have you felt like you were stationary as you stared out of the window of the plane?

have you felt like you were so tiny as you ventured to look beyond the horizon?

have you felt like you were falling so hard, so long, so endless that you were actually suspended?

have you spoken so much that you felt that you said nothing?

hello and welcome to my little room I call the 'train room'.

Imagine.

i like the fact that the train set just goes round and round.

i like the fact that there is a chair, a window, a giant table with the train set on the table.
the train is moving now. Round and round.
i like the fact that I'm staring at the miniature tracks.

and those are all I can find in that room. Just me and a corner that is so dark, I dare not go near it.
the might of photography is not that it captures the 'real'
it is its might to undo the 'real' and exist as its own 'real'

it is such a silent image. noise fills around it. But it is absolutely silent.
everything freezes in it.
you are staring at merely a picture. nothing else.
and its might is also in how the association always arrive belatedly, almost in a secondary afterthought.
the primary being the moment before recognition. beyond the mere fact that it a palette of colours organised in a particular way.
that is when photography is most mighty. That it deviates from what it is; from being silent, stationary and unreal. it is still real.




when you cannot even tell if it is dead or alive.

i dare you to take a picture of person you know, dying before you.


the soul is psychodelic.
left on its own...it is plural.
free to float into non-existence and existence.
free to be as it is.
free to fly to the deepest possible infinity.
the picture is not the soul.
it is the body.

take me on a ride where I truly become.
project me beyond and within the disillusion
becoming by unbecoming
unbecoming because i am dying by reaching the end of the becoming
living in a shell of perpetual evaporation
i melt
into a cloud of troubles
and it evaporates
into a vask of fantasies

beauty is the impossibility.
the denial of the raw force of creation and destruction
such that beauty is the invisible, the intangible, the ephemeral,
and the dying

i can't wake up.
i crawl and dig within my shell
i hear voices calling out to me and they are holding me
my silence is my stubborn retort against this condition

i laugh and cry at my predicament.
but I know that there are worse predicaments out there.
amazement indulges in a feast with the cunning sheep
there is no wolf in the sheep.
the sheep is cunning.

you cannot and will not tear down the fences around you

I step no further,
one step away from sliding.

because you, we hypocritical friends, are content in your little fenced up patch of grass, with fellow sheep to partake in a feast of delights.

I go blind when the bright colours flash around me.
I go deaf when all the white noise fills around me.
I suffocate when the stench of perfume mixes with the mechanical breeze around me.
I faint because I just faint. and everything around me disappears.

fences are not enough to keep me from my ambition to die
i do not count sheep to sleep
I have to open my eyes wide to stare at the fading paths before me.

you must stop seeing the things you only want to see
you have to flow down the rivers
where forests do not end
where wolves snarl at you in close proximity
where owls mock at you for your lack of flexibility
you must die.
before you live.

Then Take My Bones.
they rattle in a shaking silence.
no night is quiet.
the silence itself is painful noise.

ah. you must feel so wretched
so pained
so tainted
so cursed
you must feel so oily
so very oily
and then you shall see

like a lighting that strikes you into your core
and all bones shattered
all muscles pulled
your eyeballs bulge
blood gushing out from your holes
you must stare at your own death
tremble
burn
crash

before you live again
not as a picture
but as a falling star
and leaves a trace of mighty glory
and then you realise and hear all around,
the wolves are tearing from their hunger


faith is a scary thing.
very.

... ...

i'm so tired. so very tired.