The Flood.

'I *love you',
'I *love you more',
'No I'm pretty sure I *love you more',
Naww, I *love you more'.

*hurt

Stood on the beachhead,
I stare out upon the endless ocean,

She looks the other way, to rolling green hills, glazed with the sun.
I see the thunderclouds gather upon the horizon, every tiny atom
dragging one-another together. Each tiny
splinter in the sky, builds upon one-another to become a
titan, ready to step out the sunlight we thought so unbreakable.
Once.
I go to tell you of the threat, open my mouth and begin to speak.
But the words, they trip and stumble as they try to clamber from my throat.
Can't bring myself to utter those words,
Because i know you can't bear to hear them.

It draws closer, faster, greater than ever before,
until finally it begins to engulf the beach.

I feel it rush over me, through me,
this ordeal is born from my mind but it can't be stopped,
it must come, to wash us away.
To destroy the wrong so that the right may come anew.
I try to shield you from it's wrath,
look to my right, but you are taken. Swept up.
I hear you scream at me,
as a blade is dragged through my chest by the jagged waves.
I black out.

Wake, slowly, a splitting pain behind my ribcage.
Finally I turn around.
I see the remnants of the tree we enjoyed,
the pages of the books you read,
the tattered mattress on which we slept,
a wasteland where a paradise once was.
I will miss that paradise, and I will cherish the time I was blessed with it.
But this wasteland is where I belong.

I pray that the sea has set you down upon new land,
where you can create a paradise of your own,
and bring another into it one day soon.

Wise ones always tell you to follow your heart.
But what, what happens when your heart leads you to a place of rage and sorrow for the pain you have sown?

I, Daermer

'There must be some way out of here/said the joker to the thief' - Bob Dylan

¦Leaving a dream, is it an illusory hell?¦

¦A fall from a graceful escape?¦

¦Or a reintroduction to the true delusion?¦

¦Waking from a dream, what do we wake to?¦

¦The truth, or simply another illusion?¦

A mirage designed by something, someone, them, you, me, or us

to escape the world we grew tired of?
The world that grew old?
Or the world we slit the throat of, devoured the life-blood of, and whose colour we left to seep out and pour into the road of time?
The old world that has been left to fade and writhe in it's dusk and darkness.
Did we form this world, with it's colours and sounds and science,
to take the stead of the one we had raped and savaged until nought was left?
Even so, this illusion could only ever be a husk,
a half-remember fragment, compared to what it may have tried to replace.

If this world is the design of some 'god', what difference does it make, right?
Then are you not curious as to the world that exists outside of this box.
What new colours, senses, experiences that might exist outside of this prison.
Disregard for the chance to explore is the defect that makes a human truly blind.
So if this world is an illusion, what of us, what of me? How do I know I exist?

'Cogito ergo sum - I think, therefore I am.' - Descartes

If I believe that, then I know I am alive,
I know I am no phigment of some genius bastard's psyche,
or a product of some playground built by 'gods' to entertain them for the rest of forever.
If this truth is THE truth, then I know that I exist, whether here, or in some other verse, and this is only My mind, dreaming.
This is not to say that you are false, only that I am real.
In essence - I see the world through these eyes, so I can trust these eyes, but they are all I can trust.

But what if these eyes were built to perceive only the illusion.

Were built to think they were real.
To see only under the waters of this deception.
Were built like your eyes in the dream.
If we are never truly born, but programmed to exist, deteriorate, and fade,
then what hope do I have in waking from this dream?

Will I ever transcend all that I am here, and take back myself in reality? In paradise?

Or simply diffuse into the 1s and 0s that compose the universe;

and see all that defines me dissolve back into the Sea of the dream.

A friend of mine just tried to kill himself. We've said he's a little insane for a long time
Maybe he tried to die as an escape from the dream. At least he's looking for the exit.
Maybe he's the only sane one.

How will we know, for as long as we are submerged in the dream, the sea is all there is.

Within Reach Now

The word with no equal,
Can often be the most difficult to reach.
Clasping at a time when you can look into the other's eyes, and say it meaningfully, is
Like hacking through the jungle, breaking through the bullshit
To reach the haven at the destination.
Worth it? Always.

Often though, the arguments feel like they're gonna be the death of it.
Not today, not tomorrow, but one day.
Like the jungle is gonna grow faster than you can tear it down, swallow you,
And drop you at the bottom of some pit which you can't escape from.
You'd claw at the sides and go slowly mad, kept company only by yourself, screaming at you
'Where you went wrong'. And the destination - is far-off, impossible now to reach.

Or, is it like a bonfire?
Not quite ready until it's set alight. With heat, with rage, and passion, and collisions.
Until the word is ignited by differences?
Well flames are certainly pretty, warm, and make you feel happy for a while.
But they're dangerous, they hurt...
They burn out fast too.

And if you set light to the jungle?
Try to fix one-another and make it a clear path to the end;
Try to argue your way through the forest, to reach your goal at the end.
Thinking it can be repaired by saying 'I...You'.
You never reach your true destination, because it's burnt with the rest of it.
A charred remainder of the elegance it once was

So, light the fire-pit, or tear and burn the jungle?
No, deal with each day, learn to live with the jungle, rather than tear it down
And look forward to the rewards at the end.
Look forward to the reward of gazing into their eyes,
And hearing your heart scream, and your mind nod, and your tongue say

'I Love You'.

It Lkoos Crrecot

'So... how does it feel to be a character in a dream?'

It certainly feels 'real'.
I feel the keys under my fingers, feel them react against my force with each tap;
Does that make them existent?
I can smell the breeze from outside, the start of summer creeping into the room;
I hope that's 'real'.
I can see the trees outside, mostly swaying in unison. But sometimes they stop -
Am I sure that's real?
Love must be real;
It interrupts your thought, takes over your consciousness and diverts you from everything else.
How could that not be real?
Thanks for the 5 senses, they certainly seem to work well.

"Just resting my eyes..."

It certainly feels 'real'.
I feel the dream-catchers and low-hanging ancient antiques brushing past me as I walk;
Does that make them existent?
I can smell the stench of death creeping towards me, it's distinctive;
I hope that's not real.
I can see the hooded figure opening the door for me. The bodies falling in the corridor before me.
That must be real, why would I imagine that?
Pain must be real;
It interrupts your thought, takes over your consciousness and diverts you from everything else
How could that not be real?

Thanks for the 5 senses - still missing the one that counts though.

Because I know I'm dreaming.

If I push on this wall, will it collapse;
Like some cheap scenery card-trick?
Or is it a little stronger than that;
Is it the most magnificent card trick ever performed? At the heart of my brain.
Always liked the one where the magic man pulls the card from his mouth,
Like he's dragging it from his mind.
Maybe you are the card, dragged from mine,
Or maybe we're all cards, dragged from God's.

I guess I'm stuck in this bubble for now.
Can't touch you, can't hear you.
But I see you; I see where we're going.
Floating down to the water, where it begins.
Where we can all awaken from this deep dream.

'Reality - is what you make of it.'

It Is a Good Pain

To miss someone,
To remember their scent,
Their smile, their skin. To feel sorrow for what you have, but cannot.
Cuts deeper than a flaming blade to the heart.

The monk, sitting on the mountain
Feels nothing. Linkless to anyThing, independent of anyOne,
No barrier can break his connections, since there is nothing to break.
Like a dead man;
Sat in heaven, he can feel no pain.
When that which he loved is gone.

Away, for now. A distance stretches this link between their two souls,
Twists and warps it into the essence of pain.
Not pain of evil, the pain of love,
Retaining it's former purity, immortal.
Like a bullet, elegant and glistening,
A jewel delivering agony and ecstasy, in equal measure.

This barrier of ice, the other side so clear
He can see the image of their face.
Perfect - too seductive, ever-enticing.
Passion for the heart / Torture for the mind.

The Sorrowful One, stood, wishing he was the monk?
No. Glad he is stood behind this glass, with this blade In his heart,
Setting his thoughts of her alight.
Glad to be stood there before the glass, the veil holding them apart.

Because I'll take this dagger, shatter the glass, and hold you with me forever.

A Dance

Every day, we dance. You, I, and Them.
To music, we move our feet to the rhythm and rhyme,
Sending sparks out that could light fires in a thousand admiring hearts.

We dance in our conversation, a waltz of words, the limbo of language,
Our tongues turn and bounce in sync, like radio receivers,
But miss a step, step on toes, and anger is spawned.

The believers, they Dance with god.
Put their hands together, clapping out a melody with a prayer,
A dance with no crescendo, with an impossible partner.

The lords and crowds of this land Dance out moves with their speech and their cheers
A Movement of their feet, of their voices, becomes a Movement of the world order.
Dancing out a new dawn, so that fewer must take their final Dance of death.

A Dance I will make sure you never take as long as our feet move in kind.
Instead, we'll Dance with our hands, with our bodies, with our hips, those lips.
On whatever Dancefloor we can find - A forest, a street, a dance with your eyes.
With my hand on your back, and our fingers interlocked; this ballroom is for us.


Dance with all your heart, mind and soul to the music each new day gives you.

My Mother is a Toaster

I've made it my current life goal to see Iron Man 2, especially with this trailer out.

5 Long Years

Since you asked me for that,
The small treasure I'd hoarded after the 11th celebration of my birth.
Since you stole from me
The ocean of compassion I held for you.
5 Long Years ago. Baba.


The forest is dark, cold, unforgiving, and bitter.
I am a child, walking with my Guardian, tasked to keep me safe,
To protect me from the evils lurking in this mist.
Beasts with a thousand eyes and a thousand fangs,
Tear at the ground, rabid, eager to claw at my back.

But whilst you are there, they cannot touch me.
With your bright light, broad as a coast line, deep as its waters, safe as an island.

A smile.

In your long Grey Armor,

Second-Hand Jacket.

In your Red Chariot,

Peugeot 406.

Crashed so many times, never a graze on your steel skin. Untouchable.
Unforgiveable.

You held my hand, as I trod the ground in this new world and
Grasped at the moss around my feet.
You stepped further away, yet never too far,
Always stood by my side, your hug, a shield,
Always a flame turned to the evils of this forest.

11 years walking with you, I run back, after venturing further,
A Siren, bearing hooks for eyes, and a knife to it's own stomach,
Has caught my Saint, the one who lost the need for protection long ago.
I run to the life-line, screaming for you.
But you are no-where to be found now.

All I owned, all I knew to be true, you had taken,
And vanished from this world, taking all you ever were.
I sat, slumped, on a tree-root, cold, alone, with only the Siren for company.
The Saint would have helped me, yet he was ensnared by It's deceitful gaze.
I called out for you, a thousand times, in vain.

Now, I stand tall, carry my own sword,

These words.

Stood not alone, as you did

With friends and loves.

With more light than you could ever bear.

With the knowledge I begged for from you.

The scars you left, deeper than any beast of this forest could tear. Healed.
Yet in my sleep, as I drifted in the moonlight,
They split asunder.

Despite yourself, Father, I miss you.

You Are What You Believe

Belief: "The psychological state in which an individual holds a proposition or premise to be true."

'I believe in the word of Jesus Christ our Lord, that all men should suffer for their crimes.

'I believe in Barack Obama for President! YES WE CAN!'

'I believe that everything is what I perceive it to be.'

'I believe in humanity.'

'I believe that weed is the answer bro, the grass gave me back my eyesight!'

'I believe that Bigfoot is my estranged auntie.'

'I believe in the flying spaghetti monster.'

'I believe in God.'

I believe in none of these things.

I believe:
I believe in the individual person, but not in the people.
I believe that Pandora's probably real, somewhere. (No)
I believe in UFOs. (Yes)
I believe that there is more to this reality than we can comprehend.
I believe that certain emotions are obsolete.
I believe that everything can be written as equations.
I believe that I will one day venture beyond the Earth's atmosphere.
I believe that the right sentence can change the course of history.
I believe that all I can be sure of is My own consciousness.
I believe that we can all be Gods of our own visions on the world.
I believe in Me.
I believe in You.

To know your beliefs - is to know yourself - is to know the mind of God. What do you believe?

When I'm Tired

2 Lines long? We 2 Lines intertwine.
2 Line's psychic connection. 2 Lines explore. Every dimension of each line.

Blinding Light; Closes one eye; Opens the other

Go. But stay before you do. I lose my senses, slowly but surely.

"In the kingdom of the blind, the one-eyed man is King".
But his Queen sees and feels, suffers the envy of the people.

I sit within this palace of Glistening Silver and the Godless; I will have this eye. I will see you,
when you are not there.

This is a dream, you and I are all that is real, our Subjects are not.

With my hands, I feel the world, grasp this immaterial realm
in which we dwell.

With this voice, I empower the blind.

I hear the sound of your voice, when you are not speaking.

I smell the scent of your embrace, when you hold not myself.

I taste the heat of your body, when it is cold and alone.

With this sword, slashing ink into their closed hearts,
I defend my kingdom, protect my Queen.

I know the pain that I will feel when your scent fades. At the end.

I will not awaken - if I wake from this dream, my sight will fade.
Back into the dark. Back into silent Hell. Not again.

The others, sit in the dark, blind to the truths
that bind
Us.

Angry at the sight we have shared.

At this sight you have given me, that blinds me to the dream which I am bound to,
And which makes all of our kingdom a reality.

This Tunnel - Sonnet 1

Swimming this river, into the tunnel,
to grasp the light at the end of it.
The sights and sounds, scents and silence
of the waters, becoming ever deeper.
Drift past the cracks in the walls,
slivers of gold and silver,
your words to me from afar.
Swim faster and harder,
light streams from these eyes to meet the end,
to meet the pools of your's,
Head and mind underwater, drifting deeper down into them.
Striving for the light in your endless smile.
Reach the end, feel it's heat for a second
Now back into the dark again, swim again.

I feel sad.

I feel sad.
I feel sad because i cannot be with the one who will make me happy.
I feel sad because being with the one who will make me happy would fulfill my needs, and by extension, would give me happiness.
I feel sad because i cannot fulfill my needs, and i cannot have happiness because of that.
I feel sad because i am selfish, and i want only to fulfill my needs, only for myself to be happy.
I feel sad because i am human.

Trying

To define that undefinable word. I type on the page, hit the wall, close my eyes, think of you. Us.

I can tell you how I get there, but not where I'm going. Laying here with you, waiting.

How high the mountain is, but not what's at the peak. Not impossible to climb.

What time it is, but not how fast the clock ticks. 7.

How many notes in the bar, but not the effect of the melody. 14 since we started playing.

How many goals 'til half-time, but not the final score. 5-1 to you.

What the words say in the dictionary, but not what they mean. "A deep and meaningful connection to another - person or object."

How you perform when you do the most normal things, but not whether I can reach out and touch the stage. Magnum Opus.

How your hair falls, but not how it makes me fall. Into my arms.

What I see when I gaze into your eyes, but now how far you'll hold that gaze. The clearest lagoon, just for us.

How you change my view on the world, but not what it becomes. For the better.

How many brushes of paint hit the canvas, but not what I'm painting. These strokes on your lips.

How many kisses on your body, but not how it feels. Never enough.

How far I would travel to reach you, yet never where I can find you. To the ends of the earth.

How I feel when you lie next to me, but not how you feel about me. Complete.

I can't define what it is, so that will have to do for now, until it's ready to be defined; in one impossible word.

So He's Not Forgotten

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/northamerica/usa/7635862/Dying-good-Samaritan-ignored-by-20-people.html

The world is unfair. So if you're ever in a position like that, do not be one of the crowd. If you're ever gonna be unique and stand out, make it then.

Flashing Randomers

The flash of creation.
A flash of love.
A flash of time.
A flash of pleasure.

People talk constantly about a 'flash in the pan', how their 'life flashed before their eyes', or 'a flash and it was gone'. It's a wonder we're not all blinded every day.

A camera flash, capturing a scratch on the endless wall of time. Capturing-

A flash on a person's life. Could be a car crash, a one-night stand, a clean punch to the jaw. All drawn from that-

Flash of emotion, neuron's sending nerve impulses to your fingers as they dance over another's skin like a stone on water. Water sending out ripples, flashing to their memory, building the-

Flash of your bond. A short swoop over a few turbulent days; or a long flight, over many long, beautiful days on the -

Flash of a life on the stone wall of time. Youliveyoudie. Gone, in an instant? Is your life of any consequence? After all, it's all gone in -

A flash at the end of the universe. All of time and space contracting one day, to where it all began, back into oblivion, taking every flash that has ever occurred back to it's source. Back to it's first light.

But light is more complex than the universe, or a matrix, or an equation, when you split it in a prism. It divides, into every colour of the imagination.

Every flash - of light, of love, of time - is defined by its colour.

Connections

Are funny.
Links between people.
And I'm not talking about drinking buddies, besties or bros.
I'm talking about real connections, beneath a persons consciousness.
When two peoples' souls hold hands.
That's not a relationship which is forged quickly, not by any means. A connection like that takes months, years or decades to build.
It needs to be built on a foundation of friendship, trust, openness, and often a bittersweet history.
Sometimes those two souls never quite manage to hold hands, either because one pushes the other away, or brings them together so fast that they get hurt.
The chance of making a connection with someone is often a gamble, and more often than not, it won't pull through.
But when you meet someone, who you know you'll have a connection with for the rest of time, regardless of whether you're in or out of love, you know it instantly.
A measure of that link isn't how well you work in bed, no.
It's measured by how you can gaze into the other's eyes with no fear of awkwardness or embarrassment;
By how you can sit in absolute silence with them, and yet speak a million words, and feel no distance between you.
By how your 'default' mode is with your arm around him or her.
By when you become so closely synchronized with them, that you not only speak the same, you think the same.
Like i said, it's when your souls hold hands.

Inter-Human-Network: Y/N

I sit,
Stay awake this night,
Entranced by the Plexiglas universe.
OMG.
Ctrl, Alt, Del.

Googled my soul,
On the World-Wide Web,
Threaded by the uToob spider,
Leeching/News-Feeding my brain.
Captured it? Rescued it?

Little hearts, looking through their Windows,
In the land of Seoul.
Eyes opened to humanity's Wiki, electrified.
Minds blinded by a billion Pixels, electrocuted.

Gone, is the Thought of my own,
Spawning a need to Talk.
Now a wish for a Thought, the Thought then born,
Creates a wish to Talk. A fix? Of serenity...

Did I ask you for the Key to my mind?
No. I tapped it out on the comfort-Board,
Gazed around the Vista, Queried the world.
Where are my Keys? Not in the house,
In the Mouse.

I flew,
Became aware that night.
Embraced the Universe in Binary.
Oh my gods. Even they would be contented with -
CONTROLknowledge; ALTERperceptions; DELETEignorance.

Blood Sacrifice

A rage tears up like a bull at a matador
Finally caught it's captor.
Love close as the red, yet so far.
The blood so fervently sought,

Never to be had. Too skilled an opponent,
parry-Lunge. Never a lunge, Never a chance to.
Love tattooed upon another. A slave, a deity.
Upon the pedestal, close enough to touch;
Yet too far to Feel.

To Feel. Already had a taste of the glimmer of hope
A glimmer, reflected off glass which Cuts the mouth.
Into a Glasgow smile, invincible to the outside,
Scarred. To fade but never to heal.

I will walk, away, head forever turned back
Eyes locked upon the past, on the ambush
To expect another up ahead. Expected, never spotted.
Next time, tongue retracted, eyes closed, mind closed, wounds open.