The Crazies & Me

"Yes, it is absolutely true, "we" have Multiple Personality Disorder (M.P.D.).

But, we - all of us, each of us, am also utterly heartbroken, irreparably heartbroken. And it is only by the grace of this common hearty affliction, that we am able to integrate ourselves in common unity and literally pull our personas, string our many selves together and so also our many choices together and make it one choice and thereby live and march on and into this world, relate to this world and thereby, well, get by just about.

The many of us screaming from within, flailing, falling, running a muck, breaking into new but different terrain - interests, feelings, ... it is very distraught, in fact distraught is a gross understatement.

First, it was love that held us together, bought us all together, in a cradle ... You see we - all of us, each of us, was quite hopelessly in love with her. And through this, we all saw third eye to third eye ...

But, now, ...

... love has been spent, and it is this common sadness, this sourness of life, this deep common pain that we all share - different and still the same - many heartbreaks - same heart - that holds us as one."

~ from the diary of the man without one face

HG2G : Towel Series

Well, erm, if I needed to explain myself, I would say, "Erm, well, it's Towel Day today ..." (see links below)

for Herr Douglas Adams and this Utata project.
Don't know what a towel is? Click here for free enlightenment!

Love is a L-o-o-p

We all belong to hugs, and kisses and love-chains,

Where would this speckled planet be,
if it were not for the warm arms of love, hah?


Let love be a religion and all of us its fervent devotees.


Let's crowd together and worship each other
on every other, corner and square.


Let's bare all and do all and be all
all of the time.

Some R@ndim part of "Bitter-Blacker Banter"

School-boy Gustav plucked butterflies off pretty flowers. Butterfly wings lie crucified in what was to be a stamp-album.

Dark blue blood slipping out my veins. Onto cheap hospital-white bathroom tiles. The artwork of his blue hunting knife.

The snake in her head always wore a hood.

O madness come make a port in me.

Silence perched on his lips. He saw her dance with another man.
Silence slithered down his tongue and into him.
But his eyes sang every sad song there was to sing.
And what a foolish clumsy dance it was, he thought, but he didn't speak a word.

He plugged my face with his fists
I tightened my jaw around his punches

Dance like drunkards under the purple sky with starry holes
This life will not repeat itself
Here take my hand and take vodka from my throat

Violins and cats and hats and poems that don't rhyme.
Fur and sour wine and cocaine.
Whiskers and claws and paws and one sick crime.
Fear and Love and You and Me. This is all we have.

Explosion(s)

What is it about fireworks bursting in a black sky that fascinates and thrills us humans? Is it because we're somehow mysteriously-strangely-eerily-darkly reminded about the Big Bang from whence we came a long long time ago? Exploding and explosions, is that it, the important, critical, vital thingamabob? That we wouldn't be here if explosions didn't take place? The universe exploding into nothingness, followed by many more explosions, stars blooming and bursting, more explosions, matter shattering, getting scattered, atomic dust blowing, strange celestial brews brewing, spiraling, flying, more explosions and a whole lot of similar and dissimilar hogwash... ... stellar drops, protein lumps, cellular stews, microcosmic soups, primordial coups, ...

... an explosion of sperm, followed by frantic swimming, some race it was to that spectacular sexy ovum. And another explosive meeting, pronto, enter me, enter you, enter us – you all everybody, yeah!

Hello Earth!

Hello Universe!

The heart in love exploding inside of us making us too big for this everyday minuscule life.

brick

bake me a brick, baby,
bake me a brick
recipe repeatedly
your one only trick

brick me a wall, baby,
brick me a wall, till all
that remains of me,
are but remains

i will be your deep past secret
your only friend, a hidden trinket
behind a mossy green wall
now, lies my hall
a hidden tomb, so catacomb

Recalling the Oasis

zeaurazan, originally uploaded by miiah.

... follow the stars and they lead me to where you are sleeping - in the cool shade of a desert palm... trace the lines in my palm and see how they end where yours begin

... go back to Gondwana to find us, to learn how we began - how we first met and how we got separated...

We were united in an oasis, once upon an ageless time, d'you remember... and when our lands tore, a palm tree was pulled apart too, d'you know?

... funny isn't it, she said, how some tales end up in the mouth - how stories happen, how snakes form rings - how beginnings and endings get fuzzy, how eyes fall into eyes and how nothingness connects everythingness

The Desert, on meeting her for the first time

She is ripe with vastness. You can but sit in the palm of her hand and hope to see the whole of her. And when you look into her eyes - and you can feel it too - her ancientness and her treachery becomes apparent.

At first you only see how very dry she is, how very fierce she is, how she sinks her fangs of heat and aridness into the back of your neck and claims you - claims the dust in you. You begin to realize that the dust in you is actually hers - it never was yours in the first place.

She makes you see fountains when there are none. She teaches you what water is - She is an answer to the question - who is the ocean?

Her sun is brilliant and strong and dominant; & when he rides, you must bow down and hide. He is young and arrogant. But she can easily bury him in her folds. And she might do such a thing if she favors you.

At first, yes, she is terrible to behold like some evil demonic queen - powerful and spiteful and vengeful - overflowing wth spite, spit and hiss.

But lying in her palm, when you surrender, when you submit yourself to her openess - her monotonous infinite continuity - she envelopes you within herself and enters your being. You can feel her on your skin, in your hair, in your nostrils, on your lips - you taste her on your tongue, even, and lastly her emptiness and silence occupies your mind.

She penetrates you and reveals herself by revealing you to yourself. You are a nothingness too. You are barren. You are empty. You are filled with the divine, with particles of 'stars and heavens' and drops of light. You are both - whole and a part of the whole. She is beautiful to behold, then. You plunge your hand into her - and you can sense the life in her sands. You can feel the warmth lurking there - you can feel a pulse there - her sand is alive; it is like feeling some huge beast which is living and yet dormant. She is the unity of numerous-countless particles, and she exists in each and every minute grain. And when she lies in your palm, she blesses you almightiness - you are holding all of her - her totality is floating, there, in the palm of your hand.

And as she slips through your fingers or disappears on the wisps of wind, you know that she is 'freedom and wildness' incarnate - no man will ever be able to tame her, rule her, or claim her.

Polaroid

Bean bag may all the asses bless you ...

Guitar

I'm musically illiterate. I can't play the guitar, or any other musical instrument for that matter. My only contribution to music, up until now, has been and is, listening to music.