Unsteady, this life,
Falling into the pages,
Between others stories,
Encouraged by mere words,
Finding neither the end or the beginning.
Unsteady, these dreams,
Built from dusk to dawn,
Unraveled thread by thread,
Forced into the misery of now.
Unsteady, Blaming none,
These dark inked fingers,
Washing the evidence of blood,
These bruises of defeat,
paying an ode to the carcass of memories.
Unsteady, Moving ahead,
Tripping into the furnace
of naive hopes and mad dreams
I haven’t written in a while now, the words wouldn’t come to me. When words become your friends, their alienation hurts. You can’t complain to anyone about them, just that the loss is a ghost pain. So when they do come back, I celebrate!Gregariously and morbidly even. As always, the mending of a broken person is a treasure trove of inspiration.
I’m going to be obnoxious and quote my own new year drunken stupor yet brilliant quotes. Oh yeah ! Narcissism rules !
“my favorite stories are the ones that I will never finish writing in my head”- Nithya suri
Friend: “what’s the one thing you loved the best about last year?”
Me:” that I can be miserable as hell and still live.”
“First it was -the glass is half full
Then it became- the glass is half empty
Now it just comes down to – the glass has clean water”- Nithya Suri
I am Hungry to keep you close .
I want to Find the words to resist but in the end there is a locked sphere .The funny thing is that You are not here,Nothing is. -Petrit Halilaj
Something that kept resonating in the empty walls of my head throughout the Venice Biennale . There are so many words that fill this space and yet nothing is tangible. This abstract idea of who you and are and what anything and everything means to be around you.