the act
coerced
centuries speak
silence lives
via
fancy
frivolity
illusion
priests and politicians
meet and ritualize
within
double-headed institutions
language's masks
cure all failures
processes history
likes what imagination likes
verbosity
fortified with dreams
coercion fails
failure coerces
not a civility:
the paychecked factotum
fortified
via prejudices
empowered practices
groups rule ! dispense
prejudice galore ad infinitum
by virtue of their employment status,
an empowerment via pay cheque
confront
the buyer,
a non-status entity
intruder
in prejudice's heaven
a literary devise
a number
an institutional devise
a mask
an illusory devise
a human
a submissive devise
you never DO
daily routines
you obey them
moral oral skills
in the guise always
of fictitious practices
tongues do them
automatically
no words need apply
remove
all prostitutions of language
all users of verbosity
all productions of fictions and lies
all beliefs
all dupery
all impotences of clapping hands
that pay for clappery
all cries for more war
all results from language's failure
all sacrifices the lust of beliefs
lusting for more ever more belief
doctrine's verbosities
rhyming with morals' ever more morals
halloweening
all done
under cover
as if
words live
turn into "miracles"
from fat promise
to peace of words
convoluted ethics
that screws behaviour
via intent, convoluted will
all words elevated
into higher value words
all brought to you
via
ever more words
consumers,
humans
non-existent
only a conceptual scene
encountered
counts
"subjects"
performing illusions
verbosity of words ?
whips of concepts
visibly performed?
we love body we love beauty
the orgasms in your voice
your distance from false language
the purity of your feelings
we live we re-live feelings
we hear your voice
we never needed words
culture's traps
your voice climbed as if on words
yet we all rose together
on nature's precious feelings
so language stands accused of serial discriminations
as if a believer's tool against experience
language's naked falseness
thrives on cover-ups
language rules
as the root of all limitations
thus a vigorous life dies again and again
within language's tomb
all feelings denied
made deader via language
uni-versals and their re-versals
durations within which failures thrive
drifts into lies - languages' flowers imaginary new bloom
stag-nations and de-clines
shifts of homo-socialities deeper into stupidities
wars as solution foreclosing words
spiritual linearity preaching reaction, repetition
etc etc etc
a fierce singularity
groups equal quantities
every one in it
never equals anything
but sums up to a quantity
like a surplus of language
reduced to an abstract
an ideological friendliness
an authoritarian monologue
humanity a quantity is
a human
a rarity
a state usurps language
it never needs humans
always enforces
always needs yeses
yes, quantities rule
political stammering
elaborated with fantasy's facts
a belief
within beliefs
verbosity makes you
gives you
a critical viewpoint that never is
then improvise
on a theme of life
all that's impressed on a body
by a body of language
delivered via usurping institutions
long before your body language
wiggles in opposition
wanting to go
this way
that way
against all those
when your body shows more to others
than language can see, can give you,
you're fending
against all others minus one
your body succumbs disappears
under force of language-
yet
before that
both were fiercely separate:
lust never lusting for language
but then
themes begin to overlap
like reused sackcloth
from darkest moral quarters
from where the quasi dead
still command
not only the still too liveliest
yet the near dead seize the body
by its word,
freeze it
within raging unreason
and all by order
of a theme:
an authoritative text
commanding
the sum of series of defeat,
multiple collapses
that grow out of advertised victories
words and texts and more texts willing
the part of the whole
was that day as a boy
someone took me for a ride
through the Brandenburg Gate
sitting there among the ruins of Berlin
it took sixty years
until that whole area got
liberated, renovated
----
what was once Protestant
turned now Catholic
and someone recently wrote
that the Cold War
brought Europe's Civil Wars
to an end...
as if the Vatican
now too is pacified
as if democracy too
will now grow into more greeneries
into more bush
as if foreign lands
will be free
free from foreign laws
as if beliefs evaporate
keep evaporating
become wordless
while hanging on to my boyhood
that I always saw life as a stage
filled with actors playing
the role of a collective adult
the complicit role of men
the conforming role of women
the system played them,
whereas as a boy
you at least had yourself
not wanting "to be" a system
a sort of immunity against culture
that catalog dispensing cultural enforcers
those who hailed pope and dictatorship
yet lamented the loss of their very own sons,
productions of state supervised pro-creators
to become an adult was nothing but a future
to be filled with a tradition of false words
as if words narrate themselves into some prosperity
of heaven then hell
or the ubiquitous cry for no more war
adults become functionaries
their words expand into titles,
medals, bureaucracies
see all that
in-between the storms of ideology
and absurd hurrahs
when youth
gets used
dissolved
in war
an invention
that life itself
remains at a loss
when I taught language...
students learned more
from themselves
from my silences
than from my words
that had just passed by
post infancy?
someone taught me to read the newspapers
before I entered school
so what I saw in city after city
destruction after destruction
tanks here tanks there
all the misery repeated itself
in the papers
and when another war started
at the other end of the world
the war pictures started too
the boy could honestly cry
than language:
as boys we took long brakes
from language
away from classrooms and zoos
and churches-
for us
they were all coercive creatures
of
and for language
the forests were for us:
there we were free
beyond free
free from other people's language
an irrational idea...
roundly and sweetly
more blueberries
follow each other
to a mammal's mouth
as if the many
add up to an organ's ism
I remove language from me
an occupant enforced
the infant cornered within language
never met a teacher that rhymed with another teacher
congruency was always system congruency
yet systems collapse
while others speak of change
granting language sense
a rhyming chance
ergo, language collapses
yet time is there to make possible
certain times
that "produce" no sense
family policy means family policing
language outsmarts every new-born
if you listen to to no one
shut off all speaking machines
grown-ups babble
your self gets stuck
within the innards
of any language
dead language
other language
drastically reduced detached
from exchangeable people
as if the invention of the beauty
of a twenty year old
is nothing but the product
of some historical language
hidden within a Greek sculpture
go!
eat your language
say HELLO to the sculpture
eat fresh fruit
they train their dogs and cats
yet it is public opinion
that is training thinking people
loves to be free from words
go at it
in any language
avoid all texts that claim
to 'understand' experience
to letters of the alphabet
make it into words
compose sentences
add commas
take a break at full-stops
as if experience trained you
you draw limits to your experience
add more words
as if
beyond words
another system rules
demanding unreachable experience
---
whosoever rules
institutionalizes experiences
converts you
makes usable
via words
human animal groupings,
herdings,
whisperings
love of words rising
into the night of fictions
from within the safety
of all-round lies
until a distance of miles,
thousands of miles
thousands of years
have settled,
have made a home
in your understanding
one lifetime,
and only yourself
barely enough
to see
from the middle
where you must stand
any beginnings
any rumblings of endings
fictions, lies, fantasies
working their weaponry
from within bodies
filled with language
just listen
not to television
not to radio
not to news that is written
not to cars that speed by you
watch the words that fly around you
watch how these words behave
when they are born from bodies
watch the bodies' hysterics,
programmed repetitions
where in all that
would "fit"
tomorrow's human
repeating and repeating
strings of words
yet to come
ever since Archimedes'
noli me tangere (287-212 BC)
impersonators
of the "Almighty"
when
they will
they will
obedience
they always speak their will
only from within an hierarchy
the dominant always
command the dominated: obey !
the dominating will
yet their very own identity
their will
always disappear
behind their guise of choice
their will, allegedly never their own
their very own force
disappears
within the name of the State
so empowered by rules
from within the "Almighty"
long and short history
of the mighty
thousands upon thousands
of not only professors
got their will confiscated
including all monies all possessions
including all their very own life
history plays
yet seldom the new
only repetitions
surprise
only a few
to conformity of thinking
of conformity to feelings
for
groups and troops
soups
conform to everyone's
uni-taste
a play of games
only happens from within rules
rules mask as games
all play masks rules
truth an amoral fight
against your nature
one dies many a death
a friend moves away and so he's no longer;
another friend met a "better" friend,
so he's "in love" more within himself
and so one goes back to one's vocabulary
the Latin the Greek,
worlds that keep existing
in books
in classrooms
in teachers
so it was natural that one day
I removed myself and took distance from humanity
after all, they die one by one or en mass
on the battle fields
those warring parts of life's culture
funeral rites playing false roles
heroics and sacrifices
but language keeps on flying towards you
words you once before heard
and often overheard
in the worst pubs...
and classrooms...
but one did not mind the "dirt" in words
hatred has its institutions, its professions
followers leaders
branded words
too many words
turn the animal
into forms of human labels
nature grows you
culture frames you
even "the soul" has its own news service
michael jackson clips to celia cruz
"Every really existing Thing
is a compound of such innumerable properties,
and has such infinity of relations
with all other things in the universe,
that almost every law
to which it appears to us to be subject
is liable
to be set aside,
or frustrated,
either by some other law of the same object
or by the laws of some other object
which interferes with it:
and
as no one can possibly foresee
or grasp all these contingencies,
much less express them
in such an imperfect language as that of words,
no one need flatter himself
that he can lay down propositions sufficiently specific
to be available for practice,
which he may afterwards apply mechanically
without any exercise of thought."
John Stuart Mill (20 May 1806 – 8 May 1873)
in "Aphorisms:Thoughts in the Cloister and the Crowd"
[my emphasis]
"The essence of liberty
has always lain
in the ability
to choose as you wish to choose,
because you wish so to choose,
uncoerced,
unbullied,
not swallowed up in some vast system;
and
in the right to resist,
to be unpopular,
to stand up for your convictions
merely because they are your convictions.
That is true freedom,
and without it
there is neither freedom of any kind,
nor even the illusion of it."
Isaiah Berlin
(6 June 1909 – 5 November 1997)
not all this surplus,
but the words that endlessly go there
words faster than a wind's cold breath
snow flakes syllables colder than ice
these they trade among each other
words and reversals and promises again
piece by piece by many words
as if by piecework they climb
towards undeceived meanings
yet in the end nothing remains
no echo follows laughter
no river reaches as far as tears
all song struck dead by an order of language
-------
as of
Friday, June 09, 2006
"If, then,
you two
are friendly
to each other,
by
some tie
of nature
you belong
to each other."
Plato (428 BC – 348 BC)
STATE is to DOOM as
TASTE is to MOOD
or
STATE TASTE
-------- = --------
DOOM MOOD
rules constrain
norms or forms morph
forms and norms morph
someone grins= signs
someone signs=grins
gin sing!
Flesh is EVIL see!
Self now LIVE
facts act = act facts
not epistemological orgasms
from a silent situation
that may condition
relations
their field of forces
instead of bringing
unpacking unending language
as if mutual language landscapes
need a sort of talk
of people talking
show off language
friends
are never
pre-described
never pre-describable
mutual feelings
circumnavigate
language
feelings game not repetitions
in search for conformities
nor for conformity's confirmation
within language
no feeling
in money hides
nor in gold
nor in words
nor in giving
nor in taking
only
from friend to friend
foundations grow
beyond words
no useful speculation
no utility,
no networking stats
a friend is a friend
an event
nothing here gets any simpler
gets ever calculated
from that town
away from people posturing
before the great collapse
to another town
and on to another town
while the contours
of the great collapse crystallized
always leaving people behind
posturing and juiced up within
their very own weapons of
hatreds
ideological
theological
political
their opinions
decorated with common sense
and series of ignorances
I always felt
I escape a humanity
that was fortunate
to be born yesterday
born
into systemic ignorances
When I peruse the conquered fame of heroes, and the victories of mighty generals,
I do not envy the generals,
Nor the President in his Presidency, nor the rich in his great house;
But when I hear of the brotherhood of lovers, how it was with them,
How through life, through dangers, odium, unchanging, long and long
Through youth, and through middle and old age, how unfaltering,
how affectionate and faithful they were,
Then I am pensive—I hastily walk away, filled with the bitterest envy.
By Walt Whitman
May 31, 1819 – March 26, 1892
we met boys from England
and talked intelligently about the boys of Rome
Years later I thought about this in Mazatlan
where I saw a group of English lads
eating and drinking in the restaurant
then cavorting into the sunset at the beach
how this and that beach
reminds of other beaches,
other countries,
same plays
believing
into next to nothing
is sort of habit free
what else could he be?
He worked in the rose garden
where else could he work?
i brought Him roses
He smiled
We smiled
what else could We do?
He had no habits
He was wild
We were free
by mindscapes
into narrower
ever narrower frames
remember Acapulco
before the high-rise scape
ever since that time
I never liked to travel
but reduced all travel
to unpredictable moves
with boxes to be unpacked
minds to be discovered
and 'mind' is sooo modern
that you will be stunned
what language must reproduce
in today's hinterland
from their wealth of feelings
to other people's language
opinions
words
faulty thinking
fantasize alien figures
eat all words like fat
feed off images
and all beauty
all leftover feeling
fades
a winter storm rushed thru the area
i just moved some snow away
and off my park bench
now I can feed the birds...
I had just copied what follows...
because the lights flickered
the computer behaved on and off
and all the rest of my memories evaporated
into a darker darkness
which lasted about three hours:
---
used to go the the Bar
in Ann Arbour
last century
don't even remember the music that played
but I liked the DJ the music he played
and he gave me a kiss for liking it
what did I drink
it wasn't Pernod
...
and I wasn't sure what will be next
the lights flickered
darkness got everything settled
yet I wanted more
convolutions
remind
of authoritarian
literature classes
suffered
where
professorial dogma
trumps politics
beginning with
gender prone
Oh so harmless fairy tales in general
ending with
misreading/misspeaking
of dear lad,
Billy Budd
five plus five adds up to ten
for so called adults
that can add up to anything
except a naive ten
"I don't believe in math!"
'all big numbers are too big
to ever return to zero'
and the flat earth
has joined the ex nihilo creationists
never resigned to facts
insistency wills the absurd
so that accountancy is nothing
but a no good belief system
that came down
was among other things
a wall between Reformation
and vaticanic Anti-Reformation
that found its confirmation
in the pope's birthday celebration
last year, in the innards of the White House
The Second World War has not finished...
nor has the Anti-Reformation...
Just like Luther's Reformation
in turn caused the mother of all Anti-Formations
so was the American Revolution
the mother of all new beginnings
in search of an ending...
the 'Cold War' merely an interlude
within a much longer, older theme
history continuous under different names
so that for the next generation
all that is new
is merely so under different names
continuous unabated
unseen
unexpected
the greatest most secret Secret
remains most visible
once the understanding
removes all fog
study all absent kindnesses
whispers flying towards you
assaultive sentences
that frame all intercourse
even within an alien shopping experience:
more border guard gaze
more Check Point Charlie gaze
-would make Franco proud
more no "Good" morning language
more and more anti- 'customer' stuff
you can't say social intercourse:
in this institutional model of a village
local coherence reinforced:
every rule and law of universal civility
reduced, an easy effort of circumvention
Human Rights Pudding
an assault on community spirit
a morticians gaze
post-colonial nostalgia
as if every gaze
praises false knowledge to be corrected
then "YOU TOO!"
game players acting law enforcement
every gaze a fruit of cultural re-enforcement
yet stuck within rotten fruits
from a Tree of Knowledge
so
travel from village to village
see fewer and fewer trees
yet more and more rotten fruit
assaultive language flowers blooms
no one eats, no one volunteers
for Human Rights Pudding
eyes see
brains know
and thought already
strong,
trained,
qualified
pre-prepared
all
within ready made words
even what's new
nothing but different
additions
substractions
cross-overs
of words
meets with instant relief
from all language
orgasm overrules liberates from language's intrusions
but language always tells it differently
it makes a story
while orgasm is pushed elsewhere
what was 'good enough and plenty' one time
for the students that hail against many times
turns into a never ending story
words copulating
extracting phrases
imitating
yet seldom praise orgasm
its world survives alone
language hails from
you'll see when it hits one day
the one day without you having said a peep
language erupting
against the non-peep sayer
as if deducting reducing
some sort of merit
from a never to be
never to be turned into a human
behind
above
language
hidden
beneath
the visible,
the readable
the audible
the speakable
the sporadic
albeit a thinkable
is all there is: the Force-
there's no language by itself
you're already possessed
by other people-
their masterly control of you
you'll never grow into an appreciation
or
some sort of understanding
of culture's making its separate sense
continuously changing
all without you
so quit
return to life
live to see
all language always moves
always goes by
language got no fixed address
it can never stop
only people, the many
must stand still
speaks and speaks and teaches
of hate's moral normal
while
LOVE
EVOL - ves
from
within
EVOL - ution
LOVE
never to navigate
into conceptual obstacles
when ' I '
refer to ' my ' life,
eating life and otherwise life
refer and refer
backward like forward,
no change, no history
refer refer
e e
f f
e e
r e f e r
always only an experience of words, word orders
a cruel deference
---------------------------------------
Unlike orgasm in general
that does not exist 'in general',
all orgasms differ,
always in search
for more 'beauty' that differs even more
from 'beauty' in general
foods differ, appetites differ
we eat only fruits and seeds, flowers of broccoli ,
nature's sexual organs
compose us from within
like seeds that cruise
and cruise within the winds
----------------------------------
Erotics of shopping
within an absolutism of morals
refer refer
forward backward
and further backward
a non-light of darkness
going forward
between Cologne and Munich
an empty seat on my right
was taken up from a distance
by a face
that productively doubled my word output
thanks to him and only him
that he
at the end, closer
and closer towards his destination
had more and more tears in his eyes...
yes, I said, we could go on to Rome...
or anywhere, where ever you want...
read each word
subtract each word
never read
taste thought
at the tip of your tongue
see, language is big,
a big institution
fumbles with you
but your taste
your's is
too much knowing
knowing too much of humanity
will stop you
at the gates of humanity
no thinking here
nor there
inside outside
everybody practices
watches succumbs
to rhetoric
except Cassius,
knower of too much
you meet those who have never lived
like old factories and leftover downtowns
you hear old language that is spoken only in old
oldest books rich with prejudices
you see/hear humans
that you thought
an Enlightenment had "educated"
and if nothing else,
the Second World War
had managed "to improve"
love somewhat
but nothing and nil of that-
history's time has now stopped
reversal and reaction are upon humanity
all what is "modern" sinks and sinks
deeper and deeper
into a sort of "new improved" morass,
a nondescript abyss
that chased away all my birds
feeding on their wild bird seeds
a feeding interrupted
that reminded me
of universal barbarians
that succumbed to total illusion
followed by total destruction
christmas 1944//1945 in Berlin
when the basement shook
when bombs and their detonations
blew out window frames
and the straight christmas tree
tall as the living room
fell flat onto the floor
that was before or later
when Berlin's night sky
was burning ...
the rest is hidden in books
of dictators and popes
of their theories and statistics
and
if you look
black and white pictures
of flattened churches
Now not so new illusions
are upon us in 2008,
again!
lives via one of those many strategic games
that
what "makes" you - with permission-
feel good
like Halloween
a face altering mask
a tactic
a reform
to adjust your face
as per the designers' orders
very much organized not by the calendar
but at their
request
a sort of hidden but real war
that "makes" pleasures
beauty IS complete
even from a distance...
beauty touches
as if already as nearby as a kiss
but then language...
a totally irresponsible intervention
of an invention
so when the boy learned and learned
THAT language
traveled to that country
voila
the boy found beauty and more beauty
not an influence
but an identity lived
experience beyond language
my parents went to the forests
to collect mushrooms, berries and bird songs
when my father saw a landscape, found a motif
for his water colors or his oils
I always watched the relation
between the landscape
my father's eyes
and what he then drew
painted on paper
this sort of watchful patience
that nature gives you
while you see the grass grow
birds sing for you
while the whole landscape
arrives at your father's hand
all language preceded
my birth,
a leap-year boy
born head first,
at home,
in my mother's bed
in my home-town
that was utterly destroyed
by a dictatorship married to the church-
then both vanished
followed by yet another language
yet another ideology
you learn about language
by what language does to you,
what language itself claims
it can do to you
language creates its agents
from simple boys to giggling girls
teachers professors
soon you learn ideological nonsense
gods that agitate from behind thick walls
the masters of language
play and scheme
and soon the boy sees the stage
hears the words
and turns away
walks walks walks
away
fuses with another label
and now two labels
are supposed
to be a fusion
five thousand years old
all to facilitate distribution of legal tender
money
never mind who labels with whom and why
grammatically correct
never mind on behalf of whom
whose honey
-
careful
while words pretend an order
when my hometown stood in ruins
it was language preceding all bombs
that set the theater
for all destructions
as if by "poetic force"
those who put their words
in a certain order-
attempts at meaning
soon reorder their words
to attain a meanness
that confines
their identity
never to be commensurate
with the young
project of democracy
am I
a part,
in a play of me
no art
no trap
no part
freedom
always here
only my very own now
nothing abstract,
no past no future
no speculative sacrifice
no lie spinning words, beLIEf
no theme, game, blame
fictions, frames that hope
only my own
always now
history
we noticed the rarity of democracies
and some saw,
victories and failures of papacies
where others saw, failures and victories of the above
yet other boys
always kept their mind unclogged
unharmed by intrigue-
propaganda's love
advertised as if free from hatred
the dictator shot himself
and the great demontage took over
and later, when we boys played Monopoly
we were always reminded of that simulation
of real world worthless money
when no food nor electricity nor heat
were purchaseable
creates non-thinking:
a win an always one way outcome
to train for
to apply
another set of language
to the 'other' side
yet to be made invisible
as if language 'sings' of the invincible
but language lives off an invented faith
words believe in
language games
within propaganda
a kid's games
a sport
enforced
kids
abused
impressed
repressed
controlled
via language games
language transports series after series
of lies into adults
-belief's propaganda
propaganda's beliefs-
all mediators stage and act a spectacle
swim on hope's fictions
while,
if and when
you're smiling,
yes,
there's a prohibitive code:
"you're smiling too much"
that "puts down" nature,
destroys boys:
rules
rule over men,
lures
power's words
against them
the boy wore blue jeans
fresh stuff from America
then with my long hair shorn off
and Elvis was new too
my friends sang with me:
"Oh Mister blue"
while my blue jeans shrank
I outgrew
grew bigger...
yet another language
was now my home
from within nature's never ending spring
plenty plenty of antagonists
weaving and weaving
their discursive nets
I learned about as a school boy
and
as a boy I saw my father's large murals
of American landscapes and monuments
a sort of home-made history
on canvas,
on walls,
and later in my mind's eye
and then
one day
when I went to an American university
"they" asked me "why I want to study" there, in America
I wrote down exactly what the boy in me saw and thought
and school-bookishly
had learned...
And then
what I never forgot:
an advice given
at that university:
"You should play the game!"
was to the boy in me
such stupidity coming from an academic
an advice that was of course
never congruent
with my very very own pursuit of happiness
And in that spirit
I stood later before my students:
always in pursuit of our mutual happiness
- life is much too short,
too enframed in zoo-like, moral enclaves
always only constraining definitions
- life much too often short-changed by miserableness
- so much so that
a mutual pursuit of happiness
goes beyond:
- all programmatical and affiliated forms of "kindness"
- all opportunistic lexica of proclaimed,
compliantly advertised "sincerity"
I've returned to silence...
to exploit my right to liberty
to withdraw into myself... unencumbered
this wordless adventure
free from falseness and people productions
this sort of preschool life and its beyond
when an ugly force of words tried to occupy me
so, beauty may be relative
but no eye has yet been improved
with a regimen of words
welcome to nature's
wordlessness !
lives and thinks
the more
the first twenty-five years
of learning
of experience
can be discarded
the second twenty-five years
can be totally disregarded
because now everybody around you is smarter
or are the smartest you'll ever meet
the third twenty-five years
make a return to some sort of infantilism possible,
its sleep destroyed by war
because now you can overlook the landscape
and appreciate that your garden was planted
with real flowers
with real eatable vegetables
with real -albeit left-over
bird song
while humanity keeps on preaching and hating
and warring and marching
to where?
that naturally live in some foreign languages
are not appreciated
by a two gendered culture
that boasts from
within a two gender language
in some areas
teaching such three gender grammar
would subvert the local 'moral economy'
moral.normal
rationed like coals, electricity and water
and oranges and bananas
were words in books
and all coins and paper money
deflated to worthlessness
we as boys read books,
saw history not as written texts
but saw refugees making their way through streets
and beyond streets
knocking at our door for food
where there was no food
the lone rationed slice of bread
was already eaten
the world was mad
that was followed by 'victory'
before I entered school
that was followed by 'defeat'
that waited many years to turn into 'victory'
now that I'm closer to death
out of words and breath:
if repetition refuses its rhyme
unlike a victim of some norm
an impossible 'defeat'
conceiving itself
as nothing but an unthinkable
at what age you're now
language has its own time
and words repeat themselves
in their time
under different cover
as if new
new wars for better purposes
for better times
all that machinery functions
independently of you,
your time
when and where and how and why
you will be born as an element
within that language of time
and university
was a continuous struggle against 'groups' -
cliques of student's uniform minds
and their uniform bodies,
cliques of dependent professors
and their mind's handlers
it was never the courses you attended
but the visible human decay one witnessed
at the surfaces of language
it was a sort of 'rebellious' act
to not to do 'group spirit'
of not getting sucked into what the group wanted you to do
especially after the whole country had just been liberated
from one soul one mind one country indoctrination war syndrome
from church/state oneness that had ended in total war
so I carried my books always wrapped in paper,
brown or white or covered with nice wallpaper
or wrapped in yesterday's newspaper
nor would I ever wear a watch on my arm-
not to remove myself from punctuality
but remove my life
from authorities that gamed with humans
played with their time
group animals, agents of authority
that's what groups are instituted for
and there came a point in real time
when and where I gave up
on the spectacle of advertised
parading sincerity:
a never ending falseness of language games
postured in games
of bought bodies
as if 'acting' from sincerity
or from some honest aesthetics
it was no longer
AS IF kings of the medieval ages
had succumbed
to their 'higher' handlers
but how far
how much
inhumanity
will be recovered
from the rolling waves of time
Between not so arbitrary poles fluctuates
more, sometimes less
inhumanity
for which wars
serve other purposes:
they're not
in the business of teaching
moral lessons
nor writerly essays
but an unlife
that practices its remains
within hidden language
he went to art school in Munich...
that was four years after he was shot on the Western Front in France,
was already piled up among the dead
when a doctor walked by, discovered he was alive
and 'they' pulled out the about 3" bullet...
that my mother carried lifelong in her portemonnai
This is a pencil drawing: he did while at art school:
http://www.geocities.com/Eureka/Promenade/4098/CRChKreuzDeisenhofen1.jpg
here is the inscription on the Cross
in my father's handwriting at that time:
http://www.geocities.com/Eureka/Promenade/4098/CRHandschriftInschriftChKreuz1921.jpg
When I asked him about the motivation for this drawing
his only reply was always that he too was among the dead and he too came back to life...
My father always remained young;
my friends used to say that "I'm much older than my father"...
and my father always asked his father re the 29th of February
and his father always told my father to get his his own son
to be born on the 29 of February...
and so it turned out that I'm the son
who just turned seventeen on the 29th of February this year,
in 2008
http://www.geocities.com/Eureka/Promenade/4098/Kuenstler.htm
I saw Berlin moving, shaking, burning, demolished -
I call that experience
when school started it was acting, show
by that time I was already used to watching
actors on a real stage
life-long watcher,
animals watch you too
language sort of lies away the human animal,
language remains cosmetic, expansive
a cover,
evasive
voice gets lost within experience
and after, words falsify the voice
turning experience into meaning
I see resemblance from when I was in first grade
and the Russian troops took over the whole block where we had lived
and teachers at school were always aggressive and not as peaceful as my parents
and some of the school boys were just as uncivilized
when we moved to the 'west'
there too, the Americans took over whole areas, streets and villas for their military
at least there was some more food; for milk you still had to bring your own bottle
and a loaf or less of rationed bread you took home under your arm
newspaper was still too precious: you needed it to wipe your arse with
anyway,
when the Berlin Wall came down
the 20th century came to an end and communism socialism collapsed
but what happened before came "back to life"
and my first reaction was that the American Democracy will be next to collapse,
being itself a child of the much anti-church French Revolution and its train of thought
preceding and succeeding
Much reminds me of my teachers from the first school year on
including the preceding war, the subsequent occupations, the poverty
and the many years of ruins and life ruined because of war, devastation, starving
We get fooled by this modern stuff, internet, cars that kill us, devastate health and environment
worst is, people in leadership roles have had not to learn much of what had happened
actually, the curricula now got far simpler, less demanding than when I was eight,
and to learn English, French, then at ten Latin and on and on through the school years
and teachers were always 'pro" the good old time or 'con' the 'present occupation'
so we boys stood with one foot in some reality,
with the other we existed from the food rationing
Language remains the same, negative, the sentiment still rich in prejudice,
wars and implicated churches forgotten, life and life lived disparaged by new faces,
same foul ideology yet different generation, same theology,
and sure they are as any ideologue the world has experienced in the past
and as if getting ready for a likewise yet unknown dismal future
the ruins for more than twenty years
and then the smartest of them professionals
said: why didn't you stay there?
over sixty-thousand inhabitants of my home-town
were officially, legally according to law
murdered by the government,
many others got their death-penalty
\others got chained for telling jokes
all radios were confiscated
to 'save the system'
and if you didn't deliver
another death-penalty opportunity
arose
all during my one and only life-time
and
the professional idiot asked:
why didn't you stay in your home-town?
So, how do they- dogmatists et al,
define "home-town" ideology
in this life?
a measured distance
from the theater-
the roles that play authenticity
as if projecting a 'naturalness'
will enlighten
the horrendous show
culture perpetrates
on those
who are totally scripted
to perform a falsity
that is neither authentic nor natural
but simply the animal
domesticated on the discursive pablum of ideology:
actors fallen into belief turned agents
parading as a form of ethical violence
in relation either to a space,
the four walls of a room
in relation to others
within that space,
and the subversive relation
between whoever was the conductor
lecturing his/her subservients
all locked-in within that space
each space was filled out with propaganda,
its converts,
its believers
each ideology dribbled on like rain
was obediently soaked up
from marxism to communism to religion to americanism
a submissiveness of mind and body
the conductor controlling all the voices-
a never ending monarchy of conformity
within a hierarchy
a polemicist theater, a show
same rhetoric, same repetitions
everyone went there like to a pissoir
and was handed a discourse ad hominem
as if under the influence of a 'higher' law
yet to come...
lived
within different ideologies
that each drive languages
that underqualify and overqualify
redefining words and sentences
and life itself
as if one is human
merely as a by-product
you too come to realize
that all learning and practicum
all common sense derived from experience
turn into fictions
as if life never was
nor will be
in the end,
language never deals with life
only to be against it
as if life itself turns enemy,
a war reducing words
and the
Ides of March
how we boys saw history's contingencies
as 'today's' never vanishing possibility
JULIO IGLESIAS-LA GOTA FRIA
Elvis, so young and beautiful...
before
school forces you
how to read
to trust an institution
to give you words
make you do how words connect
deliver 'their' wanted meaning to you
so you can repeat the circle endlessly
proudly and as if sincerely
yet still be fooled
by some believer
an expert of repetition
who blessed you by grading you
in the form of history
studied, understood, applied
a sort of repeatable matrix
same characters you meet over and over and over
so that only life itself becomes not a bore
but how language creates
the same types
to fit the same created constellations
that lead to war and wars
within a long cycle
so you're not surprised
that your judgement of forty or so years ago
proved intuitively
or based on real life experience
proved correct
managing by moving around
away from words that are indeed not real,
unreal the behaviour of those
who claim
under cover of their group's words
being within the words of that group,
as if 'they' speak "the truest" words
words remain objects
as much as they derive their fantasies
therefrom
as a generic child really
I saw so much acting in front of me
on the stage, in the theatre
that I never lost that antenna for affective reactions
performed to some text, snippets of grandiose ideology,
dramaturgical theology, roles of bureaucrats,
or a factotum trained in the art of not plurally playing 'themselves'
in other words,
I never met people who are not possessed
by an affective performativity
linked to some law, to local prejudices,
to personal lies motivating their intentions
real -unencumbered- people
are never/seldom found
within a conformist/destructive culture...
not from within an other's ideal
stuck within a fixed idealistic ritual
a can of soup for false food
tasteless advertising,
trained appetite
fascinated by commercial seduction
that overloads you with a language not your own
ideas that posses you frame your nature
an ideal zoo animal
bereft of language that could have grown into freedom
freedom from coercion
from love, that language beast of propaganda
that advanced towards hatred
we visited as many zoos as possible
standing in front of the fences
boys and girls behaved contrary to the fenced-in inmates
boys and girls cajoling at the animals and soon against each other
their behaviour unschoolyard-like
soon turning into bullies
soon words turned against fellow humans
you could observe the teacher(s)
as if freed from the class-room
gesticulating as never before
in front of some of those fences
but some of us boys
always stood at a very far distance
so that none of those words would reach us
and the punishment meted out to the above bunch
-no, to the whole class-
was always 'wildly' opposed
by us, who took to the distance
and we opposed and opposed
in the name of our very own freedom:
our reality was based individually
never to be experimented with
collectively
long before working in an office
before entering a school-room
I saw life performed on a stage
and on other stages
lifes around me were always performances:
military convoys or black Mercedeses filled with
defence lawyers going to Nuremberg...
life around me was always 'staged'
and wherever my father was 'invited' to go to
he took me with him
to observe,
to be a witness
of history's most unique moments...
some of its unique 'players'
and history's losers...
not sure anymore when and where
after Nathan the Wise
I went to experience Marcel Marceau...
we boys never knew Halloween's mass-culture masks
but we 'read' our friend's face when his parents spoke French
or other friend's parents spoke Esperanto
to hide their alleged sectrets from us boys
Marcel Marceau's language
was to be learned above all other languages
an unforgettable language
but just like in any language,
there are bad imitators:
real clowns, giveaways
never ever 'sincere' factotums
in whatever hierarchy
always deluded by group mentality
always unable to be singular,
always unable to be 'nothing'
of the child
in the to be boy
were formed by failures of humanity
when basement and bunker shook
when sleep was cut off
then divided
and rubble and ruins
no longer visible houses
turned into playgrounds
stopped by
landed right on my book while sitting outside on my garden bench
today at 13:50
just finished reading this:
"by distancing ourselves from every reason for fighting,
by achieving perfect moments,
which we know we can't surpass..."
(in George Bataille's Epilogue in History of Eroticism)
when I thought of these few sentences
-such a beauty-
with how many few individuals 'we' have reached the many perfect peaks !
of how many moments !
that could never be surpassed !
and each, and each moment a beauty
each individual individually a beauty that lingers on...
...when that butterfly landed on the white page opposite the above cited passage
sat there on the page in full sunshine
in all its beauty...
that I mentioned somewhere
created for us boys the necessary distance
but it was also to provoke others
with their 'no good boy' prejudices:
the language one elicits by 'being different'
and thus in turn the others ongoing stupidity sorted them out
while my friend's chauffeur
shut the door and we drove off..
wanting to be unlike others
to nearly sing the text I was reading to the class
between tears and laughter then
the goodness of a drawn-out orgasm
boys bragged about...
and wanted always more
and again and again then again
even in another language:
Lisbon while still under dictatorship
the blackness of the suits
unsmiling faces,
we went up to the Castle and looked west
into the sun
or the monks waiting walking naked into the Atlantic
so different from the monks that instructed in religion
and the boys who skipped class
and went deep into the dark forest
even on short winter days
the snow seemed always warmer
yes, the formlessness,
but as my father said, it must be pleasing to the eyes
it must be painterly, artistic, an unforgettable face
you would want to get closer to
to discover talk then walk and then discover fewer words
wasn't that the reason French, each word
that made us boys travel and travel to France
drink wine and discover more
inside that language
more than we could at home...
please! shy away from all form;
how many funerals and always that dark suit
and a darker tie !
but then, all that form and that very same constrained culture
destroyed itself, Jazz in the church for liberation dance
as if there was not a bombed out church near by
but the very same words
come back, always meant to come back
a warriors god never gets away from the living
no war is ever lost except to the dead
and so they shape once again everybody
to suit the old old fashioned form
the only one, the legal form,
law's unseen terror
walking in darkest suits
had been removed...
the adults created a 'gap' -
their very own 'untrustworthiness'
that we boys summarized as a 'false person'
these 'supervisory adults' teachers, managers et al
were 'ahead of us' with their behaviours
we boys had no secrets
that's why we could 'measure' behaviour
their 'perversions' were not articulated in language,
of course not, because they were 'inside a process of hiding'
a show of 'playing inspector' or cop or NAZI 'giving orders' to boys
or
to put it this way:
they themselves interfered with themselves
their behaviour gave them away as 'untrustworthy'
a genuine behaviour never 'masks' or 'performs'
boys had opinions on religion -
fathers or mothers came and 'liberated' their boys
"I write for myself and for strangers."
--- Gertrude Stein (February 3, 1874 – July 27, 1946)
I was when I was "made" an internal auditor:
my one and only job was to keep my ' independence' intact
the whole humanity in that publicly traded company
turned idiotic, hysterical and the real human being awoke in them:
between advertising their church goings, their family multiplications
and adoptions, their ethical stance proofed non-existent
which reminded me years later of the same caliber
in the professors I encountered: same corruption
filled ethical air-bubbles, also smart masters of fraud
now as an auditor I did not even have an office,
they wouldn't give me a telephone either
so, I did everything in writing with proof of pudding attached
and delivered everything I wrote in person
to the president, to the chairman, to the comptroller, to the police
I 'audited' by walking around
just like years later I 'audited' some university classes,
I encountered the same human elements
one professor wanted me to put the American students ' to shame'
I told him that this is impossible in the name of the pursuit of happiness-
and fear interferes with learning, love your students!
and if people in leadership roles speak of 'sincerity'
watch the ideology that works in them,
with what 'honesty' they paved their career path
right into that very office they're sitting right now...
Yes, independence!
ask ten people whose mind slaves they are
how they got into this leadership position
One in position yelled at me: "You made yourself auditor.'
They were all 'military bodies'
controlling their very own flow of trust
yes as Independent auditor
you hear theatre where ever words speak and hide
almost always separates from words
as if experience 'fights' language itself
or in the alternative
if experience isn't congruent with the symbolic realm
experience is made not to exist: it never was, it never happened
but experience will happen all by itself
against the universe (belief, ideology etc) of language
as unnatural an intrusion from the outside
as unnatural as eliciting sex from the outside
via products, powder and lipstick and consumer what-have-you's
both outsiders fail to relate to an 'echo' from within
a dead cow requires much much more
to raise your appetite to some bloody yet to be fried steak
when Rock no longer danced but unlearned dancing-
relationships improvised their movements beyond genderlessness
and every body conformed, became simulacrum
now cow traders want calves to feed to the warriors that fight for 'real' life
that's why pro-creators go back to basics and peddle disgust and death
as if not to arrange for war but in the name of love's fictions
so too, writing remains a fiction,
like weight-lifting's ups and downs
masturbations in search for musles
as if a nice behaviour must be imposed from outside
speech and accumulation of words
suffer from proper application of procedures
like sexless sex serving assorted purposes
especially since the tv speaks endlessly and more versatile
than the tv's audience itself
got drunk in the office at Christmas...
I was reminded once more not long ago
of the public whores in Europe
that kept their respectable distance
towards us males
as if philosophy and literature
have not died out on the road...
as if sex doesn't matter
But sex matters in procreational territory
and someone was able to turn all males victim
as if hysterics make a natural home
within an old
very old norm
I never wore a wrist watch
If the train was late, well, a watch didn't accelerate speed nor lateness
I never 'socialised' with people
whose language repertoire was controlled by the clock
As a boy, my father took me to theater rehearsals,
I always sat in the middle of the first row:
life on the stage was always imperfect
there were no spectators to distract me
an anonymous spectator mass
ever since impress me as humanities well ordered falsity
I never got used to television addicts
I always wrapped my school-books in newspaper;
then my father gave me expensive wallpaper that
caught the attention of my conformist 'mates'
I never had a gym bag;
once someone gave me two gym bags to take my stuff to Europe;
that told me I had too much stuff; all that stuff I left behind in Europe
I have no television, no radio, and thank you very much:
no car
I like differences and they're hard to find in conformity land
mind you, when I was a scholl-boy, we still lived in post-hitler-land
while on the 'other side' the last and final liberation
of ' the most liberated people in the world' was hailed:
they needed a Wall to proof it, a gated country as
if liberated from all unfreedom
as if freedom is a multi-annual perennial:
every year one wonders IF there's yet another bloom to come...
there was always the place where we lived and then there was the garden
and later, there was the forest
one was involved in survival,
the garden and the forest were the distance from corrupt civilisation
once living space and garden were gone, not confiscated
but 'liberated' for the 'new' species of men,
foodless living reduced everone to proper dimensions;
no one talked of 'spirituality' - that's consumer society surplus talk
poverty was not idealism nor mismanagement,
but pure plots and politics of a to be re-mastered humanity;
as if humans without rights are collective humanity
lots of contrasts to be added, but additions never benefit
an already perfected people:
that's why they only need children by the dozen,
each one leaning -as if natural - pro-creatively
like war-machines that fight life
I always skated on every pond that froze;
there was always a 'friend' that desparately unfroze
my mother always liked my friends
my father disliked it very much when I compared myself to OTHERS
one friend came with his motor-bike to fix it up in our garden:
my mother was furious that he uses me
what his high valuta parents forbid him to do
on their repected property
father said, people have a way to USE other people
all the way up to the party apparatus and their aligned churches
my teacher talked of the state that destroys individualism-
the state needs heroic sacrificers instead
you can never compare
only contrast some of my teachers who survived dictatorship
with the GI Bill professors who 'lived in the land of the free'
everything is past tense
since I was Cassius who 'always knew too much,'
my 'mates' always urged me to sell my voice to the radio
scary thought...
my uncle 'worked for the radio" and Hitler gave him the death penalty
which was never executed because Hitler shot himself first
while the Russians conquered what there was to conquer
one aunt knew China first hand
another aunt never stopped dreaming of her two sons, 18 +
coming back from Stalingrad
my father always reminded everybody
how everybody went nuts
when Hitler was handed power
another aunt was run over by a truck
long enough
from country to country
you'll see
that the evolving rituals
of obeying rules of games
outlast
the proverbial rule of law
so, where you have fun as if uncalculated
the mind gets sucked into a true bind
how writers and teachers
reduced their writing and teachings
to a dandelion and a lone bird
sittin' silently on some twig on a leaveless tree
war stripped everything down
even teachers were stripped off their dogma
food was gone, churches in rubble
and soup was delivered to school-boys in large drums
school every second day during winter
free soup included
some boys were idiots like warring fathers
some girls still danced hitleresque
propaganda this way and that way
you didn't know which way
the class would turn
told that mother told
to touch girls instead
some boys obeyed
and masturbated away
out of sight
yet some boys
started praising their balls instead
and boys now tickled boys' balls
as if mother told it exactly right
PS
why mothers ?
most boys had no father left due to war 'sacrifice' (Kriegsopfer)
"What is the use of being a boy if one is going to grow up to be a man?"
as Gertrude Stein (February 3, 1874 – July 27, 1946) said.
how we partied all night, went to school or work
and were neither bored nor tired
this fresh fruit and vegetable diet from the garden my parents had
was so natural that I come to see now
how naturally I grew up, was fed by nature
I remember my mother in the middle of the night urging me to go to bed and sleep...
this diet over the last 13 month, since July 2006,
turned my sleep back to where it was when I was a teenager
Up 18 hours, getting 'tired' at around 5:30 in the morning,
like Picasso getting up by mid-day or one or so...
(Nietzsche's 'turning point')
this hasn't changed much, even so there was a short period
I would get tired late in the evening, nevertheless like a monk
I would still wake up at 2:00 and continue awake non-stop
Swedenborg used to sleep 'as needed' whenever that was...
ate strictly his semolina with milk and apparently nothing else...
now I don't watch TV, don't drive a car, books in the public library
don't carry the stuff I study...
so these Prairies here are another planet for me,
here people/talk and their hysterics
at first reminded me of my work last century
in a mental institution
it seems more and more that the ambiguity of 'madness'
is turning once again into an even ' greater normality '
and 'live people' I observe are extremely dead and univocal,
especially since my ears turned away from their rhetorical perversities
"Curiosity is one of the permanent and certain characteristics of a vigorous intellect."
--- Samuel Johnson (1709 - 1784)
are nothing to some
then all words learned are nothing but bought slaves
with our books
the surface of our texts
was still separate
from the surfaces of our skin
our language had not yet fabricated a body
while our touch still surfed our skin
a random walk in tandem
free from necessity
just before our teachers' language
penetrated our minds
deifying language's perverse complicity
feeding minds with ideologized bodies
more respect and fewer invasions
by the church and our teachers;
as if something like human dignity
and tolerance towards our youth
was turned into practice
this in direct contrast to the generation
that was our age under the dictatorship;
some of these types could never shed their authoritarien s[k]in
and carried this into life
as if democracy is merely a game,
a temporary diversion
gains you your freedom -at least within-
when you're condemned
in the words of the other language
when culture changes
and sincerity betrays,
truth beyond reach
no matter how astute your observation
ready made phrases have no feeling in them,
so how do people stay human
continue to pretend as the reasonable animal
when your language punishes not you
but your kind
and the a malicious smile
wins the game
"I don't think you get wiser because you got older...
you got to make a conscious choice
to become more liberated more tolerant
more whatever more insecure whatever...
the more you learn about yourself
the more insecure you become...."
--Boy George: Much Music April 2001 interview
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8-B9v5bSjnk
had some friends,
boys who had no father,
fathers the war had shot down
the bullet in my mother's purse
was brought home from war
and was no longer lodged in my father's lung
he was seventeen and already among the dead,
patriotic madness poisened families for all time
and all was lost thrice
in two wars,
in-between two wars
and when my father met us boys
he was alive as if he was still seventeen
determined our boys' life
because we played in their rubble
after the madmen were gone
and people moved by by the thousands
and the trains were filled to above their roofs
and hundreds came to our doors
asked for food
churches bled their sins
hiding as if for eternity
under their own ruins
and a madman
entered our history books
we boys entered life
as if after history
as if history happens only in books
as if madmen congregate only on theatre's stage
as if the theatre of madness had closed down
of discourse
discourse an embedder of trust
we boys walked for miles and miles
and talked each other into trusting each other
long convoluted sentences filled with other people's ideas
that was last century
now when and where do trusting discussions happen?
ad homina plenty even professors do them
but trusting discussions?
going on a long itineray developing an idea?
life stories?
time for life, time for the story of life,
for the drama that history knows is re-approaching once more?
("What are you talking about? is a disciplinary command! )
trust needs to be emdedded
like the long advertising letter making the sales proposition
to suck you into a marriage with an object
like honey of the flesh eating plant
that catches the insect
sweetening the laws of marriage
that is putting trust into the paragraphs of the law
the sweeter the promise the tougher the law
What a transaction for life!
so we boys took no pictures,
some insisted on memories that "will last forever"
anyway, here's a beginning of a timeline:
http://www.ruthenberg.com/timeline.html
I like to look at myself
I still like very much the boy I used to be,
unemcumbered loyalty to myself, all the way my way
can't compare me with anyone,
I'm too much intertwined with nature
nature is reliable
money can't buy you nature
so we boys knew where culture becomes parasitic
envious of nature
I stick with nature fending for beauty against culture
only beauty sings and plays....
for us boys always between secularism and theology;
both their narrations leading right into our lives:
the destruction surrounding us nicely explained
from the beginning of history:
the told tragedies that crowded our streets
we saw nothing but repetitions
The old Roman Wall now joined by the latest ruins;
one teacher another teacher fleeing into suicide
leaders fleeing into suicide
others hiding behind grey faces saving their skull
there's no victory, only an interregnum that last a life-time
and reversal and repetition continue as before:
there's no country that does not fail
no country without generals
even the finest marble figurines self-destruct
and we boys knew all art
artistic freedom perishes
no matter how big the art galleries
and how forgotten the artist
knew only language and another language and another language;
all force beyond it, force applied to language driving ideas...
we were surrounded by its very results
you either doubt what you see
or question language you hear;
sometimes you don't see yet,
but you can take the temperature of the language
you're surrounded with
what we saw everywhere was an outcome:
words we spoke in turn questioned those who taught and trained us
NOT 'us' - but you and me and him and him and her
we were not yet a group,
everybody's voice was different:
we were not made to believe
while we tried to understand the ghosts within language
the more languages you learn, the more your very own language and history relativizes,
better yet
you live in a morass of history
exactly when 'everybody' thought
it would "end" differently...
to 'make a difference' fantasy plays with language,
fantasy re-arranges and manages history,
fantasy makes guilty according to formula
those who were formerly praised for their astuteness
and thus history gets re-written according to some matrix
where all roles are reversable,
where words bring to light their double,
where the political animal rededicates human nature:
battles won turn now into losses
and only because you command a language
and become her subject
this does not mean you understand its history
and its philosophy that keeps shaping you into her loyal servant:
there's a chain of blood that never frames reality
if questions do not arise
language becomes bereft of its utility-
all language turns uni-lateral:
a very old order forges towards re-establishment
thus progress is as coded as is 'universal' modernity,
language only placates a coercive order beneath it-
language always fails
can describe you:
I can't describe you with my teacher's words
his feelings spoke in obedience of some proscribed curriculum
words of approved production
to put you into words
to put you grammatically in place
I would have to turn myself into a narrative
with words of lies that would freeze your liveliness
how do you know what I say is right
and the other teacher asked us boys
how do you know what you translate
is what it says it is
and the other teacher asked me
why I always laugh and smile
always the meeting of bodies
in search for words
and so we carried to the beaches
our vocabulary book
minding the store
was easy, because you learned to trust nature in each of us boys
unencumbered by cultural influences and family power plays;
always aloof of all those that throw around 'official' language
in their respective dictatorship roles we moved through nature
rather than an already devastated culture
the mourning ritual was incongruent with the way technology was played with;
we were so natural to each other that we could not sit down, abandon each other
and relate to the televison screen or radio talk - these THINGS were most unnatural
we would rather walk together than get a ride in a car
or use up a bus ticket - we walked and talked and probably applied languages
we brought home from classes
so the surprise of the boys of giving the boys the keys and minding the store
stunned many boys; no there was no secret; neither the keys nor the money in the till:
no, it was total trust in the boy's nature, total immersion of his being
into a reality of his very own creative being within,
not one bit of a syllable of any doubt in his integrity or his atachment to THINGS
if you can relate to Shakespeare philosophically
you need not put on any costume or self-deceiving camouflage
and simulate life
the eye does not act
your voice is nature
our ears were in tune with words from within our nature
and false they turned
and their feelings shunned and dead
they carried on with false words like slaves must carry water
and each word testified religiously to their making sport
and each word copulated with the order of the day
all rules became a mission's lie to be fought for
they were bought out by the state
of things their greed loved now
their life hardended into concrete as if a lie turns true when engraved in stone
entered our spaces
we boys were with our feet on the ground
and swimming in the ocean we were weightless
and nights we rose with the stars
yes, and a nightingale was mediating with his song
one friend cried
and we crawled into each other's tears
and we recalled each other's ways:
Promise! I'm always your friend
and each night
we boys moved
to another tent
until we came to rest with our best friend
sunset and sunrise
had their purpose again
we had no radios
we boys lived within our very own words
some brought their books and
we conjugated each other's words
we grew together like a classic's text
was so useful that all rains brought us boys closer together
when we left the tent
assorted rain from above was our friend
and we walked ever so close
towards the thick forest
and then entered as if into the greenest cave
that could stop for us all rain
that comes and cuts the grass
never to see the seeds of grass
his mind's behaviour pushes ahead
without regret he cuts grass short and orderly
pushing forward grass technology
to round out the mortgage on the house
and if his mind should ever grasp a meadow
that could have grown limitless from all seeds unseen
the unknown boy will be called something like a grown man
who was not cut short by nature
but apprenticed and then made use of
by culture's sport
of sports and games
became obvious when we never chose sides
thus we avoided intrusive psychological training
getting sucked into complicity,
false words of bravado,
not getting habituated to artificial victories
sport events were like floods and weather unruly groupings
and took on a strange seriousness as if religion found new roles
to frame the body as its latest weapon
yet minding our distance created new types of enemies,
provoked a not so harmless politics against friends
each word
a construct for an education,
but remember the boy's voice
the singing of his sentence
his echoes so much pleased our ears
whereever his voice found a home
then his whispers that raised and raised our ears,
his voice brought him always closer
his voice was much better than words can ever do
not remembering the words he spoke
not his voice that trembled
probably his breath and more
turned his absence into what now feels like absence felt
"I devour alternately a page and a morsel.
It seem as if my book were dining with me."
- J.J. Rousseau (1712-1788)
admittedly
silken shirts made us touchable
and sensitive to the colours of the day
but wasn't the grass much greener?
the lake's water much warmer to our nakedness?
our tears much friendlier to us all?
the blinding sun sinking into the ocean
weren't we thinking about the future?
yet dreaming about another night?
all this before we were back into our neck ties
and suits to carry our books back to the smiles
that were none
the essay you write best
when you don't know
what an essay is
as long as you procreate because you think you must,
because all life is an assignment
and all institutions exist to manage you
your focus remains exterior,
focused on those who command,
guide your thought via their language
the best essay for the boy was always the one with the least fore-knowledge
the theme blooms from within itself
knowledge itself is never creative;
knowledge is serial, repetitive description, Essay's killer
a brain is not a maschine
but the place where lust makes its home
unkind words destroy some brain
so it was that the first sentence -sitting in the classroom-
was always the most difficult to get a handle on
like meeting a new friend when words don't help
because your eyes already speak
seeing the boys around you writing and wringing out word after word,
watching these movements and this obedience...
the next best thing closer to absurdity
time would move on, and everybody had already written much,
but my first sentence didn't make it yet to paper
what I much later found out about "closure"
was exactly this: my sentences could not end in my mind,
no thought yet
only words adding up, descriptive stuff, not worth their ink
and if a word was jotted down
it would create more words around itself,
but not a thought
you never fall in love with words,
these enemies of thought and wasters of paper
intimate thoughts not sentences
were the richness of our friendships
towards overflow of our feelings
not rich in words but touched we were by our thoughts
that carried us into timeless lust for life,
a rythm that no dance can capture
no bodies can perform
deep inside that lust you're no longer exterior,
you see no longer any surfaces,
you're no longer transported by words or inside them
and never driven by words that train you
the peak is of such a beauty that thought demands more beauty
and the next peak is the brain's word removal tool
ad infinitum
thus friendship in the deep of your existence
is never stored inside any word
then the essay's theme found ITSELF
deep inside
a sentence made up of a pregnant thought
upon which to build itself
into some structure that delivered sense
to the outside world
It was always the shortest essay,
shortest, because the theme
removed all words that surrounded us,
and rose from the lusts we boys surrendered to
And the next week
the best essay was read out aloud,
and now my voice took over
where words alone can't reach
and thus my essay went full circle
around and around and around
as if to create a memory
to store these treasures, to recall our sensitive feelings...
we boys looked at the objects that were texts;
we were still together to be together as if together for ever,
nothing needed to be decided;
language was felt and silence was soft and sweet,
nothing needed to be measured by any text
no clock could stop the heat of the day
no hourglass could exhaust our ever longer nights
it was a taste that gave us reason
to write our very own script
we listened, we heard each other's voice
our ears, our mouths were one
