Tag Archives: growing up

dit moi

what are you afraid of darling?

don’t burn them bridges,

ignite yourself instead,

with the fire that you tried to cover.

can’t help that i’m so extreme.

swinging from one end to another,

i suddenly remember, such different days,

where i wore my heart on my sleeves,

and said, i love you, drenched and anxious.

letters of open hearts, led one to a foreign land.

parallel universes exist, but we’re meant to be,

exactly where we are standing right now.

right here, right on this spot that we’re occupying.

for there wouldn’t have been a field across the pond,

where we kissed those innocent days goodbye –

in frocks and words, surrounded by your guitar chords.

a new dawn came after those balmy summer nights.

stability calls for a shelter, the timing was perfect.

but did you start to feel trapped, by digging your own hole.

it went deeper and deeper, until we lost sight of the surface.

the pipes broke and all hell went loose –

concentrated energies targeted at the creation of a portal.

as the air got sucked in, one breath was left for seduction.

a slow and unexpected one, every single bit delicious.

and you were starting to think, this is part of growing up.

brother, this valuable lesson has taught me how to love myself.

miss independence entered the room, sparkles and dandy.

to give was the shot of the era, until he who had more to give arrived.

good fortune followed, but something was missing.

lack of commitment, lack of seriousness.

perhaps it’s for the best.

but then a tall glass of tenderly affection poured itself.

the melted ice are still hanging, while kindred spirits roam free.


parallel universes exist, but we’re meant to be,

exactly where we are standing right now.

right here, right on this spot that we’re occupying.

for there wouldn’t be a bright flickering light,

whispering “love is within you. always been there”.


dit moi, aren’t we blessed to be free?


suspended in time?

[part 2 continues]


laying down the dough,

slice by slice,

in perfect geometrical dimensions,

revealing the order amidst this chaos.

i’ve made my peace, ease, peas.

my waking life, travels through osmosis,

and returns to the dream world.




as we were coming up, into a galaxy of metro stations,

trains passing by, the adverts look like bursts of stars,

traveling at this speed seemed like the way of the future.



colliding worlds.


we all have compulsive habits.

in the midst of spinning a web for the good life,

i lost touch with the mundane.

did you hear about that girl, who was so concerned with,

her narratives,

that she died,

in a moment of exaltation.

who is she?

why, of course, she has a name!

margarita she goes by.

in fact, the devil lies in the details.


catching oneself in interwoven plots,

albeit always slightly detached from direct involvement.

there’s always an eject button,

catapulting out of heavy compression,

and onwards to the next storyline.


but we caught glimpses of all these wondrous worlds.

variety is the spice of life, they say.

when the splash of extraordinary stops,

squirt the ordinary cum,

our central nervous system is unable to handle the shock.




i miss our verbose sittings,

under starry nights,

the clinks and clunks,

human forms shaped strangely around us.

the musical notes hitting a right key,

unlocking all of our frustrations,

amusements, ponderings about our banal existence.

when we goats purr,

the gloating cats listen.


in the queue, your lunchbox approached mine.

the ladders to passing clouds,

serbian mothers and twirling in heels.

football match paved the way to an explosive night by the canals,

where we found ourselves on a roof,

watching the sunrise,

before we carved infinity.

a dash of surrealism along with your coffee,

isn’t it nice?

don’t you remember how we cheered at the free-spirited,

and jeered at the locked up cage of repressed castrates.


pluck out the thorns of imbued memory,

smoothing the cover,

only to reveal a pandora box of profane interactions.

somehow the discolored version,

the tainted destruction,

cries for attention.

to be remembered.


but you sensed the poetry.

on our walk along the seine,

gaze upon the notre dame.

watered down cocktails of our augmented night,

a little detour to 2 stops away from chatelet.

and next, outside of chancery lane tube station we stand,

everything feels lucid and real.

the job you’ve given me, the confidence.

my lack of gratitude only compelled you to chase with a fervent desire.


know that,

i am honest.

i am thankful.


skip those months, we arrive at a post-parov-stelar gig,

by the fountains surrounded by lions,

on a bench that initiated the year.

did we begin our journey then?

stranger, look within yourself.

i will always be here for you.




repel the baser instincts, they advised.

but how could i?

they are such a relish, radish.

let the pungent army attack your inner senses.

maybe then we will be awaken.

to this reality that we often deny.


steamy forbidden fruits.

timing is everything.

our intentions dug our graves,

for us to jump in without second thoughts.

and for what?

in search of the sense of being,

essence of living,

alive, lit up,

so the devils could pick up our bones trailing behind.


wait, refusal. resisting the last bite.
X desires to kiss. to make contact.

in its infinite search for the perfect home,

lies its greatest paradox.

never to find anything appropriate,

as curiosity likes to delve into yet another sphere,

when one has been sought out.

or so it convinces itself.

everything is already an anti-thesis from the beginning.

the longing to return to 0,

but 1, 1, 1, just cannot stop poking around,

to see what’s behind, in front, above, beneath,

exactly where it stands.




why should we stop experimenting?


those who have an excessive love of life,

lives Her intense days and nights,

crash and burn before the mortals flee to oblivion.


margarita, save the day.


suspended in time

why do the desires stir so stagnantly these days?
whatever happened to the joyous and curious spirit?
during a period of self-doubt and loathing,
could such ailments be eased by reading, watching and listening incessantly,
apparent attempts to alleviate these symptoms manifested in skin rashes and sudden jabs at the skull?

such voyeuristic endeavours might help to distract but the fundamentals require some tweaking.
it is the new year after all.
sitting on this throne, i want to cast away this fake tiara and shatter the palace.
the doctor ordered a tall glass of physical exhaustion.
he may be right. if one can’t move in her fate, at least move the body. movement.
i’ve been resting for too long, way past the due date.
proust suggested we should suffer successfully.
he also suggested we should express ourselves authentically. let’s give it a go. there’s such a longing to write… i’m tired of not being myself.


well, look who it is. oh you voluptuous mass of gas, pulsating with a feminine air of mystery, always inviting me to rejoice in your beauty. the moon is somewhat of an enigma, isn’t it. somehow, under your light, i have a tendency to reflect, to reconnect with my subconscious thoughts and emotions. so i guess i’ve always been an avid chaser of all sorts of amusements and experiences in life. let’s say, there’s a bounty on ecstasies and i’m out to capture them. the grand prize? why, it’s an assortment of events, places, people. and beneath the facade, stories. stories encapsulated in the form of memory, our own perceived and remembered memory, which in many ways, could even be far from what really happened. but what is it that really happened, if not through our own perceived lens at the time? to recall is a little bit more complicated.

everything seems a little bit further away, a little bit smaller in hindsight. but i recall being absolutely engaged in those times, as if time would go on forever, and the expiry date is only a figure above the door, like an emergency exit sign. merely for decorative purposes until it’s needed. this cigarette i’m sucking on tastes like bacon. which reminds me of that plate of english breakfast we devoured after a shimmering night at fabric, the zubrowka lend me his hand to hold, in such a tasteless place. blast them neurons, tonight i remember an evening of shady dealings in whitechapel; leading the steps to sustenance, for a brief while. thank you. tonight i remember that random date with jalfrezi, theatrics played out in a taiwanese resto. how did we meet? he was such a lovely chap, who enjoys cooking for his sisters. london has a tendency to arrange chance encounters in such an insidious way. forget tinder. simply… open your eyes.

i see the dna chromosome mass rider, the aggressive bike maker, the indonesian squatter, the scottsman who educates in the middle east, the activist of the orient, the swedish spinner, the belfast ship actor, the russian kid architect, the triestian who receives croatian radio waves, gust by gust – all these rolling wheels wheezing by thousands of shoes, ears, lips and braces. have i been in a play of stimuli-overload? hold on, this is only starting to get interesting, as we pump up absurdity notch by notch. i never understood people who mix people up. but as i get older and more exposed to a plethora of character types, i begin to merge and split the instances, the personalities, the time and places of all these moments.

someone once told me i smell like bread. perhaps scent will point my finger at the right drawer (i am definitely going through a proust phase), but what are we going to find? i’ve collected enough souls, even at face value, throughout my time in wonderland. the difficulty now lies in digging deeper for clues. clues for the lives we led. clues for all of the others’ alter egos and our own. the pace intensified over the last year, the bumps became more frequent, the mind loses track. our temporal lobe is busy at work, organising the framework to host and analyse the vast amount of data. should we begin our journey in reverse?


always a wondrous time with my soul brother,

we explored the Strasse und garten on our favourite vehicle.

a rickshaw driver is worth a million bucks,

the smiles and conversations entertained while dodging double-deckers.

rescued from those lonely nights,

we hopped into a bus and hopped off a ship.

did we really nod our goodbyes in gorlitzer?

you will not disappear. you are on the back of my cupboard.

scribbled your name where i can’t reach.

the pie is freshly baked, eat it while it’s hot.

you know how to please.

with your fingers, wriggling for the cream.

why, the lawyers always have the best answers!

refute me, i am not interested in mediocrity.

but there is comfort in knowing the sheets won’t be ruffled.

guts night turned into a blur, one awakes in highbury council.

the jersey woman makes cupcakes, that’s what she claims.

the icing spilled all over as we danced to our own rhythm.

you sags, with your charm, how convinced we were.

in the name of Love, we traveled to the continent.

our smooth lines and drawn contours,

protruding and gliding like air,

so fine and delicious the tartes we make.

on the back of your scooter, wrapped in each other,

is where we belong.

the romantic dawns of this city dazzle,

garlic gaucho with the maté, setif berber who knows his couscous,

picked up outside the Gordon, and the asymmetrical trees,

on a rainy day, on a sombre yet amusing morning,

from the sacre coeur.

it seems when you bare, you bear.

the fruits of this splendid dream of a summer.

a whole chapter should be dedicated to those flamingo days,

satie’s tunes still wafting in my heart.

drawing closer, your gaze upon mine,

we penetrated into the abyss of the infinitesimal.

fantasies like daisies played by the blue duck,

these lines i remember best.

the rest is a recital.

crossing the alps to the carpathians,

we found skeletons in an abandoned castle.

the crypts unlocked, a wild beast ravaged.

how strange to think back now,

about those kittens sunbathing on the grass?

we lounged in the forest, the sun reaches our eyes,

everything came to an abrupt end while riding the van home.

friends encourage, friends are honest.

friendships are to be cherished.

[part II in the works]