Face Number 1001

In villages adorned with silence 

would you become the cause of your own exile?

imagine a knock on the door, a damsel in distress

or a dragon of mighty proportions; and charge at life

as if to tame it, hurling yourself at it

against all advice of the village elders

 

Wisdom is cheap unless paid for 

in tokens of misery; and then it's cheap again

because you can't sell it

 

Those that become their worst enemies

must constantly be wiser than the ones waiting

for the worldly sufferings 

It's either that or cheap wisdom of the gods

that rampages through the ruins of the lives 

and the living that think they have suffered

 

There was something to the idea of viewing

and witnessing everything as a war

a war for victory, a dignified loss, or even survival

There was something to the idea

of going to sleep wearing armor

 

The idea of keeping your enemies close 

struck so deep that Mr none-the-wiser pledged

to himself his own ruin.

No one else would ever get so close, after all.

 

Then it was just a matter of deciding

whether to fight himself in search of wisdom

or to exile himself on account of his stupidity

 

Saturday Afternoon

Remember. Not because it's important

But because forgetting is the most natural human act

You're going to waste your Sunday morning coffee,

hunted by the Saturday afternoon

torn between the need to do something,

for something to happen to you

and the comfort of an uncleaned coffee spill

There are men who lay awake on random nights of the week

worried about how pointless the Sunday morning coffee is going to be

if it doesn't spill and take their minds off 

all the eerie happenings of the Saturday afternoon

I once made a promise to someone 

that I will not be one of those men

It was on a Saturday afternoon

Now I can't wait for the lovely lady to bring me my coffee.

30s in 20s

Forget your instincts and dreams; 

Take my obligations

Turn them into aspirations. Make them your own.

Borrowed aspirations bring borrowed success.

You don't want to be that man. Or this man.

Conspire then, alone, with yourself

against your self. Tell yourself that this will be enough

You're not made for things of vanity

No, not born for them either

There is no story. Who has the time for stories?

For prolonged narratives of epicness?

Use this metaphor and stab yourself with it. 

Say that you won't aspire, or conspire against yourself

That you don't want to be that man. Or this man.

Or don't. It's not like they're listening anyway. 

This Without That

Of isolation without solitude

Of getting older without growing up

Of losing without loss

Of winning without victory

Of permanence without possession

Of anger without aggression

Of motion without direction

Of progression without destination

Of ships without anchors

Of lighthouses without ships

Not pointless. Just half.

Somewhat insidious. Necessary, nonetheless.

A sign of life. A prelude to an advertisement.