Voukah [Voo-kah]; home

spoon-fed

Let them spoon-feed you all that nutritious goodness. ‘momma’s going to pamper you a good few years before you’re set off, yet again, with your free figures dangling like a fucking broken branch.

Run free, dear children. Run free. You’ll find yourself running the cycles over and over again, like your dirty clothes in the electronic washer. Who knows if it’ll bring you back to the old washboards and the maiden that dirties her hands with hard soap and dirty water.

And you’ll screw it all up. And you’ll screw for nights on end.

Animal.

Wake up.

It’s a world. Does it have blue skies? Maybe grey. Or perhaps we’re living in at the bottom of the sea, looking up.

But can we take the shadows that may one day cast themselves upon us?

Don’t feel so confident. You can’t even take it when you feel like your money is being threatened. You can take the shadows if you are apathetic when your wife or husband is fucking someone other than you on a constant basis.

You can’t, you won’t, but a lot of times you want to deny it. You’re human, but you’re sleeping.

Wake up.

Life is difficult.
Life hates you.
Life hates me.
Life really doesn’t care what happens. If it wants to make you feel miserable,

it will.

For every gain that you achieve another person is at loss. Everything you lose is a gain for someone else.

It’s not always a bad thing, you selfish bastard.

We don’t like to cast shadows all the time, but we will. The heavens give rise to shadows with the light it provides. Theologically speaking.

We lust for light. We lust for sex. We lust for attention. We lust.

Why must we always lust? Why are we so filled with it?

We are the shadows we cast.

Disgusting.

my invitation

drowsy contemplation
do i let you in
this is my invitation
but how do I begin?

ríos

throw me in the river,
sever my brittle heart.

it’ll never be the same
as long as they’re apart.

i smell the lanolin
that the old woman burned.

she speaks nothing,
but her husband she has yearned.

but, through it all,
i speak of nothing true.

for there is nothing in the sky –
nothing waiting in the blue.

how long must we wait
for this never-ending cycle?

there is nothing so uncouth –
there is nothing in the title.

see me in the mirror –
see it with my eyes.

i can see the superficial –
i watch it with despise.

these are lingering tears uncried
for these tears are undefined.

you shall see the evanescence
when you can see no other mind.

Siet

Here I am, listening to a Thievery Corporation, a Washington downtempo movement, remix of Satyam Shivam Sundaram, eating a plate of shu mai and har gow and Canadian-maple glazed breakfast sausages, using a pair of chopsticks that look like those at Soeul Soul yesterday, and drinking a can of Americanised Arizona green tea that sits near my packets of Tandoori naan that I long to flash in a stir-fry wok in canola oil.

What’s so beautiful about this picture? It’s colourful.

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