happy thoughts mode

the deafening emptiness

of the echoing dark abyss
of unfathomable depth of trench-like chasms
between reality and fantasy and
the daydreaming state of a mystic turned
suicidal maniac albeit converted
staring and smiling into space; the stupidity
of his gesture though odd to others
is to himself amusing yet unknown
if not to the frequent reproach of
friends and adversaries alike
yet in this peculiarity the mystic turned
suicidal maniac albeit convert finds bliss
and thus continue his staring and smiling
into space leaping
between fantasy and reality and his daydreaming.

bored

i have always admitted, sometimes to a point of being annoying that i am really f*cking bored. it's as if life has nothing more to offer but pain and suffering and frustration and despair etc etc etc.

yet in the absence of excitement i see a little flicker of thrill, in the idea that life ain't life without such negation; that the cliche 'one won't know how sweetness tastes like if one haven't had an encounter with bitterness' has truth in it.

more than a month ago, i made a close contact with the ripper. the scars have healed, yet the pain remains. and i guess that'll be the case for days to come.

when asked why i did it, why did i try to expedite my extinction, i simply say the main reason is boredom. too vague to comprehend? yeah i too haven't got the slightest idea why i'm so f*cking bored.

i spend the last months bumming around the house, watching discovery channel, nat geo, history chanell, etc. my life was at a standstill, and it still is. i don't know how to start all over again. ironically, i remain optmistic. crazy.

i maybe ruined, beyond repair, but i keep hanging on.

& i'm f*cking loving boredom.

Day 3

Sporadic islets exist

almost invisible on the face

on the black seas.

This time many have withdrawn

from the battle in the funeral march,

but the golden spark

was still there,

unwilling to surrender,

glowing brightly as if to say

its energy will never exhaust.

The plague

has a venomous tongue.

By the end of this ordeal

the world is painted black no more.

Will see it no more.

Will see them no more.

I'll be on my own and the

blackness will stand

witness to my solitude.

There will be pulling down

of silver string

no more,

nor rolling up of the curtain

of creamed snow.

There will be no more blackness

to cloak my world

but my future will be

equally dim.

Soon I will miss the

golden dewdrops

and tears of neon blue.

The funeral march will go on

for as long as this tomb

is cold - with or without

the world painted in black.

The sapling may never grow

because you keep the sun

behind your gloom,

the nimbus, your shadow.

But I'll miss you, too,

because you are coming back

no more.

I hope you are coming back

no more.

This will be the last glimpse

to blackness

as it fades to many

different shades

of green like emerald

and turquoise beyond.

Suddenly a familiar face

appeared from nowhere...

Why have you come back?

-Toto

The World is Painted Black

(Day 2)

By dawn angry heavens poured

on the world painted black.

As I pulled down

the silver string and rolled

up the creamed snow curtain,

there on the borderline,

they splatter.

Golden dewdrops and tears of neon blue

fight to be one with my world.

The funeral march

still goes on.

Fiercely, sharply

cutting my flesh into

strips of fragile woods,

burnt into ashes,

slowly fading into gray,

echoing night into day.

The world painted in black

only stood witness to the grave.

-Toto

The World is Painted Black

(Day 1)

I pulled down the silver string,
Rolled up the curtain of creamed snow.
Before me
the world is painted black.
At the corner of my eye
there was the golden spark,
But the victory or death tonight
vanished the glow in the dark.

The generosity of this truth
hasn't been this paramount,
this sharp,
Cutting my sorrow in million pieces.
Will my hope ever reunite?
As I lie down thinking
about the sapling:
Why wouldn't he let it grow?
Let it grow.
Please let it grow.

Third day backwards,
third limbo above Earth,
in a funeral march
I was weeping,though,
for someone who wasn't there.
Pearls without color -
my eyes were too familiar of them,
and so was the world
painted in black.

Needless to say
the funeral march went on.
In a tomb cold as death
I was there.
The tomb - there was no
hint of blackness,
and no sign of corpse,
but I wish I was dead.

- Toto

COMFORT OF AN ENEMY

This casket
is larger than a
shoebox
with walls of stained
sheepskin;
is so much like me,
either a friend
or an enemy...
I notice
for over a year now

I'm not dead
but inside this casket
i live
moving around
basked with independence
and solitude
in other words,
I am a
prisoner.

Today
this casket is a friend
though the world
outside is
so much of an enemy
in a way
I so much like,
in a way
the bullets fires
and explotion
of bombs
are music to my ears
when they hit
the solid ground..

inside my cell
I am safe
in my usual corner
I will succumb
to the demand of
my deteriorating strength...
to the comfort of my grave.

- Toto