Do you know where you are?

I ask
With each departure from slumber

It is not a question that should suddenly arise
within my current position in life
But
one which I have often posed to myself

Perhaps within the familiarity of home
it would have been disguised as another
What did you do
What are you doing

What will you do

Too often do I take for granted this familiarity
But do not mistake me for it is not home that I miss
But the familiarity that comes with home
In what sense though
After these couple of months
Familiarity should have been established no

As much as I know my surroundings
As much as I am able to know where I am going
The ability to identify is another
This glamour without substance
This systematic order
Is all too familiar but yet foreign

There is no lack of fondness mind you
The ability to appreciate something new with each day
Is an ability which I hold dear
Walking through the narrow streets of old
Lit by the fluorescents that line the roads
Snowfall amplified by the light from the front of stores

I guess the only way to truly know where one stands
Is to depart into something unknown
Only then might you know where you were

But then how do you find out where you are

The Girl without a Heart

Dear Girl without a Heart

How unreal it must be
to be non-biologically complete
In place of beats you have ‘ticks’
like a robot manufactured by sony

How does it feel in an electronic store
Do the appliances favour you more
How does it feel when your computer breaks down
Will the sorrow be too grievous
But then again
you probably could not even frown

Dear Girl without a Heart
What drives you might I ask
Do dreams even matter
Or would you just need a jump start

Candy Coloured Clowns and Flowers from Dawn

Dear You

Has it been a month already
The passing days have seemed more like a book I had been reading
Tormented by the inability to remember the page I was last at
It doesn’t help that I was never that great with numbers
Now it seems I lack the ability to communicate with words
Dreams
Dreams seem to have a more realistic entirety these days
More so the longer I spend here
My inability to distinguish one from the other
I dreamt about you the other day
At least it seemed like you
Or perhaps
my interpretation of you
I remembered the journey we partook
More so then my existence of each day
And the words you should utter
Why would you go
No one ever goes
No one ever follows
Physical being aside
I don’t think I have ever left
Nor do I think will I ever

Love
Cain

Finding Home

Dear You

A week has passed
But, somehow it seems
as if I have been living here my whole life
Home
Home was just a memory created by some need to belong
But at times I get reminded of this memory
On a bus
In a train
Little instances that one could identify with home
Cranes
Malls
Writings on the cubicle door
Sometimes it almost seems like turning a corner would bring me, home
How do you justify distance
If you never really travelled
How do you define movement
In the confines of a plane

The other day I witnessed
the interaction of two strangers
A man and another
As common as any
Good evening said the man
Good evening
The other
taken aback by the man’s approach
caution in his eyes
The man drew his mouth closer to the other’s ear
He whispers
What did he say
What do you say to a stranger that requires something as intimate as a whisper
The man drew his head back
The other frozen
Gently, the other hands over the paper bag he had been holding in his hand
Gently, he turns to look out of the train
Gently, he continues to eat the sandwich in his hand
Gently
Gently
Slowly
As if the rest of the world no longer mattered
His sight tunneled
His form
alone
As the world continued in its expeditious pace
The other found some form of
elucidation

Had he found home
Did he

Love
Cain

A letter for all

To you

Five days have passed since I have left what could only be described as home
But yet I do not remember what it is like being there
It almost seems like I belong as two different entities
The person that developed in my time here
And the person I was, there
As if the transitional stage of flight recreates, or detaches one’s form
I have picked up from where I left off the last I was here
Sitting in cafes, wondering around aimlessly
Silent mostly due to the lack of acquaintances and knowledge of the spoken tongue
But soon it would have to end
As I integrate myself into their culture and practices
The initial enchantment had worn off much to my discontent
Reality does have a habit of flouting unexpectedly
But I guess, it would be something I have to deal with
I did choose to rid myself of the comforts that could only be offered by home
Missing I guess is only but obligatory
But to what I miss I have yet to discover
Or at least choose not to mention
Rid ourselves of these plaguing thoughts
Enjoy the warmth of day
And the many pleasures that only living can offer
Sunbathed days and pottery of plastic

Love
Cain