Friday, December 12th, 2008
that’s deep, man
Freiheit ist, wenn man gezwungen wird, sich zu entscheiden.
Aphorism
Thursday, September 25th, 2008
wortspielparkplatz
Home is where the heart dies.
Lügtfile, Logfile, Gelogenfile.
Friday, September 12th, 2008
im weg
Man steht sich oft selbst im Weg.
Aber es gäbe gar keinen Weg,
wenn man nicht dauernd
sich selbst in ihm stünde.
Thursday, August 21st, 2008
variations on a theme
If you come to a spoon in the road, take it.
If the road gives you forks, make salad.
Sunday, June 15th, 2008
Collection
1
Gesellschaften: aussen Huis Clos, innen Pfui Clos.
2
I was betting my hedges.
Wearing sleeves on my heart.
I timed my bide,
I thumbed my twiddles.
No use it was.
Things stayed downside up.
Wednesday, May 14th, 2008
Notebook
A tiny thing, mounted on a canvas on which an enormous enlargement of it is painted, around it: the ability of representation to distort and to thus explain.
Sunday, April 13th, 2008
Inversions
Stabbed by the light, by beauty, by the day,
The network, falling silent,
Becomes a lump of fat and blood.
But sensing night and seeing lack,
Frantically firing electrical sparks,
Numbing brain, it awakes,
Shivers adrift in the empty sea of all.
Lonely screens showed this at night,
The fear of an absence of message,
Creating bad news from nil, noisy chatter,
The frosty hold of a particle winter.
This was all and it was nothing,
The birth of the nothing from the all was in this snow,
Covering dark earth, putting old eyes to sleep.
Now fragments of humanity cast through the air,
Around the clock, unending and repeating,
At speed of light and broadband, piercing skull and mind,
Melt snowy voices in my soul.
Their endless turquoise river,
Heralding a spring of end,
A going to sleep of all awakening,
Will mask the absence
Of each word.
Tuesday, March 11th, 2008
Buddha on a Train (reading Keroauc)
As I straddle my folded bike on the swaying train
Gliding over the Passaic and into Newark’s Penn
I read about someone in a hut in Corte Madera,
That I drove to over different waters on a different day
And where I was awarded the license to go forth and drive,
And reading that that someone in that hut
Thinks he is Buddha, and smiles and is content,
I look up and see the skyline of Manhattan,
Far and faint over the glittering, murky waters
And I smile
And I am content
