Not speaking location, birth place or heritage
But genetic sentences
Artificially tampered by private military scientists
Emulated and pooled, then trained then schooled
Black water is what they contained you in
Your mother was a number,
Father a legend
Calm when metal with deadly intent fell from the heavens
Embrace the truth
You were born to be a weapon
Economic hit men were paid for hire
But you were coded to act on desire
Mercy on Mary,
For the birth of this Mercenary
Love is a corrupter of Politics
It makes men honest
And fucks up the distribution of profits
Love makes war break even
Makes the powerful powerless
And powerless even
Mankind’s original agreement
And the corrupted have found my Sister
And now I feel the bite
There is a game that has no platforms, nor any controls.
Only two players, paired by chance encounter and events.
There are no slots or power cables, but two single wires.
Wires that connect and sync with the lifeline within the chest.
I face no screen or graphic emulation, but the pixels of reality
Live feed from my senses of touch, and from the vision of my eyes
Which are fixated on her. My opponent.
Though, I would not call her an opponent in competition, or rival in objective.
For this game, is a beautiful collaboration of will and mercy
To achieve an innate and universal state of mind
One which cannot be explained or drawn within this realm..
‘Love’ is the coded title for this worldly life,
Yet much goes unsaid for its energy and existence.
We both work to complete levels, and become greater skilled with ascension
Finding windows for exchanges and creating walls around only us
We find haven within each other, or rather a safe house
And only we hold knowledge of entering the doors we have.
Forces are in motion to see us fall.
Forces made of time, distance, addiction, obsession, materiality and destruction
And after the shelling, massacre, ambush and infliction
If there is yet a pulse of connectivity between us
Then we have survived
We have Remained.
Only to be tested again once those forces resurface..
But soon the impenetrable walls, the kaleidoscope windows and secret doors
Will become our fortress.
A kingdom with minarets of collaboration and commitment
And we can both say truly, that Love; our soul desire, has been fulfilled.
And that is my mission
That is the mission of every being.
I have played this game twice.
And I have lost twice.
My blame has targeted misfortune, cowardice and insecurity
And every time that I find myself in front of the booth
In the Arcade of Intimacy and Union
I see the red neons, and fuses of fireworks, and hear of romance in synths
I place my hand in my pockets, and they are full with coins
Coins carved out of Emerald, Ruby and Gold
Jewels that have been collected in my solitude.
Because wealth of mind only grows in states of isolation
The pressure of neglect, and empty rooms of your house makes you wise
Wise in patience, and you learn to observe your world from a calm silence.
And now I have inserted a coin, and a very familiar wire creeps and grips
The ports in both my ventricles..
The rush of intoxication, and awakening of the senses have me in the realm
A zone so familiar
A zone I seek to dominate and win.. this time.
But what has me here writing.. is a moment of clarity which I have experienced..
That screen which appeared before me, flashing in amusement;
*Insert Coin* GAME OVER *Insert Coin*
Was what I thought to be the end of a failed union. With her..
But I realise now, that the screen is no longer a mockery or omen of failure
I realise now, why two players have individual wires.
The screen of mind, and perspective are separated with her and myself.
The events and senses are shared.
But the interest gained from our transactions are different in weight.
I find that all exchanges which I thought to be fruitless ventures
Were disguised successes,
I reached the hereafter of Love, long before she could
And the screen of defeat that she accepted, was mirrored to mine..
And I walked away with tokens trailing from my pockets
But tears for loss blurred my vision, and I saw tokens to be Memorial flowers
Like that which grows on the battlegrounds of the fallen.
I write this now, because I am in the booth
I write this now, because I feel this game becoming easier.
My only yearning is selfless.
And that is to see that she can reach the pinnacle within her.
I am tired
Not in age, but in empathy
I am tired of seeing the end screen flash before us
So I shot at the world
Every day we find ourselves in the mayhem and operations of society..
Cinema, music and laws of attraction have made us keep an eye on the masses of flesh and bone to find the one. The alpha. The other.
Love at first sight
Target of affection
Freak occurrence in statistics.
The labour and daily routine that we live by keeps us moving..
Train tickets, terminals, cab calls and commutes.
Raves, reunions, apartment viewings and appointments.
The world doesn’t forget to turn, and the moon doesn’t forget to change faces.
Death is an accurate book keeper, and Birth is a virtuous time keeper.
Everything is written.
Maktub. Koudrat. Takdir. Destined.
We are spectators of beauty and visionaries of our desires..
We observe for a stone chip of time, to capture a moment of eye contact with another person.. to build a channel of thought, emotion and recognition in that very moment.
When the contact is lost, either by people walking through, or change in direction or merely a shy turn of cheek.. the connection is broken again.
But that small exchange is enough to intoxicate our mind with chemicals.
One look is enough.. I just need you to look at me.
Go about your ways.. you don’t need to stay.
But let me speak a thousand conversations in a second of contact.
I am blind in crowds.
So wake me.
“To shoot the Suit that suits the fruit of her eye
Gentlemen, what a pleasant evening,
My work here is done, let the firewood tell it’s final stories,
Let the candle make it’s last supper”
“A city full of knights that have never been to war and princesses that fair no different from whores..”
“Don’t fall for my charm, even a poison apple can appear sweet on the witch’s palm..”
“A man loses his wife, then builds the Taj Mahal out of heartbreak, what’s tears?”