The Curious Adventures of Gordan's Thoughts

Personal true story (5-minute read)

“Oh my god, did you read about the winner-chill on the innernet?” one of the girls shrieked. “It’s like the biggest one of the error. Apparently the chill is even hitting eye-rack this year!”

Winner-chill? Innernet? I felt like they were speaking another language.

What was a winner-chill? Honestly, I thought it was when someone wins a victory and then gets to chill afterwards.

And innernet, as if there was an unconscious net on the inside of us, catching our thoughts and dreams.

Biggest of the error…eye-rack…alright, they’d lost me there. Lost as I felt, I kept listening to the conversation, hoping to pick up more clues as to what they were on about.

After about ten minutes of back and forth, I finally understood they were speaking about the cold spell that they’d read about online. It was one of the coldest of the century; even some generally hot countries in the Middle East were having an unusual temperature shock!

Winner-chill… winter chill. Right.

Innernet… internet. Oh goodness, I had a lot to learn.

Error was apparently “era”, and an eye-rack was not, in fact, a rack where people placed their eyes. It was a country, Iraq.

I felt so dumb.

For me, the English I’d learned was either through reading or watching legitimate news channels. You know, those channels where people sound “pretentious” just because they communicate to be understood. They don’t speak just for the sake of expression, rather their words have meaning.

In this situation, the language my schoolmates spoke was known as “common tongue”, a form of syntax and pronunciation that met the bare minimum requirement for English verbal communication.

At the time, I had not yet been educated in the use of this language, having come from a background where the English I’d learned at school was a watered-down version taught by teachers who’d studied it as a second (or even third) language.

At home, I came from a family of high-achieving academics who refused to “dumb-down” their vocabulary. I had no choice but to raise my standards lest I be sorely misunderstood by those in my physical vicinity.

At that age, my written expression had far outpaced my verbal ability to articulate. I would write about advanced phenomena that my conscious mind didn’t even comprehend, yet my mouth could not accurately convey what I knew I wanted to say.

Finally, by the age of twenty-five, a linguistically-gifted friend observed an interesting occurrence within my syntax: all my life, I had been speaking “translated English”. Every word I wrote mirrored the language used in textbooks translated from European languages, and those I spoke actually made more sense when reworded in another language.

It had taken me twenty-five years to realize why I’d spent my life misunderstood and displaced…

Language is like art, or music. Just because the creator (or speaker) knows the meaning behind what is portrayed does not necessarily mean that those on the receiving end can digest it.

You might like your drawing, or your symphony, but to someone else, that drawing might be a scribble; that symphony may be a cacophony.

Why limit ourselves to expression when we can work towards communication? If we are misunderstood, chances are, we’re using a different language.

Dialogue goes both ways, not just one speaking a “foreign language” and expecting to be taken seriously.

Learn more languages (or improve your English), you’ll find better ways to be understood.

Peace,
MG

Every time I try to write a letter
I can find a million ways to better
The words I place right on the page
Paper and ink, a written stage
On which I placate my unrevealed self
As if this book was a display shelf
Bound, wrapped, unexposed, but true
The mysteries held in me, in you
For years, we tried to grow — apart
But I knew that you held my heart
For so long, we’d gone our separate ways
I thought you’d left me here to stay
Here we are, we meet again
Finally ready to make amends
The irony is that between us two
There’s no right or wrong — only truth
So, my dear, my wondrous creation
Are you here by obligation
Or did you come to finally concede
So that we may combine our realities…?

MG

Beyond the fire of heartbreak
Where anger cannot be slaked
When rage does not consume the pain
But ignites, burns, fuels the flame
Even Death’s kiss, cannot hold sway
The offending malefactor, a penance must pay
Pay, but not an earthly penalty
To trade one’s soul for a dying memory
The anguished cries will not be heard
From vengeance’s path, they’ll naught be deterred
Silenced screams resound in agony
Echoes of retribution, stifled over centuries
‘Tis not mere chance, but insatiable need
Comprehend consequences, their counsel do heed
Vibrations of timeless truths unforetold
Warnings of vengeance…
vengeance of the souls.

 

MG ~ KB

A king’s crumb
The pauper’s pearl
~MG~

Kings, they sit amongst each other, feasting on rum and wine. They eat and drink, mock laymen and slash servants for fun. The kings awake the next morning with bitter hangovers, only to rule the People whose integrity was entirely disregarded merely hours prior.

Councillors, they converse with each other, sampling brandy and whiskey. They sup and swallow, scoff at their kings and throw crumbs at kids. The Councillors rise at dawn with no hangover, ready to persuade the kings to follow their tactics while simultaneously riding on moral high-horses, ripping off the underprivileged with unrequited taxes.

School children, they play alongside each other, drinking ale and juice. They gargle and guzzle, taunt each other and start brawls for personal amusement. The children awaken in the morn for school, only to be reprimanded by teachers for inappropriate attire and caned for disrespect.

Paupers, they laugh amongst each other, sipping gin and stale beer. They nibble and gulp, make a mockery of themselves and smash bottles across each others’ heads for fun. The paupers awake the next day with fuzzy heads, knowing that their actions only justified the ridicule of their rulers.

The People, the entirety of the humans, all engaged in the same manner with those who shared in their sameness. They all rotated like gears in a clock, trying to make it from sunrise to sunset without disrupting the direction. They were all the same, for they all shared in the belief that they were different. From kings with their superiority complexes to paupers with their simplex inferiority: each to its own, all did the same.

Despite this reality, their egos allowed them all to believe they were unique.

But they weren’t.

They really, really weren’t.

 

MG

 

You enable me to feel
What I’ve been afraid of
Yet restrict me from doing
What I believe keeps me alive

I don’t merely mean the blood
Pumping through the veins
But the vigor that breathes life
That reflects both sun and rain

There are days I try my best
To be kind, to be gentle, and to be sweet
But then come the days I just need to rest
Breathe, release, the passing summer breeze

On those days the demons come out
To prance and hop — to play
You don’t like them, but they’re part of me
I’m a balance of both, but not a buffet

You don’t get to pick and choose which parts
Of me you may or may not like
I was up-front with you right from the start
That I won’t control what goes on inside

I’ve merely trained my external expression
How to get it out
Some say I’m passive, others sense aggression
All you have to do is stick around

You’ll see the full picture but not all at once
It’s just the way I like to present
An hour at a time, a day, week, month
Slowly, our unity begins to ascend

I am One, but I embody many
Other bodies, other souls, other inspirations
I merely reflect the company I keep
Living vicariously through each others’ creations

MG

“Try something new,” she had said, responding to the unspoken yearning I’d been having for adventure.

What’s new? I had wondered, constricted by the limitations of my imagination. And bank account. Try something new…

I’d been pondering for months what “new hobby” would satiate my thirst. For months, I dreamed of playing the violin, of resting it gently in my left hand, tips to the fingerboard, bow at the ready as if it were a wand, preparing to cast a spell of musical magic.

But there was something at the back of my head whispering, “one thing at a time my dear. One thing at a time.”

Eager beaver I was, always wanting to cultivate or learn something: another instrument, another language, another sport,  a new skill, expand my world and all that. The mere thought of balancing all of that amidst a life of work, academics, social life and relationships, would be overwhelming to most people.

I suppose I’m “different” that way. I was…determined.

And so I tried something new. Contrary to what I had thought, t’was not a passive hobby that was needed, but rather an expressive outlet. An aggressive and intense activity that had the adrenaline pumping with the risk level fairly low.

I tried something new.

I packed my bag and prepared for a day out at sea. It was sunny with very few clouds blotted around the sky. There was a gentle breeze, barely noticeable unless one was consciously looking out for it. The sun blazed down ever so softly, discreetly, but silently lethal if one was not careful.

It had been years since I had last been in these waters, a decade, perhaps. I strapped the board to my feet and tightened the laces, with enthusiasm and confidence. Though it had been years, and I was a little nervous, I was more excited than I had felt in a very long time.

Smiling at the board with silent anticipation, I jumped into the water and let my body adjust to the temperature. The water is your friend, I told myself, as the touch of the ocean against my skin shocked the city-life out of my system momentarily.

Try something new, she had said.

At that moment, I was more grateful than ever to even have this opportunity, to have this experience. To have this kind of freedom that very few truly understand, let alone appreciate. I was grateful for my friends, for their presence and company.

And I was grateful for the sea, for the fun I was about to have.

I gripped the handle and the motor roared into action. In seconds, I was up and gliding across the water. The waves washed over my feet as I tilted forward and backwards, controlling the direction of movement. The sun blared over my head and the wind blew at me as I soared across the waves.

It had been years, but I was finally back.

Finally… free.

 

 

MG

You care about all those in your world
The souls of innocent boys and girls
But what about those who actually make
And build your world in the first place?

I’ve wanted to write for days on end
But the rage inside me would not bend
So I fought hard, as best as I could
Until all that was left — splinters n’ wood.

You looked at me once, a time ago
When you loved me, with or without the ego
Returning from the battle after cleaning up your mess
I’d barely had a rest and you put me back to the test

What were you testing for, strength or pride?
For loyalty? For honesty? For following through with desire?
Though that war I’d fought for you
The victory, to me, was nothing new.

The unexpected part of all this was you
At least…the you I thought I knew.
Relentlessly, I’d destroyed your enemy
Only to have it pop out in front of me.

Taking the shape of you effortlessly
But forgetting that I once knew you intimately
This figure standing before me, anew
Confirmed…

 

 

The you I knew
was never you
.

 

 

MG

Muscles carve into my bones
Like hot, bubbling gelatin
Legs are filled with pebbles and stones
Dragging calcified iron bars within
Shoulders fall with under the weight of the world
Dangling arms, weak and insecure

I rest my head upon my pillow
Looking down at my world below
Books and boxes everywhere
Memoirs of moments shared
Between every you and every me
Every fragment of my reality

Inhale, exhale… breathe
Air goes from my lungs to my knees
To my fingers, my feet, my toes
Out again through the nose
Finally, a moment to just take a breath
Wake in the morning and start afresh

Soldier on through the day
As they always say
No rest for the weary
The thought is scary
But the concept is rarely
As bad as reality

When all’s said and done
Hard work is always fun
When it all comes together
The puzzle is clearer
The writing’s on the wall
The boxes, on the floor
The pictures’re on the door
We’ve all been here before

MG

 

November 14, 2016

-Wrote this after a long day of moving boxes, tried out a slightly less abstract, more narrative style.

I read your silence
As resistance–
And this somehow surprised me
Perhaps you sought out mystery
But there was no invitation nor call
I waited until the rising sun
To summon thee to me
But as my eyes opened, all I could see
Were clouds brewing in the distance.

I heard your silence
As resistance–
The refusal to persist
You tried your best to more than live
But your constraints limited your existence
There was something about your smile
That could make all weak at the knees
An insubordination, incomplete surrender
Left little choice for me.

I felt your silence
As resistance–
It echoed from the distance
Amidst the chains that tied you to me
I cut them to be free
But lost I was in the wilderness
Without your wise guidance
I came back for you, to walk with you
Only to be challenged by someone new.

I resisted your silence–
Profound defiance
Awaiting an alliance
The sun must set now
in the West
O’er the hills, trees, nests
Forever a-waiting, I for thee.
Until the day you return to me.

C.H.

 

 

This poem was taken from a novella I’ve been working on over the past couple of months. The full story can be found here

MG

aria cover

For The Love of Lady Aria by MG

For the full version of the collection, click the link at the bottom.

“Duties call, and Lady Aria must step up to the throne and rule the Kingdom of Zyne. Due to the obligations and responsibilities weighted down by her title, Lady Aria loves silently from the shadows as she performs her life as a masquerade for Zynites. These are the letters between Lady Aria and her secret love, known only to peasants as C.H.”


Read the whole story here:


https://www.wattpad.com/story/116968669-for-the-love-of-lady-aria

(Trying out a new style)

 

Buildings, buildings, all around
Clank, honk, traffic sounds.
Bamboo scaffolding, held up by zip-ties
Prolonging a moment in a realm where time flies.

Preoccupied by a gentle grip,
Glimmering glimpses of “sweet lil’ bits”.

Complexities, confusion, structured chaos surrounds
Simplicity, serenity, calms the storms around.

The moon shone brightly, resting atop a roof
–of a construct ever so foreign to me;
this territory was new.

The clouds swayed and drifted into the distance
An enjoyment of this unencumbered innocence.

The water — still as could be,
— reflected the moon, vibrant, present.
The boats docked, uninterrupted silence
Passionate simplicity, peaceful, pleasant.

 

 

MG

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