com路pen路di路um; THE OTHER SIDE OF ME All Rights Reserved 漏 2014 by Xavier Chase Cover by: Unknown713 Layout by: Xavier Chase No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without any permission from the author of any specific piece.
For more information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, email xxavier.chase@gmail.com
Contents Title Troubled Soul Wanderlust Pompeii
Sailor Paradoxes Untitled Eulogy Faded Thoughts Thoughts I Fell in Love while Listening to Chopin. Ocean Ride to Nowhere 04-01-14 Etched Coffee Break 02-03-14 I Am a Monster Warning A Writer and an Artist The Story I Don't Want to Share but I Did Because I
Contents Title Miss Him Kiss of Death Life Memoirs Ecrits Unfinished Scarred Longing Haiku-thon
# 1 Unspoken Humane PoĂŠsie Fictional Character Reunited Invincible Me The Past and the Present Half and Half Anonymous Stories We Tell
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Contents Title Ignorance You Profession
How He Abandoned Her Time Sober Reflection Box of Nothingness Death Deflected I Am … Crappy Last Thoughts
com路pen路di路um; THE OTHER SIDE OF ME
com·pen·di·um; THE OTHER SIDE OF ME
Troubled Soul
Solace flow through my pen Inked by unspoken words All my thoughts and dreams I know my love for you till forever. Dreams soaring high above the sky Flying freely to an endless possibility Fiction or reality It doesn’t matter at all. And when the gentle sun awakes me I wrote it all down All I am, all my dreams, all my love for you I want my last beat ends with you.
Wanderlust
I want to go somewhere far, far away from here. To a place where no one knows my name. I want to bury name in the sand, let my memories shines. Like stars of the summer nights. I want to be scattered in the ocean and let the waves take me to anywhere.
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Pompeii
The bones of the earth rumbled beneath me Burning blanket of ash covers my fragile body Smoke and dull thoughts filled through my head Like floating birds migrating to oblivion. It’s inevitable The city cease to exist Ghost lingered on the cobble stone streets Left behind for the glory of our own sake. Voices resound over the still sky Walls seems to whisper its former greatness Stories of their lives before Now buried deep beneath the earth and left unspoken.
Sailor
I sail away into the space And this is the burden of seeing What nobody is able to see I’m becoming stronger but Decaying at the same times Because the universe is on their side.
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Paradoxes
i. The grandfather paradox, this one, I think makes sense at all. This paradox primarily explains that if you travel back in time and kill your own grandfather before your father exist, then you would cease to exist in the future, and would not be able to make your journey back to the present. ii. The butterfly effect, however it refer to an old tale. And it goes that if you were to kill a butterfly, then that butterfly could not alter someone else’s life in the future because that butterfly ceased to exist at that moment. In a simplest explanation, if a butterfly were saved you from an accident but were killed before that scenario, then that butterfly wouldn’t prevent you from an accident. iii. For a Star Trek fans, some of you can refer it as a Pogo Paradox or Dali Paradox. According to Pogo paradox, there is a casual loop in which interference to prevent an event through the use of time travel actually triggers the same event. On the other hand, the Dali paradox or also known as The Melting Clock refers to a temporal fissure which slows the passage of time to a gradual halt. It simply implies that if a person travel through time
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to change the past and affecting another time traveler to correct the mistake. iv. Alternate time stream, it basically explains itself. If you alter a time stream in a quantum reality that was already established, you create a new time stream. v. In the end, regardless of a man’s capabilities, one can travel through time whenever he want to change it. Doing so can cause one to either to exist or return in the same time and event. A speck of change in the past can cause a big difference if you return to the present.
untitled
I am nobody even my catastrophe is dull When tranquility howls in terror And borders are eradicated From the maps I drew as a kid-Still warbling silent songs of time Pretending to be somebody I thought I could become. My hopes are hidden from the eyes of the crowds Which consists of impeccable fools who smiles to prove But they never got the meaning of my easy demand
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Eulogy
I can say that I had lived an amazing life even though it was rather short. My friends says that I was a great friend and brother; I was the kind of friend that stands by you when you need somebody to be there. What is it that we remember when we thing of John? I think everyone who knows me very well would agree with me on this. It was my sense of humor; I was the kind of person that would make everyone laugh so hard that they’d end up crying. I would always cheer everyone up when he knew that they just had a bad day. I always wanted to make the ones I love happy. You all might not believe of my sudden death but I wanted you all know, that I, indeed lived my life wonderfully. I was well-loved and had so many things on Earth and I’m sure I’ll do have much more in the place where I belong. I will forever grateful for spending years of my life with a friend like what I have right now. All the memories we have shared will forever be cherished and remember. You all are forever live in my heart.
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Faded Thoughts
Where are my thoughts? It feels like it was drained out of my soul. Ideas constantly plague me, yet all I can do is to scribble them down. And then as quickly as my urge to write show up, it is gone in a flash—and all I can do is sulked in the corner and hope that I’ll get something done. And when my hands start typing and halts its endless assault and my eyes scan the nonsense I’ve created. It’s nothing but a pointless spam, yet some part of me is relieved that I have at least filled up the blank page with a pretense words as this notion eases across my mind. I catch a sight of a certain bit of nonsensical combination that practically flares up at me and I merely stare.
Thoughts
A time may come when no one will ever remember all your accomplishments. But true enough, to those persons whom you’ve been your most honest self, to whom you’ve showed your most sincere being, the world will be a different place without your presence. It will matter not how much lives you’ve touched but how much you touched those lives.
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I Fell in Love while Listening to Chopin.
We were here lying in this bed, thinking our respective thoughts. When you played one of your classic collection. I not a fan of Chopin but I heard all his works. The beginning lazily tumbled before tunneling through our ear canals. The notes burrowed into my cerebral cortex where they stayed and flourished. Both eyes closed, allowing our minds float to simple arpeggios. She rolled over and looked at me and I turned to meet her gaze. I looked at her as if my vision were slowly stroking the curvature of her face. And then it happened, during that moment, it reminded me of bursting fireworks up in the vast sky, I fell in love with her. “Can we could stay like this forever?” I whispered as the song ended. She smiled and my heart flutters. “This is love”, I thought. This is love.
Ocean
She told me that I was like an ocean, In a way that I’m deep, rough and chaotic. But underneath, the water is calm and steady, Something that can devour her and it scares her. But nothing stops her, instead without second thoughts She jumped into me like a fruit falling freely off the tree Where everything’s seems safe And nothing treacherous was waiting underneath. It was overwhelming. It was sincere.
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Ride to Nowhere
The station are cluttered with a sea of people walking in and out of this place. I emerge as I make my way to the gate, walking against the current of people. Chaos that was the only description that comes to my mind. The room is getting smaller and smaller, I need to get out of here. I need to get out. I stand near the door to avoid the execution of getting in and out of this train. I looked outside, the sky is infinite. The sky is grey and the clouds are covering us from the beams of sunlight. And small droplets of rain starting to pour, first summer rain. But it only brings sadness in my heart. Thanks but I want to see the clear blue sky, carved with false intensions. I want to get a glimpse of a bright sunny day. I step outside the train and looked down and pretend I haven’t seen them as I pass the store at the corner. Afraid to meet their eyes and see all their cautiously faces. After the first block, I look down at my feet and the pebbles that lined on the paths. Cars pass into the abyss. Empty footsteps makes its way across the street. The world is silent beyond the howling motors and the screaming of thoughts of all the people in this city.
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04-01-14
You with the prying eyes Made me feel desolated. You who convinced me That I was unworthy And nothing but a dirt. It was you who destroy me Whenever I build myself again. You’d made me feel somehow special And you’d turn around and stab me You’d led others against me Like I am the most hideous criminal You’d state me down and laugh Like I’m a sort of a circus animal
You made me My heart in You made me To dust and You made me Myself like
want to rip out shame and disgust. want to crumble blown by the wind want to kill I don’t have a purpose.
And now, my heart is numb From all the wounds you gave. But I am naïve and stupid And I know I shouldn’t let you in Everything about me is just A funny story that made you all laugh. I can’t recognize myself anymore The boy that is staring back at me Is not a gruesome beast I can’t hardly speak my mind openly,
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The freedom in my heart is now rotting And the light in my soul was devoured in darkness. But this dark soul has to forgive you Or maybe, seek love for you as a person It would be human of me to hate you And hold grudges against you. But I am not like you, I still have affection in my numb heart. I’d rather stay composed and calm Than to hate you or anyone else. But I can’t assure that the others Won’t be as forgiving as me.
Etched
My love is for it can My love is for it can
not written on a piece of paper be erased nor burn. not etched on a stone be broken and crumble to dust.
My love is inscribed to my heart and there it shall remain.
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Coffee Break
I went to a local coffee shop in town just to get a dose of caffeine in my system. The shop was a little crowded but still there are few empty seats to occupy. I went to the counter and order the usual; a venti cup of caffé vanilla Frappuccino with a shot of espresso and settled at the far end corner of the room. Like the usual most of the people were talking indistinctively. I just watched them because I have nothing else to do and I forgot to bring my book. While I take the first sip of my beverage, words starts infiltrating my mind. And they begin forming statements, I grabbed a napkin and start writing one word and another; catching every thought that comes out of my mind. Will it make sense? No one would probably read this. Maybe it’s just my way to keep myself busy if you are alone surrounded by people. Or a way to look interesting and get someone’s attention. Or it is perhaps I just have too much free time, that this playing of words trying to create a sensical thought, the way my mind wander and writing them leaves a mark of its journey. Hoping that someday it will wander around and find another mind that also so search for great adventures.
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02-03-14
i. I lay lifelessly on my bed of shards. Shut the world around me. It's time to rest. It's time to rest from all the fighting the world around you.
ii Sands under my skin, bright blue sky above my head. Cold and salty breeze fills my lungs. Is this my heaven? Yes, this is my heaven where all my troubles fade away like a pile of dust in the road. Don't let reality take me to my hell.
iii. Cosmic stars wave goodbye as I drove endlessly on this long winding road to my hell. This reality is my hell. Washed by the rapids of the fast lanes, where days grew longer and nights grew shorter. And rest is a luxury that people can't afford.
iv. But then I realized that there's no heaven or hell. We are just bound by the imaginations of it. The world is nothing but a dimension walled by made-up stories.
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I Am a Monster
I’m not the most handsome and nice guy that you've ever met. I may always commit same mistakes, I may not learn my lessons from it but I can assure you that though I do it repeatedly that doesn't mean that I didn't learn from any of it. I just want myself to feel the pain, rejection and hatred because I want to feel that I still have feelings and a heart that keeps on bearing the agony of those mistakes. I may not be a good friend or a brother but I have a heart that will always listen to your sentiments and gave you a hearty advises. They might say that I’m a liar, I’m sure that I have a sole purpose for lying. But my judgments are always clear. I can assure you that no matter how dangerous your secret is, your secrets is safe with me. I got few friends who can protect me. But I have an army of people who are trying to bring me down. I’m a hypocrite if I told you that I never talked against a person. I’m not trying to advertise myself based on the words that I put together to make a good impression. You can scrutinize me for having grammatical errors but be nice correcting someone’s grammatical errors because you might be the reason of them giving up for trying to post something with a language that’s not in the comfort zone instead try to push them and encourage them to write continuously to improve their writing. I don’t have a brilliant mind but I know the difference between an intelligent person and a person who’s pretending to be intelligent. The one who’s trying so hard to sound so intelligent and the people who quietly sit on the corner and observe those hypocrites.
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I’m not a kind of person who begs people to give me their attention. I don’t sugarcoat all the things that I've said about myself. I don’t alter my story to make it more interesting. I don’t care how much attention or praises you give to me. I don’t need to be labeled as famous or what-so-ever, I don’t want you to admire me because I’m horrible in those kind of situations. I am a Monster.
Warning
Warning: Fall in love with me then dump me. I will let fall in love but not with the real me. I can create beautiful words that will make you fall in love. I will manipulate you with the words that you want to hear. I will write you tons of lovely letters as if I’m pouring my heart in each words that I wrote I will play with your emotions. I will let you float with the clouds. Give butterflies in your stomach then I will let you crash and burn to the ground. I will let you fall in love with the fictional character emerge in me and automatically shift into the monster that you’re afraid of. Fall in love with me then dump me. And you’ll see the monster that I unleashed in you; with my sweet words painlessly cutting through your fragile flesh and the shards of broken promises.
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A Writer and an Artist
If your heart and mind is not one for adventures and confined with restrictions of reality, then please don't fall in love with;
An Artist Your mind will be drenched in vibrant liquids and your eyes will be opened to new things. He will let you see life in technicolor. You will no longer be restrained with the shades of gray, for you will be guided by that person, the artist. And once you fell in love with an artist, you will become an artist one way or another. Their adventures will fill you and you will never be the person you were before.
A writer They bear wisdom for a long span of time yet they preserve it. They will take you and put it in a book, your life will never be yours but the life of those who look. You will no longer kept things in private, and your secrets are no longer a secrets. Words are their weapons and your stories are the ammo which the writer supplies every day. You will wear your emotions on your sleeves and you'll entering a war with unlimited ammo, because the ammo is the stories that they wrote.
No matter how you avoid it, it'll change you in more ways than one. You will both share the same joys and difficulties that will enter in your life. But if you're brave enough to take those risks; render yourself to the strokes of the brush and surrender yourself to the words. Go ahead, take the adventure through fantasy to the canvass and the words that you will both create.
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The Story I Don't Want to Share but I Did Because I Miss Him
My dad bought me a refractor telescope, a good telescope to watch the stars. He told me that he promised to himself that he will buy his son or daughter a telescope so that he can share his fascinations to stars, galaxies and everything up in space. It’s the best kind of bonding me and my father shared and I want to pass it to my sons and daughters. We would just go outside or somewhere up the hills with my telescope and sit there quietly while watching the stars. It was the only time that we got to have our father and son time while my mother is waiting at home preparing our favorite food and patiently waiting to hear my stories. We would talk about everything that's going on in our days like best friends does. We would also share our assumptions and theories about everything under the universe. Even my mom would share something fascinating about the universe especially about the stars. Some of them are billion years old and some/mostly of the stars that illuminates in the sky are probably dead. And my father used to believe this myth that when a person die, they become a star so they could look down for their love ones; trying to guide them. And from that day, I started to believe that those stars in the sky are the people we love and cherished. So that we don't feared being alone and losing the people we love. Years later, I had to face a great tragic in my life. I lost my best friend. For years we live in darkness. My mother had to work for longer hours and even on weekends. I had managed to cope with the loss, turning to alcohol as it was the only thing that can make my life brighter. I was in a spiraling pit of darkness and shut the world around me. It
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had torn me apart; torn my family apart. I spend my days laying on my bed, my body's getting numb and trying to find myself. The only thing that I could figure that out was I need to collect my life back and go back to outside world to crush the rain clouds above my head. I ran outside and find myself on the spot where we used to watch the stars. It was freedom, a freedom seemed to show me that I could do anything I wanted to do. I collapsed on the grass and before I knew it I felt a touch of wind that calms me, I felt him touch my heart. A shy smile crept on my face and the sadness burst out of me and cried. I look up and a star caught my sight it seemed to be the brightest star I'd ever seen. And I seemed it’s trying to get my attention. He was looking down on me and letting me know that he never leaves us, that he may not be physically around but he still keeping his eyes on us. I know that he don't want us to feel alone and sometimes he send winds to caress us and lighten us up. He is still my best friend. The man who introduced me to all the things in this world. The man who encourage me to believe in the stars and the people around me. He will always and forever be my dad.
Kiss of Death
I want to kiss you The way I want it to be Leaving you breathless With raising heartbeats You could die But it would be a wonderful death.
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Life
Once upon a time, at a point in your life there was an immense reason for the change that took place. You welcomed this strange turn of events. It changed your whole existence and purpose. It gave you hope to see life in a different perspective. It was once wonderful, time flew past as you enjoyed the hours with others. Exploring the depths of another as you discover the beautiful qualities, how their face slowly turned seeing their every features. The structure of their face, their smile, the deep brown eyes that looked into yours. You wonder how anyone can be made so perfect. So unique. Conversations made with them was once so meaningful, so exhilarating as you slowly melt the walls you built up for yourself. As the walls break down, a deeper understanding, a bond is discovered as you slowly but surely expose your feelings towards them. How easily it was for you to explain the foundations of yourself and wondering every second whether they would accept you. Not be afraid when you reveal yourself to them. Memories are created, once endless. You’ve waited your entire life, and now you’re still waiting. Thinking whether it should still be like this, you don’t know. But all these risks, all these sacrifices it’s all worth it. Time is slowing down and confusion is building up. The walls are being made again but it should not be like this. Priorities are being made… am I one?
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Memoirs
i. I think I've seen you. In a vision, it was dark; I was lonely and sad. For a moment I close my eyes, I saw you. Your delicate fingers reaching out for me and your beautiful smile that emanating with warmness of your heart. ii. I saw us together. A glimpse, a puzzled memories that do not exist, yet were here. All I know is that you are somewhere here and maybe we'll find each other. iii. I think perhaps you have seen it as well but just let me tell you what I saw. I am holding you in my arms, gazing into your eyes and you’re looking back at me. Love's flowing between the two of us, the feeling that's hard to describe. iv. And in that moment, I felt so loved.
Ecrits
He knows that he has learned something with every battle he has fought, but many of those lessons have caused him unnecessary suffering. It is in pain, solitude, agony, parting that we learn the greatest lessons of life. If only one could understand that every battle is an act of will, a free and personal
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choice, a choice that can never be separated from the one making the choice, then the suffering would no longer be unnecessary.
More than once he has wasted his time fighting for a lie. And he has suffered for people who did not deserve his love. I agree. Sometimes we fight for lies. At times we fight for lies not knowing that they are lies. Sometimes we fight for lies despite knowing that they are lies. Which one's harder to accept? BOTH. Because at the end of the day, lies are still lies. Someone suffering for people who did not deserve his love? Was there even love to begin with?
Victors never make the same mistake twice. That is why the Warrior only risks his heart for something worthwhile. Do they even have the capacity to repeat the same mistake? Will it ever be the same mistake even if he could? I guess not. It is just impossible. But why does it seem as if we keep on repeating the same mistakes? Simply because that's how we want to think it happened. A mechanism devised to be able to comprehend the situation, to find answers to questions we do not even understand, to find an excuse to the inescapable responsibility awaiting to conscienticize us in our sleep. That's how it has always been.
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Unfinished
I used to have it done I killed the writer in me Although the fates huddled to me Begging for a drop of ink I abandoned them. All the stories frozen in place The prince got lost in his journey And couldn’t save his princess A nomad can’t find the meaning of life He was stuck and a victim of nothingness All of the great heroes Wiped out and sink in the ocean Which greedily plague by fates All these characters are just born And been neglected and deserted. I stood over the grave of the writer in me Readers just disappeared It was just me and the dead part of me Laid in the crypt of nullity. I don’t regret anything. Yet, still put flowers on the grave Lighted candles for wisdom Even though, I killed as many As it has raised a new me; stronger and wiser. Destruction do not give up so easily.
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Scarred
my soul is coated with layers of memories, scarred heart pumps blood through the worlds apart; both present and past. remaining notions rewind like a tape, dry tears that will never roll down and flashbacks and phantoms molest my mind. over the years this weight has gone heavy howling ghosts devour my thoughts restrain my emotions and betrayed my senses. a casket sits at the bottom of my chest where the vulnerable self lies and buried deep its for the best; locked and forgotten.
Longing
I thought you were blinded by the dark and I measured the distance in silence and echoes but it seems to arrive a little too late. in the morning I started counting the lives until I meet you again.
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Haiku-thon
i. Tears falling, numb heart I’m slowly falling apart, No one could save me.
ii. The world is playing pranks on me, and no one is laughing but the world. iii. I’m invisible. No one cared to look for me. I’m slowly fading. iv. My heart’s turning to stone, I need to feel again break and consume me.
# 1
Every bit of you is inscribe in me A trace of your smell feels like you’re with me The sound of your voices echoes in my heart I would sit here and write all my love. But I guess this simple sentence could sum it all.
”I love you so much.”
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Unspoken
I would lose myself in your eyes, Explore your soul at its best, Never find the key that opens the locks And enjoy your warmth forever. I wish I could stop this fear into oblivion That prevents me to express my feeling, But this is something that I gained When so many times before the story has been repeated. I would be the right man for you, The one finally find happiness. I would give my scarred heart Hoping that your love is not a lie. I wish I had the courage and bravery To steal a kiss, And to remember it forever Even if you think that you steal it was natural. I would like a simple "I love you" That makes me feel invincible; Able to announce an exclaimed, I found an amazing lady. I would only get one chance To show my love that does not carry a nonsense, To love out of anonymity. I just wish ... you wanted me.
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Humane
I am the one who is without being, who writes poetry without knowing, only need.
Even with vents, a notebook of scribbles, and the sorrows that haunt. Feelings and emotions, lies and illusions, of the past and present.
Describes life in words, words that recall moments, moments of a life. A troubled life hidden by the facade, of a cheerful smile.
A disguised illusion, by force of forgetting, which still does suffer. A pen in one hand, and a thought in the other. Ends his poem, but not your suffering.
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Poésie Je pensais que vous étiez une fleur, belle et fragile I had thought you were a flower, beautiful and fragile
Et je suis un rocher, durcie par le monde And I’m a rock, hardened by the world Vous allaité par le soleil et la pluie rempli douches You are nursed by the sun and rain filled showers
Et je maigre mais agglutinées par des grains de sable. And I but measly clumped by specks of sand.
Mais comme nous avons joué par un autre But as we played by another
Sur le fleuve de l’éternité On the river of forever J’ai appris que nous n’étions pas si différents I learned we were not so different
Vous avez été endurci alors même que je You were hardened by then same as I
Le monde nous a mis face à face. The world has placed us eye to eye.
Comme je regardais dans les yeux As I gazed into those eyes Avant moi, j’ai vu ce que j’ai pensé que je devais Before mine, I saw what I thought only I had
J’ai vu la cendre, le feu et le soufre I saw the ash, fire, and brimstone
Dans cette douce petite fleur sur les rives de toujours. In this sweet little flower on the banks of forever.
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Fictional Character
I wonder why I stayed with people around me who had to leave and I walked away from those who had to sit next to me. I returned to the place tonight and found nothing. I remember that we shared a few nostalgic laughs, but advancing to the discussion, I realized that I hit with power and stood still, a mindless loyalty. I was hoping for a position that one say she will realize she was wrong, but I hoped as a child. I remain that it would be fair or at least would not be ethical for me to leave now. I promised I would stay up on my feet and return to this fight with the dragon and then I will retire to this subtle story without my absence. Long before then, but I cannot help but wonder if I can do this, I promised myself that I have completed a fairytale for someone. I always held tales of others became a mere common tragedy that some actors bored playing on street corners for pennies. I don't know why I'm looking in this place and she never looked for me, but I saw an image that I designed in the hope that she wants to see beyond it. I should have stayed in the original plan, that I had killed a piece of parchment. I shouldn't have ventured into the unknown, but still I did. It's too late to kill her. I would kill a part of me that I made a gift. It's like I'd kill to kill me. It doesn't even sound real this time. Compose and decompose conflicting ideas every second just to find an explanation for what I feel for a fairy tale, as unreal as my thoughts. It's like a game of chess with a little too much alcohol in the blood and depression inexplicably long.
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Reunited
i. For months, I’ve been wondering how it feels to be alone. What it is to be alone? It’s been a long journey that I have someone accompanied me through the path I take. Every turn there is someone waiting on me at the corner of the block letting themselves into my journey. I miss how it feels to fall straight to the ground when someone pushes down. The rough pavement scratching my very skin and the dusts make its home to my worn out clothes.
ii. I always love to have long walks, I love to be in my own world and it makes my surrounding like it’s just a beam of lights. The heat of the sun strikes the skin and the heat of the cement under my shoes. The trail of smoke of the vehicles, the inaudible chats of the people I passed by and the emotion in the faces of the people that you just met. It’s the serenity that I longed for a long time. iii. It feels like I’m turning my life back as I were before with the new shits I’m into. And I’m starting to like being alone again.
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Invisible Me i. You can always see me at a corner of a coffee shop with a laptop, a couple of books and note pads and empty cups of coffee on the table. You can sit with me and I can tell you a stories about my journey.
ii. You can find me in a cemetery. Scribbling notes about anything that comes into my mind. Travelling in my own world, my own dimension where no one can disturb me and my serenity.
iii. You can find me in an empty aisle of a library, where dusts collected among the shelves and the books. Where I can lay my never been told stories and deepest secrets. Where only those books will understand how I actually feel.
iv. If you can’t find me in those places, fear me not. I can be anywhere just seek for my writings on the walls on your way home, the empty seats in the park and the corner of the block. I’m like an air moving freely with you.
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The Past and The Present
Before: She’s the one who always notice me. The one who asks how my day was. The only one who always remind me to eat my meals and take me medicines. The one whom I shared everything; my dreams and aspirations, my happiness, my sorrows and my problems. The one who already knew if I’m troubled just by hearing the tone of my voice. The one to whom I speak before going to bed and the one who greets me every morning. She is the first and last person of my day. She’s the one who love every piece of me.
Today: There’s no one who will notice if I’m gone for a week. No one who will ask how my day was. No one to remind me to eat and take my medicines. No one to share all my thoughts. No one will understand my side. I have no one. I turn my back from the one who’s willing to share my burden. I let go of the one who’s always been so good to me when all the people I knew gone mad. The one who stand by my side and hold my hand as I helplessly stand and let people throw rocks on me. And now, those pieces turns to dust and I know that a big part of me has gone with the wind.
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Half and Half
Beside me is a glass and my mom saw me staring at it "Why are you staring at the glass? It’s empty." she said. I look up to her and said "How can you tell that it’s empty?” "It’s simple, there’s nothing inside." she answered.
"No, it’s not empty. It’s full of air." I told her "Mom, how can you tell that a person is empty?" I added.
"You know, there are lot of things in life that we can’t explain, though we can spend our lives searching for it. And sometimes it leads into one’s insanity or worst one’s death. Determining if a person is empty that’s a difficult observation. Person’s emptiness has its own reasons. Your emptiness is different with mine. A person’s emptiness is unique though some might say that the thoughts are the same. Stop looking for answers and let your emptiness carry you maybe it’s all that you need at the moment." she said and hugged me from behind.
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Anonymous
Why did everyone (well most of the people in here) choose to be anonymous than to reveal themselves? We have this issues in our life that sometimes we pretend that never existed. Or we have problems that’s buried deep in our thoughts that in any minute will explode. Some are too shy to show who they really are behind those masterpiece they produced because they think that they are not good enough unlike others. Some are just overcoming their fear of talking to someone and they think that talking to the “virtual crowd" would make any difference to be in a "real crowd”. It’s their option to be an anonymous because we think that I will be our sanctuary, our great escape. Escape from those vulture eyes of the people who see how wrecked you are or how ugly you look. It’s like a personal diary where everybody can read your thoughts but no one knows who you are.
Being an anonymous user is like a blank cover of a book but if you look inside it’s their heart that’s poured in the pages that you read.
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Stories We Tell
On my way home, I always count the pavements and thinking that every day I walked ruthlessly on them, though they hide most of our secrets. Conversations, dreams and promises. Have you ever thought of that simple things on the stories we know? Did you see how they are connected? Do they share the same stories at night? I would like to be part of them and not be subject to their discussion. We stand to it every day and be trodden by the stories of people in the evening to sit in the discussions. It's peaceful and quiet here, although I pressed this wilderness sometimes madness is better than reality. Do you think you're wasting some of your time? Nothing is a better place and that something is wrong with the world and not you. You do not sit in a corner and watch as the world run without you? When will it end? I do not know anymore, my biggest dilemma is when to start and not the end, especially since I'm part of it. Do you think dreams are illusions, or vice versa? I keep wondering if when I dream, it’s only an illusions. I always dream that I’m drinking a cup of coffee or waiting in a coffee shop. Since you left, I became cold and hard, it’s the reason why I will not get coffee, yes, the coffee do not like you. Coffee does not necessarily mean the item itself consists of coffee, water and sugar but rather it is that feeling of bitter - sweet, intelligence and looks. When I speak of time spent at a coffee in this idea and I hope you understand. I’m selfish, but that's not important, but it's important that I allow myself to say this without thinking that will stop the
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world instead. When you wake up, what's the first thing you think? I know that the purpose of your visit is to ask me how I am coping. I just know that I can still hold your chest, just know that when you go I will give one blow, and I'll fall down trembling like a sick man. “Miss”, you said earlier, when the longing had to be. I had to tell you how I feel because I cannot help it, I hope you understand. It matters that you're still there, just for a while. That the one I once loved was here. I do not know now if there is a piece of me that you loved or so much hatred. But I hope I beat the cold and with trembling, the sun, the moon, with me, with you, with them, with everything just to feel alive. I wonder now, for what is good or for what purpose? Finally, I do not know if you want me to hand hold you, even though it will be cold or hot. See? This why I do not like the future. It is uncertain, she's everything I want to be with but cannot or do not know how. I do not know how to stop this running in circles. So I write this, because I could not speak to them and neither my wildest dreams, yet I hope you understand what I need. And while you tell me I'm selfish, and I'll prove to you that it's not true, I am sorry, I know it so I realize that I know but do not want to accept . Forgive me, but do not know how to be otherwise, I tried and failed every time.
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Ignorance Thought I lost you in a widespread destruction. And every time you look at me, it’s too soon to change my mind telling me that I do better than the others. I seek perfection in sound, visual clandestinely and you make it rain. I hope you hit your loneliness and as soon leave you breathless and looking for a pristine audio and read books just to find me. I know I gave it all up, but just as well fixed my mistakes. I did it and you have too. I struggled with my whole being. Even when I tell you to look in the mirror. I spent hours trying to get you out and you would not have made even a step. Like I was your enemy. But I am not the enemy of anybody, even I would like to save them all because I can save myself then. Not that you did not understand, but it's normal. They can say whatever they want while the others do not see me, which is absolutely logical. It's a sort of memory or selective attention, too. A used increasingly often and I just forget you or at least not haunt me every word or street corner. She came cold and hope to include every bone in your hand. I hope your dreams and ideals fracture which I have assimilated from the pit my soul. Or maybe this makes me look everywhere and only then you will know the game. I say maybe because nothing is sure in the past. You had to go, right? I say again that the past is everything, but I'm terrible in lying. It's not everything, but it is the base and the base is where too see how this thing works. Do you know how to be or you're lost in ignorance?
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You
This is for that moment when you feel you've had enough! For the moment you wake up in the morning with good cheer, but cries and reproaches. For the moment the mundane repressed questions and give hands on all sides just because you’re choking and you’re looking for a bit of air. You ran out of breath a long time ago, but it did not matter. And if saying it hurts, it starts to hurt even more, but at least it makes you clench your fists numb, to breathe deeply and feel for one second that the chains that surround your body and soul have left.
You’re numb a long time ago. I do not even know who you were and who much less. I do not know but you want to be and that you are tried to stay numb the edge of a railing. Look down and you wanted not only standing naked bumping, to wake up or to burst. But you’re suspended upside down.
You live under the impression that you know what is love, but I tell you that you have no idea. You're nothing but a submissive nature, eager for affection and attention, and nothing more. We always tried to stop you from giving definitions of love, but you could see every corner (as if we did not have all part of it if they would find it easy). What you thought a love story was actually a specific play of stubbornness, and you turned it into a reality that we now disown each cells. You really do not know that theater is based tragic?
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It seems that you are not in that box with blond hair and green eyes. And now, what will you do with all the words have not been said at the right time? You shall write them on sheets of thousands of times to heal? I'll lie in every moment that you burned letters and memories when you hide the fact you're a coward and you will reread the sake to feel again.
Tomorrow will be sunny just because you want it or to warm your cold hands. Tomorrow will not appear as a knight in white horse and take you away, nor kingdom where there is still dreaming. Today was never real, but you made it because you needed a refuge. Then as you're asking, naive child, if you were right or wrong? You know very well that things will not change anything in the past and it does not matter who was right or not. It only matters who died first of the two of you. Which two? You stayed and only 1 (i.e. just you)
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Profession
I wanted to be in this world. I wanted to be inventor, singer, physician, psychologist, director, pilot, and captain in the army, programmers and more. I wanted to get all this blood to the profession that I do and I got kind of a writer. A man who writes to heal the world. That’s it! If it were a profession thing that I would probably fit perfectly, but it's not so. Then what do I do with these words I write the inertia of their lives a little hectic. Yes, I knew it was easier to get good at something more concrete. He was not to be. I continue to tell me, a writer with cold hands and warm heart. I will say that I appreciate all the work (or rather, specialization) that everything you do has a passion in this world and that the effect is felt in the air, in the universe, if you will. I was a bit envious of the artists of the world. I think artists (in whatever form they appear) make sense in the universe. I give the entire balance right. I believe that an artist should be defined by what it does. He believes strongly in something, something that gives another perspective, another definition in time and space. Power to dedicate yourself to a god unrecorded, an ideal that you can define, comes with a price. To excel in a world made up standards to touch the genius of an artist and then to surpass demands excellence. The artist will always feel misunderstood. This is the ultimate price.
To grasp the infinite mind, that means you limited.
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How He Abandoned Her.
Morning came that day at a leisurely pace, dressed in a gray cloak peaceful silence; found him asleep on a bed that welcomed him with open arms, and sheltered under the white sheet and a brown blanket that was not used. And although he was not consciously connected to the senses that allowed me to perceive the world, he can remember how it stood under the framework of the entrance to the room, he never had a door. Then came and sat carefully on the edge of the bed, and gently ran her fingers over his hair, as if she was enjoying watching him sleep like that. A gradual velvety stream of calm that was turning into an uneasy feeling of loss, which was filling his consciousness until he finally woke up. He opened his eyes slowly, feeling puzzled and sleepy. He scanned the room with his eyes, from one wall to another, looking for what he felt he had lost. His eyes were facing a memory after another, but the search was not terminated. He sat on the bed, his legs covered with the brown blanket, pillows and rummaged to find nothing. He stood up and walked the rooms of the house in which he had not been in a long time, and was now deserted; but had the same result. He looked through a window and found the lazy sun rising from his bed of pink cotton, far away, behind the hills. He felt the need to leave. He returned to the room, got dressed and slipped on his old Converse, which showed here and there and the defeats suffered fabric to use the stubborn who had suffered years ago. He left the house and stood on the sidewalk to think where to go, and without knowing why started walking west. Spring was just a little girl, and the cold of winter behind still puffing occasionally filling dew plants growing in those parts of the road where urbanization has not yet
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won the battle of conquest. And occasionally, here and there, he looked at the ethereal figures that suddenly crossed the solid brick walls of some houses, or running around the open spaces that still survived among the wild vegetation and small insects that aroused their lives. But he did not recognize any of them. After maybe half an hour of wandering, he stopped almost at once, and looked around with a blank mind, listening to the wind and waiting for you to tell him what he was doing there. The image of that place he was telling in his stories that he did not understand. To his left, a stream that despite its thinness refused to stop running toward the distant sea waiting for him. To his right a green hill casually to his stature rose with confidence and determination to Heaven. Behind him, the way he had to that place; and in front, a place sheltered by the arch of a bridge of rock, stones placed around any point, an old fallen log and small plants open their flowers in the sun. Still, it took a while for contemplation before he knew what he was talking that image. And then it all came to his mind. He was not listening; his face full of innocence, his eyes plump glitter cherished dreams and fulfill clear conviction that he saw nothing that any obstacle could stop her. Again he felt her warm hands taking him to take back and forth in search of adventure and conquest, he saw a grass and a trees in the new horizons and she showed him fairies and pixies. He heard her voice again gushing spurts of joy as they gave new colors to all things that jumped, those colors that I cannot remember , those who no longer there . He could not help but smile, and he smiled as he had not done since she left. And feelings like she was there with him, holding his hand again, He started asking ques-
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tions and telling her things that flocked into his throat. They remember the white flowers that never stop laughing. Which used to grow beyond one side of the creek and near the stone bridge. The glass-winged butterflies’ iridescent as they stood above their heads, and break if they stayed still. Below, following the stream, was the grumpy old little cabin, which they used to run while shouting the words that popped to their mind. And beyond there is a fields full of orchard; either of them saw it with much joy from that day and try to sow the seeds of the cotton candy trees brought from a trip but did not know where the place in which she said that she had castles made of letters. But one day she left and he never heard anything from her. The giggling stopped the growing flowers by the bridge, and he have found none of the flowers since the laughs are always too serious. Butterflies are all broke, he guess, because he have not seen any of them since she left all of the sudden that he did not even notice her absence. And yet, how it hurt him so bad. But it was a strange pain that he could not see but feel it. He realized so many things about him, which he have no more time to miss her. He have had no time to get her. By saying this, the feeling of her hand squeezing his was so real, He had to return her gaze, surprised to find her there, to him, was as radiant as ever. He felt as warm as ever, and his eyes wanting to gathered many memories that roll down on his cheeks. He smiled again, the smile he did not have in those years without her. He hugged her so hard and so long, wishing that it never ends. He wanted to say so much, but could not speak. And while she’s in my arms he looked into her eyes; he found the question in her eyes that could not leave his
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mouth, and smiled affectionately. Finishing the hug, guided his gaze to the place under the bridge. Surprised and happy, he saw the white flowers were there, laughing, and crystal butterflies fluttering all over the place. He felt so happy, that he did not realize how far her hand left his. When he returned he was looking for it, it was gone; he became confused again looking to the flowers and butterflies, which he found sadly absent. A small phone wearing in the pocket of his pants sounded and vibrated, bringing me back to now. He took the call, a business matter. Upon completion, he stood there, trying to understand what had happened. Slowly, his attention was falling on those last words he said before hugging her. And then he understood.
She never left. He abandoned her.
Time He travels the hours and minutes, through the days and weeks. Sometimes it is long and hard to bear; sometimes you feel it goes too fast to appreciate the good times. He does not wait nor stop, he just continue his journey and most importantly he does not return.
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Sober Reflection
“You are looking at life the wrong way” said the man in the mirror. The guy in front of him, swaying in the vapors of alcohol, looked at him strangely before answering, trying to see him in the gloom of a neglected room, and with numb speaks of drunks.
“Who the hell are you? You’re in front of a mirror, who do you think I am?” he said. "I am you." said the man in the mirror "Well, you’re not. I do not look like you. No, what you look like is a person shadowing. Hey! Watch what you say or get out of the mirror.” He hazily respond. “When was the last time you were sober?” asked by the mirror man.
“Well, I still have half a bottle of whiskey and two empty, so I guess it was a couple of days ago, assuming I bought these while I’m sober.” He said. The Mirror Man nodded in disapproval and contempt in his eyes intensified and said “do you think so you’ll recover
your life?”
The guy in front of the mirror smiled sarcastically and
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said “my family has ignored me because I messed things up;
those who were once my friends have left me aside because they had problems with my girlfriend; my girlfriend left me because one of her friends thought seeing me with another woman, but before that he slept with the only remaining friend just to get back; nobody wants to give me a good job because I have tattoos; within a few days they will kick me out of this house because I have not paid the rent and I have no place to go; I had to sell my guitar for just a fuck what it cost me and for the last two months I have only eaten instant soup. Ah, I forgot! 3 months ago, the doctor told me I have cancer, but I have a fifth for treatment. Why the hell would I want my life back? “If you’re so hungry , why you bought whiskey instead of food?” he asked “You’d be surprised how easy it is get your hands on a few bottles of cheap alcohol, to get more food.” he explained. “You still have opportunities, there are more people who have suffered and still have got a good life.” He cautiously said. “Is there more miserable people than I am that should make me feel better?” he respond as he clenched his fist in anger
“You will not gain anything with this.” still convincing the guy in front of him
“I was not earning anything at all!” he exclaimed. He had exploded in anger, throwing toilet table to one side and breathing frantically.
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“Don’t you see?” Said when he finally settled down a bit. “My whole life has gone to mad. I always struggled to stay on the good side, being the good son, good friend, good boyfriend, good athlete, and good this and that. And what do I win? Exile and irrevocable sentence of death.” The man in the mirror looked for a long swig from the bottle of cheap whiskey and said “alcohol does not let you see. I’m
sure you can still find something in the world so worth living.”
The guy in front of the mirror smiled a vile form a shiver down his spine.
“Do not worry.” he said, running his mouth by the back of the hand that held the bottle. “There is still something to keep me alive for a while.” “What is it?” Asked the man in the mirror. “Revenge” he said, while leading a grim look of hatred towards the ledge where were the pictures of friends, family and ex-girlfriend. The man in the mirror kept frozen silence, while the guy in front of him stumbling out of the room and taking long drinks a bottle. It was several days before and he had not seen the man in the mirror. He mostly spend his life sulked in an armchair,
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taking a long swig from a bottle of cheap whiskey and empty bottles lying on the bedroom floor.
Box of Nothingness
You can find a sealed box hidden in the depths of my heart. It contains all my childhood; it keeps the memories. Tonight, I decided to open it when I had carefully closed to forget its contents. However, life does not erase our past. I open it, under a black light fabric, I discovered three folded and carefully placed letter. I carefully unfolded them to avoid the risk of tearing. I gathered all my courage and read them one by one. In my head, the images come to me in a flash of light. I feel lost tears poured down my cheek. These three letters, in which contains an event in my life that struck me, that hurt me. Life always play dirty tricks on me before and play me again; yet I’m still here. That’s what my writings are trying to tell me. Behold what you see and never look back. Never look back. With those words that haunts me all over again, its time to sealed them away and let those words be a memory, just a memory that must be thrown at the pit of the oblivion and left forgotten. I fold each paper, tucked them neatly into the cabinet and close it with conviction. Tomorrow is another day. I must look straight ahead and thus becomes my philosophy of life.
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Death I see a tunnel; dark and narrow. A tunnel along a hundred yards without wind or smell. Without ground or wall, and yet I know it is a tunnel. There is a light in the distance; not the sun or superficial, but a flame. A flame that seems to be frozen and cold. There is no heat in here. This light, probably by a human reflex attracts me. I mimics a walking motion to approach her. I do not have the impression that the decrease meters but as soon as the light from above blind me. I do not know and continues to move forward. I then began to perceive the crackling of the flames, it cries in rage. The light above me seems to descend and spread, as to make me look up. I raise my head; a feeling rooted deep within me, the most beautiful ever felt, then seizes me: a raspy tongue lovingly stroked my forehead. My guardian angel. A purr hugs me, followed by three others. Their singing is sublime and comforting; I feel good. The tunnel no longer exists and the light either. The sensation of lying on a bed comes to me, little by little, my eyes open, revealing a blinding artificial light on the ceiling. A doctor is there with my mother in tears. Relieved, my mother took my hand. My mind is absent, I want to die but I realized that my guardian angel encouraged me to come back: it is not the time, and I knew very well. I would join them sooner or later. I would join those I have loved and who have given me their love. One day I would see my angels who watches over me; Jean, Mon and Dad, I know. And I would meet my grandparents. In the meantime, I
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have to stay. The hardest thing in this world is to live there. Be brave, survival.
Deflected I still like to say that I’m empty. But it’s not true, though I would like to let go of everything I have; feelings, emotions, desires, opinions and words. The problem is contradictory, always, in every situation. If I am empty it is because I am full of monsters; monsters I have learned to accept, and know how to live. And yet it still does not work. Not because they’re function (monsters) have not learned to live in me, do not know to live. I’m a hybrid. It’s a paradox to me. I am full of monsters with the same polarity magnets. And yes, maybe I am a man and I have the ability to learn, to change, but the monsters are monsters. They are genetically engineered to attack and defend and can’t be altered. And I get to understand each monster in me and at the same time we do not understand each other. All the same, yet opposite polarity. Magnets with your access is rejected.
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I Am ...
Ever since I was a kid I would always hold back my emotions. No one ever saw me cry or laugh, no one saw the true me. I promised myself that I wouldn’t fall in love, and if I did I would never accept it, just say it is my stupid emotions, and it worked. Whenever I felt on the brink of crying, alone or in public I would call myself a fool for letting my emotions control me, I am better than a few stray hormones that got lose. I don’t need companionship, friendship or leadership. I am self-sufficient, I don’t require anyone. Of course that doesn’t mean I won’t be someone’s friend, for toughs who don’t control their emotions such as I, but they’ll have to come to me if they care that much. That is why I for the most part stand alone, I don’t care if no one likes me. I don’t care if I’m not loved, but I know how hollow that sounds. Sometimes, while I’m alone in my bed I wonder if I should make friends. But even if I wanted to I wouldn’t know how. Sometimes when I see groups of friends laughing and wandering around, I wonder if that could be me, enjoying people’s company. Then I look to my empty hands, or so they would seem. I have friends, many friends. We all smile and care free, they are always with me, full of understanding, and they’re always care for my being. But they aren’t real, not the scientific definition of real. They are just figments of my mind, only visible in my dreams. I don’t mind, they’re real to me but only in my dreams. When will I awaken and see my life for what it is, a waste of time. My life is as hallow as my imaginary friends around me. My life is built upon stormy seas of reality, but in my mind I’m safe. As long as I keep on believing, everything will be OK.
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Crappy
The inspiration hit the door at bedtime but laziness is so strong that it prevents me from holding the pen to paper and pass all the individual words that invade my head, as if lost in search of their union. How many lost poems in a blink of an eye, how many words forgotten in the endless night, thoughts and memories that insist on haunting every moment of quietness, preventing me from falling asleep The theme remains the same; unchanging and irreplaceable, suffering for love. Delude me to think this will change one day. I’ll have to remember the more distant memories for inspiration on this theme so striking that plagued me in the past. Illusions as it’s like a mirrors reflecting my deepest desires, my most desired dreams, and the desired future. A remnant of hope that refuses to fade.
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Last Thoughts
I sit in my bed and read a book written by you, and from time to time I stop to savor each idea, and here I must admit, a few times, I was jealous as I thought what I did before that.
In these breaks, if I let my hands hang off the bed, feeling the cold air from the open window of my room. It's like someone would be here with me to help me tolerate the intensity of the feelings that I include. And the window is open only to make room for fresh air because it’s full with cigarette smoke.
I'm trying to get back from reading, but I can't, I need time to adopt to the feeling that I hear her voice uttering each word in the pages of the book. The voice of each character, which in solidity and in the end, that's all you or I, or anyone else we want. Someone told me that we all know someone's work and you cannot know someone until you know it for yourself, but few can distinguish someone else’s work. These may cause us many surprises, but that does not give people realize how hard it is to meet someone. Only I have had many experiences that I pretend to know so much about people.
Now, I sit here in silence and accept the fact that I don't know many I thought I knew, even accept the fact that,
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despite what they say, it takes time to get to know someone. I could not say exactly what this is, but definitely not the time.
Time may cheat and deepens the concepts. And place a safety spot in our minds; spot for all the people we do not realize that in every instance with them is our downfall. Safety is in the end of every downfall. When we feel safe, we feel that nothing can touch us and everything is perfect and stable. Then when it starts to crumble we just wished that we could stop the moment before we lost everything.
Nobody knows what perfection is. No one can define it, that's because no one is looking for it. Something inside tells us that if we find it; we lose it forever and would not see it again. And we have made and illusory goal of finding perfection, and takes its decades borrowed to pretend to participate in this search.
I took a break and close the window, it was too cold. I wonder at a moment if I could write anything, the simplicity with which these thoughts are nesting. You helped me, I must admit. You open the door, you break the walls that separates me to the world. I feel like there's something in me that wants to break free but cannot, or does not know how to, or is it too big so it doesn't fits on the gates. And now, everything has soothes me, and it seems natural. Isolation seems to help me in most of the situations. A lot of energy is wasted by relationships between peo-
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ple but also gather a different kind of energy. I am more afraid of what I can destroy in the inside than anything I could outside. And sometimes, I miss certain people and activities that I used to spoil, discover things that feels good, that there are many things to do and in this pseudoisolation. Especially with what more to be felt. And when you're caught in the heat of their looks and you don't have room to hear you; their voices and laughter.
To complete a picture of you, you need a black and white and if you add more color, the better. There are some who completely denies the existence of each other, assuming that we have the courage to count only two. In reality there are many more, I would venture to say even infinite.
I lit a cigarette and listen to my music for pleasure, listen to it for hours and never get tired of it. I find it absolutely wonderful in the world where evil prevails apparently there is so much beauty and warmth. The truth is, they are in equilibrium, somehow. And always have been. It depends on what it is in each of us. As we focus more in one direction or another, that's the only side that we will see. That's why some people seems in downright desperate where humanity is, while the others don't care and they do not see only what is good. I prefer to try to keep it balance, and watch it objectively. I may not be able to do this completely, but at least I tried. There are black and white, good and bad. There is only what we want to be and nothing else could exist. Unfor-
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tunately for us, we do not want too many good things. We always grind thoughts of revenge, jealousy and envy. We often feel love or joy. And begin to detest those who believe that this world can be save only by cold detachment and destruction of the evil.
When I was little, I always chided by my father because I was trying to find answers to simple questions and it'll become complicated. It seemed like the obvious answer is too obvious, and must be trapped in the middle, I found myself in a more complex and obviously wrong answer. Although I knew the right answer and so do us all. We have the answer in front of us and we are frighten by the simplicity of it. We are scared of something simple. Darkness is simple. It's so simple you cannot see anything and this terribly frighten us. So many problems would be solved in an instant, instead of turning into fights, depression and doubts that cannot be undone.
We were all a large sphere of energy. There are some bits of mirror floating adrift of it. And we looked at each other and laugh. Laugh at ourselves, blame ourselves and love when we learn to love ourselves. We forget that we are one being. Perhaps that is what we are capable of love, and when a person really love each other they become one being. We were perfection and created imperfection.
When a car in speed, stick your head out of the window and the air is too much that you started to choke, so is
com·pen·di·um; THE OTHER SIDE OF ME
freedom. We feel like we're suffocating and sometimes scares us, so much of these are seconds that we feel infinite. I like the detachment with the words that I played as I turn into something new.
There are many stories along the way, through the mountains, along the rivers and lakes and it happens every seconds of it, as I have not time to listen to all of it. But I'm glad to see them, to know that they are there and the world will not be as it is without those stories. It was a time when I was afraid that there will be no words which have not been used, stories that have not been told, music that have not been played or sung. But it’s possible, as long as we are alive they will continue to exist. Something cease to exist when no one believes in a thing? And I doubt that.
And I end this with a quote to remember later as often wrote what they believe and still watching them. It’s good to remind us.
"You are so deep, so infinitum, so peaceful, as the ocean." And you who have found this, may wonder who write this. He who wrote the book, lyrics and composed the song and sang it, and those who handle the tools present in it, all those who were in the train of the railway station in the mountains and the plains, the fishermen on the banks of lakes freeze now, who are reading this, those who will not read again, my friends, the people still do not know and
com路pen路di路um; THE OTHER SIDE OF ME
those I will not know in these decades they have borrowed, everyone is dedicated to this book.
Acknowledgement I would like to express my deepest gratitude to the persons who believes in me and in my capabilities. To the ones who are always there to support my every decision and encourage me to come up with this collection.