Voukah [Voo-kah]; home

Quiet storms and utmost stupidities.

Intricacies and impossibilities.

There’s no road. There’s no fork. There’s no way back.

There’s no way up and there’s no way down.

There’s no way forward.

There’s no way.

But you sit quietly contemplating what freedom feels like, yet you can’t comprehend what this means because you know you can be freer than birds.

There’s always possibilities, but nothing will ever feel possible if you attach your own shackles. Even you’d hold the key and feel like there’s nothing you can do.

Could it be because you’re scared? Could it be because you’re petrified of what could happen?

Is this just a centripetal thought that won’t shut up?

Would you really be happier on your own?

Something says yes, something says no.

I could be since I’m never actually by myself at any point in time.

Yet the loneliness is what eviscerates anything that lives within you.

I don’t have nothing, but I don’t have anything. I’m stuck in this feeling of evanescent effervescence. A void, of sorts.

Tiring at most, for most, but it wears you down for no reason. Nothing exists, yet you know that something is there.

You wait impatiently for nothing to happen. No way forward. Do not pass GO. But not quite a Yahtzee.

You’re a nobody, and you don’t want to be a somebody. So why the hell are you so unhappy? You don’t want fame or attention, yet you sometimes crave some prestige.

Or maybe what you really want is to be in a place you can feel proud of yourself and where no one else seems to matter.

All this talk of white picketed fences and having children is exhausting. I might want that eventually but it’s like I don’t even think of that as a remote possibility yet.

I don’t even know if I’m capable of loving anyone or anything. Or to be attracted to anything.

I’m just stuck in this fucking void and I don’t know where it’s going.

Being indecisive doesn’t help.

I don’t think any of this helps, really.

Waiting for someone to pick you up when you’re dangling on a nylon wire. Pathetic and sad in a way.

It’s not like these feelings ever went away – they were simply muted for a period of time. It make sure you wonder what it feels like under other circumstances, or how it feels to not be you.

Speaking of such impossibilities is nonsensical.

Speaking and unspeakable, escaping the sad feeling of being empty and unwanted is futile, despite what I try.

But I’ll keep smiling for the benefit of others, because I’ve become lost on my own.

It’s when I start finding the lack of benefit for others or finding less reason to help where things become a problem.

It’s impossible to be selflessly selfish, but I think I’ve mastered the arts of paradoxes.

Sad. Truly. And it won’t ever go away.

A Plebeian Scholar’s Plea

A gown is much too heavy
for the minuteness of existential significance,

But a hoodlum’s garb is much too light
to hold the surge of alacrity in defiance.

While not bound by the intricacies of houses
to live with integrity and benevolence,

There are layers of omnibus auras
that direct from mere ambivalence.

While not voiced as the journeyman
that is so desperately sought,

There is enough of the Renaissance
to join the battles that need to be fought.

While there are Oxfordian intellects
that cast shadows upon us in their light,

A humble flame flickers in a shorter wick
when called upon in an unfortunate blight.

Quietly, in hiding,
pondering beyond the plebeian life,

We await in light slumber
until we are called upon in moments of strife.

While our body, mind and soul
dissolve in effervescence,

The spirit of our work
shall keep us warded from evanescence.

So hear my plea, dear cognition,
for we live to serve the greater intellects,

What keeps us in existence
is the very thing that destroys our prospects.

 

Vanilla Tincture

Taken aback by pungent odour, it’s hard to regain your composure once you’ve found a beautiful discord. A cacophany of sorts, or a rude awakening. Or perhaps a sad state of affairs.

» Keep reading.