part of the beach

death of an unborn personality

Un-learn me,
hit the refresh button
revive, restore, rewind
until I’m a blank slate.
An unborn personality.
Then you can study me
better this time around.

Coffee, Strangers and Black Biro

I’m sitting in Starbucks
with a mocha flake in hand.
I love coffee shops.
The rich scent of coffee beans,
the relaxed atmosphere,
their idiosyncratic nature.
There’s a girl at the back
quietly sipping a cappuccino
there’s a scruffy book
sitting on her table and
a napkin with a coffee ring stain.
I can tell something’s bothering her
she looks like she’s waiting for someone
she keeps looking all around the shop,
out the window at the street and into
her coffee intensely, as if she’s absorbed
in her own straying thoughts as she
looks at the froth and chocolate powder.
She looks up and notices me staring
I turn away quickly, quite embarrassed,
although, from the corner of my eye,
I can see her smile. It makes me feel good.
I watch her scribble something on her napkin.
She checks her watch, takes one last swig of coffee,
lifts her book and puts her coat on to leave.
As she walks passed my table
she places the stained napkin in front of me
and exits the shop doors.
Some words are written in black biro,
“You look like the perfect stranger.”
I smile.

A Darker Dream

The world is entering a phase. Bare feet greet marble floor. Coldness shoots up through my toes and soles. The universe feels ambiguous and vague. Spiralling, unwinding, dizzy. Everything is frozen. Suspended between existence and non-existence. Glass is slowly falling. As if gravity is gradually gaining weight, but isn’t heavy enough to let the glass plunge. Suddenly, the glass cascades to the ground. It smashes into millions of microscopic shards that bounce across the black marble floor. Everything re-gains speed. Pots, glass, sand and soil collapse from the ceiling all around me. I stand firm. Barely existing in this reality. Hanging between this realm and the next.

Memories rewind in my head. Past experiences flicker. Moments I never knew I created, yet here they are. How can I see them so vividly now? How can one see yesterday, today? I can faintly hear the smashing of everything around me. The noise is growing. Increasing rapidly. Louder and louder. I snap out of the recollection and my black atmosphere collides with itself with immense force. Like a tornado consuming its own validity.

Then I woke up.

When I got out of bed and opened the window, the air outside was flat. It felt motionless and leaden. The room was cold. My warm flesh tingled as it became acquainted with the air. It was a new morning. A new day to do nothing.

I felt hazy and indefinite. Not only that, but I didn’t have a sense of time. It didn’t feel early neither did it feel late it the morning. It was somewhere in between. Nowhere.

I didn’t know what to do. I felt as if I’d woken up in a different body, or rather, I’d woken up in the same body, but it was inside that felt unfamiliar. I just sat there on my bed and listened to the silence. It was so pristine and clear. The stillness around me was continual.

I tried to trace why I felt the way I did. It wasn’t a bad feeling, just unusual and new. I somewhat liked it, but simply couldn’t unearth its origin.

I then brushed my teeth with the same toothbrush I used yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that … The sink looked deeper than usual. I felt my face melt into the plug hole. It felt intensely hot as it drooped. I turned on the tap and watched flesh, cartilage and blood swirl downwards.

I painted today.

Tried painting today.
It was fun.
I haven't done it in ages,
but I'm glad I did.

In the Name of your Religion

I want to ask you a question. Don’t worry; it’s a reasonably easy question that you can answer painlessly, if you try. And through my asking of this question, do not think lesser of me. After all, it’s just a question.

Would you treat me the same if I didn’t believe in your religion?

What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue? Ah, I see what it is.

I guess you don’t care for me as much as I thought you did.

Waiting for the Train

I come here everyday
planning to buy a ticket,
but can never decide
whether to get the return
or take the one trip ride.

My stomach feels like
a washing machine
spinning a heavy brick,
all these falling raindrops
have made the platform slick.

I’m balancing on a train track
slipping on the grimy plaque
watching people pass on by
it might be raining, but I’m still dry.

And so I sit on a wet bench
that looks out onto the track
while a train man paces with
his strong shoulders and back.

He whistles as he goes
and I stare at hungry pigeons
I want to know what they know,
does the train man have religion?

I’m balancing on a train track
slipping on the grimy plaque
watching people pass on by
it might be raining, but I’m still dry.

A tracksuit girl comes out of the ticket box
She drinks a can of fizzy pop
“What time is the train?”
“Six thirty seven,” the train man explains.
She throws the can into the bin,
and walks back in.

I’m balancing on a train track
slipping on the grimy plaque
watching people pass on by
it might be raining, but I’m still dry.

I don’t know where I’m going
but I know where I’ve been
this old flower ain’t growing
without a moist seed to begin.

I’m balancing on a train track
slipping on the grimy plaque
watching people pass on by
it might be raining, but I’m still dry.

I’m waiting for the train…