Where was your mind
At those nights you now bet
You hadn’t dreamt of anything?
It’s often said we dream every night
I wonder—how were those dreams
You let slip from your grasp?
Were they any wonder—
Were things out of line?
What secrets lay there?
Were you oblivious
In the face of grand fantasies
You would trade for reality?
Anyway, you’re back
Safe once again
If everything were poetry
then nothing would be…
If only a verse were self-contained
If only a part were the whole
If only everything holds
Yet some things dare to be bold
Some contradictions are truly the thing
Consistent or inconsistent,
Your verses won’t ever explode
When down the rabbit hole
For context, paraconsistency (see paraconsistent logic) is the idea that coherence is possible even without consistency—i.e., contradictory statements can coexist without leading to a logical explosion (a scenario in which anything can be proven true from a contradiction), which occurs in classical logic. In paraconsistent logic, this principle of explosion does not hold.
We can’t get pass the uncanny valley²,
So that we’re back at where we started
It’s a long way to go back—yet a step forward
Darkness awaits us on both ends
It’s been with us along the path
It’s just that our pupils adapted
An ouroboros³, it’s the valley
Hope here, a timid light
that hardly wounds the darkness
No flashlight to reveal the path
So we freeze at where we are
Facing death, personified in our image
1. the “valley of the shadow of death”; 2. a psychological and aesthetic phenomenon where a person feels uneasy or disgusted when a non-living object looks or behaves too much like a human; 3. an ancient symbol depicting a serpent or dragon eating its own tail.
Before I started looking for red cars
on my way work to home,
there was none.
They were all grey, I guess—
or was it my world?
I had lunch;
it was bland.
Home to work.
Where are the blue ones?
Time. is not from here
It’s just passing by
I keep track of it
Count every beat
Of the music it contains
Which I carve out of it
The melody?
This colored noise contains it
As much as silence does
This time, rain falls
Silence is on me
See the latest post, which indirectly inspired these verses.
What would your life be like without music?
A mistake. Now, that is not to say that my life is a hit (with music).
Of course, you are completely entitled to dislike music—although I have yet to meet someone who actively does.
As you read my poems here, you might not realize just how deeply passionate I am about music—more than poetry, even. I’m drawn to many other forms of art, of course. As I often say, “art still thrills me.”
However, producing music demands a significant investment, and I refuse to take the easy, artificial route. It’s more accessible and affordable than ever to create average and artificial music these days. But poetry? Poetry has always been far more accessible (and affordable) than music. And relying on AI for it feels even less justifiable than for music. Of course, one can use AI just as we use writing prompts, for instance. AI can assist, but it should never replace authentic creative expression.
The process of writing poetry is more immediate, whereas music involves a more layered approach, with multiple stages such as composing, recording, mixing, and mastering.
Writing poetry keeps me sane while I navigate the financial limits that prevent me from producing music the way I envision. With poetry, I can express my soul freely—”pen and paper” are all I need, a medium that has always been affordable, and always will be.
I can express myself more fully through music than through poetry, although I strive to master poetry with the same dedication as I do music. It just so happens that music is my ultimate passion, offering a freedom of expression that feels more universal than poetry.
I plan to explore music more on this blog in the near future, mostly by sharing song lyrics, but also occasional performances and finished works. Let’s see what the future holds.
As you may now be dying
to know how much of life is left,
you may rest
assured that when you are dying for good,
the wrong life won’t flash before your eyes.
If you had to give up one word that you use regularly, what would it be?
Just. But I’m just happy that I don’t have to. ‘That’ is the most that I can give up.
That aside, I do weigh my word choices with intent already—be my text streamlined or complex for an effect.
They’re watching you. Be your ‘theres’ not theirs—you get and got to own what you write. There are rules you can break— only if you know them—; rules you can’t; rules you shouldn’t.
May I have your attention? Big companies pay large sums for it; I can’t afford that much. What I can offer is to reciprocate your intention… You may have my attention, if you show that you care. It’s not as difficult as it might seem; I’ve read that writing you’ve shared. Those lines have spoken to me. Had you meant them, just know I felt cared for.
Reveries That I Call Poetry 