we live in the subway...

by human being

illustrations by rhoda penmarq

we live in the subway at different stations no one ever leaves here we just live our life! sisyphus rolls his boulder from one station to the other nobody gives him a hand no one has got a hand in this land we do not shake hands here we just shake our heads as we walk thoughts can't climb the stairs dialogs are run over by trains we all run to take a trip to take a sit to take a nap to dream of the land above that we are not allowed to visit they are busy there they are busy cleaning the land from bodies and trees they want the land bodiless they want the land treeless they say bodies and trees make it priceless and they laugh no one cares about the meaning of words in this land we just hear the words we hear them laughing we hear them cleaning the land we hear the bodies and the trees that are cleaned the subway is full of voices and sounds but nobody listens joshua bell's violin is begging for hearing ears nobody lends him even a pierced ear no one has got an ear in this land fear has got the upper hand courage is lost in the maze of knowledge minds do not find each other they masturbate in their interior monologs poetry is raped by busy nets stories are stillborn we live in the subway at different stations no one ever leaves here we just live our life ............................................ like a dry leaf in the wind

meaning...

by human being

illustrations by rhoda penmarq

once upon a time, there lived a creature called meaning... meaning didn't know who it was and life seemed so meaningless to it... so it started a journey to find out... wherever it saw someone on the road, it stopped and asked... but no one knew who it was... it saw lots of people and places... it had lots of sad and happy moments but still that meaninglessness bothered it... one day when it was sitting by a pond looking at the play of light on the surface of water, it noticed a face on the water... no! it was not its reflection... and this is not the story of Narcissus... the face on the water was smiling... while meaning knew exactly how it (itself) felt: sad and tired... the face on the water was trying to say something... while meaning knew it (itself) had been silent for a long time... meaning loved that smile... those lips that were trying to say something... meaning tried to listen but.... splash! a coconut dropped in the pond... monkeys were hungry... and were trying to eat something... the face was gone... meaning became a frequent visitor to the pond... day after day it came there to see the face again... that smile ... those moving lips... but the moment the face appeared and wanted to say something, something happened and the face disappeared... but meaning never gave up... it built a house there... planted lots of plants and trees... made friends with all people and creatures there... . and each day came to the pond to see the face... the moment the face appeared, meaning would tremble with joy... and thought it was the happiest being in the world... now meaning felt its life was meaningful... and they lived happily ever after? no... this story is a bit different... on a very beautiful morning something strange happened after years of visit to the pond... when the face appeared... nothing happened to make the face disappear... they looked at each other for a long time... smiling... at last, meaning asked the face: - who are you? the face smiled more broadly than ever and answered: - i'm... nothing... meaning paused for a long time... then it entered the water very slowly... careful not to disturb its motionless surface... and they became one... no one has seen meaning since then...

innuendos...

.


an american night
a canadian flight
at a hong kong airport
through the gate of silence
anonymous identities
clothed in quoted cloaks
vampiring the auspicious vehicle of art running through your veins
disheartening the troubadour steps of travelers
divorcing the dubious hands of doves
throwing a monkey wrench into the wheel of communication
coloring the world in their putrid paranoia
dissolving love in a lamenting loneliness


.

june2009-july2010
*american night is a cinematographic technic...
.

they...

.

they love you
when you are
as tall as
the wall of their
expectations or
when you are
as solid as
the mirror of
their reflections

while
-------------you
----------------------- love
------------------------------------to be
------------------------------------------------as thin as
------------------------------------------------------------------the air

so that
---------------they
----------------------------can
-----------------------------------------see
-------------------------------------------------------through
--------------------------------------------------------------------------you

.

on my way...

by human being

illustrations by rhoda penmarq

on my way i saw a woman buried deep in the earth up to her shoulders with her face torn off by the stones thrown at her she was still alive and her long hair rippled in the breeze was it love?, i asked no, she moaned, it was a fight between my owners what can i do for you?, i enquired nothing, she responded in a fading voice, just take one of these stones and throw it in the running water i sat there combing her long hair with my sad fingers until she died then i took one of the stones - the bloodiest - and continued on my way on my way i saw a man fastened to a tree with his hands cut off blood was dripping down on the stones he was still alive and his long hair rippled in the breeze was it a fight between your owners?, i asked no, he moaned, it was a war between hunger and me what can i do for you?, i enquired nothing, he responded in a fading voice, just take one of these stones and throw it in the running water i stood there combing his long hair with my sad fingers until he died then i took one of the stones - the bloodiest - and continued on my way on my way i saw a couple a boy and a girl the boy was shot in the heart lying on the ground with blood gushing from his chest the girl was hanged on the gallows with blood streaming gently down her nailless fingers joining the boy's blood on the stones they were still alive they both had very short hair there was no breeze a distant storm loomed in the horizon was it a fight between your owners or a war between you and hunger?, i asked no, they moaned, it was for truth and freedom what can i do for you?, i enquired nothing, they responded in a fading voice, just take one of these stones and throw it in the running water i stayed there caressing their faces with my sad fingers until they died then i took one of the stones - the bloodiest - and continued on my way i walked for days and for years but i couldn't find any running water one day i took out the stones and held them in my hands i was tired and the stones were so heavy i cried i cried because i still remembered i should have done something tears were running from my eyes dripping on the stones washing away the blood dried on them the stones and my fingers were all wet and bloody i threw them up in the air they joined each other and turned into a crow and the crow sat in a tree and started cawing: it is all for love it is all for love it is all for love you can still see the tree you can still hear the crow you can still touch a stone what will you do with it? monday, july 12, 2010

seven little stories to be read after bedtime...

by human being

illustrations by rhoda penmarq

. (one) a bird in a bare blue sky a kiteless child is watching the bird... (two) a bird in a bare green tree a wingless cat is watching the bird... (three) a bird on bare brown soil a careless scarecrow is watching the bird... (four) a bird over a bare grey wall a windowless tower is watching the bird... (five) a bird in a bare golden cage a brideless groom is watching the bird... (six) a bird on a bare black wire a wordless poet is watching the bird... (seven) a bird on a bare beautiful shoulder a sightless soul is watching the bird...