Picture and poetry by Jeni G.
Picture and poetry by Jeni G.
If I’m eating, then I’m eating.
If I’m drinking, then I’m drinking.
If I’m walking, then I’m walking.
If I’m listening, then I’m listening.
If I’m consistently, then I’m consistently.
If I’m inconsistently, then I’m inconsistently.
If I’m playing a fool, but know it, I’m a wise man.
If I’m playing the wise man and no one knows I’m a fool, I’m still a fool.
If I’m making decisions, then I’m making decisions.
But if I don’t making decisions, I already have made my decision.
So I decide to play just one role on this world. Me.
A multipersonal being between enlightenment and madness, dancing between light and darkness, a endless moment in the twilight.
That’s my decision.
And life is my consequence.
i vividly remember –
building castles in air
entering doorways through a light beam
meeting strangers with familiar eyes
i remember it all too well
neither a dream
nor cognitive distortions
maybe this is the world
i’ve always belonged to
where you stamped
the castles, as failures
the doorways, as heartbreaks
the eyes, an ethereal illusion
but darling all this while
you were the moon in delirium
and i the sunlight,
hoping one day
you’d find your own light.
Poetry by Reha, picture by Jonathan.
I feel there’s too much of positivity and hope all around, especially in artists (others as well) and that is what blurs the lines of reality. Hope should be where it belongs, fact should be where reality belongs. The problem is we can’t tackle our own dilemmas and name it destiny, we don’t have the courage to follow our dreams and keep hoping they’ll become reality. Even in the worst situation we find positivity. Why? If something is negative take it as it is. If you don’t have courage accept it. And learn.
Don’t paint everything in bright and beautiful colours when there is so much darkness around. Only when people learn to see and accept things “As It Is”, there’s a chance things will change. And this is something I hate about all these writers these days, who write these over pretentious positive quotes, heartbreaking love poems without ever having even felt the feeling.
There is just so much hypocrisy around I don’t understand how can art even survive in such conditions. There was a time when great writers and artists created magic and today is a time when it has all boiled down to showing off something that you haven’t even felt yourself. Plagiarising classic art with a twist and calling yourself an artist, doesn’t make you one unless you feel it deep down inside. Art has literally become a modern joke and I despise it so much.
Maybe it’s time we take things without the filters of what it could be or should be. Instead what it really is. Maybe it’s time constructive criticism should replace getting offended every now and then. Guess negativity exists for a reason.
(I know you might not agree with me but it’s just my personal opinion and felt like speaking out once is necessary. All kinds of opinions are absolutely welcome 🌻)
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Unspoken Tales of Art Poem Series//
*BIRTH OF ART*
It all starts
One dark night.
Buried in the pillow.
Transfixed towards infinity.
Can’t move out of bed.
Walking the edge of terrace.
Tired of carrying stones,
Of past in the heart.
Exhausted, speaking to those
Who never lend an ear.
One giving in,
Another giving up.
But none knows,
How lives can change,
In a flash of a moment.
How a thought
Comes by the wind,
Flickering the candle
Turning the pages,
Of your current chapter
To one, you never knew
Existed in your story.
Sweeping you far away
From the fields of emptiness
And filling you with an ecstasy
Not everyone’s gifted to receive.
And that my dear
Is how art arrives.
In a flash of a moment,
Flying in through the window,
Settling down beside you,
On the sheets,
Wherever you are.
For you to step in,
The rebellion called art,
And begin creating
That lasts a forever.
// PART 1 – UNSPOKEN TALES OF ART//
There’s something more to you,
Than what you seem.
There’s a myriad of hues,
Beneath your bones and skin.
You try to camouflage in the crowd,
But there’s miles of mysteries within.
And I think,
I know more than a few things.
As if I already know you.
From a different time and space,
Where you didn’t care,
About people, place or pursuit.
Where you embraced,
Your reflection more than opinions.
Where you believed,
Your words over scripted quotes.
Where you allowed yourself,
To breathe more than respiration.
Where you used to be You,
And not just a hologram of You.
And always know,
That I’ll know,
How much you’ve seen all this time,
Never knowing what it might do to you.
How far you’ve drifted away,
From what you are meant to be.
How long you’ve been struggling,
To give this journey a purpose.
And although I can’t tell,
How long life’s furnace,
Will keep breathing fire.
I surely know,
A diamond is in making.
As the world revolves.
Never to get so hard,
That you become one,
Which breaks itself into pieces.
Watch my words,
But never let them grow over you.
Never become me.
//PART 2 – UNSPOKEN TALES OF ART//
I don’t always have
The best lines to write,
Yet I scribble.
I don’t always know
Of the nicest words to say,
Still I speak.
I mostly don’t know
Where to end a poem,
But I do pause,
Where thoughts take a turn,
Where memories flood in,
Where going on gets tough,
Where it’s simply a wait until next time.
But never stop.
Every chapter of my life,
With commas and brackets,
And when I feel like putting an end,
I plant a semicolon instead;
For art has no end.
You can pause,
But never put a full stop.
And you and me,
And everyone in between,
Are nothing but nature’s portraits.
Sculptures that speak,
Flesh that feels,
Heart that weaves,
Mind that thinks,
Pause with rewind,
Play with stop.
Only to replay,
Every single word,
For there’s no full stop,
Only a pause.
//PART 3 – UNSPOKEN TALES OF ART//
The road was long. In most moments we fought boredom, didn’t we? And we won. So we are here. I won’t regret a thing. Like you.
Remember those days we pasted up stickers all over the town, some works still to see. Think of us djing in dark locations until sunrise (What happened there, stays there, oh, my beauties, oh, wet walls…). Or imagine how we performed poetry in front of the working ministry, including laughing unemployeds. This was my story but now it’s ours.
We got children. Some are ours. Some are loved the same. Or are older than we both together. I have no clue of what I am talking about, that’s why I am wiser. Come into my arms and feel warmth, sister, brother, forever alien insecurities.
May the future judge, some content analysing bots or just the dust in the wind. Our hearts pump, it’s their job, blood. Your hearts may jump, that’s their will, pressure. The world’s music moves us on eternally. Everything will be alright, as long as we go d’accord.
Original picture by Oliver Ritthaler. Edit of picture and words by Jonathan Falk.
Low hanging thoughts rotate inside
tasteless and without any colors,
fading me away – should i really mistaken this?
our long deep conversations and dried tears,
our jokes about our human incompetency,
your always clear and direct spoken words,
which helped me to understand the unspoken.
I miss it.
I miss you.
This is going through and through
to know that our expectations
taking different directions.
Directions without the other one.
ANOTHER BLOODY TWILIGHT
Summer had begun,
Like many of those before,
When you rolled on the green grass,
Tossing smiles brighter than the sun.
But then came the stormiest night,
When you shut yourself in the walls,
Tearing apart all your reasons,
To smile, to dream, care and celebrate.
Drawing upon the bright sun,
Strokes of an atrocious purple sky,
Turning the priceless smiles,
Into a canvas of red so vile.
Which looked like a bloody art,
All except Satan would despise.
Yet such crimson skies,
Dawn more than once in a while.
When they rush into the walls,
Of cheerful banter and peace,
And leave by only debris
Of malice bathed in blood.
Numbing every feeling,
Snatching every smile,
They enjoy the screams
And fireworks of red tears,
As the world mourns in silence
Yet another bloody summer twilight.
We hardly need words
To identify the message
Consciousness has send. (jf)