Here's why I'm going to start writing again.

There's a lot of stuff I want to say. There's a whole lot I read and think. I consume stuff written by others, and mull over it, process it, chew it well, and store most of it in my small head. Maybe I talk about it to one or two people, but I really want to say it to a whole lot of people out there. And then I get restless. I get angry. At people who don't listen to what I don't say.

There's stuff I'm listening to, watching, reading, hearing, and the volume of my expressions, of what comes out of me, is hardly comparable to the amount of what goes in.


So it's time for me to start yabbering away, now.

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I

We am a paraplegic generation in a paralysed century:

Stuck in a rut of time, between the haze of a forgotten past,

Unwritten (hi)stories of glory and of its transcension into the day before us here;

And the blank pages of unwritten comings,

That we paraplegics and mentally disabled's are to write upon!

She could not have wished for more inaction in animation than here she has been presented with.

Statues were never stiller before, and I wasn't more shamelessly idle before.

I will only watch decay and disorder dancing in my yard with shallow stone eyes,

As they stamp Mother's flowers flat and shatter Father's dreams for me and you and our land,

And you, Father, can lay in bed and hope, pray, cry -

Await your time, as your eyes sparkling humble honest dreams go blinded white.

Until you and those of your stock shall obliviate...

II

Until you and those of your stock shall perish!

And we shall be born devils from stone shells into the phantasmic night,

And play at havoc in the Gotham of disorder and decay;

Waltz with banshees in your hall, to the music of destruction.

IV

When land snatched, pride stolen, love disfigured,

Were born out of chemicals and radiation, in riots and rapes,

The children of Stunn, as she watched numb'd the rampant ravage,

In her sick stomach we took form, as she stood helpless in the mi(d)st of..

Surrounded by explosions and inferno under devious clouds of acid.

I took form, the son of the Disarmed; in stone, my face was written.

And in stone I was conceived, bearing great pain to 'Ma'.

In stone I lay, and in stone shall I forever.

Vengeful Lovemaking?

A poem written on the night of 23.03.07.

The pulsations in my head and the red brassiere in my face.
The wine glass there and the noise, the rain, the thunder.
Sweltering in the still air indoors, entwined in a mesh of jealous anger.
Deprivation avenged and vengeance vicious.
Bites, scars, skin, hair, scratches, nails, toes, soft inside.
Back arched in a seizure of painful vengeful pleasure.
Hurt, I hope you feel me deep inside, and deeper.
No you cannot take me from you; I am inside you.
Inextricable, I make myself inseparable from you.
Broken glass, shards here, blood there, hand pushing my face away.
Stay long enough to make you fall in love with the feeling, with what you hold inside but I possess.
And I possess you in completeness.
And I may destroy in totality.
Avenge the agony of dispossession, avenge the jealous wretchedness you brought me to.
And with a lurch, I am a breadth from skin tempt.
Inside you is created a sore void.
Do you now see? Feel?
Around you is cold stale air on bare skin.
The absence of warm embrace is an uncomfortable tingle.
You know me, you know revenge and retribution.
Eyes on fire, skin a burning canvas, blood paint.
oil and wax candles, herbs scented, heat, heat, sweat.
The void inside, come and take a chance filling it.
Now you know the taste of me, you are enslaved for want.
And your fury is a flame over your shallow breaths.
Your chest rises and dips across the sheets, the flames higher.
You bring to life the animal.
Instincts and hormones scream for blood.
Against the wall, by the window, couch, carpet, floor.
Edge of the bed, convulsions upon epileptic convulsions.
nails dig, teeth dig, hair tugged, the ceiling fan spins on hormonal surges.
The black and the red, bang bang head.
Darkness and darker mind.
Bang bang here, soft skin stretched muscular, pull you closer.
Hands on your perfect behind, a hard pull, take me deeper.
Deeper, head stretched back, tense neck between my teeth.
Salty sweat and the morning's careful perfume lily's phantom, baked mud from a hard day - a Molotov cocktail in my mouth.
Lower, soft breasts bitten harder, pain more.
Pain pain.
My teeth sink deeper into supple skin, blood is the final ingredient.
The cocktail has my mouth on fire, fluid saliva from your mouth the saviour.
Your mouth, I set ablaze, bit lips blood blood.
Drop and drop licked away.
Salty water leaks from our eyes.
Drop and drop stirred in.
Ablaze, the fire we share in the union of our oralities, a riot.
Tongues duel, lips in teeth, tears tears, taste you.
A fire contained is an explosion rigged.
In the last spasmodic eruption, a piece of me snatched away.
Faces thrown apart, we breathe fire to heavens above.

Ice on raw skin, we bathe us tenderly.

denial

a poem found on a scrap of paper lying in my diary. one of my few compositions that i still have.

it's not cold.

your breath does not crawl on the back of my neck.

your whispers are not dancing tinkerbells around my ear.

your hair is not fragrant in my face.

i don't want to bite you.

i am not.

you are not beautiful.

not painfully beautiful.

the smoke and you are not intoxicating me.

my heart is not all over the place.

you are not dangerously close.

you are not fire embodied.

you are not kama incarnated.

you are not desire personified.

i am not black-charmed.

you are not here.

you don't vanish.

you don't disappear.

you don't exist.

i don't remember you.

or what you brought me to.

i am not.