SPEECHES OF DISOBEDIENCE

Naïve, self-doubt confidence left over from childhood can hardly be nurtured in the Spirit; so it's a bit more adult with me, now it's still tense, something burns inside. Persistent, monotonous spleen restlessness tends to drag you down to the depths. It would be good to say with a single long-winded cursing in the face of the screaming silence: listen and listen carefully, patiently, because who knows if there will be another one-time opportunity offered.

The whole essence of man has already been grouped into a single question: what can we even do with our deliberately battered, shipwrecked souls, from which - at least - apparently all enthusiasm has already disappeared on purpose?! Our unspoken words are still quivering in our mouths, since we have to hide in the crippling trenches of permanent mistrust every day; the veil that has compromised for days is increasingly suffocating, it is hard to breathe in the city of Nineveh, which is slowl...

Such Great Heights

Looking down
From such great heights
My soul grows wings
Finally taking flight

I am small in the largest ways
I am the sun and all its rays
Life is a fragile, fleeting haze
Until it is seen with the sun’s clear gaze

Grief and gratitude stretch me large
Ego surrenders, no longer in charge

I wake, and I break, and in shattering, I slake
The endless thirst, the hunger that takes
I finally find peace, a break, a cease
To the fire, and find a sweet release 

Lucky gifts

 
Like a beaten child who secretly dares to return home, or who has been excluded from his own house by wandering shadows and is no longer able to console himself - millions of unnecessary ties and obstacles hold him back from the happiness he has found.
A thin presence of mind, ready to be renewed daily, or a strong willpower is no longer enough. It is not easy to heal a heart bleeding from multiple wounds and to find a new one through a single murder.

While you may feel that every day everyone has left you on purpose, because you have become stubborn and because your soul voluntarily retreated into the solitude of the four walls; you decided yourself that before you get to know someone, you will measure the true weight of their actions and words on a secret scale, and if the words are false, the actions are false, the actions are false, you will be the one who will end the breakup.

You deliberately let the promises of handshakes float...

BALANCE IN THE SCALES

The Present hardly rocks us like a rocking cradle, our wasteful pasts have been twisted in the same way by the Hangman-Time. The dust of the roads, just like the footprints written in the sand of our never-happened love, seemed to have been washed away by the forgettable memory; it's as if we played our feelings at some pathetic, idiotic card party, a petty, manipulable game of chance.

Our insecurities rumble all the time in our wandering Souls like beaten dogs; without the will to adjust our steps, we just let the actions happen to us, the actions that we are ready to commit, over which we have no further influence, since they can happen on their own at any time. The sluggish curse of pent-up exposure hovers above us like the sword of Damocles, and it can strike down at any time in a careless moment after sixty years.

Existence narrows like a razor's edge, on which even the shaky tight-rope dancers who want to balance still balance, beca...

CALCULATION OF THE SOUL

It's as if the restrained wisdom of distances is emerging more and more sharply; the time calculation of our years, like the tinkling, tiny glass bells - they move from one decade to the next in a measured way. In a cascade of complex Soul-echoes, as if our existing words were also rolling away like pearls of truth. Over time, in the wake of our hesitant, limping, limping walks, even the worn basalt stones begin to tell stories very quietly, so that only we alone can listen to what the past continues to talk about.

The humiliated, self-pitying self-consciousness drags behind it with its rusty bucket the blind hope of a century of yew life, that Life still had to be continued tooth and nail, even though there are days when the hesitant effort is in vain. It is as if a person could simultaneously prove unable to outgrow his own selfish, tyrannical pettiness; he would constantly lick the cage-wounds of his infidelities. It would be nice to take to the win...

EASY GROTESQUE TRAVELER

Whether you like it or not, a higher, inescapable boundary line surrounds a person's social, or even personal affairs; surrounds him like an invisible, unbreakable leash, and then when he himself can believe that he is saved - he pulls on him brutally and mercilessly. In living rooms, not only parasites from nobody's house, useless, useless worm-spawns settle in, just like the conscious Absence, as the basic formula of Nothing, settles in the ruins of everyday life. In the course of a person's day, he becomes inclined to grope through the seeming security of yesterday, that his unorganized affairs and plans are still lying in quiet humility where he left them.

His definitions, like his overheated ego, stick to his skin inextricably; he just holds on to his internal compass - maybe - he tends to break it for good out of murderous defiance, since he can hardly have any internal power over his own shipwrecked life. It would be good to extend free ...

ROAD-SWOTTING

 
Like someone who has been stuck here for a long time and killed the fetus of creation from dead times, he can no longer die or even thrive in his old age, and he hasn't even gotten the damning words out of his hair-splitting mouth - so I am here a forgotten herald, a little mythographer of no use among people!

As someone who has always loved like that, professed knee-jerk, undying love, he voluntarily went to Death for the sake of someone and waited for the inquisition's fate. Yet he can never finally reach himself, only his long-lasting grief moans and kneads his selfish limbs.

They only mock, trample, and humiliate the soul-wounds of his stubbornness. Marcona, galád Time in the XXI. century?! - Those who may have known me from long ago, because they stripped down, peeled off the layers of my armored onion-skin soul, now even they are all at a loss because the greedy blindness of careerist luxury dream ideas does not allow th...

WHICH WE WILL EVEN ARRIVE

It's as if it would forever accompany a person year after year, memory after memory, a whole tiny mosaic detail of shipwrecked Fates anchored in forlorn ports. Because his selfish, slightly tyrannical inner anxieties and fears, his common sense that rarely immediately understands what is happening, will soon become rich, when it would be better to make our decisions immediately and on the spot once and for all.

I tremble now in the wide mundane web of emotions, the Wave of Everything, connected with romances, a secretly whispered love instinct-desire, because the wounded, broken heart, bleeding from several wounds, must still hope at every age, but restless hesitations, new he is attacked by the sneaky attacks of snarls every day, and so his inner chatter is getting bigger and bigger.

In the deliberately interrupted lines, which - one way or another - he still had to break, if he wanted a new life, they were also included in a unique, cosmic ...

Show Me

Dear Mother,

AKA Mom

Please show me
Show you know me
Show me what I need to see
If not need, perhaps want
And if you can’t, you can punt
Show me what you like
Find joy from within
I will gladly share with you
I will gladly dive in

I wish you saw
The beauty I see
In every falling leaf
From every changing tree

Maybe you did
You just got stuck somewhere
Because life is not fair
And you had so much pain to bear 

I wanted you to see 
That bare of heart means free
More than it hurts
It lets you finally be

Just be
No need for doing
A clear lens
Free from constant skewing

I love you more
Than I could ever show
You had a true shine
An unbelievable glow

I hope you are out there
Show me
Wonders great and small

If you ...

ON THE WRECKS OF UNMOTULATED ANXIETY

Wanting to forget his nightmares and shadows, from waking up disillusioned, a person is constantly left alone, if only there is no one by his side. The tinsel-liar Life wakes up to be seen, as if it wants to bring the living back to itself in the tempera color of dissolved rainbows, while it can. It is as if, on the horizon of conscious awakening, which has begun to solidify, he is already able to project the One-Essence into his mind, before his soul's eyes, so crystal clear that it creeps almost viscerally into the funnel of cells and molecules.

Because the harmony with the Infinite, the restless longing for a home-shelter, which can only rarely be possessed by anyone in his life, still resides hidden in man. Like most people who once lived, the dying person also tries to cling to his orphaned mortality, just like a child-man who grew up and later became a child. In instincts and brains, halfway through, the sure realization is still rampant: the tru...