Nikki-Kay

New beat poetry for new beating hearts

[thehuntingcap]

Analogy Postmortem

[thehuntingcap]

WInter in the City Never Felt Like This Before

[thehuntingcap]

Thought on Why Neither of Us Ever Said These Words Out Loud

[thehuntingcap]

[thehuntingcap]

LBB

[thehuntingcap]

Repetitiveness VS Plato

[thehuntingcap]

Come sweet sister comfort me

lull me to sleep in exotic tales

story-telling of the ancients

gods and demons as snakes on the roadside

and the hair of shaven monks clings together

through magnetic mountain-top meditation

  come sweet sister comfort me

tell me of the free land with a price-tag on everything

tip for a hitchhike-lift

a thousand smiles of conquest over

hordes of us invading

countryside and village by our sought after presence changing

  should you come sweet sister to comfort me

remember me of the young angry men

them on the streets at

Victory Monument concerts with bad sound-technicians

shouting for – or against – a King I hardly knew

but now for his people fear

  come sweet sister comfort me

about the gun singing in the streets

and the friends in the prisons

and the doctors and artist

and the voices of poets,

that they should be heard singing

  come sweet sister comfort me

of something both you and I can’t deny,

on dogs barking on highways

shot in the middle of the night

and the Three King Square greeting

and the sounds that kept me awake every night

and the lights of Chiang Mai,

those can’t have gone out

  so come sweet sister and comfort me

the brothers must be ready still

wind wasn’t on the mountain broken

white goose on the water and a canopy of green

and all other omens and metaphors

  come sweet sister comfort me

lull me to sleep in exotic gunpowder-revolution dreams.

[thehuntingcap]

ginger waitress in a dead-end bar with low-life patrons

ginger waitress in a dead-end bar with low-life patrons

Is it not obvious to you,

Queen of the subliminal plaything,

that you play delightfully conflicting

hormones to your advantage.

  That you dance in held glances,

sensually contorting living rhythms,

and predominantly male crowds around

you fall prey to dominating mesmer.

  And he there sits flexing

muscle, cocksure counting hours down

to minutes as you perceive eternities;

this distance –…

View On WordPress

[thehuntingcap]

what final rendering escaped me

what final rendering escaped me

What final rendering escaped me

She was talking puppet sleep next to a lectern I did not conceive

And every puppet through an online screen could see her ways were not maternal in a conflict – mere rejections of the willpower to change completely

From a powerwoman to a little girl yet she controlled the hints deliberately

Light green bespectacled adorned in no other justification of her own…

View On WordPress

[thehuntingcap]

they've seen him

they’ve seen him

They´ve seen him

Bearing teeth behind grey cage

Of old age bars, this King

Out of his element

  Unchallenged by law

Broken old tiger, forsaken

By fearful cubs – done right -

He believes, unable yet to see

  Back and forth paces

Left and right gazes

Roars loud and proud (testosterone empowerment and unscathed balls he puts on tabletops to look

at him and dare not criticize, you mortal!)

Age old…

View On WordPress

[thehuntingcap]

a summoning

Command me now spirit!

I am yours

I am yours to whim

To knead

To move

Stitched strings to my nerves

Prepared my muscles in silent meditations

Spine needles nervous systems exposed

And my fingers are smoke numbed

  To ring my voice in the lonely

Breathe

Breathe with power

And unknown twitching scars; tap!

Believe

It is imperative success

  I fold my eyebrows not in contempt but

In the leaves of…

View On WordPress

[thehuntingcap]

slumber-culture

stared at my computer

drooling

nothing to write

nothing to say

nothing to be

  cold feet and my glasses

hurt my eyes

and my shoulders hurt

my neck

and my head hurts

my brain

  and the sun will shine always

tomorrow

View On WordPress

[thehuntingcap]

these are the days

these are the days

stared at my computer

drooling

nothing to write

nothing to say

nothing to be

  cold feet and my glasses

hurt my eyes

and my shoulders hurt

my neck

and my head hurts

my brain

  and the sun will shine always

tomorrow

View On WordPress

[thehuntingcap]

Navigating mine-fields

This weekend I forgot my mine-detector at the door. Usually it's one of the first things I remember to bring with me but not this Friday. Sweeping it from side to side, maneuvering through IEDs is what I do in order to stay okay. Every step is a gamble. All my chips are on the table and I throw them unto the pile. Stakes may be high -they always are- but I never back down. Even though I see through hollow bluffs like the back end of a two-way mirror. Dangers of losing cross my mind more than the euphoria of victory but I'm already in the game. My entry fee has been paid. As the best of friends pieced my jigsaw-remains of legs back together, I wondered if I could ever have lost. True, mines exploded in my face, I crawled out of the battle-field crying "medic", and the few chips I had left were down and out. But I lived, dammit. Maybe there could have been more to many of it. But looking at my mine-sweeper now leaning aimlessly in the corner of the hall, I start to realize most of its redundancy. My body-armor lay in bits and pieces on the hall-way and living-room floor and perhaps that was my true mistake. Mines are everywhere and you can't go around avoiding them all your life. You can choose to protect yourself from the impact though. Otherwise you'd be piecing your legs back together every weekend.

[thehuntingcap]

Is this a thing?

Wait! I cannot remember the last time I was so confused. What the hell does it mean for a government to be “shut down”? Congress doesn’t allow government spending after december 2014 because Obamacare is most likely to be enforced? The US won’t be able to pay their debt?

Where does that money come from anyway? Who finances the government? Who has the right to say government can’t be funded anymore? And even if these rights are bestowed upon a group of people, isn’t this the epitome of bad governing? Why, for the love of all that is good, would you blackmail an opposing party into agreeing with you in a way that can be potentially harmful? And I say ‘potentially’ because I have no idea whether a shutdown is harmful.

So many questions…

Am I the only one confuddled?

[thehuntingcap]

Perhaps Lucy needed a new fur coat. Perhaps, after all, she had wanted a palace instead of this place. You never knew how you were treating a woman.

Ernest Hemingway

[thehuntingcap]

Insomnity

Sleep is beautiful. Sleep is what gets me out of bed in the morning. The prospect of going about my daily routine only to return to the comforting womb that is my bed in the evening, drives me away from thoughts of suicide. And besides, the deep slumbers we occupy our nightly hours with happen to be beneficial to our brain’s learning and organizing processes. Sleep helps us not go completely bonkers after every frustrating day.

But what happens when you do so little during the day, that sleep becomes redundant? When you are not challenged or pushed beyond your limits, your days filled with the same unexciting uneventfulness that could well satisfy many a flock of sheep so that, in the end, your brain has learned nothing and has nothing to put in order. Then the huge merit that sits inside your cranium starts putting in the overtime to compensate. And it sucks.

I hate how I keep going over every single relationship I have ever had. How I keep replaying every conversation I had with those persons until nothing remains but a feeling of guilt and uncertainty. Or actually the certainty that I messed up. Because for some strange reason, I always seem to mess up the things that would have worked out great for me. And I always mess things up in a way that leaves my not-so-significant-other-anymore hating me and trying her utmost to banish the very thought of me from her memories. You truly die when you’re not remembered, right?

I hate how I keep going over my list of books I have borrowed out to friends. Yesterday I noticed a copy of Bob Dylan’s Tarantula on my friends bookshelf and tonight I can’t help but wonder wether it’s my copy or not. Had I borrowed it to him? He has my copy of Catcher in the Rye. But does he also have my copy of Tarantula? Another friend of mine has my copy of Watchmen, that much I remember. Should I get up and check my bookshelves? Way too lazy for that kind of crap.

I hate how I subconsciously keep going over the callus on my right-hand middle-finger I got from writing. And it’s not that I write so much. I just hold my pens in a death-grip, afraid as I am that like my former girlfriends and books they will slip through my fingers and I will lose them forever. Every night wondering where they are. Someone else’s vice-like grip? Someone else’s bookshelf? Someone else’s arms?

Worst of all: I can’t stare out of the window until I fall asleep because I can’t see a thing without my glasses (jinkies) and my accommodations right now do not allow for any night time activity other than silently typing this blog.

The mind is a wonderful thing. If only it would leave me alone.