Saateteksti: Viistoista minuuttia Paintilla.
--
Pitäisi olla luova.
Pitäisi, että voisin näyttää niille
muille luoville,
että minäkin pystyn johonkin!
Oma narsistinen rakkauteni
ei riitä enää taiteeni egolle,
vaan ulkoinen palvonta, ah,
se se vasta olisi jotain!
"Kumartakaa!
Olen teidän kuninkaanne!
Odotatte sanojani
kuin taivaalta putoavaa mannaa!
Vain minä kykenen ilmaisemaan,
mitä te haluatte tuntea sisällänne!"
Suuruudenhullun päiväunen kaiku haipuu.
Pitäisi olla luova.
Piirtelen sen sijaan peniksiä.
Olen Jumala.
Jokaisen teokseni luon
omaksi kuvakseni,
ja olenhan karsea mulkku.
torstai 29. marraskuuta 2012
maanantai 5. marraskuuta 2012
A Teen Gothic Love Letter
Saateteksti: Olen alkanut antaa runoilleni itsedissaavia otsikoita, mutta tämä kyllä nyt ansaitsee sen, koska käytetty muun muassa sanoja "disease" ja "darkness". Mut joskus täytyy leikkiä mitalla, ja oon sitä paitsi istunut tämän päällä viikkotolkulla ennen kuin tänään päätin että vitut ja tein valmiiksi. Pee äs, joskus runotkin on ihan vaan fiktiota eivätkä välttämättä ihan suoria reflektioita kirjoitushetken tunne-elämästäni (elikkä en osannut kommunikoida mitallisessa runossa mitä halusin), vaikka onkin aika teiniangstinen olo ollutkin tässä hetken (mikä varmaan reflektoituu aika hyvin siinä, ettei osaa kommunikoida mitallisessa runossa, mitä haluaisi. Metaaaaa, määään).
--
I glanced at your darkness
and found it appealing
and thought of it as my home.
I glanced at your darkness
and found it revealing
something about my own.
You saw my reflection
and found it appalling
and fought it like a disease.
You saw my reflection
and found it recalling
something about your own.
--
I glanced at your darkness
and found it appealing
and thought of it as my home.
I glanced at your darkness
and found it revealing
something about my own.
You saw my reflection
and found it appalling
and fought it like a disease.
You saw my reflection
and found it recalling
something about your own.
torstai 1. marraskuuta 2012
Addict
Haiku
It took half an hour
to erase a distraction
made for peace of mind,
a medicine, which
when overconcentrated
turned into poison.
Addiction
My red world,
hue turned green.
Vision blurred
for a while
sweet relief
from routine.
My world,
the hue turned back to red.
The distraction loses its novelty,
a structure loses simplicity,
a pressuring need taking over the visual field -
addiction prevails.
Temporary Setback
With distance grew the pressure lesser.
A warm, fuzzy, and familiar feeling
washed over to take its place,
being in all its predictability
sudden, and welcome.
A sight,
still new, even though less so now,
a sudden punch to the liver,
not welcome.
I utter:
"A temporary setback",
as it fades.
Metaphorant
The color of the grass behind my sunset sky eyes feels like pressure that has a corporeal form, black and shiny and bending to give way to everything I try to push against it to make it break, and I marvel in the face of this puzzle, until it bores me to my bone, to my silver bones that are shiny too but will not bend, and which yearn again to face another silver bone so shiny it reflects an image almost perfect in detail, mocking our four dimensions of bone and flesh and blood and skin, and to stand against it thus forming an infinity.
It took half an hour
to erase a distraction
made for peace of mind,
a medicine, which
when overconcentrated
turned into poison.
Addiction
My red world,
hue turned green.
Vision blurred
for a while
sweet relief
from routine.
My world,
the hue turned back to red.
The distraction loses its novelty,
a structure loses simplicity,
a pressuring need taking over the visual field -
addiction prevails.
Temporary Setback
With distance grew the pressure lesser.
A warm, fuzzy, and familiar feeling
washed over to take its place,
being in all its predictability
sudden, and welcome.
A sight,
still new, even though less so now,
a sudden punch to the liver,
not welcome.
I utter:
"A temporary setback",
as it fades.
Metaphorant
The color of the grass behind my sunset sky eyes feels like pressure that has a corporeal form, black and shiny and bending to give way to everything I try to push against it to make it break, and I marvel in the face of this puzzle, until it bores me to my bone, to my silver bones that are shiny too but will not bend, and which yearn again to face another silver bone so shiny it reflects an image almost perfect in detail, mocking our four dimensions of bone and flesh and blood and skin, and to stand against it thus forming an infinity.
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