Art, climate change, Culture, Dark moods, literature, Literature, london, love, Poem, poems, poetry, Theathre of cruelty


I started thinking that ‘love’ is evil


it’s hate

it’s murderous

so I’ll forget this whole business

and go

to meet

Karakoram mountains instead

or something like that

for a while

before I get back to dreadful London

to deal with all this deathly business



fake relity, falseness, literature, Literature, london, love, marriage, passion, Poem, poetry, religion

The Verge

If I could understand why my mind sways
why it is not satisfied with surface existence
creating mystery and mischief
why it is not real in spiritual emptiness
why it needs danger and complications
adventures on the London bridge
the night
the kiss
on the verge of the Tamise

can’t it concentrate deeply
on cooking in the domestic cauldron
why my mind
to your lips

Dark moods, literature, Literature, Poem, poetry, Uncategorized



It all it’s over now
my sister is dead and so are you
a dead year of dead friends and lovers
I give up
what plans are for if all can burst in a short electrical blast
what love is for
for the dead and for the dead-alive
your deadness feels worse then hers sometimes
because it stings
and burns like a double electrocution
a double offence
my cursed name
the terrifying autumn is coming
without you in it
I thought I would survive all the windy glooms
but now she is dead
and you are worse than that
I feel your spitefulness and fake guilt
your phone call after she died

literature, Poem, poems, poetry, Uncategorized


So what that I am useless
was I created for the use of
the party community family or church?

so what that I am useless talentless brat
or not, who cares

I splash things against the wall
in childish protest
it’s all deaf and reactionless anyway

the earth is invisible so it’s the cosmos
from my mundane despised perspective
it doesn’t seem to matter
it seems it’s all a lie then
nothing of me is being recorded in the fabric of infinity
I was born and I die
and I yell and that is pointless
quick explosion
stupid kid
among the silence

Art, Culture, literature, short story, stories

Suicidal thoughts in Barnes&Noble /Immigrant Stories/

Immigrant Stories

Suicidal thoughts in Barnes&Noble.

When you are an immigrant, you are a cultural – nobody. That’s how I feel at least. I try to squeeze myself, cut myself, change myself, convince myself, but the only thing left is the emptiness and boredom of lifeless existence between the shelfs of Barnes & Noble, looking for an inspiration, for something to move me, to connect to my empty self. The days, the past, the now, and the future blend into a long, tasteless, boring vomit, divorced from any meaning. I don’t remember why I came here and what propelled me to take this unreasonable, stupid step. Maybe it was anger, I don’t know. My mind doesn’t seem to exist anymore.

Suicidal thoughts between Barnes & Noble shelfs. Suicidal thoughts in the Barnes & Noble elevator, suicidal thoughts on the Barnes & Noble first, second and the third floor.