Into the Vortex

Therefore, I put on my motivational hoodie.

Five roses bought for Valentines And one of them's for you. Five roses given to my loves The love, though, was not true. Five oaths I swore that very day They all were works of art. Five oaths with sugar-coated smiles Not one was from the heart. Five kisses on five mouths I gave And one of them was thine. Five kisses - four of them were bland The fifth, though, was divine. Five roses bought for Valentines. Five oaths I swore that day. Five kisses given on five mouths. All five I did betray.

“No”, you say?

I don’t believe you.

Don’t get mad! I don’t say that you're a liar. “Lying” means to know one thing but then say the other.

I know that you, indeed, Have meet him.

More than once.

Because he was there. And he will be there. At each and every Of the crossroads Of your life.

It is where he is. It is where he stands. It is where he waits. And this is all he does:

Offering choices.

No matter if you believe me or not, The only honest answer to my question Would have been:

“I don’t know”

And when I say "we”, I mean you, dear reader and me. In this deal, it is about the meaning of the writings (and the other content) on this blog. Only about the content I made myself, of course. Not the content that I - for example - reblogged or will reblog in the future. Because that content is not mine. I would never dare to carve deals with you concerning other people’s content. 

Oh... In case this all sounds familiar, you might have read a vaguely similar text on my side-blog. It is indeed only vaguely similar. Because my side-blog is about “other people”. And also, it is in German. This blog is about me. And it is in English. Big difference.

Let’s talk about the deal, though: As mentioned, the deal concerns the meaning of all my own writings and all my own other content that put on this blog. By reading/watching/listening/looking at it you need to be aware that nothing of it is the truth. That is the deal. Everything you will find here is nothing more (and also nothing less) than simply an accurate, meticulously constructed account of what really happened. And we all know - you know this and I know this - the truth, and what really happened are sometimes largely different aspects of life. The truth is bigger than reality. Because reality can be subjective. Or can be perceived subjectively. Because we create it ourselves. While the truth - on the other hand - exists outside of it all.

With this clarification made: I report back from my social-media break, I hope you all are well! I want to bid you welcome to my little space on the interwebs, remind you that you are a wonderful person. That you are loved. That you are special. And also that we all - together - can make 2022 (and the years to follow) to something special. Because that is what we owe to ourselves.

The “Sunday Poem”

I noticed with quite a bit of shock that my long-time Tumblr-friend, the Master of the Macabre, Ambrose Harte is missing on my list of “Sunday Poems”. I had to change that. Immediately. So, I read one of my favourite of Ambrose’s poems, the wonderfully dark and eerie “The Soul Collector". And this poem certainly won’t be the last one I’ll read. 

“The Soul Collector”by Ambrose Harte

All my “Sunday Poems” found on my YouTube channel in this playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLzwdqN_pqJncmI52cpbyoHYhE_1jZ1QFp

find Ambrose’s blogs here: @ambroseharte @scatteredthoughts2 and - in case you don’t already do - give him a follow (or two) while you’re at it. His poetry is amazing

“You know what they say, don’t you? ‘The road to hell is paved with good intentions’. But it doesn’t mean what they tell you”, he said, “It’s not about the good things they planned on doing but didn’t. It is exactly about what they actually did.”

“I don’t understand”, I answered.

"Of course, you don’t!”, he replied and raised his glass to his lips, “The road to hell is paved with good intentions, and every paving block was carefully and meticulously put there, piece by piece by all those ‘good people’. It is a long and winding road. A road of bones, and tears, and blood, and screams of terror and pain. And the smell of burning flesh. A road of misery, my friend, built by those who ‘just mean well’, and who never managed to wash the blood off their hands, no matter how hard they tried. No matter how much time and effort they put into distraction and denial”

He leaned back, and a sinister gleam, flashed up in his eyes.

“All the misery on this godforsaken planet was brought to this world by people who "just meant well", who believed... no! Who “KNEW” they are the good ones. The righteous ones. And who “KNEW” all the others are not. We all will have to pay a price. That's for sure”

You are beautiful!

And I am.      In the mornings. Before people start to annoy me.      We all need self-love!”

Can't find my way through the whispers through the maze of voices in my head within the haze of jumbled visions wide-awake in fright and dread Trying to drown my thoughts with music thoughts that whirl inside my soul that unfurl and spread like fire a turmoil that I can’t control

Can't find my way through the whispers through the rain and hail and storm numb to the pain I have become alone and frightened and forlorn

-

Since I haven’t finished any new texts and stories (yet), I’ll stick to posting my readings of other people’s works for now ;) 

And it’s Tuesday already (at least where I live), so... it’s time to post my Sunday poem of last Sunday. And it’s a creepy one. I hope, you’re all snuggled tightly in bed and have your blanket ready to hide under ;P

“THE MESSENGER” by H.P. Lovecraft

The playlist of all Sunday poems (so far) found HERE 

The “Sunday Poem”

Today, one of the greatest nonsensical poems written in the English language, probably even the single most famous “nonsense poem” ever written in any language:

“Jabberwocky” (1871) by Lewis Carroll

All my “Sunday Poems” found on my YouTube channel in this playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLzwdqN_pqJncmI52cpbyoHYhE_1jZ1QFp

I walk in dead man’s shoes

Worn out and too big Slightly too big... ...just as they are supposed to be

To remind me that my feet will never fit. 

I walk in dead man’s shoes

Leaving new traces on old, familiar paths. New traces with the same old shape as before

In a different direction.

To remind me that I can’t keep step. Won’t keep step.

The “Sunday Poem” Today, my reading of one of the most famous “uplifting poems” ever written

“Invictus” (1875) by William Ernest Henley

All my Sunday Poems found on my YouTube channel in this playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLzwdqN_pqJncmI52cpbyoHYhE_1jZ1QFp

Six drops of poison clandestine To raise a glass and pledge a toast Six drops of poison for the guests The seventh for the host

Six daggers laid out readily The seventh one aside Six knives to shed the blood of foes The seventh one I hide

Six bullets for my enemies The seventh one for me The six they cost - each one - a life The seventh one is free