In Your Eyes

In your eyes,

An ocean wide and dark

Embraces all wisdom

My heart floats on one arc

Searching for my freedom


In your eyes,

I long for ascendance,

Into a depth of heights,

A rooted transcendence,

Though a chain of blight


Can a human take flight?

Can a soul burn the night?


In your eyes,

A black devoid of white,

A dragon with fire breath

That burns away from sight

And I'm caught in its death


In your eyes,

I'm destroyed and remade

In a Sufi-like trance

I'm safe and I'm afraid,

Of the wondrous light dance


Can a soul truly die?
When it has seen thine eye?

The Funeral

Scarlet chairs, perfect rows
Women in black, in love
With lives not theirs, deceased,
Their souls are not above.

This is the day when life
And death switched up their cloaks
He's no longer, he's alive,
He slept for good, he awoke.

The smell of fresh coffee,
On their lips, the venom
Can harm no dead, her dress,
Her heels, vile as a phantom

She chatters with her friends,
Lamentations to thrive,
We're here to stone the death
That took him, we're alive.

Clad in the abrasive trances
Unaware of their lies
Begging their souls for tears
May their fibs hide in their eyes.

The words of God an echo
In their hollow vessels
Searching for truth inside,
For any revenge to wrestle.

Scarlet chairs, blackened souls,
A Martyr more alive
In his grave, than us all-
Dead for our wish to survive.

About Death and Humdrum Fucking; Part II

He carried me over his broad shoulders and I had no reason to fight him off. I knew very well when my voice had left me finally that I was facing a near crucifixion.
I looked in the eyes of the crowd upside down as I hung down his back like fur of a fox, dead and skinned, their eyes seemed to ease up, they cheered and inside me I cheered too, they were relieved that the mad one was being carried away with her poisonous mind and her delusional dreams that threatens their stability and their sanity in such a fundamental manner, that doesn't recognize their common sense or any other absolute standard that they've worshiped for generations and passed on to their sons, I was relieved for an escape from their world.
He carried me all the way to nowhere, where I did not see a thing, but I could only hear tides collapsing together on the shore, and I could only feel the breeze. He took me to a cave on the beach, were I was concealed even from the light of the moon, but somehow the strength of his beauty did not waver, it did not disappear, his beauty was imprinted inside my eyelids and it became a part of my dying world.
His arms were crossed as he said ''Do not fear me. I'm only here to kill you."
And I knew that he spoke my language.
"Do you claim to be above us, savages?" he held me against a rocky wall.
"I'm cursed with a door in the cloud, a lonely cloud trapped over this village" I answered, "I'm just a savage afflicted with a sickness."
His clasp tightened around me so much that I felt it squeezing the air out of my lungs, what a great pleasure it is to be in the tight clasp of a monster like Samson, The Beast.
"I have only taken you away from the villagers, O daughter of Eve, to kill you in the way you deserve to die, the way I choose for you" he said "Lo! What sets you apart from the other daughters?"
"My fellow sisters are ashamed of surrendering to a beauty such as you. I am not." I said "My dearest captor, I'm here willfully because I'm tired of this world and I see in your eyes that you understand the magnitude of that disaster."
And he looked away trying to hide his truth, but his truth was as audible as the waves loud on the shore.
"Discard your will, and I will avenge your miserable life for you."
"How?" I asked. And he told me that questions were no longer an option because choice was no longer one.
Cuts, bruises, razors, leather, screams, steel in the dark, rape after rape, I could taste my blood, I had no idea where the next hit will be coming from, my breath hitches, my joints lock together and an intense pleasure entrances me as I could feel the control seeping away from my body to his.
Such beautiful destruction. It was like he held a hammer and started cracking every wall I've ever formed, and with every crack I felt a light gushing out of me, invisible to the world but only inside of me did it shine and rid me of my noble savageness, it took me under and under, but in the wreckage I was above everything that ever existed in this universe.
He took me further from god, but somehow he made me understand him better.
In the submergence within this sin my flesh was quickly getting rotten and my soul was leaving me through the cracks, I was dying slowly, painfully in his beastly land away from the humdrum fucking of the commoners, and I enjoyed every thrust of it, every scream, every whispering word and sound. And I was determent to reach salvation in the arms of this new prophet of death, the one crazy enough to kill me enjoyably and to preach life to me through such a complicated death.
My flesh started to smell as every beauty started to fade, my spectacles fell and broke under his feet, but his beauty remained the same for a while before it started to go too, everything was collapsing into a black bottomless hole as my eyes started to close, as I started to see the ghosts of dead children and creatures from other lands calling for me to finally join them. Somewhere to belong to. I smiled for salvation.
My right arm fell first, then my right leg, then my ears and nose. After that my skin collapsed and my stomach fell off, my uterus, my brain and my vessels opened as my blood flowed on the sand of the beach. And then my heart fell last.
I heard the noises nearing, the savages has found the cave with my necrotic organs. He invited them in for a feast.
A little savage child bit off a finger and gave the rest of my hand to his mother, the father and the daughter shared my liver as another skinny savage scrimmaged with his brother over my full meaty thighs.
Bite after bite their teeth dug into me as I smiled from death, he avenged me truly, the savages started to fall like flies.The betrayer of his people, the mad murderer of us all, The kindest of Beasts.
"Food poisoning" he said, as he watched them eating the last one of my bones, and then he held my heart in his hand and took a big bite. He died too, as he chewed my heart in his strong jaws.
I could only imagine, that nations and nations of humans will feed on their rotting bodies and die too.
This is the story of my deliverance.

About Death and Humdrum Fucking: Part I

This is a pretty pointless piece about the way I died...
There's no hidden meaning, no lesson learned and no purpose for anyone to go through with reading this but the curious humanly desire of reading a story of another pointless death, another anecdote to throw around at dinner since it seems that death has become the number one topic of conversation around most.
I lived in a land where I was called crazy and where I called everyone crazy.
Once upon a time I was bespectacled, and everyone thought I looked so very old in my spectacles and that they were always, dirty.
Well my dirty spectacles served for one purpose, and their secret lied in that purpose that all the crazy fools in my village did not see. It could see from a further place, like I was in a deep pit looking at the from there or like I was peeping through a cloud in the sky and seeing people as small as ants compared to the vast universe above me. The people in my village said my spectacles made me mentally inapt for living but when I took them off and replaced my vision with one like theirs, it was my turn to call them so.
They had a superpower that made everything boring. They saw everything exactly in its abstract color and at its exact calculated distance, that when they reached, looked or heard, their senses became nothing but computers operating on facts, automatic responses to their surroundings and in that automaticity they found safety in a common sense that everyone agreed to follow but me.
When I used to reach for anything in my village, I had to look at it first, however unreal my image seemed at first I tried and tried so hard to view it from every angle that in the end I might realize the truth in it, so that I would not over reach or have my hands falling short and idle into the air. The exploration was my fun, the reflection of an outside object into introspection. My dirty spectacles made the world beautiful to me, like I was looking through a translucent lake, the haziness of which made my mind twirl and twirl in an ineffable mixture of color, word and sound.
I am into the art of constructing sentences that no one comprehends, and people often looked at me with gabbing jaws and walked way.
I tried so hard to take off those spectacles and their visions condemned for their lunacy, I tried to see with the clarity of my own programmed human robotic eye. Sometimes I'd succeed to put on a show and to see reality as shallow as they do and some other times, I failed.
When I did succeed, I met friends.
When I did fail, I met myself.
And I lost the friends.
But a danger I did not calculate or perceive neither with my naked or my bespectacled eye was in the stars for me, a sickness that formed inside me like a single cancer cell, starting with one, spreading to another and finally possessing me whole. It crept undetected, even though their were signs.
The first sign was a cut which one of the lunatics did to my arm, it was very painful and it made me scream a lot but my incomprehensible sentences made it impossible for anyone to understand a word. When I was tired of screaming I slept, and with sleeping comes dreaming and so I dreamed. When I woke up happily jumping off my bed to the world, telling them that I've found the dream, it came to me, it visited me when I wasn't looking at all, they mistook it for a joke and it seems like it was a funny one indeed, but I was the only one not laughing, it only created another cut. Alas! I did not know how to undream a dream.
And so I tried to take off the spectacles again and found that my dream looked like a mirage without them, that this dream was the only thing that was clearer with my spectacles and so I knew they had to laugh, because to them, I am following an illusion.
There I was developing it, the sickness of listening and comparison.
In its core it was only a conflict that comes from the realism of an illusion, or the illusive nature of reality, or so it sounded to me and so I did believe. I realized that succeeding of ridding myself from the spectacles would mean that I would live my life faking happiness amidst their mad boredom, while failing and the stubbornness of holding on to them would mean that I will be called crazy all my life, that this censure, ridicule and conflict would last a lifetime.
I believed in a whole lot of different lives than they had lived, I believed in touching my cuts other than strapping a bandit on them because the pain felt more human than any of their meaningless chatter, I believed they were savages because of their scientific approach to themselves and the way they felt completely alright only devouring each other and consuming little ones until they turned them to savages as well. I believed their connection to colors was different than mine, and that they can not hear a sound and see pain like I do, I believed that the art of constructing sentences in their world was judged by facts and metric measurements of entertainment and not truth, and I believed that insanity to them was a disease and to me it was an identity I had to accept. I had to not only live with the pain of alienation, but love it.
One day, when I was walking in the streets that consumed me everyday, enjoying the decay, the wreckage I was becoming in every second that passes, taking everything in and turning it into a personal pain, I heard a sharp loud scream and I went to check it out.
There was a huge crowd that called out for freedom, so I stood and yelled it out with them, then there were some other people who devoured a number of those people in cold blood and then they left them and went home, wherever that home was. And I stood in the wreckage as those corpses disappeared and those who called for freedom walked on every other path. Later I found that those thin men and women were still not as insane as I am, they were merely passersby in my world of insanity and then they resumed being part of the crazy village, they were the crazy ones now and they were crazy only by the definition acceptable enough for the rest of the village.
Every once in a while, one of them would scream and then another would die, they'd scream for a while because they think death to be horrid, and I'd scream because I think life to be horrid, because their madness is temporary, because they like humdrum fucking just like everybody else.
And one night I decided to scream a different scream than theirs, I decided to say that there's another truth that no one cared enough for, there was another truth that can set them all free and it's called madness. So one of those savages stood and looked at me with so much scorn, the scrutiny rose like a mountain in the crowd and he called me a heretic, a total bitch, a mad witch that needs to worship the same gods they did.
I had faith in a god, and little did they know of him, he is a god that requires complete dedication to the truth, and I had not completely found my path to him but all I had was my faith and a strong desire for submission to the greatest power in the universe, little did they know my path was far from done, and they did not care, they were determined to punish me for failing to be a part of their village.
The chief of the savages was a big strong man with colorful tattoos all over, to my eyes behind the glasses, he was almost surreal, I called him Samson, while they had another name for him...

My Wretched Humanity

I can't look at you anymore

My reflection is just too strong

Your feet on the floor

Perfect widow's song

I can't understand anymore

All what I am is slowly dying

Surface to rotting core

All those bones are crying

Have I so miserably failed

Deciding to live

Have I killed myself instead.

The death of flesh yields graves

The death of souls start eternity

And all what this world prevails

Is my past's stench of rancid sanity

The temples of lust are blind

Rejecting all suns that beckoned

The Captive lovers grind

Consumed deities sickened

I can exhale your sin no more

All my fear is petrifying

Heaven to hell's door

All in the ground are lying

Abandoned near the fallen stone

A haunted effigy

Wasting in grey fields alone.

The death of flesh yields graves

The death of souls start eternity

And all what this world prevails

Is my past's stench of rancid sanity

That wretched humanity.

I remain a self-consumed slave of love

Forgotten poet with untold pain

A sinner guilty of forbidden worship

How can I see the sun again?

Will death of flesh yield a grave?

Or will I rot for eternity?

And if my soul in love prevails

Can I count on my clear insanity?

The death of flesh yields the graves

The death of souls start eternity

And all what this world prevails

Is My past's stench of rancid sanity.

My wretched humanity.

Promise of forever

And love is but a feather

Spiraling in my heart's wind

The words yellow frail heather

That with golden sun blend

Disappear in the lonely rays

As I disappear in your kiss

That of angels or devils play

On an endless passion bliss

Like unquenchable thirst by a river

I drink up your slow turning wine

For a stingy pleasing shiver

At your promise of forever

Comes bursting out a world

From a simple word

"Love, you're mine"

The Actress

Good Mister, forgive me

For I did not mean to love you

I am but a miller's daughter

Who dreamed to be free

But the how I never knew, 

Forgive my rude tone,

I was raised under a bridge

And then in jewels and stone

You dressed me, 

I became your own- A refuge 

Is what you gave me, here

In a new fancy dress, a title,

A crown that huge,

A voice so vital, 

Forgive me, I've come too near

I never meant to be theatrical

I never meant for red eyes

Or schemes and mapped out lies

I know, my love gets hysterical,

Dearest Mister, I will leave

If you desire me to leave,

I will die without even asking why,

But please don't look as I cry

And turn the other way,

I'm afraid then I'll be denied day

And All the blessings it brings

All your collars and diamond rings

You've already plucked my feathers

I stand here unveiled, unlaced

Knee deep in invisible tethers

Threatening to let me go disgraced

If you do not forgive me, Sir,

You've been kind enough to care

About my journey from under

The bridge and into the dark

I was meant for, storm of thunder

Aimed at my back to sculpt a mark

That will be impossible to get rid of

So, be burdened not by my 

mistakes and breaks and the cry

All I ask, is for a love

Forgiven.

The Bridge Over the River

There's a bridge over the river

Obsessively devoted to the silver

of lonesome lunar nights and cold

There's a bridge wooden and old

Where I always stood a shadow

Waiting for the night to grow

Bridge that bridged my world

Bridged my wound, my word

Bridged red fire with black ice

Bridged black ice with grey stone

And I stood there lost and alone

Lost be my sun with moon's quiver

Alone be my spine and its shiver

Lost is my dying virtuous tongue,

And alone my Owl dirge be sung

Over the bridge where I stood

Where I stand, Where the wood

Smell as rotten as my silence,

As weak as my soulful guidance

From my home, a noble land

To my home, under water and sand,

And Here I stand,

Still and alive as a tree and

Violent and dead like a grave

Watching what life truly gave

Float away under my feet

With a heavy steady droning beat

Consuming me through the night

Come hither the morning light

Over the wooden bridge and river

They will be silent as can be

There will be not one trace of me

Forever and forever.

The Phoenix

Sun burning high above

What have you seen

Of heaven, O fallen Queen 

To consume us with love

So unbearably beautiful as such-

Empires crumble at the touch

Of the edge of You, 

My Sacred Flaming dove,

Preaching Insanity 

Where once was humanity

Preaching fear to the brave

Life in my comatose grave,

I am the only one

Who endures your sun

I am your messenger

To melt a world of ice

To preach along your vice

I am from your ashes

As you rise from my gashes

I live in your heart alone

You Live in my every bone

A Goddess, A Slave,

Above all the Devil in feathers

Playing the lute of what we crave

The word, the broken neck,

The kiss, the feminine wreck,

The burning leather.

Dreams of Smoking Gun

Fight of the flesh and rotting wood

Of pride- Tears are nothing more

Than self-sacrificed blood

Quenching your heart of bore

Circulating a love not spoken

In less than a thousand fear

A thousand spear- Beautifully broken,

You're a road-killed worthless deer

But why would it matter

If you're already born to die?

The noise, choice, scream and scatter

Of a hundred fields and dreams to fly

It all means nothing without a killer,

Without a demon's scourging reign

Grass of needles, a sword for a pillar

And clouds storming with wrath and pain.

"You would not have it any other way

The likes of you are allergic to the light"

Crawl back to his heart at the end of day

Drop the masks and bask in blight,

The only dreams allowed here

Are the dreams of slaves,

Those which crystallize a death clear-

Of the gashes and rotting of graves,

Those dreams that save the night,

From losing to the next sun

Those dreams that just might

As well be the his smoking gun.

The Beauty Of Death

There's a certain beauty in dying

The catch and release of your breath

Nothing is a certainty without trying

It all boils down to sunsetting death

That moment, the final torture

One last moment of violent strive 

And then you're free, the scorcher

Burns no more your struggling drive

Spiralling down to sacred quietude,

Tearing your guts in bits and shreds

The pain mutates to utopian solitude

Your life start unveiling all its heads

Bowed down, their hats come off

You're already mourning yourself

All you've dreamed, all you're proud of

Is dust and ash on an old hidden shelf

Death's face is seductively beautiful

So much that you live in constant search

Of a poison that is deep and fruitful

Enough to force your core to twist and lurch

Swirl and fall in your last suffering field

Your last collar and your last wine

The last kiss that your lust will yield

The last chain that will pierce your spine

You secretly flirt with death in pain

You feed him with your insides torn

He pats your cheeks, it won't be in vain

From your ashes my phoenix will be reborn

And that's when I will look fondly at him

And smile for all what I am is finally lost

The world around me grows warm and dim

And I leave with the lover I loved the most.

Under Your Throne

I breathe here, under your throne
Like my lungs drew air for the first time
What arrow has shaken my every bone,
I come clean before you for my every crime.

Under your throne there's a smile
That I never saw but have known forever,
My grieve has taken me a thousand mile
Just so in its light I can flow like a river,

Full of stars withering and falling then reborn,
To line every path that you unravel inside
Here as I kneel powerless and forlorn,
Here as I'm carried away by your unseen tide

Of angels concealed under their glory-
Your servitude, how I long for their grace,
For my secret silent prayers, for my story,
For the feel of your angels' touch on my face.

Under your throne the world is mute,
Only the sound of my wounded soul a scream
In my heart's twisted sinew, my mind's lute
And my faith digging out the grave of my dream.

I know you see me now in the anxious crowd,
I know you are looking down on my silence,
Will you take me as a slave? Should I be proud
And renounce the ways of my inner violence?

Know me, my gracious God and say unto me,
That my tears shall not waste away,
In all the darkness of the eyes I see,
Tell me God that you've paved this way.

And I shall cry, but not for a sadness inside
I shall cry for every stabing pain, every sin,
Under the throne of God, I swell with pride
For your name is carved under my skin.

Alienation

They claim individuality, they exist alone,
They are the ones who walk without packs,
With vaults on lock and locks of stone,
Enjoying their lives better back to back,
They say they exist alone but they don't,
Without someone to tell their loneliness to-
Their solitude shall never be true, it wont-
Justify their fierceness, their points of view,
Their hate towards themselves and their love-
Towards themselves they dare not articulate,
Their below looks too alike with their above,
I'm afraid, if the world saw it, it will be too late,
They will be too valuable to die on that day,
And much too easy to kill for fun,
It'd stop being enjoyable to watch them play
See, their chaos is precious and next to none
They are known to be mutually unalike,
She walks up to him in full feathered display,
To her, seduction is like riding a bike-
On a Wednesday night at the end of May,
She says speak unto me in thoughts deep,
Use the words you use in your own head,
Whisper to me because words aren't cheap,
Burn with your darkness my old scarlet bed,
And his tongue cuts deep and her blood is black,
And his fingers strangle and her neck is glass,
He won't give up on her dreams until they crack
Under her burning skin so wild and crass,
Mindless fools, or sages born in temples,
The dreamers or the killers of dreaming,
Profoundly convoluted or basically simple,
No one seems to understand their seeming,
They exist for reasons not like the others,
They exist to put the world to usage,
To use snowflakes of the winter to smother-
The spring out of its white wreckage,
To use the words of their disturbed mind
For healing the gashes of their troubled souls,
To use the darkness that they designed,
To justify how in the light their smiling falls,
They use their words to drug the living,
They use the words to waken the dead,
They pray for their worlds to be forgiving,
And end up forgiving each other instead,
They use poetry to talk to god because-
That's the language he chose for the world,
They use the loathing that they chose-
As an excuse to offer their heads for the sword,
No one cares enough to give them a name,
Everyone does nothing but observe their pain,
No one ever wants to go where they came,
No one ever wants to go to kingdom insane.

My Dead Boy

My dead boy has come another night

He sat in my heart and drank my blood

He laughed at the absence of its light

At my glory drenched in lies and mud.

My dead boy has dried another vein

Another river that washed us up for years,

He said it will never to flow again,

No more shall we run it with our tears.

My dead little boy once smiled and cried

Because he's always more alive than I

He watched my youth as it withered and died,

Enjoyed it too much, I know not why.

My dead boy seems very fond of death,

And death does seem very fond of me,

He choked me out of every breath,

Just so he'd see me fight him free.

My dead boy never once came by day,

The sun burned red his eyes and heart,

I cried and cried, I begged and prayed,

He pleaded that with him I depart.

My darling boy you're dead and dear,

Yet I still belong to a molding world,

It's me you love, your ghosts I fear,

And dying is a luxury I can't afford.

Wordless Poem

What rhyme rises from the mind of the mute

What song from a silent fate that sweeps,

What peace dares dream in this dispute,

All what our peace is, is asleep.

I will not give my pain one more ode

To mock me with, as he watches me dying-

Slowly, sly and creeping fate bestowed

Upon our oracles of fleeting and flying.

A wordless poem with no sound is due

The death of the poetry, death of the poet

The folding of the roads beneath you

The dream reaped long before you sow it.

What can words ordain that silence can't,

If hope lays his neck bare to despair,

What can life obtain that my death can't,

If even for a death wish I seized to care.

To Roam

To be born in the world of humans is a very challenging test. Nothing is visible, at least, nothing that matters is. The world is just a reflection of other worlds that came across it before. 

I was born in the world of humans without a father, without a mother, I was born on a street in a city of which name holds no more significance than any other name in this world. I do not remember much of the first few years of my life but I do have a very slight recollection of what's before it. I did not have a form but I had a will, and I had a fate.

I remember that the likes of me were waiting in line to be sorted into worlds, we've always wondered how the choices were made then, but every time we doubted things, we remembered Him. He who told us that he is god, and we who believed that he is God and thus all our doubts  were answered with faith,  and all our prayers with fate. I may not have remembered god after I was born but I remembered the faith and the fate. 

Yet to be human is a fickle thing, their memories are volatile, very limited, they can not remember where their souls have been, they can not remember what they have been created for and so as the days went by, so did my memory of god and even faith and fate disappear, as I was learning of a new world, I was fascinated by its many reflections, for the world of humans is a mirror, but one in which you can palpably examine the reflection, taste it, experience it inside you and outside you that you become one with it, that unity is called Love and it unifies the reflection with all your senses. 

I found out about love earlier than most humans do, because I was born on a street in the winter and I did not know anyone, a strange homeless creature like me had to pick me up. She was a woman who made many mistakes and did not care for one more, maybe she thought I was the best mistake she'll ever make, maybe she found in me a last chance to build or break herself, but I’m sure she was experiencing love herself and she wanted to reflect it unto me. Her intention might have been one of many things or all of those things, but her action was one, she found me and so she took me.

And God teaches humans about fate everyday, now that I think about it, he tried to teach me about fate that early in my life but to no fault of my own, I was too consumed in my new nature to notice it, for that woman who had nothing to give or take from the world anymore, did have the one thing a newborn needs, milk.

Her son had died at birth a week before I arrived as if god had made him for the specific reason of uniting me with his grieving mother, and he might as well have. Because of her grieve, because of my loneliness, she fed me, and if that boy had lived, my whole purpose would have changed. His purpose was saving me, his mother's purpose to me, was to grieve her son through me.

But after the grieve, and after her breasts ran dry, she had nothing more to give me and so one day, I woke up a two year old on another street I did not know, without her, without the alley where we crawled and curled, where we felt cold together for two winters with no hope of warmth but her bosom. But she was not my mother, she was a pawn in my advancement. A pawn whose head had been collected. I do not know if she had really died, but it doesn't matter, because I could not see her. I did not see her since and thus it became her death, for death is merely a vacancy and even if she had died I would think that she thought to herself the world was dead instead of she. Death is one truth that unite every inferior world, just like Faith, just like Fate, to each his definitions and to each its reflections and it's manifestations in the world of humanity, yet, none is visible.

And humans depend much on their eyes, and I have learned to explore their world thusly.

They have a way of pursuing Knowledge that I tried to come close to understand, it identified with their validation of the world, most humans inherently believe that the more they validate their world, the more it validates them. That was their pursuit of knowledge, of course the main objective was not to know but to live, because knowledge in its extreme form is a divine attribute, humans know that, because like all soulful creation they hold a breath of god, and so humans chase the chance of approaching their immortality, as if their knowledge of the world, this validation of its reflections, will put out a good word for them with death, postpone it for a while and then maybe, forever. 

I did not succumb to that theory for I also found out one day that death was not an enemy of the soul, it was a savior, for one day I met a scientist, he was a man that knew a lot about the world, he was old and I was young , he had been to many places and he had seen so many things, he could talk for hours on end about books and places and people's faces, and I was just a young boy on the street who cleaned his car and carried his bags upstairs, I enjoyed his stories about distant streets, and about high buildings and cathedrals in Russia and Rome, names and names and more names. It was enjoyable but I did not understand the world any more, it did not understand me anymore than it did before, but I thought to myself that maybe because he was much older, that he knew enough to be successful in his pursuit and after all, he was a man with a clear definitive purpose and I was a boy on the street. His immortality must be in the fulfillment of his purpose, I thought. 

Until one day, I heard that the scientist upstairs had a car accident and was paralyzed, he could not move all his hands and legs or even talk anymore because his neck broke, so he was left alone on his bed and soon while he was alive the world started to forget him, it started dying around him, he remained only in my thoughts, his stories faded with the days and he started dying to me when I stopped getting the money he used to give me every once in awhile, and then when i walked further away from the street and forgot his name, that's when he just fell dead. 

His knowledge did not make him immortal, it did not even sustain his life until fate and death made their agreement with god on when to take the man’s soul back to him.

You might wonder as of what reason I write about my life and my knowledge today if it will not immortalize me with you, and I say that as much as immortality is not a sound purpose to move my hands, love is, I do not mean to influence a soul by my existence but to unite my existence with the world I was chosen for, I do not do that through writing of the events of my life, but through the reflection of myself upon it, and it's reflections on me. For soon enough, contemplating life does not suffice to truly live and then you must venture to find a way to take part of your own life, that's what I found to mean the search for love. And truth be told I am not an enemy of mortal knowledge, in fact, love that comes without knowledge is a naivety that life must not forgive, for how do you unite yourself with creation if you do not at least attempt to understand its ways, its secrets, truth and revelations.

In the world of humans, they start forming a concept of love when very young, because in most cases it is exerted upon them, it affects their senses and transcends to their young homogeneous souls, and when they are older, they set out for their search, and they want to impose love on the world as much as they want it to expose them to the many worlds that come across it. Some find their comfort in experiencing many faces, places, sensations, swamping their senses with input that they can identify with, they travel shallow and wide, trying to absorb as much as they could as quickly as they could just in time to experience something different and new, they know faces but not eyes. And some travel narrow and deep, they search for the unity with one other soul, one other being, one other reflection, manifestation or an idea, a word, a profoundly humanizing love. They might take years and years, their minds search for love in many eyes and many hands, they might pick pockets for the chance of this deeper passion, another secret common of all the worlds.

I was one of those whose passion has prevailed young also, and passion to me came with a wind. Just like all the things that matter most in life, you could not see the wind, but you can feel it, just like faith, the wind was invisible and just like faith it caused me to tremble in its stability, in its consistency that is tainted with the uncertainty of change at any moment in time, just in a moment the wind can fall asleep and the next it distills your coat and your hat and you feel like it will carry you with it to god only knows where, maybe faith first came to our souls in a wind just like love came to me.

I found a face that I want to know, I found a reason to reach out to the world's understanding of me and to try to manipulate it to my favor so that maybe she, with her pale lips, could find out about the possibility binding us silently, that secret hope in my heart waiting to turn into passion. 

And the world finally knew something of me, I had a wish to acquire a name of myself in it, a name that will allow her to validate me, and so it gave me a name with her, the beginning of knowing another human mostly is a name and so the world told her mine, and one time under the throne of a tree, we knelt, and our love was crowned by declarations and sighs and dances, all in the way to stir up the winds of our faith towards one another, and then to stir the fires of our passion to warm us against the winter's celebrations. 

Then I asked my pale-lipped love of why her lips were not as red as the others and she answered that her body was riddled with a flaw, and even though none who is mortal can be perfect, none of the others’ flaws showed so clearly on their faces.

She told me her disease will cost her the rest of her life here, that death will be coming for her all too soon, her eyes were confident and at ease with her fate but love stirs up the most human of traits in one's soul, fear. And fear is a malignant force of destruction for it does submit to the rules of creation but twists them for his own selfish benefits, fear reproduces in the souls of humans until it dominates them, and so I was afraid of fate and I was afraid of death for the first time in my life, not my fate, and not my death but my beloved's, for to lose the one that you love is no ordinary decay, it splits your soul in twain, it leaves you with an empty half that is rarely filled with anything bright, it's a space for your beloved's ghost to dwell, a moorland that gets darker in time, gets infected with the swarming creatures who dwell in this darkness, it becomes a city in ruins and where once was green and gold, a dark metallic grey rises in hurricanes of dusty memories. 

I was always a man who did not subscribe to world's will even though it had its toll on me, I never allowed it to exert much force so easily, I who took pride in my soul refused to let it run too far from me without consent, that way I kept the world's futile tries to break me in order, and so I was not going to let the world invite death into my pale-lipped girl's heart. 

Once I heard the old sages talk about secret knowledge, one which the greatest searchers for truth set out to find, a substance with the name of “Elixir of Life”, which purifies the spirit to the point of immortality. And so I walked with the sages on a journey to form the elixir, I examined their ways and paths and their strange equipment, and they looked down on my fear and tried to save me, they tried to help me for there was no other way to save my soul, but Alas, Even the sages could not find a way to distract death away from her, or themselves or anyone at all. 

Purple, black, crimson and emerald colored potions, I sent them all to her but her lips got no brighter. Until one inglorious student of the alchemists' wisdom explained to me that “All that is above is as below”, and as god has condemned my lover to death, then maybe I should not pursue her life in the greedy knowledge of alchemy, but in a far more deeper place, away from this world and into what lies beneath it. As this world is merely a reflection it can not defend us against a truth as profound as death in all its might. I decided to venture into the worlds that lie beyond that of humans. Death was a creation of god, hence to defy it only made sense to seek immortality in the only place where death was feared as much as I feared it in my own soul, I started with the land of Lucifer.

Most humans think that the devil lives in hell, but I have went to hell and asked for Satan, there the condemned souls told me that he had not been seen there in ages. I wondered, what kind of creature would leave his home for such a long time? I found that man’s assumptions were a myth.
Satan is full of fear and resentment towards hell just as much as humans, but once upon a time, when Satan used to live in heaven, God looked upon his creative will and asked him to build walls around hell as beautiful as he can make them. And so Satan obeyed the Lord and he built a wall and decorated it with the most beautiful jewels and designs he could come up with, the only restriction Satan  had on his task, was God's rule that he can not use anything that he saw in heaven, and so Satan's design was beautiful but not as beautiful as the one designed by God, the beautiful, who created beauty itself. 

And Satan wondered why God had ordered that something as hideous and malicious as hell fire should be decorated with such elusive beauty. Nonetheless, he  was very proud of his work, even though the purpose remained concealed from him. And so when God decided to create the new magnificent yet apparently inferior being called man, Satan asked around about why God had created him and the answer was always that man was created for heaven, that man was the chosen one.

Satan sat alone with his burdened heart and he wondered why God would not choose him for heaven, Satan's love for heaven was great and his knowledge of beauty, he thought, made him more fit to appreciate it. And so when the day came for the first man to come to life, and god ordered all the heavenly creature for a celebration of the new being, Satan came with envy in his heart and wrath in his eyes, the angels had nothing to fear and so they were happy, but Satan was all too familiar with the pain of being rejected. 

And there the moment came and God asked them all to swear allegiance to man, that they would assist him from a distance in his mission, the angels bowed, the devil did not. His vanity triumphed over his faith, he who has created a concept of beauty for his own, he who has worked so hard to please the Lord shall not bow to the inferior creature. God's wrath was unleashed on Satan and as he knew what Satan had feared most of all, he chose to punish him with exactly that. If Satan had believed in God's will then God would have never let his fear take form, but now that he let his fear consume all his faith, his blasphemy should be his own fears taking shape, Satan was  banished from heaven, Satan was demoted and he was to live with the pain of rejection that accompanies that.

Satan was petrified for a moment after God damned him with a life away, and then all his burning hurricanes escalated fueled by his anger and his vanity, for a moment he told himself that heaven was not that beautiful, that he did not lose a home when he lost it, that the beauty he created around hell is just as appealing and that he can easily attract humans to it just as they are attracted to God's heaven and maybe more.

God heard Satan's thoughts and in all his might he told Satan to carry out his plan of seducing humans to hell. I found out that Satan did not love hell at all, nor did he live in it and for exactly those reasons he chose to lead mankind to it, for he did not love mankind either. And there God's will manifested clearly. He ordered Satan go build the fences of hell when he was really building Satan's pride, that pride was a test of his faith and his failing was and remains the test for humanity.

Satan left his home in heaven and decided to form his own world, a world that accentuates all that is opposed to Godliness, not only that, but it also glorifies it. And Satan secretly thought to himself that he might have lost a battle but not the war, and if he gathers enough humans to build hell's army, he might eventually show God that he chose the wrong creature, and then his army will do anything to get out of hell, maybe even fight God and as their king, he shall rule, and he will destroy the land of God for good and his word shall reign over all.

I told myself that I will use his world and all his hate to myself, I shall visit him and tell him what god had fated me too.

The land of Lucifer is decorated with peacocks, feathered and colored on walls of black, and they're all looking towards the left, the ground is unpredictable and it changes shape under my feet as I walked that I almost trembled and fell, and the air was cold that it pierces my skin as if every breeze is made of icicles aimed at me with all the winds' speed. I walked on the fickle ground, grey dust rising and falling at the stumping of my feet, I chose to walk on the up tides as it's always more likely that the tides will lead to the shore and the shore in this land must be none but Lucifer himself.

The deeper I went into this world the less demons I saw and one would think that it would be more infested with their darkness if they are more on the surface but it is true that the demons who dwell on the surface are the weaker ones. Their darkness, as great as it is, does not amount to the darkness of the few deeper, inner circle demons. They all looked at me with scorn and doubt, how I managed to keep my feet in their darkness was a mystery even to me. 

In the land of the fallen there's only one method to find your way and that is to follow the peacocks shining eyes, but for them to shine for you, they require a dedication. To see with the eye of the peacock you have to allow vanity to own you. The first sin of Satan was always his most dreadful and so to take off on the journey to him you have to taste the same poison. 

I allowed my pride that I tried so long to control to present itself in full form, I allowed it to fill my head with thoughts of self-love, my pride became a demon of monstrous vanity that it devoured any and everything that threatened it with anger and demise. Only then the peacocks eyes shone bright for me and I walked head high into the paths lined with scourge, anguish and ghostly shadows, all of them making a way for me like I earned the right to float past them, demons were bowing their heads to me and monsters killed their own roaring to silence when I passed by them. 

Until I reached the sea, and they said that Satan's throne was on the surface of the water only further in, but in order to walk on water, beyond where no peacock could reach the greatest of peacocks, I had to learn a certain science that human refer to as magic. They said magic is the science of exerting your will on existence, it is the art of making yourself a God. But in order to do so, you first have to liberate yourself from the chains of submission to God in heavens, to liberate yourself from fate. You have to liberate yourself from faith as well and allow yourself to experience your soul away from the divine, drive it into the abyss so that it is worthy of the light that will come out the other end.

I paused for a moment, hesitating in my turbulent soul with longing for my girl and the last flickering light of faith waiting for my decision, alchemy could not help me, and only the devil ever defied God's will, and if I turn back now my journey would have been all for nothing, and would God even accept me if I return from the land of the fallen? After I came that close to his enemy? 

My decision was made, God wanted to take my love, Satan knows a way to give her back to me, I must walk on water if I am to get to him and so I must become a God of myself, and that's how I murdered the last light of faith. 

The purpose of becoming a God is all to do with freedom, it is in fact a liberation, but when you liberate yourself from god and take too much pride in your own will, you realize what faith was protecting you from. You realize how, as blind as faith is, it was the way you perceived the world, how it exerted its toll on cynicism and skepticism without which those forces ran wild until they ate the meaning out of everything, and how it also protects you from pain with such gifts called patience, trust, optimism. 

The magic of the devil render such states as mere states of delusion, and it takes on the truth to be in only one thing, the freedom of your will, therefore you had to not just recognize it, but control it perfectly. So the demons took me through tormenting exercises in order to exert my control over my new God. I experienced pain, I felt it skinning me off my divinity down to my most human self, and in time after time, I was slowly becoming the master of myself, it was up to me to make my pain whatever I wished it to be, even turn it to pleasure, I even walked on fire for sport.

Until there I was, a powerful God of my will, I could bend the world to it if I only wished to do so. And so I could walk on the water to get to Him. 

The devil's throne is so high that his head is safe in the ice cold clouds and his feet of fire boil the water underneath it. I approached in my halo of perfect temperature towards rainstorms and volcanoes that exploded around him, but once I stood before him, my magic was ineffective at once, he told me it was because his will is superior to mine, it was after all his land and he brought me to my knees.

I told him of my blight and begged him to slay my beloved's death.

The devil stepped down from his own throne pleased at my desperation, his eyes shone like an angelic peacock, he surrounded me with his feathers and beauty, down on my knees as I stared down, I felt his sweet breath on my back and his soft feathers on my cheeks. Drenched in beauty to a hypnotic state, he told me to look around and see the dwellers of his world with his eyes, all the powerful magicians, the naked-bodied sinners, the self-destructing shells of men, all at great ecstasy, all should gladly give their lives to Him, gratefully they would place their necks on his altar, just for one small price, their freedom.

I looked around for him, but he had already wrapped me in his vision, I could not move a limb nor say a word. My will was not in my hand anymore but in his, and the more I struggled to escape the more I fell deeper into submission, the more he became powerful. He asked me to find what I find in common among his servants and I told him that it was blasphemy, but he answered that they were all once faithful and some still hold some faith in god, and what was in fact common between the devil's slaves was their addictive love for illusions, it's a love that they don't even realize they hold, they do not seek truth but they seek an escape, and so they choose the way of magic just like he did, they only forget that this knowledge is a temptation as well and that He, the Devil, has controlled every temptation like puppets on a string, and so the truth of it was that they abandoned their faith in God for their faith in his illusion, and now he enslaves them, they are as fallen as he is from God's grace. 

And as for death, he said, it is a truth that needs a strong kind of magic to bend  and only Satan himself has achieved it, so he gave me a choice, either submit my soul to the Him and join his army then he will save my beloved's soul and take her to be with me, under his name, but then there will be no place for the pure faithful love of the angels left for us and we'll both relish in the beauty of darkness forever. Or I have to be on my way, only to return to Lucifer's land if I was ready to sacrifice my soul on his altar for my love.

I broke free from his embrace and went on my way, weeping over the ruins of my faith, over my lost hope of defeating my fate, her death. I was in open space, lost between the worlds, so unaware of my still hypnotized soul that I wondered if I existed at all. 

And then it occurred to me that I might have lost my faith, but I have a chance to dig up its dried well for some last drops of hope by which I can go to the land of God and beg him to cure my love.
I was on my knees again with hands in the half-dry mud and sweat dripping into my eyes, I dug deeper and deeper into the will, it was so dry that by the time I found the last drops of hope, I could barely see the sunlight anymore, but there I had them in my hand, and I was ready to take off to my next destination.

The road to the land of God is through the world of humans, I never realized before how much the reflections of the world could lead to rejuvenating your faith. I walked the earth and the different worlds in it with new eyes, the eyes of a man who knew the power of destruction in himself, but a man who also knew the power of creation.

I held an axe in my hand and felt what Abraham must have once felt when he smashed the idols, the demonic reflections in his village, I understood what it means for degeneration to be regenerative of faith, I had to pluck the leftover feathers from my hair and burn them down. So I went back to the street, where the lost children still played and slept and for a second I brushed the dust off their hands and faces and showed them love, it was a side of my humanity that I had truly missed. And with every contemplation, with every sensation and act of purpose, and  with every communion with nature I felt the stones of my idols tumbling down and shattering, and God's divine breath was waking up inside me. The demons of the devil visited me still, and reminded me of the glorious games of the devil, the beauty of illusions and the surrender of my will to his majesty. But the demons of the surface were too weak for me, I am the man that knelt before the devil himself, who saw his slaves with his eyes, who knew that it takes all his might to stand in the face of death, one of God's creations, I knew he was weak in front of God. And so I proceeded on my path fueled with love for my girl with the pale lips, until blight landed on me.

My failed attempts had kept me too long from her, and her death was due, she smiled at me one last time as her grace ascended with him. There I was a traveler on the road to the kingdom of God for her, and there I was again at the short hand of fate no matter how far I tried to reach.

I did not have to stray for long to understand that God was trying to teach me again what I forgot about patience. I have always been quick to retire but also quick to return.

The death of her was as lightning to my soul, it burned me up but with a light, a fire that consumed my soul and left me half hollowed and with great deal of pain in what is left of me, but it also left me with a revelation, I might have sent all my brigades to defeat death but it was not the purpose of my journey or the purpose of my existence. 

To lose a love is to break up a union, and my union was very much present even though she is not. My war was not on death, it was a war on fear, I feared the death of love with her decay, I feared the hollow night of destruction, I feared worthlessness just like a human, I looked for validation in pride, and I traded late for fate.

The memory of humans is a disaster in the handling indeed, it betrays what you know, it remembers what you dread and forgets what you dream.

I have forgotten my faith for a heart of gold, I have shattered it on many altars and I found it in submission pure and transcendent above the world of humanity, and so I shall never settle so I will never forget again, I shall love but never again will I try to own, I was never owned by anything that I did not choose, and that is the freedom of my submissive will. 

I will remain, the faithful who fights his way to martyrdom on the road to God, who walked many paths searching for the truths beyond the reflections and never took comfort in his humanity... I will live and die, above all, a pilgrim.

Most Important 10 Rules of Depression Time

Rule No. 1

Put loads of black eye make up first thing in the morning.. Because the whole world doesn't need to see all about yesterday's massacre that went down in your head all over your face

Rule No.2

Leave your lips pale like a dead person.. Because, Who freaking cares!

Rule No.3

Trembling sad voice is the Enemy... A cheerful voice is the key to good pretending, talk like you've just been slapped by a rainbow

Rule No.4

When you feel the strong urge to cry... Yawn!

Rule No.5

In case of developing strong inclinations towards Homicide/Suicide... Smile and Nod instead.

Rule No.6

Let your cynicism be the best food for your Anhedonia

Rule No.7

Symphonic Metal is NOT your friend.

Rule No.8

When you don't like what someone is saying to you.. Do not get angry or frustrated, just ignore them... anger is a feeling too, you know... And your main goal in life now is to simply...Die!

Rule No.9

People will choose the worst times to say the worst things... When that happens make sure you're a well trained zombie in feeling nothing and eating brains.

Rule No.10

Your food during this difficult time is not limited to human brains (see Rule No.9) In fact, your diet must contain any/all dietary components you can obtain... Anything fried, ice cream and of course Chocolate are viable choices.. Binge eating is a great drug option for those who like to self destruct very deeply and slowly, never underestimate the power of a family-size bag of Doritos.

World's Decay

And what is it for a girl to fall in love?

Does she hear the angels sing?

Does she see them as she does a dove?

And do they take her on their wing?

What does love do to a girl?

Take her by force to be a woman?

In the way she walks and dance and swirl,

Until her heart lies in hands of man,

A true man, a world of his own,

A world to destroy hers at heel,

And if she'd ever be alone,

Can he make her his own for real?

And love for a woman is stars at rise,

And love for a woman is a sacred place,

And love for her never reach demise,

For her love shows all on her face,

And there he knows and he is true,

And then she knows not why he's here,

And if he ever comes in view,

Her peace is thrown in bits to fear,

And darkness swells like spring in bloom,

So that her fears become her home,

He's all the devils who chant in gloom,

He's all the angels she prayed to come,

And if she betrays her soul for shame,

She'd still love how he touched her soul,

She loves his ice, he loves her pain,

and none she spares for him at all,

So what is love for a girl like me?

Oh what is love for a man like him?

If nothing can set our world free,

If angels sing a dirge that dim,

And where will his love ever take me?

And what will it ever take from him?

And what if it will forever break me

Just for a chance to rescue him?

A love is a young lady's price, yes,

A love for a man, is debt to pay,

For making a woman out of a young miss,

What's love for her but a world's decay?