You are the monster’s keeper. Gripping his reins, hopefully, tightly and within your sights. The little weapon feared by the few that never understood the love of the many. To witness and withstand the pitfalls and diggings -in and out of- graves and tombs. The burning down and destruction of cities and the sudden complete numbness. You’re dancing with the devil’s ghost. You are the monster’s keeper.
//navk.
It’s so strange, your ex is getting engaged. I wish I could take away the pain, but I’m at a loss for words so just hang my head in shame. Ashamed because anything I could say would be in vain, compared to the mix of emotions flowing through your veins. I know he’s on your brain and you feel like nothing will be the same. But your life’s a grand canvas and he was just a stain. A stroke of a brush and some paint, prominent now but give it time and it will fade. I know you went against the grain and now it hurts to give it away. But just because it rains on your parade is no reason for you to turn to gray. Do what my momma say, keep high hopes and even bigger dreams. Hold your head up, and protect your self esteem.
//
Wet Paint Complex
I was inspired by the smell of wet paint drying on the wall. The slow waft of a fresh meadow mixed with the toxic smell of chemicals. I wondered if that’s what the particular colour on the wall smelled like.
That’s when I started developing a new way to look at life and all its components. I mean, people, places, things, events. Mostly memories and experiences in general.
I began to think of life as a blank canvas. Everything and everyone in it as different strokes of the brush. Some to be painted over, retouched or changed completely. Others to stay as they are, fade, or begin to crack or flake off at a given point in time. In any case, every memory would be a stain of paint left behind on the canvas.
Memories are usually those things that people normally perceive as being there but can be forgotten. This particular model serves the opposite in suggesting that memories can be forgotten, but they are still there.
Wet paint are the memories that are most recent. The memories that are of the now or what just was. It is the most fluid type of memory in that it can really be how we want to perceive it. While wet, you have the opportunity to make changes, to add detail to or adjust, or to change completely.
What’s fascinating is that this way the canvas will never really be dry. We’re always painting, always adding new memories for as long as we exist. And certain parts of the canvas, we will prefer to keep wet for as long as we can. Because some experiences are on-going, some memories worth remembering in every detail, for as long as possible.
We’re forever painting. Whether you like it or not.
//navk.
Things fall apart, for other things to fall apart even better. Take in the moment. Live. Regret only having regretted in the past. Be ambitious, be spontaneous. Be adventurous and daring, but all the while caring of others and passionate of what you do. It’s okay to fail sometimes. Be yourself. Whatever you do, Just don’t forget to live.
- Nav K.
Elongate the fury
Stretching its relentless wrath
Postpone Azrael’s scheduled inspection
Inflicting imposition of conflicted interests
Parallel to perfection
Pitching fevers and prospective favors
Paracetamol for the parasitic
We could never have predicted
the degree of our destruction
Redemption.
Regret, rebuild, rinse and repeat.
//navk.
I want to lie awake in the nakedness of your mind. As your dreams of the moon shines through the blinds, in a world where we’re not bound by time. I want to befriend your sorrows and ask them if they’d like to borrow a little bit of cheer. And so I promise you by tomorrow, you’ll have absolutely nothing to fear. I want to know your thoughts like I know my way home. But I don’t know either, so maybe that makes us both a little less alone. And I’d love to tell you how unafraid I really am, but I’ll tell you when I really am. Because certain uncertainties scare me to the point where I fail to understand. But I guess it’s all just another part of growing up. In the rush of it all, I hope we don’t grow out of touch.
The novelties of this newly attained life offer us a strange sense of familiarity as compared to those of our childhood. But one thing is for certain, the ability to feel is truly a phenomenal thing.
//navk.
For Adam.
It’s just you, me, and these faded white walls. Who sent you to me, when I was reduced to a crawl? I can’t breathe, can’t sleep. You put your arms around me and let our bodies do the talking and take away the grief. And then you say that you should leave. I say you don’t, but you say please, let it be. Because you’re not the one I want, you’re the one I need. So I need you to just stay, and fill my void and greed. You understand, I can tell from the way you hold my hand. Your hurt, it’s her, she’s the one I’ve saved the words for, as planned. It’s not right, I hate how the days have turned to gray. Okay, I’ll fight to make her stay. It won’t be right away, but she’ll come around some day.
//navk.
I’ve been too busy falling for you. I’ve been thinking this through, how one and one equals to two. Split from each other, and it still equals to two. Because I’d be in pieces if I were separated from you. I’m constantly left without a clue, made to clean a mess without a broom. So a me without a you, it’s like night without the moon. Hair without a “do,” a theatre without the troupe. Or a kid without a shoe, or..porn without the nude. You’re essential, especially when you bring out my potential. According to your credentials, you knew my fall would be eventual. And for once, it doesn’t hurt like I thought would. I been through a lot of bad, but I can tell that you’re a lot of good. Have faith or call it fate, I hope it doesn’t change. I know you travel a lot, but thanks for choosing to stay.
//navk.
I want back all my things, everything I ever gave to you. You shouldn’t still wear that ring, but you’re convinced you do. You’re a bitch, it’s confirmed, you’ll never learn. You’re out to scratch an itch, I hope you know you’ll burn, you’ve been warned. I just want back all my shit, like all the time that I in-vested. All the roads and the dotted lines, and the useless memories that take up space in my mind. Words that were intertwined, inclined and in between individuals clearly blind. All you had to do was break my fall, but you chose to leave me at a crawl. I’ve befriended these cold walls and thanks to you I’m no longer afraid to fall. But don’t you forget, I know how your story ends. I won’t sugar coat, my dear, I’m not good at playing pretend.
//
The Voicemail (epilogue)
You say you’re traumatized. The pain is caramelized, slow and sticky like the sorrow in your momma’s eyes. I’ve seen it before, once or twice, before the sun would rise and you’d be looking into mine. Let out a sigh, unknown for what for, but I knew deep inside you cried. Once loved, you’re everything I despise, for your lust for my demise and your constant lies. To no surprise, you’re a fucking shark. You saw me sinking so you took a bite out of my fucking heart. Don’t ever leave another message after the beep, unless you want what’s left of yours torn apart.
//navk.
I generally just wanted to tell a story in different parts. As that idea developed, I thought of something a bit more intricate. The basis of the set of poems or pieces of writing are expressing one unified story. However, individually they are their own unique episodes describing different experiences with different women (with the exception of “The Stay Pt. 1,” which is an episode involving two women at the same time).
The focus was less on the rhyming content and more on the story of each piece and maintaining the overall flow. Where each piece contains its own story, I tried to make sure that when read together it could still be assumed to all be a part of one single story.
“The Arrival” is a focus on friendship and foundation. “The Stay” is stretched and divided into two parts. The first is a dedication, and an interesting addition that I thought added a variety of emotion to the overall story. The second part is what can said to be the very middle of the story, its undeniable high point and only happy note. “The Departure” is the obvious ending. “The Voicemail” is sort of an echo or an after story adding a few closing remarks to “The Departure.”
The metaphor of the traveler is placed upon the woman (or women) so to suggest the subconscious belief that she (or they) would always come, stay, and eventually leave at some point in time.
Links:
The Arrival
The Stay Pt. 1
The Stay Pt. 2
The Departure / The Voicemail
//navk.
