Burraq

The longer I live the more I realize I have lived even longer. There is a yearning in my heart far older than my flesh, flesh which I have grown to despise.

The staggering scale of our cosmos at large, and the wondrously intricate microscopic world. We live from impulse to impulse, some barely justified, none understood in context.

How do we break out of this self perpetuating loop. How do we see the world we know to exist. I see only madness in all other paths. Before we conquer our instincts, we must disrobe from the warm comfort of rationality; our mind colludes with them.

The Forgotten Dreams

We live today in another of the dark ages of mankind. We don't know how many there have been before us (though we will be confident in things we have no knowledge of). There is corruption everywhere, intolerence, injustice, violence, and a global culture of extreme skepticism and cynicism.

We blindly put faith in our science, or worse in our transparently evil religious leaders. We do not believe in the dreams that cannot be remembered. We barely believe what we see, barely understand what we see.

Our scientists are lost. Our priests and imams fanatical megalomaniacs. We send our children to schools to kill their dreams, and then to college to instil within them a sense of servitude.

Governments of lines drawn on mud and water exercise their power over the people born into their shackles.

There are those who believe in the dreams that cannot be remembered. They may grasp at the frayed edges of reality, like small threads that fall out of clothes they cannot see, trying to imagine the enormity of the circumstances we live in. I don't know if our eyes and ears can know before our minds expand to comprehend the scale of our reality.

But there is hope. Whispered in the winds of a dark night, high above our homes. And there are signs all around us, explaining the way of life. And deep within us shimmers a vast unexplored expanse, far greater than any telescope has seen, more infinite than the largest numbers we can conceive.

Finished Symphony

The wind in my face. A full moon somewhere behind and above my head. The sand and rocks bathed in a shade of dark blue. When will the dream end? When will we know what we have forgotten. Ships in the misty distance, their hulls drowned under the horizon.

We twist and turn inside, like larvae preparing to hatch. Butterflies or mosquitoes?

Double Slit

The triangle of dreams, hope and reality stretches apart. Its shadow falls on the ground of our consciousness; collapsing dimensions. We are only what we want to be. We are not who we choose as friends out of courtesy, but those who we make as enemies out of principle.

The illusion of choice flies through the cool night sky, high above - like the aurora on another planet. We sin to survive, and live to be judged. A measure of one soul's worth, we choose to live on a whim.

The distance between knowing of something, and actually knowing it; the theatre of life with its stage squeezed in-between.

Remember what you do not remember. Know what you cannot know. Perhaps some day you may yearn for the privilege of suffering.

Pink Black and Blue

Somewhere beyond the musical notes and the sounds that reach my ears, something resonates. Pure tones, like a see through silk curtain gently flowing open in a delicate breeze. It comes from a place I recognize but do not remember.

Tantalizingly close, like the bright sky before sunrise. I know it's there, but I don't know if it'll ever come. Perhaps after we die, we'll know the truth. Maybe it's where we're all headed. Maybe it's where we all came from.

A man smiles, the blood still dripping from the gunshot wound in his shoulder. The numb throbbing pain is far away from him. He squints in the distance to see the sky in the horizon broken open by a bright red gash of sunrise. He says he isn't brave. Bravery would be if he faced what he feared, and smiled. He smiles at death; he isn't afraid. They should have threatened him with something he cared about.

Apocalypse 2D

Dark clouds gather as people stop and look towards the sea. The mind does not see what the heart can recognize.

A deep pothole masquerading as a shallow puddle, they all wait for rain.

The storm blows with all its might - nature's calm show of force; a hint of hidden violence yet to be unleashed.

Scatter! Run for shelter! They scream with impotent rage.

Around the corner, alone in a green field, a man at peace smiles.

The Four Pillars of Life

Maslow would be proud. His hierarchy of needs stand as firm as the pyramids they're drawn as. Damned be you perpetual optimists, I have seen what life is. When you witness what I have witnessed, live what I have lived, you will believe what I believe. Everyone is rational, given what they know.

There are the fucked up things in life. These you despise. These are the ones that make you wonder what you did if there's any justice in this world. They make you regret having ever existed in this miserable plane.

There are the wonderful things in life. Few and far, but they're there. Like mangoes, hot showers, fast cars and the smell of aloe vera. The fucked up things far outnumber the good things in quantity and frequency. The good things, well, they're just good enough to make up for all the fucked up shit that goes around.

Then there are the fucked up things that can happen in life, do happen to others, and may happen to you. The possibility of these is enough to ruin some days.

Then there are the awesome things that can happen in life. These sometimes happen to some people, and may happen to you. Or you may go through life and never have one of these happen to you. These are the things you see in dreams, in sunless cloudy dead-silent places. We make movies about them, yearn for them. The possibility of these happening is what makes us get out of bed and face the day.

Damned be these dreams with their foolish hope. They will be the end of me.