like sinking stones in search of the surface
too solid to taste the joys of liquidity,
drowning in dreams, that dreams remain,
dragged down by routine and identity,
but concatenations of tomorrows
that are already forgotten
while songs of freedom bounce from the wall,
to brick to brick, unhearing heads
discuss the weather,

thick fogs that cloud the eyes,
and fat fucks that live the dream,
it's material salvation, and it isn't cheap,
but you might just be able to afford
if only you sell all your time.

the more material that they collect,
the faster their descent,
and on the sea floor they shall remain,
unnoticed in the darkness

            the cemetery of lives unlived

God speaking, how can i help you?

"I'm getting really sick of this, i am going to tell you exactly what i told the last the clown before he reconnected me, i'm tired of being reconnected from one low ranking desk junk to the next fool who doesn't have any answers either. This has been going on for forty days now, and i've had it up till here with this waiting tune. I demand to speak to the manager!"

"Calm down now, there's no need to throw a tantrum. This is the manager speaking, what is all this about?"

"All i wanted was to get one simple question answered, that shouldn't be so hard, should it? But no one in this whole circus of idiots you have running the show seems to know anything."

"Considering that i am quite busy and on a rather tight schedule full of important stuff, could we skip all this cursing and pointing fingers and go directly to your question?"

"Okay. Sure. What's the point?"

"Love,    everything else is silly."

the painter dropped his brush

as the dirty despots of those desperate times
lined up to lead the broken dreams
away from the sorrows that could have taught

fake dolls with frozen eyes
stand before me in their land of black and white

god damn it, god said,
this isn't going to work
and he move on
to his next spherical canvas

your mind to drift
the thoughts to form
out of the formless void
meaning crystallizes

on a stormy ocean
without control
the waves take you up
then down, then turn you over

deep down, the waters quiet,
you move through it
away from the light
gravity, love of the material world

you watch your body
slide deeper into the darkness
but what do you care,
it's just another Newtonian body

in some forgotten corner,
of the godforsaken
cauliflower shaped
abstract universe

the unacknowledged mother
lays raped by logic
like an unrespected whore
a mere side product of material processes
and it is there that your sinking take you
the illuminated pearl on the sea floor
and when you take it to the surface

people tell you it's a nice poem.
I went to the theater, for the dance-troupe was in town. 
Their performance was an odd one, but i liked it.
There was a ball of light, in the center of the stage.
And all the dancers fluttered around it,
they jumped higher and higher
and climbed on each other.
It remained just out of reach.

It went on all night,
i left the theater before it ended,
dreaming about,
how as the dancers would grow,
they would be able to reach the light,
after all.
I could clearly see how it would scorch their minds,
burn down fortresses they build for themselves,
how they would fall to the ground as clouds,
of ash, and arise like childeren,
from the stage now grey.

Then it would start again i guess,
for all under the light is forced to grow,
and fall apart, eventually.

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