I am one of men. I am animal. Tamed, dressed and trained. Trained to be just another among all others. To stand in line and say “thank you” at what I pretend is faith, but what really is something prewritten by others and handed to me.
The animal that is human, the mammal, is dead inside me. Dead inside all of us. Shot down. Put to sleep by our mind. By what we refer to as "civilization." Unconscious consciousness. Instincts are no longer what drive us.
I am man. I am hollow shell and have lost the ability to feel the pleasure of instant gratification. The pleasure of reaching. Wanting. To feel the need for satisfaction of basic needs so raw and untamed it robs me of sleep at night and sense of calm at day. Hunger. Lust. Anger. It is all ignored or instantly treaded. What gnaws at my bones? What do I need, want, now that I am "civilized", without animal instinct?
I am shallow. I want to be beautiful. Maybe not beautiful as I perceive it, but as society tells me to be, to want. If I’m not, I hide in black, blending in. Being invisible. Uncomfortable in my own skin. Ashamed. Like no other animal, shame runs black through the veins of human.
I am the unfulfilled. I want for success, not for what makes me happy. I am programmed to want my success measured by everyone else and then think that this makes me happy. I should want to climb. To achieve. Never settle at second best. Never rest.
I am consumption. I want it all, and then some. I use and the throw away the rest. I consume all of the nature’s resources, and then I waste. I pollute with what is left. I am man killing mother earth. Using her. Abusing her. I am her worst creation, her black sheep. I am cockroach feeding in dark corners. Never resting. Never stopping.
I am a humble working bee. Stuck in a box watching the world turn as I work from dusk to dawn. I am enslaved, making money for another human – animal wanting more and more. I am robbed of self, and merely a drone for a queen I spit fuel on the fire that torch the blue sky and green forests.
I am rage. I am anger pulsing, fighting for faith and black gold in foregin contries. Killing long distanse so I not get blood on my hands. Killing child of men and their mothers because my enemy is coward like me and hides behind a shield of innocence. I am destroyer of happiness and life, belittleling the worth of a heartbeat. I am every bullet ever fired. I am the reaper harvesting what is not mine to take.
I am the thought that resides in the back of mankinds mind. “I think, and therefore I am” better than all other living thing. I am here to govern all of earth as I see fit. I am not grateful. Not merciful.
I am men. Beast of men.
Tuesday 21 October 2008
Friday 17 October 2008
This is my home. This is me.
If the home is where the hart is and my home is for sale, do I also bid you my heart?
As the pictures of my bed and my kitchen is laid out for everyone to see, so am I for everyone to see. Even though I have removed most of my personal things, I am still there, in the walls, in every room.
The tears that I have cried for love lost is still in the pillows on the couch. The dance of joy throughout every room has left footprints on the floor. The anger and disappointment felt as everything sometimes seems so hard and hurtful, it still resides in the wall where my fist pounded out my frustration.
I am still there. In every room, I am still there.
Even if I pack my things and leave the key to someone else, it is still my home. The place were I grew into a woman. The place were I learned the hard way that not everyone is good. Even not deep down.
The place were death came to early and took my best friend away. Oh, how I will miss running my fingers over the place he died, and there, for a brief moment, feel somewhat of a connection of souls. Pulling my hand back, and feeling strong once again. So sad it is that this place, this exact spot, will be lost forever when I move away.
The rooms are filled up with all of my emotions. Alive with the memories of good and bad that is me, that made me who I am today. To leave this place, to sell it, is one of the hardest things I have ever done, and it truly feels like I will be leaving a piece of my heart behind.
But in my briefcase and in my mind I will bring along the memories of this place, and lock it in my heart forever. And every time I think back, no matter how old I get, I will se and feel this place once again.
Closing my eyes I will feel the wind from the terrace door, pulling at the curtains. I will fell the warmth from the fireplace, and the cold from the floor. I will hear the creak from the old house telling me that it is still alive with the people that resides in it. As long as we are alive, and truly live our lives, taking it in both pain and joy, the house will keep on living.
And in the bottom corner, to the right, my apartment, where I have grown up.
And moved on.
As the pictures of my bed and my kitchen is laid out for everyone to see, so am I for everyone to see. Even though I have removed most of my personal things, I am still there, in the walls, in every room.
The tears that I have cried for love lost is still in the pillows on the couch. The dance of joy throughout every room has left footprints on the floor. The anger and disappointment felt as everything sometimes seems so hard and hurtful, it still resides in the wall where my fist pounded out my frustration.
I am still there. In every room, I am still there.
Even if I pack my things and leave the key to someone else, it is still my home. The place were I grew into a woman. The place were I learned the hard way that not everyone is good. Even not deep down.
The place were death came to early and took my best friend away. Oh, how I will miss running my fingers over the place he died, and there, for a brief moment, feel somewhat of a connection of souls. Pulling my hand back, and feeling strong once again. So sad it is that this place, this exact spot, will be lost forever when I move away.
The rooms are filled up with all of my emotions. Alive with the memories of good and bad that is me, that made me who I am today. To leave this place, to sell it, is one of the hardest things I have ever done, and it truly feels like I will be leaving a piece of my heart behind.
But in my briefcase and in my mind I will bring along the memories of this place, and lock it in my heart forever. And every time I think back, no matter how old I get, I will se and feel this place once again.
Closing my eyes I will feel the wind from the terrace door, pulling at the curtains. I will fell the warmth from the fireplace, and the cold from the floor. I will hear the creak from the old house telling me that it is still alive with the people that resides in it. As long as we are alive, and truly live our lives, taking it in both pain and joy, the house will keep on living.
And in the bottom corner, to the right, my apartment, where I have grown up.
And moved on.
Monday 6 October 2008
I love the smell of autumn
I love the smell of autumn as it rests upon my windowsill waiting and wanting for me to let it in. And as I do so, it pours in to my house, my home, and fills me with a sense of calm as I inhale. Exhale.
Fills me with yellow, and orange and bright, burning red. Fills me with fallen leaves, naked trees and frostbitten mould. Cradles me in a felling of standstill were the heat and light of summer has passed and the cold innocence of winter is yet to come.
It smells smoky, wet and cold. It smells of earth. It smells of change and flaming October. If I could I would open all my windows and let autumn in. I would open my front door and let the wind push autumn inside. In my living room we would dance around and around with our arms held out and our face to the sky as the leaves of autumn would colour the world around us. I love the smell of autumn.
Fills me with yellow, and orange and bright, burning red. Fills me with fallen leaves, naked trees and frostbitten mould. Cradles me in a felling of standstill were the heat and light of summer has passed and the cold innocence of winter is yet to come.
It smells smoky, wet and cold. It smells of earth. It smells of change and flaming October. If I could I would open all my windows and let autumn in. I would open my front door and let the wind push autumn inside. In my living room we would dance around and around with our arms held out and our face to the sky as the leaves of autumn would colour the world around us. I love the smell of autumn.
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