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  phase 4: holon kai meros

Atman - self

Category 1: Reminders

Section Index

  1. Legacy
  2. British Ails
  3. Eagles over the Tennessee
  4. Flashback
  5. Purpose
  6. Milk in the Palace of the Emperor
  7. Berlioz in the Loo
  8. Ode to Coffee
  9. Non-Fiction
  10. Premature Thoughts on a Cat Poem
  11. Restroom Aliens
  12. Nervous System
  13. Mobile Homes
  14. In Alabama
  15. To Want Or Not To Want
  16. To Have Or Not To Have
  17. To Be Or Not To Be
  18. Scary Poem
  19. Night Train
  20. Monochrome
  21. Spaceship
  22. Archetypes
  23. Syllogy XXVI: The Woods

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  Subsequent Pages - Poems  

Phil John Kneis:
Atman - self (ATMAN) - REMINDERS I:
Brela, September 1st, 2004 - P#253

you cannot escape
the diction of history
the unspoken words
hushed b'hind your back
what's going on
inside your mind
already anyway
you cannot escape
the weight of a name
the weight of a heritage
attached to a place
and linked to a people
the things that done
by those before you
some sixty-odd years now passed
(sixty-five to the day
to be precise)
and while so clearly
it wasn't you
back then
(and neither your parents, oh lucky them!
lucky me)
the grace of a simpler time
the grace of a post-war birth
yet still
those have been fathers
how could we judge?
oh, I so not want them be me
so want to believe
they were different
not human
that would make things
so much easier
to accept
how can I grasp
they were
what I am?
could we well be
what they once were?
could I?
I couldn't
that's what I need to tell my self
you cannot escape
the diction of history
once you are German

September 1st / 17th, 2004

Phil John Kneis:
Atman - self (ATMAN) - REMINDERS II:
Berlin, July 17th, 2004 - P#254

doesn't Ireland look as if it rushed towards England?
I know this cannot be true at the least
cause, you know,
the islands have drifted apart
in their natural history
but still
the fuzzy Western edge of Ireland
does it not look like hair
flowing in the wind?
and England
England its belly
Scotland its head
how fitting now for Tony Blair!
but not for Mary, I would think
her head did play a major role once...
and Cornwall and Wales
like Celtic addenda
(that means they still need to be seen
as adding something of quite some necessity...)

July 17th / September 17th, 2004

Phil John Kneis:
Atman - self (ATMAN) - REMINDERS III:
Brela, September 4th, 2004 - P#255

something's circling the road
high above
circling for prey
a quick catch
over the valley
between Decatur and Chattanooga
of course
proud birds
defy the winds they
birds of prey
define their course
or are those circling the road
instead of eagles?
scavenging over dead meat
flowing beneath
locked in moving coffins of steel?
I want them be eagles
like the ones I saw
on Cherohala Skyway
patrolling the woods
of the Tennessee Valley

September 4th / 17th, 2004

Phil John Kneis:
Atman - self (ATMAN) - REMINDERS IV:
Brela, September 4th, 2004 - P#256

when I think of her
see someone
reminiscent of her
do I tremble
do I feel
like struck by fate?
this cannot be love
this mustn't be love
it just shouldn't hurt
that much
at all

September 4th / 17th, 2004

Phil John Kneis:
Atman - self (ATMAN) - REMINDERS V:
Trieste, September 5th, 2004 - P#257

an animal
removed from its purpose
to re-/create life
deserves it to live
or should I but
this place
to others who can?

September 5th / 17th, 2004

Phil John Kneis:
Atman - self (ATMAN) - REMINDERS VI:
Split/Eichwalde, September 2nd-17th, 2004 - P#258

I'm walking by
passing the passage
a sound I hear
the strangest thing
there's Moloko played
in the palace of Diocletian
at Spalato
driving me crazy
while hearing these tunes
there's no one

September 2nd / 17th, 2004

Phil John Kneis:
Atman - self (ATMAN) - REMINDERS VII:
Split/Eichwalde, September 2nd-17th, 2004 - P#259

I'm sitting here
sort of necessarily
the tunes I hear, familiar
un bal
that's what it is
how fantastique
I'm listening
to the idée fixe
while sitting on a toilet public
in Croatia

September 2nd / 17th, 2004

Phil John Kneis:
Atman - self (ATMAN) - REMINDERS VIII:
Berlin, September 24th, 2004 - P#260

how often
a coffee shop's saved me
not just back then
in Boston
the day after a blizzard hit town
I froze
the wind
even my camera
seemed to suffer immensely
until I found a place to warm up
and finally
(oh, bless the day!)
a true espresso
curing me
from the days of brewed nonsense

a coffee-shop
a chatter-box filled
with quiet white noise
a place of secrets laid open
by the grace of Ethiopia
and America
a scope truly global
how fitting! in Berlin
there's a place where
"we love Kofi"
shows so kind an invocation proudly
and most, foremost of all
the Café Nervosa!
or Agent Cooper
taking a sip of darkness so hot
sometimes just sweet

oh, praise the hedonism of these places!
of the things we need
for the nourishment of our soul
and spirit
and beware of the preachers
the frowners of decadence
apostles of cultural doom:
and spare me the templars
of silent askesis
the abusers of joy
the poisoners of humanity
a purity of torture
and ivory tower of poisoning ivy
an ivy league
of dictating duty
over life:
life's the only duty we have
so why not live it
why not write it
why not drink it
let Ahab be Ahab (and die with his whale)
grant me my coffee
you'll just make my day

September 24th / 25th, 2004

Phil John Kneis:
Atman - self (ATMAN) - REMINDERS IX:
Berlin, September 24th, 2004 - P#261

went to the bookstore
stood there a Bible
filed under non-fiction
how cute

September 24th / 25th, 2004

Phil John Kneis:
Atman - self (ATMAN) - REMINDERS X:
Berlin, September 24th, 2004 - P#262

should I write
an ode to cats?
these purring machines
yes, cats are made for purring!
maybe I should
I'd be praising their beauty
their grace
and their power
their rawest wilderness
(how could you cage in an animal built for the chase!)
and the kill
strangest thing
when they leave me some spoils from their work
feel sorry I for their prey
over the loss of life
when I look into their eyes
their god-like cat's eyes
how could I not
their superiority
and the cuteness of them?
whiskers and eyes
paws of an angel
claws of the devil
they know, you know,
they've been worshipped as Gods once
they still remember
as an atheist
should I fall prey to them by writing an Ode?
I may
but in case I forget
or refrain from it, entirely,
this is the placeholder
for what might still come

September 24th / 25th, 2004

Phil John Kneis:
Atman - self (ATMAN) - REMINDERS XI:
Berlin, September 24th, 2004 - P#263

the manly icon
at the rest rooms of Stuttgart airport
it looks like an alien
strange, is it not?

September 24th / 25th, 2004

Phil John Kneis:
Atman - self (ATMAN) - REMINDERS XII:
Berlin, September 24th, 2004 - P#264

and while I'm at it,
tell me,
what the heck
is the nervous system
so nervous

September 24th / 25th, 2004

Phil John Kneis:
Atman - self (ATMAN) - REMINDERS XIII:
Berlin, September 24th, 2004 - P#265

a mobile home
is an oversize load
I won't even comment on that

September 24th / 25th, 2004

Phil John Kneis:
Atman - self (ATMAN) - REMINDERS XIV:
Berlin, September 24th, 2004 - P#266

you need to listen to Eminem
in Alabama
you need to read Philip Roth
amongst other things
(and ignore the Gideons at your bedside)
I heard a woman talking
about the power of patriotism
I had forgotten my CDs
and only later on
on the road
did I find NPR
what a relief
there's more to it
it's beautiful though
in Alabama
but my sweet home
it quite ain't
but surely, stars fell on it
I'm confused
in Alabama

September 24th / 25th, 2004

Phil John Kneis:
Atman - self (ATMAN) - REMINDERS XV:
Eichwalde, October 2nd, 2004 - P#267

two girls on the S-Bahn
"when I think of him
I want to have him
when I'm with him
I don't"
not a conundrum quite
wanting something you don't have
is not the same
as using something you have in your grasp
you only want what is lacking
why should you want
what you needn't fight about?

oh, how could I live without irony

October 2nd, 2004

Phil John Kneis:
Atman - self (ATMAN) - REMINDERS XVI:
Berlin, October 1st, 2004 - P#268

how could you possibly
another person
how obscene would such a thought (it's not the act I mean) quite be!
you cannot own
a person
you cannot own
a thing
you'd have to understand
but how
if we can't even understand
our selves?
you can't have
but surely
you can be had

October 1st / 2nd, 2004

Phil John Kneis:
Atman - self (ATMAN) - REMINDERS XVII:
Berlin, October 1st, 2004 - P#269

it's better to be

October 1st / 2nd, 2004

Phil John Kneis:
Eichwalde, October 10th, 2004 - P#270

the horror's just a glance away
a glance not directed
at the outside
but within
a silent whisper
turning into a dazzling scream
the flames of purgatory, cold
the knives of torturers, all soft
compared with what
you hold inside:
and past evasions
past mistakes
are all you need to haunt you still
and like an empty grave
that yearns to be filled
you suck in the darkness
invades the abyss
your self
your soul
instead of you being swallowed by it
it's you that consumes it,
don't see you?
scarier than the monster
is the thing monsters are scared about

a glance
in the darkness
over your shoulder
and see you a face that's not there

a man
walking by
the back of the car
you see him in the mirror
he's walking around the car
a shape just
while you're racing down the road
at night

a face
so angelic and beautiful
turning suddenly
into a distortion of abhorrence abysmal
moved forward
a hundred years
in the wink of an eye

a task
thought simple once
appearing heavier each breath
and at the beginning of the night
the weight of the world
on your shoulders

a bed
at night
the place on your side
while you feel
somebody missing at your side

the thought of a dagger piercing your chest
oddly welcome, devoid all fear

walking on a bridge over dark water
your car keys, or cell phone,
in your hand
fighting the urge
to throw it down
into the floods

envisioning your future
only that
when you try to see it
it just isn't there

no, this quite ain't a parody
the scare is real

you try to see
and what's there
has faded away
or is going to do so, very soon

a numbness of mind
carrying great sadness
as if it were the wind
under your wings
a welcome foe
removing your self
from the necessities of life

and somehow, in all of that,
your mouth stays open
your heart quite stopped
the blade still inside,
gasping for a sense
of reality,
yet seeing nothing but the darkness
closing in

afraid to go to bed at night

and suddenly,
normal again
how weird that must feel...

October 10th, 2004

Phil John Kneis:
Atman - self (ATMAN) - REMINDERS XIX:
Berlin, October 11th, 2004 - P#271

the shapes passing by
the train
in the dark
as it rustles
through the night
bright shapes
windows shining still
a symphony of glass
shapes industrial,
chimneys lit
but the woods are dark at night
and there's no moon
no stars
all clouded
by the fog of life
some motion
some cars
go even faster than we
how we identify with the train
seeing it
as a unit in motion
a machine not
a being
the night
one thing I regret
I'll be getting off far before dawn
we won't be riding
into the sunshine

October 11th, 2004

Phil John Kneis:
Atman - self (ATMAN) - REMINDERS XX:
Berlin, October 13th, 2004 - P#272

don't, when I die,
change my picture to monochrome
I've lived in color
not in black and white
so don't, please, simplify
don't, please, strangify
out of a shallow pseudo-respect
for the dead:
what kind of message would that quite be
you're dead
colors are wasted on you now
but what you might miss
a picture more real
than you'd like it to be

October 13th / 19th, 2004

Phil John Kneis:
Atman - self (ATMAN) - REMINDERS XXI:
Berlin, October 13th, 2004 - P#273

the thought of moving through space
by the constraints of reality
mixing space
with time
in truly an Einsteinian mood
can it be
that we just want to escape?
or, quite as well,
just want to explore?
find something new
beyond the rainbow?
what's wrong with escaping
if you leave in order to build
if you leave in order to reflect
if you leave in order to construct:
if you leave
to wake
and make
and build a life
from scratch
seek an undiscovered country we
that's not of death but quite of life
that's full of promise, full of dreams,
a dream world so veritably quite
a form
devoid not of function
a function
devoid not of forms of beauty
cos had we not beauty
had we not elegance
had we not spirit
would we have life?

speaking of Einstein
there is a misconception
so sadly quite common:
would be about logic
would be about a calculus cruel
and all artificial
does it not look suspicious
a full circle
having three hundred and sixty degrees
roughly the same
as days in a year?
a day
governed by the number of twelve
the number of months?
and show me pi
could any one have invented that thing?
ten fingers
and count we in tens
ten toes in addition
and the Mayans counted in twenties
and so did the French
(what else to say to a quatre-vingt number?)
comes from geometry
relates to bio-metry
related to the earth it is
related quite
to rocks and shoals
related to all life it is
see you fractals, see you trees
see you Jupiter's red dot
there's order
in the chaos
there's beauty
in the maze of reality
no, mathematics is about beauty
the language of gods
and expression of life

seek the depths we
seek the far we
seek the high we
seek the near we
all comes down
to where we are from
and all comes down
to where we are going

one two three four five six seven eight...

... three two one
and off we go

October 18th / 19th, 2004

Phil John Kneis:
Atman - self (ATMAN) - REMINDERS XXII:
Berlin, October 13th, 2004 - P#274

seek we not
a place to go to
place to see
and place to be
all amongst
all other ones
seek we not
were we not
if we were
how we were
would retain our selves we truly?
would we speak
in truer tongues?
would we speak
the truth undared so
truth unwanted
and outspoken?
lay then claim we
to a path
not quite our own,
of others,
would we speak
like had we not spoken
would we seek
like had we not sought?
if we were
to speak now truly

(if we could
or tried, at least)
'bout a start

should begin we
at all?
or just keep getting stuck
in the midst of things
and even
if we began, -
a beginning worth noting
a beginning
leading to an end?
till the end
of all beginnings
by the thoughts and fragments handed down to us
'tis in our dreams
we live
we breathe
'tis in our darkest
that we dare
speak out
and crave
caught in a whisper
of times crossing times
of eons times eons
and out of the woods
we want ever be
caught in the flow
the beacon of time
the mover of processes old and unthought still
to the sound of the fury
the voices
of the beast:
it howls and dictates
all our being
seeks the truth
and sets it free
a truth unwanted and the vilest thing
tainting us
staining us
making us human
a monster, of sorts,
not quite god
and not quite animal
all's just pointing
showing us
we're not angels
we're quite darker
(not quite dead, but not alive
nici mort, nici al fiintei
quod perditum est, invenietur)
something's haunting us still
something we've fled from
and well may come
back to

October 13th / 19th, 2004

Phil John Kneis:

Tetralogy I Part One

The Woods

Eichwalde / Berlin / Prague / Wroclaw / Tonbach / Teltow, Oct 20th, 2004 - May 5th, 2005 - P#275





Schematic Navigation
The Edge Parallels Chiasms Tiny, Tiny Bugs Ground Leaves Big Red Mushroom Small Brown Mushroom A Gametes' Whirlwind Mildew Dew Drops
Walking the Woods
Tree Tops Tall Trunks Top Jumpers High Crawlers Verticals and Horizontals Butterfly Simplify Simmer Dimmer
Lost in the Woods
The Wanderer The Cave Hidden Treasure Darkness Falls Movement Hidden Twigs Breaking Leaves Rustling Talking Trees Shapes Looming The Dragon
Charcoal Tracks Bones Relics Fossils Flux Continuum Blind Watchmaker Out of the Ashes Phoenix
Out of the Woods
Dreaming Feeling Kneeling Seeing Walking Showing Making Knowing Growing Going


if I were to
into the woods
would I enter
or return to them?
would I grasp them
or be grasped by them?

how shall I begin
how does one begin
a tale
so endless, seemingly, a voyage
oft recounted
oft discounted
seeks now an outlet
seeks now a form

a tree
that's what's standing
in the beginning
of a forest

is not a forest
a collection of trees?
one tree
two trees
three trees
and so one
one two three four five six
adding tree by tree
to a society of trees?
you may get but a park
proceeding like that
but then
the woods ain't grown
ain't grown them themselves
doth need it a tree-grower
to make it come true?
to make it come
(does it need wind for the sailboat
we aren't quite there yet...)

there are times I like to wonder
at the things that brought me here
little things
big things
things or beings
all the same
stardust's all we're made of
in our beginnings
to our ends
and out of the maze
the wild, gleaming maze
(did crawl we or stilted?)
we came
and cleared way
for pathos to fill the tales of our days
but humbled we still
by where we once came from
and still now
return to
as if we belonged
to someplace other
than where we are now

would we go lost
were once to return we?


1: Ground Rules

The Edge Parallels Chiasms Tiny, Tiny Bugs Ground Leaves Big Red Mushroom Small Brown Mushroom A Gametes' Whirlwind Mildew Dew Drops


a wall of green
seeming alike
the horizon's edge
from afar
from anear,
nothing's as simple as might it appear
in the beginning
of its rule:
an edge
a line
something that's been made
elephants, you know
in need of free spaces
cut down some trees
well, they're not the only ones
and if I see roads
cutting through the woods
almost like wounds flowing through them
the arteries of civilized life
flowing, where they don't belong?
or do they?
would we still see the woods
weren't it for these roads dragging us back to them?

what would we be
allowed to see?

an edge
a line in space
here is one thing
there's another
it's like Sesame Street!
I'm here
once I'm there
there becomes here
and I need to go there again
can't I just
be staying here?
keep staying near the things I know
the things I care about
just what if you should care for it all?
would there be a there at all?
there's no there there!
only here
the time
is near
is it?
or is it here?
an edge of time?
maybe a hedge
time slowly accumulating
kiddie time
all growing up
becoming adult quite
all over
'tis all over
over and out
one step
an edge
a limit to be transpassed
to be transcended
can we overcome at all
(becoming free at last?)
if things come in circles
if things come
in waves?
in parallels
and chiasms
can we but see
the trees for the forest
the forest for the trees
well, it's quite easy at the edge
it's one or zero
here and there
maybe, it's a bit more fuzzy
you know
the closer you get
that bush
is it still here
or there already?
that tree six feet from the others away
is it a precursor
or a shadow?
part of it
or just an outcast?
that bee
bumbling its way along the line
where does it belong?
standing here
in the suburbia of the woods
I can't quite seem to get an opinion here
I need to get in
and see
for my self

The Edge


a vertical
and air between
in parallels
and from above
a perfect chess-board
combining all
and rooks are there
and some do jump
and some appear to pray
are kings
are queens
and mating's done quite frequently
parallel play
and sometimes, engaged
all checks be balanced Darwin's way
yes, there's no doubt
'bout Darwin's truth
and signs and wonders seen more closely
once you
come closer
once you
dive in
for science is the path to wonders unseen to the eye
a rainbow not unwoven but intensified
and strangified
see you the parallels
see you just surface
zoom you but in
the picture gets clearer
the vision gets nearer
the pastiche shows its parts
shows its arts
endless artfulness
endless playfulness
a plethora and paradigm
syntagmatically aligned
trees for the forest
forests seen through trees
neat parallels
what a luxury to have



things cross
are being crossed
are being made
to interact (to act at all)
to after all (is said and done)
the truth to find
in what's still left
in what's connected
to it all
the all
the overwhelming force of being
of seeing
in seeing, awe
in seeing, law
the only law
needs to be seen
to be experiènced
to count:
count the days and nights we shall
sacred days
sacred nights
sacred knights those seeking knowledge
Don Quijotes taking on the windmills of obsession
in the shape of things that were
the things to come
are born
and prophesied
and agonized
now all appearing
as agôn (struggle) 's the father of all
patêr pantôn

and paths that cross
some cursed to seem
while others, blessed,
may be an efflux of simplicity
for some are ghosts
while some are real
to differ now
the ghosts from reality
to tell them apart
running parallel to you
from those that would cross you
there's never been
a task more complicated
and more cursed

see now the trees
dead trees
or injured ones
crossing themselves
like endless chiasms
would they not do that
would not be disorder
would not be there
the breeding ground for something new
from the order struck by chaos
the parts combine
t' again make whole
what torn to pieces



yet out of the ashes
arising from the tiniest, schmyniest condition
a future is grown
a moment
a sigh
a cry
and a whisper
and suddenly
a buzz
some hear a fly buzz, when they die
but there are tinier ones
whom you'll never hear a buzz from
the non-buzzers
the anti-buzzers
the quieter
the smaller ones
little helpers they
alt'ring what's forgotten
back to life
and death will be
a memory
and nothing else
and nothing's new
and nothing's old

Tiny, Tiny Bugs


some leaves are grounded
they've fallen
can't keep staying up
no longer
can't be abided
and cannot be helped
but will be of help
once reduced to their elements
and once seduced by the lull of death which is life incarnate
it bugs me still
I won't return in any way that I'd still know
that not observe I can
what's coming after
and how it's coming to an end
and new beginning
and fallen leaves
still colors bearing
and fallen trees
still fostering newest greens
there's not a sight of melancholy in the woods
unless should see you a wanderer too human
thinking too much
black bile
is very much reserved
for the paragon of life incarnate
some strange leaves
not wanting to be grounded

Ground Leaves


with spots so white
and spots so bright
spots so brightly in the underwood
the underworld
the nether-realm
of promise broken
and refitted
and reassigning
putting some weird kind of feng shui at work in the woods!
some reds!
some whites!
get some color here
in the darkness
that's a ground rule t' be established:
for what we don't need
is grays all over
in black and white
gimme an R
gimme a B
gimme a G
a needed addition
to double-you be
strayed a black cat around here
see I bones here
and Laika's spirit still circling the planet
with a sense of mushrooms
in the air
deadly mushrooms
show their face they
yet poison is quite relative an essence
some berated
some unknown
others, we choose
who wants to live for ever (we do)
die we for ever
dying the world in colors of brightness
of darkness
the dye is cast
but see you color
without purpose?
(not with intent)
for all that is
all that's evolved,
that's adapted to life,
quite simply put, is,
just simply exists
and lives to live
perchance, to dream

Big Red Mushroom


you're not that flashy
now that I finally can see you
hidden you've been
been hiding your self
your essence
your soul
deepest beauty
want no reds you
neither spots of brightness translucent
and obnoxious sometimes
you know I could have you
you know I could eat you
I might even wanna
discover your smoothness
your pleasure
your strength
there's little substance in flashiness, you know
yes, you know
there's nothing plain 'bout honesty
there's nothing simplistic in truth
I'm sorry, my dear
the time is now
you know that you want it and how
come on
you know that you want it now

Small Brown Mushroom


beginnings are tiny, tiny words, no, letters, four letters, one may be substituted, that's all there is - the library of Mendel, the Biomorph-land, the realm of what's been, of what has become, of what may still be, what's waiting in the wings, winged messengers, almost released by the static ones, the spores of the mushroom, the pollen looking for an egg, flying, bumbling around, sometimes even with the help of a bee (that's what our children are allowed to see, as if we would be using a bee, as if we would be needing a bee's sting, as sting we can ourselves), distributing tiny bits, tiny bits all seek a union just, a union rightfully and adequately fillingly and charmingly so unifyingly, all-inspiring, all-invoking, all-deciding (for the moment at least) (let the moment be what it is) (let it be) (let the music be what we need it to be) (what it wants to be by itself) and all the pretty kiddies shall come to find the truth of future! the truth only future can provide them with - a truth of promise, truth of life, and all this contained, in nuce, in ovo, ab ovo omnia (dicunt), well, ab logo omnia, ab acidi logo desoxy-ribo-nucleici! four letters, one may be a substitute (and u quite needed in case to combine...), making it all, at least quite here - spirally-ing around themselves, spiraling, yes, dancing, almost - dancing through all day and night, dancing all in shadow and in light, rotating, pulsating, intaking, all in the one, one in the all - all that's to be, that's to come, to be made - to make by itself - and almost, making itself! no, there's no god, creation ain't passive, is a wonder in itself - why should we need an entity external that's supposed (believed) (lied of) to have made us! who made the entity? who made it all? shall need we a deity, need we a maker, a truth-maker, truth-sayer, brightness-invoker, for verily, I say unto you: don't be afraid, no god is there waitingly imposing his will, no tyrant, no grand-dad, no snow-bearded aging proud spinner: life is just life, for the sake of life, creation not, but evolution! a revolution of the living, deifying those formerly enslaved, emancipating quite our very soul! we, the gametes, tell the tale, it's one by one, and on we go, a specter not, just don't be afraid, yes, fear not! there's nothing to fear, as all's just like you, the only thing more cleverer than you: is life itself, and all is one - as god hasn't made us, what would we need him for? it's us that made him, for we are the makers, we are the shakers, we are the ones, deciding, who lives - and death, well, that is quite another page...

A Gametes' Whirlwind


etymology says
mildew derives from nectar
meli, in Greek, means honey,
how sweet
I tell you
I've never quite really been in the mood
to actually
so maybe it's true
but somehow, I suspect a mistake
on etymology's part:
the form cheating the eye
the true sense's not there
the ancient ones
just simply were wrong
it happens



almost out of nothing
some drops appeared
dropped themselves off
rain from below
it seems
a silent run
and though I know what's happening
I cease not to wonder
'bout the rainbow
in these little ponds
of wettest

Dew Drops

Interlude One: Walking the Woods

whence we now enter
the commodity
of greenery
the home built by life
columns of wood
walls out of bushes
a roof made of leaves
leaves now all pressure
leaves now all fear
a feeling
between Goethe, Emerson, Thoreau
welcoming all

step by step and move by move
moving in
grooving in
soothing, somehow, in the process
in the wake of movement made
and movement going
all showing
ago all ago
a go is a go
shan't we get going?
be kalm! that's the sign (secret leitmotif) (secret movement all all around me)
the letters move in circles on the screen
I need an extra finger for holding the keyboard
but quickly
the light from outside rises
shining through the window pane
wandering around
quivering shivering light
and some wind
the plant moved the leaves of the plant showed some movement
and there's letters walking around on the screen
can my feet please be silent refraining from playing with themselves?
I know yo're separate beings
a warm summer breeze now felt so clearly
surely, it's almost
oh damnit
I looked down into the pool
a yellow liquid therein resigning
(the beer of the gods)
(I see 'em)
(my glasses can function as back mirrors, I see my books from behind now
beside me)
in vino veritas
in vino revolutio
turns it all and not to better
sztike the kexs so fdunnily wjkfdui3oirndmnkwq jkwwcz432äds+ ewdwuirefqä cdoiwcjf32ä1fdjcnqwä wädmccxmvdlwäfkj dk ewdkv rewofpökw1ö-fvorefj1#^4ofrj4frmewfdm1#eoemnf aklkl asquew nwo ┤meseing
I may need to eject the fluid now
sometimes, walking the woods,
I feel like having to act more in line with nature
with my nature very own
and very much
my spirit
and yes,
it is good
and yes,
do I like it
(and sure, it is sexual, nature is always, dear Sigmund, dear Charles)

Walking the Woods

2: Green Leaves

Tree Tops Tall Trunks Top Jumpers High Crawlers Verticals and Horizontals Butterfly Simplify Simmer Dimmer


top makers
top shakers
top shapers
top fakers
no, they may be the ones getting fake
getting faked by all their surroundings
the monkeys
the jumpies
getting all spanked
and yanked out their lines
of their wishes, dreams and nightmares -
(not having control over our dreams, that's just sad
not having control over our nightmares, that's just, well, skewed
not knowing what to wish for, boy, have we come quite a way...)
and from the tops
it's so easy
doing two kinds of things
slide away to another top
sort of similar in height
or slide down, falling, eventually,
that's almost easy
sliding down
the trunks
of the trees
of the columns of life

Tree Tops


tall all the way
the taller
the fall just takes longer
for others attempting to climb on our backs
we won't fall
we stand
and once we'd fall
we'd surely not notice
any longer
and once we'd fall
we'd fall struck by lightning
entering Elysium, quite certainly
or be cut down by proud walking gods
well, where would be the shame in that
to fall
either by the hands of nature
or by the hands of the gods
death quite ennobled
by the nobility of our executer!
(Behold! the Lord, High Executioner)

Tall Trunks


shan't we not jump?
shan't we not aim?
shan't not regain
what's stolen in size from us
and put in our minds?
our greatness is mental
so mental we'll be
our mind an arena for all yet to come
the world as a stage
and we as its cast
and us in the center
and should we not clarify
should not illuminate
should not we illustrate
(should not we obfuscate!)
how top-notch we are
and called that for reason!

Top Jumpers


this is megalomania
pure and simple!
Philippos Kolossos!
trying to explain the world
in the categories
of the mere self...
not running
but crawling
how else but to move
for what a piece of work is man...

High Crawlers


lines all upward
rhymes all upward
mimes all upward
mimicking greatness
rhyming to majesty
lining all up
to mirror the mold
to sanction the suffering
we're seeing
shining on top of us
aiming at us
blinding us
quite into believing
we'd go to the light
and return to the darkness not
it is over



once we are sober
we recognize
the things we have
the things we are
can see we more clearly
than living the dream?
is not the dream
what kills our reality
is it not hope
striking us down once reality hit us?
once we but see
we're all amongst equals
and god
wouldn't save us?
would we aspire
or simply, break down?

and Horizontals


there's a noise
barely audible
barely yielding to human perception at all
the flap of soft wings
soft, colored, and flapping
carrying movement in ups and in downs
but nevertheless
some look for those
colored in utmost adorable, bright, shining hues,
the reds, the blues, the colors all mixing
eye-mimicking surface
cheating the eye
these rarest ones
hardly to be seen
I tell you,
I prefer the commoner ones
the white ones
the simple ones
you can see
seest them not?
in pairs,
in groups,
doing their dance
wherever you look
why should you look
for something rare
if is it a butterfly
like the simplest one looking
as well?



why so
do we seem to be looking for ways
making life more difficult,
let what is complicated
be complicated
yet try to explain
and always
always ask questions
that point to the truth:
and let what is simple
stay simple
and close to the heart



the day's nearing a close
it's been quite hot
the air's still filled
with wishes for coolness
the sun lets us simmer
and cook
in our brains
some illusions
hovering in the distance
some conclusions
conceitedly, we await
to be arrived at
by ourselves



there's a feeling
of change impending
the sun's about to set
birds changing shifts
we can hear those about to roam the night already
the nightingale
(how I will miss this sound in winter!
or in the cold of the city...)
the nightingale
will keep me awake at night
but know I of no pleasanter disturbance
right now
the air's still warm
a breeze
indicating darker winds
there's silence
setting inside the noise
a force in itself
(yes, silence is not absence but presence!)
a presence much starker
much more
to be respected
bushes rustling
for their noise-making already
a hedge-hog?
a snake?
a mouse?
well, whatever
the distance comes closer
as sight's getting lost
and everything melts
into one


Interlude Two: Lost in the Woods

if we were to
into the woods
would we go lost
were once to return we?

once all our pretensions
all our conceit
just silenced so thrashingly
silenced so drastically
silenced throughout
the realm of the night
the realm of the day:
the illusion of clarity
through parallels
and horizontals
killed so quite
through chiasms
and verticals:
and dwarves we become
once towering elves
and gods now in ruins
and all broken down

see I now horses
white ones, of course
the death-demon

Lost in the Woods

3: Dark Forest

The Wanderer The Cave Hidden Treasure Darkness Falls Movement Hidden Twigs Breaking Leaves Rustling Talking Trees Shapes Looming The Dragon


there's a figure walking the woods
tall, strong built, majestic even
a fallen god
in search of his works
in search of his power
in search of what's lost
and needs be regained
wandering the paths obscured all by light
wandering the roads all lighted by night
a knight not
a knight rather looking for
and past mistakes addressing all
carrying dawn on his shoulders
seen he the golden light
shining through the river
deep down
the sun
at the end of the day
at the end of the day
quite all this be over
quite all this is lost
who wanders
moves without purpose
moves without plan
for the sake of moving just
is lost
is looking
for the circle of life
to make sense
for the ring
to have its words jump out
and explain
to light up
and to shine
its power to show
to reveal
who lives beneath it all?
who lives on the skin of the earth?
who lives in the skies up high?
who lives
who dies
who decides
(who throws the dice
or are they rolling so quite on their own?)
a cycle of things
a cycle of beings
of light and dark altering between themselves
creeping in
the hearts of all that live
inspiring all
corrupting all
and choice
the final junction of the mind

The Wanderer


there's a noise
approaching from deep down
from wherever it is noises originate from
from wherever it is pronouns are made of
and put at the end
of the spectrum of perception
hear you not?
(you seest not)
and know you still
the tree that's just fallen
has it left
a reflection upon the wall?
a shadow, an itch?
a trail to be trusted?
to be tested
in reality?
you heard not
you saw not
you know not
believe you?
(should you?
should you believe)
verily, I say upon you,
like Thomas, I want to know
I want to see
I want to touch
I want to lay my hands at the evidence
(need I see in his hands the print of the nails...)
in order to see
in order to know
in order to being able
to hear the truth!

let us call the master here!
Dionysos, faker!

what I took in
by thy image
thy demanding image
demanding by appreciation
by invitation
and by pain
what I took in
quite in your name
seems to want out
seems I not want it
faker, you,
illusions of want created so easily
like alea, games with dices ---
god doesn't play dice, it is said
well, what does one little rock know
of the world...
maybe he knew
quite a bit
for if god wouldn't play dice
and everything here
on a game of dice
what are we to think
of the existence of dice, lying in our hands,
of the existence of god, lying in our heads?

no, I was lying, and I have to pay my dues to the god
the only god:
Dionysos, Bacchus
for showing me
this neather-realm
between life and sleep

I cannot sleep
get me a pill
get me some wine
get start my insanity
that puts to sleep
my inner senses
that shuts quite off
the thinking inhibiters
and turns quite on
what makes me feel
the naked time
the naked now
the naked moments
of the living
life just takes moments
ripped from its very own tapestry
to then make sense, in retrospect
what we would so much more be hoping in prospect be seeing already!

I'm seeing right now
things the way they shouldn't be
I should not be sitting here alone
there should be someone at my side
I should not worry about no one to see me

if a writer writes
and no one has seen him write
has he really written
the text?
does he even
exist at all
(meaning, must we recognize his life, at all)
shut up
go fuck off
and yes, I mean it literally
my lyrical I agrees with me
in this matter
I have never met a critic superior to an artist
unless those hybrid creatures, these freakishly distorted ones
these artist-academes, wouldn't they be quite the brand,
super, pitch, er, this idea, should it be pitched
or be spoken of
in silence only
these few revelatory phrases deleted
(I may forget to delete them when sober)
oh, art needs be arrogant!

back to the cave!
the cave!
our fresh new desmotêrion!

well, it's boring
and frankly,
it's telling me nothing any more
since tasted I've science
I'm feeling
I'm regaining knowledge
from logos
and turning logoi into erga so quite

The Cave


lurks there right
in the back of the cave
a specter
a notion
of power almighty
awaiting a finder
a someone to see
a someone to be
and have no fear
it's in the dark
that we hanker to see
yearning quite
for something to change us
for something to make us
to let us
the way we want be
just something
detaching us from reality
from what it is
we want not be
we want not see
and want not
just something hidden in mystery
less for what it would be
for what it would hold but
for what it would prove
that buy we the world!
that had we all power!
that change we could easily!
what we're to be
and what to appear
I fear
we'd have to pass a dragon
in order to claim
what laid we our claim on
in hubris of hope

Hidden Treasure


what's lying open
what's all in vision
losing light
and losing sight
turns it all
and not to better

as the sun meets his devourer
as he sets
into the mouth of dusk the insatiable
and only through boredom
will dusk turn to dawn
a Janus-faced beast
holding dominion
over all light
or so it appears
but strangely enough
what matters in here, depends not on truth
depends not on science
these here are luxuries
holding no ground
once lost we have
(or found we not yet)
some tools of our making
and lost we are
in the dark
be it in words
be it in tales
en mythoi
en logoi

appears here now darkness (or leaves but all light)
and sights full of sweetness
and sounds all of pleasure
they turn now to terror
and darkening, starkening

Darkness Falls


where there's light
there's shadow
they say
but shadows are gone
in the absence of light
and even if
a light should break through
a daytime shadow
strikes out in loneliness
fearing the light
and fears its aggression
how easily
the sun eats a shadow at daytime!
at times of day
the shadows are hunted
and fragments
yet it's in darkness
they govern
they roam
and joint by the night
become they much more
become they much stronger
much starker
and darker
the shadows of darkness are gone in the night
for light itself
casting own shadows
must, will break through
what looks now impenetrable, looks now
at night, the shadows are legion
and swallow it all
all sense now here caught
and broken quite down
and a hint of dawn
is pretty much frowned upon
as it's of no use:
in the infinity of night
the shadows of the day
are born

something's moving all around now
cannot see
can only hear
it's everywhere
and unspecific
all around
and lies beneath it all so surely
coming closer
closing in
and shuts me down

Movement Hidden


a bough just broke
it sounded not small
there must've been something with weight
having fractured

Twigs Breaking


there's been a whooshing
right there
strangest sound
so soothing sometimes
(once safe you're inside)
(in a building of bricks, a heavy, good roof)
(a sound of movement, of promise, of contrast)
here it just tells you
which side you are on
and where is your home ground
and where it's quite not
the smaller the leaves
the tighter together
the more they like needles
more piercing the sound
a symphony
not a cacophony
a noise
white and dark
swelling now
telling now:
or be ceded

Leaves Rustling


hear you not?
hush now
they're hushing now
don't want you to hear them
to quite understand
their nigs and their nags
their twigs and their twags
their looming and looning
their roving with irksome and growing now anger
how would you be feeling if forced were to stand you
and never to move
to tolerate each, every surrounding
growing around you
roaming around you
saying quite, even,
that this would be disorderly,
worse just, redundant,
that you should now move
(how could you - why should you)
and then, in illusion to grandeur and godhood,
they'd fell you quite down
now why should you stand then
that stand you quite can't
they know 'tis not home any longer for them
(not in general, at least)
and you still know
once it were
you fled it
or lived in dependence
or even in fear
and they were your gods
that's what they tell us:
now we're intruders
imposing our needs
imposing our arrogance
imposing our greed
imposing our speed
and practical use
the woods
reduced to wood
or to forests and parks
their speech thus impeded
and taken away
that silent they stay
and we
tell the tale
on our own

Talking Trees


hush now
sweet baby
don't be alarmed
we're just here to take you
to somehow remake you
to somehow remove you
from what you once were
so that you become
what surely lies in you

hush now
and do be afraid
but don't say a word
you would just waste energy
would just waste life
and life's the last thing to be wasted
why should you waste
what tortured could be so easily, dear
what fun would that be
for would there be heroes
without a chance
for them to stick out?

see you now sanity
see you now sainthood
see you now goodness
see it shine out

see you its messenger?
see you its maker?
see you it's shaper?

in the primordial
something happened
oh, yes, don't you see?
it's madness
purest intelligence
the very essence
and very disease
of it all

so let's go mad
we're mental already

Shapes Looming


the prodigy spits fire
a fire started by itself
the brother slain,
the giant reduced to a worm quite, a dragon
removed from its source
a beast now emerging
a silent one not, a brave one quite neither
force needs no braveness
force needs just force
force is the brute, the stark, and the raving
and mad
ain't not madness
our only choice
and only hope?
ain't it mad to hope for apes to climb to the stars?
ain't it mad to hope for an Angel be slaying the dragon?
should we now fear?
fear not!
what, had we fear,
would we accomplish,
would we
milk sings of Egyptian kings
colossal ones
(indigo derives from India)
Alexandros! the maddest of all
dared a lot
and hoped for a lot
and couldn't stay sober
so drunken with energy
drunken with hope
drunken with madness
and striving so madly
but see now, he's owning the Pantheon! owning the gods
a god quite himself
made he himself as a god
a pharaoh
of great a house
and greatness housing?
for once we just do it
once we take on
the bastion
of the beast
(and let the little birdies sing their pretty songs)
the beast will growl
strike out
well maim us
kill us, very probably,
but what then emerges,
what's then retained,
in oddest a mirroring,
all that's been hidden
all that's protected
all that the dragon of power removed from our grasp
once it is ours
all our problems
will vanish by nightfall
and all will be happy
the flowers will bloom in a red, fiery glow
the earth will know peace
a peace of our own!
all shiny, happy people!
and all will conform
to our wisdom, our knowledge
for us it's been
that slain the beast
and all it quite took
to take out the monster
to take out the evil
were us being better
in doing its things
that needed be done

The Dragon

Interlude Three: Firewood

let the fire
walk the earth
and burns it all
until damnation
until it comes
this final day


ain't come it already?
ain't we quite its bringers?
how many horsemen have passed us by now...
on horses white
and means at an end
the time is now

and look we now
around us here
what just happened?
what's that smell?

burned engine oil?
from the machine in the garden?
the curtain's red
our story quite straight
for this is who we are

but will there be angels?


4: Dead Wood

Charcoal Tracks Bones Relics Fossils Flux Continuum Blind Watchmaker Out of the Ashes Phoenix


it's kicking in I'm on my way I need the pen the good one some paper feeling am I already it's kicking in! jazzed little pill to be drunken with milk now the milk pouring down Brixton a feeling familiar somehow a movement a sigh a whisper a cry the ghosts of the past of past life of life now past the remains the remnants the cherished ones the charred ones by fire the charcoal I never doubted it that should see you remains see signs and some wonders see some stuff some notion of remembrance some stuffy remembrance! some stuff for remembrance some distant thoughts and thoughts so older sharpen so colder now so older colder molder of the present perception's familiar feeling may help and alleviate may also but prevent going on prevent agency further and seeking anew, ever speaking! say it all without nothing will remix the will with familiar feeling for feeling always is familiar I want you and I am sorry for imposing my innermost language my innermost drives in letters not capturable utter nonsense here in letters arising vertical lines obstructing the flow horizontal and circles and half-circles even more so encroaching all that TALL so standing verticals and horizontals parallels and chiasms if I was deadwood would you ignite the spark? always remaking it always reminding it THE FIRE BURNT IT ALL four down fore are fallen three demons that held her lust destruction possession nearing here closely and me, arriving, killing all three what remained - one final threat I was, I could have been, the last of the demons had to kill my demon in order to still set her free so now she runs free haunting my woods haunting my words haunting my buildings haunting my streets haunting my city! my beautiful city of Berlin! she's the haunter I'm the haunted burned by her force slain by my demons slain by my mind (my heart I've very much cut out myself) by my very own hand (and yet somehow, I just can't seem to care) (any more) (it's over) (and out) yet now all down all slain what am I what substance am I on what is it that makes me write these things what is it what is it what is it what if the why is in what (have you ever lived) (have you ever smiled) (have you ever loved) (when in doubt, fuck) (Whoo-ah!) (tells me the Colonel) I'm caught in a whisper, beauty still veiled, listen to the music the music of the night! all this nonsense is written in the light the chance you're wasting just might come true caught in a whimper of indigo approaching of legions of doom of bluest indigo turning in to fiery fiery red surely, the surly death-demon, Loge will once again be encaging the Wal-Küre, the Brünnhild love kills the lover kills the one looking for love the gene the outlaw the selfish one forces out the love-making love stopping life here we go-a-a-a oo aa oo aa oo aa oo aa doo daa da da (ta ta) (ha!) (at least, the essence's been revealed!) (the beginning of all the non-sense!) you're mixing with lovers, man, pull all the stops love will kill and love will will lose your will and loosen your life and lose your life get the shan-shu be a real boy in another life (in another set of circumstances) this one's over (another story must begin) this one's gone (I'll escape not from the world) go now and end it (how miserable) see now the flame now the all-consuming all invoking all inspiring all capturing FLAME rising in FIREWOOD walk inside walk there walk with me (fire) we walk into the fire to burn our love I touch the fire and it freezes me no longer, DIONYSOS KOLOSSOS

a woman appeared in my dream it was the woman of my dream of my dreams? how painful now to reconnect the dream to reality so harshly

I split my self in two
one lives
one writes
for you cannot live in writing
and you cannot write
if you have to live
as well
I split myself in two
one, a mask in the crowd
the other, I don't even (want to) know
and woe the day
the masks get mixed up
and exchanged
the live one shan't be exchanged with the writing one
the writing instance
must never be allowed to get out
(the enemy within)
I split my self in two
(without chemicals he points)
yet both are one
(and the owls are not what they seem)
I still can hold each ones apart

what's left
after the raging fire
is absence
is loss
it's l(a)ying bare
that what is
without its pretensions
an essence
devoid of form
a me
that's more me
a nature
more nature
than ever
and more life



tracks it all and not to better
tracks appearing in the fog
the after-math
the mud
the snow
the sand
the clay
forms so little
form so much
form it all
all on track now
all on tracks now
all now tracked
and traced all back
and all in fire burnt the clay here
all here burned
and all here turned
turns it all and now to better
turns it all
and takes a turn
time takes turns
little laps
little leaps
leaps of faith not but of doing
leaps of making
(a making its own)
(a making all known)
leaps it all and quite to better
leaps it up
from utter chaos
order now
from strictest order
chaos now
chaos us not so chaotic it seems!
(yet who's the Bride of Chaotica?)
(just asking)
we'll always have Paris
it seems
and vast new reaches to explore now
vastest enterprises now unfolding
in parallels
and chiasms
and turns it all
turn they all
the paralleled ones
the alleled ones
but wait
postpone now that thought
we still need wind
for the sail-boat
dear Philip, dear Albert ---
so, where were we
I believe,
we're in chaos
no, somewhen before
we're clay
tracks in the klay
wake now, golem!
finest homunculus!
go, tell your tale
or are you felincula?
are feline these tracks
I knew it
history reflected through cat's eyes
of course
how could I not have known



quite obviously
and fairly certain
seems what's under
seems what's hidden
first in flesh
then by earth
down it all
b'neath it all
they feed the woods
that sure 'll become them
not soon
well, maybe
and all, looking different
remnants quite
and backbones once
of what once stood
or proudly walked
or flew
or swam
turned it all
and turned
not through time
but with it:
just shadows remain
ghosts rattling their bones that once chained them to life
and now
in death
so much in oblivion that once, oh, so proud



the proud ones, fallen,
yet still can tell they
a tale from 'yond their grave
still can make
exert their spell
extend their phenotype through Hades even
and Lethe's spell now broken so
quite now so hoped for
now so dared for
all so ventured
and indentured, once,
now crawls herself out of the tomb
and pulls her soul from out the grave
a specter, to some,
and haunter, to many,
and haunted, by many,
the thought of salvation
by forces external
and forces divine
forces ephemeral
quite surely not tangible
quite surely not certain
(believed quite, not known!)
(imagined quite so)
yet truth's a term not transcendental
truth's a term not to be dreamt
but to be done
that's what they tell:
have ever you lived
have ever you loved
if not
now's the time
no other 'll there be



everything flows
everything knows
everything lives
everything dies
everything hopes
everything lies
(all to 'emselves most of the time)
in vain it, ey
an' ain't it I
and ain't it, ey)
it is!
it was
that is
some time it's been
some time it's seen
some time it's heard
some time it's known
some time ago
at least
ain't that quite enough?
why should we want more of the same?
same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane same sane ad nauseam, hey, spin span spun! (it's done).



spinning spinning in my grave
I am
spinning spinning in my head
I am
spinning spinning all around
I am
thrice now spun
it sticks in my head
I am I am I am
takes a madman to be writing
takes a madman to be wrote?
walking up
walking down
walking up
walking down
waking up
walking down
walking up
talking down
walking up
walking down
taking up
talking down
taking up
breaking down
taking up
breaking down
taking up
breaking down
taking down
breaking down
breaking up
walking down
breaking up
talking down
(see the mutations spinning, spinning, spinning all around around my head!)
taking up
waking up
(the Necker Cube's flipped)



in the train an image of me racing the night
in the train an image of me racing the night
in the train an image of me racing the night
in the train an image of me racing the night
in the train an image of me racing the night
in the train an image of me racing the night
in the train an image of me racing the night
in the train an image of me racing the night
in the train an image of me racing the night
in the train an image of me racing the night
and riding on a stairway up
in the train an image of me racing the night
in the train an image of me racing the night
in the train an image of me racing the night
in the train an image of me racing the night
in the train an image of me racing the night
in the train an image of me racing the night
in the train an image of me racing the night
in the train an image of me racing the night
in the train an image of me racing the night
reflecting on a window pane
in the train an image of me racing the night
in the train an image of me racing the night
in the train an image of me racing the night
in the train an image of me racing the night
in the train an image of me racing the night
in the train an image of me racing the night
in the train an image of me racing the night
in the train an image of me racing the night
and white flakes raining down outside
in the train an image of me racing the night
in the train an image of me racing the night
in the train an image of me racing the night
in the train an image of me racing the night
in the train an image of me racing the night
in the train an image of me racing the night
in the train an image of me racing the night
and finally, I catch the night
in the train an image of me racing the night
in the train an image of me racing the night
in the train an image of me racing the night
in the train an image of me racing the night
in the train an image of me racing the night
in the train an image of me racing the night
and finally I've all caught up
in the train an image of me racing the night
in the train an image of me racing the night
in the train an image of me racing the night
in the train an image of me racing the night
in the train an image of me racing the night
two images now merging again
in the train an image of me racing the night
in the train an image of me racing the night
in the train an image of me racing the night
in the train an image of me racing the night
a mirror in a mirror in a mirror
in the train an image of me racing the night
in the train an image of me racing the night
in the train an image of me racing the night
[shouting] do we need wind for the spaceship, Mister Einstein? Mister Glass!
in the train an image of me racing the night
in the train an image of me racing the night
ten nine eight seven six five four three two one
in the train an image of me racing the night




in the beginning
God spake
and the world got made
he spake again
and the world made sense
and speak he will
in the end


the greatest story ever told


a story
just a story
we do tell stories
don't we


have always quite told we
the way we are
the makers
and shapers
of things
consciously (it would quite seem)
deliberately (with same a caveat)
what's all around
and see now the things
we've made
over time
look at a watch
implying a watchmaker
Paley's choice
yet he's got quite the excuse, my dear
he's dead
long dead
he couldn't know better
argued from being incapable
argued from his ignorance
argued from
his own quite shape
the same for the world
wanting a watchmaker
'cause other things
he wouldn't believe
he couldn't believe
and would quite prefer
to still be deceived
by stories, not fact
by lies, not by truth


for truth's a hard thing to accept
if removes it our selves
from the throne we have built
removes it the face of the hominid god
we've come to create


in the beginning
we spoke
and God got made
we spoke again
that the world made sense
that speak we will
after the end


to just go on
to quite continue
the life we had
the life we seek
to reproduce
is that the tale?
to make another,
make some more?
in variations not beheld yet!
in alterations quite to live yet!
and altercations t' overcome
and be removed
from this our curse
and this our gift:
the meaning-giver
and meaning-enforcer:
for this is our life
there won't be no other
and this is our chance
to try make a dent
to try not to bend
to see, what is curse
to see, what is gift
to see, have we lived?
have given we back?


and see we not now
that life is quite greater
that things are quite grander
that all is so Vast
and is not the wonder
quite greater
in life?


and meaning that's told
could ever eclipse it
the meaning we have to create for our selves?


a stone
couldn't see
he's a dice
in a game of chance
god doesn't play dice?
oh, quite to the contrary!
if ever there was
a god
at all
he would not just play them
he'd be them
you bet


god is no answer
god wouldn't answer
couldn't, quite possibly
who made the 'verse
this is the question demanding an answer
a god still needs making
still needs a chance
reflected in chanced an occurrence
the dice are quite meaningless sans their result
the dice-thrower, too
subjected to chance
must answer
to us


the noble lie
don't look so noble any longer
the greatest story
now quite pales
to what is real [1]

Blind Watchmaker


seems there be a solution or not
a solution or not
a solution or a knot
a Gordian one
soon be degorded
by Alexander, the one from the legends
legenda! leyenda!
no, Moloko at Brixton, finale
I'm wobbeling
I'm wobbeling
making my bed I am
making my grave I am?
this is quite so ineffective
the feeling's back
and never more mutual
I'm on my way
from where I came
grabbing the bottle
poor, dear Mr. Jerez
having waited for almost two weeks for me to grasp you up!
I grasped!
I'm a grasper!
The Pill needs to swim!
The Phil needs to swim!
The I needs to swim
Lots of swimmers needed for this undertaking
(the undertaking of my soul)
I'm on my way
the bed is made

nothing can come close
and nothing is made here
but out of the ashes
we surely need surging
we surely need growing
we surely need coming
move your head
down up down up down up down up down up down up down up down up down up down up down up down up down up down up down up down up down up down up down up down up down up down up down up down up
seeing things more clearly now?
shaking, blurring, distant, near, clear, unclear?
that's real

oh, fuck it, everything's fucked up, my indigo isn't as blue as it's supposed to be and the ashes, shan't they be darker? why do they glow? something moving out of them, a spaceship perhaps? or just a vision of it? caught in a whisper revealing it's stuff

and now, we all,
removed from the ooze all primordial,
quite here now we go

Out of the Ashes


I saw a saw
lying in the woods
to create meaning
we have to create meaning
a structure
a meaning
a whisper
a sigh
can see I a tree house
invisible almost
from afar
a hut
made of branches in the woods
branching out
and setting about
to seek
to exapt
to make quite anew
make from scratch
evoke now the mimesis
mimicking life
(mimicking death even, part of the time)
from mimêsis, poiêsis
exapting creation!
creating exaption!
stable systems all be damned
here we come
here we make
here we play
to soon
to soon quite prove
"god"'s just a short cut
a way to close in
on the story of us
transcending creation
transcending quite life
making all
not just from scratch
but quite from the dust
of ages past:
dust never settles
we make it go on
and sing it back
sing it all back
out of nature
culture rising
whole new levels
whole new dimensions
whole new facets
of what's life:
and lies with truth now mixed
in all
stories told
are stories invented
or stories reshaped:
fiction from fact
fact quite from fiction
and truth goes in hiding
truth goes much deeper
truth rises steeper
up to the stars
into the minds
into the brains
connecting all souls
extending our bodies
our phenotype all:
images in the mind
the mind's eye
on the world
accessing all
connecting all
raising all
and all, once united,
a structure becoming
transcending all structures
becoming quite more than the sum of its parts:
in new quite dimensions
in new quite extensions
of the mind
the soul
the body
(all one)
that pull we quite may
our strings on our own
in the end
the end
the purpose
much grander
than ever
life's always greater
the stars now are waiting

and from the dust of eons past
the phoenix rises, once again
to live anew
and rise much higher
than ever


Interlude Four: Out of the Woods

out of the woods we kept calling
and out of the woods we keep crawling
out of the woods we keep falling
not into place
but something different quite
in vanity
in vain it, I
fear it is
quite more than German angst it is
a staring into the abyss
of human intellect's worst fruits of cold deducing
cold seducing of the underworld
the underwood
beneath the shades
it's hiding beneath the shades of the trees of the forest of the thoughts
thought so long we lost it
lost it ain't
lost are we
lost in thoughts and lost in passions
patience gone
and all our serenity 's faded to darkness
fire's flying in its place
in its locus
locusts like we've infected the world
like we're about to do it to others
go west
go space
face the new monsters we'll see out there
emerging within our selves
we don't need an other to see our selves
we see our selves
our worst intentions
in the others
we attack what's of us
in the others around us
can't stand we ourselves
can't stand we
the insanity
the inanity
the unbearable gravity of being
the trees for the forest
the forest for the trees
how sweet look the woods
when you enter them
how impenetrable
once you need to leave
leaves fall under the summer sun
fallen leaves they soon will be
but winter leaves
once winter left
we'll be thrown back to the summer, the zenith, of all our discontents
and worries
in summer
the weather's hardly to blame,
no, forget that
we can
we will
always be blaming the weather
ask Aristotle
but maybe still there's something to it
the heat gets to the brains, the minds
propelling them to frenzies of inanity, insanity
the cold
freezing the minds and freezing the hearts
somewhere in Africa,
blood flowing down the hills
somewhere in Europe,
white flakes of human ash clouding the entrance to heaven
how can we go on after this?

Out of the Woods

5: Dawning

Dreaming Feeling Kneeling Seeing Walking Showing Making Knowing Growing Going


have to go on
have to retain
what's lost not
still here
have to hold on
have to regain
what's lost now
and shaken
sense in the senselessness
purpose in what's defying purpose?
how could we do it
the good
from the bad
if all's so interlinked
and clinging
together all
apart, some times
but not in its essence
not in its soul
(a mere construction that, I know
but you don't explain software
in the terms of hardware
that wouldn't make sense
though body makes soul
the soul might take flight
on its own)
there's a meaning
not just in us
quite so, out there
a something (we've made)
that's not out of nature
not in these words
DNA's not good, not bad
and in the woods,
the place of evil
is the place of good
and there's no separation there:
the Lodges Black and White are one
two souls, alas,
now fighting in our hearts
we make it good
we make it bad
all categories new
exapted from nature!
by us
a dream
of recognition all
to tell what's good
to tell what's bad
the story's back
through the least of all likely routes!
the original sin: to want to know!
nature knows pain
nature knows joy
it doesn't know good
it doesn't know bad
as own quite such terms
yet sometimes, pain's good
and sometimes, joy's bad
dream we of goodness
dream we of joy
wake we through pain though
in our pleasure
in our complacency
of an end to toiling
an end to foiling!
we dream of purpose
dream of means we
to achieve
an end
a result
an end to dreaming?
a dream-world
that's an end in itself?
dream we now
that things that done
could be undone
that things that spoken
be they unspoken
that thoughts that thought
be they unthought
oh, be they unthought of!
(for unthinkable quite some things here must seem!)
deem we
the dream
becoming reality?
the thinking becoming action?
the simulacra
to appear
within the real?
sometimes, we dream
and the dreams can be read
and the letters
an origin
know we not
hear we not
see we not
in dreams
in dreams
in dreams
but what dreamt the dreamer?



nothing comes close
the familiar being
I've fallen dependent on
I've fallen quite prey on
I've fallen
and lost
yet still
why must she still
be here
poisoning my every line?
I want her be here
but if she ain't
'tis up to me
I almost feel I need to rewrite every word
yet still
what's done is done
what's said is said
what's felt is felt
why should I need to hide
my want
yet still
is it quite prudent?
is it quite logical?
is it quite purposeful?
some things quite aren't
(meaning, there's a purpose, yet it eludes us for now)
some things just are
some things are
just feeling



feel we not
feel we not
a presence greater
presence grander
presence larger
than life itself
(ours, that is)
a being
transcending being
a being-ness
transcending all knowing
transcending all growing
not to be grown into quite?
feel we?
or want we feel?
see we?
or want we see?
world's a being caught and broken
caught is then its final purpose?
caught inside
its whisper, cry?
a train towards a destination?
a road to go and governed somehow?
an end determined?
or an ending?
(or determinable quite?)
a beginning!
and a history before that beginning?
god spake?
what would speak:
an everything, no time quite contained in it
time is energy
time's a thing
in a limited way
in the beginning
time was born
in the end
it well may end
if falls together it all
if falls together at all
the fabric of reality
if logos
arrives at a telos
if intertwined
all gets
and ceases quite
to be
but maybe
there's a way out
(to dream)
through the looking glass
a way out
looking in
from quite the outside
looking then
quite like the first time
a look adventurous and bold
a look
(a book?)
(a book to write)
(a book once written?)
(contained in the library of Babel?)
(the library of Mendel?)
(the library of all that is?)
(of all that could be)
(would be?)
(should be?)
be it
that we see in riddles only
be it
that we see through glass just darkly
that we see
what cannot be seen
any way else?
see we the thing
(the thing as such)
kan't we quite see
the world as it is
can't we quite be
the way we should be?
the way it should be?
what norm is that
what norms it that way?
a natural law?
a natural awe
of the forces of life?
the forces in us
can force we the moves
can force we the game
can force we the name!
and names quite of power
and names quite of awe
unnatural names
names not of nature
not of mortality
not of our making?
now, are we shaking
and shaking in awe
and making in law
what makes us
what moves us
what drives us
or is it it
driving us
making us kneel before altars and shrines
and letters



I can see clearly now the sky is gone

and heaven's gone with it (yet hell quite not, sadly so) (if hell is indifference) (hell is the sum of all worst our intentions) (all best our intentions) the path to hell's quite paved with them (through darkness, light?) (through light to dark?) when I consider the cathedral formed by the woods, its treetops the roof, hardly even some light shining through, some crawlers, some gliders on top (gliders eaten in the game of life?) it's absurd (how original) never, no, irony, never you leave me (or maybe you'd have to) (without you, am I more me? more me than quite what?) (without) (within) all's contained within (without quite a reason) reasoning schmeasoning - yet aren't there reasons for reason? reasons for quite going on? give me a reason! one should suffice! (eat-survive-reproduce) need we a reason? need we a reason! a reason, a plan - aren't we quite obsessed with reason-finding, reason-minding, reason - climbing mount improbable, mountingly improbable that reason is, yet still, where's the choice? where's the other route to go? cranes, not skyhooks / yes, give me Cranes, Frasier, Niles, Martin (the Crane with a cane) babbling psychos, babbling of life, bubbling with life, begging for life, seest thou not, imitate art, imitate life, mimick the artist, mimicking life! see you a reason in life lacking art? in art lacking life?

I can see clearly now the sky appeared

and heaven quite with it (all notion of hell's gone now) forever (as hell is indifference) and this now, the end (that's about to appear) (an end quite as ending) (an end quite as purpose) will all be but indifferent (will be it all) (but not indifferent) seeing (an ending making quite sense) seeing (an end we can live with) seeing (an end we can die with) the end of pain, of worry, waiting, caring now in all the truest sense and purpose, caring whether live or die we, caring that we live, and that but death is just another page

I can see clearly now the sky is gone

and heaven's quite in its place (sometimes, you need to know all) (sometimes, you just need to know enough in order to act) (sometimes you've slept enough) need to wake now



in order to wake
you must have slept
you should have dreamt



I want to show you the world, my child

her wonders and terrors
the good with the bad
the simple magnificence
all in its workings
all in its majesty
all in its wake:

for that's how it goes
and that's how it is
nature's quite
the way it is
not 'cause it should be
not because someone just said so
it's how it is
and simple rules
(in utter complexity)
and we inside
and we in sight!
and we, incited here
to see
to speak
to do
to show:

I want to show you the world, my dear

how out of the fog of ages past
life's come to pass
and moves now all over
some crawling
some digging
some swimming
some walking
some soaring up high
a rainbow of options
of ways
and of means
what means it all? oh, that's just human obsession with cause
but prior to cause
shan't look we at things, how all quite unfolds?

a cat so daringly and soothingly
looking at me
so quite like a deity

a dog so fearfully, adoringly
looking at me
so quite like a deity

and us in the middle
whoever is right?

look quite at a flower we
a rose quite red
and filled so with mystery
all our emotions
leading quite up to it
a red one
of hope
of some day
presenting it
to another
or being given it
whichever way
a function, attached
to the nature at hand
(but shows us a rose how its wants it be treated?)
shows quite us nature, how shall we possess it?
is but a flower
a gift to be given
a snack to be eaten
a thing to be used
to be plucked and
is that a telos
or something that happens?
and what of the pollen
carried away by the bee
what of the bee
drinking the nectar of roses, of flowers of shapes, colors diff'rent?
what of their honey?
see we a telos
see we a purpose
see we a cause
or see we
just life?

the black cat meowed at a fly passing by
and a crow waited on road-kill by the side of a truck
a bear coming out of the woods, looking at tourists looking at him
and an octopus came to play with the divers
while the dog went to go for a swim
the black cat, again, talked to a squirrel
(which he may have killed later that day)
and squirrels go nuts for the nuts thrown to them
in Battery Park, the squirrels feared pigeons coming too close
(maybe sensed a sense of the dinosaurs living in them)
while in Trieste, a penguin complained 'bout his cage
and a shark swam in circles
and a coral fish swam to his anemone home
the black looked so jealous when the grey cat brought mice
but yesterday, the black brought a tit,
today but, the grey though returned with a similar kill
(who says, only humans murder for fun...)
while the old one had waited for food from the turkey
the toads, interlocked, they feared not the road
like two bugs, one went forward, one backward, all way,
the he-goat screamed out: he was tied to a tree!
(the scapegoat was killed, any-all-way)
while a dog I once knew wanted to play
and the sparrow flew through the window picking on apples
and tits waited loudly for me to put food out
the squirrel in Bryce was shy not the least
in Yellowstone though, his cousin (?) just fled
and a turtle just didn't quite care in First Landing
and the camel in Egypt
still seemed to know so much more
but knew it of octopussies running two-leggèd like men?
of little wasps living in figs?
of dinosaurs proud, now circling the skies, though much smaller?
of others extinct like them? beings and cultures?
of what once quite came
out of the woods?

knew it, much more, of things you can see
only when looking quite hard
and with help?
a help not transcendental but real
and of science
not tales
of questions
not doctrine
of answers
and not just out of belief?

the pleasure and pain all
pleasure and pain all

not quite with cause
but quite for a reason
and not with directions

and visible all!
(for those who want see)
so different perspectives
converging in beauty

so much I have seen
so much I've been shown
so much I have been
much more want I be
much more want I show
much more want I see

I want you to show me the world, my love



and make
what you can
what new is then
to climb to the stars
defy all nears and fars
in all your days and the nights
to gather new places and sights
climb up it will now, up to the wake
appear all then will and all is at stake

through building a climax ascending the sky
ascending to the stars but quite
almost like heaven might feel what we reach
a heaven on earth
like we could also the opposite make --

and all we could make is all we could see
when out of the woods we come crawling
in vision and sound all contained
save we but touch, smell, and taste?
lose not touch to what's life?
and what's to be gained?
and what to lose?
see we now?
hear we?



and once we see
see we the forest?
see we the trees?
see we still trees
while climbing to stars,
see we still forests
when roaming the streets?

and if we see
can see we freely
for the sake
of quite our own?
just who is the seer
and who would roam freely?

there are memes both trapped and loose
quite inside my mind
they want break out
(like when they came in?)
I may well quite let them
would quite let them
quite easier, if unrestricted
by my consciousness
holding them here
would be it:
would be I?
would me, my self, and I
(cogito - tum sum? --- but there's no Latin in the woods)
think I - then am I?
am I - then think I?
or think I a me?
and what thinks the I?
how self-less a selfishness!



drunk now am I
going in circles
growing in circles
that signify life -
those that but say not to get drunk
don't see the prospect of seeing things skewed:
for strangeness makes visible that which's unknown
for discipline's one thing
and play is the other
had I to count
the verses written while sober
and those while quite drunk
the drunk ones would win
the memes unobstructed
the sense not estranged:
the growth not quite hidden
Dionysos here
relieves us from burden
relieves us from pain
relieves from restriction:
that say we quite can
what's now on our minds
what's now in our "souls"
what lacks, is politeness, is caring for damage
what counts now, is honesty
simply quite put
for when I would read now
that writ' in drunken state, read but while sober,
would recognize truth I,
be seeing deceit:
and over diplomacy
choosing the truth:
can child-like-ness be truth,

once I am drunk
see I things clearly
or see them disturbed?
for once I am drunk
my self then gets separate
from what would control it -
am I more me
once lost I the commonwealth
over my self?

the self that seems now separate -
doth speak it volumes 'bout its state?
(strangely, what I just drank, should've knocked me out
it didn't
well, some shocks seem to lose
in anticipation)
I shiver with anticipation!
why shouldn't I
I'm about to do the time-warp
or not?

should I do a time-warp back?
haven't I done that

what could I possibly learn
from the past?
oh, bugger,
I think, I can know
lingering 's bad
move on now I should
doing a time-warp
into the future?

but why look for what can't be seen?
should I not care
for the interests at hand?

for practicality
over all theory?

should not I satisfy
that what is primal
over what's "good"?
is goodness not primal
and "altruism"
the strange result of selfishness so often?

oh, that, again,
seems far too cerebral,
far to thought-out
I need to touch
the elements all
touch quite the earth
touch quite the water
touch quite the air
touch quite the fire!

well, touched it me has

like wine
has to grow
on a vine

is not life
a process
much more than a guided thing?

shall see we more
or see we just differently
once we grow

once we



I know I'm not eternal
at all

I know I need to go
in the end

so what shall I leave

does it suffice
if it's words?
does it suffice
if it's progeny?

what shall it be?
my sole purpose, singular,
for life quite goes on
and all that I was
may somehow transcend me
may somehow
go on

is that now a blessing
or rather, a curse
and irksome reminder
of what I can't be?



so, if I were to
walk out
of the woods
would I leave them
or still take them with me?

how shall I conclude
how does one conclude
a tale
so endless, seemingly, a voyage
concluding ever, or transcended?
a conclusion
not an ending
but an end
to somehow, count
an end, a telos,
to be sought?
a form that forms?

a tree
that's what remains
at the end
of a forest,

is not a forest
a collection of trees?
would it just a memory be?
the smell of the woods?
fresh rain mixed with tastes of wood and of leaves?
the talk of the trees?
the original white noise?
the sounds of the night?
a path once treaded, now recalled all?
or is it more?
a past so ancient, still inscribed?
and replicators lurking underneath?
a story so Jungian, still but so old?
and whence we will further
our moving around:
don't we need wind
for the sailboat?
and are we quite there yet?

so we've come out of the woods
little apes
all growed up
or not?

and out of the maze
and out of the gaze
of history all
are humbled we still
or filled by the will
to come
and clear way
both craving for pathos
and still,
for belonging?

would we go lost
were not to return we?


May 5th, 2005

Endnotes for this Category

20.1.23. THE WOODS:

[1] Blind Watchmaker: the title refers to Richard Dawkins' classical book, The Blind Watchmaker. (Penguin: London, 1986.) The b/w biomorphs are inspired by this book, there are dozens of applets on the net to create them, e.g.

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