I'M A POET DON'T YOU KNOW IT

Dirty and ragged, hard-working culture worker


Well how about that. Spent the entire night, right up until eight in the morning or so, writing poetry in English. I know! It's a fucking cliche. And I'm not even a classified poet, by a long shot. I usually don't do poetry. But I guess it was one of those black holes you fall into sometimes. You start up and you just can't stop. I even had to make an entire blog dedicated to whatever random waste of artistery I could conjure up. But I guess it was better than nothing.

Well, now the coffee's ready and I'm going to check out the morning paper which arrived a couple of hours ago. The million dollar question: School or Sleep? I'm feeling quite fucked in the head honestly, my arms feel like two pieces of tired meat and I can almost feel sparkles around my brain. Way too much activity. Then again, I don't know if "tired" is the right word.

Well, we'll just see I supposed.
The entire work of art (is it any good? Fuck if I'd know) can be found at the new place, but if you don't have the energy to read eleven damn poems, colorfuly illustrated with insane perfection by yours truly, at least bear with me with this one poetry-single from the collection, called The Things That Only Glow in the Dark.



Oh it's one of those nights
all lay silent but
the shadowlands rumble

all the things you've hidden so well
emerge into a fog
carving out the shadow of an old friend

standing in the mirror, staring back
a friend of yours, so close
the silence is the attack
and the memory of those
you've left behind
"i'm sorry, i was blind"

Oh the night time show
it's out of control
and a memory of daylight

reminds you of control
the madness and the power to say no
yes, you can always seize the day
but in the night time play, there is a role

you are to swim
with every silent shark
in a pool of things
that can only glow in the dark