every cloud has a silver lining:
you should never feel hopeless;

somebody’s having problems

it is always possible 

to derive some drive from it all.
"clouds block the sunshine,"

the veteran soldiers would tell the newcomers.

"avoid the clouds with the silver lining,

a poetic sentiment.
but it’s all good.
the sun will never die
and the sky will never separate.
good always triumphs, just
as the soldiers
come back to life, come back home.
in the end, we all win in self-waged war,
for every cloud has a silver lining
and silver’s almost as good as gold.
it’s never bad; it’s always not bad. 
every cloud has a silver lining.

Apr 27
google cloud

You can fix it with a little extra energy and a positive attitude


Don’t fix it if it isn’t broken


It’s fun to do the impossible sometimes


Land is always in the mind of homebound birds


Time may fly by, but memories will never die


Love will lead the way


It’s good that life isn’t quite as serious as the waiter thinks


If you eat an entire box of fortune cookies, anything is possible

Apr 21

Apr 20



I slice you in twain with a razor blade
I strike you with my lightning from above
I boxed you back with a booby-trapped box
I stabbed you in the behind with my sword
I pulled all the stops: power-ups and hearts
I laid so many traps for you foxes
I’ve run so hard, struggling to stay alive
I always made it to the finish line

And when the connection has been restored
the cycle runs again, circle, again
but this time I swear, I will make ensure
that I make it past you with fewer deaths
and fewer debts left unpaid, I will run
until the batteries give out, or the 
deities come in, papers in hand, ready.

Apr 15
fun run

It would be much better to be a woman,
because women it seems, are expected

or at least allowed, to show some form
of sympathy: some stream of tears

that flows from eyes like dreams
and from garden hoses you played

with in your childhood when they still
used to say, boys will be boys

and when the girls were icky and when
all the things that mattered were getting

too big for old shirts and becoming like

fathers but now everything seems a bit

wasted through rose-tinted glasses: we
are the privileged yet no-one sees the

homes we ourselves have been shut out of
I found that many human things were lost

to me: "You’re weak, son, you cry a lot,
you motherfucker, you’ll never be able 

to carry this family, you are a waste,”
the words echo and echo and echo

through the empty halls of my mind
which I struggle to pack with these feelings

and the things we sign up for, wars everywhere,
death to diplomacy, the things we stopped

ourselves from finding: the garden fence
we were never quite allowed to peek over

but we always swore we would

Apr 15
crying teenage awkward boy


fucking cunt
look the other way

look at you
looking at

fuck off
fuck face


I never wanted everything
to end up anything
like this
somewhere in the mess
was a boy’s childhood dream
ideals lost to crayons and markers



I lay awake at night lying
on my side and thinking
about what life’s like on 


what did it take to cross the sea
have you finally learnt to swim
or did you find someone else’s ship
yet again, like the salty sea-spirits on the breeze



I wonder
whether you slip up
on purpose or like
rats marking territory
you have claimed your deity

I wonder
why you stopped
all of a sudden

I missed the predictability 

Apr 15

wish I could follow people on this account
but it’s a sub blog
and my main blog’s too weird

Apr 13

banishing darkness,silence,
circling the earth;

the human race
still talks to itself

Apr 12
Earth Hour

imitates life
two or three faces
on the same form

Apr 12

fills the gaps
and when
we cannot hear the space
we can still feel each other

Apr 12
A Minute

The neon-red sun cloaks
itself in a sea of light
and evening mists;
I, too, am submerged with 
blankets: of sound, sweat, sex, sin, sighs

Apr 12


Apr 12

the night bleeds off the
sides of buildings. come,

child, what are you afraid
of? of never ever

being loved? afraid of dying
cold, alone? the rhythm

of the night’s song starts
playing, the mobsters come

hunting now and the shadows,

furtive creatures they are,


lurking from corner to corner

dripping with shade, from 

line to line to life to
flowing into nearby drains.

Apr 10
noir to me is but black white and melodrama


Girls that look like girls you used to fuck with

punctuated spring time gives way to melancholy summer

eat beats, so wack rappers don’t waste them

burn the crates, so wack DJs can’t find them

think something intelligent but don’t write it down

no one would read it anway

(Source: shmurdapunk)

Apr 10


i have always wondered if people notice
me noticing them in my periphery and
if anyone has ever given me a sidelong
glance back.

Apr 10