tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-71716097698771367952024-03-08T05:39:22.881-06:00POSTDICTIONNiwvodniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12212283754386082990noreply@blogger.comBlogger21125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7171609769877136795.post-39538364706481749992010-08-19T01:14:00.001-05:002010-08-19T01:14:40.439-05:00Fumes<p>I am violence, the numbest fringe of psychotic oversentience. Randomly preaching the end of time to the inexperienced intervention of melting disparities. Nothing wavers through my soul as it ignites these tubular fumes of arsenic vengeance. </p> <p>Oh lord, please forgive me. Forsake how I had faith in you once. Bring me patience so I can sweep a constant indeterminacy through my vocal cords, for you are a mere mirage in this filament of metafiction. The insincere extinction of secular formulations. </p> Niwvodniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12212283754386082990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7171609769877136795.post-32364070229139459572010-08-17T02:38:00.001-05:002010-08-17T02:38:46.845-05:00Wendigo<p>No Nilofer, we can’t be indulgent right now, voices have stranded us with meager solitudes only to watch us salivate in desperate cravings. But gravity is stronger than destiny, and we’ll find a way to reconcile this sacrosanct killings. Many years will pass; Oceans will dry, moons will breed life, but you will still be mine.</p> <p>I’ve no longer conquered the vicinities of this chessboard, but I know the moves that will serve the pleasures of your wendigo dresses. It wont make it right, but history will write itself through the incident grammar of neutered synagogues. Both eyes will look for obscenities, far beyond the luscious manifestation of pheromones. </p> <p>Bodily reconnaissance, a neural rendezvous. Nails and kidneys rose from jaundiced dissections, controlling our bonds of maudlin intolerance. I lied to let you go, because you didn’t yield and answer beneath this vortex. But I can ask you to follow these leads, so you can crawl your way out, into this soul.</p> Niwvodniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12212283754386082990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7171609769877136795.post-13747794420046005832010-02-18T18:43:00.001-06:002010-02-18T18:43:32.410-06:00Consequential<p>What path are you supposed to take if all of them end in your untimely death? Only one of them is actually consequential, but how about the rest? Look at yourself, can you make the others’ deaths more bearable or purposeful? This domino effect always ends the same, the worthless fabric of the choices one has made.</p> <p>The mirror answers you with rigor, showing you how you didn’t succeed. But you lied to yourself, all this time you’ve taught yourself how to deceive your own metabolism. Your soul rests in a dream world constructed by your mythomania, but you can’t build a connection with the real beings. The feelings you fathom are meaningless if they are not actually felt.</p> <p>And now you’re facing the roads. You don’t take the shortest, nor the longest path; You just don’t walk at all. You wait for infinity to call you, to name a bridge in your honor, to have a day with your surname, to make a theorem with your memory. But the only thing that will ever happen is yourself, writing your own name in the mud left after the last storm. Throwing its fury within the tangled division of these paths. Your name only lasts until the next storm, so inconsequential.</p> <p>And even if you could leave your footprint in the surface of the moon, will it be of any use? In the end, will you be of any worth?</p> Niwvodniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12212283754386082990noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7171609769877136795.post-83400615768111497752010-02-13T02:07:00.001-06:002010-02-13T03:19:24.131-06:00Whiteout<p>Some might argue about my own vertiginous verbose when you insult me with your opportunist propaganda. I fell for you, just in time for the anger of blizzards, when you knew I couldn’t hold on to my ticket. You stirred up snow in front of your blindfold, making both of us limited to see beyond our intentions. </p> <p>You glance at me, but you could glance beside me. I could think of fearing you, but I’m no one to hold the flood in you. A whiteout shrouds our virtuous nothingness, only to repel the leverage of this tense scenario. Because there is only you and me in this spatial Holy See. </p> Niwvodniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12212283754386082990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7171609769877136795.post-12079670411943285952010-02-05T23:47:00.001-06:002010-02-05T23:47:17.751-06:00Despair Is<p>I buried you that night, just after I watched you die for a second time. As I stand atop this vaudevillian cemetery, all that crosses my mind is one distant thought; “Apathy is a right and despair is a virtue”. The better person came out of you while you were dying; You loved, you smiled, you didn’t let yourself wither away into the vulgar minstrelsy. </p> <p>But, you still died. </p> Niwvodniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12212283754386082990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7171609769877136795.post-11274879974302315812010-01-23T14:57:00.001-06:002010-01-23T14:58:15.366-06:00Your Virtue<p>It suddenly became so inorganic; lifeless. The way you crossed the river without struggling through the current made you seem so out of touch. I watched you deviate from the singularity of your commitments, and it ended so vaguely, that no one knows if it ever had a resolution. But I only tell you the way I witnessed it.</p> <p>Many years passed before I could understand what you said. The hours collapsed as I feared they would. I theorized about your permanence in my thoughts, but I already knew you were out of my life, I just hadn’t come to accept the terms of this argument. I believed in lies when I spoke through them. Needless to say, I knew about this charade. So what happens next?</p> <p>What happens is your breathing. Slowly inhaling your arrest. Your virtue is not the art of deceiving, but your ability to sing in the key of misanthropy. </p> Niwvodniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12212283754386082990noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7171609769877136795.post-6520222897546315012010-01-11T20:31:00.001-06:002010-01-11T20:31:15.239-06:00Solipsism 1: Those Hands<p>It shouldn’t be like this. The more you try to grasp the laws that you’ve been studying for the last five years, the more reality slips away from your fingers. No, you don’t look as young as you used to, and no, you’re not as beautiful as you once were. A look in the mirror will only tell you what you already know – your past was the better thing that has come out of you, but it’s not who you are anymore. And still, you were never those hands who healed humanity, you were not the symphonies that everyone would always recall.</p> <p>Do you even remember all those things you’ve broken? As you approach you fantasies, you travel guilt-free, blessedly forgetful of the hearts you tore apart while you stayed in this existence. But that was once your tragedy, and you should have remembered by now, all those hands you refused are a shared part of your everything, and not of your solipsistic mind.</p> <p>Fathers shouldn’t bury their own children. A million deaths fall on the transience of collective memory – only to be flooded by the mass delusion of sadistic overpowering. It will one day mean something, but it will burn into your skin, forcing you to look back and regret how you neglected to connect with the spirits surrounding you.</p> <p>So, what have you done by now?</p> Niwvodniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12212283754386082990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7171609769877136795.post-32416020214136359302010-01-08T12:17:00.001-06:002010-01-08T12:17:40.075-06:00Walk<p>I’ve walked through the darkness of your eyes, and I’ve always returned safe and sound. I’ve drifted through the landscapes of your empty streets, at the darkest hour, and I’m still standing. But I’m not brave, neither I’m anxious. I just reckon one shouldn’t be afraid of free will.</p> Niwvodniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12212283754386082990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7171609769877136795.post-12919738852765189222009-11-18T02:28:00.001-06:002009-11-18T02:29:43.549-06:00Ghost<p align="justify">There are multiple timelines running through this grin. However the threads and streams of the kleptomaniac tribulations get tangled in just one solution – the ghosts that haunt me at night. </p> <p align="justify">I close my eyes, and I see a temptress dancing in front of feathers of lust, and you connive as you see me, expecting me to conspire in your favor. I can deny you my gifts, I can deny you my vocabulary in spite of our story, but you’ve earned something tonight, and it’s more than just mere sympathy. </p> Niwvodniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12212283754386082990noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7171609769877136795.post-2177738534297940682009-11-16T23:26:00.001-06:002009-11-16T23:26:32.731-06:00Save You<p>How am I supposed to save you, if you want to die?</p> Niwvodniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12212283754386082990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7171609769877136795.post-82456132290229373412009-11-16T15:53:00.001-06:002009-11-16T15:53:13.222-06:00The World I’m From<p>Either you’re too special or I just don’t know you enough. The far end of this relationship is based in a lie, this fantasy I’ve been kneeling after is just a product of the pain you’ve caused. I can’t change the past, I can’t speak to destiny, but I can tell you in how many ways you’ve changed me.</p> <p>The world where I come from is throbbing with cowardice and deceit, and I’m trying so hard to get my head away from its pull. But I came to know you, and you seem like you could fit perfectly in that world, yet your mask makes you look so beautiful. No Galisova, I can’t imagine you without that dress. I’m not like that.</p> <p>But nobody knows the world I’m from, I don’t think it exists in the measurements of this hypothesis. I’ll just leave the scriptures here. </p> Niwvodniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12212283754386082990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7171609769877136795.post-2829842728556241892009-09-06T03:04:00.001-05:002009-09-06T03:04:33.709-05:00Paradox<p>It’s like I just broke a time-loop, only to find my greatest fears. It feels great, but its killing me. </p> <p>What if I can trust only one of your eyes? One is looking away, the other one is looking directly at me.</p> Niwvodniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12212283754386082990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7171609769877136795.post-58572300293602960242009-03-19T23:39:00.001-06:002009-03-19T23:39:23.101-06:00Spring<p>Your eyes are dying portmanteau. Those starlights are growing dim with every passing lullaby. Our patience was compromised when you decided to photograph reality through fiction, but tonight spring will marry the atmosphere. A new born son will enchant our melanin and our muscles will grown in steroid directions, not because of the direness of the imminent decay of winter, but because of my right to be a part of this secular manifesto.</p> <p>Your god hasn’t given me many chances at happiness, but fate is now coveted in stripes and white smoke. Just like penance, it is a choice I will dare to deform. Colors come and go, but there is a reason for the desaturated composition of my movements, as I have now the photons I need to digest the instability of what Moses called <em>a path</em>.</p> <p>Sing to my consciousness now, feed my thrill. Obliterate the scorpions that have purged our vaccines and read my thoughts as I turn into the visions you neglect to see. Your god didn’t tell you anything about this, am I right?</p> <p>The entropy of the earth is increasing with every second, but this scenario is still the same. You were the only beautiful thing time travel ever gave me, so why can’t you start believing in new deities? I found my own, and I offered her my art and my hand in marriage. Can’t you see past cycles? I own this manifest, your rules don’t apply to the truce I concealed with God.</p> Niwvodniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12212283754386082990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7171609769877136795.post-71858442668925541972009-01-27T22:16:00.001-06:002009-01-27T22:16:28.202-06:00Pi<p>Destiny called when I needed you the most. You were there, touching my face when tears gave in to gravity’s pull. But you left me yet again Nilofer, and I haven’t dreamed about you since that day. </p> <p>At least I know what terrifies me now; the possibility of finding happiness without you. I know I should accept the distance confined by this wall, but it will never feel right. </p> <p>All I do is remember the details in your face, and try to touch them with my sight. It’s not the perfection I get when multiplying your voice times pi, but it’s the best I can do to dissect this. Then again, I’m trapped in time, and I don’t want to leave, unless you help me out. </p> Niwvodniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12212283754386082990noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7171609769877136795.post-29788973356321449702008-12-03T00:37:00.001-06:002008-12-03T00:38:58.498-06:00A Thousand Years of Winter<p>I hereby declare myself a believer of symmetry. The days that dry up our tempest carry the commotion of your lips, because your eyes are worth a thousand years of winter. And all these centuries you’ve flashed before my eyes, while I’ve been mad at you for being exactly like me. It’s the curse of lovers, the hindrance of emotions, the perpetual detriment of action.</p> <p>You know it will be cold Eastwick, but you don’t have to worry, as I am the one who’ll be left naked waiting for spring to come. Go on and be the word of oil and sprout your seeds into their ground; I’ll be given the anointing of the sick.</p> Niwvodniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12212283754386082990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7171609769877136795.post-82387136989518262782008-11-01T00:29:00.001-06:002008-11-01T00:31:53.594-06:00L2 Vertebrae<p>All the hurricanes I’ve caused, <br>brought the fire that will lighten all your words.<br>Bred from the thunder.</p> <p>All the spaces I have found, <br>they will conquer all the panic from your sores. <br>For you to ponder.</p> <p>In the moments I’m inspired, <br>hope will color all the faces of desire. <br>All for you.</p> <p>[…]</p> Niwvodniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12212283754386082990noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7171609769877136795.post-56518943716404015512008-10-27T19:24:00.001-06:002008-10-27T19:24:11.645-06:00Truth Based on Fear<p>There are twenty-three dissertations about what exists and what is just a mere delusion. The tentacles we manifest can control all but the logic inside our correction. The laughter we built for them to appreciate your companionship can’t be the composition of the bedlam we call time.</p> <p>It is not synaptic, it is not biological. It is what we want to construct from skin. It is what we suck from souls. </p> <p>Everything is holy, but not any more holier than you or me. How can you give attributes to the contexts you can’t possibly synthesize? Do you believe in the mythology of sight? How is a cataclysm any more symbolic than a kiss you’ve hold.</p> <p>To me, there is not such a thing as faith. There can be hope of not losing the fabric of my memoires when I’m gone, but I acknowledge that it is just a truth based on fear.</p> Niwvodniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12212283754386082990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7171609769877136795.post-20679296944966314352008-10-25T16:39:00.001-05:002008-10-25T16:48:17.066-05:00Cycle<p>It is in humanity the causality of repetition. All of us have suffered the consequences of past mistakes and nocuous diffractions. It’s cycling towards no end, it spirals out from steadiness, it violates my urge to be baptized, and it calls elation to incarcerate our soul into this prison made of the promises you were.</p> <p>It’s not the first time we’ve left litter in our relationship, but somehow I think I’ve known you from before. </p> Niwvodniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12212283754386082990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7171609769877136795.post-48641467571731731282008-10-20T19:26:00.001-05:002008-10-20T19:26:26.658-05:00Something Borrowed<p>Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue. This holy ceremony has remained in their collective memory since the day of your confirmation. Your father would have wanted to deliver you to your altar, but his voice is now long gone. It’s because of these timeless details in your grammar I feel so compelled to convert into your faith. Your chants can expel the nuances of the serpents, boiling choirs of dissected horns.</p> Niwvodniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12212283754386082990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7171609769877136795.post-59957878518372148142008-10-04T02:18:00.004-05:002008-10-06T23:52:18.963-05:00LoopHow many times have you felt the silence inject you with awe? It bristles while enabling greedily my urge to devour this absenteeism. So give me whatever you can feed me with, I'll be glad to swallow all of our chances to be united. It is frail like the years before your libation, but I'll be careful not to mess with the permutations.<br /><br />And you know how your mind can't cycle through the same scenario endlessly, but you're still trying to open the loop of certainty. It is not what we had foreseen for you or your children, so make a choice. Your lexicon needs to be heard before it is too late.Niwvodniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12212283754386082990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7171609769877136795.post-38675108324418736062008-10-03T18:18:00.001-05:002008-10-03T20:34:24.457-05:00PostdictionWhen it comes to finding a greater truth, it all breaks down into monosyllabic answers. But if you try to envision the hindsight of your given question, one must ask oneself what was the phonetic flow that fathered their response.Niwvodniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12212283754386082990noreply@blogger.com0