basking in 11:47 sun Liszt crazy on his piano my life is a poorly crafter art film besides, no audience Liszt has gone to vomit soon, clouds gather and strike the birds down my mind a sea of toilet water in my garden, a peacock getting fucked by the neighbour's dog a cat sleeping through the day's uneventfulness I have been out in the sun for far too long. Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.
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I've cracked open a beer I've put on classical music I have entered this evening thoroughly unprepared outside, noises of various kinds they'll die down in an hour the stray cat will run away to a warmer shelter I won't see her until next morning what has really happened to me why does everything that I write takes a tragic turn am I so incapable of writing anything pleasant. Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.
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first light of morning how uninspiring wish I dug you up with my lips then with my teeth and finally licked you clean with my tongue instead, I turn to the other side, pull blanket over my head, disappear. Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.
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had this moment few hours back on the rooftop with the moon hanging up, a clear sky, coldness as if I stepped into another world, only it were here stood there for a minute with my hands on the railing I looked ahead and around the streetlights were functional again and they made the roof lit up brightly, only few squares of sweet spot left that was completely in dark I had this thought of lying down on the floor with my face up but all that god damned brightness I waved the thought away and walked downstairs, locked myself in my bedroom for the rest of the night.
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the good part is over all I have with me is my very own song driving through the darkness, doesn't matter how dark, doesn't matter the width and breadth and depth of the ditches and pits, only it must be crossed, and why because there's no alternate way oddly satisfying, this succumbing to the choicelessness, to the inevitable that is this moment, this very moment in which I am crossing ditch after ditch and falling and getting up and getting back and driving further with blood on my knees and knuckles I bathe in all things incurable all day and noon and night whether I am at home or not whether I am alone or not strangeness of the strangest kinds follow me everywhere. Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.
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enters the evening with a couple of old songs wind fills the vacuum as I wait for my place in the operation theatre I have learnt it the hard way I cannot control the passage of time nor can I have more of it sooner or later I'll be gone I share with the wretched world but only my own wretchedness the very silence that would put me to sleep now comes to me to chop me into pieces I am not yet ready to take the big knife through my gut how far is the end if there's any to all of this. Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.
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dense fog no world beyond hundred metre radius an hour into wakefulness, I still cannot think straight waiting for another fifteen minutes to pass maybe that will lift the fog in my head formed from long uninterrupted sleep it's strange how cold can sedate one into such a state twelve more minutes of waiting my eyes still sealed by sleep dirt Warhaus playing in the background Love's a stranger until I see you again what's left of the fog seeps into my bedroom through the half open window despite the freezing weather, I am wearing nothing my feet turn colder the back of my neck begins to ache you are awake now as awake as I am, maybe more and you tell me, I dreamed today and it became too real and I woke up I find it beautiful, sad but beautiful I write it down and keep listening to you. Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.
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late night done with all the red wine and half of dinner hopping from one song to the next craving for a smoke it's been a wet day it will be a wet week new addictions wait for me new destructions I lifted my one foot long ago I am still climbing that one step imagine my joy upon finding that I haven't reached anywhere. Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.
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thought I got rid of the pain it's back again and it's back late in the evening when almost all is done and I am about to retire to my corner, the frigid corner of my home Johnny Cash sings Highwayman from his grave the charm lives on, the melody melodious than ever and you want something like that when you're in this kind of pain an evening warmer than the ones that passed my love is in the other hemisphere drowning with sunset my nights do not make me tremble anymore. Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.
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Cold evening. Early return from work. Nothing to do until tomorrow morning. I had this urge to read Kafka again, and so this evening, I began reading his diaries. Some music in background kept playing. It was slow music. Not classical though. It might have been blues. On the other side of street, one man talking loudly to another. I can hear his coarse voice despite all the windows and door of my bedroom staying shut. What’s the point in talking so loudly. People often mistake loudness with clarity. It’s foolish.
An excerpt from the diary –
“Finally, after five months of my life during which I could write nothing that would have satisfied me, and for which no power will compensate me, though all were under obligation to do so, it occurs to me to talk to myself again. Whenever I really questioned myself, there was always a response forthcoming, there was always something in me to catch fire, in this heap of straw that I have been for five months and whose fate, it seems, is to be set afire during the summer and consumed more swiftly than the onlooker can blink his eyes.” Excerpt From The Diaries of Franz Kafka Copyright protected.
Approaching night. Red glow on my face. Itch in my hair. How much more will be read this night. How much more will be written before the morning knocks me down once again. It’s something even time cannot tell.
– Tomic Riter
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