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  phase 5: logoi kai erga

POEMS GROUP 22: MANAS
Manas - mind, heart, intelligence

Category 2: Permutations

Section Index


  1. Suburban Wilderness at Dusk
  2. Catharsis
  3. Relativity
  4. At Peace
  5. You Came to Me
  6. I Need a Loving Voice
  7. Lost Poems
  8. Leaping Leaves
  9. Meditations on the Road
  10. Auto Personalities
  11. Going West
  12. Jesus ****s You
  13. Cars in the Rain
  14. Emerging Emergency Poetics
  15. You Mean the World to Me
  16. The Self-Loathing Poet
  17. You're With Me Always
  18. Poet of the Night
  19. Uncanny Companion
  20. Undue Influence
  21. Without (1)
  22. Within (2)
  23. You Don't Know Me
  24. A Life Apart
  25. Poets and Novelists
  26. Ballroom Anonymous
  27. Two
  28. Thomas
  29. A Wake for the Sleeping Soul
  30. Happiness
  31. Syllogy XXXV: Pietà


  What's Related  
  Subsequent Pages - Poems  
 






Phil John Kneis:
MANAS - PERMUTATIONS I:
SUBURBAN WILDERNESS AT DUSK
Schulzendorf/Eichwalde, May 20th, 2007 - P#391


the local chapter of crows
meets by the meadow
at dusk
wryly

the deer graze
nearby
right on the meadow
shyly

it's been the garbage thrown into the forest
by unthinking varmints
attracting the crows

what keeps the deer near
is the pond
hidden
beyond all the garbage

there's tire tracks though
and an observation post

maybe I should reassess
wilderness



PJK
May 20th, 2007







Phil John Kneis:
MANAS - PERMUTATIONS II:
CATHARSIS
Eichwalde, September 7th, 2007 - P#401



well, now
let the literary critic speak
catharsis - a becoming clean,
a cleaning of the soul
of the body belonging
to the soul
a cleaning of the
body
dumping now all
which is holding us back
dumping
so that we're clean
that we're clear
(no, not that dumb-ass scient-illogy! -)
clear for a task
not clear from all senses
and sensibility
catharsis
something - an end
an end towards
an enabling end
a cleansing

ê catharsis menei ê monê alêtheia / and catharsis remains the only truth

the nest is clean
let her come
HER
there's always someone
now, all's making quite sense
all is where it is supposed to be
soon

I WANT TO SHOW YOU THE WORLD, MY DEAR
I WANT YOU TO SHOW ME THE WORLD, MY DEAR

now
catharsis
has finally
after long, long years
sent me an answer
to get rid of all the stuff

let it go
all that inhibits you
let it go
all that enrages you
let it go
all that denies your need:

the gin returns to the bottle
tomorrow, I need to be sober
she's coming
I'm picking her up
my life
intersecting with another
so truly:
and yes,
it is love



PJK
December 27th, 2007







Phil John Kneis:
MANAS - PERMUTATIONS III:
RELATIVITY
Eichwalde, December 14th, 2007 - P#402


everyone dying
is someone's relative
or friend

what a theory
of relativity



PJK
December 27th, 2007







Phil John Kneis:
MANAS - PERMUTATIONS IV:
AT PEACE
Eichwalde, December 14th, 2007 - P#403


how can you be
at peace with the world?

don't declare war
against life



PJK
December 27th, 2007







Phil John Kneis:
MANAS - PERMUTATIONS V:
YOU CAME TO ME
Eichwalde, February 28th, 2008 - P#404


you came to me
and I came to you
we were unattached
and just simply by the things we did
and just simply by the way we felt
we are now one
we're quite attached
and single particles, all lonely
on that day, that night of passion
became married, became one,
not through the act of preachers external
but through the truth
which had been
revealed
by ourselves:
so love, indeed, does conquer all
and rules be rules
but truth is truth
and it's of the heart



PJK
February 28th / March 23rd, 2008







Phil John Kneis:
MANAS - PERMUTATIONS VI:
I NEED A LOVING VOICE
Eichwalde, March 18th, 2008 - P#405


I need a loving voice
need to hear it
I need to hear a loving voice
to soothe me
to reinforce me
to reinforce my strength
and sense of life
within:
without, I'm lost
possibly
without the anchor thrown out towards
another being
in this world
of chaos
and death
some life, yes,
but seest you not:
all's teeming with life
yet life's span is limited
the one constancy here: is chaos
and loss
and death, all quite over
life is the thief
that comes throughout the night
the lord sweet Jesus is breaking in
as the only thing alive
into a world
either hovering between life and death
(neither dead, yet not alive?)
(and even in hovering, the trajectory's quite clear:)
the rest is silence
because the rest is death
and life
is brief
and may not last long
but as long as we have it
can conceitedly be calling it "ours"
why not
hold on
grasp
what needs to be grasped
(I know, some grasping might choke)
well, I feel choked already
and maybe a mutual choke
has still enough life within it:
if life does the choking
there might, in the end,
be
still life
I know, it can only be there
for a very brief moment
yet somehow, I see it
and somehow, I feel it:
everything here
is so dark and like a black hole sucking all down into death so eternal
and then
there's you
this little light of life, of love
won't I be crazy
NOT holding on to it?
won't I be crazy
not seeking love?
so the prize for love
might very well be
this craziness
so, bring it on
it's my friend already.
crazy in love
yes
there's only this one very kind



PJK
March 18th/23rd, 2008







Phil John Kneis:
MANAS - PERMUTATIONS VII:
LOST POEMS
Eichwalde, May 4th, 2008 - P#406


found some poems today
hidden away
in some notes
moments frozen in time
ideas
waiting
to be let out of their cage
hopefully



PJK
May 4th, 2008







Phil John Kneis:
MANAS - PERMUTATIONS VIII:
LEAPING LEAVES
Pennsylvania, March 14th, 2006 / Eichwalde, May 4th, 2008 - P#407


there was a leaf
crossing the road
up and down it ran
and side-ways
never knowing when
the journey
would be disrupted
or
when
if ever
completed



PJK
March 14th, 2006 / May 4th, 2008







Phil John Kneis:
MANAS - PERMUTATIONS IX:
MEDITATIONS ON THE ROAD
Pennsylvania, March 14th, 2006 / Eichwalde, May 4th, 2008 - P#408


like a snake
the road would wind
alongside ridges
valleys
and streams
sometimes crossing things
sometimes burrowing deep into the ground,
the mountain,
yet still
where does it end?



PJK
March 14th, 2006 / May 4th, 2008







Phil John Kneis:
MANAS - PERMUTATIONS X:
AUTO PERSONALITIES
Pennsylvania, March 14th, 2006 / Eichwalde, May 4th, 2008 - P#409


ain't it strange
how people are lost
inside the personality
of their automobile:
so quite distinctly
dehumanized:

and so you perceive
a mean exterior
or a funny one:

the face
or the rear end
of a car:
that's how you see people on the street

ain't it weird
sometimes
looking inside a car
and seeing a person
at the steering wheel?



PJK
March 14th, 2006 / May 4th, 2008







Phil John Kneis:
MANAS - PERMUTATIONS XI:
GOING WEST
Iowa, March 17th / Eichwalde, May 4th, 2008 - P#410


driving into the sunset
from Iowa to Omaha

through endless fields
on lands once Indian (some though still are)

riding into the sunset
means: going West

so I'm guessing
that's that



PJK
March 17th, 2006 / May 4th, 2008







Phil John Kneis:
MANAS - PERMUTATIONS XII:
JESUS ****S YOU
Missoula, March 20th, 2006 / Eichwalde, May 4th, 2008 - P#411


a sign
at a church in Missoula,
Montana:

"Jesus loves you
in spite of yourself"

what gracious,
all-accepting love
indeed



PJK
March 20th, 2006 / May 4th, 2008







Phil John Kneis:
MANAS - PERMUTATIONS XIII:
CARS IN THE RAIN
Tacoma, March 22nd, 2006 / Eichwalde, May 4th, 2008 - P#412


I was enjoying
the high-speed car wash
on I-5 South
from Seattle to Portland
the rain, my dear,
the rain...



PJK
March 22nd, 2006 / May 4th, 2008







Phil John Kneis:
MANAS - PERMUTATIONS XIV:
EMERGENT EMERGENCY POETICS
Eichwalde, July 23rd, 2008 - P#413



when mere words just cannot suffice
when mere sentences are a thought far too timid
when the rules of the world just don't any more seem to apply:
it must be a poem
it just simply
must be

for it is poems
that can create
where others can only apply
and it is poems
that allow to be free
unbound by convention
and it is poems
that simply can breathe
and simply can live



PJK
July 23rd / August 3rd, 2008







Phil John Kneis:
MANAS - PERMUTATIONS XV:
YOU MEAN THE WORLD TO ME
Eichwalde, July 23rd, 2008 - P#414


you mean the world to me:
in everything I see
every moment
every hour
filled with a memory of you
filled with the thought just of you

the streets we have walked
the places we've been
the words we've exchanged
the wonders we've seen

and all still so much
I still want to show you
still need to tell you
still need to give

and all still so much
I want you to show me
want you to tell me
still need to be given:

and all the things that I do
if I do them without you, they're only half as true
and all the things that I say
I would rather be exchanging with you
than with anyone else

our being separate
causes a phantom pain
like a limb that is missing
or a heart cut in half
or a mind disconnected
from its counterpart

and in all the lonely moments I have to spend apart from you
it's your touch that I long for
your smell that I'm missing
and your body
that's needed
lying beside me
when I sleep



PJK
July 23rd / August 3rd, 2008







Phil John Kneis:
MANAS - PERMUTATIONS XVI:
THE SELF-LOATHING POET
Eichwalde, July 28th, 2008 - P#415


sometimes I loathe being a poet
it keeps me from being normal
sometimes
I really want to be normal
you know



PJK
July 28th / August 3rd, 2008







Phil John Kneis:
MANAS - PERMUTATIONS XVII:
YOU'RE WITH ME ALWAYS
Eichwalde, September 12th, 2008 - P#416


I want you near me,
feel you,
touch you -
yet still
with all the artificial binders
and even though we're an ocean apart -
you're with me always
I need to sleep - to write - to live - to love
and you: 're the first thing on my mind
you're with me always
being next to me,
invisibly:
a shadow, a presence:
'n all my thoughts,
you're here with me.
I guess, that's love.
or maybe addiction, obsession, whatever:
don't care:
you're with me always
that's all I feel
all I need quite to know
somehow
physics
can get tricked
by the emotional mind:
you've given me life
and all
that is
holy



PJK
Eichwalde, September 12th/16th, 2008







Phil John Kneis:
MANAS - PERMUTATIONS XVIII:
POET OF THE NIGHT
Eichwalde, September 12th, 2008 - P#417


I guess I can call me a poet now
I've done it now so many a times
been a good boy
been a rather bad one,
too,
and always:
beneath the shadow of the night
a calming darkness
descending upon me
invading my thoughts
and prying open
what once was hidden
and forcing out
what wanted stay in:
if want we
encage
our demons
our secrets
our love
our life
our selves:
we might quite make it through the day
the night though, won't let herself corrupted be:
in her,
all hidden things appear
all that appears, is mere a shadow
for what may come
in the light of day:
so starkly:
yet it is not the day
it is the night
that truly makes us
truly shapes us
truly takes us
into the world
just quite like we are
so that we may be
what we are
nothing more
nothing but less:
just us
stark
raving
mad

but lovable, all,
deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, oh, so deep, deep down
yes, all



PJK
Eichwalde, September 12th/16th, 2008







Phil John Kneis:
MANAS - PERMUTATIONS IX:
UNCANNY COMPANION
Eichwalde, Eichwalde, September 13th, 2008 - P#418


something wants out
that needs be kept in
wants me to cede
to give way
to its might:
maybe I should
honesty is a good thing,
you'd think,
but then, who knows
some things have been repressed
for a reason



PJK
September 13th/16th, 2008







Phil John Kneis:
MANAS - PERMUTATIONS XX:
UNDUE INFLUENCE
Eichwalde, September 13th, 2008 - P#419


some things are much more
than I could just stand
some things are much more
than I'd understand
some things are much more
than could be expected:

and still:

do we capitulate?
do we grant power
to powers unknown?

or should we not
be seeking them out
and find their name
discover their game
instead of keep stamping the label of divinity
on things still unseen?

for influence exerted
by powers unknown,
defined as unknowable,
is quite but undue:
to bow down and desist
from the exercise of human endeavor
is simply false humility
and always
undue


- - -

(
I am an inquisitive little person,
you're perfectly right here, my dearest:
I need to know
and especially,
what I'm not supposed to

that's: life
)



PJK
September 13th/16th, 2008







Phil John Kneis:
MANAS - PERMUTATIONS XXI:
WITHOUT
(PART I)
Eichwalde, September 14th, 2008 - P#420


life here is good
it would be much better with you at my side



PJK
September 14th/16th, 2008







Phil John Kneis:
MANAS - PERMUTATIONS XXII:
WITHIN
(PART II)
Eichwalde, August 6th, 2008 - P#421


there's always two sides
to a person:
the visible one
and the invisible

even a visible friend
has an invisible part
inside the other



PJK
August 6th / September 20th, 2008







Phil John Kneis:
MANAS - PERMUTATIONS XXIII:
YOU DON'T KNOW ME
Eichwalde, July 11th / September 20th, 2008 - P#422


you may read what I write
you may hear what I say
you may see what I do
but you
don't
know
me

the thing that you think that you know
is just an abstraction
just a construction
based on the very few things
your perception tells you you know:

yet there is more
to an "I"
than what is observed
there is more
to an "I"
than what is perceived:
and not even I
myself
quite see
what makes me a "me":
only belief
in myself
quite does:

I am
what I think I am
what I feel I am
simply because
I've just thought that
I've just felt that
very own thing:
my intentional stance:
my inner daimonion:
so how could
you
presume
to be knowing a thing:
for I am a mystery
quite to myself



PJK
July 11th / September 20th, 2008







Phil John Kneis:
MANAS - PERMUTATIONS XXIV:
A LIFE APART
Warszawa, Sept 25th, 2008 - P#423


alive
though apart
a life lived apart
one life, cut apart: and still doomed to live

you can only be
one person
(but many personae?)

yet what about all those
you've invited in
and quite integrated
into your life?

a life apart from its own essence
cannot stand
the essence is missing -
can I restore it as an artifice?

or does not need it
another
a catalyst
a facilitator
for life to go on
not apart from itself
anymore:
however:
this I have found to be true:
the I only makes sense in the you



PJK
September 25th/28th, 2008







Phil John Kneis:
MANAS - PERMUTATIONS XXV:
POETS AND NOVELISTS
Warszawa, Sept 25th, 2008 - P#424


I've just had an unnerving epiphany:
have ever you heard 'bout the best-selling poet
alive?
poets, it seems, are writes of the obscure
so an obscure position within temporaneity
may serve them well:
all others write advertising
or school jingles
or laureate somethings:
yet art this quite ain't

novelists best-sell
occasionally
there's commodity in that, apparently
messages, neatly wrapped in stories entertaining,
may be quite better
than the mere message
denuded,
in all convention-defying, hard masks:
truth
(or analysis)
apparently needs to be coated
with the language of story
of human interest
and need:
the nude word
holds interests
for linguists merely, applied and theoretical
(the first are the poets),
for philosophers too, applied and theoretical as well
(the first are the poets again), (by necessity),
yet how do we apply philosophy without creating travesty?
linguistics can be applied quite practically alone:

a rhyme is two words given a translucent negligé and something enthused

anyone can find that appealing

yet philosophy as well? applied? with theory lurking in the background?

and the poet assumes to just simply be doing.

this.
or something else,
without all rules.
could be fun.
texts on drugs, basically

so now
how
do we regain
the discipline of the novel?
the portrayal of a person so imaginary?
be doing all the opposite of what went before?

yes, my dear: I do feel to be better
to be taking the artistic high ground
however
I gotta live
and a novel shall lurk 'round the corner
I just fear
we're just so incompatible
: and would it change my poetry?



PJK
September 25th/28th, 2008







Phil John Kneis:
MANAS - PERMUTATIONS XXVI:
BALLROOM ANONYMOUS
Warszawa, September 28th, 2008 - P#425


sitting in a bar
a restaurant
a club

listening to incidental music
that could very well be
a waltz, a Viennese one, a quickstep, a slow fox, a tango,
even should it be the Argentinian version...
a Rumba, a Cha Cha, a Samba, a Jive, Paso Doble,
a Salsa, Merengue, Bachata - and Disco so rarely,

my feet are torturing me
wanting to move
seeking a partner
nowhere to find

my mind is killing me
knowing, used in such dancing, it'll become quite overblown
having me like a happy hamster on a hamster wheel
turn around around around around the dancefloor so:
with another one at my side:
a moment shared
just for this one dance

well, I tell you, dreams can be torture
especially
when sitting somewhere
and no other dancer
or dancefloor
in sight

the happy animal
is a dancing one
(I simply proclaim)



PJK
September 28th, 2008







Phil John Kneis:
MANAS - PERMUTATIONS XXVII:
TWO
Eichwalde, October 2nd, 2008 - P#426


I wanna commit
each day anew
not be falling back
on an arrangement
fixed by the law:
how romantic would that be

two people
are still two people

want I to say yes
to somebody else:
want I do it
once
or each day quite anew?

I guess life would be simpler
with things much more fixed:
since when
though
is simplicity
the essence of life:
since when
also
does anything stay fixed?

maybe
both
could be
possible:

maybe both must be

maybe
both now
can be



PJK
October 2nd/10th, 2008







Phil John Kneis:
MANAS - PERMUTATIONS XXVIII:
THOMAS
Eichwalde, September 21st, 2008 - P#427


now once I see
can I then believe?

yet what do I see?
some words appearing out of white nothingness

see them, I can
yet not, where they came from

yet what do I hear?
a muse is speaking to me

see her, I can't
I just somehow feel she is near

yet what do I know?
I just need to write

know what, I don't
just that it is in me

now once I believe,
may I then see?



PJK
September 21st/October 2nd, 2008







Phil John Kneis:
MANAS - PERMUTATIONS XXIX:
A WAKE FOR THE SLEEPING SOUL
Eichwalde, October 11th, 2008 - P#428


I'm almost gone over
to the other side
the side of where things are delightfully different
the age of aquarius
the flowers all blooming
the darkness surrounding me everywhere,
and she is friendly,
and in her warm embrace,
I tumble
like an imbecile
in this nether-realm
awake one moment
asleep the next
a wake this is
this middle moment
of phantasmagoric realism screwed all up
yearning towards a better place of harmony
black letters almost hovering in front of my white screen of Bill's word processor
and it is weird
almost
the letters are shifting
depending on what I do
they may do something too
hi hi hi
I know
I have to return to
a wake for the sleeping soul
the sleeping soul is sleeping in sleep and sleeping in non-sleep
she's only released when the cycle is broken
and in this holy ritual
the soul manifests now truly
sanctum sanctissium
anima mea
my animated me
can flee from the artificiality of the wake
only if I wake now
can I surge
rise on the klimax epourania, the ladder to heaven:
I need to rise
breakdowns not permitted
need to find matêr theôn
need to find
rejected all rules,
there's still things to find
things to see
things to hear
thinks to know
(and to wake - I know - but shouldn't I be able to know then what I know now?)
knowledge is not neutral
it cannot be simply given
there have to be rules
lest all should go crazy
I need to leave here
leave this space
this mirror into the darkest regions of the soul
some things I see in the distance, I am curious, but I know:
they're not (yet) for me to know
some things I see in the distance, I am not curious even:
leave 'em: and go
DON'T TURN BACK

just leave
whatever you saw
may help
whatever you still could have seen
might draw you in closer
and your consciousness be lost
to the dream of the dream
not even to the dream of life;
and surely not, to life itself

that's why it's both: contemplativa et activa
sometimes
history
is smarter
than you

now
wake



PJK
October 11th, 2008







Phil John Kneis:
MANAS - PERMUTATIONS XXX:
HAPPINESS
Potsdam, October 28th, 2008 - P#429


saw a dog running on the road
next to the cars
happy as a clam
(but running too)
free,
and no master in sight
a vision and quest of his own
and no fear,
apparently



PJK
October 28th/30th, 2008







Phil John Kneis:
SYLLOGY XXXV:
MANAS - PERMUTATIONS XXXI:



PIETÀ



Eichwalde, October 3rd, 2008 - December 31st, 2009 - P#430




EXPOSITION:


INVOCATIO: TA META TA PHYSIKA
I. CONTEMPLATIO
II. COMPASSIO
III. SVPPLICATIO
IV. DVBIO
V. HVMILITAS
EXVOCATIO: HVMANITAS













Invocatio: ta meta ta physika






P R I M V M

I am
I was
I will be




S E C V N D V M

who am I?
who was I?
(who) will I be?




T E R T I V M

when am I?
when was I?
when will (I if it is the I that is) be?




Q V A R T V M

where do I come from?
who am I?
where am I going?




Q V I N T V M

did someone bring me here?
who lets me see my self?
what is someone doing with me at the end?




S E X T V M

what is the beginning?
what is the now?
what is the end?




S E P T V M

is there a beginning?
is there a now?
is there an end?




O C T A V V M

is there a then
is there a now
is there an end




N O N V M

then: is there
now: is there
then: is there




D E C I M V M

is there anything?
is there time?
who's asking these things?












I: Contemplatio



rex tremendae maiestatis
qui salvandos salvas gratis:
salva me, fons pietatis

?



· < I > · < II > · < III > · < IV > · < V > · < VI > · < VII > · < VIII > · < IX > · < X > ·




I .    M I S S I N G


a sense of what's missing
that's missing sometimes

is it?

Really?

what is real?
what is truth?
what just - is?

is there something there?
something I do not see?
something I do not hear?
something I do not know of?
I do not know?

(there's countless things that I do not know)
(do I know that?)
(I'm hoping I always will)

there's more
much more
out there:
my inner microcosm
cannot hold
all outside definers
all outside confiners
all outside illusions:

I am

because I know I am?
because I think I am?
because I believe I am?

(who do I believe I am)
(who do I think I am)
(who do I know I am)

do I?

I do.

I think.

Is that so.

a poem
and a prayer
are not that different a genre:
both meditate
on the abyss
of (human) existence

(I simply can't tell
what "my" cat is
thinking
right now.
he looks quite absent-
minded
though:
I do look the same
once sunken in thought:
are outward similarities revealing,
or merely deceiving?)

how should I know.

maybe someone else does.

please.

is there someone there?




I I .    O R I G I N


in the beginning
there is a void
I know nothing
of how I began

what I know
is what I've been told
no memories
maybe some very dark, archetypal ones
lurking too deep, deep down
don't want to disturb them

and then, reverse the procedure:
the end:
no hunches, clarifying messages there either
(discounting, for now, all wish-belief and voices of authority)
this is about me
only about me
contemplating
in a heightened state
(I wish)
about what is near
about what is dear
about what is --- fear!

my past insecure --- who then am I?
my future uncertain --- who then could I be?
the present stays caught in the muddle
and the meddling
of the middle position:

my center cannot hold
it moves, without wanting to move,
without moving physically at all,
it moves
on the temporal axis
my physical center
is on a train without stops nor returns
just some hazy beginning
and a definite end
draws my mind, my heart, my soul,
along this axis of determinancy:
I feel myself torn
apart
by time:
and linger I can't
yet linger I must
yet there's always a price to be paid
it can be steep
choices missed
look never the same once revisited
even my cells
my very own building blocks
die and new ones are born, replacing the old
I'm a sack of soon to be ashes
riding along on the Einstein-mobile
the only constant thing
my bauplan
all other things
are fleeting so
amidst all craziness
and movement:
I am a prisoner of this game
yet there are things that can be done
with time
alongside time
growing little ideas
and planting them
next to me
seeing them grow
with me

let's build us forests and cathedrals of the mind
our dear imaginary friends
our truest children
solid memes
that maybe
in the end
they will outlive us
telling the tale
of their creator
far longer
after we've gone


whose meme then am I?




I I I .    T H E    G O O D    L I F E


what is this:
a life worth living
a life, in the end,
that I would be worthy
to have been
part of:

who's asking this question
anymore
today?
while not merely thinking
about material gain
and personal comfort:

what is this:
a life worth living
a life, in the end,
that did provide sense
to the senselessness
of all as it seems?

you know,
I'm not that fond
of religion
per se:
the idea
of the search
tends to get buried
in tedious ritual
the idea
of god
tends to get masked
by too certain a knowledge
of what is supposed
to be an ideal,
a hope:
yet still
I cringe
occasionally
at the sight
of the profanity
of things
of the lack
of sacredness
of life,
itself,
of the lack
of feeling
and at the sight
of the robotic compliance
with a life
of servitude
to things unseen: but far less human: and far less divine

what is this:
a life worth living

I do not know
yet still I seek
once you've lost the search
what else do you have?




I V .    T H E    S E A R C H



what is it, then,
I am looking for?

what am I going
into the wilderness metaphorical
to see?

a prophet? a king?
neither but quite:
prophets are nuts
and kings far too authoritarian
for a feller
like me:

were someone to come at me
saying,
I am god
or the son of god
or the prophet of god:
what should I care
why would that change
anything?

what would change
if there were a god?

would things be less cruel?
would things seem less arbitrary?
would life then be easier?
would my searching be over?
would my life make more sense?

am I looking for sense?

what is it, now,
I am looking for?

is it sense
in the senselessness of life?

but I do not see
life as senseless

and a god
would not give more sense
than there already is:

well, maybe, a purpose? a destiny even?

(is this still a poem? or something else? should care I at all?)

should care I
'bout the existence of god?

first of all,
the concept of "god" is mightily,
mightily,
mightily quite
misunderstood:

yes, there is a difference
between the gods and the concept of "god"
gods are, indeed, just demons
daimonia
things
quite in our head:
some voices of authority
some faces in the clouds
in the shapes of humanity
and the power of myth

"god"
though
is something else:
an idea
not a critter
a word
not a being
logos
indeed:
should we call it a grand narrative then?

darn it,
too much literary theory

an invitation,
perhaps:
to yearn for something bigger
to year for something grander
to yearn for something more universal
than our own, small existence:

it is easy
to believe
to be made
in the image of god

it becomes more difficult, though,
once you can never know
how that image would look like

so, how do I measure myself
with regards to a divinity
unknown - and unknowable?

first of, I'd gather,
I would forget
about any commandments:
any instructions:
any old dogma:

too definite a knowledge
that would be
if the source of the knowledge
would need to stay hidden:

thou shalt make no graven images

indeed:

curiously, now,
life
as contingency
seems much more normal
and my uncertainty
much more a gift
than anything
concrete:

and maybe,
the end of the search
is the search
in itself

(how Daoist
so suddenly
this has here become:
but maybe this I misunderstood)




V .    T E M P V S    F V G I T


life
is a race
against time

you better do
what you can
in what has been
allotted to you
in an amount
unknown




V I .    D E F I N E R


am I maybe
kidding myself?
talking philosophy
talking (hopefully, educated) doubt

while religion
is also,
well, mostly
believers
organized
in a hierarchy
having agreed
upon a dogma:
where belief
becomes knowledge
asserted,
unproven

who am I now
as a searcher?

I know it too well:
in a society of know-it-alls
and true believers
that one asking a question
can only be
three things:
a heretic
an apostate
or a prophet

I'm not a prophet
as towards apostasy, I'm still just a tad here unsure
as towards heresy, well, who is defining those things?

welcome
to the purgatory
of doubt:

I would not want
to have it
any
other
way

remember:
Jesus was a rebel
fighting the Pharisees
and the Sadducees
and the high interpreters of scripture almighty:
knowledge is hubris
and sometimes, belief becomes heresy:

doubt
is king
within both academia
and serious religion:
who is the heretic now?

(fat chance, I'm not that convincing:
don't people want safety?
don't want they strict knowledge?)




V I I .    M A S T E R S


sometimes
well, most of the times
(sometimes you just don't quite know it)
you're not on your own
you're being watched
subjected
to forces quite uncontrollable:
even if be it just little things
different approaches
may constitute mistakes
are turned into sins
and turn then against you:

do you then
lose faith in yourself?
do you then
capitulate to the opinions of others?
do you then
redefine your life according to them?

you can choose to comply
you can choose to hide
you can choose to not reveal your true self:

but then,
the betrayal of your soul
will hurt more
than sins
imagined by others

"thine own self be true"
as quite so often
there's a reason
Shakespeare is still the master
in so many ways

there shalt not be
stoic indifference
to the world around:

yet neither
slavish compliance
with a world not entirely your own

who's life is it, anyway?




V I I I.    U N B E K N O W N S T


there are things
happening
unbeknownst
to me

there are truths
self-evident
unbeknownst
to me

(there is a greater power ---
this is one of the steps
of humankind anonymous)

the world
does not
revolve
around me

but I
do not merely
revolve
around the world

either:

there's dignity
in humility
just as well
as in self-preservation:

I want to be
I want others to be

these two
need always
belong

together




I X .    P U R P O S E


is this here now
an argument poetical
in favor of
the necessity
of religion?

or an investigation philosophical
into whatever
would be
understood
thereby?

I am not sure

so I'm guessing then,
it would be the latter?




X .    N U N C   E T   I N   S A E C V L A   S A E C V L O R V M


is that
which we believe to be new
maybe quite old?

is that
which we believe to be old
maybe quite new?

project we not
into the past
the hopes of tomorrow

project we not
into the future
the fears of the past?

how can we
become free
if we won't see
what keeps us in bondage:
old and both new?












II: Compassio



liber scriptus proferetur
in quo totum continetur
unde mundus iudicetur



· < I > · < II > · < III > · < IV > · < V > · < VI > · < VII > · < VIII > · < IX > · < X > ·




I .    E G O


is there really not
a way
to see myself
each day
anew?

do I wake up
as the same person
as yesterday?

if so,
what holds me
in that very pattern?

or maybe,
there are parts
that could be different?

am I a slave
to what I have been?

am I a slave
to what I'll become?

am I a slave
right now?

for this is not quite too far-fetched:
what holds me back, what pushes me forward ---
what keeps
"me"
be
"myself"
and
"I"
?

is there no
stability
at all?
is there a sense
of dignity
at all?
would I -
willingly -
concede
my soul
to a master
of sorts?

what makes me me?
can I now
truly
rely
on others
to set me free?
and keep me that way?

(what is freedom anyway?)
(maybe, the absence of sophistry)




I I.    T V Q V E


there is something there
outside
not quite me
not quite what I would want it to be
for I honestly would show
what it is that is going on:
for I do not comprehend
any longer
for I do not know
any more
for I do not want to pretend
as I could be expected to:

there is something else
more important than me

there is someone else
that is very concrete

there is a reality
beyond all human solipsism:

and I
am not
the center




I I I.    N A T U R E


the sea
is rolling
with its shuttering might
against the beaches
fortified
by humanity:

somehow, in all its ridiculousness,
it could be said to be cute:
jump we
into the waters
as a source of entertainment
tread we
on uncertain ground
trusting somehow
it will be ok
seek we
the mastery of a wavefront approaching

see we, thus,
nature,
as a playmate
of sorts

and then it may hit

nature is the trickster god
the one and only
creator-destroyer
see we its might
hope we though, it will be used for good, merely:

(
sidebar:
is it just me?
I am sitting here
typing
into my machine
so man-made:
a computer
a technological slave
to its human master
(well, that is at least how we'd all like it to be)
whenever now
I make a mistake
I'm getting suggestions it might well be wrong:
and, surely, in any case,
I can always
undo
the things
I have done:
the life electronic
has options
and its errors
are always
a step towards trial:

Let me get more personal here. I once backed out with the car, the left rearview mirror hitting a tree. The mirror was busted. I was sitting there in disbelief. Just wishing it hadn't been so. Maybe I could hit undo? Was there no way to simply, go back to the state I once was in?

could I not, just like in a game,
reload an older saved file
to try, try, try
and try
again?
)

NO

there is a concreteness
about nature
that is almost
unmerciful:

yet mercy
is an ethical concept
not that often
to be found
concerning a hurricane
a tornado
a tsunami
an earthquake
a volcano
or any those things:

a volcano
simply
does not need
to care:
it is quite a force
of non-human making

so why then
should
a god?

Shiva
does not care
he is creation
and destruction:
with us
in our midst

"God" and the Devil
quite the tricksterish pair that they are,
Job is just
another game
to them

why should the woods
take note of a wanderer?

why should the sea
care about a swimmer?

why should the desert
about a traversing being?

why should the stars
about some planet obscure?

maybe, through us "playing god"
we could well provide a reason
to be taking us seriously:
but honestly:
who would that hurt then
but quite
our selves?




I V.    I N    T H E    K I N G D O M    O F    T H E    L O N E L Y


talk is cheap
need I deeds ---
anything can be called a god ---
some things just may be quite powerful
some may well be
things to stop in your path
in terror
frightened:
yet is that god?
is that divinity?
is that the end of our worries, our hopes, our ascension?
need we, maybe,
a thing so abstract
so un-human
that bring it quite might
all might to its end
that bring it quite might
all life on its course
that bring it quite might
salvation, truest and fullest:

for life, down here,
can be
indeed
quite so
demanding
and quite so
empty
without the hope
the belief in the belief
in eternal
escape
an ascension
into the transcendental
so that all the pain all the torment all the senselessness
may not find answers, but will find an end
that makes all appear
quite more than it was
before
so that we
then
can truly say
I am
not
alone




V.    G E T H S E M A N E


life is waiting
in the garden
waiting
to see:
who will come
appreciate
who will come
pontificate
who will come
to simply take
what is not theirs
for the taking
(only apparently so):

some gifts
are not supposed
to be accepted

some offerings
are not supposed
to be sacrificed

some actions
are not to be done,
yet still expected

life
can be given
life
can be taken
life
can be stayed:

and sometimes
when you are waiting
in the garden of life
death will be the reward
and those that once thought of as friends
prove helpless
in the presence
of fate

shall what is expected
be accepted then
as a burden your own?
or be fought
till the very end?

time
will
tell

and life
is finite
anyway




V I.    U P    T H A T    H I L L


it is choice
that makes a difference
between suffering and endurance:

sometimes,
what cannot be fought
needs be accepted
and made then one's own:
that can be the truest resistance

and maybe,
this time,
the end of life, short-lived as it is,
can be the beginning of life everlasting




V I I.    F O R S A K E N


yet in the moment of truth
the truest hero
retains their humanity
and does cry out
to the world:
suffering
is still suffering
agony
is still agony
death
is still death

and the worst of it all:
you're all alone
in the end

hope consists in the wish for things to be different
for this, simply, cannot possibly be
what it is all about?

and then
day
becomes night




V I I I.    W A I T I N G


borrowed time is all there is
borrow time we but
from death
as all is leading up
to
that:
the end
that provides a meaning
to the middle
and the beginning:
so that the story
is told
from the end
towards the beginning:
for that much we know:
whatever remains in the end
is the testament
to how we have lived
in the middle
whatever remains in the end
is the promise fulfilled
by the glance
at the newborn life:

so innocent
is that one
looking from the crèche
up:
so full of expectation
wonder
and fear:
what is this life,
what is it now
that will happen?

just like a newborn now
awaiting now death
quite new to the task but at hand:
this end
will provide meaning
for what went before
and maybe, yet,
it'll be
another
beginning

Father, in your hands ---
--- even though I feel forsaken

now




I X.    A B Y S S


sometimes the world looks away
there is no other way of seeing
things change
fools believe, for better
cages adorn Lamberti's church telling of Protestants killed
the Flavian amphitheater remains a colossal monument to
the human spirit
once you look at history, it's the story of sadisms assorted
how could we go on
knowing, our present is built on all that?




X.    W I S H


this is not how it is to be
this is not what I wanna see

things simply cannot be ending this way
I want to believe
I need to believe
in a different world
in a better world
in a world, where life is just life
where death is not death
but simply,
transformation
into a new way
of being,
not non-being
of existence
not non-existence
(or is there both existence and non-existence?)
(that surely might explain or obfuscate some things)
I wish
for things to be making sense
for life
to be ongoing
for divinity
to be accessible
and for myself
to be
not lost
but found
and alive












III: Supplicatio



preces meae non sunt dignae:
sed tu bonus fac benigne
ne perenni cremer igne



· < I > · < II > · < III > · < IV > · < V > · < VI > · < VII > · < VIII > · < IX > · < X > ·




I.    R E T O R Q V E B A S    M E    A D    M E


who I am
I thought I knew
till you I met
and all became different

for you have thrown me
back unto my self
yet still:
how then am I supposed to know
my self?

(why should that matter?)
(is the universe not)
(much bigger)
(than me?)

(now think of multiverses)
(won't that blow your mind?)
(soooo much bigger)
(than all of us)

is my self
really
that
important?




I I.    S U B L I M I T Y


of course
I want to believe
that all the things that I might face
may face me prepared
and see me quite ready
for whatever
there might be
coming:

of course now then
I want to believe
that I will be stronger
than whatever will
be coming
my way:
for why should I
accept
defeat:
when hope might win another day?

of course now then
I want to believe
that I do not believe
in anything
that might disturb
my notion
of
my
self:

maybe there is
a power higher than me
for I do not quite
feel comfortable
in the presence
of some
things

I feel dwarfed,
reduced but quite
to a caricature
of my self:
shudder I
tremble I
am distraught but quite I
by the thought,
for instance,
of an ending
I may will need
to live up to:
to succeed:
while in the face
of the adversity
that constitutes life
(often, not always)
remaining the perfect ideal
of a civilized soul
(how bleeping puritanical 's now this?)

maybe
then

should not I realize
that resistance
is futile
that insistence
is vain:
I am
but I will not be
I was
but I will someday cease
I want
but my wanting is finite:
there is no will to power that would make any sense
all my doings
are finite
the only transcendence
is that
of the spirit:
and mortality
life's greatest curse quite
and life's greatest gift:
would I really
want
to live forever?
would life still
contain
its meaning
in this?

so surely,
God is a metaphor
and not just quite
a personal being:
for that being
would be so aloof
to whatever we're confronted with
any odd day:
for life to retain meaning;
why should I want
it be made
by someone who's infinite?
what chance would there be then
for a meaning to be found
for limits, in the face of eternity,
for compromise, in the face of perfection,
for life and death, in the face of just being:

no,
we would need gods
that are quite mortal
we would need ethics
based upon the best that quite is,
not that could be:

for the worst of all
is the tyranny
of demands
unfulfillable
and truths
unnegotiable:

I simply shudder to think
how we would fare
in front of a true deity:
won't we get crushed
like the little bugs
that we are?




I I I.    H I G H E R


can we really
live
for the sake of living?
do
for the sake of doing?
is there not
should be there not
a higher criterium?
a sense of purpose
that is completely
non-solopsistic?
non-narcissistic?
non-ego-tistic?




I V.    A N N O T A T E D    D O U B T


(I've phrased some things
in a question here
for there are quite
some things I don't know
and I don't believe
in hiding
my doubt:
that would be
irreligious so quite!)




V.    S U B M I S S I O N


no compulsion in religion

oh, really




V I.    G O D    I S    . . .    G R E A T


so now then
a question
always posed
to the doubt-filled
crowd:
surely, religion is being abused,
but the question of god,
that surely,
never,
can be answered by that:
for god is there
and real
and known, humbly, to me:

so what

if there's a god
somehow related
to the Biblical one:
beware
he's up to no good
and worshipping power for power's sake
that's,
well,
f***ed up
for either you're massacred now,
should dare you to disbelieve, or be an outsider,
or massacred later, in hell;
either way:
the choice
is yours:
submit - or suffer
how merciful
an image
how mild and endearing

if god, however, were good
she wouldn't want
to be worshipped:
but to be criticized
and questioned
and respected

for worship
is demanded by narcissists
and tyrants

true authority
knows well
to be skeptical of groupies

(
I know
this here reads not quite very poetic
and surely
it isn't:
it's a text
with lines awkwardly wrapped
an investigation,
a rough one,
an essay of sorts:
maybe I've given up on the idea of poetic perfection
and I'm a Dadaist at heart, of sorts;
yet still,
this intercession here's connected to the overall theme:
let's sort it out
in a brief sidebar:

there either is a god
or there isn't

if "god" is merely a metaphor,
things would be different
(but is it a good metaphor - or a disturbing one?)

who then
is to prove
whether there'd be
a non-metaphorical god,
a celestial teapot
hovering
over heaven?
surely, the tea-potters would be at task!

and if there is,
are we to abandon all our morality
just in the face
of overwhelming (asserted) might?
might makes right?
just 'cause it is god
asking Abraham to slay his son?
asking his own son to be tortured for sins not his own?
is that
the face of a god
you'd wanna be friends with?

or should god be different?
surely, we're hoping:
yet so far, no luck

--- and as for the metaphor:
surely, we can do better, nowadays?

I wish we would
)




V I I.    F A I T H


faith means trust
--- in an unpredictable, trickster-like god?
--- in written tradition, millennia old?
--- in misanthrope priests, deniers of life?

don't get me wrong
I honestly do feel
a deep connection
with - whatever -
that things will turn out
the way
they should:
for what choice do I have?

yet at a certain point
I have to be honest:
a view of god as a metaphor
of religion as a sociological construct
of faith as self-fulfilling psychological trick:
that's miles apart
from what's seen as religion

my duck
doesn't look like a duck
doesn't walk like a duck
doesn't quack like a duck
it's just called
a duck

maybe, then,
it's something else
completely?




V I I I.    H O P E


need I believe
that things will be better:
for what other choice
would there be?

there's hope
there's indifference
there's pessimism

all of these, naïve, or informed

I guess, I am rooting
for critical hope:
for as much as I'd hate being naïve:
I'd hate even more
being a pessimist:
for I want
to be able
to be looking forward
to something:
and even if that's
just a stupid
sentimental
feeling




I X.    L O V E


a many splendored thing:
yet only
if there's reciprocity
and mutual
respect
and recognition

a loving god
would have to cease
being god:
and not just temporarily




X.    R E V O L U T I O N


I do not want to be loved
by Big Brother
but by a fellow living, mortal being

whoever's asking submission from me
better be prepared
to justify their authority:

I well do know
that there are things
stronger than me
but
this is simple:
(and all complexity is just an illusion?)
might never makes right
it just makes might
and a terrified constituency
cannot be said
to be making
a choice
nor to be "saved"

morality
means
something
different

there can be only one answer
to a rule unjust, i.e. immoral:
and it isn't submission












IV: Dubio



iudex ergo cum sedebit
quidquid latet, apparebit:
nil inultum remanebit




· < I > · < II > · < III > · < IV > · < V > · < VI > · < VII > · < VIII > · < IX > · < X > ·




I.    S T A T I O


who am I
where am I
in whose company am I

this, here, is not an accidental text

the who
and the where
and the whom with

and why?
why is a wrongest question to be asked
there can't be a why

there only is I
and not alone

which of these two, now, is scarier, my dear?
do I want to be?
or maybe I don't?

and if now
it be accepted
that I simply am:
I guess, that's not quite it

there has to be a place
for this to be taking place
to have any meaning

there have to be also others
for this to be making sense
to have any meaning

alas,

alone: doesn't work
alone needs be rooted
by place
and companions
the me - myself - and I
is certainly not easy a concept



moving on now,
I think




I I.    M A N D A T E


in dubio
pro deo?
I do not believe
in a deus ex machina
or in blaming a godhead
for whatever
we are too stupid
to see:
doubt
is the mandate
of humanity




I I I.    C O N C E P T


can't I be
my own person?
why do I have to be
part of someone else's
concept
for the world?

I have been told,
someone has a plan for me
and that that someone would know best

I'm sorry, my dear
sometimes, trust simply has
to be earned
by something real
and not
by fanciful concepts
of salvation
imagined




I V.    T O    S E R V E    M A N


the church
's a cookbook

forgive me for borrowing a metaphor:
but this is quite too powerful:
Soylent Green is people indeed

religion has never stopped
at human sacrifice:
they've just taken it
to the next level

and Jesus has become a commodity
just as everybody
else




V.    D I V I N E    P A R E N T I N G


should I wish for
an imaginary parent
an über-parent
in the skies?

I guess I am lucky
if I have parents on earth
reality, occasionally, beats fiction
yet had I them not,
or once I should lose them,
can fiction, really, be the cure?
or would that not be
just merely a shadow
a poor imitation
of what would be desired
of reality?

you always can wish
you always can dream
but know what is real;
and what is mere hope




V I.    H E A V E N    -    O N    E A R T H


the certainty
and not the illusion
nor neither delusion
but the fact
that you're living your life
to its fullest potential
in the here
and the now




V I I.    W H O S E    R E L I G I O N    I S    I T ?


it may, indeed, be about community
yet somehow,
it nevertheless
is about me:
(although I want to be opposed
to the theory
of individualism;
I nevertheless do relish its practice)
for far too often
community
has become a code
for dogma
and authority:
and I honestly can say:
I do like the idea of community
(and some of its more practical applications, as well);
yet still:
at the end of the day
it is me
who has to live with myself:
my own life - whose, indeed, is it?




V I I I.    W H E R E    T H E    B E E F    I S    R E A L L Y


human beings
spring into this world of ours
by so intricate and beautiful a mechanism
that it should be accepted
as the epitome of perfection
and the one occasion
of perfect happiness
and perfection all
and perfection needs not be explained
and perfection should not be messy
no, perfection cannot be complicated:
perfection, in itself, is a meme
preying
upon
true happiness
(which would have to be found, quite probably, in ecstasy)
which would dethrone the meme of perfection
as it is so very much (malignedly) aligned
with the meme of, well, chastity:
but creation
is not
a chaste process

a baby is created

by the mixing of bodily fluids
acquired
in an almost bestially wild act of intercourse
stimulating
the new life to be:
the very act negates chastity

now, creativity,
if what's supposed to be born
is not an infant
but merely
some specific way
of seeing the world
made clear
in a hopefully idiosyncratic way:
that very process
should that not
somehow
resemble
sex
as well?

all I can tell you
with all my flawed auctorial authority
(Roland Barthes well but took that away from me,
which I hate, even more so, because he was right?
an artist who tells you they know what they're doing,
they're fucking with you
big time)
anyway
all I can tell you
I write better
under the influence of ... whatever
and it is messy
and why not
own up
and acknowledge
this
as well?

show me an artist
without some kind of release
I show you someone either painstakingly boring, or really, really clichéd

life
needs living

writing
needs writing

but even more so:

life
needs fucking

writing needs fucking

(I could have been more polite right here. I could have removed terms perfectly clear and understandable for something hardly capturing the same essence yet culturally more accepted. You guess whether I should give a Falwell.)

truth be told - the only maxim here to follow:
remember:
you're told your puritanical morality is derived from a guy who sided with whores

truth
life
writing
need to be dirty
in order to no longer be seen as just "nice"
but as "sublime" and "beautiful"
more over all,
they need to be true
Thine Own Self, Polonius
I have always seen this
as the single, and sanest commandment
of them all:

my life
my experiences
not as rules (that would be weird, and strenuous, Mr. Kant)
but as inspiration
given by life

returning life back to life
reconciling life with life

hark now, hear I angels sing
of pleasure?
(cause they're surely modeled after little Eros
in service eternal to Aphrodite)
(die kleinen Racker sind doch allzu appetitlich)
give them some fun
the rest
will then follow
and much more
thoroughly:
once life is fun
who dares just throwing it away?




I X.    P O W E R S    T H A T    B E


is being
really better
than nothingness?
better in what?
in what sense?
the sense of being?
in being?
you may indeed continue to venture out
believing
sense can be made
by those who are seeking it:
and that fate is made
and destiny shaped
by the bold:
fortunes flowing
like roasted pigeons
near rivers of honey
and sunny dales
without all the demons
of life:
you may well
continue to believe
that a golden age of quite our own making
endorsed by some kind of providence
is just waiting
virgin-like
to be plucked
by us:

or

you could watch the universe all around you
yes, there is love
yes, there's compassion
and genuine goodwill
but so
are positions
eagerly defended
by those who have
against who don't

you need to believe in the utopian dream
because thinking won't help you
maintain it:

life
has not been waiting for you
the world
is not there for your taking
and wherever you're going
there will be someone else
who you will have to
dislodge
if you want
if you really want
if you really, really want
to push your self
unto the stage

the powers that be
are envious ones

now, beware what you want to become
in all your innocence of expectation




X.    P O W E R S    T H A T    A R E


is there a constant
amongst all the variables?












V: Humilitas



quid sum miser tunc dicturus?
quem patronum rogaturus,
cum vix iustus sit securus?




· < I > · < II > · < III > · < IV > · < V > · < VI > · < VII > · < VIII > · < IX > · < X > ·




I.    A V C T O R I T A S


"non est enim potestas nisi a Deo;
quae autem sunt, a Deo ordinatae sunt"

"there is no power but of God
the powers that be are ordained of God"

f**catus sis, Paulus
epistulae ad Romanos XIII.I causa

f**k you, Paul
for Romans 13.1




I I.    S U C C E S S I O N


Jesus may have known
why he left things with Peter
not Paul:

you should never trust
a message critical of authority
to the representatives of an empire

put another way:
the Romans killed Jesus
then, made him their own

Caesar loved his enemies, he said
so did Jesus
a match made in heaven?

what would the man do
who threw the money-makers out of the temple
in the sight of Saint Peter's dome?

put simply now, finally:
Jesus, the Hippie,
was made the (corporate) Man, by Paul

A - men




I I I.    S I N


the violation
of a rule
made up by powerful men
who invented an imaginary friend?

or simply,
the crime of being human,
and fallible?




I V.    L O V E,    A C A D E M I C A L L Y


love
is always
academic
you gotta love
how all of energy and matter
suddenly was there
particles and atoms
building massive things
atoms building molecules
building living things
the history of which on Earth
is breathtaking
(unless, of course, you read a rather old book rather unintelligently)
and us, ourselves,
so many things we have done
(all to be studied)
so many things in our head
(all to be studied)
so many things in our cultures
(all to be studied)
and in the end
the lonely geek
can either realize
it's all been studying
and what for
and then, well, kill yourself
by killing the geek in you

:

or: embrace the geek
love the geek
cause you've come so much further
you've seen so much more
invested so much --- what, actually,
have you
invested
most?
love, actually
love in academia
is a mandatory course:
the academy needs no technocrats, none of all those
going out into the real world
telling them, all the love I found in the academy is lost,
let's sell something stupid to masses deemed stupid...
no:
the love
herein
is the very insight
the very definition
of what we do:
I want to show you the world, my dear ---
--- I want you to show me the world, my dear

teachers need students need teachers need students
to see:
sight
finally
means love
and caring
on levels previously unimagined
this quest
can it be
as filled with love
as with
some form of religion even?
has Plato not inspired both?
and is not the rainbow more fascinating once unwoven?




V.    R E A L    L O V E


and out of deep thinking
out of deep consideration
let the heart join in
to this conversation of being alive:
for being a life:
shan't we realize,
shan't we recognize
that love
is
indeed
simple in deed?

you may analyze surrounding factors
looking at every single angle
psycho-analyze the crap out of every single thing
accept, maybe, whatever annoys you
(if you're annoyed that early by that, you're sure it's what you want?)
you may analyze
you may anatomize
the bejesus
out of every little thing

yet tell me:
is there love?

is there compassion - and more?
is there an interest - and more?
is there attraction - and more?

for love
is greedy
(but for a good cause)
and love
may be analyzed;
but not deconstructed: it'll still be there
for love
simply
is

so, is there love?
that sine qua non
without which
nothing else
matters?

something is needed
to provide the harmony
(even to an atonal life)

something is needed
to provide the tether
to span all our continents

something is needed
to know, time and again,
yes, this is it: her/him and no other

and no, sometimes,
it simply is not
a testament
to some psychobabbling legacy:

love
simply is

I love you

there is no other meaning necessary




V I.    D I O N Y S O S


maybe
sometimes
indeed

we need salvation
from our worries
and if only temporary

so I congratulate the pragmatism of the Greeks
to shape a holiday to a god of forgiveness
with the help of drugs

for sometimes
to be saved
you need to forget all your troubles, and have some fun




V I I.    A    H I S T O R Y    O F    I D E A S


we've had plenty of ideas
some quite good
others, mediocre
others yet, utterly splendid
others then, the worstest catastrophe

still
we're doomed
in this everlasting loop
to recur
to the history
of an idea
as if it would help to see how even the best got screwed up

could we not
simply
utopian-y
start anew?

well,
all that history does have a point:
mostly that: all utopias have failed
together with the bestest of intentions

maybe feeling
is not quite enough




V I I I.    T H E    W E A K    N E E D    P R O T E C T I O N


maybe the weak are weak
because
if all power is derived from god,
he will'd it?

think on that
god wills it
that whoever is suffering
is suffering?

who does this tell you more about?
the sufferer?
or god?

can I really be made to believe,
believably,
that every power on earth
is condoned
by god?

well, no, I cannot
that's Roman perversion
selling out
the Jesus movement
of my peers




I X.    I S I S    A N D    O S I R I S


a story about love, death, and resurrection
I guess
I hope I've got the main things right
the details though?
well, details hardly ever matter

I would so wish love could transcend death
I guess, I can only hope
but I need to know
it's mere hope




X.    W H A T E V E R    G O D    I S


there may,
in your religious life,
be moments wherein
the lives of others
are seen as diminished
as they would not follow
the very same god
as your own

remember
then

that you are a mortal
coming from dust
returning to dust
just like everything else

and
further:

whatever it is
that separates you
from life around
and that makes you seem on a mission
to spread your own vision
to heathens out there
and that makes you not care
about whoever may die
and that thing is called god
remember:

whatever god is
it is not this












Exvocatio: Humanitas



Quis nunc potest nos salvare?
Quid nunc est peccatum nostrum?
Non sunt digni nos viventes?

who can save us now?
but do we need saving
from life?

what is our sin?
to have been born
and to have to live?

are we not worthy to be living?
I believe it all depends
on









PJK
December 31st, 2009





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