The Champion Rat

I crawl on my belly as fast as I can. I'm trying to feed myself with the dust which was stirred by the feet of those who have left me behind in the rat race. I witness dark clouds overwhelm the skies.

The torrential rains wipe away all the footprints and leave me bereft of the grim comfort of following the beaten track. The downpour lasts for what seems a lifetime. But when it clears, I look all around and grin, when I see that rats really can't swim.

Need I repeat that even if you win the rat race, you are still a rat at the end of the game?

I Believe I Must Die

I believe that I must die. It is important to do that now. There is too much going on. There is too little sleep. There is too little time for myself. There is too little of myself to make time for.

What would be enough to get started would be to first end it all. I shall slit my wrists, but only with a blunt axe. So that my manicured hands can start to look more natural again. I shall bleed ever so slowly, and the muddy mundaneness of my life will be washed away by the vibrancy of my blood.

I shall be remembered by those around me as the bubbling effervescence of depressive reality. I believe that I must die. And I must do as I believe. Only by my death will I assert the vivacity of my chilling existence.

The Coffee Mug

I saw a new born baby with wild hyenas all around it. I met a young child wailing beside a dead puppy. I saw guns in the hands of the young, and hatred in the hearts of the old.

I heard a hundred children singing and nobody listening. I heard a thousand people starving, and ten thousand laughing. I heard the jester crying in the shadows, and the song of a poet dying in the gutters.

I met one man who was wounded in love,I met another man wearing a bleeding glove. I'll swim to the depths of the deepest lake,where the assassin's face will always be well hidden. The harsh notes of the coffee mug stirring, and I wake to a reality worse than my wildest nightmare.

All I Have to Do is Dream

I woke up this morning feeling like a real loser. I had a real bad headache, and just didn't want to wake up. Why wake up when dreams are more psychedelic and infinitely sweeter than the technicolour realities of life?

Was it my hangover? Or was I just too tired? My dreams tire me out, since I run a lot in my dreams. Maybe that's because I seem to have a purposeful life in my dreams at least.

The head spins with the effort to out-think my inner demons. Maybe I should just stop bothering, the demons seem to do a better job running my life than I seem to do myself!

White Noise and Black Cross

Funny how life has a way of taking things away from you when you least expect it. Funnier still, that you never had much in your life to begin with.

Goodbye, see you on the other side of the barbed-wire fence. Only if you manage to break on through to the other side. I want to break free, but more than that, I want to break that self-satisfied smile off your face.

Another black cross to the mirror. White noise is all the mirror has to offer these days. As it is, objects in the mirror are closer than you think.