Inception poem, by Kiks Cu #IfIWasAMovieCharacter

I issued a challenge to create a piece of art from the perspective of a film character. Below is a poem by Kiks Cu in response to that challenge.

Denial is the biggest shame in my own arsenal,
The underdome over my personal dome can evaporate my mouth overdose in foam.
Pleasure and price a connecting link,
You can ink yourself to remininse, blueprint to press a future of success in one rinse.
Blink before you commit.
Spilt second actions can lead,
To a Bed missing one of its leg.
What goes up must fall straight down in hell crying to beg.
bleed like a freefall in a parachute falling with only a connecting peg.
Higher closure,
Greater enclosure,
Sicken disclosure.
Controlled me like a white maid,
Caring only about getting paid,
Raid my house,
Parade like rats but whos the mouse,
So chase when you can,
Or even better spit out what you cant pronounce.

Take the journey,
Step in but step out,
How determined are you to deter, use what you’ve been taught,
Or still living in a hole pitched from blur ,
The job we do is to practice the drill,
Pain aint no trill,
Honesty and training is the medal of honor in skill.
imperfect the perfection when my signal bar couldnt find its reception.
but do not lose the disk of life that isnt a decline,
straight line that is flowing the incline.
Digging deeper isnt a pot of gold,
So wake up and find a true mine.
Look foward and break apart,
Aint faken,
Eyes foward,
What doesnt kill you,
Only makes happiness even longer,
Tattoo start from one and become twos.
Its never like how it use to.

Hate of the pain,
the strain on the brain,
a migrane from fire lit the inside with methane and inhumane.
Lonely correct.
An african kid, having no place to run,
Getting pinned from a stun gun.
Taser to the chest.
Sitting in a hostel,
Where it felt hostile,
Memories back then,
Memories cant change history,
Rewrite scripture which is no mystery.
Stab in the back,
Hacky sack,
Lose when it hits the floor,
Straight to my core.
More and more you try to endore the endorsement.
But compensation is a guilty enforcement.
It is what it is,
Theres to many why,
why is? what for,
to make the why is simply you n yourself cant rely.

I get too much fan mail, I can’t reply to them all

I find it interesting when celebrities and the like say things along the lines of “I can’t respond to all my fan-mail”. I wonder if this is more a question of a lack of desire to respond than an actual inability. During his active years, and up until his death in 1965, Stanley Laurel made every effort to answer all his received fan-mail, he even had his address and phone number listed publicly so that his fans could call or visit him.

Now of course this was a different time, before Facebook, Twitter, and even email that made the act of sending a correspondence to someone much easier, and when something becomes easier, more people do it. That being said, if it is easier to send, then doesn’t that make it also easier to reply? And with options such as ‘Favourite’, ‘Retweet’, ‘Like’, and ‘Share’ can it really be considered too much work to make some kind of an acknowledgement?

Well, what do I know, I’m just a 10,000 year old time travelling unicorn trapped in human form.

35 – Poem

BH the Uncivilised | Copyright (c) 2014

Letting my mind wander as I travel through this district
As I sit on this bus in London passing a cinema theatre I am reminded of a city of violence
At night in London one cannot tell how dirty the river is
Speaking of which, why do I see beauty where no one else does?
My 35th year on earth is now completed I am entering into the twilight of my youth
They say the person you are at 40 is the person you will be for the rest of your life
I am inclined to believe this is true
I have observed that I have become more stubborn as I have gotten older
But I do not concede that stubbornness is always detrimental
However one must be careful that one does not become arrogant and non conducive
This would defeat the purpose of learning
Education can be its own burden
I’ve often felt unprepared by my academics
Surely life was supposed to be easier than this?
It may have taken me a long time but I now believe I can move past, past regrets
Holding on to anger and lament is like holding on to anger and lament, metaphors are for pretty things
Like beautiful women, be they poets or preachers, whores or harlots
London nights is home for all of them
And home to the perverts who prey upon the innocent
We blame the victims in this nation
5000 years from now, after the apocalypse
I wonder what future archaeologists’ would ascertain from the history books
How primitive are ways would look as we mock the ways of our ancestors
Civilisation is a false concept
I see no love here
Or maybe that’s just me
I see this city as a reflection of myself,
There is a beauty there
But, only a few will ever see it

Below photo, by Dilshad Corleone