ilona

So, you know what is coming. Yes, you know I am writing about you. I told you. I wanted to spend some moments writing something to your heart. I believe in its beauty. In you. I can sense great warmth deep inside you. I am photoless, maybe you are challenging my terrible memory. God, you looked perfect tonight. More beautiful than ever before.

I look back over the evening. It was like car crash TV. I couldn't take my eyes off her. I couldn't waste my own time playing or fidgeting (as she was) when such a fascinating being sat in front of me. She was a good friend. So beautiful and confused. Perhaps. I loved her. I wanted to see her again soon. Not wait months like before today. She had a good heart. A good crazy heart.

The flame flickered behind the left side of her face, the right from where I sat, it licked the edge of her face. Mostly her face was in darkness, but her eyes were piercing the night, stunning it in its tracks as it was just appearing. They were sharp and gentle, utterly compelling. She was smoking, playing with the lighter, or the cigarette, or a nail that she had found and used to scratch a sticker off the table. Anything. I was holding her, in my head at least. She had no idea how lovely she was. Unfathomably insecure. Golden. 

Some people are so far from boring that life with them seems multicoloured. I hadn't seen these colours of this woman, of her tapestry, her life painting, for so long. All I wanted to do was stay with her. She had to go. I had to go. Not knowing when. We will see each other again. Yeah, she was a good woman, I wanted to shake her like a kids rattle, send some joy her way, make her see it really is all ok. Thinking too much is overrated. Not for everyone. Some are at the other end. Some are vacant vessels. This was about her though. Her faults were potentially gorgeous, sweet, delightful.

She sings in a choir. I'd love to wrap my ears around that. She hates photos. I can't even get a crafty one. I want one of this magic person so much, but I want her to let me, not to force the door down. It doesn't feel right. It is a shame that such a perfect looking woman declines something so natural. She is odd. Spectacular. Odd. It's to love her for, not the reverse.

Felix

We go so far. We never stop looking. An idea, to step yet further, to challenge the boundaries. Not without fear. For stop us it shall not. We must push those walls, test how durable they are. Stronger than the human will? Often not.

Mother is watching, tears dry on her face. The world watches and waits. Death or glory. One way or the other. Either way, your mind, your thoughts, a ticking bomb. On the edge, after you opened the door, (and what must you have considered on seeing that view) you finally throw yourself off and plummet. Over 700 miles an hour at one stage. You break the speed of sound. You defy belief. You are a hero to us. You show what some of us know. Anything is possible. Even more now.

The smiles, the applause, the echo of your madness. Crazy or visionary? Both. Such feats need both in a man, in a woman. You laughed at death, for he will find you as he will us all. Your time. Not your time. beautiful joy on all of the faces. To own the earth for a moment in time.

For making people's dreams real, for showing us how beautiful our earth is from up there.

Thank you, Felix.

Zoltan's Nest

I am here with a family, in Budapest. It feels like home. Away from home, away from home. Wherever that may be. To each of us something. Perhaps different.

I call it 'Zoltan's nest.' I hope one day for... I just hope. It's a thing of beauty. To feel the warmth. Of the home. Of some people's love. Unnecessary and gorgeous. Surprising and special. All consuming.

Hold me in your heart and never let me go. Each of us could be everything, if only we looked outside. I owe you it all. How can I ever deliver? How indeed. To want to show the hand we hold. I look into eyes and see kindness and swallow, I look into the flames and I feel your embrace.

One day you will understand how much it all means to me. Maybe. I am better with written words than spoken ones. Those ones (the latter) never quite seem to hit the mark. We show, not say. I search for deeper chasms of demonstration. I seek you out and I find you there, at the centre of the nest, keeping it safe and warm, happiness glowing, overflowing, spilling from where once there was nothing. What a landscape, what a scenery you painted, what a castle you built. What a love. What a stunning love. There. Here. All around. Now.

Blanket

Cover the valley, make it look like the mountains are being flooded with a white carpet, something surreal. The landscape, never the same, almost challenging to my eyes. A sea of cotton wool. Would it catch my every fall? It looks like a perfect pillow, just holding itself there. No shift, no adjustment to its glory. The days, so painfully beautiful, dancing around us, embracing us, defining our walls. The clouds, like her, my blanket. She is out there, walking, breathing, despairing, rejoicing, feeling the heart strings pull at her, needing a blanket too. She is a baby, I am a cradle. I am the wind and she is the trees. All for you, all for me.

Milano / Audrey (August 2012)

So, Milan didn't blow me away like Venice had. In fact, Milan seemed like a really poor version of Madrid. I could see similarities, but Milan didn't pull it off. Any of it. People were clearly loaded and geared to representing the fashion the city is known for at the price of a more down to earth existence. There was something alien about the place and its people. I didn't feel any connection with it like I had with Venice only the day before.

The only connection I found was with an Australian woman called Audrey who was staying at the same hostel. She was really good to talk to, which was something I'd been missing all day.She had these exciting eyes sparkling in the dark outside area where we were sat on the floor, initially with others and a little later just the two of us alone together. I wanted to take her to my room, just lie there, talk all night or until I inevitably fell asleep. I wanted to imagine the ceiling, the roof away and discuss the universe with her while the stars were all ours. All of them for us. Dancing across that sky.

Yeah, she had tattoos, and no, I'm not a big fan at all, but the meaning of each helped me on my way to forgiveness, haha. She wasn't serious. I like that. I am often the same. Life is so short, why waste it being unnecessarily serious? She was funny and cute. Okay, so I wanted to taste her and lick her legs as we had discussed earlier, jokingly in conversation (don't ask how that happened), but to be serious for a second her pins did look ripe for a licking. Absolutely so.

I had a room to myself. I had two massive double beds in there. A room big enough to hold them and have extra space. I could have got lost in there, in the ocean of that bed (well, I had to pick one, didn't I?). It felt almost tragic that I was in there alone. I slept well, even if it was too late really. A woman somewhere would have wanted to be there with me. I wish I could have felt that then. I just felt like the king of all loneliness again. I didn't like that. I failed these last days in turning everything into a positive as I had lately so well. I wanted some genuine affection. Ellie was a year ago now. People had wanted me since, I'd wanted some people too, normally different ones, yeah, you know, not the ones who wanted me. All kinds of situations had arisen, in fact. I'd hurt some people unintentionally. I'd almost been hurt myself if not for having a philosophy where I didn't feel I could lose, because all life, no matter what, was a valuable and life-enhancing experience. But now I can feel a hole. I don't like it. Maybe these four days travelling has highlighted the void. I didn't expect it. Maybe it's been growing inside since the Russian actress. She swept through the night like a deceptive wind rustling the leaves. Pieces of some giant puzzle, a tapestry, life.

I imagined us lying on one of the giant beds each and just talking. Then it would become quiet and I'd go and climb the walls onto the bed she was on. I'd tell her not to worry and just stroke her hair and face, look into her eyes a little. I might even kiss her. Kiss the world away. Kiss that face until it melted from the heat, from the surprise, from the tenderness, and the madness of the days. A stranger doesn't need to be strange.

Forest of Legs (June)

If you had long been an admirer of women and the female form, an observer, such as myself, there comes a time in which you find yourself closer to heaven than at any previous moment of your days.

For the forest of legs I had never seen a start to a summer like this. The only good thing about leaving was the knowledge I would return a little over a month later. I could only hope nothing changed on the farm. I was on the wagon. I wasn't hoping to fall off.

Animals (May 30)

I wasn't quite sure from the eyes, if the alcohol and drugs had done that to them, or if they were a type of breed that inevitably fell into that whole game. It was to really risk your hand. I couldn't see a pretty ending, anywhere in sight.

Hollow eyes, dark, like some vicious dog waiting. Waiting on a pounce. On anything. We are animals. We can control ourselves. It is said.

Who Knows

It's not so much a question as a statement. If you don't have the answers though, for yourself, then I guess the shadows can't see inside either. I hold the hope of a heart, in a hand, on a rope. I for you can only breathe so long. Underwater abattoir. You leave me. Suffocate at sections. I never promised you an olive garden. They say. Go in search of and thou shalt suffer when not uncovering your sought riches. Allow space and time to co-create their beautiful babies of truth. All will be revealed. Rewarding patience. I can only open so much, like a bare book, the bones sticking out from the lesser skinned parts. I am yours. I am nobody's. I am a celebration of everything we don't know.

elvira

She was some kind of space pixie. She hadn't come from the common womb either. Just looking in her eyes, some truth just lying there, it was obvious she had the key.

I didn't want her to go, but I was glad for those few hours. So much time wasted, this so well used. We were gonna know each other a good while. Always time, my dear,

Sometimes it comes on really easy. The topics, the life analysis, the ease of comfort. She was effortless to be with. Oh, space pixies, you hide so well. Where are the others, lost in corners, never to be discovered? Sleep tight, little pixies, sleep tight for now.

Family

My darling family,

Where are you for the days? The passing days in which I hold you close at mind if not in arms. We could be sad at these distances or we could be grateful we ever had enough to miss each other in the first place. We could look forward to our next collection of minutes in each other's company, and only see the light. How I miss my mother and father, but what I have become is a testament to love and their guidance, whether it felt strange at times, inside my shell, understanding them and the world that surrounded me. The ballooning upon emerging from a protective shell, the blossoming of life, as it takes over, as we hold the reigns, control it, each in our own way. Me in mine. Oh it all looks spectacular from here. I can see the waves, singing a gentle lullaby.

So, I wonder how your days are. How are your days? I can type words out to you, feelings of warmth. I can see you whenever I want. Nothing is missing really, only those pretty arguments we fall into in person.

Yeah, I see people around me who are close by to their families, some obscenely so, some where they come and go into each other's daily lives and it seems nice and some who just coincide rarely, despite closeness in location. There is all kinds of situations. Some people probably don't miss their families so much and others will be locked into moments of sadness that they don't share a little more of the days with those closest to them. I think freedom and pursuing the calling of a heart is the greatest thing we can do, as the heart is our finest weapon, but that sometimes leads us away from the spot where our roots were twisted into the ground. I never considered tearing myself from the spot painful, I just don't know where I will, if ever, lay down those roots again. For now they excel at running over new turf and taking the upper parts of the body to lands where the wind can be felt on a neck, in the hair. I wonder why I don't miss my 'home' and am hunting for another, but I know it's right. My family is there, even in silence, it is there. You, fragments of me. You, with eyes and a pulse and a will of your own.

So, enjoy the days, as we are, together and apart. For our eyes will see each other soon, in more than dreams. Until that moment I am yours. As ever I was and will be.

Bless your socks and the contents, bless you on your way.

Big Kids

Some of us are a universe in a human body. The mind, what an instrument. Alas, some have lesser depths, some know not how to wield their weapons, the ones placed inside their paws. Evolution, can it not take place whilst still retaining youthful innocence and hope in everything? You know, the kind that tends to fade as we accelerate to the grave. Well, why though, it doesn't seem to be absolute in necessity. Love and lust and liars and a melting pot consuming our thoughts. I take what I want from it and abandon the remainder. Big kids and gramophones, talking and slipping into dreams, sipping on the past, looking ever forwards. The recipe for now, words and choruses bending on the air, fitting just right into an ear.

Never say goodbye to everything we were, it made us who we are. Roots and then little shoots, just about everywhere.

It

I wish I didn't care for it, but I do. I wish it didn't pop into my thoughts all the time, but it does. I know if it weren't for you, it wouldn't matter and that all it does is make it work. I see it morphs and it transfers and it claws at my eyelids. It means something to us, it drifts on the river, and it gives meaning to all that wades into view...

Tips For Living No. 1 - Try Not To Get Accustomed To The Sound Of Approximate Silence, Part 2

...So, where were we? Don't believe I don't know my reader is there, whether it be in a singular or more plural figure. Just because of the silence of you, it doesn't mean I neglect to ponder your presence, and I can still feel your breath on my writer's neck. Oh, yes, we were discussing the silence of our times, our modern charming world. Well, precisely the lack of it, and the acute surprise whence it befalls us, it sweeps us up in its fleeting arms.

Do you just see words, can you cooperate with the loneliness of the words on the page and fall into some great meaning, as everything continues around you outside your earthly bubble? Gravity, fixes us here, takes all our energy at times, sinking through my feet. Perhaps I swing from my theme of contemplation, alas, I shall endeavour to return and focus (as my dad swears I never can...)

Silence. I love you and hate you all at once. Like the best women, like my head, like everything of any value, it has a heavy dark side, a joy attached that makes us feel spectacular. The dogs barking, like some mad chorus, the electrical creatures that almost take over our existences, among them the buzzing fridges and cancerous television sets. The sounds of vehicles, and people, and thoughts that rarely leave peace in the mind, and the birds, the wind, the clock on every wall and the sound of a tense heart in a chest. Almost everywhere you look, go, dare to step there is noise, softening the blow of potential loneliness. Now, we are never going to have to cope with getting used to something that we hardly have the chance to cross paths with, are we? But Silence, I would certainly not mind if you sought me out a little more frequently,. or perhaps, and this is just an idea, maybe I should abandon my surroundings and come looking for you once in a while.

Tips for Living No. 1 - Try Not To Get Accustomed To The Sound Of Approximate Silence

Modern life inflicts many things on us but silence would seldom seem to be one of them. When the near if not perfect presence of silence actually does drop it barely seems possible and we almost miss the moment waiting for its bubble to be burst by some mundane audio effect from our soulless existence. The machines take over, the stars are less visible, the neighbourhood at times seems too concise and the heart cannot beat as it would like. The lungs cannot take the air they need. Try to not become accustomed to silence, not that I feel you ever could, for this is our tale. There are pockets of space where all can be appreciated, where silence can echo long into the night, where dreams seem real. Everything exists within the strength of a mind, at the very least, so we can create and be artistic with our days, our thoughts.

To.be continued...

The Upshot

Strike me down. Make a choice. Wrap the stars in cotton wool. When it comes down to it we all must pass through roller-coaster days, we all must accept the ebb and flow of life's tapestry as it tells its tale. Like a river, with opposition, like everything we are. Conviction consume me, push me to the post. Rape our uncertainty, fit me in some box of decision. The upshot as ever, all that needs releasing, we are searching for sense and solution. I long for the body of water, the lake of her soul, her ocean, her endless pool of sacrifice, one for another. Love. Only for this. She walks through every door, the last word echoes, to the drop of it all, the earth at the wall, shattering like you never knew a thing.

Bow and Arrow

Straight for the heart, striking it, pushing it, tearing it from the body. A sucker punch. Unexpected, like so many glorious and tragic things. I watched you line me up, take aim and then with pinpoint love and hurt and golden focus you took the greatest part of me, all for yourself. I wouldn't allow it if it weren't for art, for the pain and the wonder of every beating second that pushes us to the post.

I contemplate the way so many stars blinking upon us celebrate the sky together and so many people can see nothing. The way a bow and an arrow combine, make love, crucify the very air, a split second of perfect trajectory and motion. All is everything, cutting us to pieces, like some exquisite musical cacophony. It never seemed lovelier. Like her, like the eyes of everything, like her. A bow, an arrow, a woman for eternity.

Communication Breakdown

Oh, everything is a battleground. You try and I fail. I put my heart in and you watch in amusement, from the sides, with a whole audience. Spectator sports. Neglect, the breakdown of all words. Language, evolving as we use it. The walls of the city were never built to last an eternity, and words as we use them have no everlasting fortress of meaning either. At least not as we regard each other from a distance. Not as we spell our thoughts out to each other. Someone isn't open, another knows not honest, some have hidden agendas, some just can't force the nature of expression. I know those who struggle and get lost down endless avenues, dead ends and nooks. God, the breakdown of everything, communication kicking out, all falls apart. I want my only words, truest of all, to leap out from a computer screen, to shake you, grab a hold of you, suck your face then body into the screen, and take you with them, take you apart, take you everywhere they choose to go. Nothing is ever gonna happen for no reason, nobody can get across what they mean and the sinking plunges ever deeper. We know we fail, we never stop trying, glued to the other side, watching as we do.

Take me with you. Break me. Teach me. Love me. Cross me like two swords. Defender, oh, useless bodyguard. You can stop nowhere and it ends up complete. A castle in ruins. A communication breakdown. Repetition. No solution. We see it take place. She wonders...

The Brick Wall Treatment

She was made out of stone. She was beautiful. She was a building. She was unfathomable. No question about it, she didn’t understand things. I guess maybe that was what would stand the test of time. She was probably broken, just in different ways, but she was something; something to look at, to tick in unusual ways, to observe and to just accept, in all her confused and hypocritical glory. Always on the edge, feeding off both sides, never falling off. I could wonder or just let it all slip away, write about it, put it to bed. Yeah, that was it.

If you ever come up against a brick wall, don’t take it on, perhaps. All it can do is dwarf you, all it can do is bounce your words right back at you, maybe even break you; stop you in your tracks. Completely. Oh, and it towers over me, and I can do nothing. I can storm its shadow to keep me from the brutal sun, painting the streets, around every single corner. I finger the puzzle, the pieces in my paws, it makes no sense. Some puzzles were not meant to be finished.

I could bang my head on you, I could knock myself silly, really put myself amongst the tortured ones. But, to be frank, this treatment is educational for me. Everything that rolls my way, whether I see it coming towards me or not, is designed to help shape me, just like those jigsaw pieces, so that one day it all fits, so it all just fits, someday, maybe. 

Invisible Forces

Do I lead myself nowhere? It is all in the eyes. What lives behind? Oh, we try to see. Get lost in the magic. My darling, I know it isn't real, I know it isn't dream. I know nothing. Sometimes we break, and never know why.

I can't find answers when my heart is dripping from the shelf, when the clock still doesn't tick, and it seems as never ending as some of the seconds that once sounded upon it.

I could want to give myself wholly. To you. It wouldn't matter, I think. Invisible forces come into play. Animals capture moments and swallow them forever. Like they never even existed. We wash away, into the past, just memories, some rotten history, some golden curse. So much beauty, it never even seems it was here. Inside some eyes, maybe just two, silent answers, vanished parts of us. Swimming, in the sea, never coming back. Dearest times of our lives, we never even knew we had. You.

That Clock

Maybe it's when it all goes calm and I stop and think about it that I realise. I miss that clock. That damn ticking sound. Infuriating as it was, driving me mad at times, it was a comfort. A constant warmth to my flat in those cold months, a guide through my days, a reassuring presence, though at times it just became too loud for my thoughts. I didn't want the battle. I wanted the clock to make it easy. Yet, right now, strangely, I miss it. I cannot fathom what I am saying really. I miss the sound of my days. The sound of them marching and departing my present in favour of my past. For each time it ticked that moment slipped from my view, over my shoulder. Gone. Time. The more of it that passes the closer each of us is to our own deaths and the death of those we love. Somehow, it feels like more of a friend though. It has brought me this far, so I can trust it to take me where I am destined to go. That clock, deceased, waiting in the wings for a new incarnation.