Twist A Zero To Convert It to Infinity.

Arno Rafael Minkkinen

Sometimes I stay awake all night. Writing and trying to fill in the blank spaces inside of me. As I add word after word, they become tinier and tinier but louder than screams. They do not consume the blankness that resides within me, they fill every other space, cramping into nooks and crannies, become tiny in themselves but they leave the empty space as it is, undying; never growing any less or more. The mayhem of the words is so calming, just as unsettling the nothingness is. The shouts of them so chaotic yet so distinct, each word, a sea of thought. Together they become an ocean that flows over the galaxies. But the empty void is still there, the disturbance; the iceberg that wouldn't melt away. It floats along, as outstanding as the words, as silent as their screams. 

It sometimes intrudes with my thoughts so much, I go blind. But then I realized, it’s the blankness that is the root to those nourishing words. It is the one holding onto them so they do not go astray. The blankness is where they birth from. The nothingness is the seed. And it’s there so that the words would never die. As long as the empty void is there, there are words forming, for me to write, for you to read.

 I am the sheets of paper that I fill with my words day and night, but I am the blank pages, too.

-Momina.

Crazy Ramblings #9

When I step out of the house, my first instinct is to look up at the sky, to search for the clouds or feel the rain on my face. Today when I stepped out around four I looked up even before the porch ceiling was out of the way and when I noticed the sky, I sighed. It was beautiful; dotted with random white fluffy clouds overlapped by grey ones that made them look like they had blurry edges that transfused into the sky. It was beautiful, there's no other words for it. I am entranced by clouds, I guess it's pretty obvious considering I write a lot about them. Sigh. The blurry edges presented a different story to me, altogether. Like the stage beyond exhaustion, when tiring becomes funny; when the line between reality and imagination blur, when they merge. Those moments when you can believe what you see, even though whatever you see is probably half your imagination. The moments when everything makes sense, yet the next moment it's all senseless. That absurd, silly state. The wonderful reality of the moment.

-Momina

Golden Confetti

The notebook crackled as she opened it, the paper was so flimsy as if it would tater at the slightest touch, the pages adorned with doodles and quotes. She carefully turned each page, as gentle as possible. She read through the quotes the rough drafts and the scribbles, took her time reading each word of those long stories and short passages. She felt the imprints the pen had left through her finger tips and leaved through the folded papers that were cut outs and written by a type writer. She loved each word, and felt the pain, the joy, the pleasure that went through the pages. A magic land rose from those delicate paper and enveloped her inside each word. The frayed ribbon book mark led her to browned pages. Pressed among the folds was a picture, the colors of which were so bright compared to the notebook, yet it held a dullness that cased in the charm.

She touched the photo and began to read;

'Golden confetti fell through the sky, as hand in hand they ran the familiar stone paths, two sets of feet padding through the center of the town, while the rest slept, fullfilling their well earned sleep. The abandoned bicycles lay somewhere near the park, the gathered flowers fallen on the gritty road. Others slept, while they ran, they ran though joy and they ran with love as the golden confetti fell through the sky.'

One of the many that got to her, she couldn't help be lost in those words and couldn't help the imagery go, she was stuck on it and stared at it for ages, until finally she turned another page and further.

-Momina.

*Note: The whole passage is self-written and based on the single picture above. 

Enchantments

Let’s weave magic through our words,

Conjure up some delightful verse.

Set it up in beautiful terms

Make it shine, like a perfect one.

Enchanting to anyone who reads,

Meanings, not just two or three.

Alluring and dripping appeal

 Charming in it’s own feel.          

Spin your words like this and that,

Making it exquisiteness to last (always).

-Momina