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a man alone
together with the rest
missing the ball
but trying his best
together we fall
but we don’t tell a soul
to appear as a winner
is the ultimate goal


not to say,
but to ask
not to lock,
but to loosen
not to shut down,
but to open up
not to fit in,
but to flow out
not to sit down,
but to stand up
not to walk together,
but to run everywhere

deception is a strange, illusive thing
as soon as you start playing with it, it starts playing with you

it’s strange, but you’ll never know

our strength leaks in
through the cracks in the floor
it’s life in the balance
that we can’t stand anymore
so we prop ourselves up
with a meme or a prayer
and we tell ourselves
there are sunny skies out there
but the walls can’t take it
and the doors just don’t fit
it’s not the size of the seat
it’s the fit of the sit

in the days of yesteryear
they dropped bombs on our heads
destroying our bodies, our stock and our land
beating us physically into submission
forcing us to surrender to the will of their force
stripping our ground bare of any life
stripping us of our own produce
and this in the same fields that gave us birth
where we once labored and lived in abundance
in order to multiply the abundance of their own seeds
so that we would serve them forever

in the days of today and for the days of tomorrow
they drop leaflets instead of bombs
and promotional messages are pressed before our eyes
screaming their wares as the nectar of the future
wearing us down, beating us into helpless submission in our minds
silently pressing us to surrender to the force of their will
slowly striping us of our own means of production
relinquishing us of our own will to live in our own lands
coerced instead to consume and produce foreign crops in abundance
injecting their alien seeds into us as carriers
that we may ourselves become the land of the produce
the aphids and the ants in twisted union

alien products dreamed up in the virtual larders of the greedy
new delicacies crafted for their rich enjoyment
they call it marketing
and we are deceived and turn on each other as their marketers
but we ourselves are the marketed
and we are the bought and sold
tricked into buying and selling to each other
tricked into buying and selling each other
bewitched into seeking personal pleasure
personal dominance and power
filled with vain visions of a fabricated self
all to alleviate poverty within
and the poverty without
imaginary fruits of illegitimate roots

yes, the bombs still drop
but apparently only softer
at least to the naked ear
it seems there is little more than the sound of the marketplace criers
swarming, filling the networks
and the desperate bleating of the sheep
who are filled, but left forevermore hungry
enlightened, but always kept in darkness
to be found everywhere, yet remaining lost
even to themselves
while those who have, have even more
and those who have not
lose even that which they think they had
obediently celebrating the rise of the new age
and the freedom chants of the death of violence
songs that sing there are more bullets in the air

but in between the lines
hidden deep in the small print
only a flittering flutter can be heard
virtual leaves, like paper leaflets
falling peacefully to the hardened, barren floor

the stupid don’t believe they’re stupid
most of them don’t even know that they are
how could they?
the wise too don’t know they’re wise
unless they choose to believe the flattery of those around them

the one thing both have in common however
is that neither know the truth about themselves
how can they?
so they are the same

in the end it matters not
all is pointless
chasing after the wind

we want, demand new government
but then we will want, demand again
and again we will demand to be free
free from the choices we previously made
and the circumstance that followed
we, the ungovernable
wanting to be governed
by a government who are themselves endemically ungovernable
demanding that they themselves are to remain unaccountable
to govern in freedom without external controls
uncontrolled by those who demand to be governed anew
to be governed by those who will listen to them
and do their bidding
so we vote again
and again

(for my wife – on her birthday ~ 2014)

a day to celebrate

of times gone by
and times still to come
of dreams fulfilled
and some still to be
thoughts of what was
and of what might still happen
reflections towards the future
resolutions for the next
not knowing what might be
but being there still…


I held the child close to my heart
almost squeezing a little too tight
the limp body, so flexible
offered no resistance
no response
a perfect fit
no more warmth any more
no happy games today
no fresh surprises
no wonder at things yet undiscovered
no running free in no specific direction at all
only silence
It was quite clear
the child would never live again
I wanted to breathe breath back in
to start it all again
to start over
to call back time
but it was not to be
it could not be
the child was gone
forever, lost
so I let go
I had to release it
no memories would help
memories had done enough
it was time to move on
the little boy was gone
yet still, alive in me
the boy had grown into a man
but the man had always remained the boy
it was already over
but it was always beginning again
the boy and the man
forever one until the end
unformed presence
worlds intertwined
still trying to play in the sand
that simply wasn’t there

we were right
they were right
but we didn’t know it
neither did they

we were also wrong