" Tenderness is violent. How it is captured is not for anyone's eyes to see, because most of us prefer to enclose ourselves to books that will tell us how to see things. we forget the innate possibilities of human complexity when we try too hard to fit humanity into a bible, or a New Age vision, or some Guru in his saffron robe smelling of a mystical land. know that there is really nothing to begin with, and all difficulties are really just diversity. if you can accept me, things would've been easy. am i not afterall your yarth? your mother? your world?" - Yarth Dictation

"I'm walking through the desert
And I am not frightened although it's hot
I have all that I requested
And I do not want what I haven't got" - i do not want what i haven't got, Sinead O'Connor

it's always difficult to begin with an introduction of oneself, as one is too quick to forget how blind are we from ourselves. but taking a moment to look into the mirror, inhaling one breath beyond the pores, simply there exist something that is to be said about me. 

there are a few things i strongly believe in. that is concerning life itself. i won't tolerate positive thinking. the whole process is a brain-washing cult. know that and you're free to be yourself, not their slave for a utopia of the faithful and their guru. nor will i sit through the wisdom of many teachers who claim to have known the truth, they are just irritating poor little sods who needs a life. i prefer mystics who just shut up instead of elaborating (or trying to) on concepts that were meant to be felt rather than to be penned into best-sellers (failing miserably in context anyway). 

i would never have been so bashful towards them if they are not towards humanity. they cry for the world (as well as jeering at it), yet their tears are illusions, their wisdom - madness. if only they realise who we are rather than what they want out of us. religion ceases its meaning and takes in a new role. it is now STILL a poison, can't you see? you can hate me now.

primarily my poetic exercises is for the pleasure of exchanging the sequences of life into words that may archived past experiences, yet it does not stop there. poetry has so many possibilities, it ensorcels the world we live in. by poetic inferences, i work my way to the Qutub, the point of finality and all expression. it is not difficult to see why myth works for so many and how dastardly socratic thinking has corrupted all the good men on earth. only the poet understands the value of myth and poetic thinking, only the poet becomes the ultimate sacrifice. because through poetry, we build and we dream and create anew a place for our worship and existence when we pass over.

one of my inspiration comes from robert cochrane, a mystic and a witch. he once mentioned, "For many eons the human spirit had no abode, then finally by desire to survive [it] created the pathway into the Otherworlds. Nothing is got by doing nothing, and whatever we do now creates the world in which we exist tomorrow. The same applies to death: what we have created in thought, we create in that other reality. We should remember that Desire was the first of all created things."

this is the least i can say about myself. or at least when concerning poetry, my mind works at this level, roughly. though please, do not judge and start to pigeon-hole me. there are other pursuits in life other than poetry, and words are one of the few manifestations. they are the outlets of my anger, my love, my frustration, my emotions and my nothingness. 

i do not speak of myself as one, for i am continuous.

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