Erzählt hab´ ich´s der Mutter,
Gedacht dem Vater,
Versprochen der Schwester
Und dem Bruder zum Trotze.
Der ewig Plumpe wusste es.
Alles kam heraus:
Es zu ihm,
Er zu mir,
Die Scwester zum Vater,
Die Nachbarn aus den Fenstern.
Im Erdgeschoß schwingen sie sich,
Im zweiten Stock springen sie nicht,
Sie hasten statt dessen,
Bis sie es sehen.
Und als sie ermahnen,
Schreien, keifen, kämpfen,
Horchen wir,
Bis sie still stehen.
Als sie sich umdrehen,
Stumm, und gehen,
Kuscheln sich die Igel
Und verstehen.
.
.
(1992)
Friday, November 27, 2009
Rap-Fetzen
Die Verrücktheiten dieser Welt schreib ich auf mein Sternenzelt,
der Nachts aufgebahrt in den Himmel starrt.
Wie Punkte im schwarz schweben, als Netz um den Kopf sich legen,
mein ich abzuheben, dem Nirgendwo entgegen.
Traumbild bemuttert Ratio, schäumt wild auf in Post-Fellatio-
Eruptionen bauen Inseln, als rasierte Zwerge ihrem Bart nachwinseln.
Schleckermäulchen mit Wissen in Mundwinkeln,
Zwangsläufigkeiten, die meinen Reim anpinkeln,
Eins nach dem anderen, wie Generationen wanderten
Durch ihre Zeit, fühlten sich nie bereit abzudanken
stets im Wanken zwischen Größenwahn und Untergang.
Was davon klar war, echt oder wahr, stet auf einem andern Blatt,
ist das ein Grund, sich satt zurückzulehnen, die eigene Zeit zu dehnen,
aufzublähen, im Cyberspace Wölkchen zu sähen?
Ich denke ja und nein, in Zig-Millionien-Wesenheit ist jeder Augenblick einzig,
ebenso winzig klein wie weit.
Wenn ich still daliege, romantisch im Traum mich wiege,
gewinnt das Fließen, das ich bin, diffuse Weitsicht, die ich kaum kriege,
wenn ich mir den Kopf zerbrech, mit Nadeln den Ballon zerstech,
den ich gern fliegen lass, er bringt der Welt nicht nur Phantasie und Spaß.
Du weißt nie, wo er ist.
Ist er erst da, wenn du ihn nicht mehr vermisst?
.
.
(2007)
der Nachts aufgebahrt in den Himmel starrt.
Wie Punkte im schwarz schweben, als Netz um den Kopf sich legen,
mein ich abzuheben, dem Nirgendwo entgegen.
Traumbild bemuttert Ratio, schäumt wild auf in Post-Fellatio-
Eruptionen bauen Inseln, als rasierte Zwerge ihrem Bart nachwinseln.
Schleckermäulchen mit Wissen in Mundwinkeln,
Zwangsläufigkeiten, die meinen Reim anpinkeln,
Eins nach dem anderen, wie Generationen wanderten
Durch ihre Zeit, fühlten sich nie bereit abzudanken
stets im Wanken zwischen Größenwahn und Untergang.
Was davon klar war, echt oder wahr, stet auf einem andern Blatt,
ist das ein Grund, sich satt zurückzulehnen, die eigene Zeit zu dehnen,
aufzublähen, im Cyberspace Wölkchen zu sähen?
Ich denke ja und nein, in Zig-Millionien-Wesenheit ist jeder Augenblick einzig,
ebenso winzig klein wie weit.
Wenn ich still daliege, romantisch im Traum mich wiege,
gewinnt das Fließen, das ich bin, diffuse Weitsicht, die ich kaum kriege,
wenn ich mir den Kopf zerbrech, mit Nadeln den Ballon zerstech,
den ich gern fliegen lass, er bringt der Welt nicht nur Phantasie und Spaß.
Du weißt nie, wo er ist.
Ist er erst da, wenn du ihn nicht mehr vermisst?
.
.
(2007)
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Une fois (Ein Mal)
((((((((Deutsche Übersetzung unten.))))))))))
.
.
.
Une fois,
c´est une fois,
une fois --- -- une fois
Et ce qui s´est passé
N´est pas passé,
Il va rester,
Expecter
L´autre fois.
Un movement raide,
Un geste tenu,
Un regard fixe,
Direction inconnue.
Après la séance,
La sueur essuyée,
La liberté du rien
Et la franchise déliré,
Ils force à l´hablilité
De manger quelche chose,
Pas maintenant,
Mais plus tard,
L´autre fois,
Avant la prochaine fois.
Comme leurs yeux
Voient à travers ce visage,
Qui plane sur la terre
Trop légèr,
Pendant que le corps dissoudre
Dans l´air brillant - - -
Un matin
En été,
Pittoresque
Et glacé . . .
"Tu ne te connais pas autrement que avec notre pénétration.
Qui cris du fond n´est pas humaine, ce n´est pas toi !
Nous le laissons crier jusqu´au fin, nous jurons - - -
Nous jurons!
Jusqu´au fin!!"
La scène je la quitte
Et la maison dans cette ville,
Et la poésie hypothétique
D´un artiste en voyage.
Avec des grands yeux
Je vais tout droit
Pour faire un circle ou un arbre
Ou autre chose symbolique,
Qui m´invite a changer
Toujours et jamais.
Au revoir !
C´est une fois, c´est une fois
C´est une fois . . .
La tête reste accrochée aux pieds
Quand ils arrête ce qui´ils ne font plus.
Elle cherche entre des fois
Pour un copain qui n´est pas la crampe,
Qui brûle toujours plus fort,
Mais avec la flamme
De plus en plus petite
Toutes les fois, toutes les fois,
Toutes les fois . . .
.
.
(2006) (inspiré du film "Requiem" de Hans-Christian Schmid)
.
.
_______________
ein mal, dies ist ein mal,
dies ist ein mal, dies ist ein mal,
und was geschehen ist
ist nicht vorbei,
es ruht
und erwartet
das andere mal
eine harte bewegung,
gehaltene geste,
ein starrer blick
unbekannter richtung
nach der vorstellung:
der schweiß getrocknet,
die freiheit des nichts
und deliröse offenheit,
sie zwingen zur fähigkeit
irgendetwas zu essen,
nicht jetzt,
aber später,
ein andernmal
vor dem nächsten mal
wie deren augen
durch dieses gesicht blicken
das über der erde schwebt,
viel zu leicht,
und der körper sich löst
in gleißender luft
ein vormittag
im sommer
malerisch
und eisig . . .
"du kennst dich nicht anders als mit unserer penetration.
was aus dir schreit, das ist nicht menschlich!
das bist nicht du!
wir lassen es schreien bis zum ende, das schwören wir !
wir schören das!
bis zum ende!!
ich verlasse die bühne
und dieses haus in dieser stadt,
und die hypothetische poesie
eines künstlers auf reise.
mit großen augen
geh ich geradeaus,
um einen kreis zu machen
oder einen baum
oder anderes symbolisches,
das mich zu ändern einlädt,
immer und nie
auf wiedersehen
dies ist ein mal, dies ist ein mal,
dies ist ein mal
der kopf
bleibt an den füßen hängen,
als er aufört zu tun
was er nicht mehr tut.
sie sucht zwischen den malen
nach einem freund,
der nicht der krampf ist,
der immer stärker brennt,
doch die flamme
immer kleiner
jedes mal, jedes mal,
jedes mal . .
.
.
(2006) (inspiriert vom Film "Requiem" von Hans-Christian Schmid)
.
.
.
.
.
Une fois,
c´est une fois,
une fois --- -- une fois
Et ce qui s´est passé
N´est pas passé,
Il va rester,
Expecter
L´autre fois.
Un movement raide,
Un geste tenu,
Un regard fixe,
Direction inconnue.
Après la séance,
La sueur essuyée,
La liberté du rien
Et la franchise déliré,
Ils force à l´hablilité
De manger quelche chose,
Pas maintenant,
Mais plus tard,
L´autre fois,
Avant la prochaine fois.
Comme leurs yeux
Voient à travers ce visage,
Qui plane sur la terre
Trop légèr,
Pendant que le corps dissoudre
Dans l´air brillant - - -
Un matin
En été,
Pittoresque
Et glacé . . .
"Tu ne te connais pas autrement que avec notre pénétration.
Qui cris du fond n´est pas humaine, ce n´est pas toi !
Nous le laissons crier jusqu´au fin, nous jurons - - -
Nous jurons!
Jusqu´au fin!!"
La scène je la quitte
Et la maison dans cette ville,
Et la poésie hypothétique
D´un artiste en voyage.
Avec des grands yeux
Je vais tout droit
Pour faire un circle ou un arbre
Ou autre chose symbolique,
Qui m´invite a changer
Toujours et jamais.
Au revoir !
C´est une fois, c´est une fois
C´est une fois . . .
La tête reste accrochée aux pieds
Quand ils arrête ce qui´ils ne font plus.
Elle cherche entre des fois
Pour un copain qui n´est pas la crampe,
Qui brûle toujours plus fort,
Mais avec la flamme
De plus en plus petite
Toutes les fois, toutes les fois,
Toutes les fois . . .
.
.
(2006) (inspiré du film "Requiem" de Hans-Christian Schmid)
.
.
_______________
ein mal, dies ist ein mal,
dies ist ein mal, dies ist ein mal,
und was geschehen ist
ist nicht vorbei,
es ruht
und erwartet
das andere mal
eine harte bewegung,
gehaltene geste,
ein starrer blick
unbekannter richtung
nach der vorstellung:
der schweiß getrocknet,
die freiheit des nichts
und deliröse offenheit,
sie zwingen zur fähigkeit
irgendetwas zu essen,
nicht jetzt,
aber später,
ein andernmal
vor dem nächsten mal
wie deren augen
durch dieses gesicht blicken
das über der erde schwebt,
viel zu leicht,
und der körper sich löst
in gleißender luft
ein vormittag
im sommer
malerisch
und eisig . . .
"du kennst dich nicht anders als mit unserer penetration.
was aus dir schreit, das ist nicht menschlich!
das bist nicht du!
wir lassen es schreien bis zum ende, das schwören wir !
wir schören das!
bis zum ende!!
ich verlasse die bühne
und dieses haus in dieser stadt,
und die hypothetische poesie
eines künstlers auf reise.
mit großen augen
geh ich geradeaus,
um einen kreis zu machen
oder einen baum
oder anderes symbolisches,
das mich zu ändern einlädt,
immer und nie
auf wiedersehen
dies ist ein mal, dies ist ein mal,
dies ist ein mal
der kopf
bleibt an den füßen hängen,
als er aufört zu tun
was er nicht mehr tut.
sie sucht zwischen den malen
nach einem freund,
der nicht der krampf ist,
der immer stärker brennt,
doch die flamme
immer kleiner
jedes mal, jedes mal,
jedes mal . .
.
.
(2006) (inspiriert vom Film "Requiem" von Hans-Christian Schmid)
.
.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Those guys
Morbid allusions
No early age privilege,
Regardless of age
That´s where it gets shaped.
Driven by others,
And mothers and fathers,
No one counts guilty,
Just occurring dismay.
Selecting the modes
Of relations towards them
----- Lacks control.
Who´s controlling anyway?
Where controlled are controllers
Each syllable gets split,
Hugged once, torched twice
And zero discount.
Listing and fisting
Are nearer than we think;
Corned beef wailing,
The other half smacks.
Surely, of course, clear,
Blurred, unsharp, fear,
Who´s the observer,
Who grey eminence?
“I´ll give you …”
“What dare you say?”
“Don´t talk ´bout my mother!”
“I swear by my mother!”
And growing dwarfs.
One part searching fusion,
The other inside of it still.
Wombfuls of hands
----- Reaching for Daddy
Shriek back, cold-heated,
Mind bubbles disrupt.
And they grew fists.
--- Giving and taking
Where levels of violence
Seem peace-measured tails.
(Nov 2009)
No early age privilege,
Regardless of age
That´s where it gets shaped.
Driven by others,
And mothers and fathers,
No one counts guilty,
Just occurring dismay.
Selecting the modes
Of relations towards them
----- Lacks control.
Who´s controlling anyway?
Where controlled are controllers
Each syllable gets split,
Hugged once, torched twice
And zero discount.
Listing and fisting
Are nearer than we think;
Corned beef wailing,
The other half smacks.
Surely, of course, clear,
Blurred, unsharp, fear,
Who´s the observer,
Who grey eminence?
“I´ll give you …”
“What dare you say?”
“Don´t talk ´bout my mother!”
“I swear by my mother!”
And growing dwarfs.
One part searching fusion,
The other inside of it still.
Wombfuls of hands
----- Reaching for Daddy
Shriek back, cold-heated,
Mind bubbles disrupt.
And they grew fists.
--- Giving and taking
Where levels of violence
Seem peace-measured tails.
(Nov 2009)
Monday, November 2, 2009
Jumpin´on top
Maybe you know your friends are crazy.
But maybe you don´t know how crazy they are.
I saw a guy, a friend, jump up on a car roof, jumping on, up and down on the roof.
It was an old Ford Taunus and he even knew the guy whose car it was.
I shouted at him:”That´s stupid, man, gett off the car and calm down again.”
He said:”That´s nothing, pal, we used to smash the windows and burn them.”
“If it was so you surely had your reasons to do so, but now there is no reason to fuck people you even know besides that you´re making up some sense in you head.”
“I don´t care about what others think or feel, it´s their problem.”
It would be like the times before, in the end we all would pay again, so at least the cops would not sniff into our things, thought of the evening when he turned over a table in the bar we went most often, only because a friend would not listen to him.
He had cut the friend´s talk to some other guy and insisted on being listened to, and when he was told to wait for a moment he freaked out, started shouting at his friend, threw an ashtray in his direction, grabbed the table, turned it over and left the bar.
He didn´t even have a propper way to appologize for his outrageaous times or his emotionlessness about other people.
“It´s their problem.”
I tried to talk with about it when someone else was with us.
He said: “That´s none of your problem.”
So far his conceptual continuity he was proud of in the most intimate way.
He would not ask you questions, that was one part of it.
He would take everything the way it comes as long as he himself did not feel restricted in anyhow which would have provided a sort of ease if not he spread a deep swamp of unlikelyness to be critzised at all, or to be touched in his emotions or belongings anyhow.
If you opposed him in private and showed him the edges then he´d be with you though, even would be happy about it, the more it came from the guts the more happy he´d be and willing to take the words.
But as I said, mostly it did not reach to that point as there are not many moments where people float above swamps, especially when they already lost some power during their time in there.
Meanwhile this made the fact grow cynical that by idea he was very interested in setting up some action with the boys, most likely to his conditions of course.
Somebody else proposing this and that? Sometimes interested.
Leaving the hood? Not interested.
Expecting others to be interested in his stuff? Extremely interested.
He probably was more experienced than most of the guys he surrounded himself with. What a coincidence with his ideas of being an extraordinary person.
So extraordinary he would be allowed to jump somebody else´s car and on everybody else´s feelings and heads.
I saw the tears in the car owner´s eyes even before he arrived.
He loved the car, everybody knew he loved that car.
Most of the others as well shouted: “Hey, that´s not cool, stop it.”, but he would not hear, said, when lately the owner arrived: ”I know what I did was really fucked and stupid, really stupid and fucked up.”, and went for a bottle of wine.
The owner did not cry, but I could see something break inside of him.
Somehow the money would be payed back, maybe not all in the form of money, and it would be alright again, so the guys gave their part, and not to destroy more immaterial things.
I couldn´t.
.
.
(Nov 2009)
But maybe you don´t know how crazy they are.
I saw a guy, a friend, jump up on a car roof, jumping on, up and down on the roof.
It was an old Ford Taunus and he even knew the guy whose car it was.
I shouted at him:”That´s stupid, man, gett off the car and calm down again.”
He said:”That´s nothing, pal, we used to smash the windows and burn them.”
“If it was so you surely had your reasons to do so, but now there is no reason to fuck people you even know besides that you´re making up some sense in you head.”
“I don´t care about what others think or feel, it´s their problem.”
It would be like the times before, in the end we all would pay again, so at least the cops would not sniff into our things, thought of the evening when he turned over a table in the bar we went most often, only because a friend would not listen to him.
He had cut the friend´s talk to some other guy and insisted on being listened to, and when he was told to wait for a moment he freaked out, started shouting at his friend, threw an ashtray in his direction, grabbed the table, turned it over and left the bar.
He didn´t even have a propper way to appologize for his outrageaous times or his emotionlessness about other people.
“It´s their problem.”
I tried to talk with about it when someone else was with us.
He said: “That´s none of your problem.”
So far his conceptual continuity he was proud of in the most intimate way.
He would not ask you questions, that was one part of it.
He would take everything the way it comes as long as he himself did not feel restricted in anyhow which would have provided a sort of ease if not he spread a deep swamp of unlikelyness to be critzised at all, or to be touched in his emotions or belongings anyhow.
If you opposed him in private and showed him the edges then he´d be with you though, even would be happy about it, the more it came from the guts the more happy he´d be and willing to take the words.
But as I said, mostly it did not reach to that point as there are not many moments where people float above swamps, especially when they already lost some power during their time in there.
Meanwhile this made the fact grow cynical that by idea he was very interested in setting up some action with the boys, most likely to his conditions of course.
Somebody else proposing this and that? Sometimes interested.
Leaving the hood? Not interested.
Expecting others to be interested in his stuff? Extremely interested.
He probably was more experienced than most of the guys he surrounded himself with. What a coincidence with his ideas of being an extraordinary person.
So extraordinary he would be allowed to jump somebody else´s car and on everybody else´s feelings and heads.
I saw the tears in the car owner´s eyes even before he arrived.
He loved the car, everybody knew he loved that car.
Most of the others as well shouted: “Hey, that´s not cool, stop it.”, but he would not hear, said, when lately the owner arrived: ”I know what I did was really fucked and stupid, really stupid and fucked up.”, and went for a bottle of wine.
The owner did not cry, but I could see something break inside of him.
Somehow the money would be payed back, maybe not all in the form of money, and it would be alright again, so the guys gave their part, and not to destroy more immaterial things.
I couldn´t.
.
.
(Nov 2009)
Friday, September 25, 2009
Two poems
earned short circles
short cuts
hair cuts
and the looops not suggested anymore
are the obscene flair
of focusless wilderness
originized now
in look-back feedback
grungelized
recycled
concrete
grabitude
you can object
anything
i would not resist
just the words and mimes
pass me through
and i will continue
looking at you
please forgive
that other times
i will be forced
to hesitate
when both we hang in the air
wondering front to front
palm to palm
seeing the other
and slip through into
some other time
we stare at clouds
forget everthing
that´s nearer than them
we´d loose ourselves
and panic did show
in hysterical fun
of the wideness and thrill
our embracement would hold.
another now
we would choose our selves
just not frantic but slow
each a multitude and still one
switching strong will
and forgetting untold
the cloud still wide
and arousing the look
- - - - - - - -
flying sources
i´m reading a book
it takes quite long to read it
thin little book
somebody wondered
the woman who wrote
didn´t take it too bloomy
not immersing with fogs
like it would happen to me
if i´d long to close my eyes
which sometimes i love
flying up like a dove
that is playing the cello
then i might yell
“o, you dove
i know you´ll return
with the tones
of the sun burning
stronger the higher
and wider you fly
--- only to know
what that´s worth
you come down and go
for a walk
and to play a few notes.”
but that book is a wake dream
the more it awakens
the more it´s a dream
made of streaming moving webs
flashing up and relating
to the someone
who becomes one
another
time
and again
all along
wake-streaming mumbling
“o, yes, i can see” ---
sometimes noting
the sources of this phrase
as changing
and moving
and digging
and trying
and some, at times,
flying
with a picture in mind
and no picture in mind ...
.
(sept 2009)
.
short cuts
hair cuts
and the looops not suggested anymore
are the obscene flair
of focusless wilderness
originized now
in look-back feedback
grungelized
recycled
concrete
grabitude
you can object
anything
i would not resist
just the words and mimes
pass me through
and i will continue
looking at you
please forgive
that other times
i will be forced
to hesitate
when both we hang in the air
wondering front to front
palm to palm
seeing the other
and slip through into
some other time
we stare at clouds
forget everthing
that´s nearer than them
we´d loose ourselves
and panic did show
in hysterical fun
of the wideness and thrill
our embracement would hold.
another now
we would choose our selves
just not frantic but slow
each a multitude and still one
switching strong will
and forgetting untold
the cloud still wide
and arousing the look
- - - - - - - -
flying sources
i´m reading a book
it takes quite long to read it
thin little book
somebody wondered
the woman who wrote
didn´t take it too bloomy
not immersing with fogs
like it would happen to me
if i´d long to close my eyes
which sometimes i love
flying up like a dove
that is playing the cello
then i might yell
“o, you dove
i know you´ll return
with the tones
of the sun burning
stronger the higher
and wider you fly
--- only to know
what that´s worth
you come down and go
for a walk
and to play a few notes.”
but that book is a wake dream
the more it awakens
the more it´s a dream
made of streaming moving webs
flashing up and relating
to the someone
who becomes one
another
time
and again
all along
wake-streaming mumbling
“o, yes, i can see” ---
sometimes noting
the sources of this phrase
as changing
and moving
and digging
and trying
and some, at times,
flying
with a picture in mind
and no picture in mind ...
.
(sept 2009)
.
… and the other lonesome people
Way far too long
While slipping away from beforehand accused enemies
Used entities
To effect however selftought
Fraud dynamite silk pillows
Under one´s own head behalf
Of sighing tales
Piled up
And the letters hooking in
Head over heals then
Patterns of illustrous greed
Vectored in no direction
A fillup for space found.
After all initions
Visualized coolapse
Talks about gates
And wound up grace
To balls of yawn
Spinning multiversed laps
Cored not yet
Strictly self though.
Counting the figures passing by,
obscurities on demand gather conference style
Orders alike all orders ever given from who to where.
There´s these decisions…
Rawing distinguishing
Yeho,
Fellow citizens boys and girls men and women
No dare laming the speeds of the surround.
Put in and held back
Melange a troi
Looking into three eyes.
Towards meaningfullnessmenthood
As staying by one´s own two
Zip and sew
An old saying only:
All that´s open deserves to get caught, naughty friend.
A flash and
Wambam
Thank you mam, man
Ouff, come withoff
No, me getting almost crazy, see?
Right
The little mirrors show balls of water.
.
(Jan 2005)
.
While slipping away from beforehand accused enemies
Used entities
To effect however selftought
Fraud dynamite silk pillows
Under one´s own head behalf
Of sighing tales
Piled up
And the letters hooking in
Head over heals then
Patterns of illustrous greed
Vectored in no direction
A fillup for space found.
After all initions
Visualized coolapse
Talks about gates
And wound up grace
To balls of yawn
Spinning multiversed laps
Cored not yet
Strictly self though.
Counting the figures passing by,
obscurities on demand gather conference style
Orders alike all orders ever given from who to where.
There´s these decisions…
Rawing distinguishing
Yeho,
Fellow citizens boys and girls men and women
No dare laming the speeds of the surround.
Put in and held back
Melange a troi
Looking into three eyes.
Towards meaningfullnessmenthood
As staying by one´s own two
Zip and sew
An old saying only:
All that´s open deserves to get caught, naughty friend.
A flash and
Wambam
Thank you mam, man
Ouff, come withoff
No, me getting almost crazy, see?
Right
The little mirrors show balls of water.
.
(Jan 2005)
.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
The Blind Song
As the stone didn´t manage to burn
For the warden broke the bar on this neck
Thoughtdriven to tears
Cellophane honey
I´m carving your skin
Forged a lifeless frame
Once upon a time
Lisle stockings in my brain
Glowing husks – bashing my teeth
Doubling each hit in neglection
Puffing free and demerge
From the air they unfold
And the void comes undone
Lock you up look you down
See the eyebrows are burning
You told me once
But I would not hear
Hence you´re smiling so bright
That the crowds are disturbed
With the sunset´s decline
Your eyes unfurl
Like the velvet lips
When space becomes time
I can´t lick them all
So I play trying
What would stick out me man
What would stick out my hand
While a while the jaw sinks down
With this high building
Scraping your foot
I can´t cut the beauty off my heart
Not on the screen
And not on the line
And not any cyber
Will kill this desire
And when it transforms
It feels so near
But when the rules strike
I´m living the time
That surrounds me like wads
I don´t feel our touch
As I´m making my day
How would you reject
My strange words and my voice
When I´m weak from a trip
I should not write at all
I´m not sure you exist
Or was it a dream
Or did we forget
Time and again
You will feel my skin
You felt his worthwhile
We´re flying through fogs
we´re flying through fogs
That´s for you and for me
We can´t say what we want
We can´t talk what we want
Cause history is strong
And caught you up whole
But we would not care
As we´re changing it both
We´re changing it both
We´re changing it both
This is our yearn
These are our lips
This is our skin
This is our sex
And our liquids within
You would not lose strenght
No matter how weakweak
I would not lose strenght
No matter how weakweak
These are our hands
Like the moaning voice
These are our teeth
Like the moaning voice
These are our eyes
They´re not here at all
Like the moaning voice
Not here at all
Like the blind song
This is the blind song
I feel your blind song
And I would not cry
Cause it´s up to you
And I am not helpless
Nor will I grow blind
More than I´m now.
Why,
Believe
That I feel your blind song
(Oct 2008)
For the warden broke the bar on this neck
Thoughtdriven to tears
Cellophane honey
I´m carving your skin
Forged a lifeless frame
Once upon a time
Lisle stockings in my brain
Glowing husks – bashing my teeth
Doubling each hit in neglection
Puffing free and demerge
From the air they unfold
And the void comes undone
Lock you up look you down
See the eyebrows are burning
You told me once
But I would not hear
Hence you´re smiling so bright
That the crowds are disturbed
With the sunset´s decline
Your eyes unfurl
Like the velvet lips
When space becomes time
I can´t lick them all
So I play trying
What would stick out me man
What would stick out my hand
While a while the jaw sinks down
With this high building
Scraping your foot
I can´t cut the beauty off my heart
Not on the screen
And not on the line
And not any cyber
Will kill this desire
And when it transforms
It feels so near
But when the rules strike
I´m living the time
That surrounds me like wads
I don´t feel our touch
As I´m making my day
How would you reject
My strange words and my voice
When I´m weak from a trip
I should not write at all
I´m not sure you exist
Or was it a dream
Or did we forget
Time and again
You will feel my skin
You felt his worthwhile
We´re flying through fogs
we´re flying through fogs
That´s for you and for me
We can´t say what we want
We can´t talk what we want
Cause history is strong
And caught you up whole
But we would not care
As we´re changing it both
We´re changing it both
We´re changing it both
This is our yearn
These are our lips
This is our skin
This is our sex
And our liquids within
You would not lose strenght
No matter how weakweak
I would not lose strenght
No matter how weakweak
These are our hands
Like the moaning voice
These are our teeth
Like the moaning voice
These are our eyes
They´re not here at all
Like the moaning voice
Not here at all
Like the blind song
This is the blind song
I feel your blind song
And I would not cry
Cause it´s up to you
And I am not helpless
Nor will I grow blind
More than I´m now.
Why,
Believe
That I feel your blind song
(Oct 2008)
Thursday, July 23, 2009
i hear what they don´t say
react on what they don´t know
bring it to the level of consciousness
where they don´t understand it
where they cannot refer it to themselves
because of which it will sink deep inside of them
because the gap of what they don´t know about themselves,
about what they have not integrated into their wake mind,
the wake mind of which they think as themselves
the gap makes the info they cannot take
switch directly onto their other side of them
being translated into the language of emotion
far away from their wake words again
but their evaluation led by the neglection
the word-based idea of themselves
did experience confronted with the info
in this neglection
the self is standing in front of itself
to asure there is anybody at all
so any idea of a self
already is a double
that itself thinks its a singularity
and still
though being at least a duality
and in fact being a multitude
still is cut from the other side
with the other language it can´t keep
emotion and simple occurrance
before verbal evaluation
and that is the other side in this mode
of course it´s a mode
because i am writing this in words again
so i´m into the dualistic game of a self
that is making up its mind
the mind that is itself
the mind makes up itself
in this view it becomes its own construction
which makes it feel cut from source it represents
the source on whose behalf it considers
and makes up itself
but it cannot reach there again
cause the language is different
and it´s o so much caught by itself
in reconsideration of the neglection
and how it can forward the neglection
to the source
because what at least it gets
and so maybe called: feels
is the source still unpleased
unsatisfied and asking for more
but the self it can not understand
and it makes up it´s mind on it
makes up itself again
constructs itself at the aim of fulfilment
and the self
in its changing sides of self-re-con-side-ration
doubles and triples and multiplies further
gets vast and outworked
networked and fierce
in attempts to grab hold of the modes
of fulfilment
waits for depeches
that will always come secretely
so it will not wait for depeches
but take them as they come
as they do not and cannot
and don´t want to follow order
and systems of constructions
that follow the make-up
that made-up and make
turns to smears on the membranes and folds
that devide the selves and their sources
and surfaces of onlooks
by whatever entity
the secrets stay unfulfilled
in the language of the other
and desire is growing like that
restlessness in attempt to please the source
which always will end up in pleasing the self
and stay on this side
it will stay on this side
make up itself on this side
stare at itself on this side
grab hold at itself on this side
fearfully embrace itself on this side
cramp it in itself
trys to switch
cause switching was the mouth of the source
but it switches only from one side of the self
from itself to itself
and the more and more it executes this
becomes skillful and agile
it executes itself
from this
then from that side
and trys to pretend
more and more
that it came from the source
recturning with depeches from the source
and it executes itself
from this and from that side
this and that side
execute themselves
each one pretending the behalf of the source
the counterfeit of the source
passed on with each
turn of the wake
of the turning around of the self
turning around itself
each one acting in the name of the other
as the claim of the source
chasing each other
the self and the self
chasing itself
executing itself
executing itself
delenquents each in return
cause the claimed source
is the one from whom each of them claims
to be different
cause the source somes from the other side of the gap
and the self is claiming the gap in itself
and the nourrishment that´s there
from the source
still is not meant
when the contact the self imitates
takes its chase
but the nourrishment´s there
and the more it is outside
the more it is out of reach
out of cognition
and re-cognition
the more the self-substitution
has taken its place
the more it will be everywhere
cause it is there
somewhere
occurring
energizing
driving
but fully out of reach
the self-reference has given it the freedom of ignorance
the freedom of boundlessness
and loss of control
or what has been there asuch
and boundlessness will choose how to appear
what it will nourrish or feed or motivate
and the self-reference
in its jumpy haste
will effect it here and there
sometimes here sometimes there
while the self-re-con-side-ration
changes side and re with its own ration
ale and tee
for two and more and many who will
take a bit of the offered
here and there
a changing
not even a patchwork
only in time
and loose relation
the souce will spread everywhere
and be nowhere
becomes eventfulness without any of its own behalf
it is verywhere
ecstatically verywhere
boundless and wild
open source freely adapted
being consumed
and cut into pieces
while the same is not possible
torn in pixels unrecognized
vapor diffunding
un-ad-rest
less-ness
yearning
and roaring
received so much fragmentized
it is omnipresently not there at all
until the self construction finds out
which kind exectution it means in the end
and distinction of the whole
is just an unlucky misunderstanding
of extinguish-meant to be drawn
to the self in its self-con-firm-ation
its self-reference
its self asswipe cheap childy holding up old torch
where heritages meet
when the switch inbetween of those
gets picked by the self-ish
inhalation of vapor of the moment
the contactless fragment
where openness embraces dictatorship
and the selfful mind looks at itself
suspicious and self-delicious in one
changing and changing and changing
to get a snack that turns to poison
with the next change of side
until there´s a cut
interference
and the first asks what that might be
and to say it straight away:
that would be spoken from any point of the self
that performs itself time and again
needing toys and fuel for the ride
so it has to be something
so it can be positively saying
i´m positive
because it will want to find something it can grab
what to do when itself is one to be cut out
cut out from the automatation of the self
that always grabs something to
confirm its own existence
in this exallereating metabolism of selves
you cannot right cut it by feeding some more
it will cry for food
it will cry for food
for more
don´t let me die
not one of us
cause we got something to carry
they say
we need to continue our chase of depeches
what are you doing
you cannot shut us down
not one of us
(in fact there´s only two of them
they just dress up different
every party or stunt they throw
as seen above)
they bubble and mumble
and complain and resist
would use the source´s fragmentation to their best
to confuse any will of rearrangement
that would cut out the one of them
reuduce the multutude
first only to two
understand: it is only two anyway
(the interlocking is more complex
but first think it as only two sides that are changing)
one of two
cut
readers and books
readers performing the act of reading
and meanwhile reading the same in the head
readers performing the act of reading
meanwhile watching themselves reading
the same thing in the head
readers performing the act of reading
meanwhile watching themselves watching themselves reading
the same thing in the head
a mirrorgame
a mindfuck
just don´t perform
just don´t perform
one in the endless row
just stop for a while
and a little while longer
get a feeling of sneaking back
into it again
to knwo what it really is
you don´t know what it really is
as long as you´ve not left
or even lost it
it it´s o so important
the essence of it will be with you anyway
just leave one of them
in a moment of nothingness
that shows what it really is
a reflex
not more than a reflex
learned and put in such speed
it is able to convince itself
it would´t be possible to interfere or stop
such is the speed
it claims to have
but it´s slow
so slow
not moving at all
not showing at all
not anything at all
even not to itself
if not knwoing about nothingness
perform its own nothingness
like you measure the amount
at point zero of the scale
starting farther up
the amplitude will show to be less
and the most important thing in the end
is the omnipresence that´s not there at all
to understand that
not by grabbing it
but by letting it
interfere
and so show it
and sink again
but not in a chasing mirrorgame of selves
and that´s why there still is feeling
despite all
should freak out also
two not even knowing each other
are bound
and don´t care at the same time
ignorance driving crazy
for a year in two lives
and nearness at the same time
one would take over
then give up all control
and both poles being there
at the same time
all the time
as the various ones they are
and co-respond
some with words
some with touch
some with sound
and all of them at the same time
one hoping the other will get along
with words much better
and not diffuse completely
and won´t panic anymore
learn to give and give up
in controlled loss of control
that fade
had already lived it
every time anew
could not do any other
and what would be let out
would have its opposite
as a treasure inside
and more
react on what they don´t know
bring it to the level of consciousness
where they don´t understand it
where they cannot refer it to themselves
because of which it will sink deep inside of them
because the gap of what they don´t know about themselves,
about what they have not integrated into their wake mind,
the wake mind of which they think as themselves
the gap makes the info they cannot take
switch directly onto their other side of them
being translated into the language of emotion
far away from their wake words again
but their evaluation led by the neglection
the word-based idea of themselves
did experience confronted with the info
in this neglection
the self is standing in front of itself
to asure there is anybody at all
so any idea of a self
already is a double
that itself thinks its a singularity
and still
though being at least a duality
and in fact being a multitude
still is cut from the other side
with the other language it can´t keep
emotion and simple occurrance
before verbal evaluation
and that is the other side in this mode
of course it´s a mode
because i am writing this in words again
so i´m into the dualistic game of a self
that is making up its mind
the mind that is itself
the mind makes up itself
in this view it becomes its own construction
which makes it feel cut from source it represents
the source on whose behalf it considers
and makes up itself
but it cannot reach there again
cause the language is different
and it´s o so much caught by itself
in reconsideration of the neglection
and how it can forward the neglection
to the source
because what at least it gets
and so maybe called: feels
is the source still unpleased
unsatisfied and asking for more
but the self it can not understand
and it makes up it´s mind on it
makes up itself again
constructs itself at the aim of fulfilment
and the self
in its changing sides of self-re-con-side-ration
doubles and triples and multiplies further
gets vast and outworked
networked and fierce
in attempts to grab hold of the modes
of fulfilment
waits for depeches
that will always come secretely
so it will not wait for depeches
but take them as they come
as they do not and cannot
and don´t want to follow order
and systems of constructions
that follow the make-up
that made-up and make
turns to smears on the membranes and folds
that devide the selves and their sources
and surfaces of onlooks
by whatever entity
the secrets stay unfulfilled
in the language of the other
and desire is growing like that
restlessness in attempt to please the source
which always will end up in pleasing the self
and stay on this side
it will stay on this side
make up itself on this side
stare at itself on this side
grab hold at itself on this side
fearfully embrace itself on this side
cramp it in itself
trys to switch
cause switching was the mouth of the source
but it switches only from one side of the self
from itself to itself
and the more and more it executes this
becomes skillful and agile
it executes itself
from this
then from that side
and trys to pretend
more and more
that it came from the source
recturning with depeches from the source
and it executes itself
from this and from that side
this and that side
execute themselves
each one pretending the behalf of the source
the counterfeit of the source
passed on with each
turn of the wake
of the turning around of the self
turning around itself
each one acting in the name of the other
as the claim of the source
chasing each other
the self and the self
chasing itself
executing itself
executing itself
delenquents each in return
cause the claimed source
is the one from whom each of them claims
to be different
cause the source somes from the other side of the gap
and the self is claiming the gap in itself
and the nourrishment that´s there
from the source
still is not meant
when the contact the self imitates
takes its chase
but the nourrishment´s there
and the more it is outside
the more it is out of reach
out of cognition
and re-cognition
the more the self-substitution
has taken its place
the more it will be everywhere
cause it is there
somewhere
occurring
energizing
driving
but fully out of reach
the self-reference has given it the freedom of ignorance
the freedom of boundlessness
and loss of control
or what has been there asuch
and boundlessness will choose how to appear
what it will nourrish or feed or motivate
and the self-reference
in its jumpy haste
will effect it here and there
sometimes here sometimes there
while the self-re-con-side-ration
changes side and re with its own ration
ale and tee
for two and more and many who will
take a bit of the offered
here and there
a changing
not even a patchwork
only in time
and loose relation
the souce will spread everywhere
and be nowhere
becomes eventfulness without any of its own behalf
it is verywhere
ecstatically verywhere
boundless and wild
open source freely adapted
being consumed
and cut into pieces
while the same is not possible
torn in pixels unrecognized
vapor diffunding
un-ad-rest
less-ness
yearning
and roaring
received so much fragmentized
it is omnipresently not there at all
until the self construction finds out
which kind exectution it means in the end
and distinction of the whole
is just an unlucky misunderstanding
of extinguish-meant to be drawn
to the self in its self-con-firm-ation
its self-reference
its self asswipe cheap childy holding up old torch
where heritages meet
when the switch inbetween of those
gets picked by the self-ish
inhalation of vapor of the moment
the contactless fragment
where openness embraces dictatorship
and the selfful mind looks at itself
suspicious and self-delicious in one
changing and changing and changing
to get a snack that turns to poison
with the next change of side
until there´s a cut
interference
and the first asks what that might be
and to say it straight away:
that would be spoken from any point of the self
that performs itself time and again
needing toys and fuel for the ride
so it has to be something
so it can be positively saying
i´m positive
because it will want to find something it can grab
what to do when itself is one to be cut out
cut out from the automatation of the self
that always grabs something to
confirm its own existence
in this exallereating metabolism of selves
you cannot right cut it by feeding some more
it will cry for food
it will cry for food
for more
don´t let me die
not one of us
cause we got something to carry
they say
we need to continue our chase of depeches
what are you doing
you cannot shut us down
not one of us
(in fact there´s only two of them
they just dress up different
every party or stunt they throw
as seen above)
they bubble and mumble
and complain and resist
would use the source´s fragmentation to their best
to confuse any will of rearrangement
that would cut out the one of them
reuduce the multutude
first only to two
understand: it is only two anyway
(the interlocking is more complex
but first think it as only two sides that are changing)
one of two
cut
readers and books
readers performing the act of reading
and meanwhile reading the same in the head
readers performing the act of reading
meanwhile watching themselves reading
the same thing in the head
readers performing the act of reading
meanwhile watching themselves watching themselves reading
the same thing in the head
a mirrorgame
a mindfuck
just don´t perform
just don´t perform
one in the endless row
just stop for a while
and a little while longer
get a feeling of sneaking back
into it again
to knwo what it really is
you don´t know what it really is
as long as you´ve not left
or even lost it
it it´s o so important
the essence of it will be with you anyway
just leave one of them
in a moment of nothingness
that shows what it really is
a reflex
not more than a reflex
learned and put in such speed
it is able to convince itself
it would´t be possible to interfere or stop
such is the speed
it claims to have
but it´s slow
so slow
not moving at all
not showing at all
not anything at all
even not to itself
if not knwoing about nothingness
perform its own nothingness
like you measure the amount
at point zero of the scale
starting farther up
the amplitude will show to be less
and the most important thing in the end
is the omnipresence that´s not there at all
to understand that
not by grabbing it
but by letting it
interfere
and so show it
and sink again
but not in a chasing mirrorgame of selves
and that´s why there still is feeling
despite all
should freak out also
two not even knowing each other
are bound
and don´t care at the same time
ignorance driving crazy
for a year in two lives
and nearness at the same time
one would take over
then give up all control
and both poles being there
at the same time
all the time
as the various ones they are
and co-respond
some with words
some with touch
some with sound
and all of them at the same time
one hoping the other will get along
with words much better
and not diffuse completely
and won´t panic anymore
learn to give and give up
in controlled loss of control
that fade
had already lived it
every time anew
could not do any other
and what would be let out
would have its opposite
as a treasure inside
and more
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Standing in one´s own light
If it´s not this art coming up from you
it´s other ones.
I believe in the fear of loosing one´s own art
by relaxing too much.
Or loosing oneself.
Can work with that.
It will be dragged to the light
from the next lower level,
once it seems vanished,
because a part of oneself
by then will have vanished,
the one that´s in dialogue always,
standing in front of oneself,
wouldn´t want to forget this view.
It´s somehow like standing on a stairway,
not daring to step down,
cause looking upwards, fixed stare,
The view, that so long had seemed to be all,
so inside of it one had been,
not knowing about it any longer,
the view,
disguised as a whole human being,
it stands in the way,
on the stairway,
grabbing for hold up there,
will not climb down the stairs,
in fear of loosing the hold
and falling when turning.
Many would sink down, though,
in order to rest on the stairs,
the eyes shut down,
curling their bodies
on concrete kerbs.
then, sometime,
still in dreams their other half,
they open their eyes wide,
and see gleaming steps below
and other ones
and more behind,
with almost glistening edges,
touched by light
conceiled no more
by the statue.
it´s other ones.
I believe in the fear of loosing one´s own art
by relaxing too much.
Or loosing oneself.
Can work with that.
It will be dragged to the light
from the next lower level,
once it seems vanished,
because a part of oneself
by then will have vanished,
the one that´s in dialogue always,
standing in front of oneself,
wouldn´t want to forget this view.
It´s somehow like standing on a stairway,
not daring to step down,
cause looking upwards, fixed stare,
The view, that so long had seemed to be all,
so inside of it one had been,
not knowing about it any longer,
the view,
disguised as a whole human being,
it stands in the way,
on the stairway,
grabbing for hold up there,
will not climb down the stairs,
in fear of loosing the hold
and falling when turning.
Many would sink down, though,
in order to rest on the stairs,
the eyes shut down,
curling their bodies
on concrete kerbs.
then, sometime,
still in dreams their other half,
they open their eyes wide,
and see gleaming steps below
and other ones
and more behind,
with almost glistening edges,
touched by light
conceiled no more
by the statue.
Monday, June 8, 2009
She Spacehomer (7)
The tower of Randy McCandy pt.1
“I hear a flute playing.”
“Mel, are you still hungry?”
“No Eloise, my eyes show me things.”
“Which things?”
“Things I cannot see.”
“Are they pictures?”
“They want to be.”
“Do you want them to be pictures?”
“I don´t know.
Friendships are so different.
I would like to know more.
It´s a bit frightening though.”
“You should at least drink.
There´s also food.”
“And exiting.”
“You don´t want to eat?”
“Eloise, do I have to calm them down?
I remember me without them.
But that´s gone.
“I can´t tell you what to do, Mel.
You wouldn´t accept it anyway.
Go for it if you feel it.
Or not.
Compare or just do it,
may the doing be a leaving
or a leaving out,
or may a leaving-out be leaving you..”
“There is change.”
“ --- Ye, of course there´s change.
You should really eat now, I guess.”
“I don´t want to loose it.”
“You won´t.
There´s no eso-shit about it,
Might surprise you hearing that from me.
Just trust in what you find.”
“You´re telling me to?”
“No.”
"Yes."
~
“I hear a flute playing.”
“Mel, are you still hungry?”
“No Eloise, my eyes show me things.”
“Which things?”
“Things I cannot see.”
“Are they pictures?”
“They want to be.”
“Do you want them to be pictures?”
“I don´t know.
Friendships are so different.
I would like to know more.
It´s a bit frightening though.”
“You should at least drink.
There´s also food.”
“And exiting.”
“You don´t want to eat?”
“Eloise, do I have to calm them down?
I remember me without them.
But that´s gone.
“I can´t tell you what to do, Mel.
You wouldn´t accept it anyway.
Go for it if you feel it.
Or not.
Compare or just do it,
may the doing be a leaving
or a leaving out,
or may a leaving-out be leaving you..”
“There is change.”
“ --- Ye, of course there´s change.
You should really eat now, I guess.”
“I don´t want to loose it.”
“You won´t.
There´s no eso-shit about it,
Might surprise you hearing that from me.
Just trust in what you find.”
“You´re telling me to?”
“No.”
"Yes."
~
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Virtue fertilized
When master mistresses afford the rejection
Of letting you know bout the final injection
Scrolled on a display of snapshot decisions
Fast you are still
Familiar you were
And yet no surprise
Dummy-housed plunder
Only before sunrise
After the call
No restriction at this place
fenced from calamity
Anxiety and face of hate
The somehow never questioned
What-is-it-then?
Why are they staring
When drills open up the brain
Of pop whores,
Apathic and phrenetic believers,
Medi-acre outsorced
Excentered conceivers
Angling and bangbangling
Melt flights to the sun
Lift-off sans feature
Sweaty on the run
Another call
Back
For and from
Struggling legs and tongues
After the daily dose
That simulates
Chosen ones
Fall and deception
Committance
A web and some lines
Passing through
Full of sound
and fury
Signifying nothing
But kicking
With each rise and crash
Silence
Stilled
In merging
Buffers of noise
(2009)
Of letting you know bout the final injection
Scrolled on a display of snapshot decisions
Fast you are still
Familiar you were
And yet no surprise
Dummy-housed plunder
Only before sunrise
After the call
No restriction at this place
fenced from calamity
Anxiety and face of hate
The somehow never questioned
What-is-it-then?
Why are they staring
When drills open up the brain
Of pop whores,
Apathic and phrenetic believers,
Medi-acre outsorced
Excentered conceivers
Angling and bangbangling
Melt flights to the sun
Lift-off sans feature
Sweaty on the run
Another call
Back
For and from
Struggling legs and tongues
After the daily dose
That simulates
Chosen ones
Fall and deception
Committance
A web and some lines
Passing through
Full of sound
and fury
Signifying nothing
But kicking
With each rise and crash
Silence
Stilled
In merging
Buffers of noise
(2009)
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Fishing to get off the hook
i had to screw my face to let the slime evade
check out spouses on their way to the final gate
ready to sigh and readymade humanised
flickering backstage light, escape for the traumatized
live and let replaced by saint die-and-out
scatter towards breaches with flair of a stinky trout
not like the zombies observed in renowned brews
of moving defacements past killing jews
remorse or not divorced
from was and most all
and waiting for the white horse
starlets before the fall
breed and brought and come-along,
call on exchange, no treaty
pushed forward
bye saint eye and gone
drifting monkst
seeder-leechers
cutting some circles of being
all both in all webs and lines
despite extended mindbent delay
of morning wisheyed and sacred chimes
cooling and subcolliding
explanation
sobbing and soothing
viceverse
explantation
fishing to get off the hook
a snail at the bank
greets phlegm and holy book
(2009)
check out spouses on their way to the final gate
ready to sigh and readymade humanised
flickering backstage light, escape for the traumatized
live and let replaced by saint die-and-out
scatter towards breaches with flair of a stinky trout
not like the zombies observed in renowned brews
of moving defacements past killing jews
remorse or not divorced
from was and most all
and waiting for the white horse
starlets before the fall
breed and brought and come-along,
call on exchange, no treaty
pushed forward
bye saint eye and gone
drifting monkst
seeder-leechers
cutting some circles of being
all both in all webs and lines
despite extended mindbent delay
of morning wisheyed and sacred chimes
cooling and subcolliding
explanation
sobbing and soothing
viceverse
explantation
fishing to get off the hook
a snail at the bank
greets phlegm and holy book
(2009)
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Catching up a burning match
The consolidation of steel framed emphasis,
Spooky delusion, announcing no fate,
Convulsion of misbelief in honorable sleeves,
Shareware amongst autocentric apps.
As the dinosaur x-rayed admitted to cry
Stalkers profoundly would gesture in haze.
Slithering backwords from obstacle cesspools,
Evade resignation and fail to grow shy.
The other side´s cheesesmile
Ate earlaps of deads
While going for, going for going forgoingfor.
Yeah! That´s an open field,
Sceptwhores and bargain,
Upfront dictation
In chaos built laws.
Alignment glued to gather
In principle charges
Hold of one another
When hunches get lost.
Discerned or not earned.
Grief of the overcome,
An age´s prescription
For leaving the house.
(2005)
The consolidation of steel framed emphasis,
Spooky delusion, announcing no fate,
Convulsion of misbelief in honorable sleeves,
Shareware amongst autocentric apps.
As the dinosaur x-rayed admitted to cry
Stalkers profoundly would gesture in haze.
Slithering backwords from obstacle cesspools,
Evade resignation and fail to grow shy.
The other side´s cheesesmile
Ate earlaps of deads
While going for, going for going forgoingfor.
Yeah! That´s an open field,
Sceptwhores and bargain,
Upfront dictation
In chaos built laws.
Alignment glued to gather
In principle charges
Hold of one another
When hunches get lost.
Discerned or not earned.
Grief of the overcome,
An age´s prescription
For leaving the house.
(2005)
Dear emptiness
Clean the socks, you´re there
Flood the box, you´re there
Might spare the global evidence
Of form and content in convenience
Enlightening seriality
Conditioning hospitality
In rows or in pairs
In circles or quads
It all drifts apart
Like stars seem to stand still
And planets´ life invisible
Within you
You within
Dear emptiness
(2009)
Clean the socks, you´re there
Flood the box, you´re there
Might spare the global evidence
Of form and content in convenience
Enlightening seriality
Conditioning hospitality
In rows or in pairs
In circles or quads
It all drifts apart
Like stars seem to stand still
And planets´ life invisible
Within you
You within
Dear emptiness
(2009)
Monday, April 20, 2009
Wrinkles left the evening as the lights went down
Feelings got us straightened and relaxed for now
The shine from both our faces
like clanging outer space
The twinkling phase is over
on the surfaced empty heads
17 pictures of us in the fade
Sensual licks take over
and all time evades
Pandemonic blend of lifelines´ stew
cause me dead
cause me clew
cause me wordless mind surrender
to the sea we´re diving through
--------- Well soon
dissolved within
well soon
combined again
well soon
entwined around
disregarding without knowing
dense and light
slurping
Kissing toes of pale skin
(2009)
Feelings got us straightened and relaxed for now
The shine from both our faces
like clanging outer space
The twinkling phase is over
on the surfaced empty heads
17 pictures of us in the fade
Sensual licks take over
and all time evades
Pandemonic blend of lifelines´ stew
cause me dead
cause me clew
cause me wordless mind surrender
to the sea we´re diving through
--------- Well soon
dissolved within
well soon
combined again
well soon
entwined around
disregarding without knowing
dense and light
slurping
Kissing toes of pale skin
(2009)
Ich ging hinaus und hatte keinen Wunsch.
Ein Steinschwein sang, dass mir das Herz erweichte.
Schrankwandkäufer tranken heißen Punsch,
Hofften streng, dass er zum morgen reichte.
Verschroben wütete der Meister am Haus
Augenwinkelzirkel sägten Köpfe,
Schabte Schnee, schlug tot die letzte Maus,
die steckte er in seine leckren Kröpfe.
Wenn drei Stück voll warn schwang er keine Reden,
sondern warf den Herd an, abends vor dem Bad.
Die Kröpfe schnürte er mit weißen Fäden,
Strich bestes Schmalz auf ihre rote Naht.
Den Weg entlang gabs viele weiße Haufen
Mit gelben Löchern an fast jedem Baum.
Die Kinder mussten um die Herrschaft raufen.
Für reines Weiß zählen blaue Augen kaum.
Am Himmel formten Wolken Meeresbuchten.
Frau Stark rann Speichel aus dem Mund.
Den Helfer sah ich ihren Rollstuhl wuchten,
die Kie gebeugt, der Rücken allzu rund.
Ich Grüße Nett, als ich herüber sehe,
passiere Möbel an der Wand.
Sie lugt zu mir, wie ich vorüber gehe,
und hebt den kleinen an der linken Hand.
(2001)
Ein Steinschwein sang, dass mir das Herz erweichte.
Schrankwandkäufer tranken heißen Punsch,
Hofften streng, dass er zum morgen reichte.
Verschroben wütete der Meister am Haus
Augenwinkelzirkel sägten Köpfe,
Schabte Schnee, schlug tot die letzte Maus,
die steckte er in seine leckren Kröpfe.
Wenn drei Stück voll warn schwang er keine Reden,
sondern warf den Herd an, abends vor dem Bad.
Die Kröpfe schnürte er mit weißen Fäden,
Strich bestes Schmalz auf ihre rote Naht.
Den Weg entlang gabs viele weiße Haufen
Mit gelben Löchern an fast jedem Baum.
Die Kinder mussten um die Herrschaft raufen.
Für reines Weiß zählen blaue Augen kaum.
Am Himmel formten Wolken Meeresbuchten.
Frau Stark rann Speichel aus dem Mund.
Den Helfer sah ich ihren Rollstuhl wuchten,
die Kie gebeugt, der Rücken allzu rund.
Ich Grüße Nett, als ich herüber sehe,
passiere Möbel an der Wand.
Sie lugt zu mir, wie ich vorüber gehe,
und hebt den kleinen an der linken Hand.
(2001)
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
To doubt a rope
Tomorrow thighs will be canceled
Tomorrow dice will be handled
Like single-piece adventures
Embossed pretentious reelers overruled
My new skull is model 9605
Who dare drag the old down the new park drive
Fragments scattered, then coned and phase by phase
The light gets scanned, the time evades
And anthrax-immune fighters turn to shades
The vast surface extended
Body extensions, only a trillion yet inspected
Nano mistakes would grab hold
That one black hole: the only guarrantee
The renaissance of rafts was just proclaimed
A flagrant swoop off attorneys´ hands
Sought-after doom trippers wash their hands invane
Fruity grounding on prolific shame
Nerves get cut outside rumour 101
No fragile lofty like me gets done
and eats instant rasp-burrials, powdered tales
trades futures of daughters and sons,
The head shut, bent at cubes of thousand tons
Lie to me slainy mine
Lie to me slainy mine
Lie to me slainy mine
Lie to me slainy mine
A begging slave´s got different needs
After all he tried in vane,
She will gain what she will call
Her pleasure now and then.
A treatment, fine so far, and then?
Concealing baths in champaign brute
Forgiveness, built on ancient guilt
Destruction, brought back to the root.
>>>(orgasmic extended cello solo)
Mind me friend
Mind me take
Mind me end
Your lives at stake
Lie to me slainy mine
Lie to me slainy mine
Lie to me slainy mine
Lie to me slainy mine
Tomorrow thighs will be canceled
Tomorrow dice will be handled
Like single-piece adventures
Embossed pretentious reelers overruled
(Written for a performance in august 2008.)
Tomorrow dice will be handled
Like single-piece adventures
Embossed pretentious reelers overruled
My new skull is model 9605
Who dare drag the old down the new park drive
Fragments scattered, then coned and phase by phase
The light gets scanned, the time evades
And anthrax-immune fighters turn to shades
The vast surface extended
Body extensions, only a trillion yet inspected
Nano mistakes would grab hold
That one black hole: the only guarrantee
The renaissance of rafts was just proclaimed
A flagrant swoop off attorneys´ hands
Sought-after doom trippers wash their hands invane
Fruity grounding on prolific shame
Nerves get cut outside rumour 101
No fragile lofty like me gets done
and eats instant rasp-burrials, powdered tales
trades futures of daughters and sons,
The head shut, bent at cubes of thousand tons
Lie to me slainy mine
Lie to me slainy mine
Lie to me slainy mine
Lie to me slainy mine
A begging slave´s got different needs
After all he tried in vane,
She will gain what she will call
Her pleasure now and then.
A treatment, fine so far, and then?
Concealing baths in champaign brute
Forgiveness, built on ancient guilt
Destruction, brought back to the root.
>>>(orgasmic extended cello solo)
Mind me friend
Mind me take
Mind me end
Your lives at stake
Lie to me slainy mine
Lie to me slainy mine
Lie to me slainy mine
Lie to me slainy mine
Tomorrow thighs will be canceled
Tomorrow dice will be handled
Like single-piece adventures
Embossed pretentious reelers overruled
(Written for a performance in august 2008.)
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Observers
Who wants to be one of the guys and what is it good for, any deals one handles with oneself, bad or good, and in which means do good or bad change anyway, when the frontiers get weakened, in which the mirrorgames function one usually plays, and the directions change, not only directions, of course, as the feedback of the seemingly source, that becomes aware of being the target also, like in a multidimensional ping-pong, whereas there now are othertimes rather like pin-pong, when on one side there´s an inconspicuous pin, spearing, sometimes even impaling the ball, or so it seems, so it trys, so it is full of will to point away from it´s own assemblance, this multitude of unexplored entities, unexplored by the observing character one dare not unchain too often, not too intensely, cause the world that made the observer in a flashbacksystem of reenforcement is the observer, and the entitiy, somehwere inside, not letting the observer take a too close look, fears the observer, and by this fears the outer determination, wants to stay unchanged, unchained, won´t see the chain laying in it, because the view of the observer would be the one revealing it, but is regarded, re-guarded in return of the pressumed suspicion, so the suspicion becomes its own source of suspicion, as the pin-pong, that fails to be ping-pong, takes place the other way round too, and sees itself being observed, rejecting, complaining, working against, destroying, or at least trying to, feeling the observation of the other in a language it can´t understand, both overloading the other with efforts concerning tasks, that would become exhaustions, being transmitted in languages the the recipient can hardly decode, understanding a bit meanwhile, after such long, always being dependant on help from the taskmaster, not letting his language intrude too far, too complex, ans so being thrown back onto one´s own resources, drawing from there, putting putting it in, insufficient, drawing again, working and working, and working, not sensing the divergences between the sources of endeavours, of which one has to serve the other, not the goal of it´s own existance, although, each of them forces the latter, thinking it will get taken care of as a feedback, but it will just get new excercises and not the care, and solving the excercises is not the care for each other, when meanwhile the newer one of the sources could be detected to be the one sucking more from, although it would never admit it, claiming itself to be the source, as it always seems to be the one present, at least it says so, being present in its own observation, more than it would yet care to observe the other, the first source, that has no chance, but to give and give, and give, exhaustion is no excuse, cause it has to follow, it is the tray on which it all takes place, there is no way getting out of this, except for destroying the tray, otherwise the vicious circle won´t stop, or so it seems, and aren´t the excercises, that still won´t suffice to still the hunger, the right thing to destroy the source of the hunger, isn´t the tray the problem, and isn´t the second source already informed about the other´s permanent try to cut it off, switch it off, by overflooding it and pumping it dry at the same time, is it so, is it so, tell me: is it so, so?
Friday, February 6, 2009
She Spacehomer (6) - President Parah Salin
“Mr.President, For 23 years there have not been any competitions in brain surgury on this planet. Now you are the initiator and patron of the new Parah-Lymphics.
In the campaign for your 5th reelection you pointed out the importance of all kinds of nods. Does the new name for the New Parah-Lymphics point out the importance of the lymph nods for the whole organism, and so for the brain?”
“Brain?”
“Yes, Mr.President.”
“Emh, -- we might consider that.”
“The public will appreciate it.”
“ ---- public?”
“Excuse me, sorry, Mr.President, this was not meant to cause any --- prelimitable stress.”
“The patriation of the wages is at stake.”
“Ehm, yes, o, can we have this once more, the microphone didn´t seem to..”
“Hold on, hold on.”
“Of course, Mr. President.”
“ -.- !! ”
“Mr.President?”
“ (-.-) !! “
“So, Mr. President, it´s time, I guess?
I will tiptoe.”
“ |o.o| , no, no reason, my wife got sick, last year.”
“As we were all grieving about, Mr. President.”
“Summary of devastation, all mirrored in the vast turnbuckle of the New TakeEmByChance Special Force Operative System, and braught back to the family we have to protect.”
“O, Mr. President!”
“Yes!”
“O!”
“|0.0| Yes !”
“|O.O| , o, o !! “
“[-.-] -- Bless you. --- [-.-] “
“Thenk you, pfffffff.--- Pff pff.“
“Mr. Pleasident, the rising number of cases of national state of emergeny has reached a frequence.
This one is able to forever point out the strenght and qualitiy of the guarding and observatory system to a really representable level in the global competition on that field.
The public, with the voice of the press, by this wants to stress its gratitude for your personal efforts here.”
“Huh, I have an alarm-clock.”
In the campaign for your 5th reelection you pointed out the importance of all kinds of nods. Does the new name for the New Parah-Lymphics point out the importance of the lymph nods for the whole organism, and so for the brain?”
“Brain?”
“Yes, Mr.President.”
“Emh, -- we might consider that.”
“The public will appreciate it.”
“ ---- public?”
“Excuse me, sorry, Mr.President, this was not meant to cause any --- prelimitable stress.”
“The patriation of the wages is at stake.”
“Ehm, yes, o, can we have this once more, the microphone didn´t seem to..”
“Hold on, hold on.”
“Of course, Mr. President.”
“ -.- !! ”
“Mr.President?”
“ (-.-) !! “
“So, Mr. President, it´s time, I guess?
I will tiptoe.”
“ |o.o| , no, no reason, my wife got sick, last year.”
“As we were all grieving about, Mr. President.”
“Summary of devastation, all mirrored in the vast turnbuckle of the New TakeEmByChance Special Force Operative System, and braught back to the family we have to protect.”
“O, Mr. President!”
“Yes!”
“O!”
“|0.0| Yes !”
“|O.O| , o, o !! “
“[-.-] -- Bless you. --- [-.-] “
“Thenk you, pfffffff.--- Pff pff.“
“Mr. Pleasident, the rising number of cases of national state of emergeny has reached a frequence.
This one is able to forever point out the strenght and qualitiy of the guarding and observatory system to a really representable level in the global competition on that field.
The public, with the voice of the press, by this wants to stress its gratitude for your personal efforts here.”
“Huh, I have an alarm-clock.”
Saturday, January 31, 2009
...and the hype
*
*
*
Squirrels dancing in trees
Made up on purpose
Forensic heeders
In hidebacks
Squirting payments
And joking remnants
Off the parol.
Hush hush
And on board
Notorious seekers
Stranded on top
Of the mob
To rob.
(Break)
(Right that way?)
reside
on the other side
o.k.
we got to think
the war is over
but shut up
declaration misunderstood
manouver
you silly fuck
think you are?
As required
Some machines
Are humanity
Builtinsanity
Proposeit´sdone
Noshreakback
Youllstaywithus
And
We´ll
Have
A
Nice
Party,
Right?
---
Good.
Go tell the other side
That news
Shall not be withdrawn
We won´t prepare
Let the hype
Come over
*
*
*
(march 2007)
*
*
Squirrels dancing in trees
Made up on purpose
Forensic heeders
In hidebacks
Squirting payments
And joking remnants
Off the parol.
Hush hush
And on board
Notorious seekers
Stranded on top
Of the mob
To rob.
(Break)
(Right that way?)
reside
on the other side
o.k.
we got to think
the war is over
but shut up
declaration misunderstood
manouver
you silly fuck
think you are?
As required
Some machines
Are humanity
Builtinsanity
Proposeit´sdone
Noshreakback
Youllstaywithus
And
We´ll
Have
A
Nice
Party,
Right?
---
Good.
Go tell the other side
That news
Shall not be withdrawn
We won´t prepare
Let the hype
Come over
*
*
*
(march 2007)
She Spacehomer (5) - After The Snow
“That fish is too salty for me.“
“But you need salt, Mel. We haven´t had salt for 2 days, so you need salt now.”
“I tell you, it doesn´t feel right. The way up here I´ve always been avoiding the stuff with salt in it.”
“So maybe you´re needing it really, and you´re already so much used to not having it, it would blow up the whole of the tension that keeps you together.
Let me touch you.
You´re completely stiff.”
“I´m stiff? That from a dehydrated, drug using tension-block like you.”
“That I´ve been for too long, but no more.
Can´t you get the old pics off your mind?”
“It´s no pics, Elaine.
I´ve got a full-body feeling of it in me. O.k., it´s a sort of memory, but it´s plastic-elastic and I tell you: you might think you´re doing fine, but you´re just doing better.”
“Guessed I´ll take that one, it´s got nothing to do with you.
For how long you think you´ll play the untouchable.”
“O, you´re so categorizing. Stop it!
It hurts my ears.
Then give me the fucking salt.”
“No.”
“No? So you just want to piss me off, or what?”
“No, but you just said yes to please me.
I want you to understand and feel why it´s important.
I want you to want it.”
“You´re a real freak then, huh?
O.k., it´s right, you are right , you´re damn bloody well right.
That´s what you want to hear?”
“No, it´s not for me and I also don´t give shit for your health.
I just can´t stand certain kinds of contradiction.
It freaks me out.
Here´s the salt.”
“Better explanation, better understanding.”
“Hey, you two really make a nice couple.
You seem to have concentrated 30 years of blind marriage in half an hour I was gone.”
“Cut it, what´s up?”
“The president, Mel.”
“The president is the guy I´m going for. He´s up, he´ll be down.”
“Bingo by Elaine, chances have never been that good. He´s up, just awoke from a big sleep.
Found that piece of newspaper, front page for the President --- and his dog,
cute, huh? And it says, in his sleep he decided to give the dog a spiritual teacher.”
“But you need salt, Mel. We haven´t had salt for 2 days, so you need salt now.”
“I tell you, it doesn´t feel right. The way up here I´ve always been avoiding the stuff with salt in it.”
“So maybe you´re needing it really, and you´re already so much used to not having it, it would blow up the whole of the tension that keeps you together.
Let me touch you.
You´re completely stiff.”
“I´m stiff? That from a dehydrated, drug using tension-block like you.”
“That I´ve been for too long, but no more.
Can´t you get the old pics off your mind?”
“It´s no pics, Elaine.
I´ve got a full-body feeling of it in me. O.k., it´s a sort of memory, but it´s plastic-elastic and I tell you: you might think you´re doing fine, but you´re just doing better.”
“Guessed I´ll take that one, it´s got nothing to do with you.
For how long you think you´ll play the untouchable.”
“O, you´re so categorizing. Stop it!
It hurts my ears.
Then give me the fucking salt.”
“No.”
“No? So you just want to piss me off, or what?”
“No, but you just said yes to please me.
I want you to understand and feel why it´s important.
I want you to want it.”
“You´re a real freak then, huh?
O.k., it´s right, you are right , you´re damn bloody well right.
That´s what you want to hear?”
“No, it´s not for me and I also don´t give shit for your health.
I just can´t stand certain kinds of contradiction.
It freaks me out.
Here´s the salt.”
“Better explanation, better understanding.”
“Hey, you two really make a nice couple.
You seem to have concentrated 30 years of blind marriage in half an hour I was gone.”
“Cut it, what´s up?”
“The president, Mel.”
“The president is the guy I´m going for. He´s up, he´ll be down.”
“Bingo by Elaine, chances have never been that good. He´s up, just awoke from a big sleep.
Found that piece of newspaper, front page for the President --- and his dog,
cute, huh? And it says, in his sleep he decided to give the dog a spiritual teacher.”
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Tension, Words and Incorporation of Oppression
I´m watching Michael Winterbottom movies theses days.
I have never seen such a softness in showing such harsh realities.
It makes feel it, it´s accessable for the information-overload type of western consumer as well as for anybody else.
The camera movements are very lively, without any attempt in being sensational.
There is no need for it anyway, because the pictures he presents are so direct.
Changes of standcam, handcam, camera turns, panorama views, close-ups and their relation to the moves in the picture, people, animals, cars... are extremely organic. The observer seems to be part of the scene, still or moving.
In unpretentious ways the pictures themselves are very well framed, aesthetic without aestheticism.
I´m thinking about what a person can move in this world. How get along with the knowledge of what happens outside, and the knowledge that all of what happens is motivated from correlations of people´s inside.
Those who live in the peace-zones, are they already peaceful enough, the culturalists of our times, peaceful enough to forget themselves and go out and report what kind of cruelty goes on in the world, reporting in ways that the journalists usually don´t have the format for?
I don´t draw such a strict line between the reporters of the various medias, as I include all communication into the media: written word, film, spoken word, art, ..., all is processing connectivity.
I´d be going to change people´s conscious about what is media.
I see the thoughtless thought that leads the hand to reach out for the cup of coffee as a medium.
The thought, it wants something, and one can check what lies behind it, at some assumed end of motivation networks, and check also if thoughts overload their own matter with too much chatter.
It is a bit like the money spent on filters within chimneys of industrial plants in the western countries. There are voices who complain that the investment would be more efficient if located in other countries´ plants, as in Germany it is only about filtering a few percents more, whereas abroad there might not be any filters used.
Others say that this is the mechanism of research, the development of the better and best device in its field.
Anyway the comparison lacks of evidence, as the person itself that creates a joint of content in a media form, carries the similar structure of organism like the addressed.
So the production of the cultural process, the cultural good, always transports its makers´ characteristics in quite a subtle way.
So changes of the person of the producer change the product in significant ways.
Then there is intiution.
Media is abstraction. It links people, and it can also overcome the splits within a person, a sender, because media itself entails form.
The in-formation is transported in various formats, some of which the producer is aware of, some of which he isn´t.
Of course the choice of format represents the senders´ state of organism, the organic process as a person and its environment, the cultural context.
The person of the sender, in the abstraction of the form used, can seem to disappear within the sending#s effect as noted consciously by the recipient.
But it still is there, in the choice of theme, material used, and all compositorial relations entailed in the assumed work.
The recipient, though, cannot completely divide the senders´ reality from the sender´s desires.
The medium might not tell about it.
That´s where interpretation starts, and anybody discussing or caring at all is already inside the
mirror-games that in-form him or her, that show various layers and networks of human organism and its interchange with environment.
There was a doc telling me, that there are ways of doing too much work on balance with one´s own organism, referring to yoga, meditation, breathing exercises.
He said I could loose the artist will of expression by it, and I found he was right.
In my character and life I found reason to do a lot of work in this direction though.
I´m a singer, and singing has a lot more to do with balance than with power, especially when the respective voice is powerful indeed.
This has to to with the fine overtones within the voice. They are the power we lately feel through ears and the whole of our organism as we – intuitively – associate with voices.
Strained voices will not only not last long, because the instrument gets hurt, and they also won´t be training neither a very flexible or subtle swing.
But they carry a quality of their own. They are rather likely to show roughness than an opera singer who sings about roughness, but can show it only in the correlation the art-form´s scales, as traditioned, and as being enabled by the used material.
The requirement of reaching the audience above an orchestra already evokes the production of overtones and therefore of a very fine balance producing it.
Expression, in these means, can rather take place in the correlation of meaning than in a lifelike appearance.
This is one reason why many people can accept opera as a beautiful art, but cannot adapt the meaning to the organism´s appearance on stage, because the art form forces to accept its own measurements.
Hence, abstraction in this context can be seen as a direct process of dissociation, here in the means of implanting processes of tension, programmaticly shifted into artificial relations.
----------
The tension of a stiffly strained voice is less flexible than a voice processed in a balance of contractions and releases, and, like bridges do it in the much slower frequencies of the climate changes, it bursts, when will of the constructor or vocalist hasn´t included space for the voice or the bridge to range, instead foring it into stiff frames.
The acknowledgement of physics in any cultural expression are potential scales of measure.
They show matters of evidences, they show effects, and humans are about to
first distinct the most various consequences in all means of organic awareness,
second to take decisions in the face of the awareness,
third sign responsible for it,
of which the latter is a delayed observation of the decisions´ effects.
When I look at Michael Winterbottom´s films I see clear decisions for the confrontation with
humans´ decisions and awareness on the organic effects, the technical realization has on the
spectator.
Responsibility means to cover for the most subtle kind of consequences of one´s own
doing, at least in letting oneself be confronted with it.
The sender, though, is not responsible for people who jump from a building when thinking the
alien attack in the programme is a real one.
Why now is this little article about “tension” when it does not present a continous line in approaching the theme, directly diving into it, developing a thesis in its context-contest with antitheses or some other model of choice, reflecting the will to present a fitting circle of evidences?
Because the fitting circle of evidence itself has a flashback on the theme it presumes to represent.
This is why analytic essays on “love” can be really funny.
This is also, because this article´s aim is not to present a theses that has a final verification as a picturesque result, as well as coordinates in space are not the space itself but the description of it, as they don´t even have a volume themselves.
Openness is a quality that need not stop readers from connecting themselves to thoughts presented.
Closed circle thoughts can feel like imprisonment.
The incorporated feeling of imprisonment is inflexible motivity.
One of the hints this article can show is, to take care of the physical results a media, incl. Art etc., implies for the recipient.
To take this into account, of course, sets high demands on the sender´s/producer´s/artist´s awareness of his or her own organism´s relationship with the work, namely, which tensional correlation it implies.
Beuys statement of everybody being an artist also, in this sense, entails the claim of each person being responsible for the development of awareness about the meaning of a medium, when being confronted with the direct experience of the relation of the organism towards its output.
In this context we enter the claim of people to become aware of the incorporate alienation within passivity.
Like Winterbottom´s films this is not only a proclamation of rights to be received, such as opportunity to be introduced into processes as mentioned above, but of the responsibility awaking when entering the field of awareness and it´s potential of intervention ---
being felt instantaneously in the organisms processed highly complex tension.
Fear results in tension, reflexes of defense, bending muscles to make smaller the organism´s outer surface, reducing vulnerabiltiy. From repetition results stiff tension
Any activity in opening up the organism, reducing stiff tension is an intrusion in the vicious circles of fear, vicious, as the stiff tension is matter of it´s own cause.
I have never seen such a softness in showing such harsh realities.
It makes feel it, it´s accessable for the information-overload type of western consumer as well as for anybody else.
The camera movements are very lively, without any attempt in being sensational.
There is no need for it anyway, because the pictures he presents are so direct.
Changes of standcam, handcam, camera turns, panorama views, close-ups and their relation to the moves in the picture, people, animals, cars... are extremely organic. The observer seems to be part of the scene, still or moving.
In unpretentious ways the pictures themselves are very well framed, aesthetic without aestheticism.
I´m thinking about what a person can move in this world. How get along with the knowledge of what happens outside, and the knowledge that all of what happens is motivated from correlations of people´s inside.
Those who live in the peace-zones, are they already peaceful enough, the culturalists of our times, peaceful enough to forget themselves and go out and report what kind of cruelty goes on in the world, reporting in ways that the journalists usually don´t have the format for?
I don´t draw such a strict line between the reporters of the various medias, as I include all communication into the media: written word, film, spoken word, art, ..., all is processing connectivity.
I´d be going to change people´s conscious about what is media.
I see the thoughtless thought that leads the hand to reach out for the cup of coffee as a medium.
The thought, it wants something, and one can check what lies behind it, at some assumed end of motivation networks, and check also if thoughts overload their own matter with too much chatter.
It is a bit like the money spent on filters within chimneys of industrial plants in the western countries. There are voices who complain that the investment would be more efficient if located in other countries´ plants, as in Germany it is only about filtering a few percents more, whereas abroad there might not be any filters used.
Others say that this is the mechanism of research, the development of the better and best device in its field.
Anyway the comparison lacks of evidence, as the person itself that creates a joint of content in a media form, carries the similar structure of organism like the addressed.
So the production of the cultural process, the cultural good, always transports its makers´ characteristics in quite a subtle way.
So changes of the person of the producer change the product in significant ways.
Then there is intiution.
Media is abstraction. It links people, and it can also overcome the splits within a person, a sender, because media itself entails form.
The in-formation is transported in various formats, some of which the producer is aware of, some of which he isn´t.
Of course the choice of format represents the senders´ state of organism, the organic process as a person and its environment, the cultural context.
The person of the sender, in the abstraction of the form used, can seem to disappear within the sending#s effect as noted consciously by the recipient.
But it still is there, in the choice of theme, material used, and all compositorial relations entailed in the assumed work.
The recipient, though, cannot completely divide the senders´ reality from the sender´s desires.
The medium might not tell about it.
That´s where interpretation starts, and anybody discussing or caring at all is already inside the
mirror-games that in-form him or her, that show various layers and networks of human organism and its interchange with environment.
There was a doc telling me, that there are ways of doing too much work on balance with one´s own organism, referring to yoga, meditation, breathing exercises.
He said I could loose the artist will of expression by it, and I found he was right.
In my character and life I found reason to do a lot of work in this direction though.
I´m a singer, and singing has a lot more to do with balance than with power, especially when the respective voice is powerful indeed.
This has to to with the fine overtones within the voice. They are the power we lately feel through ears and the whole of our organism as we – intuitively – associate with voices.
Strained voices will not only not last long, because the instrument gets hurt, and they also won´t be training neither a very flexible or subtle swing.
But they carry a quality of their own. They are rather likely to show roughness than an opera singer who sings about roughness, but can show it only in the correlation the art-form´s scales, as traditioned, and as being enabled by the used material.
The requirement of reaching the audience above an orchestra already evokes the production of overtones and therefore of a very fine balance producing it.
Expression, in these means, can rather take place in the correlation of meaning than in a lifelike appearance.
This is one reason why many people can accept opera as a beautiful art, but cannot adapt the meaning to the organism´s appearance on stage, because the art form forces to accept its own measurements.
Hence, abstraction in this context can be seen as a direct process of dissociation, here in the means of implanting processes of tension, programmaticly shifted into artificial relations.
----------
The tension of a stiffly strained voice is less flexible than a voice processed in a balance of contractions and releases, and, like bridges do it in the much slower frequencies of the climate changes, it bursts, when will of the constructor or vocalist hasn´t included space for the voice or the bridge to range, instead foring it into stiff frames.
The acknowledgement of physics in any cultural expression are potential scales of measure.
They show matters of evidences, they show effects, and humans are about to
first distinct the most various consequences in all means of organic awareness,
second to take decisions in the face of the awareness,
third sign responsible for it,
of which the latter is a delayed observation of the decisions´ effects.
When I look at Michael Winterbottom´s films I see clear decisions for the confrontation with
humans´ decisions and awareness on the organic effects, the technical realization has on the
spectator.
Responsibility means to cover for the most subtle kind of consequences of one´s own
doing, at least in letting oneself be confronted with it.
The sender, though, is not responsible for people who jump from a building when thinking the
alien attack in the programme is a real one.
Why now is this little article about “tension” when it does not present a continous line in approaching the theme, directly diving into it, developing a thesis in its context-contest with antitheses or some other model of choice, reflecting the will to present a fitting circle of evidences?
Because the fitting circle of evidence itself has a flashback on the theme it presumes to represent.
This is why analytic essays on “love” can be really funny.
This is also, because this article´s aim is not to present a theses that has a final verification as a picturesque result, as well as coordinates in space are not the space itself but the description of it, as they don´t even have a volume themselves.
Openness is a quality that need not stop readers from connecting themselves to thoughts presented.
Closed circle thoughts can feel like imprisonment.
The incorporated feeling of imprisonment is inflexible motivity.
One of the hints this article can show is, to take care of the physical results a media, incl. Art etc., implies for the recipient.
To take this into account, of course, sets high demands on the sender´s/producer´s/artist´s awareness of his or her own organism´s relationship with the work, namely, which tensional correlation it implies.
Beuys statement of everybody being an artist also, in this sense, entails the claim of each person being responsible for the development of awareness about the meaning of a medium, when being confronted with the direct experience of the relation of the organism towards its output.
In this context we enter the claim of people to become aware of the incorporate alienation within passivity.
Like Winterbottom´s films this is not only a proclamation of rights to be received, such as opportunity to be introduced into processes as mentioned above, but of the responsibility awaking when entering the field of awareness and it´s potential of intervention ---
being felt instantaneously in the organisms processed highly complex tension.
Fear results in tension, reflexes of defense, bending muscles to make smaller the organism´s outer surface, reducing vulnerabiltiy. From repetition results stiff tension
Any activity in opening up the organism, reducing stiff tension is an intrusion in the vicious circles of fear, vicious, as the stiff tension is matter of it´s own cause.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Neoliberal Satanic Revolution Misunderstanding
These days the walls in the streets of Munich are covered with the latest slogan of the too latest social activists.
It is a congenious demand by the follow-ups of the autonome ultra-leftist freedom-and-peace movement, now updated under impression of the neoliberal Satanic Church-Individualism.
Total war or total socialism, the movement was not too decided about the direction, so they took a compromise and leave it to the potential followers, the readers in the streets, to figure it out.
"M*CHT FÜR ALLE"
("POWER FOR ALL", with a hexagram for an "A")
The Satanic Church, a firm friend of Ronald Reagan and George & George Bush gouvernments, has finally gone active.
Whatever happened to "KEINE MACHT FÜR NIEMAND"?
("NO POWER FOR NOBODY")
Somehow beggars can be choosers.
It is a congenious demand by the follow-ups of the autonome ultra-leftist freedom-and-peace movement, now updated under impression of the neoliberal Satanic Church-Individualism.
Total war or total socialism, the movement was not too decided about the direction, so they took a compromise and leave it to the potential followers, the readers in the streets, to figure it out.
"M*CHT FÜR ALLE"
("POWER FOR ALL", with a hexagram for an "A")
The Satanic Church, a firm friend of Ronald Reagan and George & George Bush gouvernments, has finally gone active.
Whatever happened to "KEINE MACHT FÜR NIEMAND"?
("NO POWER FOR NOBODY")
Somehow beggars can be choosers.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Orphantasies (3)
One moment later, I admit, campfire was forbidden, no, sorry, no wood anymore anyway. What´s the difference?
Some say the wind has blown the flames, some say the army has never been out there.
No use making the apocalyptic freshman, though it gets the people some joy, those who believe everything´s going bad and down, on top you get credits for it from the boys.
Will take some time to really tell it to the other side, not to the mob that must ask for permission for every brownie to flush, but the men with the secret numbers.
Oooops, did I say that? I´m surprised! Ask me later what I´ll mean and what I meant now,
Ask me the day they find out about me, about the past that will be future again, ´cause there´s nothing to hide anyway. That´s just a mare to make you sleep trustful.
If you knew the total of the noticable, sucked up all channels, were insider of all, then you are no insider at all, nomore, being forced to watch yourself from the outside by default, when in the same moment you are considering yourself to be inside (of what?)
This is not about making better people, saving anybody´s life, but take your time, consider yourself, forget it again, and press the repeat button.
No, I´m joking.
Somebody sent me, I can´t tell you who, and I´m playing the mains in all movies,
I´m no metaphoric creature, no superficial or deepdown magic maker, no elusive fashion or tradition wanker, because it dosn´t matter and it doesn´t matter.
The shit gets in, so the shit gets out, whatever names we had given it before, right?
No I´m joking.
I´m someone using ´I´ at the beginning of each phrase and I don´t give your dead mom´s last fart for the feedback I get from people who are all dead since ever, believing in free will like my nephew loved santa claus until she got four.
No, I´m joking.
I´m leaving town by short and got no one to wave goodbye or miss me, whatever that is, because I can´t devide heart from fart, sorry about your mother. No, I don´t mean it, she´s dead.
I´m joking,
I, or is anybody taking serious the exaltations of somebody who does not have the slightest social competence, does anybody believe such a person whould have to say anything, besides: there are these usuallly black pieces of code that vanish and transform when the monitor gets switched,
Could anybody get the same something out of it that someone else had meant to put in?
No, I´m joking.
I, can somebody be easily switching off his accessability by willingly mixing content with emotion and at the same time keep this act as a secret in front of himself?
Can any question be too far aside to be taken for existing?
Or is the one who really is into it the real outsider, because he continiously pressed the repeat button too early?
No, I´m joking.
But who the fuck said that: Just that you´re paranoid it doesn´t mean that they´re not out to get you.
Who said it?
----
Who cares?
*
*
Some say the wind has blown the flames, some say the army has never been out there.
No use making the apocalyptic freshman, though it gets the people some joy, those who believe everything´s going bad and down, on top you get credits for it from the boys.
Will take some time to really tell it to the other side, not to the mob that must ask for permission for every brownie to flush, but the men with the secret numbers.
Oooops, did I say that? I´m surprised! Ask me later what I´ll mean and what I meant now,
Ask me the day they find out about me, about the past that will be future again, ´cause there´s nothing to hide anyway. That´s just a mare to make you sleep trustful.
If you knew the total of the noticable, sucked up all channels, were insider of all, then you are no insider at all, nomore, being forced to watch yourself from the outside by default, when in the same moment you are considering yourself to be inside (of what?)
This is not about making better people, saving anybody´s life, but take your time, consider yourself, forget it again, and press the repeat button.
No, I´m joking.
Somebody sent me, I can´t tell you who, and I´m playing the mains in all movies,
I´m no metaphoric creature, no superficial or deepdown magic maker, no elusive fashion or tradition wanker, because it dosn´t matter and it doesn´t matter.
The shit gets in, so the shit gets out, whatever names we had given it before, right?
No I´m joking.
I´m someone using ´I´ at the beginning of each phrase and I don´t give your dead mom´s last fart for the feedback I get from people who are all dead since ever, believing in free will like my nephew loved santa claus until she got four.
No, I´m joking.
I´m leaving town by short and got no one to wave goodbye or miss me, whatever that is, because I can´t devide heart from fart, sorry about your mother. No, I don´t mean it, she´s dead.
I´m joking,
I, or is anybody taking serious the exaltations of somebody who does not have the slightest social competence, does anybody believe such a person whould have to say anything, besides: there are these usuallly black pieces of code that vanish and transform when the monitor gets switched,
Could anybody get the same something out of it that someone else had meant to put in?
No, I´m joking.
I, can somebody be easily switching off his accessability by willingly mixing content with emotion and at the same time keep this act as a secret in front of himself?
Can any question be too far aside to be taken for existing?
Or is the one who really is into it the real outsider, because he continiously pressed the repeat button too early?
No, I´m joking.
But who the fuck said that: Just that you´re paranoid it doesn´t mean that they´re not out to get you.
Who said it?
----
Who cares?
*
*
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