hours before sunrise

A drop of wine
so red and fine
down it drops
bearing hopes
feeling no
seeing no
hearing no
evil.

A shade of red
a book unread
somewhat old
and yet untold
the stories in
the tellings in
the wisdom in
a waste.

A feather flies
a crow now dies
plummage black
o'er the shack
so loud a cry
so fine a cry
so young a cry
it's gone.

A cloud of white
a peaceful sight
the morning comes
over the slums
a coming red
a looming red
a tasteful red
so bright.

O'er the world
so much so old
the days that pass
have nights to catch
and hasty so
and surely so
and coming thus
tomorrow.

The 300 Students

[Enter student, Teachers 1 and 2]
Student: "Show me to the schoolmaster. I bring words from the whole school."
Teacher #1: "I dunno, our schoolmaster is a pretty bored man."
Teacher #2: "And he got a caffeine addiction, student. Could we offer you a Filter coffee?"
Student: "Greek teacher humor. It's in you all. Be afraid, The schools will be filled with bums. Only the word of your schoolmaster can save it.
Teacher #1: "You look a lil' better than all those other gits. Maybe we should tell his majesty the king fatso."
Teacher #2: "Yeah, I suppose we don't want anyone to start throwing molotovs or anything."
[Exit Teachers 1 and 2]

[Enter King Fatso, Schoolmaster]
King Fatso, Schoolmaster: "Experience and Education? You came all the way from Classroom 13 for Experience and Education? Don't be an idiot, don't be stupid. You can't afford neither now that there are private schools everywhere."
Student: "A force of wanna-be communists and wanna-be anarchists has assembled--So few, they cant even keep a
school locked up properly. Their number so little, they could live on a single bottle of water. All the other
students require is a modest offering: Of Experience, and Education. A simple token of the School's
submission to the will of its students and other kid-rodents."
King Fatso, Schoolmaster: "Hm. That's a bit of a problem. Rumour has it the police already took your banner down. And
if those boy-lovers found that kind of nerve... After all we teachers have our little position and jobs in the
state schools to consider. Still I really wanna be rude. If there is a diplomatic way to handle this, you can shove it where
the sun don't shine."
Student: "Choose your next words carefully."
[Exit Student, King Fatso, Schoolmaster]

[Fatso takes the Student in front the school's dark and creepy storage room which smells of over-used athletic shoes]
King Fatso, Schoolmaster: "Of course. Not. It's obvious. The answer's is right in front of me. Which means right at
your back. But don't look. Seriously."
[Fatso raises his Pen Of Detention towards the Student]
"Experience and Education. You'll find both down there. And it won't be pretty, I assure you."
Student: "Madman! You're a madman! And a bully! And a slut! No man-- or woman or blob, I really dunno what you are-- No
man threatens a student!"
[The student looks behind him and stands startled]
"This is blasphemy to the educational system and a million other things I don't have the time to mention because you're gonna kick
me! This is Madness!
King Fatso, Schoolmaster: Madness? THIS! IS! THE GREEK PUBLIC SCHOOL SYSTEEEEM!!
[Fatso kicks the Student and condemns him to an abbys of dirty socks and a lifetime of part-time jobs]
[Exit Fatso]

Dance

Dance, dance, don't ever stop,
And I shall dance with thee till dead I do drop

For Love be the tune, as we sway on the moon,
My heart, it is beating, so fast and so soon

Be it thy grace, that blesses me so,
Or be it the pace, the one we both know?

Passionate eyes, we walk on the skies,
All else has no meaning, no matter, no size

Thy hands as I hold, years and ages grow old,
Eternal our love, a promise of gold

I love thee, I cry, as our lips draw nigh,
A gentle exchange, a breath and a sigh

For do I not breathe, if thou do so too?
Or am I alive, without thy view?

Clouds are the way, together we stay,
My heart and thee, I shall never betray

Ne'er get down, ne'er a frown,
We will dance up here till morrow come round

I love thee my dear, have you no fear,
Ne'er before happiness has brought me a tear.

And part we shall not, by speech or by rot,
Hands held together, what fate has wrought.

The Glass is a Lie.

Picture a glass of water, filled to the half. A simple glass, just water in it.
Is the glass half full? Or is it half empty?
Mhm.
So I see.
But what, pray, would happen, if you took the glass of water and threw it on a wall?
Would that not fill this inanimate and dull object into a new, little world of motion,
vigor, meaning, price, danger, flavour, color and flair?
Now can you tell me if the glass is half full or half empty?
Should we try again then?

Picture it. Picture a solid, white concrete wall. Now pictute a glass of water thrown at it, as time slows down to gaze upon it. Picture the glass cracking, slowly, the sound of a star exploding, as continents and seas are born in one moment and are dead in the next. Imagine those cracks, those seas and rivers, breaking, spreading, magnificently twisting and turning towards all directions while the water overflows in a dance of maddening and liquid grace, pulled from all directions while trying to be thrown to all the opposite ones. Picture the glass as it jumps against the wall and divides into those smaller, crystal stars which now fly and spray towards the air and the floor, all in an unthinking, chaotic stratagem of covering as much unexplored aether as every little drop of a solid rainbow can. Picture the water turning into a rain of color and following the shards of glass like children chasing each other, playing tag. Some drops of water meet other shards and embrace, dragged down to the ground faster, while others follow their own paths toward the unknown of the floor. Picture it all. A glistening, foggy cloud of water and glass, staying there for merely a fraction of a moment, hanging in the air like the night stars of a sky. And now time comes back from its frozen state and the cloud crashes into the ground, a small pool of water, momentarily dripping towards the ceiling before gravity applies fully. Waves upon waves of little bits of glass rolling to all directions.
Picture that final, silent, unmoving pool of glass and water.

Is the glass half full or is it half empty?

Thought so.
Good evening.

A matter of opinion

People have never asked me whether or not I like love songs, ballads, or other similar types, or kinds of music.
Never.
I wonder, does everyone assume you like them? Or do they automatically assume you do not? Or maybe they don't care. I've yet to see a man or woman that has not admitted tears flowing free as a lazy waterfall when they heard or hear a certain song. Or two.
That, of course happens, for reasons that suit best to the subjects.
Ah, correction. People.
A sad song about loss of love appeals to someone who has lost someone they loved. Lost, as in 'someone died', 'someone stopped loving me', 'someone never loved me at all', or 'someone I love never really looked at me'. Of course, that has to do with how the person feels about the more romantic or passionate sides of their life.
A song that is bittersweet and praises the other member of a relationship, an affair or a love bond usually seems befitting in the eyes and heart of of someone who is in love or obsessed with their partner or lover.
A ballad that reminds of the times of old, or maybe the loves of old, is to the ears of someone nostalgic what food is to an empty growling stomach.
Even a person without the aforementioned attributes would appreciate a song that reminded them of their lover or they and their lover's bond, condition, status, or state as a couple or pair.
No one ever asked me whether or not I like love songs. Nor sad love songs. Love songs of anger and bitter spit on the face of betrayal of heart. I never asked them to ask me, I suppose.
I... I like them. But I don't like them.
All those kinds of songs, all this music that is made from lovers to lovers, I have a weird connection to them. I have been the betrayed heart. I have been the abandoner of the heart. I've been the one and only half of one and only half of a heart. I have been certain of a second half of a heart. I have been a full heart. I have been a dissatisfied heart. I have been full yet again. So far, I have not yet inherited the previous titles again, nor do i think, hope, expect, or even dare to imagine me ever doing so from now on. True, time folds hands on the eyes of mysteries, and no one but time can be certain of what is to come, but certainty's roots dig well and establish their base even better.
I've heard representatives of those songs, of those styles, of those emotions. Not few were the times when my throat grew sore, my eyes wet and red, my chest an empty fleshbag of burning loss or a furious engine of passion.
Yes.
I have heard the call many, many times. As many as I have sounded the call myself, I expect.
Should I not feel connected to those songs? Should they hold no meaning for me? Should I not experience their musical magnificence and the liberation tears grant you after the hour? It is not so, I am assured it is not a matter of 'should' or 'must'. It is more of a matter of 'choose to' or 'will or not to'.
The reason for that attitude of mine could be cut down into many many more reasons, smaller, all part of the single, greater one.
I shall pose some questions.
If you love someone, and you know that you truly love them, do you actually need assurance?
Or if you lost someone and feel awful by that state, why do you need to stay in that land of empty sighs?
If you miss someone, should you not practically do something about it, that being forgetting about them, carrying on, or even trying to contact them again?
In all cases, I deem that any accompanying songs to those mental states are unnecessary, if not worsening over the condition, be it initially good or bad or even neutral.
I know many of you would disagree with what I am about to confess.
I do not need a love song that calls my lover a goddess to know that she is one. If I await a song to get me that message, I am lost.
I do not need a song of loss to be my friend, nor a shoulder to cry on, for I have others that care, and I shall find another who cares more. If I bask in the drama of loss, I am lost myself.
I do not need a song to make me feel good or bad about the one I love. It clouds my judgment and affects me and the ways in which I view, feel and perceive the one I love. If I lose the stability of the ways I love, respect and act towards the one I love, I am lost.
Surely, some people would haughtilly argue that they do not need the songs to tell them all those things, that they already know them and that they just like the songs. Of course, the reasons they like them is hidden in all those ' I do not need-'. Also, if they do not need the songs, and it only appeals to their ears, then what I claim is right, and I got you to admit that you do not need all this.
I wonder, Isn't the lack of flavor what makes you want flavor in something?
Flavor, as in Feeling? Substituting for something else?
Songs, as in Feeling of Feelings? Substituting for something else?
Ah.
I choose not to care about any love song. There are few that appeal to me, but I would rather listen to something other than them, actually. If my words are to be trusted, I need no augmentation when it comes to the feelings I hold most dear towards the one love. Nor need I reminders of love, loss, passion, company or any of such states, feelings and matters. I hold my ears to the heart of my beloved. There, there is the sweetest music of the worlds. Strange.. One would think that such honorable and magnificent music would come from many organs, yet this one, single as it is, produces such a wonder.
I am in no way calling you fools. I am in no way trying to convince you that what you do is foul, or that what I do is best and more honest.
I am simply trying to show you another way, one that perhaps might get you someplace farther away from what you have perceived as normal so far, replacing normal with mundane,
I cannot tell you to listen to your hearts. I can tell you to listen to the heart of he or her that bears the heart that you love. It is no command, no wish, no need, no desire that the heart gives you. Yet listen to it if you will, and you shall surely know what to do and what path or road to follow.
Your heart is where your loved one's heart is.
Good evening.

Oneiros

I have a world.
I also have two eyes, which watch this world.
And in my world everyone dances.
In my world, everyone sings.
In my world, everyone loves, comforts, cares, is glad and hates, rages, opposes, cries and is sad.
In my world, everyone shares.
In my world, everyone understands that time is too short to deny all that they feel and and hide all that they sense.
In my world, no one is afraid of their feelings and no one is afraid of the feelings of everyone else.
In my world, everyone understands that time is running out.
In my world, everyone dies.
And thus I create another one.
And I see to it that it is short-lived as well, like the old one.
Men and women alike, like diamonds, shine the brightest and most beautiful just one moment before their end.
And I make sure it is well understood.
I make my world all over again
And from the beginning, I have a world.

Oneiros - Original

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