Once Without a Time

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For someone who is so obsessed with time, I seem to forget that most people move on with it.

It is not an attribute of the common, to hang up a broken clock in the hall of their stagnant lives. That is a pattern of my own.

I’m typically atypical in my state of standstill. I’m inspired to aspire from the walls within.
The lure of the day marks just the coming of the night. The night beckons me to sleep, for the coming of a new day.

But others, they venture forward and seek to get lost, knowing that the discovery of life comes in the adventure of its course.

Their tales will be told as a time they were once upon, but mine will be told as being without, for I live in a place where the ticks do not applaud me, so I am not accepted as part of that story.

Once without a time” will be my only legacy. I’ll be lost outside of the ages.
Unaccounted for, for I didn’t count the score, counterbalancing the accounts of times galore.

Yes, it’s a strange thing to sit and write about time. For actually, it completely eludes me.

T
Diary of a Deluded Heart

Written: September 7th 2016
Published: January 31st 2017

{Written with Vallendri Arnout in mind}

“Ohana means Family”

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We all concern ourselves a bit too much with what others think of us, and not enough on those we love the most.
I say “us” and I say “we”, but above all I mean “I” and I mean “me”.
I guess that in this instant, I chose to generalise at the expense of the few… or perhaps the many. All I know is that this holds true for me, so perhaps for you too… Continue reading ““Ohana means Family””

Water|as|Love

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If Love is Water, then I am a desert, for it is something my lips have never tasted, a thirst that’s never been quenched, a sea I’ve never stepped into.

I’m often asked why I don’t take a plunge into the unknown and dive into the sea of love that awaits before me; the water of wanders, an ocean of life. And here’s why…. Continue reading “Water|as|Love”

Lost Art

10.Lost Art DODH

There’s a part of me that fears death in the face of all of my unfinished business.

Life is so fleeting… our moments here are evanescent. I have so many visions in my mind; I don’t want them to be put to sleep before they’ve been realised… to have my ideas martyred at the expense of my idleness… to have them die before ever having lived. More specifically, as an avid writer, I don’t want all of these words to become a memoir of madness (for if madness isn’t the result of such obsessive, chronic chronicling which advances ahead with no purpose or use, then what is…?) Wasted words are one of life’s greatest shames, one I wish to play no part in (but lead the march nonetheless in all of my Words Unspoken and Dear Nobody’s.) Continue reading “Lost Art”

Dear Somebody

3.Dear Somebody DODH

Growing up I always wanted to write a story for lack of my own.

But my affinity with letters took my creative writing on a different journey; I began writing to people and things and addressing songs and movies. By way of that, I found my muse in words unspoken, and addressed my love for letters as just that: words unspoken.

From a reflective point of ponder to a curious case of questioning, my letters all carry a trail of “Perhaps” – exploring possibilities, uncertainties and suggestions – It’s a form of grey area where nothing is too definite in this form of confessional expression. But starting with such ambiguity leads to a trail of unanswered unknowns; words sent out with nothing to ricochet off. It is a trail I pursue with no result.

For far too long I’ve been letting letters lay; unknown, unopened, unconnected and to no effect, collecting dust like an archaic mosaic. My “Dear Nobody’s” and “Dear Somebody’s” begin and ends with “Dear Yours Sincerely” – But somewhere between the silence I’ve killed the purpose of my pursuit of perhaps; so now I’m turning what was once rhetorical into something more oratorical.

So perhaps it’s about time for my wonders and curiosities to wander from darkness into luminosities; to seek to serve my letters justice by posing my words outwardly, released from my own captivity. Perhaps my stagnant words will search its addressee and find its home. Perhaps I’ll find my answers, perhaps I won’t. – Perhaps’ are a-plenty; It’s time to seize the unspoken and free my anchored blues and frivolous musings.

Looking back, I think I knew that this was always an inevitable matter of time, to finally release what I always considered, just a matter of mine…

T
Diary of a Deluded Heart