This is the end.
But the end started at the creation
of the first deoxyribonucleic acid,
of the first cellular life,
of the first material’s
This is the end.
The end was here from the beginning
at the enactment of beginning,
at the start of all existence,
at the emptiness
in the void.
This is the end.
The end of my deoxyribonucleic acids
of formed cellular creation,
of temporary learning,
It bugged me from the very beginning
that I wanted to be wanted,
listened to others who didn’t listen,
nor stopped for a while
to ask: what do you want?
Even so, I never got bugged in the ol’ routine,
doing and doing again and again
what has been said,
and hoping that it led
Debugging the truth, it did have led
as well as anything would have
because if I learnt something
is definitely that
it will always be someway.
So, the bug wasn’t in the system,
but rather it was me;
for what reason I would see
elsehow, while no one
This attitude turned me to a big bug
of nihilism and other ism,
anything related to carelessness;
to show up: you can ignore me,
I’m always the one who cares less.
This step on the dust of the pavement,
stepped slowly and with passion,
reflects the magic of body
and this worldly physics:
What a dynamics!
That horn tooting in the wrooming,
human feelings in mechanics,
resonates the air with waves
of microscopic tsunamis:
What a composition!
In this garbage, that apple stump,
nature and city grabbed as one,
radiates an endless ending
of turning and returning:
The cycle of life!
This worth of that leaving moment,
been here, but now it’s Faraway,
creates newly lost happiness
of “it was” and ‘no worries’:
Seizing every very moment as it is,
like the guy with no memories,
brings ecstasy to learning –
relearning thing to thing:
A tick and a click are rhyming up in a lame flame,
A thick stick of dry herb is the flame’s aim,
That starts to burn and blatter in a burring pain,
Framed by a grey fog, hiding its disdain.
The mere pain of life urges this hateful act,
Looking for more pain pack by pack,
Claiming if there’s no stop, I want more of that,
Waiting and feeling and waiting and feeling,
The sniff-by-sniff approaching Death.
Camus died years ago.
I can’t be sure, even with Wikipedia.
The truth is so flexible;
every head has a couple of truths
He died in a car accident
as it was written,
but we can’t know what’s behind –
surely, we want to hear A Story
about a strange death.
What was he thinking, planning
when he got into that car?
Would he be happy with that death?
Was he ever be happy in his life?
He was aware.
He was aware of the indifference,
insignificance of life.
This is a curse,
barely letting you fall asleep.
Awareness is awakenedness.
Having dreams is luxury
for one who’s awake of dreaming,
believing we exist
while someone who’s awake
sees we don’t.
We live and die;
laugh or cry, we die.
There’s no superior fact above
in our own self-created scenes.
Had he ever been happy?
I ask again –
of course he had;
happiness comes up and leaves
in an absurdly meaningful moment.
That moment is absurd
because it ends.
Then, it leaves no meaning behind.
Love, wine, other hallucinogens
leave us empty as We Are.
If someone’s aware of such facts,
it doesn’t matter whether happy,
living or dead is the person
because we’ll be up to everything
and never belonging to a thing.
So, just get into that car,
send our grandson
To buy our last pack of cigarette
because what happens happens.
Then, it ends. Absurd.
Tonight is not a particular night;
This is a night among the nights:
I woke up in the middle of darkness,
Not knowing what to do with my own darkness;
So, I lit up a cigarette and faced the mirror:
There was only darkness in the mirror,
And a half face blazing up time to time –
Sometimes, we just want something to happen, it was a time.
I was thinking of summoning Bloody Mary;
I hoped for a ghost girl appearing behind me –
Something that signs me that I’m not alone.
But, the only monster closest around me
Was me, nothing, just me alone.
No ghosts, no robbers, no Bloody Maries.
It was not new to me that monsters were not real,
But it’s always surprising that I am –
Finding myself always as my own Boogeyman.
We’re in need of Satans, devils and evil polititans
To avoid facing the mirror of darkness;
That reveals only us and us again.
These are dangerous thoughts,
Knowing about the darkness in the man;
Because we’ll see Satans, devils and evil polititans
In us, and so as in every man.
Once seen, there will be no more hiding;
We will meet darkness again and again and again.
“Do you drink your coffee without sugar?!”
-I was asked by shock in my interrogator;
“Like eating your soup without salt…
Like wearing your shoes without socks!”
“I do, well, I do them all above …“
-I answered with the greatest indifference;
“Why are you trying to find meaning,
And pleasure in something that ends cruel?”
(End of Random Conversation)