heaven poem peachs almanac

Breathing Purgatory | Poem

Just walking, and groveling.

Well… mumbling, as always;

Habits, they’re sure hard to beat,

Being beaten, being broken – it’s easier;

Letting yourself become broken,

Like a freezer that refuses to freeze –

Pointless! Lifeless! Redundant!

 

Counting down, relentless in spirit.

No doubt, fucked in all certainty.

Lost in the frivolous passing.

Wondering when one might

Stumble upon that revered salvation,

Where dark is light,

And the Underworld – oblivion.

 

Muster in the haze of solitude,

All that fortitude that has no audible voice.

For what is hearing,

If there is nothing to be heard?

For what is living,

If one does not live?

Ha – something of nothing.

Like a ferris-wheel turned on its side;

Revolving… turning – but going nowhere.

 

My Relationship With Welcome to the N.H.K

For a long time, I’ve been a lover of anime. Ever since I was a young kid, I remember watching Studio Ghibli film’s alongside my dad and sister, over and over again. They never got boring; the rich lands, and the characters, the stories – they seemed so utterly magical, so out-of-this-world, and yet completely believable, completely immersive. Sure, no doubt some of it was due to the impressionability of my younger self… but the remainder, was an intrinsic love for narrative of that type, one that would develop and mature as I grew older – as I grow older. Most notably the ‘Slice of Life‘ genre of anime.

Not just anime itself, but the surrealism which is often intrinsic to its nature. That which my most-loved author Haruki Murakami often portrays to such mesmerising levels.

Welcome to the N.H.K was originally a Japanese novel written by Tatsuhiko Takimoto , which was later adapted into a serialised manga, and then, to critical acclaim, a 24-episode anime series in 2006. 

I can’t remember the exact date, or even the exact year when I first watched it. I guess somewhere around 2013-14. At that time, watching it, I realised so many things – too many things. Most of all, it absolutely terrified me – ripped open my soul and left it there to be eroded by the environment if I did nothing to protect it from the elements. Here’s a synopsis: (from myanimelist.net)Read More »

Honest… Honest Work

Flashing of dire images,

Like ghouls in the Mirror of Regret.

Temptation sulking in red-soaked-pools,

Knowing that if I fall, there are no nets,

And the walls – they’re far, far too steep,

Covered in layer upon layer of bleak memory.

 

And I look upon the canvas, devoid of paint,

As I frantically search for that rosy paint-

A medium for expression;

But it’s oblivion… not a single brush,

Nor a pencil.

Nothing to imprint the white.

Emptiness – alone – lonely.

 

Traversing corridors – back and forward,

Forgetting the doors on each side,

Forgetting the chances that wait beyond.

Needing to walk back into space without electricity;

Or, at least being duped into thinking so.

 

Please, do something, I was caving,

Mites ruthlessly bit, and the ticks latched without remorse;

Eraser, white pen on white paper.

Each stroke heavier – breaths taken on Mars.

 

My laugh filled the empty stretches,

Bleak, and self-depreciating – honest.

Painfully, wretchedly, horrifically… honest.

Heard by not one soul.

Breaking the boundaries of sound,

So loud – silent – vacuum sound.

 

All these years,

Time ticking like a clock at half-speed;

Time spent, time… honestly wasted;

Not wasted honesty.

Under the Dark, Dreary Night

Night-light rains down in the field of wolves,

Their names called, summoned at once.

Crying and screaming, the masses run,

From the beasts – the savages.

 

Bottle in hand, legs afloat,

Climbing trees – falling into heavy arms –

Strangers arms, unwelcome by the recipient.

Heart breaking, secluded to the dark beside stone walls.

 

Ground-worms, the eerie winds of euphoric glass.

In the trailer, painfully few beside;

Outside, the golden world goes on,

Laughter, chaos, the hugs of youthful sentiment.

 

The Forgotten, the Shadows in no light,

Weaving like willow around stronger trunks;

In the chinks and the chimes-

Kissing, looked on upon with bleakness of vacuum.

 

So, the bottles are empty;

A world turned hazy with grim solitude.

Nothing before. Nothing after.

What had I been expecting, a change in base temperature?

 

Morning light, and lingered pride,

Loving all around, but honestly, nothing inside.

Taken home, forgotten thoughts-

Trying to forget.

 

Images of possibility,

Voices that could have been, and might have been,

If only it weren’t for battered sanity.

Some things are never.

Through Tinted Glass

Listening to those songs, remembering those times.

Days of darkness – window staring.

Love remembered…

At least the need for it.

Time passing, willing it to pass all at once.

Head – faster than light,

Body – slower than the ticking of clocks.

Dream like-

Colourless dreams.

Unfeeling, meaningless dreams…

In the waiting, and in the seething,

Telling myself,

We all go through a times of teething.

Darkness in different shades-

Spanning the hours, the waning of the days.

Mumbled sentences, and dead-heavy limbs.

Waking – not really.

Sleeping – not truly.

Lazing in the fuzziness, the dead TV flicker,

The subtle blur that borders every edge.

Peering into a future that’s anything but clear.

Wondering, pondering, thinking-

Anything but believing…

BoA – Some Moons Ago

Some time ago… I would say two years… or maybe three, I’m not so certain. I listened to this song religiously. I’m not entirely sure why. K-pop definitely isn’t the kind of music I listen to on a regular basis. It isn’t even the kind of music I particularly enjoy at all… And, I suppose I can say the same for many of you who might read this.

So, a little context, right? Well, back then I was in something of a pickle. Alright, that’s an understatment, I was completely fucked. The depression was at its worst. I couldn’t get through a minute without questioning everything, without questioning life itself. Looking back, sure, it could have been worse, much worse. But in the heat of the passing moments, you don’t think about that. The mind is selfish, and when in such a state, nothing mattered beyond myself.Read More »

Something… Maybe Nothing…

How many days must pass until the truth is revealed? I know and they know too, that life, and living, well… there’s no standard, and no true way. For one slips into the next, and the next into its neighbours. All that ever was, is, and all that will be… that’s something else entirely. Pondering questions of the future, and what that future has in store. Maybe a remedy, maybe something that reveals all there is to see and know. For we are young, living the passion of youth. A careless melody, starved in a crusade for truth. Lies they run our commons, biting and bruising all that we leave in the light of day. And we feel all under the light of the moon, the dusk, and the shortening of days. Because, in the end, we are all that we are…