We all have to come together, they say sometimes.
To stand up against forces going backward or forward too fast or that go nowhere.
But when are there too many together, holding hands, intertwining into a fence?
Do we want to become a fence that, at time, someone else has to cut?
Can you stop when time is unavoidably against you?
Or is there no time in politics?
I see an empty space
it feels empty because something is missing
but not because there was never something
and what I wonder fits
We all walk in mist
into the mist
used to the closeness
of what we step on
the outlines
of where we think
we are going
20.
In my condemnation of Christianity I surely hope I do no injustice to a related religion with an even larger number of believers: I allude to Buddhism . Both are to be reckoned among the nihilistic religions — they are both décadence religions — but they are separated from each other in a very remarkable way. For the fact that he is able to compare them at all the critic of Christianity is indebted to the scholars of India. — Buddhism is a hundred times as realistic as Christianity — it is part of its living heritage that it is able to face problems objectively and coolly; it is the product of long centuries of philosophical speculation.
Some levers you just want to use
to see the effect
even if you know it
That what brings you around
can also protect you from impacts
Is it the color
is it the crooked
is it the number
is it decay
did you choose
or did the choice choose you
The handle only turns itself loose
while the waters drain my empty inside
I keep turning with hope
but should let go
get a grip
on what is loose
You don’t drown in the darkness of shallow waters.
And while you have not let yourself to be filled in a long time.
You can see all around where your waters were once.
Just enjoy the moving reflection on your darkness whenever the light rises and sets again.
When you look down at the reflection of the sky in barely frozen water.
I will stay a little longer, till it moves — me.
1. The true world, attainable for the wise, the devout, the virtuous—they live in it, they are it.
(Oldest form of the idea, relatively clever, simple, convincing. Paraphrase of the assertion, “I, Plato, am the truth.”)
2. The true world, unattainable for now, but promised to the wise, the devout, the virtuous (“to the sinner who does penance”).
(Progress of the idea: it becomes more refined, more devious, more mystifying—it becomes woman, it becomes Christian . . .)
3. The true world, unattainable, unprovable, unpromisable, but a consolation, an obligation, an imperative, merely by virtue of being thought.
(The old sun basically, but glimpsed through fog and skepticism; the idea become sublime, pallid, Nordic, Königsbergian.)
4. The true world—unattainable? In any case, unattained. And if it is unattained, it is also unknown. And hence it is not consoling, redeeming, or obligating either; to what could something unknown obligate us? . . .
(Gray dawn. First yawnings of reason. Rooster’s crow of positivism.)
5. The “true world”—an idea with no use anymore, no longer even obligating—an idea become useless, superfluous, hence a refuted idea: let’s do away with it!
(Bright day; breakfast; return of bon sens [good sense] and cheerfulness; Plato blushes; pandemonium of all free spirits.)
6. We have done away with the true world: what world is left over? The apparent one, maybe? . . . But no! Along with the true world, we have also done away with the apparent!
It’s strange that the clock around the dark corner ticks slower, or are your hands tied?
It is often clear to see that the whole is now in parts.
Too much pressure or a sudden shock is often the reason, and while some of the broken parts move on with some functions intact, others seem to lose their purpose.
These parts will only find purpose in someone else's reinventing hands or might fill a hole in whoever needs direction.
Abandoned factories are often more interesting than the ones still in use.
For me, it is the activity, the moving parts, and the workers doing their work in silence that I see projected on what is now, old.
I imagine, and what I imagine is often a more refined version of reality, with harmony as its guide.
Reality necessarily rubs against ideality.
I built it all by myself, satisfied. It was finished, but I didn’t realize I wasn’t.
Time passes by; time is nothing when we are not around, but in silence, it stops where you are, and without effort, it will reverse where you ended, where you were satisfied.
Why do we fight time? Is it because we have none?
I walked a road tomorrow, and there was no one.
But it was an emptiness, the kind that hides a void where someone belongs.
Something should be there waiting for me, on the side of that road
Even if it is just a wish, I will wait tomorrow.
Nochrisis 