globalization, my ass!

Man is a social animal. Hence one has to befriend with cats and dogs in the abscence of real friends. Curse these distances - I miss my old pals.

Fredrich Chopin - Nocturne in E minor

A vision from the life past. A touch of breeze on my cheeks under the summer sun, as I stare at those snow covered mountains far away. The falling leaves crumble under my trembling thoughts. It is not summer yet. The deep breath reminds of the peace and the years spent unnoticed.
The exhaled breath; the days; the nights; the walks; the sleep; the touch of breeze - gone. Gone they are gone. Thoughts, tinted thougts; the mountains; the snow - Gone.

Donkey

I was skimming through an old diary and found this thing that I wrote a long long a while ago:

Endless hair,
stranded on your tail
Reaches your trunk,
Pulsating with current.
How can I bare -
the kick so supple,
on my balls;
not so rugged.
Run away with me,
be my ride.
Show me some teeth,
my beloved donkey.

rose nectar

There is a strong scientific evidence supporting the fact that rose-nectar is good for eyes, and eye sight. Therefore, gentle readers, it is highly recomended that you wash your ass with rose-nectar everyday.

Light,
sparkling, shimmering,
scintillating light.
Seven rays of distinct colors;
bright!
Far across the horizon,
a visage of shinning silver
Dreams.
Each one of them awaits you,
my Nightingale.

A Crazy Girl

Mundane is the shelter when doubts hail from the skies of life. She sits and watch us as we are absorbed into the mundane pleasures. A curious mind ask questions; she doubts her own intentions as meloncholy spreads through her existance. Her eyes darken, as my eyes dilate.
I notice and offer her some too, but her nay is strong and sounds to be out of place. She sounds as I am responsible for bringing her back to this earth from the boundless lands of her thoughts. She yells, no!
I forget her anguish in the shadows of mine own. I think about Demian's mark of distinction but see her face instead of my own.
I laugh - she will soon find out. She will find out that her misery stems from not becoming one with what she abhores. One has no option but to become one with what one hates.

Still Etherized upon a table

A year has past, Hooray; My blog is one year old. My thoughts are a year more mature; my wit a year more wise; my death a year nearer, and I am pulsating with life.
Let there be a celebration! I have written a chapter from my life.