GROUNDING YOUR STANCE
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Thought emerges out of a blur of language. It may be
Not quite a thought, or a wrong thought like the picture
Which doesn’t match the pieces in your puzzle.
You tug at the thought, it remains weighted down
As if by a stone. At best, you dredge up technologies:
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Craft from the past. The making of querns
Or flint-knapping skills. Esoteric and of a relevance
That is less than marginal, merely a means by which
To blunt those narratives of sickening atrocity, so as not
To realise the reality on the ground where the chosen ones
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Enact their cherem upon the Philistines
Whose objects and whose people are to be removed completely.
An entire population gone. Your own tired brain
Weighted down by a stone. You must remember
To remain sardonic. This is what it means to be deadpan.
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AN ETERNAL NOON
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Lit up by their faith in war, the agitators
Party together. In their enlightenment is our despair.
For greybeards bless their sect
Although it is younger than they are.
These pundits wear their age as if it were a mask
Some hood would slip over his head
To rob a vault. Those who are not of their faith
Are cattle to be slaughtered. This is a sacred task:
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A task that reaps immeasurable rewards.
The rats are confused, they are swimming towards
A sinking ship. No use telling them not to.
The longer anyone persists on a mistaken path,
The harder it proves to turn back.
All our received ideas are splitting at the seams,
While decent countries contract
Diseases from insane regimes.
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The world takes a turn for the worse.
But let’s continue optimistic,
Elevate Hope, for Hope is our holy grail
Even though the harvests fail
And murrain fells the herds.
Naivety at this late hour
Would surely horrify Schopenhauer.
He’d be at a loss for words.
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REINCARNATION
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I longed to come back as Nacho Vidal,
Wished I could be the seat of a lady’s bicycle.
But I endured, and saw that under the sun,
The race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong,
But time and chance happeneth to them all.
We’re born again to no avail.
For time and chance, they’re in free fall,
And that rebirth for which we long
May not entail a better run.
To come back as a moron or a tricycle
Is not a feat deserving of a medal.
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Arthur Schopenhauer als junger Mann, porträtiert 1815 von Ludwig Sigismund Ruhl
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