Time takes but also passes.

CHKDSK

Everything comes to a silenced halt
As words of reconciliation are heard.
'Heard', a word similar to 'hurt' with certain pronunciation,
The reason one would come to reconcile.
'Forgive and forget'-
They used to say this in church on Sunday mornings
Along with 'Repent; Turn unto the light'.

Many people never see much light,
They walk with their heads held high,
Sunglasses covering their faces, and move on what they hear.

Hearsay,
Rumour,
Gossip.

One and the same -  A mistake from whichever angle you look at it.
Mistakes as they sprawl across papers in exams,
Or form in the uterus out boredom, enibriety.
Sober to drunk;
Cause and effect;
A basic scientific equation.
Nucleosynthesis,
The Big Bang.
Bang, bang.
'Hitting, shooting, war, hunting, all the arts of hurting'
But is the pain real?
What is emotion but a mere feeling?
Abstract.
Surreality.

La Haine.

Wrote this on the 12th April,
V.

More old poetry.

It's 11pm and, 9th espresso streaming through my veins, I still fail to concentrate on the storyboards which lay before me or, rather, lack thereof. Tonight's center of procrastination, my old blog. I decided to skim through and post another old poem from it so as to waste time. Wrote the underlying back in 2010. This is it:

I walked along this morning,
Behind the tanker of despair,
Where eventually it led me,
Down to its hideous layer.

One by one it will take us,
To this dark and gloomy place;
It will rob us of our feelings,
And scare us with its face.
It will leave us feeling empty,
Alone and without hope.

No one will ever find us,
Or throw us down a rope.


Not too fond of this one as it feels incomplete, but alas it is what it is.


Later,
V.

Lady Madonna

Below is a poem I had written during A' Levels. Had posted it on an older blog but thought I'd share it on this one too.


Upon entering there's a seat.
A smile waiting next to it.
A few words;
-I'm tired. It's too early-
Finally the main entrance.
Everyone stares. Everyone listens.
Pens in Hands. Papers on desks.
Then the alienation.
The silence.
A small nudge of elbows. Right on left.
And vice versa.
The slapping of books on tables.
The turning of pages.
Flick. Flick. Flick.
Thirteen.
Highlighters screech over words.
But underneath it all; the awkwardness.
A silence from both ends.
Its over.
The chair is pushed towards the desk.
And then a cold shoulder.
An empty right.
A hollowness inside.
A sinking.
Then some false pretense.
Some thinking. In solitude.
A flight of stairs leading up but walked down.
And then some more.
Blue walls. Minimal decor.
The shelves.
Philosophy. Religion. Science.
Language- Art.
Sheets laying dead on eachother.
Black on white. The facts.
A seat by itself. Surrounded by many.
The whispering.
The cold, piercing silence.

An after-effect.
Action - Reaction.
Or a lack from both ends.
Maybe it's just the morning.
The cold outside.
The wind stabbing cores of inanimates.
And animates too.
To animate.
Animation.
Animated.
Mate.
Mating.
That's what the book was about.
Added some oppression.
Freedom to and freedom from.
Hollowness.
Emptiness.
Feelinglessness.
In turn that too is a feeling.
The feeling of not feeling.
A shared glimpse upon passing.
Dead sentiments which lay buried in the mud.
Nolite te bastardes carborundorum.
But it still happened.
Carpe diem.
But the day died too.
Dulce et decorum est.
But only if it's real.
And then another glimpse.
Another set of eyes.
The butterflies.
But, alas, it is winter.
The cold. The rain. The shoulder.
Dulce et decorum est.
But is it real?
The legs march on.
A stuttering of shoes.
The stuttering rifle's rapide rattle.
But is weaponary truly necessary?
Parallell lines on a paper. Short. 3mm.
Followed by a closing parenthesis.

And then a clock.
Tick Tock.
But the tock stops.
And then an end.
A concluding line.
A termination of flow.
-It's late. I must go-


Kudos if you read it all. References going out to M. Atwood and W. Owen, whose writings were the main inspiration for this.


Torii out,
V.

Day 13- Back to the End, Onward to the Beginning.

After two months of abstaining from adding anything to this blog, by negligence not choice, I believe it's time I do. As always this blog serves me as a procrastinatory catharsis, in that I should be finishing off a script due Friday and instead I'm on here- searching for ways to let my time go to the dogs.

Speaking about dogs, I want a kitten. Here's my final attempt at convincing my mum to let me get one:

Isn't that the cutest thing you've ever seen? 

 Probably not if you're not a fan of cats. My dog was much cuter than this when I first found him, but anyhow. I want a kitten. Cat in miniature, what ever.

Well, back to the main point of this. Today all MCAST ADI students get back to school and, being one myself, so do I. First lesson of the second half of the second semester - 2.2.1 - is advertising. Not really that interesting at all, and considering the thought of a 1 hour ride to and from Mosta for the sake of a 2 hour lecture, I would say that stoked is the least thing I am. At least, tomorrow we've got our editing class which, au contraire to the aforementioned, I await with great 'Antici --Pation'. If you didn't get that last reference, I suggest you turn your laptop on and watch The Rocky Horror Picture Show.

I leave you with a picture of what, back in the 70s, was a highly controversial film. 

Au revoire,
V.

Tips on how to worsen your insomnia #3

I haven't written anything on here in so long that I've almost forgotten how to formulate a blog post. At least 15 minutes have passed since I opened the 'new post' tab and still my mind insists on remaining shut, my fingers disabled from typing anything half decent to read. Introductions were never my strong point, you see. Neither in literature nor in the realm of the living. My procrastinatory skills, however, are far from lacking as one may or may not have noticed, and I oft find myself repeating the words -Focus, Vic. Stick to your topic.- So, here's to another post about things which fail to be kind on the insomniac soul.

It's cold out and the rain hasn't even considered taking a break. Queue long speech about childhood and times spent reminiscing about England. I had a post about that somewhere, possibly on the music-love-peace blog, but alas I can't seem to find it. Right, back to today's topic of discussion. It's cold, it's rainy, it's Malta. 'Why did she mention Malta?' you ask. Here is the answer-

I spent the weekend in Gozo. Enjoying the sunshine, greenery and overall Mediterranean weather. I come back to Malta late Sunday night and awake Monday morning to find dull clouds and humid pavements. Conflict of weather causes conflicts of Internal Body Temperature which in turn causes sickness. Here it is, people, the climax of this post. The next tip for aggravation of sleeping problems: I got sick.

After much time spent rolling about in bed, too restless to sleep yet too exhausted to get up, it was concluded by Madre Superiora that I was coming down with the Flu. Not the common cold caused by Rhino-viruses, but 'Influenza' an RNA Virus that travels through the Peripheral Nervous System making you feel like utter shit. Symptoms include a mental fever, pain all over the body, coughing and headaches among others.

I feel I have ranted on long enough, so to sum it all up- It's cold, it's rainy, it's Flu season. Do yourself a favour and try not to get sick, else fear the rath of many a sleepless night.

The above is a left-over of The Flu Pandemic of 1918

With this I leave you,

V.

Liquefying Cephalgia.

Somehow the most enjoyable of nights always seem to wake one up with cephalgia of sorts. Why so? What is it with the human psyche and a constant need to alter things? Be it our hairstyle, the colour of our nails, the positioning of a line on a piece of paper or even our state of mind.

While there are a handful of people who panic at the thought of change and see it as a bad seed planted in a field for the sole purpose of wreaking havoc, others live off it. The mere thought of discovering something new injects a form thrill into the spinal cord. It seeps down into the soul where it finds a place to rest and get to work. It gets a person going, provides a sense of anticipation - What will happen next? Where do we go from here? - A form of apprehension slowly musters up at the back of one's mind, enthralling, enticing to the point of enamour. However with it an inquisitional sense of expectation bulbs and blossoms, piercing it's way through all other thoughts like the roots of a thick, overpowering tree- Will this time be as good? What if it isn't? What if I remain the same? What if I don't feel? 


The thing about individuals who crave change is that they generally lack the overall feeling of fulfilment which the vast majority appears to appertain to. This, in turn, causes an avidity to divulge in extemporaneous expeditions. Decisions made ad hoc, thoughts blurted without remorse, ideas expressed in the search of something abounding. A superimposing sense of superficiality pushed to the back of a train and buried beneath a piping pile of steaming coal. 


The lust for conviviality- What shall we do about it?

I leave you with this. A post somewhat reminiscent of what one may have found on my previous blog. I shall update it, take down a few things and perhaps link back to it once again as I wish not to  leave certain hypotheses on this one.

V.