Daydream
and then, maybe, write about it
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FeaturedFACING THE DARK CORNER – New collection of dark poetry
NEW Poetry Collection – FACING THE DARK CORNER
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FeaturedREALITY CHECK – New Collection of Dark Poetry
How can you tell what’s real in reality?
I don’t know. But I can struggle to find out.
Poetry seems like a good place to start. -
why not allow a tiny fraction of magical realism in existence?
it’s a new world
every time you step outside
of your roomevery time you
leave homeevery time you
get out of your mindHappened to him about
two days agohe barely cared enough to
rememberall he knew now was
that he hadn’t been
outside for
at least two straight days
and nights
and hadn’t breathed fresh airand the only thing pushing
him to emerge
was the lack of alcohol
in his system and in all
rooms of the house. All
three of them
indeedalcohol was a good enough
substitute for
companyAlcohol and just a dash
of good music. Never loudHe’d been replacing company with
alcohol and music
and dreams
for two straight days
and nightsWhy do lovers just get up
and leave?
he wonders nowWhat happened to trying to
fix things?When did giving up become
the only solution?Eh, questions for
another day,
another timea less sober time
maybefor now he leaves the apartment
building behind
and relearns how to
walk
as he makes his way
towards the grocery storethe sight of a couple of
trash cans around
the corner
reminds him that he would’ve
taken the trash outhe stops a bit
considers whether he should
turn
back or keep goingthe impact of fresh air
and soberness makes
him dizzyfor a heartbeat he thinks
he’s hearing voicesbut no
he’s not gone that
far yetthe voices are as
real as he iscoming from behind
the trash canssaying, “This one. I could
eat this candy bar
for the rest of my life. I could
eat a villion of ‘em!”“You don’t even know
what it tastes like.”“But look how cool it looks.
It’s out of this world!”“I bet it’s crazy expensive,
too.”“I seen a wrapper
in the can once.”Just two street urchins
drooling over
the crumpled, faded pages of
a food magazineHe made the briefest eye
contact with themcontinued on his way
The grocery store
was unchanged. Beer was still in the
beer aisle. Fruits still
in the fruit aisle.
Oh, and candy bars. Close by.
The ones those kids were
talking aboutWhat in the hell was
this supposed to be?A kind of
sign?Those two kids probably never
ate a candy bar
in their livesWhat if he actually got
them some?
How would that change their
lives?He began feeling like
the protagonist of
a goddamned family movie
where Christmas miracles
happen or some
shit like thatWell
what the hell?
There was no law stating that
movies and reality can’t cross
each other a bitWhy not allow a tiny fraction
of magical realism in
existence?He bought four of
the damned candy bars
along with a six pack of
the cheapest brand of
beerpaid
got out of the
store and
said, “Well, fuck.” when he
came to the trash cans
and the two kids
were no longer thereYeah. Fuck magical realism
and divine intervention
and Deus ex Machina
or whatever the fuck they call
it these daysthe universe
god
whatever
doesn’t work like thatnothing in this world
ever fucking works
the way human
mind intends for it toNot. A damn. Thing.
Ever.That’s why we have stories
and movies to keep
us entertainedThe only way to control
reality is
to build another one, a model
of it. A fake one that
imitates the real thing
and works based on a
scriptman cannot control
what he did not
create
for he too is but a
creationThe only way is to
give upLet the world be
what it will be
and don’t interfereHe threw the candy bars
into the trash cans
one in each
and went back homeEnough interaction with
the world
for today -
pranked
12 AM
done with workgetting out of the
building and
heading homeThere aren’t a lot
of people in
the streets
and I seem to be the
tallest one
around“Bet you feel quite
safe from your
vantage point,” she says
inside my headAnd I respond, “Life ain’t
about feeling safe.”“Oh? And what’s it
about then?”“Poetry?”
“Haha! I… can’t tell if you’re
being pretentious
on purpose in an attempt
to be funny or…”“Or what?”
“C’mon, boy, revel in your
blessings a bit.
The lord had made you tall
and slim. Imagine how many
people can only dream
of having that. You have
long bones
and quite the ribcage, no?”“The ribcage?”
“Yeah. You have a big rib
cage that makes your
belly look small, flat,
perfect.
Remember when you crossed the
lake just floating on
your back. That’s insane
lung capacity.
It’s a cool thing to have.”“It is?”
“Hell ye. C’mon, fill it up!
Show it to the
world. Show ‘em you got
one huge ribcage, a big, big
protruding chest like
a rooster.
Would be a sin not to show
off when you truly have
something to show off,
don’t you find?”“I’m against showing
off.”“Oh, there you go. More
pretentiousness.”“That’s being humble.”
“No, it’s being
pretentious.”“Whatever.”
“C’moooon! Let’s do it
together. One
biiiiig inhale to puff
up that
chest real good right now.”I’ll be damned. I actually did
itwhile walking
Dragged a huge inbreath
and filled my
lungs with…rotten air
I didn’t notice
I was passing by the
damn dumpster
and there was something
or many things
dead and rotting in thererotten to the
point of
having flies and maggots
in the browned, gooey fleshand I forcefully gathered
all that miasma
into my lungsI gagged, my face wrinkling, the
guts in me twistingI had to spit
lest I vomitedDammit…
What the hell was
that?Had I been…
pranked?
By one of my hallucinations?
Oh well, what else
could I do but
laugh along and move along?I still love you
guys -
the only freedom you have in this life stands in the level of importance you place on things
Last time I saw him
it wasI think
six days ago
not exactly a full weak
He was down bad
and that’s
putting it mildlyHis tragedy was the
tragedy of so many othersWife left
and took the kid with herNothing new under the
sunWhat is new under the sun
however is the way
he deals with it nowIn these six short days
the man had
reached enlightenment
apparently“You want a drink?” he asked
meand I said, “Man, I thought you
quit after…”“Nah. I didn’t quit.”
He mixed his favorite. Beer and
tequila
and passed me a glass over the
coffee tableI thanked him
One thing I was sure of
The man was not drunk. Not at
allSo it must’ve been something
else that
helped him recover and get
over the struggleAfter the first glass
I asked him what it wasAnd he said, “Giving up.”
I said nothing. Just
watched him“Only the things you label
important can
hurt you. If it’s not important to
you, it can’t possibly hurt. That’s
the secret to happiness and
everything.”“Well, you seem pretty happy now.
And I can tell it’s
not fake.
So, how do you stop yourself
from making things important in life
when it happens involuntarily?
One can’t just label one’s family as
not important, right?”“Wrong, young man.
The only freedom you have in
this life stands in
the level of importance you
place on things, including yourself.
You will be able to do it
when you learn and accept that
it’s the only way.”Yeah, one day I’ll
get itbut
I don’t think today’s
the dayI don’t know
-
he’s thinking precisely the same about me
Oh, it’s that part
of the day…I have to stop
pretending that
I’m a writer
(or at least a good enough
one)
and leave the house
and go to workI make myself get away
from the keyboard
and get my backpack and
put my shoes on and
that’s all I needI get out
and walk around the building and
see him
by the alley benchesI can smell him
tooHe’s soiled his pants
againIt happens at least once
a week
and eventually his wife
comes out
and handles things somehowBut I know
it’s not easy. I see itIt was easy some six or seven
years ago before
he had the
accidentI don’t even know how to put
it in medical terms. All I know
is that the
guy had some brain infection
that ate away at
his sanityand it happened slowly
and painfullyAnd it continues to
happenand the wife is regarded as
this hero, this saint, the
martyr of the neighborhood
for not leaving his side
even though she’s only in her
early thirtiesHe makes eye
contact with me as I pass
him and
starts nodding
and a slim string of saliva
dangles like a jellyfish
tentacle
as it hangs from his chinI nod at him
and acknowledge that
he’s had better days on this
Earth
and I’m sure he’s thinking
precisely the same about meThen I look up at
the gods
and wonder that they’re thinking
of our future
because I honestly do not know -
how do you truly win in life?
All this time spent
struggling against
dreamsa goddamned life time
He’d fall asleep
and the darkness that fell
around him would
manifest as
one being
that would hold him
tight in her
embrace and bite
at random from his flesh
and tear
until there’d be nothing left
but pure painDarkness
was the worldAnd the world was dark
because he had
labeled it suchDarkness…
Enlightenment then
comes when one is able to
emerge from the darkness,
to leave it behind, to
win over itOr so it is
thoughtBut those who are truly
enlightened know
better, don’t they?You cannot possibly win a fight
It’s just not how
it worksYour decision to fight
the darkness
or anything else
is your decision to fight yourself
and yourself aloneThus you lose even if
you winSo then how do you
truly win in life?Well, have you
ever thought about
not fighting in the first place?To fight with the world,
be it the real world or
the world of your dreams,
is to fight with yourselfStop hitting yourself
in the face!And maybe start
embracing yourself?Do so with the world
And what do you think?
Will you not find that
the world replies with the exact
same treatment?I believe that’s what he did
in his dream world
too
The next time the world turned
into pure darkness
and came to eat him
he just offered himself to it
instead of trying to run away, hide
and fight backThe result
was nothing short of
amazingThat I guarantee
-
you are empty
this Saturday
he wakes up in the
afternoon
and
curses his dreamsGoodness, how long
has it been
since the last pleasant
dream?
What about the last
nightmare?Even nightmares were
better than
what he was having nowA void
a nothingnessempty
Which does remind him of
an older day when he
used to play some
videogame titled
‘You Are Empty’
on big bro’s computerfairly good times
with nightmares that were
better than dreams of
nothingnessThe game, horror though it
had been, did not give him
nightmaresbig bro did
“Since you wanna play so hard,”
big bro had said, “we gon’ make
it more interesting.
Every time you die,
Perro gets the can!”Perro was the little parrot
dad got him
before going away. It stood
in a small cage in
the hallwayand the can… It was
a can of bug spray big bro
used to spray the
poor thing with
when he was in a sadistic
mood
which happened too oftenMother was away
at work
or in the company of some
new man she was
trying to convince to
become a stepfatherShe had very little
success with both. With
everything.
And she was tired.
At all times.Big bro had all the power in
the house
so how could he not
abuse it?It’s just normal to
abuse power
when you have itThe miracle is when
you don’tbut there are no
miraclesSo Perro got sprayed
a lotAnd got sick a lot
but didn’t dieHis feathers fell off
and the scales of his
little feet
peeled off and looked
like boiled corn flakesyet still
death would not
take himAbused creatures have
their own way
to spit back into the
face of their abusersIt’s for this very reason that he
decided today
to make another visit
to his big bro in prisonMaybe even buy
something
nice for him -
beer mixed with tequila
I felt it in the
side
as I woke upsome kind of cold
claw scratching
gently, playfully at
my ribsI blinked a few times
and turned to her“Hey!” she said. “Get up
and buy me some
beer with tequila.”I opened my mouth
and she immediately covered
it with her claw. “Not
separately,” she said.
“I mean beer mixed with
tequila. There’s gotta be
some brand like that. Look
for it.”“Who’re you?” I asked
“Just another one of
them, dear. I don’t
care what you name me. Let’s
just go get that mix
of beer and tequila. See, it’s
not exactly a cocktail. It’s
more of a beer, like, in
a can, but it says on
the label that it’s
mixed with tequila. Uh,
something like that.”One hour and some
minutes later I’m in the
supermarket
and I spot a girl that
looks exactly like
her
minus all the
non-human features
like that claw and the sharp
teethSo often it’s the things
you think least of
that
are the most beautifulWe’ve been tricked into
liking supermodels
and superstars and all
the TV people and
influencersmeanwhile
gods and demons alike
bow their heads in shame
when they look at
your local grocery store
cashierHow in the hells
and heavens alike can
some people be so
pretty, so gorgeous
I’ll never know…Well,
anyway
let’s get that
beer and tequila mix
real quickI wanna enjoy it
with her
while we write some
dark poetryLife is
good -
I pass by him and observe
yeah, he’s past that
age where
men put up fake smiles
to be liked
and to fit in circlesI think he’s in his
early
fortiesGood man
works all day and
keeps his
mouth shut
even if he’s asked somethingGreat man
At 6 PM the work day
ends
and he drives homeand parks in the
drivewayand spends another two
or even three hours
in the carwindows rolled up
silence
enjoying a can of beer
and thinking
aimlesslyjust standing in
silence and
thinkingAnd I pass by him and
observe
and the more I do so
the more I understandthe closer I get
to becoming
that man -
insanity can be toyed with
it’s weird that you can
grab these tools
in any hardware
store
whenever you wanthose and a
duct tapeand sleeping meds
from the drug storeIt’s all available
these days
and so it should beSociety shouldn’t try so
hard to keep all of its
members aliveshe could preach for hours
on the subject
and would do such a good
job about it
that even you’d start
believingOn that night when she
confessed
her madness to me
I told her, “You can have
fun with your insanity. Chance
the world even.
Hadn’t all the people who
changed the world been
insane?
Don’t be too quick to
throw it away or seek to ‘heal’ it.
There is another way out.
And it’s through.”She said she knew I’d say
that. Because her insanity
was the ability to
see into the futureShe then left
because she knew I would
not lend her
my car to
suicide in it by connecting
the hose to the exhaust pipe“You can’t drive a car,” I
said. “Ain’t got
no license.”and she said, “I don’t wanna
drive it. Just
do the thing with the
hose.”“Yeah, but to do that
you’d have to take the car
away somewhere. Can’t do it
anywhere here in the city, you
know?”“How about you drive us
somewhere–?”“And then what? Come back
with your body on
the passenger’s seat?”She didn’t say much after
thatShe could see the
future in 144 branches,
as she put it.
144 possibilities for
it to unfold in every next
144 seconds.Meanwhile I was
so short sighted that I
couldn’t even see
what she really wanted when
she suggested that I drive us
both somewhereShe wanted me to go
with her
all the way
to the other sideI’m not sure I would’ve
said no
back thenIt would’ve been part of
my insanityBut, what do you know,
even that changesIf you stick around for long
enough you
discover that it can
be toyed with – the insanityThe form it has today
is the form that
allows me to write about her
all those years laterShe was mad enough to
see the futureI was mad enough
to see her -
people who give me advice
he was that type
that took no
shit from nobodybut unlike most
people living like that
he was not ignorant
or prejudicedhe knew exactly what
he was doingand lived by his words:
“People who give me
advice are actually giving
themselves advice.”I’m so glad I’ve
heard this
before even thinking of
giving him advicethe words hit so deep
with their truism
that I not only didn’t give
him advice
but actually asked for
some of his ownI looked up to him
and became
like himToday
I too writeand people give me
so much
advice, it’s crazyThey give me so much
advice
I never run out of
characters and stories
to tellIt’s all in there
In the advice they
think they’re
giving others
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Daydreaming as a profession 
Happiness comes two ways , my father taught me, BY faith, and Hard Work, enjoyed your writings.
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Thank you (^_^)
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I believe there may be a few philosophers left. Their voices may have been drowned in the multiple seas of social media but I think poets are somewhat philosophers, They dream and think outside the box. Thanks for stopping by Poemattic.
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Hope things are cool and hot DR., I’m a bit curious, I was looking over your work, and wonder if you do any strip writing ? I ‘m working on a book that will be a finish play. I don’t want it to get to much graphic dialog but need the iron words to push these concepts. Any suggestions. Like instead of B, or F, MF, I thought Bush Wet, Funk n Fish, Mold Food, well if you get a minute, Thanks.
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Hey hello, so nice meeting you! I saw you liked my post on trees, thank you so much!
Lovely poetry by the way!
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ʕっ•ᴥ•ʔっ
I thank you
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When I initially commented I clicked the “Notify me when new comments are added” checkbox and now each time a comment is added I get several e-mails with the same comment. Is there any way you can remove me from that service? Appreciate it!
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I am a little confused about your logic?
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Sure.. as an idea-unfortunately doomed to fail in practice, never mind eh?
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NvGaiprOcdbI
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uZyxIhpBWE
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hi this is a awesome website that you have thanks for sharing it with the world.
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hi this is a great site that you have thanks for sharing it with the human race.
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hi this is a awesome site that you have thanks for sharing it with the world.
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found you thank god
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you think he’d buy me mozzarella sticks
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you think so image
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Brantley
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Bellissimo lavoro,bravo continua cosi!!
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Very interesting site. Visually, on all fronts. Nice. “They” just posted a thing saying we aren’t real–just players in some virtual reality game. I have always done a lot of daydreaming and writing, but not much poetry. Looking forward to reading your work. Might get me back at mine…
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God, I LOVE “Fasting for Muses.”
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٩( ^ᴗ^ )۶
Thanks!
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Hello Bogdan,
You liked one of my Umbriate posts so I thought I’d drop in. Intriguing writing. Reading through your poetry I find…well, not sure how to put it–it resonates is the best thing that comes to mind. Glad I dropped by and will be returning. Thank you.
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Thank you very much for stopping by, Eric!
I’ll check some more of your stuff as well.
Subscribed 🙂
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