Pyramids are cool –

You can have people buried in them,

You can study them in math class,

And you have them in your throat,

Or so my anatomy text book says.

People even make movies

And write rock albums about their mysteries.

Eighty years ago

One smart fellow Maslow

Presented his own pyramid:

It’s the system of human needs:

It goes up from most basic

Such as shelter and food and safety,

Down through love and connection,

To self-actualization through creativity

And ways dealing with the world’s crap.

All of these, especially latter ones,

Are something that I’d define

As happiness.

Get that?

Happiness is not an empty sound.

Human is a need.

But what is it to you or me?

Happiness is not a load of shiny things

Or a boat of everything I ever dreamed of.

I mean, that would be cool too,

But would my having everything

Make me happy?

Small things do, though.

Like, her being near

And me finishing a novel,

Clean water and silence

Make me the happiest.

Connection is a big one too:

I can have secure Internet but no connection.

And what’s the point of that?

Maybe this is how I learn

Not to lose my cool, like I do often in those cases.

We can give ourselves a chance

To be content and healthy

Without putting big words on it.

Our bodies and minds systems require that.

Let it be the happiness that lasts,

Not euphoria that slides away

Like a shower curtain,

Eventually exposing all the crap

That never went away and wasn’t fixed up.

the image was copied from thank you

conversations with unnamed pain

Something’s not right. Who are you?

Oh crap, that’s not good.

Who’s put you here?

My fault? No way. Maybe I’ve inherited it. Oh… Are you sure about that? Oh…

Well, is that something I ate?

Is that something I didn’t eat enough of?

Maybe you just arrived after lunch, cause I woke up in the morning and I don’t remember you being there…

Are you sure it was me?

Did I watch too much TV?

What do you mean you’ve been here for a while? And you only tell me now?

What is that supposed to mean, “don’t be silly”? I had no idea drinking that would give me this!

Oh… Yes, they did. They told me. But I thought they all did this. So, I did too. And now… What happens now?

When are you going away?

What do you mean you are not?!

I need to do what??

Well, excuse me!

You don’t need to be such a condescending smartass.

What do you mean I invited you? What, you are like a vampire?

What do you mean by “you are my friend”?

No, no, inflammation may be my friend, it shows me something’s not right, like a little guerilla warfare, but you are just frigging carpet bombing!

What do you mean, you havent even started with me yet?

Are you sure you are my friend?

Can… can we be real friends?

Can you hurt me less?

So, what do I call you?

… what do I feed you?

the image was copied from and put on ice by me. thank you


some of us are so smart

about how to do recovery.

until we re not.

we are rejoiced to be

in a safe environment

and we talk non-stop

about positive attitude,

and respect to self,

and advise others on safety tips.

yet all of that wisdom

seems to vanish

when we are out there

in the real world

that we have to face

sober and clean.

suddenly, we’re horrified –

we forget the lessons

and any sense.

we fall hard on our face,

in the end wondering,

what the hell has happened.

the real horror of life that I respond to

is not of demons and ghouls,

but of people, what makes them tick,

and things they do as the result.

we are all sick, it seems,

so let’s stop pretending we know everything

as well, let’s stop walking into the wrong rooms

and start taking the right meds on time.

the image was copied from thank you and thankyou Shining, movie and book, for my wonderful nightmares

Imperfect Beings

One day when it’s all gloom…

I see you crawl,

Although you know how to walk.

You know when not to talk,

Yet you yap constantly.

You’ve got education

And yet somehow you’re as dumb as shit.

Don’t despair – we’re all like that,

Just at different degrees.

We’re imperfect beings.

In most dominant religion’s mythology

We were born to fail.

So the fact we’ve built

Massive glass castles

And can safely reside in them

Is a large chip for our shoulders

Which our self-esteem can rest on.

Although we’re alone 

And that’s not so good.

We learn very slowly,

We kill one another consistently

Without respect or care.

We lie to ourselves and others

And we disconnect 

From most things that make us healthy.

“We” make me sick.

One day when it is all gloomy

I wonder

What the hell am I still doing here,

What am I waiting for

When I know how it will end:

Humans will either create another pandemic,

Or drop a bomb,

Or less disastrously, old age and illnesses

Will crawl up on me,

To which I hope to be a dispassionate witness.

Another day, when it’s all sun

I see you crawl, lying to yourself,

It is a lie, for it is all the same disaster.

Sarcolemma Hugs

At the end of the rat race worship

Stage of all, to each their own

Some water to sweat,

Some tears to wine,

No questions asked, 

I no longer wonder why.

Mind and body at still, at last

Muscles come to rest

Supported on all fronts and backs

As I want to be.

Silence is a myth,

But I can settle for less

In a room where no visitation granted

My space, my air,

Near-uninterrupted sleep,

Relief of emptiness equal to freedom from things.

And yet time comes

When after-hours solitude

Becomes too much

Then – I remind myself 

That if no one cares to wonder of my existence

Be it a phone call, or a simple “hi” text,

My body, through my muscles, hugs itself

On millions of levels

From skin to sarcolemma,

Tight with purpose,

Ever at work, 

(whether I’m at or not)

Silent in vibration of life.

In that silent hug enterprise

I smile to the air in the dark.


the image was copied from Wikipedia and butchered by me. thankyou.

Don’t Listen to Noise

They can grind you down

And if you let them,

They will.

All the information,

Supposedly important,

Can be harmful

When you are exposed to it

All the time.

People chatter, cars hiss and honk,

Laundry machines and air fans –

All is noise,

Even bright light,

Most of it may not be seen as invasive

But it is and it brings down

Your immunity to crap

And things you don’t need.

Just like negative comments

Of the people online that you don’t know

Just like people you do know

With their verbal diarrhea and drama.

Don’t listen to the noise.

Don’t give in to the belief

That information is power.

Like all power it can be abused

And it is.

Believe that you have antidote.

Noise is only an illusion of life.

the image was copied from and lightfaded by me. thankyou.

Portals of Warm Memories

Was it real that just came over me?

It felt like a door has opened 

Next to me in the open field

And the wave of energy that came through

Was so familiar,

Breathing of old things

I used to love and hold dear,

Of things you all said and laughed about

Beams of sun on the birthday morning

Colors of her dress and his tie

Of trees I’d sit under

Gently moved by winds

And of promises of things we hoped for together

And ones we never spoke of out loud.

It all breathed on me all of a sudden,

And although it lasted no more than 

Literally, a mere moment,

It has filled me with joy 

For good times I’ve had

And the companies I’ve shared them with.

I wish these portals of happy moments 

Would open more often along our paths,

Emanating memories of joy.

These space pockets of pleasant fire

Would cool us 

For a calm smile on a hot day,

Like me today.

They’d also warm us 

On the days we need it most.

the binding of Ingwaz and Wunjo is by me. color patters by J3.

Peter the Pumpkin Eater

I could lie, saying that I didn’t write for a while because what I wanted to write about was too close to the heart, but that is not true. I had plenty of other things to write about, but didn’t do that either. truth is, after my brother’s passing a year and a half ago, it felt like the creative writing rug was pulled from under my feet somehow. To cope with what has happened, I began playing and recording music, and the need to contribute doing that still persists, so I keep it satisfied. I also reflected on my brothers life, writing on what I remembered and how much he meant to me, but all other writing… something has happened there. I wrote very few blog posts and worked even less on the main story I had going. In mid February my best friend Pete died, and within days I told myself I would need to write about that, just like i did with my brother’s passing, and yet I couldn’t make myself take a single step toward that. maybe it was grief itself, preventing me from taking steps to address itself. whatever the reason, it is only now that i start going with it.

I met Peter Christensen in late 2005 and i was his friend for 17 years and i miss him like crazy every day. First couple times we’ve met he didn’t make a good impression on me, but that changed quickly. Pete was a great and knowledgeable and friendly guy, but he struggled with lots of things in his life, and he was often negative about people around him, strangers or not. He never expressed anything like that toward me, but he had resentments toward a lot. I was happy he joined AA, like me, because i could see clearly how he was shedding his negative attitudes toward people and was trying to improve his outlook on life. He became so dedicated to sobriety and recovery that I envied his energy a bit. 

Pete knew places to get movies from. Movies were a passion we shared. We’d borrow them from stores, from library, we’d go see common friends to watch movies, Paul and Bernie. Funny enough, we never watched a movie together in a theater. Pete and I were both Helloween band fans, and they use pumpkins in their artwork. After we watched Pumpkin Head, i started calling Pete Pumpkin Eater from time to time, but never to his face.

I helped Pete move at least two times, and helped him clean and declutter on of those places before it was livable in. I’ve lost count of concert we’ve been to together. Maiden, Ozzy, Misfits, Watain, Judas Priest, The Sword, Slayer, Warmarch, Behemoth, and much more. I’d usually stand at one spot, but Pete would move around the floor, checking out better sound. Then we’d miraculously meet among the massive crowd and chat about it.

I think first time i went to an AA meeting with Pete was on a New Years eve and it was a birthday meeting. He was in quite positive spirits after that and we went out for pizza around Whyte Ave and went to my place and watched AC/DC home video for hours and through fire works. It was way before he joined AA, but he was coming to meetings at Alano Club around that time, i think. Around the time we became friends i was still at school and worked in college kitchen all week. Peter would come over Sunday morning and we’d play guitars through the massive Marshall amp he stored at my place, and then we’d split and I’d go to work. Pete and I drove around to look for my new black leather jacket and on the way I found a Venom Live in London DVD and we’d sit at my place, wearing our leathers and watching it and drinking root beers.

Pete was insanely difficult to get a hold of, half the time. Before I owned a cell phone and could send text messages, I phoned him on the landline and leave messages just to say “hi” and he wouldn’t return my call for a couple of weeks. Then out of nowhere he’d show up, when I near lost hope to hear back from him. It didn’t change a lot through the years, but somehow he was there when I phoned when I really needed him there. We texted often when he was back to reality, or at least my reality. His was quite different, I knew.

Pete died six years sober from heart failure. What the hell…

It gets insane to think a person so close to you and for so long can never be around anymore, and you could not get a hold of them. Pete, I miss your presence and your voice and the amazing friend you’ve always been. One day I’ll be around out there. You better answer your astral phone then.

Love and horns

thank you to the good people who took last two pictures, whoever you are, i do not recall

trap door

I was illuminated the other day

with a thought I’ve overheard

that every bottom has a trap door.

you know how we’re told

that eventually we hit rock bottom

and we’re made by life to stop

our self-will life-eviscerating journey?

That’s where we wake up

and turn our life around

for the benefit of self and others

and keep saying, “yeah i hit it

there is nowhere farther to fall.

I’m done now. I’m really done.”

well, here is a disturbing thought for you:

if we are resting stagnantly,

there could and most likely is

a trap door in each bottom floor,

so there is no “true bottom,”

we can go beyond our worst nightmare

created by our ego and blindness.

there are many more ways to fall

annihilating peace and respect,

self-esteem and stability

and all else that is positive and sane.

remember that and watch your step.

there are black ice spots on the road,

and the whirling doors swing faster than expected,

but the trap doors in the bottom floors

are opened by our own hands.

the image was copied from and eviscerated by me. thankyou.

Mourning the Dream


Your comforting smile

So much of you and I


That I recall.

Want, satisfied.

It’s sweet meeting you again

Known and shared bliss

All fears are extinguished

All sorrows walked through

And now they have ended,

Resurrection of a good life

Colors dance, promises granted…

… I awake –

All the goodness a dream

My essence mourns it

My mind resists it,

Before I realize, yet again, it’s futile

For no power in the universe

Can bring the dream back

Back to reality I knew in my slumber,

But another dream.


[image copied from thankyou]