rambling online

Public lives, private lives
These days everyone seems to have two
You have an image you put out there
Share it on facebook, on twitter, foursquare
I've been here and there, everywhere
With people, on my own, on the move
It's just like everyone is running all the time
And when they are standing still
It's just because they're sharing things online.

Complaints, exclamations, quotes
Life changing revelations, pictures of food
We think we know what's going on in everybody's lives
In everybody's heads
But what does a snapshot of a wine glass tell
about my character
Anything but I like to be associated with pictures of wine glasses?

The image we put forward
Tells not who we are, but who we want to be
Who we want to look like, who we want others to believe we are
A performing monkey, for everyone who cares to see
Private lives, public lives
Exposure is not always a good thing
People get cancer from that...

Apocalypse and Ice-cream

Just now he called me his pistacchio ice-cream.

The white lid of the Ikea trash can is sitting next to me
It's my weapon of choice, in case the zombie apocalypse happens.
There are so many things one can do with a large metal lid.
It has a nice firm handle on it for starters.
I could bang it on the wall, that would surely scare off something
Or just amuse myself, or I could use it as an umbrella
Or a plate, I could even cook on it, then put off the fire.
It would make an excellent shield, if needed.

I'm optimistic about the zombie apocalypse
As long as I have my big white trash can lid.

And I'm optimistic about life
As long as he keeps calling me names.

This is not a poem

"You need surgery, immediately"
You'd think the world would go up in flames
You'd be a crying mess, scared
No, all you think about is
"I'm probably not going to be able to meet my friend tonight"
Followed by "I'm going to miss my flight"
And "oh, no, another week stuck in here, away from home"

"It's going to be a major one, we'll cut you open
and remove a chunk of your liver"
Sure, whatever. Another week away from the one I love
Another week of keeping up appearances
Smile, nod, smile, be nice, always be nice
Be nice when all you want to do is scream obscenities
And hit everyone on the head, repeatedly.

"It will hurt so much, part of your brain will short-circuit,
and all you'll be able to process is the pain and how it doesn't stop"
OK, they won't tell you this
They won't tell you that the cut will be 25 cm long, and ugly, either
Or that you won't be able to cough or even laugh for a long while
But you'll see for yourself, soon enough
Still, everyone will have bigger problems
Everyone will be suffering oh-so-much more
Cheering others up, letting them think they cheer you up
Why won't they just leave you alone
Oh, yes, you don't want to be alone
And the only one you want to be alone with,
can't stay for long...

"See how quickly it was all over? Almost as if it never happened!"
Of course. Except for the pain. And the scar. And the fear. And the pain.
At the end, you'll be so tired that you won't be able to sleep
Crying at night so no-one sees
You don't want anyone to worry about you
That would mean you'd be indebted
Another hundred years of having to make others feel better
Part of it is just in your head, but feels real enough
Getting more tired by the hour
Smile and nod, everything's alright
Just let me make it to the plane,
and through the journey, and through the waiting, and through the taxi ride.

"Finally we're back home!"
You're sleeping well for the first time in ages
Falling asleep in front of the TV already
Going to bed, sleeping all the way till morning
You made love, you ordered take-out
You opened the bags, spilled their guts around, fetching just a few things
House is a mess, who cares, you're back home, together, alone
You're still wanted, and cared for, even with the scar
No need to nod and smile, just the way you are
And normalcy resumes...

On words

Words don't come easy to me.

But numbers and formulas, all so familiar

Codes and symbols, each full of meaning, not a single byte too much

or too little

That's another story.

A precise haven in a world where we worship the superfluous

And surrounded by the chaos of the redundant.

I find myself wondering if, among all this mess,

is there really need for yet another poem, yet another blabbering

Meant solely as an outlet, without conveying anything vital?

Then again, words come easy to me

Getting lost in the rhythm of the repeated sound, formed in the mind, shaped by the fingers,

and given life by a set of eyes, and sometimes empowered with the flick of the tongue and lips.

But still completely independent of everything involved that is biological,

Standing alone, flaunting it's metaphorical existence,

A mirror to whoever it encounters, and that after serving as a relief to its creator.

And yet, words don't come easy to me

With each sentence completed, it's another step away from provable facts

And explanations become in order, self evidency runs away crying

The elegance and completeness of a single formula melts away

And words, in scores, scurry to fill the harrowing gap, haphazardly.

And yet there are words for the things we haven't yet devised a mathematical expression for

Like the emptiness in ones heart, when reminded of past mistakes,

Or the joy the same overflows with, upon discovering the possibility

of describing another stubborn concept

using only symbols and math...