Warped
the shape & sound of thoughts
contort as they rise & fall
in the darkness.
I cannot catch them all.
So now pure instinct reigns supreme
& the Will relents
to every whim
of this self-destructing machine:
object
not a subject;
the It
& not the I.
Or is that just one more excuse?
When tomorrow becomes today,
perhaps it all will change
or stay the same.
*No Future Part 111 – Titus Andronicus
The talk,
the talk goes on forever;
unfocused, the tumult of noises sounds
like the symptom of a fever.
I pick out one voice after another,
disappointed as each
seems to me to be a foreign language
I cannot speak.
It’s the silent ones I can understand,
shrouded in loneliness or pensive thoughts
or maybe just nothing at all.
Are they, like me,
bewildered
as to how the past
can blend
from Spring into Winter
so swiftly?
As the noise, the
noise goes on forever…
For once on the face of the earth
let’s not speak in any language,
let’s stop for one second,
and not move our arms so much.
It would be an exotic moment
without rush, without engines,
we would all be together
in a sudden strangeness
Keeping Quiet – Pablo Naruda
Using water to gild wild flowers with gold leaf
for hours.
The technique requires practise that few will ever
master,
yet still you keep trying,
while the world around you ignores all that you
want to
give: a delicate gift;
desperate attempt to prove that you still exist,
before a silence, so intense
descends, just as you have been dreaming of
ever since
your first fascination
with gold leaf & flowers.
The City swells with life
& you,
insignificant,
stare at the people & the buildings
& the mundane purpose.
Overwhelmed by
the tide, so an anchor is made:
One must stay busy.
Smoke dances the in rain
framed
by the sickly-white, luminescent light
of the night.
A walk, awake
between night & day, surrounded
by the City, &
always the same shapes:
they’re trying to say something,
these buildings, something
more than their designer or
creators ever intended
I don’t know what it is
any more than they do.
So find nearest breath of green
& living things;
to tilt your head back,
lay down upon the the grass,
& stare at the immense & ancient darkness of
the sky…
*“Emnacipatory politics must always destroy the appearance of a ‘natural order’, must reveal what is presented as necessay and inevitable to be a mere contigency, just as it must make what was previously deemed impossible seem attainable”– Mark Fisher
It isn’t the same, it
can never stay the same.
No grass seeds always ready to
raise their blades again, only
change.
Slow or sudden,
willed or unbidden,
there is only change
& nothing else.
Habit & time,
being & repetition
build an image of difference
& permanence,
but there is only change;
the one constant
dressed as paradox:
there is only change,
change
& nothing else.
Words for Ghosts 