poetry
Silent runes and arabesque Tell a story Kafkaesque Of a riverman When the river dried A doorman When the doors closed A clergyman When lies arrived A swordsman When they won A spokesman And lied some more An everyman. Silent runes and arabesque Tell a story Kafkaesque Of found treasures
poetry
I had nothing to give to that old woman. Who begs at the lights, She gave me instead, Embers and cinders; Decay and suffering; A life unredeemed; Infinite infamy and inquity, I have it all She gave me more, and old poem too. Yanked out like a spasm. A poem
essays
There was a time when I found pilgrimages to be an unnecessary exertion. One could find all that is to see within one's self. And perhaps that may be true. But I have found myself to be going on pilgrimages. Sometimes, I know I am going on one.
essays
Like a child has tools and objects to play, I have words, images, and dreams to play. Words and images come to me from somewhere, and I am a mere vehicle. They flow, rarely and spontaneously, triggered by a phantom or a spectre. They come, at times like a neatly
essays
It is perhaps wise to turn to Friedrich Schleiermacher (a German theologian and philosopher) occasionally. He is one of the founders of pedagogy as a discipline. Pedagogy, as it is used and understood in common parlance, is merely the “technic” of teaching. The content of these technics is prescribed by
poetry
Part 2 Or The First Zombie The bottomless pit Of content and horror Deterritorialising My eyes My mind. In the consummate fangs Of the fiddle device Everything is a spectacle A performance, a caprice His voyeuristic instincts Blindingly perverse Not unlike my doggerel verse. Every blade of grass Every drop
poetry
By the will of magick, I found myself in the company of a great old book. Signed anonymously, I decided to keep the name of the book anonymous too, for you, my brother, my sister. One day you will find it too, I pray. In that book was the art
poetry
Part 1 A New Age of Mystery is upon us. At the helm of this great cosmogony There will be new vanguards. At the pulpit of this hermetic church There will be new abbots. And in the dungeons from whence the rule emanates There must also be an Autarch. And
poetry
Part 1 Or The First Zombie Acamar, sitting at the bank Oblivious to the sound of water As the river stones sank In his hands was the demon's device A black slab for slaughter Slithering through every crevice. He saw in it, the lives of others A hundred
noema
From the Preface of Noema What was it you haunted so far that we must dream of it always, dying of our dreaming? And of what other state do you speak so low that we cannot remember it? - George Seferis This poem has haunted me for as long as
noema
In this book, text and photographs are in harmony; a window to each other. The totality of the experience is carried by two different mediums: the poems, and the photographs. Both of these mediums, for me, are more than just representations of reality. Half of my life is behind me.
architecture
It was drizzling lightly that day. I have walked on this unpaved path many times before. But it was the dampness and the silence that made me stop at a particular bend in the pathway. It is completely covered with trees from above. This spot made me feel something that