The Invisible Friends Lifting the Circles and Waiting

I don't see it all and there all around it bursts into flames. Something tells me the regret will never fold, will never let go, and so we build our hopes, our dreams, to fix us one more drink, one more merry go round in a sad world. I hear you near me, I hear the sounds of clouds melting, I can smell that autumn air so close to me, why wouldn't you stay, why would everything have to die and whither away, lifting away as it moves to higher ground, pushed by invisible friends who waited all our lives, never lending their hand, never speaking in favour, never planting the seed of an idea for the love of those who eagerly expected.

And so we spin around, almost feeling invincible, powerful, void of anything I could lose, nothing in my pocket, nothing in my mind, for my heart is lighter, climbing higher. And you all let me spin faster, colours turning white, sounds blowing into a perpetual wind. The sky is clear, the breeze is cool on my skin. Where I go is where you will all be with me. Invisible but friends. Lifting but down somewhere. And while you wait, I shall sing. Sing that song that never dies, that never makes me feel alone, that always takes me to many places. And while you wait, she shall play those notes of calm and serenity. Needing to stop, to rephrase, is no judge to the beauty I feel, sense, touch. It is a flow that will accompany the spinning circles, climbing now beyond the stratosphere.

A tear shed on earth will melt everything away. A moment with nothing to believe in. Nothing to worry for as the ground fades, as the ground returns, as the moments you always wanted to learn, know, remember, rejoice. And it is as time goes by, you will feel fulfilled for the circles will keep spinning as the invisible friends lift you higher, waiting, waiting...waiting for the sun to bursts once more. Once more. And again. Trust me I can see you now, and I will see you forever, until I return. Some day. Some time. As we slow it down again, to make peace, to make amends, to see the world again as it really is. Forgive me, I am still here. And you are all there. There is nothing to compromise, nothing to return to.

Lift me up. Pull me down. Lift me up. I fall in your arms, lulled by the music and the caresses of a love that will never cease to exist. Lifting. Waiting.

The Women Crying in the Eternity Pool

Deep. Sinking. Holding off the drops. The shimmering reflection. How twisted and sweet it could be, gently evolving and down turning in that same old motion. Streams pouring down in hot hurtful water, vapourising away my thoughts and feelings. Listening only to the cries above, as the streams pour down bringing the pain of who is devastated, the debris of a life broken into pieces, whether big or small, whether insignificant or mind-wrecking. All stand around the eternity pool, waiting to be replaced, waiting to be called, to leave space for another crying soul called to face their reflection. But that reflection is only a multitude of silver and glassy streaks melting into a whirlpool through which only my soul will exit, soaked with the sorrows of thousands, the layered debris of millennia. And nobody hears me beyond that constant sobbing, that inconstant dissatisfaction, that nothing that will ever be or ever was. And I stand here in the eternity pool waiting for nothing, or for nothing to finally make me nothing. Here days, months, years, crack under the burden of lives wasted for that other, for that something that never was and perhaps never will be. Drum drum pluck the drops on my face, against the wall, across your burning cheeks. Stream down, stream through this eternity pool, hear the water crashing down for every beaten woman standing at the edge. hear carefully for each crash is a beat gone, I am gone, you are gone, drowning into nothing ever more for we are missed and ignore. Superfluous. Blissful. But hurt, slashed, by that silver, glassy streak.

The People split into 2 Universes

Time flows in an unsynchronised direction. Split perpetuously towards blind alleys. Luck wishes us the best. Love may hold our hands. Going through an unbeaten path never moved me or you or them. Is this what we expected from our ephimeral lives? Do we go beyond and stretch like time? Leaving, breathing, living and flowing...still choosing opposite directions. Did we split and forgot as we lived parallel lives behind mirrors we can't see, behind walls we don't believe? Taking one step after the other, we drift further away until the force of attraction is dissipated in a hazy dust from tearful constellations, until the space between is infinitely full of dark void. May I go further and behold, longing where I have been only from a far distance. A distance no longer felt or touched. A distance now killing us as time stretches until it tears us apart into fragments. Time flows but it is suddenly gone. It was there slipping through our hands, mine and yours. Different places, different occasions. Two universes, one heart.

The Man who Seeks the Joyful Face

Moan into patrol. Expecting. Addressing. A plan you must follow with no ball. For you can't say. For you can't express. As we walk into rooms with no life or colour. As we read lips of known sync and unpredictability sinks at the bottom the sea, we cannot meet ourselves or see others as they were. The seeker will run to find those who playfully smile. For they have nothing to lose in the big scheme of things and a game of play will not detract to the success and happiness we are keen to know. And understand. And read and see no evil beyond what is non-grey and bending the rules of a nurtured state of mind. For we are here to make you laugh, make you tired, make you reconsider. Laugh, pagliaccio. Make me laugh. Make me move forward where we are beyond this stagnant pool. Beyond the hills, beyond the steeping obstacles, that wind us down.

The People on the Learning Circles

Paths already crossed. Steps repeated. If we are told, what makes it new? Different? Could we still change this eternal return of the same? Dealt hands with no card to change or swap. Perhaps fears driving our thoughts and decisions, and the overshadow tiredness to go overboard. Outside that comfort zone.

Then comes the guilt for the opportunities we do not seize. For the dryness of our comments and principles. For the shortcuts we seek to steer away from this long, winded curves, radiating off course. Orphan orbits outside this eternal return of the same.

Then boredom sets in. The sneaky habit. The recurring cliché, oppressing, stabilising, nurturing. Perhaps that sameness is what we need to learn. Or we look for a skip button of some sort. Is it us losing the patience? Is it us not seeing the mountains crumbling, the atmosphere changing, the plaques forming.

Am I accepting the circle for what it is or what it could be? Are you waiting for the next present in line? The next best thing? The green garden luxuriating in some other circle next door. For all this hopping circle to circle will tire my limbs, tire my mind and soul. We shall all settle somewhere. In the distance or close by enough to love and adore this eternal return of the same. Just the same. Simply the same. For we can be no different. For we can be our better selves one day or the other.

The People with Scrolling Thumbs

It is easy to navigate. It is easy to move down. See what happened...or what happens. For past and present no longer makes sense. I can navigate with a smooth flow, flashing images, videos, words, cries, emotions, appeals, taking it all in, taking it all out. Missing the things I care, and only seeing what hurts. Indifference to it all can only hurt in the banality of life. Simpleton you are and simpletons we will stay. The harder steps fade, the reach of the hand, the twist of the tongue, the clinch of my brain...all too much to bear. And run along smoothly through that list of people, friends, acquaintances, one-night-stands, inmates, colleagues, ridiculous links to a life that does not exist, a life we do not belong to.

It is easy to get the multitudes. There is more out there than you. There will always be. There is always more and it will flow, flow through me and past, in a forever present. Evergreen. Ever plastic. Up and down blown by the winds of change. Scrolling will make me forget to forget. Forget to forgive. Forget to heal the wounds of time. Perennial rage and narcissism will prevail through mind and bones. Those eyes staring at you will become a symbol of revenge, of disdainful hopelessness. And we shall all become thumbs not good enough to ok what we really like, to ok what we really mean, to ok what we love and what we've forsaken.

Scrolling down you won't find anything. It is easy to look for it aimlessly but you won't find it. It is not there and it will never be because it never was...

The Man in Returning Circles

Everybody seeks space junk with loveless life, with packaged goods. From here to Cuba to Kansas. Meaningless attrition of a fifth unknown force will not leap us forward, or perhaps it will push and pull, seek and throw back what we love at all costs, what we lose the most.

My life in rows will run parallel to yours, in health, in love, in mortgage, in numbers, never-ending and never-meeting as we are destined to stop and start on our own, unaware of the walls alongside our desperate run. The dust in our eyes, the blindness we once foretold, will be nothing compared to the rows of runners in a constant race to return where they once were, where they once spoke of good-natured things, of love, of smile.

An the circle will swirl even further, as we become more and more proud of how each stunt in our life is an ambitious prize of recognition, of self-recognition, displayed to the invisible crowd, the mannequins, the homeless perhaps lost, immersed. Circle the ring of fire. Circle the ring of death. Circle no more, return once again and repeat to yourself what you promised. New words spoken to you in a circular memory you keep forgetting day after day, year after year, life after life.

The last percentage will get us there where a last piece of the puzzle is maybe hidden. Another clue to remind us of our fate, our ever-returning path to a state of constant move, rush, that will never meet our future self, , that will never meet the family and friends we left behind, that will only make us spiral out of control.