banging
my head
against
rock hard
reality
my bottles
of beer are
empty
and
my mind
full of
quack
unattainable
unreachable
undefinable
unutterable
unknowable
unrealistic
Buddhahood
the rain droplets
on the window pane
are particularly
quiet
alas.
The candle
opened up
its wax
like a vagina
Suddendly
releasing a continuous
flow of sperm
over its folded forms
I blew out the light
and all was quiet again.
gray ground
nestling
the little curvaceous
seeking self
a methodical
appraisal of the
unintelligible
empty fields
arising
an axiomatic love
of chaos
and labyrinth
light never
ages
but its image
traverses time
the tree was spotted
as the period
at the end
of a graceful sentence
that spoke of
a timeless seed
the eyes that were
given to me
eloped with darkness
an affair
of unknown
qualities
and reverberations.
The greatest liberation
came when I dropped
the pretension to happiness.
If was freedom from category,
from hope, from knowledge,
from purpose.
I immediately recognized
that reality has no meaning,
no destination, no description.
All happiness seemed trivial in its
relation to one condition or circumstance.
I preferred truth.
I did not find it in the philosophies, religions
and sciences.
The dawn of despair set in,
total and unequivocal,
but despite the existential ache that ensued,
it brought with its gloomy light the necessary
vision to initiate in truth:
the denial of all former values.
If existence was factually beyond
the reach of words,
it could not be grasped in recorded knowledge;
it could not be explained by the logical sequence
of premises and postulates;
if it had a truth, it needed to be
immediate and self-evident.
Truth cannot be imposed onto reality,
it would distort it otherwise.
Reality is the only truth –
and to discover what it is
I had to drop all attempts to define it…
merely become aware of it
and allow its transmutations
to speak its truth.
.
he
sembrado
sombras
tiempo alma
en grano infinitésimo
en la ventana
del pensar
una galaxia
con cuerdas de lluvia
y arroyos de pelo
son largas barbas
estremeciéndose
con luz naciendo -
olor a seno…
mis manos
ya no apañan
la ilusión
debo cumplir
una única
sentencia
vivir.
.
Stark ugly
vertiginous
despair
barely standing on the sideway
I’m not a fucking poet
more like a corpse
that is driven around town
in a black and quaint funeral car
only that the engine
responsible for my movements
is fueled by fatal instincts
crazy habits
and unfathomable desires
you’ll see me there
apparently thoughtful
walking like others
distinctly human
but no
I’m the wrong
kind of meat-
purely bored
a spectator
with no command
over a lame
existence.
.
we’re always
inside
and
no one
comes out
to die
twilight is glistering
over these rooftops –
always coming around
in the evening hours
bare in the natural sky
under a shadow
or behind a dream
the underside of silence
a fetus
in that momentary womb
phantasmagorias of blue
naked over the kingdom
of artifact
how is twilight
that reeks of eternity
a bird’s medium
and our casual joys
within walls.
There by
Brown morning
Lorid feel
Gallop coal
Hi organ john
Feather good finger
My lung jubilates in bass
Long like the tower of gun
Linger year
Trembling young hunt
Kino deutsche
Now
Or
Never
Hungry for eternal
Laugh,
My dandy father
The moon born like years of oops
Holy joke
Goodie smell
Casi casi
Exiting smoke
Towards the hole
Umbrella ill
Rear fear wonder
Pop
Jolly spell like mystery
In schedule
Swallowed and filled
Volume
Of portrait
So heart
Is speaking
In long jingles.
