Writers block is real

(Nope, nothing there) 


The alien: you 

Do you ever caress your shadow? Do you ever feel your cheeks blushing as the music resonates in the background? 

Do you ever feel comfort as you hug your pillow and the rain runs freely down your eyes? 

Have you ever let your soul sink into the mattress of a stranger? 

Have you ever? 

Have you ever inhaled the fumes of death and felt alive? 

What do you dream about, when you’re chained to reality? 

What do you see when your eyes are blind and the light too bright? 

Tell me what is left of you, when the wind has blown away your ashes. 

When there’s nothing left, but an empty canvas framing the flourishing nostalgia of our fading flames? 

When the mirror tinted by the blue, doesn’t reflect an image of you. 

And you realise the stranger you’ve been sleeping next to is no one. 

But you

P.S. I love you

Once again here I am

Suffering the consequences

Of your own regard

Now you claim that I am much too free

That for alcohol I now glee

That I have no responsibility

That I am carving my own grief

Once again I’ll hear you say

You’ll be back for mothers-day

You’ll come back to stay

Once again you tear my heart

Once again I feel your hymn

It’s for your good my baby girl,

You’ll unfurl here, if you stay

Thy now you claim that I don’t care

When all you do is howl, condemn

Not noticing my despair

For I will only say,

I have no laces I can fly away

Don’t vent me harder

Or I will never stay.

Love QueenOfTheAbsurd xx

Probably non of you will read this, but I had to get it out of my system. I know this is not even close to a good poem, for me it’s more like a therapy. Anyways thank you and bye.

The Charles Bridge 

I remember lying on the floor, by the Charles Bridge in Prague. Waiting for the sun to break through the night. 

I layed, letting my corps blend with the sky and the ground.

It was then, when I was part of both, the earth and the sky that I realised, how short our stay is. 

How a new day does not only bring hope, but absence too.   

How the pace always flows.

How no one ever stops.

How absence would not control, if I could simply condone.  


Five fork dish and a bottle of Gin 

It’s funny huh? how everything  tastes delicious when you’re drunk, even life.

Suddently, not knowing how you’re savouring a five fork dish in a mold filthy tarvern. Those of which, you don’t know whether you’re just hangover the next day or rather, food poisoned.

Either way, you’ve enjoyed a five fork dish, at the price of a gin bottle. Genius. 

Because you know what? It doesn’t matter how tiny it is, if it feels big (don’t make weird interpretations). If you have a passion, a dream, remember why it started and make it your reality.

I for instance aspire to be a writer and a film director. I know it’s no mans land out there, that not everyone manages to slide over the “wall”. That many melt under the heat of the boiling cauldron of fire. But let me tell you, if there is the slight chance for me to get there, I will.

Goodnight everyone, hope not to bore you with my absurd, vane thoughts.


Caffeinated Sunday thoughts 

Why do we use pseudonyms and of course I am talking about my self, for I know that many of you do use your name as a title. But for those who don’t, what is it that scares you? Is it failure, is the fact that somebody will recognize our identity? That they might even judge you? Criticise you? Well let me tell you this is all bullshit. I shall explain why- if we are so concerned over what people might or might not think about us we are most likely destined to failure. Here, I’m not talking about socio-economical failure, no. Here I’m talking about something much worse. Personal failure. The ability to recognize yourself as a valid human being, capable of recognizing not only its virtues but their flaws too. Thus by hiding ourselves under a pseudonym we are rejecting, denning, lying to ourselves that we as humans have flaws. Some may argue this is symptom of having a low self esteem,then again some argue its a symptom of being a self-centred simpleton.

However, who am I to judge? Aren’t am I doing the same thing? Am I not veiled under the attempt of non-cliché façade? Well yes. What else can I say that I’m a hypocrite. But aren’t we all? We live in a world built upon the pillars of hypocrisy. We fight against the stereotypes but then we are one. We criticise people for criticising, but then again, isn’t that criticising too?

One of my dearest friends, Sir Mongolus (yes, Mongolus is not a pseudonym) always glares at me with that feline look of his and says

“Oh, I enjoy classical music, the echo of your mother’s violoncello endlessly reverberating through the thick summer air, the smell of rain dampening the ground, I enjoy the sun soothing my pelt as I lay on my back. Now call me a conformist if you may, but give me food and a bed and I’ll be happy. Because guess what? I don’t care what others say. They might say I’m fat. Well yes I am fat and that’s undeniable, my belly sweeps  the ground as walk, so yes thank you for noticing, I’ve been thoroughly working on it lately. I’m glad you were able to appreciate it.”

At midnight, after old Mongolus sermons I bundle in the comfort of my sheets, glance across the infinite darkness, until my eyes sight the flickering red light of the telly. Dazzling through my corneas it sways me into frail sleep as I think to my self, why is it that I keep running away? When we are all the same in the end.In a world of clichés and judgement, what makes you original, unique, isn’t the fact you try to avoid them, but the way you decide to approach them.

Having said all this nonsense, I guess it’s time for me to go for a walk and by walk I mean coffee. Enjoy.