I was raised by parents
that were disturbed,
emotionally abusive
though they truly love me.
It doesn’t make it easier
or less confusing.
Was it OK to push them away?

It hurts knowing I couldn’t help.
It hurts watching them
hurt themselves.
Getting crushed by this
tense atmosphere of
“Wrong! Wrong!! Wrong!!!”,
learned to maintain
my sanity at all cost.

Shut the door,
shut the window,
don’t let it show.
It’s no use, I can’t
break them outta their own hell.
Was it selfish to keep my distance
while I was so weak & lost?

I can’t stay still
my heart hurts.
Where is my heart?
I can’t find it.
I’ve hidden it too well.

What of death?

My left lung feels like there’s lead in it. My head is not clear, my effort at paying attention comes and goes. No, I don’t have that one, but some other one. Is this what fading feels like?

I lay on the bed, looking through the window. The world is the same, starkingly beautiful. Yeh, I know that’s not a word. I don’t care. I’m tired of googling things. I’m tired.

Oh, yeh, I look through the window, into the sky, into the white patch that’s covered by 5% of my eyes, the mind makes up the rest. I notice the light’s fading in and out, in and out. I get curious, so maybe this is what dying feels like?

When the lung is not working properly, nothing much goes. I wonder if the lack of oxygen coursing through the body will make people stupider. But no, people are plenty stupid already. Case in point.

Is it my fault? What’s happening now? Did I wish for it? Is it a wakeup call? A cleansing? Nature’s thriving again. The seeds must be sowed, for the future. Why should I care?

I’m not afraid of death. I often say it would solve all my problems. That doesn’t stop me from romanticizing it though. Isn’t that what we do? Chocolate, sex, glitters, death.

I’m afraid of living with no purpose. And since I’m still breathing, with one lung, or 1 1/2, the work is not done.

All is well. Whatever that means.


You’re so beautiful, my tree.
Shiny, stark, sparkling crystals at the top.
The sun’s setting soon
and I share your yearning.
But you are also patient.
One minute is one day,
with one purpose:
to harvest the air & the soil,
to fill the world with rhythms & stories,
to stand alone.
Do you feel pain,
or just the absence of something,
a need to be filled?
Do you strive because of it?
Is there a reason that
your roots are clenching the stones?
Do you aid the worms?
Do you plant the springs?
Will you ever stop?
Have you ever dreamt?
Do you breath with your whole being?
Or just, as much as you can?
Is it because life is calling?
Especially when the light is fading?
Pretty soon it will all be silence,
not even the birds would sing.
You keep on breathing
in the darkness
one breath to the next.

To an actor.

Aren’t your exhausted
selling what you haven’t got?
Or just a bit of who you are,
but really no one gives a fuck?
You’re the money-maker,
the signage to the gift-shop.
Or maybe you’re the main attraction
who wonders when the time’s gonna be up.
All the fine details few can afford,
not sure should celebrate you or leave you alone.
Baby, it’s lonely in a crowd.
Every one needs something something, a lot.
How much are you willing to give to please?
Your time, your life, your peace, your god?
For the sake of a polaroid undeveloped?
Someday, somewhere when the lights come on,
will you be there or will it be someone else?

In keeping.

The evening’s one of those,
too good to be true.
One star’s burning bright
like it was once told.
Traffic air, crystal light,
somewhere a clink
of an unseen cup or knife.
Intoxicated by the moment,
forgetting the day’s toil,
all too grateful to be alive,
for nothing but this quiet.

I don’t know if I’ve told you
but I love you so.
And you can’t deny me anymore
but I can’t say I’m yours.
Some candle light,
once or twice on summer nights,
the floating feels & minds
never touching the ground
when you are showing me around.

Have I been patient?
Was I too troublesome?
Gave me one chance,
then 2, then 3,
keeping me guessing what it is about.
Then maybe I’ve always known.
The journey is the reward.

I wish you well.

Don’t interrupt me.

What do I have to do to get your attention?
I’m talking, why don’t you listen?
You can’t afford me to be your assistant.
So don’t interrupt me.

You don’t come from a higher shelf than mine,
so stop pretending you know the value of my time.
I’m talking straight-up business, alright?
So don’t interrupt me.

You don’t get to turn the page in this book,
I’m the one with the ruler & the robe.
Being in control while your life’s a merch.
So don’t interrupt me.

I don’t tell you to drop dead
even after you turn into a talking-head.
Oh, am I beneath your intelligent level?
Is communication all but impossible?

I ain’t your ass-kisser, your affirmation signage,
so shut up and be quiet for a change.
And hear what a grown woman has to say.
No? Nothing to teach you? You’ve seen it all?
Well, fuck off, you don’t get to interrupt me
just because, I’m a woman and talking sense
that is somehow not on your wavelength.
Voluntary deafness, dumbness,
something to conflict about?
Don’t interrupt me when I talk.

I wait for you to finish though.
I try to understand your point.
If you’re not gonna take your top-hat off,
feel free to be miserable all by yourself.

Big men & women who’ve seen it all,
but never learned to respect nor keep eyes open.
Don’t interrupt me because you don’t want to know
the human-being that’s across the room.

I don’t want to live like you.
I don’t want to be around you.
You could be holding the golden ball,
I’d still tell you where you belong.

It’s no use, I make it a big deal.
Don’t interrupt me, or get outta my face.

Modern primal.

It’s been 3 years since I had a job. To be truthful, doing my own startup was partly a ruse. I simply could not go on with the way I was any more. Was it so bad? Having a baseline tech job, a lazy, unobservant, baby-wanting husband and my ever-ticking bio-bomb.

I was in a cage, where all the trappings are controlled by a mechanism that’s impersonal and superficial. Fed by the free, hip, doped-up food and beers, you’d think I’d be happier.

I thought I craved structured and predictable life. But I was gazing into the horizon, feeling lost, all the time. Then Trump was elected.

Somehow I knew on the election day, he would be our choice. I didn’t vote for him, but before the results were in, I knew America was ready to try out another path. I was not going to judge. I was ready for another path too.

Our ancestors lived on their wits and the fortune’s hand. “I’m ready for my day’s blessing now” is my mantra in the morning. I admit, I should have done this a long time ago. I should have moved out of my parents’ house and struck out on my own, then maybe… .

Even now, I’m not self-powered. I rely on my husband. I wonder if I’m just so selfish and self-centered and parasitic. I often feel the urge to tell him, “I’m gonna have to let you go. You are an OK person, but I have no use for you any more. You will find some female who is more….” Suitable? Fuck it, I don’t fucking care. That’s not true. I feel guilt when I look at him.

How I day-dream about my life. I think I’m living it actually. A cushion to fall back on when I run out of steam. That’s very important. God, how I wish that I haven’t learned the lessons I learned! The practical, survival, self-preserving, always moderate center point that is now solid.

There was a time, when that center would slip, and the world would tilt a little, then I would see the world as if it’s underwater. I was someone else. I liked that feeling. Not being myself.

I want to roam and forage. Run with, be hunted and chased by pristine animals. People are not pristine. I’m not pristine. But I want to be.

Assorted Rats.


You have to go the whole way
there’s no stop nor sit & wait.
You won’t see anyone for miles,
only you and your demon lords.

You think it’s going to be an easy win.
There are books and movies with happy ends.
And you brought them for all they were worth,
falling asleep among the heroes & merchandises.

There’s no heaven nor hell to escape
unless you somehow make it to the script,
then you can write & sing HIS praise,
have your face among the saints.

But you know it ain’t true,
life’s a rose,
little bugs & thorns
if you bother to get close.

Or you can say it’s a bitch
like mama who gives you flesh,
never pointing out the obvious,
she doesn’t like it here either.

You have to go the whole way
don’t discount your pains.
They are already afraid
of you, reaching the stars and sky.


I don’t care any more if I’m smart or the opposite.
All the judgements & comparisons are making me sick.
Worse, it made me a terrible human being.
There’s no way to get around it,
if you don’t let your light shine
however it wants, whenever it wants
what’s the point of living?
Just so I can reproduce and
watch the kids making the same mistakes?

Nah, the solution can only start with me.
When you are hurrying me, I will let you know,
there’s no late nor early, I’m right on schedule.
It’s transcendental, woodoo-speak & all natural.
So quit judging everyone cause you have nowhere to go,
holding onto some vague sentiment & all enforcer-mode.
There’s nothing to see here but smokes & mirrors.
If that’s your thing, well, pay for the new channels.
Concentration of wealth because we’ve been told,
“if you buy this, own that, you’d be whole.”

Oceans of plastics and continents of land-fills.
Rapes the earth till his last breath cause we entitled.
Oh, wait, I should have used “her” instead,
will that make you more comfortable?
Righteousness’ virtue as old as tombs and caves.
Women are commodities & children raised by commercials.
As long as the money flows, it’s cancer for gold.
Join in the kill, there’s no second fills.
Be the worst you can, who cares if it’s going downhill.

But there’s a catch, maybe you suspect,
whenever you do something rotten your soul pays the price.
So maybe grow some sense and patience and mind,
everyone gets to a point, to face what’s inside.


I looked into the future
and filled with dread.
Tittering on divorce
cause we just don’t fit.
Maybe it’s God’s plan
or the devils, who cares?
That’s the problem,
everything’s too real
until they turn out fake.
It’s not natural,
it’s subatomic,
multiple universes
collide in the consciousness.
If we turn mystical
there’s no limit.
If it’s all scientific
how do we really know?


I’d rather be unknown,
as a free creature who roams.
Each identity finds its home,
only then I can be happy.