought, written and spoken

every effort to improve serves self-betrayal

a window into a moment that they look through and then call broken.