The Sentient Grape

A grape is a fruit, botanically a berry, of the deciduous woody vines of the flowering plant genus Vitis- Wikipedia

It was there, it knew it was there. It couldn’t see because it had no eyes, it didn’t know it couldn’t see. If you asked it and if it could talk, which it can’t, it would say ‘well what is seeing anyway?’.

Though to talk properly and fine… like the gentle people of old, one must know language. The Grape only knew it was there, with no touch and no sensation to behold whatsoever and even if the grape wanted to learn language, it couldn’t, unless language was injected into the sentience within that sweet mass that we call flesh.

But language isn’t something you inject. It’s something you hear, and like touch, like speech, like sight, a grape can’t hear as it has no ears. The sentient grape only sat or lay? Whatever grapes do.

It didn’t know what it was missing either, which makes something that seems like torture not such a bad thing.

Unless it was one of those grapes that knew there was more in life and wanted it. But I don’t think a single grape in history has ever thought that. Not that I’d know.

This grape was unlike all grapes only because it knew it was there. It had a sensation of being, even though it was just a lot (or a little) of senseless nothingness.

This grape was like most grapes because it was otherwise unremarkable. It was purple, oval shaped. I mean, it probably tasted funny, with all that sentience.

What this grape thought about was really a mystery, with such a clear, uninterrupted, unadulterated mind…
Could this state of being be unlocking bliss!?
Was this grape experiencing constant extacy? Unlocking the secrets of the universe with its life filled, sentient grape-flesh?
Does the grape with no discernible reason for being, know the reason for being?
Is this grape wise because it knows nothing?
At the precipice of its very nature, has the grape learned of what it is, to be one?

On the other hand, the grape could be stuck.
Stuck in that moment, you know it, we’ve all felt it.
That moment, where for some reason you are disappointed that there is no much more in life.
I mean this grape has no sensory glands, it can’t feel!
It could just be thinking, in its languageless style.
This is it.


No questions please,

A part of me feels like dying
And why shouldn’t I be able to ebb and recede?
Nature does it!
And aren’t we all just a stack of bones dutifully reflecting our nature out into our world?
I’m part drunk and stampeding through rough bush in thongs and boardies,
Crashing through trees,
like waves crashing on me.
On the verge of sobs.

I’m part able not to be sad because that’s who I am.
But right now, right now a part of me still feels like dying.
Why can’t I just kill that part!
I am in a fog.
The more I let myself feel this.
The more I’m gonna feel this.
But I want it to encroach me,
A part of me wants it.
Right now, at least
I want to feel it so bad.
I feel like my chest is about to explode.

A part of me feels like dying but I have too much pride to die.
Too much love
Too much expectation.
Too much to give.
I’m desired, like a lot of us.
I’m destined to live with hopelessness like a lot of us.
Let it sit in our backdrop and make snide remarks and pervade the colour scheme.
Luckily my brain is smart enough to deal with this here.

A part of me feels like dying.
And it’s dreadful.
Is it because there is nothing left to buy?
Is it because there is always more to buy?
But I don’t have enough cash for it,
Is it really desire?
Am I really feeling this depressed over money?
Am I just tired or drunk? Stressed or confused? Excited and confused?
Stressed, confused, excited, confused, tired, confused and drunk.

Do I need there to be something wrong with me?

Get a fucking grip man.

Its been a while

Crashing into waves of gratitude,

I find myself stumbling for an answer

Handling happiness like its the straw that broke the camels back.

Like it could be the last ditch effort for eternal bliss.

Easing into the simple things because I am not one to regret anymore.

My mistakes are mostly for the past.

I own them fully

Even if I don’t want to.

Who cares about me in the past!
I’m here now

I’m here now!

My mistakes are what makes me.

Is there such a thing as a mistake?

What am I made of?

What am I made of?

Intuition unheard..

Lately I’ve been in to wishing my intuition was better

Maybe it is, but I don’t listen or whatever..

Instead a logical thought’s replaced by emotion

Deep reflection in the open..

Trust the process is clever.

The Schizophrenic and Mystic frequent the same Ocean..

One drowns and one swims.

Ones poison’s anothers potion.

Throughout life’s lessons I’ve been tryna keep the tokens,

But at times they get lost in the commotion…

Blood of kings, arteries of slaves

Look at your face.

We have never been more equal.

With this blue blood pumping through our veins. Can you feel it?

And we wear velvet slippers as we beat a path on the forest floor.

We are a tangible force and there is no real reason why anyone is bigger or better anymore.

Except maybe height or strength?

But does that matter anymore?

Let’s talk about earning capacity?

But does that matter anymore?


We all share the same blood, and with each newborn we will share it even further.

We are decendants of gods and we have the hearts of the like.

When we bled our life force on to the stone steps up to the temple shrouded with mystery and mist we were varnishing the path for the future.

We have no need to spill anymore because we share the same.

Tribality is no longer the trivial taboo little piece of work that separates us.

Violence is not necessary when we are, one of each other.

Big Jobs

The big jobs for the guys with big gobs.
Up there in their ivory towers with glass ceilings.
They glare up at the gods, envious.
Green with envy and greed.
Walking around with the tips of their flaccid penises hanging out of their flies.
Ready to fuck the world.
And there are flies everywhere! indicating the cesspit they reside in.
Big Jobs for the guys with big gobs.


A little bit of love is for all this fun.

Jumping up the street and beating your chest with joy.

To far away from today and you know it all feels Okay on some level at least.

And a hug is a greet and a goodbye feels un-neat.

Because you can never wrap it all up in a tight little parcel and hope it’s Okay.

Because you know its going to be.

So budget your feelings and hope you have enough for next time.

I will.

Slip it in my wallet

I have a bunch a cash changed for coins.

With two sides each I’m glancing at the choices.

I need to pay my bills that creep into my wallet like a pick pocket.

The plans and mishaps we have are in the wind like a burnt out fire

Choking the past so much it coughs it’s heart out.

Let’s put those bills in the adult section with trying to decide who you are and health insurance.

Compartmentalising, is there a sweeter word?