Written and Unwritten

I met this girl once, we gave each other many books.

She gave the ones that were already full and written to read from.

And I gave her blank ones, unwritten- for her to draw in.

And there was happiness.

-mithrandir

Note to self

Pick a match stick, light a smoke

Burn a few lungs, live a dream

Open a bottle, pour out your heart.

Hide away the bore you are 

Smile a fake smile , live everybody else's lie

Be with all those who call you-friend, walk away

Nag about life, pretend somebody gives a shit

Look up at the sky and as everyone sighs, 

Hold your breath and wait to die.

~mithrandir

" Take a writer away from his typewriter and all you have is the sickness that started him writing in the first place. "
~ C Bukowski


onism - n. the awareness of how little of the world you’ll experience


Imagine standing in front of the departures screen at an airport, flickering over with strange place names like other people’s passwords, each representing one more thing you’ll never get to see before you die—and all because, as the arrow on the map helpfully points out, you are here.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IrBlmpqh8T0

~ The dictionary of obscure sorrows

Oxymorons

I closed my eyes and opened my mind,

I saw you in the cold, wrapped in a warm blanket.

I was far away behind you,

But you turned and were closer than before.

I took one step and walked far after,

You were sitting and leaned back to a time to come.

I didn't know how to play but in boredom I whistled,

You strummed your tunes endlessly, to sadly deaf ears.

~mithrandir

"Peculiar Travel Suggestions are Dancing Lessons From God"

-Mr V (and le petit chat)

The shepherd who missed Christmas

It was a cold and dreary night when the shepherd woke,

Alone, neither man nor sheep, there was naught but smoke.

He cursed at everything available at hand and made for the door

Hurried tracks, shoddy packing up and the planning was poor.

"What would have scared the Moses out of them..."

He wondered and something above him shone like a gem.

"You... are late... aren't you now...the Lord's been born"

The shepherd looked like somebody had popped his corn.

"I'm a free man...I don't abide no lady or lord !" said he.

The voice coughed irritably.

"Your compatriots arrived to be witness to the birth of a God."

Eyes weary he barely caught the last word.

"Most poorly organised and publicised then"

The voice had had enough of the world of men.

"All these gods, they come and they go..."

"With millions and millions in tow..."

"This one will be different...this one is God for mankind"

The shepherd huffed," What god is difficult for a commoner to find"

The voice said," He is going to preach love and peace..."

"Really! who milks the sheep eh? who makes the cheese?"

"I don't want no lord, show me a God who can find his sheep!"

The voice was a symbol of silence allowing these words to seep.

"In due time he will look for you, leaving aside all the rest."

The shepherd snorted, winked and gestured in jest.

"Though you have missed him, he will seek you."

"When he does, I shall prepare him good bread and some stew!"

The light was now dimming, this seemed a lost cause.

He fired a last one,"Best let the big G find me or old Moss"

A feeble voice now spoke, "This is heaven we are talking about."

"Green pastures and a bright sunshine, now go away and don't shout."

The light was gone and the shepherd was all alone.

In the distance many stars now brightly shone.

The shepherd inhaled in deeply the sacred night,

And was glad of this sacred sight.

He was of simple mind and of simple need,

Good food, laughter and sleep and no better life to lead.

~mithrandir

"But who prays for Satan? Who, in eighteen centuries, has had the common humanity to pray for the one sinner that needed it most?"
Mark Twain

Homelessness

Man walks out of the house,

The streets are made of laughing people,

The sun is low and the ears of the man are full of laughter.

People laughing in joy,

People laughing with other people,

People laughing at other people.

Man walks out of the house,

And it begins to rain,

The streets are full of umbrellas and raincoats rushing by.

The rain is acid,

The rain pours through,

The rain fills him like a bucket without a base.

Man walks out of the house,

He flicks at his lighter, though he does not smoke,

The gas is low and the flame is extinguished.

Smoke fills him,

Smoke curls around him,

Smoke is his only companion.

Man walks out of the house,

He is filled by an overwhelming void,

The emptiness is oddly comforting.

Life rushes in him,

Life flickers in his eyes,

Life leaves him without saying good-bye.

~mithrandir

"He who cannot give anything away, cannot feel anything either"
~Friedrich Nietzsche

Some water and two islands

A little cat sat at the beach one night.

Drying her paws after a night soak, stretching away in the sand.

Dreaming in the silence a million things that could fill up the bright moon above.

A little cat sat at the beach one night.

Never was there such a meeting of two nearly equally matched entities, the sea and that little cat.

Kneading away at the sand with her paws, she made mountains and castles and demolished them all.

I saw a little cat at the beach one night and I smiled my years away.

~mithrandir


“What's your name,' Coraline asked the cat. 'Look, I'm Coraline. Okay?'
'Cats don't have names,' it said.
'No?' said Coraline.
'No,' said the cat. 'Now you people have names. That's because you don't know who you are. We know who we are, so we don't need names.” 
― Neil Gaiman, Coraline

As he stood by

The beautiful flower she grew

Soft child of the grass golden was her hue

Shade from the sun and warmth when cold

By a gnarled mangy tree, the years make him old.

The beautiful white doe dances by

Without fear of the sly looks or the arrows that fly

She dances without cost and sings as she sighs

She curls down at dusk in a warm grassy knoll

By a gnarled mangy tree, his friends make him whole.

Careless children, tramped on by without glance or stare

Saw only a petal upon green leaf

Tore they down that blessed gown and raped as they went by

Soft water’s child and friend of all

Light as a whisper heavy was her fall

The gnarled mangy tree, he wept without end.

Whispers in the dark  and cold metal snaps in place

They watch with rapt attention as the fair doe moves about in grace.

A life that was meant for peace and play

With a flash and a bang, a bloodied body on the grassy knoll she lay.

The gnarled mangy tree, he had had enough.

Invoked he the wrath of the wind and fire of the sun,

Tore he his hair and snapped out a bark and let out a run.

Each limb fora hundred bullets and wizened old bark for what was left in that gun.

With a voice from the first sun and moon, he let out a roar and an ending groan

With a hideous cry he fell…the gnarled mangy tree, now is no more.

-mithrandir