Monthly Archives: January 2022

Distorted Forms

What works in the shadows rarely comes into mainstream discussion, and, when it does, it does so only fragmented. The crowd rarely sees anything clearly, and so they are doomed. A democracy works only with an enlightened population, and this population is slow.

I have seen some shadow work, and thus I am wise in some sense. I understand the utter state of corruption this world is in. How could I ever part with what is precious to me?…

This vast ambition. But they don’t know and they don’t understand, so I am left on my own. In some solitary confinement right in the center and heart of civilization. I could tell them of big dreams. But because they only see fragmented images, they will never know of it in its entirety.

I live in a constant state of dissolution. Whatever I put my hands on tends to melt and turn into absurd formes. What I touch does not turn into gold, no, more like morbid pieces.

I understand that there is danger at each step. It lurks behind the corners. I stare it right into its ugly face. But I will go on nonetheless, like a hero.

Then someday a big tree shall grow here.

What Little We Have To Do

If only you had it in you, no obstacle would be to hard to overcome. So you set out on your mission sure of yourself and your imminent victory. The gossip and chatter from the crowd is nothing to you. They can say and do whatever they like, it does not matter to us who are beyond it. We are precious and golden, and this world needs us.

Who can come to the right conclusion given what we have been given? But it is vital that we should do so. What is their intent? We set out like a mind reader, and if we should fail to do so, what horror would await us. Yet, this world needs us.

How do we convince others? Perhaps that is a futile mission. Instead, they will awaken the masses, so that we need not do anything except improve ourselves and our understanding.

Blow Me Away

It was made
in the image
of sanctity

The cool breeze
blew our mind

in the middle of

A damned

Futile mission
to harvest
broken bones

Inside a measure
some it took
to portray essence

The Summer That Never Came

If she was there for anything less than what became the outcome, she would have belonged to a fairy tale. Maybe our love was a bit to fierce. It became what it is, and could be nothing less.

We rushed into mighty despair. So it seemed our love was a bit like a catastrophe. Exchange “love” with “disaster”, and you are closer to the essence of what we became. In this case it wasn’t bloody, more like indifferent.

I do not want to hear more about love. What they call love is only superficial nonsense. True love is something far more rare. However, I do not want to hear about true love either. Give me nobility and transcendence.

They told us to love, but all we could do was to pretend. We became sick of love. We polished our ego instead, and what we called love was more like dysfunction. We took a troll to his cave and butchered it. That was our sexual appetite. That was our decline.

In hindsight I should properly have avoided her. It should have been clear at first that she was an annoying bitch. Lust provided the only motive for not walking away. Her obnoxious talk about things that didn’t matter.

This little poem that I wrote for her. It should have been clear at first that we were destined to ruin. The summer that never came.