A trumpeter ascends the hill,
declares the conflict war.
A power-struggle thus begins,
axioms will shatter.
The challenged equilibrium,
once truth, and whole and nothing but,
becomes a battle’s centerpiece.
I am prepared to hold our ground
soldiers wearing unobstructed reality
Mine wear ideals, stone carved convictions
which are unmaneuverable.
Nothing but a Phyrric loss seems possible.
What they call chemistry,
I’d want in man-made
The often praised mystery,
let me consume it unravelled
unburdened of unknowns.
It is too important
How to differentiate these:
close distances unbridgeable,
potential of far fetched proximity.
Stripped of protective garments,
naked, there Truth stood.
As an unwritten manifesto,
testament to the manifestation
of two defenseless incarnations
Prepared to engage.
Edward Munch – Amor and Psyche
I construct conscience castles
on undeveloped Hell’s hills
(The concrete one can buy
at the price of peace of mind of sanity
is really quite excellent these days)
My fountain pen is inked
I want to bleed my soul
Hope to start it flowing
Crave the sensational sense of some control
Being in my know
Knowledge of my how
or her’s or universe’s
To frighten the fear
Schubert wrote goodnight to
winter cold’s snow white beauty
played as best he could
I mimic a heart’s movement
In an idiosyncratic, externalized way,
by mind power’s fuel
I demand, I command, me
my machinery, to progress
get going, a starting process
defined as to feel, to move
from a logically comprehendible,
binary like state: to feel or not to feel.
I move to, strive for
run as if for a tomorrow to come
a feeling needs to form
it my master, I surrendered,
to the self wanted, self induced
self created entity it is, to experience
She asked for a reason: “Why do you seek, why do you always seek?” She probably expected that even for this question I’d have a considered answer, a reasonable thing to say, something that would originate from the domain of reason, an explanation, something logical, a simple thing, a rule compatible, not contradict with my existence / existing set of rules, the set that is the sum of my ego and some might perceive as a book easy to live by (or for, for that matter.) She was not entirely wrong to expect what she expected, to look for what she sought, I did expect to find an answer, myself, and hell, I wrote the rules by hand, know them by heart. I would probably answer that I just want to hold someone and be held, that I somehow need to be part as if unable to be whole solely on my own (merits). Yet I am quite uncertain whether that counts, whether it suffices as a valid answer, nice to say perhaps when trying to appear deep. An answer that seems deep at the surface, but in it’s attempted profoundness defies logic, as well as the parts of me I know and understand, somehow it seems unexplored territory. (Is it at all possible that it is never explored, that I never attempted to describe it, never endeavoured to put it on paper, due to the fact that it is physically impossible to describe the nature of a cavity?)
They say darkness is the absence of light, but doesn’t light owe
it’s existence to darkness, after all, are not both of them of equal
importance to get a sense of difference?
I am probably more of a reflector, rather than a source of light
myself, not out of intrinsic inability, although neither a choice
My light’s surrounded by walls, carefully crafted throughout the
years by uninvited strangers accompanied by a whole crew of
builders formerly known as loved ones, alienating
themselves, brick by brick, impeding the weakening attempts
of my light to escape their fortress
Silence, total silence, as well as darkness, complete darkness have
a thing in common, both are
markers for the absence of their, generally more positively
regarded antonyms, but there is another common denominator:
they both terrify me
I need music because I cannot cope with the meticulous and
everlasting solo concerto of emptiness for a ticking clock;
and sleeping feels like surrendering to the unknown,
the nothing of a hollow darkness
I am not a real night person, it’s just that surrendering to sleep,
entering the gaping black, is way easier exhausted then it is at
reasonable times, with fighting energy left
Some people shine, others add to the shadows
In my fortress, at least some bit of - false - comfort can be found.
I regard the importance of the question whether it’s com-
fort is just a self invented illusion, or an actual reality as bearing
the same weight as the meaning of the debate whether light
needs darkness or the contrary,
precisely: none, whatsoever.