Samsara

Humans have given romanticism back to the gods and in return assumed the right to degenerate

A Saturday night

I walk the streets, no longer a boy, yet not a man; drank, yet am not drunk; sober enough to see the void within and without. Surely there is more to this polyester world than the empty momentary bouts of passion and rage. The homeless, asleep in their misery, awake in their futility - wrapped in cloth against the winter chill, awake in their wide eyed lust as the young in their mini skirts, designer jeans and loud laughs and voices give sound to the hollowness of existence. Maybe it's just me. Give me a few drinks today and the alcohol makes me a dark philosopher; contrast to that of yesterday where in the sunshine of friendship, hope and life we laughed and drank to the promise of tomorrow.

Perhaps this is the reality that crystallises with age -despair at an increasingly loveless, colourless world where white rabbits are shot, where the wolf eats the pigs and sleeping beauty is passed out in ER. Oh stars above, show me the light that once comforted and guided the lost mariner.

I, You, me, She

I sat at the ferry docks awaiting the next ferry home. Young couples walked about, many of them dressed in colourful costumes varied in their degrees of sexiness, absurdness and commonness. It was a festival but I was tired. The ferry docked and I walked aboard and upstairs; sitting at my usual seat at the back on the left hand side next to the open windows. A cool harbour breeze blew and I began reading my novel.

I dreamed a dream. In it I saw a mountain. A huge mountain that began with virgin forests and reached upwards to the clouds above which the straining eye or the imaginative mind could see, a snow capped peak and a tiny speck (a temple? a hut?); companion to it. Around the mountain stretched vast plains - a black sand plain to the left and yellowing grasslands to the right.
It called to me this place. The vision was a place but what it promised was journey. Oh how my unstill heart ached to climb that mountain and walk those plains! How I longed to search those lands for me; and also perhaps, She.

When I awoke, I created You and then set You free. You the traveller, You the loner, You the searcher. You were to wander where I could not. You, the shadow of I. You, the soul of me.

My girl

Circle of Life - the symphany of joy and sorrow

What is love if not happiness?
What is happiness if not loss?
What is loss if not despair?
What is despair if not love?

Life is full of circular relationships and perhaps this isn't one that everyone believes holds. But nevertheless bittersweet melodies play in everyone's lives at some point and perhaps drives our hedonistic lust to embrace our existence.

Me

There's an inner me: quietly contemplative, sensitive and a melancholic. Perhaps like a poet, afraid to be happy because happiness is meaningless when it is so inevitably fleeting.

There's an outer me: brash yet awkward, outgoing yet shy. Sometimes fun and always given to excesses. A rough shell that yearns for a life of its own.

If I stood at the cliff overlooking the world how many of Me would give in to temptation? How many would stand fast? If I travelled to the ends of the earth what would I find there? Rocks and the sea? Myself and emptiness?

Between these two caught is Me. A dreamer and a nihilist, an optimist and a pretender. Form without form, thoughts without beliefs... at least some of the time.

Life is like a hand of cards - sometimes you get dealt a killer hand and you win, sometimes you get dealt a shit hand and you lose, sometimes you get dealt something and you don't get to win or lose.

Lost a lot of money in Monaco today. There was a message there I'm sure. I lost a lost of marignal hands and when I actually hit on the hand, the dealer was hiding in his little hole (played Caribbean stud). To top it off I lost my wallet at a toll booth on the way home... The only wise thing now is to release stress and the Roman toga party and 1euro booze is doing just the trick

Life is like a deck of cards - the Joker turns up more times than you think.


P.S.
Fellow men, Communists, women

Be good to your Momma