the changing light of the city
whispers to me
as it slowly takes over
the floating land of daydreams,
night swimming into its
foggy arms.
it hides the getaways
and concrete hills
giving way to my reflection
and like yours, it only surfaces up
when my daydreams become
just that, and I,
a fraction of what
my reflection wishes it was.
my thoughts sweep the bay
with the changing light.
a collective existence,
a forceful choice,
all drifting anchorless upon the ocean.
and now it’s late
in the dark
and the moon is nowhere
where it should be tonight
the black is taking over
the light
of your eyes
so darling
let’s not run away
to where we can’t make roads
you stay where you at
and i’ll be gone
soon as i get a little low.
i am the dark
silence
of the night
in your room
sharing space
with your blues
occasionally
interrupted
by the howling
cries of your
deserted life.
if you haven’t read the first part, you’re missing out. click here.
“how’s it going?” i nodded towards her, respecting our daily rituals. i never used her name. mostly because i felt it wasn’t the real one, and the last thing i want to do early morning is piss her off. or piss off any other homeless. they might be homeless, but they ain’t harmless. they’re the kind of strangers your mum warns you about as a kid. even though to your mum, every stranger is a homeless.
“you got a dollar?” she proceeded with her lines in our little routine.
“no cash.”
now this part changed from time to time. i always had a dollar, but the answer depended on what the sun looked like that morning. more often than not, it was a no. that day was the same. i used to feel bad, but now i was immune to the reality around me. the subconscious took care of my daily interactions, leaving my mind alone to stagnate. strangers make you vulnerable, routine makes you lifeless. i’d rather be former, i thought to myself as i struggled to untangle the mystery of my earphones while walking towards the bus stop.
“the millennium collection: best of muddy waters” was next in queue. keith richards spoke very highly of this album. it was extraordinary. but there is always something about great art that hits me on a deeply personal level, whether it is music, paintings, writing, anything. what if i never get this good? will i have wasted my life pursuing something which wasn’t meant to be, or will the satisfaction of at least trying make up for all the lost times spent trying? i still have no answer. i always wish to wake up one day and have answers to my self-doubts but it never happens. tomorrow will be a new day. with a blues solo between my ears, i got off from the bus and walked inside a bookstore.
almost 10,000 books, 1 bookseller, and 2 customers.
expectation is a bitch.
“are you looking for anything particular?” asked the bookseller. his brixton hat and rugged appearance was demanding.
“no sir, just browsing.”
he then switched out the vinyl and sat down behind the timeless register, looking outside. admit or or not, everyone has a routine, even when you don’t.
i skimmed through the poetry section to see the billboard top 20 and tried to figure out the thing i was missing that those writers had. and no, it wasn’t luck. i’ll be the last person to admit that luck had any part in this bigger play of life. i like to call it trials and errors. famously taken from the rich history of experiments in science and mathematics.
“we began with honesty. let us end in it too.”
this was amazon’s bestseller writer, and oddly enough, i was jealous of a fellow countrymen. not because she was so awfully good that i knew i could never write like that, i might be better than she is, but of the connection she had with her readers that made her a bestseller. i love talking shit about these popular artists, when deep inside i know i want to be one. i want people to know who i am and what i do and read what i write and listen what i play and what i say.
the irony of my own thoughts never ceases to amaze me.
i read through couple more pages and couldn’t figure out what i was missing from my work. i had the boldness, the calmness, the clarity, much needed sensitivity, what else could it be? maybe, it is luck. dammit.
like i said, the irony of my own thoughts never ceases to amaze me.
i picked up a dusted copy of the satanic verses and headed towards the register. i always thought if i picked smart, thoughtful books and took them to the register, the cashier will be impressed by my choice and next time i come, he’ll be thinking, “there he is again, the guy with a great taste in literature.” you can guess how many times that has happened. it wasn’t any different this time.
“that’ll be $12.69.” i pulled out some cash and handed it over.
“is it usually this slow here?” human interaction is the key to humanity.
“around this time, yeah. usually we have more than two customers.”
a little laughter that followed killed the silence and made more room for breathing.
“although the business has been slow since everyone started to stop reading books, or buy it from amazon.” he handed me the change with a hint of simmering history in his eyes.
“yeah you’re right. do you own this store?”
“me? no. although i’ve been working here for a long time now. ”
“seems like a chill job.” all i saw him do was switch records, look outside, arrange the new arrivals, and take my money. i wouldn’t mind that.
“did you grow up in the city?”
“oh no. i moved here from canada. been here for 17 years now.”
hey, i know someone else who’s been here for 17 years.
“wow that is a long time. what’s your name?”
“i’m andy.”
“i’ll be hoenest. just need some weeed”, begged the cardboard rested along a rusted shopping cart. that one cardboard has been through a lot, you can tell. still a bit wet from last night, the soggy words were starting to fade away. just like their creator, the proud owner of that shopping cart. and inside it rested her life. a sleeping bag. two blankets. change of clothes with dirt and dried grass tagging along for the ride. you could just stand next to the shopping cart and smell the last 17 years of her life.
that’s how strong she was, even though she appeared a fragile herb getting torn to pieces by wind and water at first sight. her closed shivering eyes at night embraced the cocaine blues on her face. the scars so deep that even rain had lost its pride seeping deep in them. and who wouldn’t? let god know even he can’t stop a poetic meltdown of a human body.
lana, they used to call her that. i never heard her saying that. maybe she had moved on from her last element of attachment to others. most probably she didn’t remember it. after all, it had been a while. 17 years since someone last called her by her own name. what was it? she would dream about it, and that night was the same.
a lost name in the streets.
and like every morning, her curiosity was infringed by the eagerness of life built on following so-called destiny of the man. the circus was up and running, and the sun shone shyly on the hopeless and the desperate. the world died every night, but the skeleton always got up in the morning and walked. lana was aware of it all. her favorite phrase was, “been there. done that.” she crawled out of her sleeping bag and kept away the blankets. the only thing she had to deal with was the changing nature of, well, nature. almost nothing else affected her. “hey whore, wake your hoe ass up.” shouted a male doppelgänger from across the street. ” who you calling a hoe you ugly ass son of a pathetic bitch? come here i’ll show you who’s a hoe you motherfucker…get the fuck outta here.” she screamed back, making sure her voice was loud and clear to the tenants of the road from 2 blocks and out.
like i said, almost nothing else affected her. who needs caffeine when you can start your day like that.
tipsy hair, swaying
with the breeze
sound of her
smile, dancing
to the tease
faded denims, feet
in heaven
her, the stars
and old number 7.
I’m a growing
Icelandic shark
all grown-assed, I can
admit now
I have multiple heads
one that smells of
merlot and noir
another full of cold-
blooded diamonds
& often times under the moonlight
it seems, as if the eyeballs
have been sharpied
inside the sockets
I’m still learning how
to hold a hand and
walk through
or drink the leftover
blood from the skull
of others
my hands don’t warm
me and I like slipping
out of myself
often, leaving no hands
to take the lead &
puppet me
my dreams feel like
being sucked into
the sky & I lift, but
it is so quiet.
shhh…
I can hardly breathe
please, hold my hand.
it is such a pleasure
to be not dead and
walking through
this place, with you.
Today is weird. Probably the saddest day of my life. In fact, my eyes are tearing up as I write this. Personally, I had one of the best days since I started job hunting. I talked to 2 companies today who are both interested in getting me on board, had great interviews with them, but today put a void in my soul that’s probably never going to be filled.
Today, one of my best friend’s mom died.
My fingers falter a little as I type this out. I’m not even exaggerating, my hands don’t want to do this. But as I force myself to spit my feelings out, I can only think of how my friend is feeling 9,000 miles away from where I am. Actually, he’s more than a friend. A brother from another mother. That’s right, another mother. That’s probably what she was, not only to me but to everyone in our little friends circle for most of our lives.
I think I have replayed the conversation when he told me that in my mind around 100 times, hoping that something might change this time. But nope, it is what it is. I spent my whole day in utter shock. And wondering about how we take things for granted. Always so sure that our loved ones are going to be there when we visit home next time. I cried. I cried when I was telling other people. I shed some tears every time I thought about it. I couldn’t even finish half of my sentences today. I was at loss of words. I still am.
The thought of someone so close dead at such a young age is terrifying. Last night, a friend asked me what I missed the most about home. I told her that the fact that I can just lay my head in my mother’s lap and fall asleep whenever I want is the only thing I really miss. We don’t even know sometimes how lucky we actually are. I didn’t know what to say to my friend when he told me. It took me a good half an hour to actually believe what he had said. I still don’t know what to tell you brother. Other than this, that even though I can’t, all I want right now is to hug you and be with you. To show you that you are never alone in this. That I’m always there. Always. That if you ever feel like lost, or lonely, just look up at the sky, and that’s the same one I’m sharing with you. And your mother may be not be physically there anymore, but she’s always going to be there in our hearts.
That is all I want to say to you.
I’m not
scared
of getting hurt and
moving on.
I’m scared of staying at one place
and being the same.
forever.
Life in a blog 