Monday, March 16, 2015

Where will it take me?!

Without ideas and feeling unable to write. I don't feel like writing anything, here or anywhere else. Blogging or simply rambling about what's going on within my mind. Things have gone too far. Things are now too broken to be fixed and that makes my heart bleed... it bleeds non-sense. It bleeds non-stop. And even such bleeding is no reason for me to start writing and rambling and crying through written words.
In times, I'd say my art was everything I had left of me. Nowadays, there isn't a single thing I can look at and recall as of my own.
The game has gone back to the beginning. The challeng has just re-started. I thought I was saving her some new effort and he we are, back to the beginning. She'll feel sad. I'll feel sad to see her disapointed face. I love you. Forgive me.
The sun shines in the cold streets of the city. Later on, when I decide to walk back home, I will look around and will imagine extraordinary thng to write about. It's worthless - as soon as I arrive home, everything had just vanishe from my mind and my imagination has just gone blank. What can I do?
I dream and I fantasize about too many things. But dreams and fantasies aren't enough without a little bit of effort. Where will it take me?!

Monday, March 02, 2015

Dreaming of his memories

I am dreaming of castles. Old, old castles, forts in wars of tremendous proportions. I can imagine the knights coming down the hill. The door of an old church opens to host a wounded and brave man, knwon for countless things - his darker secrets are kept by those who know, love and worship him,as a God.
The old temples. The huge rainforest ahead, where the temple is "lost". The chant is still calling, but this isn't the time to go ahead yet.
The time is here and now. An old world, full of destruction, hatred, technology that only helps to spread the hate. Cars spilling oil and black smoke to the atmosphere. He remembers while he takes a look onto the people walking down there, in the enormous avenue. And while hE takes a look onto the passing people, all those events come accross my memory.
He lives inside of me. He knows what he is made of - so he sends me beautiful stories to be written and still I haven't written them.