Most recent post

It is raining in Taipei

-
Image
  It is raining in Taipei  (A Jazz Ballad for a Warm Rainy Day) Left my umbrella folded, didn’t care Stepped into a street that shimmered everywhere Neon bleeding red and green Where the wet world makes a mirror of everything Some dressed in a ghost-white cape Life slips on by—no honk, no haste Just the rhythm on the awning And the smell of Taipei in the rain Oh, rain on the asphalt, warm and slow Where the city leans in soft and low No place to go, nowhere to be Just the rain, just the rain, just the rain and me And when I dry off and turn the key I won’t remember what I saw, you see I’ll remember how I slowed enough to feel That surrender is the only thing that’s real Shhh… just the rain… Mmm, just the rain. Yeah. Be Creative and Innovative with Knowledge John Bennett - AKA JJFBbennett , is an independent artist. You can view and subscribe to my work via  Blogger , YouTube , Flicker , Facebook , Instagram and Deviant Art .  Subscribe to JJFBbennett's private ...
Post a Comment

Celeste Goya's Dog Paradox

-


Celeste Goya's Dog Paradox
Reawakened as your own victim
From your once grandeur
Of yesterday's colonial might
Enter the paranoia
The loss of identity
Kill to be killed
Rape to be raped
Pilfer to be pilfered

The illusion of territory gained
False promises of maintaining identity
Kill the rabid dog
The dog is you
Protect what you wanted to destroy

To bring this world to an end
To return to your righteousness
Paid through ruthless means
The real cost is your victory





Popular posts from this blog

The Toxic Weight of Waiting

-
Image
  The Toxic Weight of Waiting The atmosphere has thickened. What was once a room defined by walls and chairs has dissolved into a toxic haze, an environmental manifestation of a mind under siege.  She no longer sits; she kneels, anchored to the floor by an invisible gravity. Above her, the "toxic air" takes shape as a looming, jagged shadow infused with high-velocity greens and burning volcanic reds. It feels less like smoke and more like a predator, a towering silhouette of anxiety that has finally outgrown the space. The colours vibrate with a sickly, chemical heat, turning the very oxygen into something thick and sharp. In this room, the silence has become deafeningly loud. The fractured light from the previous moment has bled together, creating a suffocating shroud that blurs the line between the physical world and an internal fever dream. The momentum hasn't just stalled; it has been swallowed. She has diminished, huddled in the eye of this psychic storm, a solitary ...
Read more

The Ethereal Ascent

-
Image
  The Ethereal Ascent The air in the room is violently still, creating a heavy pressure. She has long stopped looking at the clock, realising that time here is not a sequence but a weight. The waiting room has fractured; the mundane reality of plastic chairs and linoleum flooring splinters into a jagged, stained-glass fever dream. High-pitched frequencies of burning red and sickly blues vibrate as if hardened walls, echoing the frantic noise of a mind that has run out of distractions. Every sharp edge of colour feels like a spiritual siege, a sensory reminder that her momentum has been forcibly halted. There is no use in pacing. There is no use in resisting the authoritative hand of the "in-between." To survive this stall, she must stop fighting the current and become part of the stagnant water. She looks out, as if just awakened, and does the only thing left to recollect. She breathes. She waits. She waits for the shards to align once more. Be Creative and Innovative wit...
Read more

Waiting for Azrael

-
Image
  Waiting for Azrael The air in the room doesn't move; it simply presses She has long since stopped looking at the clock, realising that time here isn't a sequence, but a weight. The waiting room has fractured, the mundane reality of plastic chairs and linoleum tiling splintering into a jagged, stained-glass fever dream . High-pitched frequencies of burning red and sickly yellow vibrate against the walls, echoing the frantic noise of a mind that has run out of distractions. She pulls her legs inward and forms a tight knot, dressed in indigo and bruised purple. She tries to find a purpose in her world that refuses to stand still. Every sharp edge of colour feels like a spiritual siege , a sensory reminder that her momentum has been forcibly halted. There is no use in pacing. There is no use in resisting the authoritative hand of the "in-between." To survive this stall, she must stop fighting the current and become part of the stagnant water. She buries her face, lets t...
Read more