I am a broken set of characters.
A lentient lexicon.
I live for alliterations, yet alliterations do not live for me.
A penalty of words.
Like winning in a grand amphitheatre for a pyrrhic victory against yourself.
A dischordance of stanzas.
Such living on a porcelain spine bound by the fray of short circuits and instability is surely uncertain.
A sanguinary evisceration of thanatos.
When streams become rivers and tears become crimson.
An ashen autumn in an eschatological world.
Where does it take you?
Is this road made of cobblestones or gravel or clay or asphalt? Is it wetted by the tears of disgruntled, dreamless beings? Is it entrenched in the blood of hopeless desires and noosed benevolence?
Do others accompany you? Are these beings unconditional or fleeting? Are these beings fair and bright with unceremonial daggers under their cloak? Are they disheveled with blood on the corners of their smile and decorated with a scar under their eye? Are these beings here with or without cause? Are these beings real?
Are these paths decorated with flowers, or were the flowers paved over with a path? Does water tear the path into fractions, or did this path rape the natural aquaduct? Can you see the sky on the ground, littered with stratosphere and the milky silk asphixiating the light? Is there water at all?
Will there be obstacles? Will there be guides? Will there be a mighty morphing jester that changes shape to entertain you while you are hindered in your progress? Will you climb mounts or hills or valleys, or will the sheering wind prune your existence away?
Is there snow impeding your path? Will the blistering hot burn the light out of your eyes?
Is there even a path?
Transient pain in the right upper quadrant. Unremarkable impression.
A simultaneous astrophysical kinetics of velocity, displacement, acceleration and time. An incomputable relation.
A unexplainable abrasion on the left cheek with no remarkable social history. Unremarkable impression.
A mathematical simulation to determine the shortest distance travelled between an infinite number of destinations. Postman’s paradox. An incomputable relation.
Incoherent babbling of displaced words upon rest. An unusual and abrupt change to intelligible speech when addressed directly. Chronic lacrimal dryness. Unremarkable impression.
A combinatoric analysis of multiple series to elucidate the existence of multiple dimensions. Unusuable numbers. Divergent series. An incomputable relation.
A chronic twitching of the eyes. A phasing in and out of walking into stones in the sky and lava. Hysteria. No social history. Unremarkable impression.
An unremarkable impression is an incomputable relation. Relationship cannot be proven deductively. Evidence is lacking. Voices are too quiet. An incomputable relation.
Shed tears into a lifeless abyss of dimmed pupils and unquenched dreams.
Slender and silk to touch, you bear the grotesque fruits of despair. No matter how refined and quintessential you are in the broken city lights, you become adulterated by the soils of the dilapidated dreams that surround you.
You and I both are clueless why the dark night beseeched you. You grow to the rain and roughen to the listless that pass you by. You hold the knowledge within the school of Athens, but you are violated by the Trojan horse that sleeps quietly beneath your roots.
Ebony even in the brightest luminescence. You shield who seek shelter from the blistering sun, and listen involuntarily to the ailments of a maiden. Hardly one to complain, you gracefully sway to turbulence and rest complacently to the lifelessness around you.
You hold the secret to resilience with unmatched grace.
It is unfortunate that the broken lights shy away from your existence.
Indeed, this is the blog of Franky Liu. Voukah is simply a compilation of random thoughts and useless rambling as he goes through an interestingly mundane life. With that, he is quite emotional and many times annoying; sometimes he wonders if he is narcissistic as well. He also may cause upset stomach. He also enjoys speaking in third person.
Voukah, its design and its writing belong to Franky Liu, with the exception of quotations, stock images, or anything otherwise obvious. Yes, the damned design is mine.