Spin

I close my eyes slowly as I begin to lose myself within the rhythm you created. I shield them with my arm to ensure I see nothing on the outside…to ensure I see nothing but you. My head is used to the gradual tingling. My feet need no direction now. I can only hear the collective calling of your name. I can feel the verve in the voices, pulsing along my own heart's, exchanging waves of a harmony that has been desired for a lifetime. And I cannot but let my senses crawl under the newly born halo of surrender. Without my command, the tears fall down my welcoming face as they assert my questioning of the Truth.

The flute weeps into my ears…and the echoes bring up the sound of a familiar cry…the cry of Recognition.

My Conscious is mad for oblivion. Something has been aching in me. It has driven me away to the confusing shores of the Unlimited. It has pushed me down the paths of probable Nowheres. I have exhausted my system in trials, and yet it still could sting. I have not known what I wanted, I just knew I had to stop the stinging. I have been drained of all strength, for I knew the key to my existence was behind this pain. I have been spinning around every possibility, in all irony. And I have found no effect. I could not even tell if I were strayed, for I never knew where I came from. I knew nothing, I saw nothing, I felt nothing but that sting. I tasted no pleasure, I did not even feel any other kind of pain. All I knew was that I had to know.

The drum strikes stab my resident pensiveness in recurrence…into Nonexistence.

I am in the middle of revolving White. I carry so much color on me. The thought of every color leads to you. The thought of everything is starting to lead to you. I am silent in the middle of revolving cries. I am constant in the middle of changing strikes. Every rhythm in each strike leads to you. The sting gets louder as the edge of my abyss erodes. I have come to you with such weight of incomplete triggers. I have scattered all my passion into useless fragments that I cannot even detect any longer. I am calling your name inside in utmost beseeching. But I cannot tell where that voice is coming from. The echoes run deeper.

And to the overflowing sound of your name I fall. Higher.

Would you take me? I am tapping upon the essence of my existence. I am everything. You are everything. Only now does it ring true. Would you call on my serenity? I have been defeated and left disheveled by the part of world you made mine. I am spinning on my feet but I am yet running. I have been running from you in my world, and did I know it was to reach a glimpse of yours. Do you see where I am captured? Would you take me away from where I linger? Would you show me your colors before I spin myself further into my own folly? Would you bless my quest?

I am pleading as you take me.

The air in my breath seems to have abandoned me, and I am only breathing your name through my ears. I can taste it merging with my heartbeats. I can hear my heels delighting to the new sound. I can hear you.




He danced and a maze of strings in the air began to listen. One of them was mine.

Yet Another Superman Tragedy.

Sometimes, it's not that hard to believe we're superhuman. It's those times we realize we can't lay on the ground screaming we can't do or take it anymore. It's the times where the predicament is strictly attached to something, or someone, we know that by any means, we cannot give up on. And in some of those times, we include ourselves too on that list, if we managed to still find a way to care.

Yes, our very own kryptonite stones.
It's an irony, but who cares anyway.

No one said that anything, let alone that big, could possibly come free, or cheap. The fear of falling is always around the corner. Restlessness is born with the logical thought that one day we might just wake up, look over our shoulders and the cape will be gone, no matter how tightly we get ourselves to wrap it around our skin so we'd be able to sleep. There's always an unbearable anticipation that if one more thing happens we'd just fall apart beyond repair, and the pressure will be released at once, the inevitable price we had to pay while trying to float.

But in desperation, costs are always of no issue. That is, if we were even able to see them ahead.

So we're up. Hell, maybe even running. We're in one piece, doing one thing, the one thing we risked it all for. We get up and we get through with the day, and on some occasions maybe think of that one day we get to breath like those ordinary humans in the picture on our wall, the ones we've long denied ourselves from. Just to inhale and exhale with nothing wrestling on end across the chest.

The day we let the cape carry us home, and we exchange goodbyes.

It's a tragedy, but who cares anyway?

In A For-What-It's-Worth Nutshell.

And what you don't know, is that you want my silence.

Of Time, And Those Annoying Little Shades of Yellow.

I've seen streets overcrowded with Blankness.

I've seen where I ended, and floated somewhere beyond. Still floating. Explains the blankness part.

I've seen every way I managed not to go down into, and I've seen some of the milestones pass by uncelebrated. At least not the way they could have been.

I've seen Time stop, but I followed it anyway. Aware of the stakes, I did. I've also seen it trying to escape me, and sometimes I let it, before it gives itself too much credit for thinking it's holding me down, not the other way around. I've seen Time from side-way and upside down views. I've gone through the clocks and the calendars back and forth, in a distorted pendulum-like movement. I've skidded blindly across the days with invisible roller blades. It wasn't the least fun. I've jumped, staggered, twitched, and hummed it away.

I've felt Time in every way it would have thought of being felt, including the none-at-all one. I know of Time.

And If it weren't for you, I would be shouting at every yellow object I come across. I look up in the morning and see the tone of your skin, and then the night would come and I would look up again, and sing your song. This is what keeps me from shouting.

But oh, Do I want to shout! I want to shout everything back to its place. I want to leave you the longest echoes to follow.

And when Time looks prettiest in my eyes, I look on and pick the tags of celebration, and leave a note on one of them, to smile at when Time would feel, at last, right. And behind every star you made yours, are other notes of the kind, explaining how exactly each shines for you.

Note to the world: I hereby declare that I am not broken. I further clarify that I am yet incomplete.