Antxnia

Again

I want to explore the human condition

Our flaws, our habits and the inane repetition

The attempt to find meaning in what we do

Thinking you’re better, one of the few

Tight smiles and bonus points for tight arses

Half full and half empty glasses

Couldn’t I just exist with the people I love?

No worries, no drama and no one above?

I want to explore but it’s disappointing and dirty

Career paths, bonds and having it all by thirty

So many attempts to do the same thing differently 

(“I’m worth it, I swear!”) Innovation, the greatest mystery

Each day explores the human condition

For I am a human and this is my condition. 

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Antxnia

Lead

We were always just humans,

though I thought us above such

animalistic realities.

 

We got lost and

had been – for the longest time –

I thought you were taking me

past the bright lights

and civilised city.

 

We waded into the depths

of the greatest emotions,

then you wanted me to let go

and let you drown.

 

We separated as

your grip loosened,

but I was the one with lead tied around my leg.

 

We were separated

by raging waves,

with blood so hot it made

every wor(l)d burn.

 

We panicked and

as I searched for your figure,

a fear so feral that nothing could get close,

stole you from me.

 

We surfaced, one after the other,

two worlds shaken after the collision.

 

Our orbits shifting and feeble attempts to float against the gravity, failing.

 

Our perceptions and affections altered, time so precious and too long.

 

Our days on one planet were centuries on others.

 

Our knowledge became our ruin, as rewarding as the lies that become truths.

 

Our vision blurred, but I swore you were blinder than me.

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Meursault

Storm.

The wild winds sharp fingers claw at the dully tiled roofs. A thatch house would be preferable, as there would be no piercing sounds. The only reminder of current storm would be the physical wound of the next day – damp bald patches exposing the covering below – bedraggled thatch on the grass. Unfortunately, the suburban setting does not dictate such rural niceties – roof tile, cinderblock, clay brick, asphalt and concrete are the suffocating norm.

The questions asked about the immediate consequences of this storm, due to the surrounding demographic atmosphere, are resultantly rather unwholesome – Will the ‘power’ go out? Will the ‘transmission’ be disrupted? Will the ‘connection’ drop? Will I have ‘service’? Questions asked as if ‘connection’ and ‘service’ where some wondrous wanderers who have unceasingly trudged the earth since time immemorial – another mindless addition to the aggregate of ‘this’ inauthentic life.

Another reason to stubbornly read on…

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Meursault

Observations II

A new year and already the days draw out, although in sum they’re still usually dull. Three runners pass, each equidistant from the other. Each one trying to lap up the mud and water raised in their competitors’ footfalls like thirst-crazed dogs. I play the role of the indifferent forth in this brief tirade, of nylon garments, polyurethane soles, and perspiration. They tail off into the distance, I return to my walk. My eyes meet three angelic figures sitting on the water of the estuary to the west. Swans sheaved in white, adorned with gilded beaks through which they sift the silt, tempting death from hazardous pollutants or hidden plastics at every gulp. Gulls fly above in the grey light mocking all that they see. Anxiety washes over me despite our difference in kind. Who am I? Hesitantly, I walk on.

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