IRC-Galleria

It was cold by the time they landed. This would be a moment to remember, she thought as she walked down the ramp. No one would be there expecting her, but she didn't mind. Actually she preferred it that way. Walking in with a fanfare had never been her thing. She had run this countless times over in her head. She had kept on running for years, first by changing location often enough to escape the postcards, later to elude the detectives her mother had sent to pursue her in her last act of desperation. Eventually her trail was lost for good, and she had grown quite sure the only chance of discovery was by mere luck. And that never happened. She had been to various parts of the world, first to lose her tail, but hence forth to evade the creeping shadow that would always seem catch her after she'd remained in one place for long enough. She was never too keen to leave, but felt the urge to keep moving forward. After the first episodes, it became a habit for her to suddenly disappear, change name and lose herself in the new surroundings. She had felt so lost for the past years, but didn't feel like she really belonged anywhere else any better. She had crossed the world with a mill stone around her neck, dragging the burden with her anywhere she went, and relocated once it started to become apparent.

Once she had sworn never to return to her mother, her vision of everything sinister and abusive. The years hadn't been any more tender on her either, she knew, but it didn't keep her from tarrying her return. Even on the very day she had finally taken the last step towards a conclusion, and stepped on the flight, she saw no more a resolution as on the day she left. She had prayed all these years that she would one day find the courage to return after she was no longer expected, or even expecting to return herself. Today was that day. She had finally come back, and was taking hesitant steps in through the terminal, using any stimuli she could to procrastinate even further. To give herself time to think it all through. But the truth was, no thought could make her any readier to face everything she had hoped to part for good. She had gone through it all these years over and over: nothing would change. She had led a life of elusion, of thoughts, of memories, of this very moment that was to come; there was nothing else that could define her. Nothing would change, she thought, so she wouldn't lead a life aiming to find a resolution that didn't exist. She walked past the sign that said "Departures," turned left and all her hesitation was gone - she had lost nothing.

It was ironic, really. There had been nothing permanent in his life so far. Nothing static, nothing reliable. Every day had been another of drifting, floating from season to season without a focal point. Months used to spin around another, people passed as they would and never really left an impression on him. His life could be reviewed as a mosaic of separate moments, short stories and situations, but journalling was rather irrelevant. Most of the events could have taken place in any order, short sequences before he changed course. He would barely remember years and countries, but it was seldom for them to be in the right order. With hindsight, the life would seem more like a collection of experiences assembled by happenstance. To a stranger it would always seem intriguing, even envy-inducing, but even with multiple, various, single achievements a life without a plot-line can appear very bleak. A mosaic of randomly placed colour tiles doesn't make out into much after a few steps back. It's hard to really attach to anything, when you're constantly on the move, he thought. He'd passed through all of it, enjoying the scratches he could get at everything new and different, but always implicitly wishing he'd stayed in the places he liked. After a while of such life you desensitize to it, his internal monologue continued, I don't know if I still could enjoy such a life had I been given a chance. Living as a vagrant, he had never really considered anything else. The life was in the moment, and he used to indulge himself in every moment given. Who would have guessed, he whispered, that after all it would leave such a feeling of void, as if his whole life was vacant. Maybe it was. The only record of him in this world was the riddle of episodes he'd played in people's lives. This was the most permanent impression he'd ever made. To most, he was a positive acquaintance, a chance encounter. He rarely stayed long enough to see anything go further; he unconsciously knew he could have never left again.

In that very moment everything had changed. He wanted to go back to any moment and stay there forever. The only difference this time was, that he couldn't.

Feed me fire, and I shall ravish this land,

Leave the wretched soil desolate.

Till no brick stands atop the other,
ground no more paved, structure none intact,

That of the hand of man lies in utter ruin,
once forced into geometry, now scathed, torn part.

Let the frost eat away which still lies within,
until the world can breathe free.

A new beginning for the weary wasteland.

Once exhausted shall become invigorated.


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It's not a thing of mood

its a question unanswered.


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As the darkness gnawed upon my peripherals, I knew a body fell breathless in the light that remained. Series of plans expired almost as an ironic metaphor for the life itself in the moment. One could imagine a vivid blast of some abstract force of life leaving a person in the form of bright rays of light and a gaseous substance. There was nothing to see, nothing to hear. She had died away for a long time. Now the roar inside her subsided, and all fell tranquil again. A world without her felt oppressively quiet.


Full of Ink,
yours truly.


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Maybe this is the beginning of a series to be called Full of Ink, as Az once rhymed.


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If it were for us to dictate, we'd never part this fragment of life of ours.

Get caught in a loophole.

Employ, enslave, surf.

Live one a moment.


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#51 27.9.2009 4:00
~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Who might I be when I wake up?


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Which man passed, yet none immortal,
leave a trail of crumbs, passers by.


Anything can be a waste of time.


´


I can merely be the lies I tell.

We're here tonight because we've lost our hearts.

Should the night take my life,
I want to wake up next to you
like it were before.

Your rage scolds my body.

Move closer,
come back,
leave your nightmare behind,
pacify my visions.

When you're here, still gone, the ripples turn to waves.
I can't touch you.

24.09.2009 17:30 <Ylläpito> Tervetuloa! Sinut on valittu koekäyttämään uudistettua IRC-Galleriaa osoittessa [--] Sisään pääset [--] . Tarkemmat ohjeet saat sisäänkirjauduttuasi. Huom! Kutsu on henkilökohtainen.

Ettätätä.