not to far back in time the old men of the village curled up and died. some said that it was due to the curse blurted out by the witch while pissed on cheap vodka. the old boys tried to hook up with the witch for an orgy but they couldn't find their underpants and never turned up for their dinner date on time.this caused much agony and pain to the witch who already was over her credit limit and cranky from the bad service. while getting out she tripped on her hooked nose and cursed.
mine is a more precise and well deducted theory using a cheap Chinese calculator. i think after much consultation with the blind rat that ate the old boys underpants. i have come to the conclusion that it was a case of gas due to eating to much cheese.

as the market swelled with the holiday crowd coming in from all directions. the old farmer rolled into the market square in his run down pick up. the day looked promising and the mid day sun kind. what a beautiful day or so it seemed. as i sat across the road watching the market folks hustle, women bargain, children trouble the store keepers and young couples stealing glances in hope of a forbidden romance. my heart aching from a soured past and a glass of wine promising a grand future was all i had to offer to the magic that swelled from every conner of this confluence of life. how do we get to a place where we stop noticing the perfume that once captivated our being? my taste buds seemed to fail my enthusiasm almost like the like the women i loved.
so now as i sit crowded by my own past in the presences of hope and wonder, i realize that you can never buy time from the fading clock.

the tide swelled up to cover the horizon for a brief few seconds, only to come crawling along the shore to kiss her feet. she stood still as the wind made love to her hair and enveloped her body like a jealous lover. the evening had a magical sway as the crest of the moon peeked through the clouds of the setting sun. the birds flew east to longing nests and rested feathers. the brush strokes were gentle while the horizon seemed to burst into a hue a ecstatic purples and oranges. there stood maya, stone like and stern with an undying resilience that the ocean would return her lover to her arms.

As i see the days go by and wonder what I have to achieve in this vacant place. My eyes seem to deceive me or am I held hostage by my mind? The road seems parched by the anger of my own failures. Lost! I try to hold on to the sides of the ever-tilting surfaces. I feel my ego mocking me. Laughing a loud with a conglomerate of my own sub-conscious fears, which I have gathered on this wild chase In search of identity.



The lies and deceit is not of another's but the scars I have ridden my mind with of self inflicted sorrow. My heart does not dictate my actions, as the faint beat of hope lies silent in a mash of human flesh. The blood once an envious red of youth, now a pale colour on cheap hotel wall. Every step feels unmoved and pointless to my once fierce limbs. Shallow breathing makes it hard to fill the void within and light the temple of my resilience.



I trudge along dragging my shadows in the blazing heat of constant submission. Scared to confront the opposing order leaving behind my convictions like a shamed parent.I try to tune into my intuition, which blurts static frequencies form a distant place.

Ravaged and hungry I stand in an unending queue at the devils pawnshop awaiting the return of my soul.