Minor rants. © 2014 Mike Hayes

Minor rants.
© 2014 Mike Hayes

'Sleep with dreams infinite. Wake with life abundant.' -M.H.
#mikehayes

'Sleep with dreams infinite. Wake with life abundant.' -M.H.
#mikehayes

maza-dohta:

Touch me
with words.

Make love to me
like my body
is the page
and you have
a secret to tell it.

© 2013 Maza-Dohta 

Tyrannosaurus Rex and other things that are scary

Thank fuck for some originality.

taciturntremblings:

There’s nothing to see and
your voice drops like
atom bombs on gently rolling hills and
the longer you laugh the more
I realize something is seriously wrong
with me.

And you think smiling is overrated but
never explain why and
I seem to have a problem in
any situation and
I seem to keep…

Written by Mike Hayes.

Written by Mike Hayes.

Life’s too short.

You’re standing in the shower,
soap your body,
wash your hair,
scrub behind your ears.
After,
in front of the mirror,
floss,
brush your teeth.

You look down,
with stray hairs on the bathroom floor,
and mould in the tile joints,
you embark on an epic sanitising mission,
and when over,
stand proudly
in the immaculate, shiny white space.

Emerging from the ceramic heaven,
the disarray surrounding you
is immediately apparent.
You launch into a full-fledged spring clean
(no matter what the month),
until your living space
is next to godliness.

Glancing at the television,
the world suffers,
and in this divine state, 
you’re inspired to connect online
and begin making regular donations to
charity.

Outside,
there is litter in the street,
the cars are polluting,
your friends are complaining,
miserable.
Politicians are lying,
animals are mistreated,
food is genetically modified,
medicine is favoured by revenue, rather than cure,
people are drunk,
disorderly,
"high"(?),
stealing from you
to make their lives
richer.

Exhausted,
you return home.
Miserable.
Dust has settled on the previously clean surfaces,
and the charity you donate to
claims most your money for administration.

Back in the shower,
hair is falling out,
the skin you wash,
sags.
In the mirror,
your teeth are decaying,
you look old.
Miserable.

The next day,
you shower,
look in the mirror,
and love that son of a bitch.
You smile.

Do whatever the fuck you want,
you awesome son of a bitch!
Hell, everybody else does.

The singer in Bush.

It feels like sad so I make it
anger and
chew on the lid of my
takeaway coffee.
Drift off,
mind in the ether,
reading posters and
observe that
after all these years have gone by,
Gavin Rossdale is still pretty handsome.

The lump in my throat brings me back and I make it anger because it’s better than sad.
And way more manly.

Rising into love.

When God invented love,
it’s what he wanted most for us.
With such a perfect, divine
expression, emotion, way of being,
why opt for any other?

When man learned of love
he was quick to define it.
Map out the rules.
The structure.
With fear as the reciprocal,
love is tread with trepidation,
and slow release.
Don’t fall too hard too fast.

But God would want nothing less.
Why not fall hard and fast?
Why is it ‘falling’?
'Rising into love', perhaps?
But there need be no construct or definition.
Just do love.
Express it fully,
without fear of fear.
If or when it leaves,
love the experience.
For the love of God,
Why not?

Myopian Man

Your computer, your phone, your menu, your tv; they’re all right in front of you. We’ve evolved into a short-sighted society with little or no regard for much beyond tomorrow. Try looking out your window every once in a while.