Creator / imaginer: Dabbler in art, literature and sound.
Don’t put your words in my mouth,
I see you, what is your endgame,
Don’t bend my words to fit your purpose,
My expression is my own, know your station,
Don’t assume we’re even on the same platform,
This bullet train takes no passengers.
Some days I wish I could go to bed and just evaporate, it’s a useless fucking world to be a part of.
I’ve noticed that the older I become, the more clumsy and weak I get, I repeat fucking stupid things and keep doing it.
I repeat the things I say so often without knowing who I told them to, until I my wife tells me she’s had enough of hearing the same fucking thing over and over, I feel like I’m losing my mind.
Time has zero relevance, I feel like I’m floating mid air on an elastic time continuum, one day it is Saturday, and the next it’s a week later on a Thursday and my name is now Jim.
This shit is never going to get any easier.
Spare a thought for today,
As it relentlessly endures against the odds,
Battling ice, sunshine, and storms of wind and rain,Â
Cast into service, eventually succumbing to darkness,
Enslaved, doomed to repeat it all again tomorrow,
Spare a thought for today, for it’s a lot like you and I.
It’s 1am, I don’t yet wish to go to bed and dream,
In the next room I can hear my wife breathing as she sleeps,
I’ll join her shortly, but I need to clear my mind first,
I’ll sit and type, and wait for my eyelids to get heavy,
I need to put myself right at the edge of sleep first,
I’ll hit the pillow, and my eyes will find the ceiling,
There I will lay, not quite asleep, not quite awake,
In a few hours I’ll drift off and relive my day in dream form,
I’ll recap it now while awake, and see how they compare,
Today I vegetated watching a Grand Sumo broadcast,
While large men were thrown from an elevated clay Dohyo,
I played video games and gave my brain some escapism,
It’s 1:20am, my body aches, my eyes sting, the edge is here,
Time to bring another Saturday to a close and retire to bed.
Time to step from the edge of sleep into the ocean of dreams.
Part poem, part journal entry, a great way to make myself tired.
Is this something you've tried before? I rarely like to recap a day, but doing so informs me that I was in control of myself and my surroundings. Sure it's a rather brief and tedious days coverage, but it was just the ticket my brain needed.
You put on a daily mask, you nod and smile, and pretend,
Acting like you’re not concurrently drowning in quicksand,
Struggling as it reaches your ears and all sound ceases,
The world, everyone, and everything you know feels silenced,
Your eyes display a panic that your screams cannot express,
Not long after, there is total darkness as your face is covered,
Your throat is choked with filth, and you suffocate silently,
A crushing weight and pressure lay on every part of you,
You can no longer struggle, all you can do is lay motionless,
Enveloped in black emptiness, a nothingness cold and numb,
There’s no comfort, for even in this state you’re pulled downward,
This is managed daily, I’d like to introduce you to depression.
Autumn arrived this morning, cold and desolate,
Frost blankets the garden, as a blue sunny sky laughs above,
I feel my own depression today, it’s heavy, like a weight,
I try to connect without success, I ache in every joint,
Verbal communication seems difficult, I feel gagged,
It’s a work celebration day today, it took months of effort,
And I couldn’t be more emotionless towards it all,
I’m a relic of past days there, my presence feels like irritancy,
I could be more sycophantic, be the yes man they like,
But I no longer have the energy, the place is a necessary cell,
I feel cold inside, like the leafless trees of Autumn,
Why can’t I shake this melancholy, life has no substance,
I reminisced about childhood with a friend yesterday,
And could only remember days of sunshine and simplicity,
Backyard cricket, BBQ, bikes, pets and outside fun,
I’m sure reality was very different, but now, all I feel is empty,
Life today is the numb cycle of existing, it is unrewarding,
Work, pay bills, still be broke, have bad sleep, repeat,
I feel blindfolded, grasping at the warmth of life past,
There’s beauty outside my window, but today it feels frozen,
And the past looks warm through my rose coloured glasses.
Let’s stay here for a while,
Away from the crowds and sounds,
Sit with me in quiet warm sunshine,
Hold my hand, and know I love you,
If I have gone, this is how to find me,
Sit quietly under a fine tree,
Gently close your eyes,
Scrunch your toes in the grass,
Feel the breeze on your face,
Can you smell the garden around you,
Are you hearing the sound of birds,
Take a breath, and smile in the sun,
And I will be right beside you,
We can sit for as long as you like,
Although I can’t hold your hand,
Know I loved you.
I have lost my way,
My identity has been removed,
I feel nothing, my sight is blinded,
I’m numb, my passions lay in ruins,
Time flies at a relentless pace,
Can I exist, until this block passes,
When will art return to these hands,
To again be creator, and not an observer,
Will I dream again the way I once did,
When will I stop being so afraid,
I’m not the imaginer I once was,
I feel dissected and laid out,
Like an insect pinned to a board,
A facsimile of what was once fierce creativity.
After moments of madness, and the chaos of violence, I access the secured area,
It’s 2am, I connect a cable to a port behind my left ear and the terminal, then begin,
The transfer rate is intense, 100 terabytes of corporate data, stolen in moments,
The sudden influx of information makes me momentarily lightheaded, I disconnect,
Placing both hands on the desktop, I stabilise myself as my system balances,
I have three hours to reach my client, complete the transfer, and avoid brain damage,
I reset my internal counter, a red display counts down in a corner of my vision,
As I leave the secure area, I step across the bodies of a security team, a failed ambush,
Neutralised, laying exactly where I dropped them, this hasn’t gone according to plan,
This was a setup, the entire level of this building should have been empty,
Someone’s sold me out, I exit the building into cold rain and darkness,
I can’t trust anyone.
*My small tribute to celebrate 44 years of William Gibson's Johnny Mnemonic (1981)
The hum of the fan heater is the only sound I hear,
The sun creeps, morning shadows cross my desk,
My hands, golden in the light, tap at silent keys,
As the pangs of sleep begin to leave my system,
This morning, I contemplate my creative future,
Following a conversation with a friend last night,
I was urged to push my creative boundaries further,
It was welcomed advice, but I feel some kind of resistance,
My mind seems to be blocking me from creating, but why,
I’m suddenly distracted, thoughts of the work week invade,
I breathe deeply, close my eyes, and try to refocus,
I stare at golden dust particles floating in the sunlight,
I want to paint, I want to create music, I am already writing,
Why is there something blocking me, did A.I wipe out my drive,
Not completely, fun projects becoming work spoiled the fun,
Writing feels easier, I’m less confronted by what I see,
I can type my inner monologue, there’s a freedom in that,
I need to ride my bike, I need to exercise too, I need to get out,
I finally realise how poignant the title of Comfortably Numb is,
It is precisely how I feel, there are so many demands lately,
I feel drained, I can’t be bothered being dragged around,
I’m sure this block will pass, but writing has enabled some output,
It’s low energy contemplation, but it is still healthy expression,
I am comfortably numb, but thankfully, I am not unhappy.
Dan Verkys 