You cannot fail;
Do as you can
How you should
When you must

You must not fail;
Do as you should
How you must
When you can

You will not fail;
Do as you must
How you can
When you should

Breathe and live!
When you should
If you can
As you must


Worthy Probability

To understand your destiny,
Move beyond all insanity
For a single moment of clarity.

To realize and accept
Within each man
Lives a multiplicity,
A duplicity,
A worthy probability
For an art to live on

The Proposal

Between and through the endless stillness of everything and the constant motion of every other thing, there is another light across.

It is bright, it is almost blinding. Yet it is warm, comforting, caressing our faces but not scorching.

I look beside me and there is you. You too are bright, but dimmer. Tarnished?


I reach out, and touch you, and I see a smile, first on your lips, then in the reflection of your eyes, mine. My light sparks from your fire and our light shines bright, even when dimmed. This light is of our own making, the shadows are of everything else.

Are they?

There is another light across from us.

Hold my hand, and listen.

I want to share my green, my blue, my red, and my black with you. I want us to build our turquoise, adorn our purples with streaks of all shades of the sky and earth. I want to have all we want from the world, with a fist raised to the sky when needed, with a mountain’s resilience when storms crack lightning and blow winds. I want you to have all you want from the world, step on all its soils, breathe in all its scents, witness all its stars. I want us to feel all the world’s beauty and grace in its raw forms, I want us to be one and all, one among many and all from one. I want us to build a castle of comfort and safety. A garden of smiles and spring. A home to hold us, a center to spring us forth, a jungle of our own making – whilst the world opens its corners and sights to our enjoyment. A home to keep us simple, a home that makes us aware of one another, a home that is to stay our home.

A home of our own making, with your hands, your mind, your smiles, your grace and our love. Nothing will be lost in it, but forever kept and shaped as we wish. No nightmares, just dreams of an existence of our own making, fed with your desires and my strength. There is a power that feeds my light with your fire, and I ask of you: Let us use that, for us first, then the world. The us we cherish, and the world we love – let those be our guide, as you hold my hand and I hold yours, firmly but gently. Warm but cool, one and two, two but one.

I want to share my dreams and fears with you. Under the great black sky, let me tell you of my darkest days, let me hear of your innermost pains and tears. Let us take the past as the shapers of us; our own making and victims of others’ wanton greed. Let us be one stronger together than two apart – but two a part of one stronger even when apart. Let us be our yin and yang, eternally together, eternally completing, eternally different yet the same, sharing our white with our black.




Keep my hand, and now look.

In front of us, there is a light to be made ours. I cannot grasp it alone, you may not be able to touch it alone. Keep your hand in mine, hold my hand firmly but gently, and take my eyes into yours. Behold my innermost voyages, let me reflect on the sea of everything yours, and let me swim in there. You will not let me drown there just as I won’t let you tumble under my stormy waves. Keep your hand in mine, let us take flight towards that light. No wax wings to melt off, no eyes to be seared. Look into my eyes, let me look into yours. There will always be clouds, but that light, I know not of our own making, has been put there for you and I to touch, to add to our own.

Let’s make it our own. Maybe it was always meant to be that way. Maybe the shapers of our pasts made it that way. All our past, a bit of our present put us in front of this light to be made ours into all of our future.

Take my hand, see my eyes, feel a tiny universe pulse a heartbeat in me, and hear me. Allow me to echo this into your universe with all that I am.

Let’s add this light to ours. Make it all ours, one from two, two in one.

That is my proposal.

Muse of a Thousand Lights

22.10.16 – Amsterdam. Dedicated to my oldest friends.

We are blessed by the things we do not have. Lifted of the burden of the things we cannot, should perhaps not, obtain. A blessing of lack, of the absence of the objects of our misguided desires. We are blessed by our mislaid plans not coming true, even if we cannot see it that way when universe tells us to stop. When she gives us a new path by closing another one, we are blessed without knowing or understanding why we are seemingly out of luck at that moment of realization.

We are wrong as we forget that we may in fact be in luck when what we wanted is taken away from us.

We are moreso blessed by the things we have. A melody of our existence, a trace of the intricate and unique trails we blazed – a reminder of our past, an image of our present, a whispered promise of our future.

I celebrated my life with my friends today. It was good. It was pure, easy, effortlessly satisfying until they all went to sleep and left me alone under the stars of a pristine sky – the light of the universe piercing my mind from all existable angles.

I realized that I’m also very angry. I will see all this burn. The want, the desire is sometimes too strong, but there is a me in I that holds the destruction at bay. I know I will feel disdain and scorn, and I will smile at the end, once my wave crashes through… this. That knowledge almost hurts. That smile of selfish, self-righteous, self-inflicted outward fury will hurt in the extant ability to feel that kind of anger – righteous or selfish, regardless of its reasons, it will leave a taste of blood. Will it be my blood?

As the blood may flow freely once it is time. The me in I knows the empty shell of a victory once nothing no longer stands at the wake of my fury. It is my art, my moving words through life. It’s my music. It’s the culmination of things I couldn’t do. Life goes on, we, as specks of cosmic dust, move onward and through. But I feel fit. Healthy. I am going to do it. I need to do it. I want to do it. I want to live. And I want to celebrate. Learn. It is my duty to my future family and self to be good now, so I can be better then. This is probably the mantra of mine against midlife crisis. Because there is always a crisis. Life is a series of crises and celebrations, a series of failures and conquests, a personal, untameable string of ups and downs – but I will do it. Grab the bull by the horns, grab the lion by the mane, grab the crocodile by its trapping jaws. Pull out the sword of will, of ambition, of honesty, of justice, of mercy. And make my way through life. Leave nothing but good words, good memories, good remembrances in others’ minds. Leave the fury behind, even when just to be given, but never let go of the sword.

The universe whispers a solemn song. Melancholic, majestic, promising. She makes me smile as I realize her indifference to my small being is filled with a light given freely, even if uncaringly. Carefree, and lighter, right now all I need is my best friend’s lighter. And it feels fucking celebratory. Under the clear blue sky. A crown of celestial passage, a speck in a universe of the endless: ever flowing, always morphing, never the same – never different.

It’s my music. We, in our feeble minds and hearts, sing. We try to sing out loud. My throat burns enough already, but in my hand shall my sword remain.

Night Terror IV

It was in a bed that was neither mine nor not. In a hotel room, indifferently bland but functional, with my stuff sprawled randomly in order, resilient to the efforts to be disdained. It looked like a good regrettable fuck, messy but attractive enough to be made yet not important enough to be cared for. Something I would want neither mine nor not. Something to be purposefully forgotten, its memory to be exchanged for a better one.

It was after a day of battling demons. Coming back to real life from a very different, very attractive, very forbidden, very primal time, I hated the kid sitting across from me for 6 hours. The brat was practically laughing out loud while watching whatever funny on his mom’s tablet with earphones on. How dare he laugh so innocently, so recklessly in that weird high pitch. Not to mention he kept on bumping my knees with his ridiculous sneakers as he swayed his feet in unbridled glee. Kids… And their awesome moms who don’t even try to correct them. Put the mask of civility on, smile lightly, listen to your music. Smiles back, sheepishly, in a way that reads and reflects the same mask, in its core an indifference unwilling to acknowledge the broken rules of civility. Thank God she had a ring on.

Things that mattered to me were battling their demons. Most of all that I love, stuck in another land waiting, no, willing to be raped and despoiled, were at the risk of being casual casualties of ignorance, submission, subservience, and unbelievably incomprehensible willingness to accept as is given. Fed. Like a poisoned apple you know will date rape you…

It is warm in the room.

Practically with nothing on me except a rather thick comforter unfitting to the season, I’m battling my demons too.

Choices, choices, choices.

The sights, the sounds, the laughter, the words, the dancing of the lights in a purple blue haze, the floor that gives way, the shining smiles, the quiet dances, the booming beats of the heart… The only choice is to put on a mask of civility, and force myself to sleep. Shut off the thoughts, silence the brain, still the heart. Pray. Sleep or what goes for it right then drifts me into it, with it, making me fall through it.

It’s a still dark, it’s an unnerving quiet.

Something is coming.

I am afraid. It’s a raw fear, it’s always the same fear, each time stranger than the last, but always the same. I know what it is, but I’m not able to brace myself against it. It envelops me in its coils, the dark tendrils tighten around my chest.

Something has come.

I see myself, like a horrified spectator, trying to move. I try to shake myself out. It’s always the same yet ever different. Stronger and wanting to fight. I push, and it pushes back. It fails my breath, I try to lift my hand, it sits like a sinful guilt on my hand. I snarl, whimper, but never cry.

Something is chasing me across the room that is neither mine nor not.

It’s a black hand. Starkly strong against the grayed walls of the room. Some sickly yellow random Earth street light shines into it, casting a fog over the black hand that wants to tear my head off. I thrash at it, punch it, swat it away. I feel my fist go through what feels like mud, and it recoils and hisses, opens itself wide. The five headed serpent opens a mouth of a thousand fangs scream my name; a threat unto my soul is issued by the dark, and my demons accept the challenge.

Something will pay.

I open the cage to the beast. It devours the black hand, takes a big bite of the dark, chews on it. I can hear the rattle of bones, I can feel them grinding, feel them sharp and biting still.

Something changes.

A sword of shining obsidian bites into my heart. It judges, makes me feel worthy of its pain. The beast whimpers and goes into hiding. Lick its wounds, feast on the guilt, become stronger through the pain. I cannot move now. A yellow fog dissipates its sad glow on me; I can see that. I am here.

Something won’t make it.

I am the only truth now. I will my eyes to open wider. I no longer see myself as an open wound from afar, watching helplessly. I am in control. If I fail, it will be on me. The weight is on me, it is in me, it is above me. It cannot take me. I lift my hand, I open my mouth as if to take a bite, I snarl.

Something is lost.

I’m in feet before I know it. I’m staring at the sickly yellow light of a street in a town where choices, choices, choices took me to. The only remnants of the thing that should not be in a room that is neither mine nor not are discarded to the side as a taken off tshirt, damp around the neck like a garrotte.

I look at the bed that is neither mine nor not. I go back to battling my demons. Choices, choices, choices. The sights, the sounds, the laughter, the words, the dancing of the lights in a purple blue haze, the floor that gives way, the shining smiles, the quiet dances, booming beats of the heart… I let sleep take me this time. It’s not a fall, rather a dive, heart beating slow, ready to fade out into a blissful dark of nakedness.


Helpless – Powerless

Ambitions to conquer the world, to secure the future may not help. Desire to be happy, the need to work to live, to live to work may not fulfill.

What is an ambition, a future, without the ability to help the present? The need to help the one who is most loved, most wanted, most cherished, most dreamed of?

A good word here, a beautiful look there, a bunch of words here, a call of peace from the chilly spring moon to take away the anxiety, to brush away the fear. I have my peace, do I give it? Do I take away the fear? Can I, may I?

Will you allow me?

Sentences without verbs, not one but two languages unknown, not one but two languages shared… One we know, one we find day by day, moment by moment, kiss by kiss, eye to eye, I to you. 

Your depth, so unfathomable, an ocean, elegant, graceful, warm, calling me back to the water, beckoning me to touch the deepest parts.

Will you allow me?

Sentences without verbs, radiating peace, radiating beauty, radiating elegance. Let me drink into the waters of your life, let me add mine into your ocean, let me drown in your embrace, in your peace, but let me, allow me…

I will take away the thunder, the fear, the wind, the shrill cry of anxiety.

I am not powerless, you are not helpless, let me, allow me, to reflect the peace, allow me to drown you in me, to make you forget the wind; let me shelter you in my safest place, in my arms, next to my heart, above my soul.

I will anchor you against the wind, let me, allow me take away the mundane worry, the deep anxiety.

I will stare back at the darkness. I will bare my fist at it while you are safe, but just let me, allow me. Let me, allow me, to fight the streams that pollute our ocean, clouds that roll over our peace. Let me, allow me. I am not powerless, you are not helpless, we are stronger with each other, within our hearts, our souls, but just let me, allow me. Find peace, love, warmth, longing, tranquility, desire, strength, a future, our future, in me, with me, through us. 

Just let me, allow me, fully.

There is my future to conquer, my ambition to secure. You, only you, the heart knows it was only you, it could only be you. You let me, you allowed me, I dared dream of you and me; now let me, allow me, take away the worry.

The shelter in my sentences without verbs. Speak our new language, discover it with me, piece by piece, look by look, moment by moment. There is your peace I lay freely at your feet, there is my strength I place .

Fill me with your ocean; I will fight the streams, they are nothing against me, when I know you are to be with me.

Just let me, allow me.


We are slaves to the shadows of words unspoken.

Slaves to the call of the darker half.

Slaves to the ends of the words spoken, promises unkept, lies told and retold.

We are all slaves to the artifices of our minds, to the whims of our hearts, to the call of our lusts.

We are all slaves for the sake of a false sense security, a falser sense of loyalty, an endless cycle of preservation. A slave of the duality, of the defining battle where two halves of a soul clash, aware of each other, spiteful of one and other, unable to find the better half – all seeking the same sense, false sense of security in the numbing arms of familiarity’s comfort.

I am a slave to the duality of my soul. Shards of I clash there with other shards of I, never truly accepting they belong together like random pieces of a puzzle. All different shapes and colors, swirling in a maelstrom of… everything. An everything I must face, still as a slave to the duality of my soul.

I am a slave to the limits of my own creation, of life’s imposition, and of my heart’s whim. I am a feral beast in man’s shape, a snake of the honeyed tongue, a berserker in the civilized suit, I am a wolf in sheep’s clothing, I am fury dammed by the world. I dream of setting it on fire, I want to watch it all burn down, I want to see the rivers of blood I spilled, by my hand, by my whim. Yet I am content in my comfort, compassionate in my smile, a gentleman in my word, honest in my heart, wanting more for the world. I want to watch it all grow into happiness, delight, and peace.

I am a slave to myself, never understanding who the master is, always clashing, an iron fist in a velvet glove, a frail child in an iron beast.

My kind

Today is Christmas.

Some of my kind are with loved ones; some are with just random, passably nice, acquainted people.

We wish one another good things. We smile. We cheer.

Some reminisce. Some try to forget. Some are empty, and look about to fill their cup – and some are too full, and seek to empty.

Surrounded by distraction (and what better distraction than the happy kind), the realization is far from us.

Some are alone. Lost in thought, stuck in a place where there are no outcomes, not past, no future. Just the beating heart of the present, the mingling of the light and the dark, the silence of the soul, the acceptance of the realization.

Some of my kind made lenses to peer into what we think is an eye of a microbe. Some of my kind have been able to think about the cells on that microbe, and were able to see it… The myriad millions of their kinds, living, beyond our meek notice, in a vast cosmos of their own.


Others peered beyond the night sky, showing our little piece of real estate compared to the vastness around it. Surrounding us. Like a grain of sand crowded by other grains – surrounded by the endless sea.


Some of my kind showed us million of light years ahead and ago. They said that if you don’t know how to look, it is only a dark, endless void, ceaseless black.

We are infinitesimal.

Such a nothing in a sea of everything.

Yet we still wish one another good things, we cheer, we smile. Some thoughts are ephemeral, some are sincere, some are forced, some are called for. Few are poisonous; most, insignificant.

The realization is often far from us, surrounded by passably nice distraction.

The heart beats on.

Some of my kind can touch a guitar’s strings, and bloom something in others. Some of kind can put five words on a paper, and spark a thought, a realization, in others.

Some of kind can be slightly petty;others, thoroughly ruthless, and cruel. Most of my kind, walking listlessly through life, come to an infinitesimal nothing.

The heart beats on.

Some of my kind can throw you a smile, and bloom a moment, infinitely small, infinitely meaningful, in you.

The heart beats on with the acceptance of the realization that it must. We might as well fill the cosmos within.