life, injustice, and a clean shirt

Artwork by Banksy

life, injustice, and a clean 

shirt …

we are entangled in the bog, as we sweat, as we slog.

the crumbs we receive, with fanfare do deceive.

the 1% whip up emotions of hate, as they remain buffered in their ostentatious state.

we the people are confined to sweatshops, grinding away, for 18 hours a day.

they dock our pay if we dare fall ill, sewing our tongues shut so we may not talk, as long as their designer labels get paraded on the catwalk.

we have been subjected to this and we may never leave, as our mothers and fathers before us, into whom the talons of greed did gnaw and cleave.

they stoke our passions, of race, gender, religion, to whip up hate, blinding us so we may not see that we all share the same fate.

we are stuffed into offices, while they withhold our pay, while they strangle us until we bleed, our families discarded, for who are we to breathe and to feed.

we are expected to endure this hell, of indignity, of injustice, of tattered souls, of inexpressible hurt,

as we are repeatedly kicked down into the dirt.

but the news tells us that all is well,

the stock-markets are rallying,

the market robust as their coffers continue to swell,

as their billboards entice us with that haute couture pair of jeans, that impossibly expensive skirt,

just so that we clock in,

day in and decade out,

in a crisp clean shirt …

Artwork from Google

re-reposting this 🙊😀: what is love for me?

Artwork from Google

what is love for me?

Love is your head laying on my chest, beneath a swaying palm, love is the solace we offer each as a soothing healing balm.

Love is not swallowing what society wishes to us feed, love is wanting each other and not the illusions of material greed.

Love is knowing that the skin will age and wrinkle, love is knowing that the celestial star of togetherness will never cease to twinkle.

Love is knowing there exists no pristine hearts or souls, for we are all so very far from commercialised perfection, love is acknowledging that always, and in our moments of quiet reflection.

Love is truly and deeply loving each other, warts and all, love is kneeling down to lift each other up whenever we slip, whenever we fall.

Love is never thrusting ones beliefs unto each other, love is appreciating and embracing the differences between one another.

Love is not being constrained by race, religion, nationality, caste or tribe, love is knowing we all bleed red, and from a common fountain we all do life’ waters imbibe.

Love is honestly being content with what we have to share, love is never allowing the rat-race to us ensnare.

Love is not merely oaths taken, vows spoken, love is living and tending for each other when one of us feels lost and if one of us is torn, or broken.

Love is so much more than kisses and making love, though that is always oh-so good, love is nourishing each other with the truest emotions, the bounty of soul-food.

Love is having differences of opinion, of engaging in robust debate, love is not just agreeing with everything we say, love is not living in that sterile state.

Love is taking a stand, in this iniquitous world, love is speaking truth to power, love is never ever merely accepting it all, love is not us shielding ourselves so that in inured inaction we cower.

Love is your head laying on my chest, beneath a swaying palm, love is the solace we offer each as a soothing healing balm …

Artwork from Google

The Rivers of a Life

Art from Google

The Rivers of a Life …

Bracing for the rapids ahead, clutching onto filaments where salty tears sting the places we have bled.

Hold on!

The rapids will stutter to a meandering stream, our brittle souls heaving sighs of relief as a glimpse of hope waltzes on a sunbeam.

Hold on tight!

The stream opens itself up, slipping into the wide waters of the river at peace, soothing our beings, the stabbing pain now beginning to cease.

Let go!

The mouth of the river yawns as it approaches the endless expanse of the sea, hushing us, stilled by knowing we are but an infinitesimal part of what we thought we could be.

Free at last!

beyond us the unseen future, right now we soak in the truths of the present,

behind us we leave the detritus of the past.

Artwork from Google

alone, together

Baobab Tree artwork from Google

alone, together …

The rays of the summer sun peek between the canopy of green above,

we walk hand in hand through the thicket searching for our sensual place of love,

a small pond and a gentle waterfall comes into view,

as we abandon all shrouds and wade into the soothing waters of blue.

Our bodies intertwine, flesh on bare flesh,

skin against skin, light years away from the city’s raucous din,

as we share light kisses, enmeshed in each others arms so close, so very tight,

while we float in the lyrical waters, eyes closed as all we need are tender caresses so exquisitely light.

We taste each other, sipping the nectar of passion with a desire that we need no longer restrain,

with the orchestral sounds of the jungle, swirling in their symphonic refrain,

our lips meet, we feel the thud-thudding of our hearts merging,

in harmony with the sublime feelings so wildly surging.

We whisper odes, we imbibe our hungering need,

as the meandering waters envelope us in their calming sheath,

we tenderly become one, restraining for now our insatiable greed,

and as our bodies writhe, we feel our shuddering deep inside, a quivering dewy leaf.

The sun slowly dips and swoons, we wish we could share these precious moments for many more moons,

but alas, the here and now calls out, drawing us out of this magical reverie,

as we find each other back amidst the cacophony of real life,

where we pine,

where we ache,

where we wish only,

to be together,

free …

Artwork from Google

“True Detective” Season 3 has arrived – Here are 3 old scribbles from Season 1

True Detective Season 1

( for ‘True Detective’ Season 1 fans )

for rust & marty …

you see there may come a time when all of what we yearn and ache and pine and lie and cheat and kill and maim and hurt to attain may turn out to be as worthless as the lives we hurt and took and raped and pillaged and tortured and slapped and abused and molested and plundered and then we shall be seen for that what we all essentially are:

sentient meat. no more. no less.

               ________________

rustin’ away …

swept along tugged by the currents that weave cobwebbed chaos hurling us tossing our malleable forms further into the poisoned seas as tide after merciless tide batters and shatters our mortality thrusting us deeper into the bowels of asphyxiating numbness and dumbness that has numbed down and dumbed us even more so because we need the charade to persist for our egos will and shall not whittle away as flesh decays and in that sliver of the blink of an eye is the hysterical maniacal orderly randomness of it all in its naturally-selected symmetry of nothingness because how am i supposed to wake up tomorrow or next weekend if not for some hardwired tripswitch that shuts all critical thought albeit for an instant but in that instant and in each of those instances the ego keeps on cashing in on deluded overtime and we you her him i us yes us all don’t even know that its happening all the time and that it has happened since the manufacturing of the illusion of time and that it is happening right now to me and perhaps to you too yeah hmm …

and …

channeling rustin cohle …

yeah so okay it’s all just horseshit this damn grinder of souls enmeshed in sordid dreams of twisted consciences lost along the highway of shovelled lies spawned by the inebriated copulation of the gelatinous whole this whole hysterical theatre of bits and bites of neurons sparking all just electricity just plain damn old electricity seeding grief sorrow pain loss ache death life hiroshima where the living envied the dead yes that place this place still this place that exists as large as castles in our collective so called human minds collectively speaking of course but also force-fed the illusion of individual choice … 

        __________

“Life’s barely long enough to get good at one thing. So be careful what you get good at” – Rustin Cohle (True Detective)

True Detective Season One

The truth of our Love

Artwork from Google

The truth of our Love …

1.

True love rests upon countless whispering leaves,

one by one falling to the ground,

the truest love is carried on dandelion seeds,

fluttering within hearts here, there, and all around. 

True love that settles and binds two souls,

intertwines emotions, with a comforting tenderness so rare,

as we trudge on, having long shed the expectations of togetherness,

in a cold callous world, in this grinder where flimsy connections flicker past as we lay our souls bare.

True love afloat on the breeze found me, when your soft caresses tremulously wafted into my life,

as you fanned the dying embers into a furnace, gently warming my entire world,

for when we walked hand in hand, on the beaches of our loves’ distilled truths,

a kaleidoscope of feelings were within us both, gloriously unfurled.

2.

We have shared a lifetime of embroidered passions, with gentle flourishes and scribbled verse,

we have held each other, in moments of desire, soaring into the boundless open sky,

we have stood shoulder to shoulder, as the tides of pain battered us, as the ache of the twisting talons of fate gnawed us, almost apart at our very edges,

we have weathered the howling winds of adversity, as one, we have nurtured the flame of our bond, in those bleak moments when it threatened to die,

yes, our love has cocooned us together, where words seem unnecessary, for when true love finds you,

it needs no oaths, no promises, no dotted lines to sign, no rehearsed, mumbled pledges …

Artwork from Google