infinite presence

The sun is shining and today the lesson to learn should be one of no expectation; the ability to tread lightly upon the outermost crust of each individual experience without desire, fear or expectation. To step unto it like a new-born child with nothing of the world before it; holding simply an awe and wonder of the world, what it does, what it can do, how it is. See: that sky. Feel: that sun. That breeze. This. Is. A. Day. And you are here. And it is yours. Use your sense, use your heart, and live. Live completely in this moment, in your moment. Dissolve into the atoms of the universe and be of infinite presence. 


the end of the world.

static in the darkness. That chaotic being that hum that murmur at the edge of your mind that twilight tickertock sound nesting in the corner of your ear an octave below silence.Those thoughts you barely thought that crept from out of your mind and rested then on the tip of your tongue never claiming time or place but simply floating truths that wrapped themselves around the atoms in the air. Did you hear them? did you hear them? I thought they said that you were still alive. Yes, you.  Your name, resting on the tip of my tongue but I never had the courage to say it out loud. As my toes gripped the gravel above you. For weeks I felt your presence, just around the corner, a shadow behind the door that would soon walk into the room; eyes shining, a shadow behind that corner, just over there, that was watching me, listening to my thoughts…listen to this: an echo in my mind that said everything was okay. Where are you now? I wonder. And how does time pass there? or doesn’t it? is it really a static in the darkness? an infinite instant now that is all passing in the blink of an eye and forever and soon we will be past the end of the world.


nevermind poetry for a while

maybe I should do prose. Words are words and I want mine to be from a truth that is closer to the heart than the mind. I want my words to be flames with a heat that will scorch minds like a good idea. What did I learn today? I watched inspiring videos and decided that skill is something that is reached step by step and constantly. It is that beacon in the distance that we strive to reach day by day. We cannot slack lest we develop the wrong habits or lose the momentum that we previously gained. We must work towards our goals each and everyday with a passionate intention, from the inside out and then when we lose that for one reason or the other by then it will have been a habit that will follow us still from the outside in, like habits do, like if you were to have a cig each day with intention to and then you stopped, your body would still crave it and you would find yourself reaching for that smoke, but if instead, the cigarette was prayer and meditation and writing paragraphs, prose and poetry and reading Dostoevsky and practicing capoeira and stretching more each and every day, then that is a life well done. It is a life of constant improvement and an increasingly evolving wellbeing. That is what I am hoping for in my life. 


There was a word and i forgot it. It was a verb it was a state a lazy, aching way of being. A horizontal time-lapse that hurts the edge of my back that makes dreams out of the waking I lack that passes time faster within illusions of the mind that watches space pass within a second through the glass that we call now. I have a heart and it is beating. I have a life and it is here. I have two lungs and they are breathing. I have intellect, sometimes retreating. I have this, here nad now, I have this. And so the seconds pass and I must wake I must read there is too much to do too much to learn too much I do not know and soon will say I never knew. This back is aching I think that I have slacked and many minutes I have wasted I have not read not worked not transcribed I have done nothing and in pyjamas I have, in all sense of the word, slacked.

my mine is a symposium

A channel of thoughts

drifting in and out of reason

a flurry of opinion this fact encompass

that emotion stagger reason corrupt

desire suppress fear peak passion

lose courage

and depart

deaf sights never made a sound

the flutter of many mumbles

amounted to the murmur of a

million mice


you make poetry fail

it doesn’t do 

what it’s supposed to

it will not paracetamol the pain

when that heavy thudud slows

in an arthritic ache of the soul

torn and trying and tested

words will not communicate

the silence that is sharper

than the narrowest slice

the sting that separates with

an almost-invisible line- that web of a 

thread that shimmers in the sun until you

blink it away. words will not communicate

the shifting intention that reform of the 

essence that reclaim of innocence. 

when eyes change their dimensions

to encompass compassion until that

beating mind melts retreating 

restless tired tested 








trip me like the sharp edges

of a road


stuns me like the vacuum

in a balloon

-when it pops

this heart

beats like a broken pendulum 

always crashing into things 

and itself

-the uneven ticker tock

out of luck


the air in my breath

put it in a jar

leave me breathless

pinprick eyes

tunnel vision staring far 

into the pinpricks of distant stars



The stone travelled

hit the glass,

didn’t shatter.

glass like wall,

didn’t matter.

stone-cold eyes,

observed the platter

pin-prick atoms on its

stature, ruffled feathers 

raised shoulders nose slanting

up towards the sun, snort and snore

retort and pour your indifference from

none to one






truth as it scurries away

breaks apart into shimmering

art like the bubbles that break

in a glittering depart like

the stars the explode along

the atmosphere catch moments

where breath is the equivalent of

innocence and true happy trends

tears like the cover that contained

a soul from the world

until it broke and the real cries could be

heard like those polluted words

tarred with a silence

that finally set free in a fury of


like the sense that was made as

the string unravelled in a sigh

and a breath

and a life finally untangled

and alive

blot paragraph

There is a door. It is a square cut out from a cookie-cutter. It is a way in and a way out. It is a window into this world and a window out of this world.  This is where a story sits, peering out the edge of this square and into the watercolour painting beyond…The light too bright for its eyes and its eyes too dim for the light- so they glared at each other in dispute, wondering when the other would look away and then its eyes watered and watered the world with it, so that flowers grew down from the top of the sky and the story reached out and said take me, let me climb over these leafs and reach the universe beyond, but when it pulled the stems the flowers fell onto the ground and they grew dim, tainted with the grounding of ground, covered in dust, reality settled over them like morning breath and made them feel like they would never be the same again. So they sat on the edge of a rock and said something to it that nobody else could hear. Then they closed their eyes and watched the world from the inside out.