Writing is the most Basic form of Visual Art

When you strip down visual art to its constituent parts – paintings, photographs, material installations, movies, concrete skyscrapers, embroidered textiles.. – they all seem to speak the same fundamental language. Just like mathematics is the foundation of all sciences, writing is the bedrock of visible artistic form. A word is more than just a movement with the hand, or a stroke of characters on a keyboard. It is a visual expression of human interaction honed by memory and experience. It is the most basic visualization of emotion and thought nurtured by generations of culture and civilization. When a word is breathed on paper – just like a painter’s brush on canvas – a calligraphic shape soon becomes surreal. The only difference is that with writing, we all have access to this imaginary world. For every true writer is an artist and every true artist is a writer. What do you think?

—————————————————————————————
bohemiaspeaks.com

What Writing Is

What does writing teach us
Other than to love
What blot of ink
Can say a word
Without a mouth
To make us hear
What voice pronounced
Can speak to us
Without a thought
To resonate in our minds
Yet speech without a sound
Can change the world
With words of love
What pen, what paper
Can speak louder
Than our hearts

—————————————————————————————
bohemiaspeaks.com/about

The Tourist: When in Rome

In providence I see it all
Seated underneath a parapluie
Jagged alley ways bending through
My mind until horizons dawn
A sweet espresso and the taste of nicotine
I slowly melt into the canvas’ scene
Indulging appetites and fine cuisine
To top the magic of it all
A beauty queen is in my midst
Burning holes into the film
Of memory

I throw away my cameras
And set aside my fears and expectations
I live the now, just for some time
Before the thoughts of yesterday
Come knocking at my door
Before anticipation about tomorrow
Rips through my guts with anxious claws
I sit between the legs of foreign lands
Making love to my dreams
Giving birth to parallel realities
Just for some time

A picture’s colors fade away
The rainy days can make them blur
But as for this
This picture’s in my mind
Its vibrant colors shine my way
It’s time to go
I’m left with nothing, but to say
Thank you Rome for yet another day

——————————————————————————–
Character: 54/100

The Bitch Brigades – In company of the Drama Queen

The other day
He called me late at night
That horny asshole
Knows how to pick a fight
His bathroom stunk
Because I took a dump
I took revenge
To teach him who to hump!

Bitch?
Yes, you could say
But open your heart
To my story of disappointment
To my tale of dismay
To my tragedy of relationships
The Iliad’s pages
We’ll fill a million times
Double-spaced, of course
But still worth your while
And soon enough
You’ll understand
You’ll join my force:
The bitch brigades

An irrational act?
Well I’m happy you have the nerve
To call me irrational
For grabbing what I deserve
You have to shock them
You have to be the perv
And with some practice
You’ll make their loose-ends curve!

Today at work
He texts me on my phone
He misses me?
No, he just wants to bone
I text him back
“You have to change your tone”
But deep inside,
I can’t wait till I moan!

And when it’s night
We cuddle in his bed
He’s feeling bored
He’s waiting for some head
And finally
He speaks of love instead!
His wife storms in
Oh my, this asshole’s dead

To hell with men
The drama that they bring
Some look for action
And others want a ring
But as for me
I need the ideal fling
A man that serves me
And lets me do my thing

I’ve been in action
For oh so many years
I guess its time
To look beyond my fears
The queen of bitches
Needs to have her rest
Goodbye to straightness
Hey! Dyke, show me some breast!

The Captain: Kingdom of the Undersea

I seep between the crevices of its wall
A boat that cleaves entirety from beyond
And as I drop in ecstacy my fall
Becomes the story of a hidden pond

My waters span the shores of separate worlds
A journey that not many dare to make
A boat may sink its boughs may be unfurled
But drops of water really stand a break

Life is a journey between a place of love
Towards the shores of unsurmounted awe
And so the storms that reign us from above
Send waves to purge our souls from inner flaw

In hope of landing on that other place
I will not bail, towards my fate I race

Emancipation Nation – In the Bedroom of the Female Activist

Sheets of cloth
Wrapped around
The layers of my world
Alone with warming covers
Alone in peace forever
This is my nation

My bedroom, an eternal sanctuary
Stands strong in the face of time
In the face of all those voices
That hang behind its door

And what of love
What of work
What of life itself?
There is no failure in my shrine
Pieces of my soul
Are soaked in wine
Prospects of my future
Are shadows on my wall
I dance alone
And make the whole world shake

I cling to what I have
My body perfect and untouched
Will never leave me
And so in my nakedness
I am liberated from fear

My eyes, they’re closed
I spin myself into a mystic dream
I see a world with colors bright
With hope and love and endless joy
With passion, without fear

The choices all around me
I cannot think, I cannot feel
Beyond the comfort of my bed
I do not know where truth resides

A princess in my own abode
But slaved to hunger beyond these walls
I march along
In search of truth
In search of passion
In search of emancipation
An incomplete happiness
That fills my heart
But leaves my mind and soul
In thirst

And so alone at night
I drink myself to sleep
To quench my inner cravings
To ease my mind and free my soul
To rise above the social chatter
To become
What I am destined to be
A shooting star
And nothing less
Although I’m racing towards my end
I race towards it in endless glamour

Marmalade & Toes – Story of the young widow

Fuck this.
I haven’t showered
For so long

My soul drenches in its own sweat
I’m treading over the remains
My small white feet
So cold and wet
Are ploughing through the mud
I feel it ooze
Between my toes
A gooey spread of marmalade

Where the fuck am I?
Last I remember I was in his hands
He smiled and let go of the wheel
We drifted for some time
And then a bang

The children in the back
I heard them cry
They stopped after some time
For quite a while
They never cried again
I wonder why

What the fuck!
He never touched me
Like he did her
They used to lay together
For the day
I used to lay the day together
For him to stay

Let’s dance bitch
I cut the breaks
With a smile on my face
I let go of the wheel
I staged it all
And so we crashed
And with us
All out bitterness
Exploded into pieces
All our memories
Were undone

But I survived
With a clean slate
To start again
A new beginning
Its sweet!
But I cannot seem to wash away
This dark red marmalade

———————————————————————————————-

Thanks so much to all those who have subscribed! I really appreciate it!

Death – Slanted Reasoning of the Sick Man

We are all passing by
Dancing through this life
Skipping through the Milky Way
And yet when everything seems to make sense
We lose sense of it all

We age, we grow, we wither
And beyond the silky skies
The mysteries of existence
We cannot look
We cannot see

We try to peer across the corner
We catch our breaths
But yet again death catches us
Empty handed
It visits us in our homes
With no invitation

It enters our families
Makes friends with our friends
Parades through our lives
Uninvited

Claims us all
Claims everything
This whole entirety is up for grabs
Continuously claimed
Destroyed
And then
There’s room for more creation

The newborn is as much a murderer as my sickness
The seed sown deeply into the ground
Drinks from the blood of its predecessor
It could have not existed
Without a death

In search of meaning we say
We’re all connected
We switch our thoughts
We say it had to die
For life to be brought forth

But no,
There is no meaning in life
We know that
And for all we know as well
There may be even more meaning in death
So we are wrong
It is the other way
Its life that kills not death
And so, only in death can we be set free

Eternal Gray – last testament of the junkie

Monstrous tentacles ploughing through my veins

Reaching into my deep thoughts at night

Hunting me relentlessly and without stop.

As I peer through the window sill

I catch a glimpse of light and smile,

Its been dark for quite a while

But somehow I still have not forgotten

How color looks like

Even though I now perceive the world,

In shades of gray

I guess that gray is a perfect mix

Between two ends that do not often meet

Or at least for me they don’t.

In its banality I feel at ease

Or probably rather more accustomed to

Why look for color?

When you can paint your life in gray

Why even bother to improve

When you can always use the gray

Into my veins it clenches tight

Onto my very blood cells

There is no need to fight

Soon even the color within me will disappear

And I will become one

With eternal everlasting mediocrity

International Disorder – rambling of the deranged scholar

(To be rambled very quickly)
Regardless of the debate regarding
the effectiveness of international legalization,
one cannot deny
from a descriptive point of view
that the cultural values of the renaissance
and enlightenment eras in Europe
act as the building blocks
of our modern international liberal order.

To the extent in which
the international normative environment
is contingent on the sociocultural values
of a specific form of polity
(that of Europe to be precise),
an anomaly arises
when such an international model is used
to govern diverse polities
with different understandings of social values.

One could assume
that only when an international order
that better reflects the notion
of uneven and combined development
comes into existence,
then such an anomaly can be solved.

In this respect we may conclude
that the current liberal order is anachronistic
with the logic of social evolution
and of humanity as a whole.

Bedroom Bliss – sonnet of the man in love

Combined with smiles and laughter I release
My inner anger spreads into the air

The stench of fear is overcome by peace
The calmness of an empty dragon’s lair

A smile so innocent from her lips so pure
Unclothes the pieces of my inner gloom
The more she smiles the more I feel secure
Undressing me as spring bursts into bloom

She shakes as I exchange her gentle touch
We mate and I ascend into a haze
The fire burns as we lay whole and clutch
Our passion keeps the dying flame ablaze

Forever seems to linger far away
All I ask for is another day

Thorns – dilemma of the eternally troubled

The countless thorns we try to pluck
We count and pluck and throw away
Have made another bush beneath our feet
And now the thorns we once had overcome
Are sounding bells for our own sad defeat

When plucking thorns it is a must to think
Beyond the pleasure of the pain
of plucking our own plights

What of the thorns when they’re discharged?
A harmless little lifeless thing we think
But soon enough we come to learn
That as we march towards victory
We drown in our own reckless pride

For such a future prickle pickle
Remember to go against your instinct
Don’t pluck the living hell out of yourself
Instead just treat the wounds and wait until
Those thorny bastards fall off along your way

The Graveyard – wisdom of the sad and depressed

Pestilence in our imagery controls our sight
And everything we sought to have falls short
Of what our fingertips can reach for
With impaired vision and obstructed touch
We yell out loud to rip apart the void
That engulfs our entirety but alas
Our sounds bounce of the thickness of our cage
And we end up victims of our own decree
With bleeding ears, incapable eyes and severed hands
We rest on what we used to call our home
Turned into something of our grave
Appliances and rooms just objects in the yard
And compounding our ordeal we’re left with taste and smell
The taste of misery and smell of a decaying corpse