I wanna write from a place where no one else has been before I want to pour forth new truths that could have only come from me I don’t have time for words that don’t mean anything I’m not here to put down more scripted sentences
I’m here to speak my truth To scream and shout And share something in my soul That little bit of unique fire burning Only the way it can within me
It is fueled by all my pains and mistakes By all my victories and defeats And I want it to blaze bright Showing the light Of all my life has been
Well, I guess this is it: Thirty-one-years-old All grown now Fully-developed The soul-searching done I know who I am. The result is in
And what is it that I am?
It’s not a lot. It’s not a lot at all.
No useful skills No place of belonging No way of living sustainably No chance of mental stability
It’s nothing but chaos Frequent episodes of insanity And spells of disillusionment That leave me holding onto the rails As life’s hurricane rips me apart
It’s not some momentary feeling I’ve lived enough years now to know That I’m always gonna be this way Shifting from one crisis to the next From one battle to the next From one bender to the next
Yes, periods of peace shall occasionally arrive There will be moments of contentment Even times when I feel happy to be alive
But they won’t last long. They won’t last long at all.
Because I know who I am now. I’ve lived the years and walked the walk And this is what I’ll have to deal with: Some sort of malfunctioning mistake Stumbling and staggering along Fighting to survive.
I guess the first thing I should do is accept it But I can’t help but feel Disappointed, dejected And even angry inside
This isn’t how it should be.
I wanted to live life Not deal with it Or cope with it Or find ‘a way to get by’
Still falling in love with it all These days it’s getting worse The twinkling lights in her eyes The birds flying in the dawn sky And the reflection on the water
Maybe it’s me getting older But I can feel myself evening out Experiencing some sort of contentment As I stare into those pupils Into the universe of her soul Letting myself feel some joy As the despair drifts away.
I never believed in angels But sometimes it’s hard not to At least see where the idea came from Like in those good moments Watching her smile as she awakens The light coming through the window Another day stirring like A quiet happiness in my heart.
I have dwelled in the darkness Been haunted by strange voices Hunted by demonic creatures Loomed over by the vultures
And that is how I know the light When I see it
That is how I know She’s the one To throw open the curtains And finally show me What this life Is about.
Out on the streets, I see them The drunk students partying The skaters flipping their boards The young people doing their thing
It only seems like a couple of years ago That I was one of them Wide-eyed and reckless Careless and confused Excited to be alive
Well now the years have gone by And I approach the age of thirty-one By no means an old age But for some reason, I feel old Older than one should feel at this age Looking at them jovial kids I just can’t help but wonder What has happened to me
Nowadays I don’t dream of something ridiculous Nowadays I’m not bursting with vigour Nowadays I don’t get hurt like I used to I don’t feel the thrill like I used to I don’t chase desires like I used to
A mist has descended; the hunger fades The fire that I thought would roar forever wanes
I guess this is what they call growing up I always knew it would have its downfalls But this total apathy with existence Is something I didn’t quite anticipate.
I know the story: Getting older Losing the spark, Your energy dwindling As the quiet desperation of Middle-age sets in.
Is this what awaits us all? Is this why they say youth is wasted on the young? Is this why we have children? To give ourselves another chance?
Naturally, I consider the alternative: not growing old.
Most say growing old is better than dying young But who can be sure? At the very least, Checking out early feels like a cop-out Although I understand how such weariness Can turn a person toward it.
I can’t keep fading out like this anyway I’ve decided that something needs to change I won’t try to force myself to be young again But something needs shaking up
I’m not hoping for angels or epiphanies Or to feel excitement like I once did Or to dance on dancefloors like I once did Or to flip skateboards like I once did
My first trip was when I was nineteen
I spent a summer in Ghana
working at a local newspaper
for an internship related to my studies
(that would at least please the parents)
But really, I just needed to get out
throw myself into some foreign field
and let my mind be blown to pieces
by things I had not seen before
and would not see again
That was granted
and one year later
I was on a plane to Australia
where I spent a year wandering around
working odd jobs
staring out at sunsets
drinking with strangers
writing poetry under the stars
And then one year after coming home
I was back on a plane
this time: South America
six months of total madness
a twenty-two-year-old high on life
and drugs and women
and anything else I could get my hands on
It was my youth, my time
and I was going to take it by the balls
and have my way with it.
I had thought about other things worth doing in life
but to me, it was all about the experience
and I wanted as much as it
as my blood and brain and liver
could handle.
Seven years on nothing has really changed
I’m still planning that next trip
still running off into that sunset
still trying to find that magic something
I don’t suppose I’ll ever find it
at this stage I’m not sure I even want to
I just want to keep running
sprinting into that sunset
drinking with those strangers
staring up at those stars
another hopeless dreamer
lost in space and time
drifting in the cosmic ocean
and just falling in love
with this strange
thing called
Dear child, I write you from afar and ask only one thing for you to take into consideration for your one precious life.
Through the toils of the years, and the influences of society – I ask you to stay wild. Consider this for you were forged in the stars, and assembled in the wilderness; and – though illusion may pervade – nature will always remain your only real home.
Shake loose the shackles of the poachers whenever their locks tighten so. Fight off the tyrants whenever they go near what must not be touched. Spit out the decaying taste of the plastic soul’s dust. Never wander too far into corporate falseness. Stay wild – in mind, body, heart and soul.
Whenever you can, get back to your nature; live out on the fringes, and exist on the edges, among the wild eyes and undomesticated souls, for that is where the magic happens.
Entertain new developments; playfully explore new philosophies; and toy with new technologies but never forget to come back, into the trees; to the depths of the waters. and the murkiness of the unknown.
For that is where you truly belong: deep between the roots of the forest; in the expansive emptiness of the clouds; and the timeless universe of the ocean.
Where the magic happens
in the wild.
(taken from my new poetry and prose book No Filter Necessary, available through my shop page)