At Crossroads

At crossroads

As a persistent state

This is the way I’d define the present

Which, ironically, refuses to be labeled

It does not need to have a name; it will still be the present

Regardless of how we call it

The smallest of all thoughts seems to have already occurred to me before

The biggest of all ideas coming back in different shapes

Postponing choices, wandering, observing, taking it all in

I treasure my words and struggle to let them come out

They can mutate realities

Or commit to actions that aren’t ready to exist

Honesty to be found even clearer in those that stay inside

This inexplicable need to free up some space inside

To connect and find a link in these mixed paths

My dreams have become a story that keeps building up each night

And you appear in each one

At crossroads

As a persistent state.

In my utopian world

March 2008

In my utopian world normal business hours are 11am-8pm and alarm clocks are unnecessary. Not having a long hour for breakfast, including coffee, cigarettes and a well written newspaper would be a considered dangerous. The norm would mandate that people work doing what they are passionate about the most, and working would only be considered an additional aspect of life, not a necessity.

In my world music would flow from anywhere, at anytime we just thought about it. The entire world’s information would be as easy to digest as plugging a memory stick to your USB port is. People would be able to travel freely from one part of the world to another whenever they wished and the ability to learn a language fluently would be innate and instant.

If the world functioned under my utopian vision, we would be open-minded and respectful of other people’s opinions and views. People wouldn’t hide behind their “belief” in god, moral values or greed to justify all the crimes committed against humanity. Falling in love and having amazing sex would be as simple and vital to life as drinking a glass of water.

My utopian world is built everyday while I sleep and construct obscure places in my mind, revealing mysteries that I try to understand when I’m awake. This is the place that I live in when I travel without an itinerary, when I spontaneously share amazing evenings with friends over drinks and great conversations, when I smile for no reason and cry when I’m happy or laugh too hard. This place also includes all of my nostalgia and memories of better times… because my utopian world is simply all that is, all exists even though it may hurt and be hard to come out. This is the place I call home.

Words as a puzzle

Words as a way to free thoughts from existing only in my head

Words building a personal puzzle

Lacking the big picture to use as a model

Becoming a reflection of a real game

Life in small pieces

The present being ensembled every minute

And my words as witnesses

Time being my accomplice

My words are like mental pictures

Sometimes too abstract for my taste

Or too raw

Or too shiny, too dark

Regardless

They're the timeline of my life

Being built

Now.