The Arcane Diary

Category: Writing

  • Coma

    Inside out

    Simultaneously without within

    Within without

    Dimensions are only parameters

    How about a freakout?

    We are analogue creatures

    With infinite choice

    And minute grasp

  • All That Is

    00762 3098061180.png
    00762 3098061180.png

    The breeze of a helicopter

    Eyes mirroring sadness

    My thoughts a flurry

    Of synaptic meltdown

    To isolate a thought

    And enjoy the now

    For a half-second longer

    In a state of chaos

    We are but mere receptors

    Struggling to find a meaning

    Of it all

    The bigger the All becomes

    The more laborious the process

    And the less makes sense –

    A lack of equating

    Between perceived and real.

    What we are

    Is the sum of our reactions

    Our life a vector sum

    Of the direction and forces

    That collectively comprises

    All that is.

  • A Monster

    A Monster

    otherworldly entities digital art sd 2.1 arcanediary 00696 1899963157

    A Monster

    A wolf in sheepskin

    Hunts,

    Tracking pursuit

    Following a bloody trail

    Prints of a paw, a claw

    Of five

    To connect the guilt

    With the mind

    Responsible

  • Alley Cats

    Mid Night Crawlers

    Unaware

    That it is dark

    Unsure

    If alive or dead

    In morning twilight

    They dance the razorblade tango

    Whirling recklessly

    At the edge of life.

    Awake since forever

    Spirit spurred on

    With caffeine and nicotine.

    Two things I obsessively read:

    License plates and graffiti

    No matter how obscure or obscene.

  • A Bard

    A poet on a mystic path

    My song is without a melody,

    But with the rhythm of life

    And the tune of the breeze

    Under the thrum of eyes watching

    Amidst the trees.

    Only for a moment

    Then it is gone.

  • Transcendent Life Preserver

    Drunk on knowledge

    Parched of meaning

    Certain of direction

    Lost in application.

    We are capable,

    I believe,

    To create something

    GOOD

    Regardless of subjectivity.

    From despair and depravity

    A human can create beauty

    In their world

    Through the loves they share,

    The pain they endure

    And the ability –

    Followed by determination –

    To BELIEVE

    And to share this hope

    What some call religion

    Others faith

    I call transcendence.

    Our defining quality

    So mired by culture

    Based on animal wills,

    An inadmission to guilt –

    A fearful refusal to speak

    Invades the thinking

    And beliefs of an entire society.

    Art is not perfect

    Yet it is our gift

    That we all possess

    From the most basic

    Of sensual experience

    An image can elicit emotion

    Passion and psychic energy

  • Equally Disoriented

    Trapped in a solitary bubble

    Surrounded by people that I don’t know

    So much potential

    That I’m afraid to use

    I am afraid of failing

    Afraid of feeling

    Secluded within myself

    Still reeling from past hurt and confusion

    My life is my own now

    And I’m trying to forget who I was

    And where I’m from

    To begin my new life

    But the past is who I am

    When will I realize

    That we are doomed to become

    What we hate the most?

    I long for the day

    When I am at home

    Within myself

    Wherever I may be

    So I can stop running

    And just live.

    Right now I am alone

    In the universe

    And equally disoriented

    Anywhere I go

  • Economic Warfare

    Economic Warfare: A paper war of cash, cheques

    And casualties time has forgotten, bloodless corpses

    Hollowed-out edifices, houses of corporate capitalisms

    Entities not human, Frankensteins of a legal system

    Not accountable for their abuses, not apologetic

    Just profit machines, monsters to serve their masters

    Propelled by the sweat of paid slavery, voluntarily submitted

    With no other choice but to obey, threatened with poverty

    The plantation allows us to go home, where the media coerces us to spend

    A circular cycle of fear, entrapment, labour, gratification and fear

    Worse than dead, dead broke without hope of satisfying desires

    An illusion of success, an enigmatic ladder, a stairway

    To heaven? Or an elevator to the top floor

    For some impossible to get on; for some impossible to get off

    From the rundown slum, the suburbs or the penthouse with a view

    All just cogs on the gears of this battle that never ends.

  • Ascent of Dissent

    I feel like a criminal

    An outcast, incorrigible

    For my misanthropism

    And my refusal to comply

    With the fire within

    That burns to destroy and create

    And the struggle to resist

    What I know to be wrong

    So I live my life

    With freedom of mind

    If not of action

    And begrudgingly submit

    To a world of false ideals

    With a hope of a master plan

    That is yet to unfold

  • that I should profane

    That I should profane

    These pages with such thoughts

    A delicious guilt

    Of defiling something new