You are my theme for a dream

And thus I have sinned. I fail to keep the distance. You are becoming less and less abstract with each passing hour. You, my beacon of fantasy, you the a priori unreachable dream. With trembling heart I am to witness illusion fuse with fact, the sanity vows for action while the feeling is left paralyzed. Patch by patch, the fairy fleshes, filling the perception gaps and correcting the wrong guesses.

Should I watch the muse succumb to the mortal coil, move on and paint another face on the banner of mine? May it be nobler in the mind if I let the word lose and let the vibrant feeling violently crush against subjectively unfortunate reality? Being a man is all about taking the risks and the responsibility, but how is it even remotely wise to charge headlong into the realm of certain impossibility where all slightest chances have long withered? Yet I dare. Yet I do dare to dream at night. I dream and sincerely I can't help it. Yes, I have sinned.

I will not allow myself backstabbing what little relationship we may still have for no reason. I'm mad, but I ain't no fool. Given a spare world, I just would love to have been in love with you, no matter what future holds for us.

You, the reference

God created an universe of quanta, physics says. It is said that the reason dominates the consequence in value, and the lower the level organisation is, the close it is to the final truth. In a perfect world we would dig this mine until we eventually obtain that one fundamental level of Creation and be happy proclaiming science being a complete knowledge. Yet, the more we learn, the more likely this search seems to be infinite in the purest meaning of the word. There just may happen not to be any principal base point and the onion of the matter structure nesting may propagate in both directions just indefinitely. In all this complexity I am frequently lost. Head carried away by the wild kaleidoscope of deep philosophy and just false thoughts, I helplessly slip down on my knees struggling to regain the assurance of being a human. Give me a hand and let me declare you the ultimate reference.

You can trace all your thoughts and actions back to biological origin. By sequential application of natural science of various level you can decompose but everything within your mind into a long chain of causal relations, unless you get unluckily trapped into the quantum paradoxes. Conscience, character, feeling — all forged in neural plexi as a complex reaction on stimuli. Every a your deed can probably be predicted, yet in all this behavioural noise I can sketch out your soul, an essence of yours, if you would, whether it exists as a separate entity or not. For if I am how can you not be per se? Cogito ergo sum and therefore you are as well by the same logic. Finally, I just want to lift all the view angle resolution away. I just want you to be my reference point.

All I ask you is to be. To be real. To be my world.

Tame the Hummingbird

Well met, newcomer. You came here in the quest of a hummingbird? A perfect choice, an avian tailored of true grace, a little joyful shard of life. But you are, hold on, a human, you claim? Why yes, you big, you prudent, your blue frost of reason against the red warm heat of feeling the bird possesses? Look, lad, your taming may not go as easy as you might have thought.

One thing, apprentice, to keep in mind. To bird, you're alien. Despite the fact you both breathe the very same air and in chests of both does a heart beat — there is a stunning abyss of differences in how you are fit in the world. Her needs neither equal yours nor are ones you may have easily predicted with bare logic. The very sight and thought mechanic varies between you two to such a great extent, that would embarass any the pinnacle of your imagination. Albeit, none is better and I urge you to abandon your game unless you take her as your peer. You came after her, all with your intellect and so-called sentience, still all that weaponry makes you no superior. Since you came after a hummingbird, you are in need in traits of her own. Learn to respect and learn the ways of her, lest simply to employ. Taming is much unlike just binding to your will. When you tame a bird, at the same time you do tame and bend your own self.

Be prepared, apprentice. No matter how much keen or tender you are, you shall fail. If you think you know what care and support are, I verily tell you — be ready to learn it anew. At first, all you'll bring will be unease and irritation, you are intruder, you are foreign, don't you forget that for a fraction of second. Your failures are going to be so numerous that you shall daily question your intentions, you will want to quit the deed for good. In fact, there must be a rock strong reason for the hummingbird to risk her freedom, to reach your hand instead of natural mate. And even in case there is, expect a heap of time to expire before a wall of tension between you two begins to shatter. Stack up patience and confidence is your desire, you shall be bitten, avoided, ignored, scared of. High chances are, you chose a wrong bird: the one that shall always prefer her wilds to your enlightenment. If so, forget, set free and find another. Make sure you never force the bonding, unless, of course, a stuffed hummingbird is your only goal.

And ultimately, should you succeed, a final trial lies before you. All ready, one last step is left, but don't you rush. The very bonding is a point of no return. Afterwards, there shall be no more of you per se, but the dyad only. Hence brace yourself to lose some of yourself before you do attempt to tame a hummingbird.

On Eyesight

It's a late night already as the light of your lamp pierces the darkness of the attic. Here I am, cowering in a corner, the easel left alone. You would approach me and hug, you sleepy and warm, with a cat resting on your shoulder. I am no weakling as a matter of fact, I have endured the incredible odds not even leaving a scratch on my resistant skin. Still, your loving touch is a cruical piece of my wellbeing's puzzle. It is what ignites me and grants power multiplied by infinity. And at the moment, I am in time of need, trembling with unrest, however still strong as a rock. I sense your sympathy as you glance into my eyes, all tired, red with blood and radiant with hysteria and craze. You pity me, but…

Your eyes are perfect. A pinnacle of sight development, they let no fine detail escape your attention. You see the world as it is supposed to be and no blur or delusion stirs your perception. Yet in all their splendor, they do lack. They trap you, binding the view to a narrow abstraction level, a grand mirage and only the tiny and subjective projection of the universe that's more commonly knowns as the real world. My optic, though not a bad one, is not even a close match to yours, however, exploiting its flaws allows me to break free of the reality prison. Impression, fantasy, dreams and hallucinations, I let them in and in a sense, I see them as realistically that sometimes I reach my hand to touch.

Alas, I cannot imbue you with the ways of my perception. You are told to be beautiful and you acknowledge this when looking in a mirror, matching your reflected image against the notion of good looks. What I mean by your beaty is far more deep than physical appearance. A symphony and a storm of colours, melodies and shapes mixed against the perception forms mankind have not invented words for, that's how I see you. What I am able to express is yet a particle of whole, but still it transcedes the photography by a great margin. I adapt my inner self to your rules and sight, essentialy bridging together the real and the spiritual. In my words, in my music, in my drawings you sense a surrealistic dream, a wounded mind's product, a glamorous nonsense. But in fact, I draw you in all your magnificence, and with time you shall realize that. That is the exactly revernce you seek in me and that is why we complement each other so nicely.