element

listen on spotify

Today my father told me he doesn’t really know me. The conversation started in the car. He mentioned my far relatives that live even further away ask about me and that I should go visit which for those of you who know me obviously triggered a reaction and not a response. I told him that I don’t even know the once that live close to me let alone the ones who demand a whole weekend and that I don’t like or engage with such people who ask about someone just because they have to and that they actually had no reason to even ask about my wellbeing since they have no idea who I am, because they never actually cared to know and that they do so out of sheer decency under the name of “social construct” which I never really understood. And he said “I don’t even know you.” And I replied to this one. “That’s because you never ask the right questions.” He doesn’t like to be philosophical with me so he kept his peace. But I was gone, with questions, thoughts and sudden realizations, that because of the logic in my reply, I’ve not only kept myself safe but maybe I was keeping myself from living? Was it the fear of getting hurt through the same door I decided to open? Was it carelessness?

Suddenly I remembered rainy days from my childhood, where I spend summers alone figuring out how recording tapes worked, listening to my own voice until I felt comfortable singing and talking to literally myself as if I’m the audience. What was I saying? What was I saying to myself? What was I saying to my audience? If those tapes ever existed I don’t know why they would be floating up in space, long lost memories that seem like they are answers to the questions that keep me awake today.

I asked myself how I could feel nothing but with hope. How is that possible? The sun has lost its old meaning and now glows without certainty but somehow like my emotions, shines bright then hides behind the white majestic cloud and fog of nothingness. Whenever I stand up a question comes to mind and echoes like a bird's lonely cry for help in the middle of nowhere. How is it that I’m alive? It feels almost like trying to wake up from a dream but stuck with the awareness of the reality. How is life so unpredictable but why do I always live in the present of 99 steps ahead and somehow my thoughts go back and forth making my actual present my past? I’m not even sure I’m looking for answers at this point regardless of the unexplainable and somehow weird things that happen in all my days to the point where I’ve accepted them to be normal. But I know that I’m stuck inside a craving for something I don’t know. What I know is that I don’t quite trust the happiness behind the glooming light of the sun because it takes the colors away with it, the rain is my lifelong best friend and after that betrayal to my eyes, the moon becomes my secret advisor till I’m granted to dive in the golden gate of a morning breeze.

 Tears and Waves

Well... Yes. I cry. Tears…down inside. High proximity apparently. Why am I afraid? Its not that I don’t know what I am crying about…but I forget trying to grab the next thing that triggers another. I’ve done that my whole life… This reality doesn’t suit me so I create what I’ve been imagining this whole time. And yes. I live there. Yes, I just never said anything. Yes, I know you do on yours too but in your own colors and shapes. Yes we have common things. More than you think in fact. Yes, it’s beautiful. But when I leave home, I cry. Most are good tears. I just never showed. You happened to see the bad ones. Not by coincidence, the opposite in fact. Coincidence is just another slope in the algorithm.  But by the time you realize why we are apart…so far apart…you’ve come a long way that you missed to see where we met.

hush

I swear my back was turned when I said this. It’s like I was living in a snow globe my whole life, and one day a hand picked it up, looked right at me and saw my face in contempt of what was to come, then shook middle-earth’s water back to heaven and I couldn’t tell myself from hell’s ashes. WHY must it be this way? It’s a question that keeps me up at night. But when I say it like this it seems as if I’m a victim.

I swear my back was turned when I said this. I was waiting to touch the ground with the tips of my feet again, for everything I know was not. Was it confusion, was it delusion or was it denial? I wanted a moment of peace so I could think. I didn’t just want. I longed for it. I pushed life away so I could be a living dead. I wanted to breathe in but not out, I wished for choice to be gone so I stay in no side and clenched onto the moments in between. And then the words I said to no one and everyone slipped out.

As much as I want you next to me, I have just enough reasons why I like it like this. Well.. prefer is a better word. I want to hold your hands as much as I want to shove you back, Kiss and fuck the alchemy out your head as much as I want to take a step back, It's not just you but I protect myself just as much, maybe even more sometimes, but never just me and you know that perfectly well but its easier for you and I to call me selfish...hopefully for now. If not, well...I guess in the words of the wise, it is what it is.

I had a dream

I got everything I wanted

But when I wake up… - Billie Eilish

I swear my back was turned when I said this. But when I turned back, I saw the same words in your eyes. And then slowly but painfully, or hands started slipping the grip off of one another. Every touch became more meaningful than the last, even more than I had ever said to you. And then….there was silence. I summoned every last drop of courage to throw my hand one last time but it was too late. And the comforting voices started paying their respects when I mourned you.

Told you to be careful for what you wish for.

Told you to be careful with words.

Told you this became too good.

But they were not comforting.

Who here has ever wished for the ball and chains?

I did. Only when I was just another blue balloon in the sky far away from home.

Home? Love? Then I felt something dragging me down. I smiled.

You silenced me with the words of nothing

So they could ring true on time,

While you were invisible to my conscious,

I was too busy to endure the wait.

I asked of you, to drag my hand

And you said nothing and I wrote it down,

I kept to behold the miracles I pray for,

Just as much as I doubt.

I hope you don’t fail me,

even when I fail myself

Who am I Gabriel?

I used to believe the stories,

Now I believe what I see,

Until what I see starts becoming

what I refused to admit

was it beyond my comprehension

or was I just too stubborn?

You know the answer so

Why can’t I say it outload

So I could hear it,

For I have lost the meaning of faith,

Or have I yet again failed it?

element

Minimalism is an over emphasized process of condensing elements…only/obviously/ for a game of buttons. Just like that.

Walls closing in again. I don’t know what I’m afraid of. The suffocation? Withdrawal? The growing comfort of blues? The thought of you assuming I’m doing this for the sake of art…I can go on. What I know is that I miss saying I miss you. Maybe my idea of love is giving. I wish I could say I want you to love me but I don’t have such strength. So why can’t I just say I miss you? Maybe in that universe pride is a wall I can’t seem to break through. I haven’t gathered my thoughts enough to show you my side of reality yet, maybe I may never but I’ll keep on trying but only if you can stop thinking for a second that time is linear. A second is what it takes. That’s all I can say for now.

On the other side of the universe, a teenager...rushed back to his room, making sure the door was shut by its sound without turning back to check, no one really knew how much he hated open doors like those things, he found out why years later. He cautiously jumped back on his bed that looks like an office owned by a middle-aged man stranded on a deserted island, picked up his phone that he had been playing snake xenzia on, still blinking “game over”, waiting for a response to either exit or start again, closed it before he even saw his highest score and clicked his way into the messages and started composing.

“Do you remember how or when we ended up realizing being players of a game we invented? It just happened but...we kept playing, too busy or blind..our stories are different but we were not. Now we see nothing but that.”

Almost a minute later, it buzzed again.

“Yeah...imagine what we would feel when we’re in college or out there working.”

"Were we suppose to feel this way now?"

"I know I don't want to."

Then time did it's thing.

augmented august

lumos maxima

so how do we know it happened? I mean...did it?

I believe so or I'm going crazy as well.

How did you understand what I was talking about? That's crazy!

We could keep calling it crazy and the odds would favor that probability…

I feel like there is an “or” coming.

Yes...or ...we could keep...talking.

So, what was it? It's like it just happened...but it was a chain of long days that seemed to not have an end. And within those days were elements of life...scattered like gems.

Words become shaky here.

I guess it’s something rather felt…maybe that’s why they kept telling us that we would miss these days.

Assigning meaning to it with what we already know. Our limitations were ourselves.

What about now?

I think we learned enough to keep an eye open, still fighting with obstinacy so I wouldn’t know any better...just enough to say this...maybe more if I try harder, I think.

The universe is too large to decode and the physicality we know is the formation of the infinitely small, limited to the things we can only acquire in this minor period between birth and death, a meaningless blink of time, slowed down to a life time of eternity because of how small we really are, thought to have a justification of identity to answer the question for our sense of self, who am I? when the real question remains unanswered in human words that can be vocalized…

What am I?

almost midnight

There is absolutely nothing to be said.

But…I guess this needs to be. But beware, I am not a preacher or intend to become one. I am not wise, though I sound like it. I am not courageous but hopelessly chasing after it. Now why would I open so boldly? 

There is really not much purpose in writing anything and I mean anything. Everything that needs to be said has already been said or is about to be by someone worthy of the action. And I, hope you don’t take 

this as any form of self-pity or modesty, do not believe I qualify to hold a pen. I will clarify what I just said because if I leave it as is, you will start to think I am being ambivalent on purpose because all your definitions will become different in a way, which I tell you for the first time now that I have never aimed at such objective whenever I’ve decided to pick up the metaphorical pen. 

So like the mighty hammer, I do not believe I am qualified. Most of you probably have already guessed what I mean by it but believe me kind reader, you do not. This title written in bold has never been any less true before I’ve typed it. It is and it will always be if you think about it. And of course, this comes with the absolute exception of writing for documentation, innovation and evolving. This idea meant nothing to me a few years ago. I mean, I thought I had grasped the general point when I probably had read it somewhere, or whenever the thought crosses my mind but really…never allowed myself to dive into it.

a Sunday charm

this is the time where I get the clarity, that I am not sure of what I want.

Took me a while to notice my rest is a morning...a Sunday morning on special occasions, despite the pressure for the afternoon, ...come to think of it, I’m kinda a boring guy. Until the sword is drawn out in an abrupt

tranquility, and the rebel is reborn from the ashes of the phoenix for

liberation within the mortal battle of shadows, diamond eyes, rock soul touched

by the Nazarene.

Also, Unicorns

are cool.