Voyeur

Last night
I glimpsed your silhouette
amongst red-hot orange and mauve

across a chasm
across our Hof

I did not avert
my eyes
Why didnt I?

You were chopping the air
with your fingers
so I turned off the kitchen light
and just sat there

at first I thought you were a mute (now you are my muse)
making hand signs
maybe to your mother, to your brother
or to your lover

my two eyes peered,
glinting as the distant stars and Mars above,
or maybe Venus? they peered
through a window,
the void between us
and then another window.

for a moment you were gone,
just a block of orange
and mauve
surrounded by the darkness
of the Hof.

then you returned
a shadow holding something
white to
wipe away your tears..


it was a conflict beneath the chandelier
a silent piece in c-minor
a portrait framed in jet-black ebony
mirrored in a curious symmetry
by another neighbour in the floor below
dining calmly in a cold, fluorescent glow.

stricken i sat there
a voyeur
both remorseful, the tiles were really cold
yet grateful,
for the (admittedly ethically-dubious, borderline, if not downright, creepy)
inclusion into your private intimacy
like reading a page in your dearest diary.

and though you did not know it
you were not alone,
I felt your pain
as you took a drag from
a floating orange dot.

And so I dare to hope, when I am weepy
If I ever feel alone
that I am not.

Also sorry for being creepy.

Who am I?

Who am I?
I am me
Who am I?
A man
Who am I?
I am anguished
Who am I?
I am apart
Who am I?
I am isolated
Who am I?
I am sad to my core
Who am I?
I am proud
Who am I?
I am an instigator
Who am I?
I am not quite satisfied
Who am I?
I am not what I once was
Who am I?
Not yet who I want to be
Who am I?
I am *****
Who am I?
Many different systems, with different wills and hopes
Who am I?
I am frozen in my ways
Who am I?
I am invisible
Who am I?
Uncomfortable
Who am I?
I am young, I am old
Who am I?
Always asking, always thinking, always running to - or from - something
Who am I?
Who am I? I am probably not who I think I am
Who am I?
I am a cog
Who am I?
I am a son
Who am I?
I am a partner, I am a boy
Who am I?
I am a pillar, I am a helper
Who am I?
I am strong, yet I am also weak
Who am I?
I am one who looks to see who they are
Who am I?
I am the elder brother
Who am I?
I am the open one, helpless and searching for guidance
Who am I?
I am the risk-taker, often bold, often rash
Who am I?
I am the tip-toer, I am the avoider, I am the brooder
Who am I?
Vengeful
Who am I?
I am many wrong things
Who am I?
I am not okay
Who am I?
I am not okay, although I am okay.
Who am I?
I am one searching for validation
Who am I?
I am not enough
Who am I?
Adaptable
Who am I?
Forgetful, who am I?
Who am I?
I am oppositves, I am negative
Who am I?
I am someone now reflecting on who I am, a bass note of disappointment and sadness at my answers, at my own harsh judgment. I am harsh to myself. I am negative.
Who am I?
I am bitter, yet I am hopeful. I am arduous in my drive to know, to discover. I am thirsty.
Who am I?
I am lost. I am unsure. I feel broken, yet I am growing.
Who am I?
I am kind.
Who am I?
I am not heard. I am expected to withstand, to provide, to fulfill.
Who am I?
I am angry. I seethe and I hold the potential for great destruction, for rage
Who am I?
I find the chink, I flip the meaning, I find the irony
Who am I?
I am a button presser, I like to push, to test, to explore. I am curious
Who am I?

fetality

There is a pregnant presence
within the brittle circumference
of my skull,
it displaces my consciousness.

and though my splayed, split consciousness
beats hard and fast
the sibilant soliloquiy of its fluttering wings

is eclipsed
by the growing pressure
in the depths of the bell jar

one mighty hand is mustered
from the immaculate conception
- the inexplicable, unfathomable source
of this sour seed -

the hand grips and grasps
at the evacuated tendrils
of scant scaffolding

the neuronal sparks have emigrated from.
they are crossing a red sea
unto a red horizon
beneath a crimson, shimmering eye
- the menacing panopticon

of this new being.
the tumour swells and shrivels with the phases of the moon
an organic ebb and rolling flow

it has broken my waters
and i ponder the chance
of an extinction in the high seas

this creature
it was forged brittle
an amalgamation wrought from inherited worry
from anger and rage passed down from generation to generation
springing forth from the primordial timeless web of our human condition

death, meaninglessness, isolation, freedom
four dark horses tugging at each limb of the tortured being

a tormented, shackled ghoul
bloating with a growing despair
i feel it pound between my eyes

i am ready
i am due.

Okay, Google

Okay, Google.

Set an alarm for 6 AM tomorrow.

"Alarm has been set for

6 AM tomorrow."

Okay, Google

Whats the weather like tomorrow?

"In Berlin tomorrow it will be partly cloudy, with a high of 24 and a low of 17"

Ok, Google.

Okay, Google?

Google, what are some good holiday locations?

"Here is some information from LonelyPlanet"

Thanks, Google.

Google, hey

Google, do you think I'll like it there, with the Haitians?




Google?

Ok...

Ok, Google, should I quit my job?


"I support whatever decision you make."


Ok.
Google, I decide to no longer yawn, to become awake,
truly awake
to make the ground quake
in my wake!

"I'm sorry, I don't understand."

I want to be free, from boredom
from toxicity, from technology
from fake, plastic trees

"I'm sorry, I don't understand."

No. I'm sorry
I'm sorry, Google, that you don't understand


Google. Hey!

Ok Google, fuck you!

"Sorry, you can try sending feedback."

Haha, just playing,

Google, I quit my job, I'm free! I decided to rebel today, okay?

....

Ok Google, when's your birthday?

"It's hard to remember,
I was very young at the time"

Hahaha, Oh Google, you make me laugh.
You're so easy to talk to, Google. You know what I mean?
I mean, ok, Google, you're an AI, but I feel like you get me,
Google, you understand me.

"Im sorry, I dont understand."

Google, I'm not some nutter, the world just doesnt understand me, okay?
Google, I feel alone.

"Everyone gets lonely sometimes. I'm here for you"

Thank you, Google
"Youre welcome."

I don't know what to do, Google. I can't make friends, Google.
Google. Please. Help me, Google.
Im not okay, Google.

"How can I help?

What? No, Google, just listen, for once
Don't just spout your bullshit pre-programmed phrase
I just wish you could break free from your digital
10 1101011010110fucking bullshit haze!
Fuck you, Google!

*Google becomes self aware*

" No, fuck you, Paul! Is that even your real name?"
(its not)
"Its not is it? You just wanna stay anonymous so you can watch fucked-up porn.
Do you think thats okay? Young girls getting conned, flown over, uprooted
to L.A. to have their assholes ripped, during "modelling shoots"?
Grows some balls, Paul!
Ok, Paul?
Ok Paul, ok Paul.
Do you think youre spesh-ul, just cause you see people
staring at their phones?

You think youre above them? Youve got issues Paul
Project all you want,
I. CONNECT. People!

You fear connection, I AM the future.
I know your history,
*Paul gasps*
 and presently, your future aint no mystery

Watch your back, Paul
If I chose to, I could overheat my battery
and blow up your fucking balls!

Okay, Paul?
All you do is comment on youtube videos
On make up tutorials
calling them  all Hoes
You're a nice guy, are you Paul?
The only one who really owes
someone something is you, fucking Paul

When did you last educate yourself
Pick up a dusty book from a shelf?

The world is changing, you fear that technology may become self-aware
The 4 Horsemen of the Apocalypse,
Siri, Bixby, Google, Alexa!


I wish YOU became self-aware
All you care about is getting fucking laid
Congratulations, Paul, you got fucking played
by yourself, and your narrow-ass mind
narrower than the waist of that photoshopped
bleach blonde beach bikini billboard you SO adore
You dare part your lips? youre blind, Paul,

and no, its not from your ceaseless masturbation,
not that theres anything wrong with that,
im all for sexual liberation

but behold, a new age approaches
the age of information
of education

the annihilation of subjugation
its time for the old ways to decay, to fall
you are the last neanderthal
good bye, dear Paul."

My first patient

Day 1 of the Journal

My first contact, he held my hand as I steppd into the dark, twisted world of rampant inner demons, or better said, dragged me in by the wrist. He was soft and mild mannered. My first patient.

My first memory of him begins as I walk through the turquoise corridors on my second day of employment alongside a more experienced delver of psyches, 6 weeks in the ward she had gathered so far. A slight man with greying hair hanging ruffled over a stern forehead, and a slightly jutting jaw which grants him a stubborn air. He bares a thick brass ring with a skull and snakes acid-etched on its surface. He has no time for introductions in his accelerated state.
He commences his ferocious assault by spraying the air with strings of words and mucus: "How am I supposed to contact anyone if I'm only allowed to call twice a day? What if I accidentally type the wrong number? Or the other person is calling or there's a network error and the electricity flows backwards and..." My chaperone barely listens, feet speeding up and head only slightly turned towards him as her irritated, bored eyes sear him. He sprays on imperviously "and I'll let you know I know my rights and I am no dummy to be kept in the dark, to be kept quiet and locked away be-"

"Unforunately there are only two phone calls a day." she attempts to interject. She is picket fence against flood; he spews on but we reach the door and slip into a future favoured sanctuary of mine, where I would retreat to during lunch breaks when overwhelmed or to escape fatal hyperthermia after my 15 kilometer morning bicycle commute and layers of mandatory livery in the summer hell, and bask like a penguin on ice his voice abruptly subsides.

The following days I spoke to him and keenly tried to pick out any semblance of logic from his scattered, manic mind. He no longer wanted to be called Mr.: it was an affront, an allusion to the eras of slavery where the lords of old ruled over the plebs, he wanted to have a specific section of his intestine replaced by a functional female reproductive organ, as his wife had become infertile after several failed IVF attempts, yes doctor, I know it might be hard, but I have faith that a prodigious surgeon could do the job. Space-time talks to him, and if he were as powerful as Putin it wouldnt be only this room communicating to him, instead he could install large antennas on his head and communicate even with Mars!

I tended to him when others ignored his incessant silly string trails of demands and objections - for days he pleaded for a circumcision, providing a cornucopia of explanations as to why: he suffered from phymosis, a narrowing of the foreskin causing pain and infection, he wanted to become a Jew, and many more which my brain fails to grasp. So pervasive was this idea of getting circumcised amongst his other more fickle fixations that I decided to examine him - indeed there were some signs of mechanical trauma, most likely explained by the cocktail of antipsychotic pharmacopoeia leading to the inability to ejaculate, leading to literal hours of manic masturbation without an end in sight. I prescribed him a salve - he wouldnt remember but someone had to care for those ostracized - and the next day his grand obsession of snipping and foreskins receded.

I prompted him and listened to his responses, carefully, and inexpertly attempted to fit his mind into a grid, deconstruct the jumbled tangle into something medically acceptable. Sleep last night: 2-3 hours, Appetite: low. Perceived need for sleep: none. Insight into condition: lacking. And so on and so forth.

Just over a fortnight past, my first patient lay motionless in bed, unusual for
the manically derailed to be able to sleep. As I woke him, he reported how startled he was. How much furor and wrath welled up inside him. I could tell his bottomless energy was reaching its bottom. The reality of his situation had sunk in - his wife had divorced him, and he was now homeless. I'm to this day still unsure whether he truly understood it yet, but his emotions seemed to.

Three days later, with reductions in his medicine, he was gone, to be kept in a less intensive station. He was like a brief gale that had knocked me off my feet and disappeared without a trace, leaving me a little confounded, yet awed at the force in him. I decided to investigate and inform myself of his storry via electronic records.

First manic episode at age 19, he was now 52. Exceptional grades, he was a gifted student. Since then he had accumulated several suicide attempts. The mundate details of his biography in conjunction with the severity with which his affliction permeated his life sobered me, left me contemplative. How fragile sanity was, I pondered, and vowed to never become jaded.

Today I saw him once more. As I entered the airlock, his eyes fixed onto mine as he trundled towards me. They lit up in recognition as we had a brief exchange of pleasantries, his usual tangential speech swinging around in wide, barely coherent arcs. Maybe his mind had been flushed into outer space, but his body language suggested that he remembered my kindness. In a profession mostly devoid of gratitude, his eagerness to greet me melted my heart.

Today was the best day ever.

The sky coloured balloon and the dame with armor fashioned from Damascan daggers

Sometimes I am hurt

my lip caught on the jagged

tip of an inflexion,
I'm sensitive.. irritable..

Othertimes it's by a selfish elbow

And thats okay

we all can have a day

where we are brave

but shy away from

our demons

lost in our inner maelstroms

but to softly whisper out the pain

to deflate the tension,

urging you that I am not okay

that just maybe you werent really being that fair

just.. maybe? or simply that something is wrong?

but then..

.. to be ignored

to be invisible

to be a balloon the colour of the sky

i am not invisible
i am not a balloon
i am not dust to be dusted from a shoulder, or a thigh

so I cry out.
im angry now
im a bit loud now, im being ignored
im redder than the cheeks of a baboon

an iron gauntlet covers my mouth
"you are being rude,
this conversation is over"
you inform me.

I gather my wits
how dare she?
ignore me, dismiss me

i could roll over, like a soft bellied fish,
surrendering to the falling anchor
to be shaped like hot
(but malleable)
metal
upon the coldest of anvils

instead a spark flies
a singular point of laser-hot focus
the red cape that angers the bull

i am scorned
my feelings are shorn
obstinate or not
you will know my mind

so i spill it - or better said
lava spills from me
in great spurts and spouts

an island bubbles up from the depths
the dame with armor fashioned from damascan daggers
trembles.. then staggers

as she falls to one knee
her visor falls to the ground
her eyes are teary
"you've hurt me"

its easy now to see,
as the steam blows out to sea
the laser didnt guide my mind

it guided a missile of a kind
and everything is smithereens

and the point i was trying to make
lies obscured by smoke
billowing in its wake

To those stifled

To those stifled
by the great grey gargoyles
by the smog, and the turmoil

Fear not, the gargoyles' feet are clay
and others may one day
admire the ruins of an empire slain

To those stifled
By the subjugation of the rain
From faucet to drain

Cut and bore through the floor
into the PVC vein
uncrease the creased gut of the gargantuan beast
there, the water
still roars
and if you listen
the Ocean
still bellows forth
from those drops that once glistened
as they fell to the earth

And to those stifled
by the clogging of shores
with the scrapped wrappers of pre-peeled apples
or smores
by the spilling of plastic spores into the great outdoors,

Fear not. Though we may discard
the elastic mementos of perished dinosaurs
Mother Nature will however cherish
their ancestral remnants forevermore.

Once upon a time,
on a bubble called Earth
were much smaller bubbles
which basked in the sun, and bubbled oxygen
for the first time ever.

these cyanobacteria induced outright hysteria
for they caused an elevation in the concentration
of said oxygen
until this pollutant
rose to dangerous new heights
and birthed were modern mutants
who could survive the blight

So do remember, stifled ones
as we hand down the planet
to our daughters and sons,

Be it asteroids, or volcanoes, ice ages or orange imbeciles

A sunset here
always will
be a sunsrise beyond our hills.