Simple World: Morning Edition

 

The air itself was music. It was not self-imposing like the train noise echoing from a distant place neither was it chipping away morning lullabies like the birds on the poles and trees. It was amidst all, and everything around it was consumed by its unapparent presence. Without most knowing, life was giving away its most prized rhythms for free. And all who thought they could hear sounds of bytes were voided in the gift of hearing.

During a dreadful storm one does care about the shouts or cries of the sea, all that matters is coming out at the brighter side of the tale. Heroic, yet a good sailor not great (because there are no great) will listen to the ascending roars of the waves and with deep insight into the ways of the water, he or she will pass through with ease. Now we all have different paths, but regardless of the set road we have a singular end point; same destination. Some require rugged tricks to pull out from the beast of the sea. But no matter your gift, wise or unwise, understanding the waves of life will help you in finding that road you desperately need to embark on, and when or if you listen, maybe your path will call out your name; Loud and strong.

For the sins of man has been fully paid.
Nothing can stop the token your thighs received when you first echoed your cries.
Rebelling against even mata,Β a fist of odd thoughts.
Knocking on the door of joy, craving for the taste of sea.
Morning come, money go

The Ape of an Angel

He, living by the sword,
Was destined to die from its many cut
The heaven gates opened,
Swallowed him into its abode
He remained amazed,
The glory he had never seen
Harps and harps were played
He crying, saw his mistakes
For before the time that was now
He had died a million times before
Life knowing, he would listen
Even to times of many deaths

Rhythms to the Land of Revelation

The very bad thing

Easily catches the mind

Making a full public appearance

It grabs the throat

Impedes the soul

Deafens the ears

Stamps the heart

Hoping to shower the eyes with glittery things

For a time, the world is stunned

Basking in this new found power

Only for some to open mouth and shout

β€œLiar, for hope does not come to accuse”

 

Dying spring of the savannah

Heal my bruised heels

Rest my tired mind

Trouble me out of sleep

So I may live through my words

Raise me through the veils of basic death

These times of revelations

Holds back the skin from shedding

But I digress not further

Instead the truth I stress

Is to press onto the blade of the truth

And taint no more

Living fore-more into one’s self

Digging deeper into the ditch of life

 

The tongue that never changed

Neither did the thread of soul

Only the rise for the hunger of our needs

So again must I digress further not?

Maybe until another night of Lucien

For under these starry stars the air blows hot

And the fan tries hard to best the fight

the world is yours, said scar

Coated choice
They try to limit one
But two is never one

Hymn the rhymes
The sky I saw
Haunting and liberating
I remember my birth

Before the placenta
The world was already living
We talked
Ambience writing

Then I needed not scribble
I dream not
I saw the crown of stars
Neither in night, or in slap
In life
Before the soul was locked

I flew
I saw all that was
I moved

Voided hate
Blank despise
Born in the midst of time
A new element, I wrote

The world is here
Though the mind seeks freedom
For now, I will live
Till the morning after

The word was flesh
and the man in red listened

Living Times

Creating your own space
The access to stored memories
A market is still a market at night
The add on flows
Washing past your eyes
The money makers sing
While you put a thousand plus
They make a thousand more
Ironic, in the sense that
The joint is there for the union
What you want, you go finding
Money or Acceptance
Balanced maybe
So I will go with the other
To survive
My gift will be both
Prophetic, yet
Just an ordinary vision lasting longer than most

Act III: The struggles of the fallen

The days we have come to know

The ends we have come to meet

The anger we have grown to recollect

Hunger is real

A gift to use

β€œThe pain is harsh,” said the sun

Sahara burns hot

But, the people keep on walking

Your time in the day

 

The Original Orange

hedge_hogs_in_a_pile_by_half_empty_soda_can

The proud but always smiling badger stared at the yellow orange with much curiosity. His white and black fur shone as the sun stood in the sky without fear. He wondered why this particular orange was just so yellow. Every orange he had seen before were not as yellow as this one. Mr. Blind Hedge-Hog had told him that the yellow orange was a sign of doom.

β€œFoolish Hedge-hog, heΒ doesn’tΒ know anything,” the Smiling Badger thought.

Doom only came to people who wished for it. You get what you wish for. He hated people who were always negative. For example, the always drunk pink Squirrel was always having trouble because of his constant negativity.

For all this smiling Badger knew, this yellow orange was a sign of good times. The smiling badger knew he had to stop Mr. Blind Hedge-Hog from spreading more lies about the yellow orange, so he decided that he would go up to Mr. Blind Hedge-Hog’s house and confront him.

Knock! Knock!!

β€œWho is it, is that you Mr. Yellow Squirrel?” Mr. Blind Hedge-Hog asked with much curiosity.

β€œNo! It’s Mr. Smiling Badger.”

β€œOh you, I really would like if you could stop smiling”

β€œI can’t, I am the smiling badger.”

β€œI know but your smile is just borderline plain ridiculous,” shouted the hedge-hog.

β€œYou see its hedge-hogs like you that continue to piss off the humans.”

β€œHow do those always angry humans relate to me not liking your smile? You know Mr. Smiling Badger sometimes I don’t believe I know you”

β€œTypical of Mr. Blind Hedge-hog, you always keep quoting annoying irrelevant references. You watch too much of those human television shows.”

β€œShut up, just shut up, you know nothing. You know nothing about anything with your sassy looking face.”

“Oh for the love of my father’s smile, are you Hedge-hogs ever serious?”

β€œHmm, you know that’s a very difficult question, but be rest assured that the yellow orange will answer your question, with doom of course.”

β€œStop speaking such blasphemy, the yellow orange will bring peace and harmony.”

β€œNo, you are wrong my friend, the yellow orange will kill us, except me off course and maybe my wife.”

β€œAlright I can’t take this anymore, open this door at once, you spiny little mammal.”

β€œOh wow, you know, all this time we both were engaging in this heated debate over a yellow orange, I honestly honestly! forgot you were still at the front of my door.”

β€œThat’s it, I’m going home, I hope you Hedge-hogs turn into zombies and kill each other.”

β€œNow that’ll be cool, like I’ll just freak the living nut out of Mr. Yellow Squirrel”

β€œBy the way please extend my greetings to Mrs. Smiling Badger for me, I miss her sassiness.”

β€œMr. Smiling Badger, are you there?”

β€œWell well, I guess he went away”

β€œAnd I was just about to open the door.”

β€œOh Life, we hedgehogs are just beautiful and misunderstood.”

 

The story of the hedge-hog is an ongoing series, catch up with previous episodes of the hedge-hog

The Legend of the Hedge-HogΒ 

The Curse of the Hedge-Hog

Spin

When the young arrived the old quietly sat on their chairs

Our lives spin in circles hoping to align directly with our desires. Some people never get to see their deepest wishes come to fulfillment, but only a few realize whatever their heart had hoped for. They journey into loneliness without preconceived pressure, but with a free-flowing effortlessness. Unfair civilization; definitions of the world we continually live in. We are bound to hate one another with disdain and bitterness. Sometimes hoping for a change is like a ball stuck in a dead stream; hopelessly stagnant. Slowly and gradually we disappear into solitude and despair. Love seemed to be the right way but when sought and pursued, a cold shiver was received. SPIN

Third Person (Voice)

You know after all this; the constant pressure to succeed or fail, the pressure to fake a smile or a frown, the pressure to find one or another, or the constant looks from the street judges, there I am (moi). Standing there or maybe walking with my back turned, I look strange just walking, fighting my through another man’s time. I know that’s contemporary life; “you work to live,” but where is my own time?

The elites might know,Β I mean I toil for them everyday. They should know something, right?

Where am I in this ‘scatta’ ‘scatta’ mess?

Have you seen me lately?

I think I’m lost, missing in action

So is my voice lost in this strictly commercialized noise?

Oh well there it goes again, echoing away my soul

I can’t hear it, even if I lean further, it has gone too far, or am I too far away?

After all this motion and more motion

Where am I?

Where is my voice?

I think I might have to shout much more louder to get it back. Reach for the stars, they say!