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Who am I?

I am the idea that lingers filled with prolific thought automated by kinetic movement, the heart that quakes in its turbulent reverberation through the physicality of sensation.

I am the spirituality of the guru, questioning the riddles of the universe, at peace with my surroundings, at one with myself, evolving constantly metamorphosing like a butterfly from one stage of change to the next. I am the dynamite fury, roaring a lion conviction, pounding the hammer for justice to tame this justice fire.

I am the core of the questions to existence, standing in the centre of the Earth, arms stretched, beckoning for the god’s and the divinity to feed me truths through the intravenous tubes of digestion.

I am the face without a name, searching on a tribe called quest, on a surreal journey, towards knowledge. I am searching for my mirror reflection, to completely understand my place in the universe as a small fragment that composes the unanimous complexity of the entirety of the whole. I am prying open my third eye, the eye of foresight, to fully configure the bigger picture and understand my place in the universe.

I am the disjointed me that is scattered, sucked dry, in the nihilistic tunnel, into the introspective inspection, when mind, body, and spirit divorce the once promised unison.

I am the philosopher thirsty for salvation, to the core of our very own existence, to what makes us do the things we do, questioning the essence of what makes up our minds, bodies and spirits.

I am an alien, plagued by insomniac driven nights with nothing but consistent questions; why, what, when, drilled into my head flooded like questions intersecting each other unanswered.

I am the archer, half man, half centaur, the Sagittarian, seeking truth and knowledge, which is why I occupy my thought process documents, my analysis, and the study of my observation of human nature and the core of existence.

I am the independent particles of isolation that reside in the solitary ice-cubes of silence lingering in the independence of an idea.

I am the messenger, messenger, the messenger, the gypsy of the zodiacal triangle, thirsty for more, to understand the essence of truth, a tribe called quest. Muscle-attired armor, I am the knight on the unicorn.

I want to save the world because deep within my tombstone womb, I know there’s something I am gifted with. Through every freight train running me over, deep down inside I know I’m supposed to self sacrifice my sanity for a greater cause, a bigger picture: humankind. I have been humbled down from the heavens with the utensil of communication, because I know that the pieces fit, whence once a promise was made on stone blood.

I am here to fulfill the promise, for I have an angel on my shoulder and a demon with boulders on the other.

Who am I?

I am the messenger with a bullet-fisted conviction, searching for that umbilical ocean to extinguish the fumes of the fire within. I’m the archer, the scribe. With arms out stretched, I plunge into my euphoric sky, with one question of many questions, the question, why?


‘Remember me’.

An immortal tombstone.


Narcissistic reflection.



An upper-class means of communication.

The soul’s microphone.


Paint brush.

The mind’s microphone.




The scribe.


Ink prints of the soul etched on paper.

Writer’s block

Stage fright.

Writer’s block II


Writer’s block III

Mouth desert dry.


Toilet-bowl self esteem.





Shame II



Stained with shame.

Guilt II

Shame tattooed.



Fear II

Shriveled up.


The truest face of aggression.

Rage (alternate angle)

The physical revolver ejaculating one left-right convulsion fist after another.

I call this RAGE.


The absolute circumcision of the human will.




The innate voice of conscience.

Law II

The halo of justice.




Some fairytales are taken too seriously.


The psychological nurse.


Inhaling the premise of a scent unexplored.


The stretchers defying mortality.

Hospitals II

The lullaby cradle and the quilts of solace.


A deep-seated fear and paralysis.


Memory box.


The opiate of opiates.


The dorms of shyness.


Inviting lips exchange the child within.


Close your eyes.


Silenced forever.

Free spirit

Hop, skip and frolic.


Bullet-pistol might.


My mistress.




Fists of fire.

Rage II

The shit-stench aggression that flashes back as a memory never be forgotten.

Rage III

The stench fumes of fury.

Rage IV

A growl raging in introversion.


A little boy’s dented heart, crucified and confined left to the solitary imprisonment of his mind,

a place for myself within this maze I must find.

The archaic smile of infinite wisdom,

the much-anticipated revelation of revelations,

the nihilistic King sits on his narcissistic throne meditating his opium isolation embodying his validation.

A little boy’s dented heart, crucified and confined left to the solitary imprisonment of his mind,

a place for myself within this maze I must find.

Segregated he sits on the stool of a one-man nation escaping the captivity that is reality on the quest for mystic dynasty for that humble temple of innate truth for that stream of volcanic purity.

A little boy’s dented heart, crucified and confined left to the solitary imprisonment of his mind,

a place for myself within this maze I must find.

Separated by the opiate of his thoughts humbly he bows before you unveiling his revelation.

A little boy’s dented heart, crucified and confined left to the solitary imprisonment of his mind,

a place for myself within this maze I must find,

a place for myself within this maze I will find,

on the quest for that mystic dynasty for that humble temple of innate truth for that stream of volcanic purity.

A place for myself within this maze I will find,

I will find, I will find.

That temple of innate truth,

For a taste of that fountain of serenity towards an excavation a validation of my own sanity

A place for myself within this maze I must find,

a place for myself within this maze I will find.

I will find, I will find.

I will, I will, I will…


The christening of self to an individuated identity.

The association to eulogies of remembrance or stained into the casket of shame.

The word that grants freedom at birth and forms reputation till death.


Mend myself with bullet-proof stitch,

carefully zipped-in muscle-tissue corduroy,

bullet-chained armor sticky glue,

broken pieces pacified with a lion’s conviction kiss,

‘‘until I rip the fat in two,

and pure muscle remains’’.


Between the halos of right and the guillotines of wrong,

somewhere between this fine line exists the equilibrium of an opium temple.


I solemnly swear to abide by the rules that govern obedience to the veil of unquestionable conformity that represents the mechanical dissipation of consciousness.

I solemnly swear to obey the mechanical pulsations that govern my actions debilitating my inborn choice of speculation.

I solemnly swear to deny my birth right,

my own inner voice that is choice,

replacing it by the humbler means of conformism that exists in blind assimilation.


Assaulted by mirrors of remorse,

exiled into solitary repentance,

what’s coming through is divine.

Icicle tears suspended in apathy,

Walking into uncharted territory.

Once a boy crossed the threshold,

Never to return to her umbilical affinity.

Because nihilistic eyes stray

My eyes beg me to open my tears again as I metamorphose into dissonance.

Assaulted by mirrors of remorse,

exiled into the solitude of repentance,

what’s coming through is divine.

But nihilistic eyes stray

The threshold warns of a point of no return,

pulling on my shirt sleeve, my mistress temptation.

Mirrors of remorse assault me,

I have passed the point of no return,

My eyes beg me to open up my heart again.

But nihilistic eyes stray

Exiled into solitary repentance,

I decompose and dissolve into dissonance,

venerating through my veins,

metamorphosis so divine.

Because nihilistic eyes stray!


Voodoo men of science,

antagonists of religion,

dictating rules,

governing our mortality.


The malevolent princess of malignant cancer traverses the tunnels of an exiled kingdom.

Veiled in black, she dances her seductive tease,

ejaculating a trance-like potion through her kiss.

Conniving in her hermetic terrace,

she incubates under the earth’s deathbed.


Like sweet utopia pacifying aggression,

arresting the ongoing procession,

nourishing it with a radiant sunshine,

the lullaby captures a timid moment,

regenerates the soul,

like medicated resuscitation,

bathing the infant to sleep in maternal symphony.


Cool resuscitating sunshine splash,

forfeit and surrender,

metamorphosis from man to boy,

the return to infancy.

Resuscitated and rejuvenated,

the spirit flies freely outside the birdcage,

diving up freedom high,

hushed by the divine whisper,

cradled by her lullaby,

the innocence of infancy.

Hurricane tears wail an infinite scream,

the chains are broken.

Forfeit and surrender,

to her umbilical smile,

the voice of freedom has spoken.

Forfeit and surrender,

the chains are broken.


the voice of freedom has spoken.

The outsider

Eloquently mysterious,

calm, quiet and introspective,

private and absorbed in speculative observation,

absurd, strange and bizarre,

neutrally presentable,

distantly introverted,

carefully guarded.


Umbilical waves hush,

refresh and rejuvenate,

tranquil resuscitation.

Cool icy splash resuscitates the soul,

humming lullabies of her umbilical hush.


Frozen memories forged on paper revealing an unrehearsed spirit.

The pictorial journey’s detailed moments reflect the past,

releasing an emotion in retrospect.

As strong as a scent captured in the fragrance of a private premises.

An eternal moment embraced in the intimacy of one’s soul.


In solitude, memories and their scent page laughter and a million smiles.

Footprints of images flash back experiences, leaving impressions unforgettably fingerprinted.


Never-ending dimensions of a face revealed by brush strokes,

heard through the howl of an instrument,

captured in the intimacy of a photograph,

reflecting a private mirror image.


The poetic voice of justice rearing its clench-fisted conviction scorn,

holding up the justice swords of fire,

the venom of the raging Cobra.


Fingerprints of nostalgia engraved on tombstones,

a catatonic paraplegic picture etched on fingerprints,

photographs that associate sight to sound and taste to touch.

Like flashcard signals,

back-flashing into acid flashback mode,

a whirlwind tunnel, into the labyrinths of the solitary introspective maze,

as flash images paint the scent to scenery,

bubbling to be touched, to quake, smile and romanticize.

Footprints engraved on frozen icicle capsules, catatonic and stationary,

time-lapsed onto a threshold of memory,

an image locked bullet tight,

within the permanence of a nostalgic photograph.


Hallucinogenic memory,

blinked through photographic smells,

opening the nasal pores’ pupils,

into the active realization of this surreal metaphysical sensation.


Merging into invisible fragments of glass subdivided into intricate details,

tiny structures that once formed a soul disintegrate.


The barometer of feeling,

the capsule that binds an angelic soul,

the key to one’s intimacy,

for emotions to sing and dance,

carefully guarded by the ribcage,

the skeletal fortress.

The key of love opens the vault and eternal sunshine sprinkles.


The irony of bitter and sweet,

embroidered into compliant confrontation,

a melodramatic sting.


The clairvoyant’s warning whispers,

protective inner voice imposing itself in feared territory familiarity, whistling in haunting echoes,

the natural intuition,

the voice of treason.

Beneath trembling waters,

paranoiac voices echo in ripples,

the confession of a whisper in a metaphoric sneeze,

trickling through straight-jacket waters.

Ripples confess the fear,

terrorized and tormented,

mumbled and muffled escapes the fear,

when the voices are near.

Glass walls were built to protect us,

sacred walls were built to resurrect us,

faces on the wall were built to fuel fear,

enabling self-defense mechanisms towards the oncoming spear.

Hiss, hiss, the rattler’s tail reverberates warningly.

The shudder that is the intrinsic voice of paranoia.

The shudder of the rattle-snake’s tail,

hissing behind you.

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