Four That Matters
Solid.
As you stand among the crowd / Defrag your memories
And shines a torch / On one particular summer
When bushes sang of regrets / And the wind was the choir
But do not stir the stillness of moon / While the night blackened
To the wasted cup of coffee / Served in cheap foams
With dry ice and cellophane / Among hypocrites
And liars who strayed beneath / Half-buttoned
Their faces masking their masks / In between lights
While the decorum of muted trumpets / Wah-wah in dissonance
Blowing their horns / On dusky future and tainted destiny
As they struggled to quickly digest / The cymbalist’s perception on rhythm
Where it was blindly stated / On poorly Xeroxed scores
That a crotchet should be performed / Parallel to the speed
Of a duo-coloured kite / Fleeting from sky to sky
Mocking the breeze / Making friends with plagued clouds
Whose talents are crying / About the tales of the thunder
Hating the brightness of pain / Or the darkness of joy
For earth could dissipate / They said
Like million verses of stars / In the upcoming episodes
Of your serialised fates / Once produced with incantations
And mixed cereals / Which doesn’t remind you of Sunday
But the simple pleasures / Of watching them caress
In a ceramic bowl /With the low-fat milk.
Liquid.
Optimize your sight and inspect the blueprints.
Nobody is matchless.
In prospect, you are mistaken for a nightmare.
When you sleep, its okay to be a ceratoid.
Make sure you bring your heart.
Murmur loudly. Adjacently.
Do not leave any sharp objects.
Keep them, if you might, in hard to reach places.
Like Jupiter. Or Isla Negra.
Stoned two birds with one look.
And don’t be bias to your own fairness.
Build a warehouse so you can stay sheltered.
Remember to loiter around.
And expect to meet the murderer of your desires.
Stay very close. You know I have ideas.
The maracas are calling the timpani black.
Oh, by the way, the equator is invisible.
You want to cross the line?
Gas.
Whatever you might think, you are not some supreme being's failed experiment.
Move on.
Plasma.
You could be talking about this and that and these and those and what’s not and what’s hot and what’s in and what’s out and where and why and how and who or when and with what and with who; and when it’s not you can brag about which one, him or her or him and her or he or she who are actually not who they are and why they are and where they were or when they were or what or how they were, but why?
So you wait and you weight:
920 bars of depressing music
260 joules of dead opportunities
500 watts of silly qualms
120 coulombs of sinister shocks
1873 feet of untraceable journeys
24 carats of pure goals
50 grains of summarized miseries
80 barrels of recycled tears
140 decibels of excess noises
380 inches of retention lost
1250 grams of withered leaves
98 hours trapped in the abode of aches
Do you not realize of your growing tendency to make your ordeal felt?
Do you need to succeed in the task of self-composing the recipe of your failures?
Do your ingredients at times propose the will to exercise deviation?
You stood agog with questions that deny any form of answers.
You think that Exhibit A will evaporate indirectly to produce Exhibit X:
A ............................. X
Loneliness ...................... Companions
Expectations .................. Achievements
Ethics .............................. Systems
Texts ............................... Stories
Status .............................. News
Glyphs ............................. Art
Jazz .................................. Sex
Fashions ......................... Slaves
Contingencies ................ Committees
Influences ....................... Ideologies
Sympathy ....................... Void
Do you feel completely safe in the comfort of your own personal space?
Do you complain when your emotions betray your aesthetics?
Do you lean towards recovering when you lost your centrifugal force?
It's true that (over and over again) you want to play games. You try to spot the difference. You want to connect the dots in exchange for a response. You find clues. You colourized opinions. Scrabbled your thoughts. Made bingo and lotto out of everything.
Do you ever learn?
• That a clementine can be both acrid and sugary?
• That you can’t cleanse your heart with iodine?
• That money is an anchor?
• That your epilogue is an affidavit?
• That the intention of molesting your own thoughts is against the law?
• That you can go 12 days without velocity?
• That your muscle protein can shape-shift?
Of course, these don’t matter. For what you want are answers that are floating aimlessly in wavelike manner, inside your brain, buzzing like bees thinking they are butterflies, and your stomach is the hive, and your hair - the garden.
Do you resort to neutralizing when the facts became a threat to your taste buds?
Do you have the stamina to undergo an extreme makeover for your pride?
Do you know how to calibrate the colours of your dreams for accurate results?
No, you don’t.
So you wait and you weight.
All the while ignorant of the answers listed in ten columns at the end of the book.
(i) Shitload of works. (ii) 7 books to read & 11 movies to watch. (iii) Reclusive mode 3.0. (iv) Knackered.
