Tomic Riter

Tag: writing

  • How it works and how it doesn’t.

    How it works and how it doesn’t.

    You can’t be a writer without writing a lot. You can’t be a painter without painting a lot. You can’t be a photographer without clicking a lot of pictures. It’s never about carrying these stupid tags. You’ve got one life. Just live it. Take experience of your immediate surroundings. It isn’t like you have to do something all the time. Often, you can just observe how things are, and maybe, if you feel like it, record it in some form. You can do it without having any kind of pressure over your head. Do the work. Do the hard work. Do some more and more and more. Just keep doing it. There’s no other way.

    – Tomic. All rights reserved.

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  • New.

    New.

    The cabin is new. The chair is new. The people are new. The strangers here are new to me too. The food is new. The lights are new. The fights are new. The coffee is new. The coffee cups are new. The drinking water seems new as well. This pen is a new pen. This fan is a new fan. The wind is new. The doors are new. The windows new. This sitting is a new kind of sitting. This waiting is a new kind of waiting.

    – Tomic. All rights reserved.

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  • About being creative.

    About being creative.

    How are you creative?

    Am I creative? I mean, I’m trying to understand for years what creation means, and what it means to create. Creating doesn’t mean, for sure, to create a copy of something that already exists. In that sense, does creation mean the act of bringing to this universe what doesn’t exist? Maybe it is so. And if so, does being creative mean being able to bring something entirely new to this universe? Maybe it is so. And if it is so, then I don’t know if whatever the hell that results in any kind of creation. But one thing is sure. Man is capble of creating beautiful things.

    But lately, something has happened to man. I don’t know what. It’s like we are stuck in a loop. We are busy creating copies and copies of copies. Wait. What the hell am I doing. This wasn’t supposed to be a critique.

    Talking about myself, I’m trying to write better pieces and I’m trying to click better photographs. Lately, I’ve been busy more in photography and editing than in writing and reading. I’m trying to balance both my passions. Wait what? Ridiculous. Everything that I’ve written sounds ridiculous when I read it aloud. I’ll stop right here.

    – Tomic. All rights reserved.

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  • No doubt about it.

    No doubt about it.

    No doubt the town is full of sluggish people. Nothing lets me down at work as much as sluggish people do. You can see them wasting time their time, and consequently, yours. You want to kill them but cannot. It’s frustrating at times. They’re getting paid for nothing. No doubt the world has too many sluggish people now, and no one can do a thing about it. Another one walks in. What the hell. Looks like a woman. Fucking hell. I wish I could scream right now. FUCKING HELL! Instead, I’m yawning, slipping down in my recliner, my head in my left palm. I hate a good meal. It makes me dizzy with sleep. I wish I fell asleep right now. I can’t. The work doesn’t seem to end. Too much work. Too much wastage of time and energy. It seems like something or the other has to be done about it. So I tell the woman to shut up and leave. It doesn’t work.

    – Tomic. All rights reserved.

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  • Nobody likes.

    Nobody likes.

    Nobody likes standing in a queue. Nobody likes to labour. Nobody likes to wait. Nobody likes to apologise for no reason. Nobody likes to remain stuck in boring goddamned living. Nobody likes drinking beer after whiskey. Nobody likes to work. Nobody likes boredom. Nobody likes to be stressed. Nobody likes work pressure. Nobody likes to give up on their ill-formed opinions. Nobody hates their opinions. Nobody hates their own stupid mindset. Nobody hates a glass of cold water in summer. Nobody hates lemonade or maybe mint juice. Nobody likes to hate and yet they do. Yet we do.

    – Tomic. All rights reserved.

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  • Waiting for it to end.

    Waiting for it to end.

    The liver seems to be missing. The bladder has doubled in size. The eyes can’t take in too much light. Darkness is my old friend. It really feels strange when I feel my breath. I am alive. Alive! I take a deep breath. I look at you sleeping with a severe headache, your head in my lap. Blues playing in the background. Call me the Breeze. I close my eyes, my palm caressing your forehead. It’s getting harder and harder to focus. I wish to lay down next to you, holding you in my arms, warm. There’s still some time. Night time is the only time I have for myself. What’s wrong with me! Why can’t I have just one dream. I want everything. I accomplish nothing. I’m just a cog turning endlessly in a giant machine. I’m just a slave. Night frees me. Night gives myself back to me. I didn’t realise when the song changed. It happens every time.

    – Tomic. All rights reserved.

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  • They are here again.

    Here’s another herd of sheep. They’re looking at each other’s faces. They are all seemingly lost. They don’t seem to figure out where to put their next step. They’re afraid. They think somebody’s out here to kill them. They are the crazy anxious lot. They think anxiety is a part of their personal. They are convinced that’s how it is. They think that every man or woman is anxious. They’ve been shouting at the too of their lungs for no reason. Is it anxiety or old age? It could be old age as well. I had always thought that with age man became quieter and wiser. Looking at these crazy anxious people, I’m convinced it isn’t so.

    It’s hard to find a man of patience.

    – Tomic. All rights reserved.

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  • The first night of this year.

    As I lay down, the first night of this year, I tell myself that there’s so much to do. So so much. One step at a time. This year be a year of creating. For now, I can’t walk, can’t even keep my eyes open. My throat is a bit dry. My stomach a bit empty. Things have to wait until morning. A day over. Soon, this year will be over too. And hopefully I come out a bit wiser and all alive!

    – Tomic. All rights reserved.

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  • While I bit my fingers hooked to my desk.

    Two men appeared out of a yellow coloured building. Two men took the elevator to the basement and then ran off like they were being chased by the most ghostly of ghosts. Two men were walking down the street, side by side, when one of them took a device out of his jacket’s inner pocket, pressed the button on its side. The timer was ticking countdown. Three minutes. He gave the device to the other man and himself sat down on a bench on the pavement. The other man looked at the device, smiled, took a long drag of his cigarette, bent down, extended his arm out, rolled the device away to his right. The device rolled until it stopped beneath a parked car. The car was a dusty red Cadillac. The man stood straight, tossed the cigarette away and walked on. The other man kept sitting on the bench, kept hitting the bench’s iron surface with both of his fisted palms. He looked at his watch on the left wrist. It had the countdown timer running. 01:10. He got up, walked right to the Cadillac. He opened the zipper of his pants. He pissed on the side gates and on the window of the car. He closed the zipper. He walked to the bonnet, jumped on top of it with both his feet. He walked up right to the centre of the car top. He stood there for a while, looking down. He lifted his left wrist, looked at his watch again. 00:25. He laughed loud. He laid down on the car top, his face facing the sky above. His mouth was open. He closed his eyes. Slowly. Exhaled everything out of his body.

    3………2………1……….

    © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

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  • Talk and talk.

    I never wanted to be a better writer. I just wanted to write well. Isn’t that enough? To write well? To tell in simple, clear sentences what you wish to tell? But what do I wish to tell? I haven’t always been very clear about it. It’s just that there’s always something more to tell.

    t’s a rainy day. Sun will be seen rarely in the days to come. Raindrops will hang down the window panes all day long. Spiders will repopulate themselves. An eerie smell of decay will be filling my room very very soon. Wet dirt will be all over the floors of my entire home. I will be lazier than ever, doing nothing all day, just laying down somewhere on the floor or on the couch. The rain has stopped for a moment. The sweet noise of rain falling is gone for a while. It seemed like a necessary noise. Without it, everything else sounds awful.

    It’s night now. It rained pretty much whole day. The evening was spent meeting a stranger. The truth about money is that almost everybody is in dire need of it. Now, laying down on the couch, yawning, listening to a song, thinking about all the talks done and not done this evening, yawning again and again. One more time. My room is cold. I’ve got nothing more to talk about right now. However much we talk, we fail to communicate often.

    © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

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