Day 1842, tool.

At work

I have more tools to cut

trim or straighten

all the access I encounter

then I have in my life

~

how strange.

Day 1833, glass.

It was gray outside today

but the light reflected the colors

that I imagined

or wished for

on this thin layer between me…

~

this thin layer of glass protects me

from the storm outside

and it keeps me

from the storm outside

~

I can only break it

once

Day 1827, a carved rhyme.

Once you decided

to shoot for an other sun

~

and now you lie here defeated

the rings of your years displayed

telling a story of time

and now the end that you reached

Day 1826, hiding.

I saw you standing

close to the crossing

but I was not looking

at you

~

its your likeness

I recognize

while I stare

at what’s hiding

me

~

I don’t move

away

hoping you

will

Day 1818, Daybreak II

Morgenröthe aka Daybreak

Book I

32. THE BRAKE.—To suffer morally, and then to learn afterwards that this kind of suffering was founded upon an error, shocks us. For there is a unique consolation in acknowledging, by our suffering, a “deeper world of truth” than any other world, and we would much rather suffer and feel ourselves above reality by doing so (through the feeling that, in this way, we approach nearer to that “deeper world of truth”), than live without suffering and hence without this feeling of the sublime. Thus it is pride, and the habitual fashion of satisfying it, which opposes this new interpretation of morality. What power, then, must we bring into operation to get rid of this brake? Greater pride? A new pride ?

Friedrich Nietzsche

Day 1817, Daybreak.

Morgenröthe aka Daybreak

Book I

6. THE JUGGLER AND HIS COUNTERPART.—That which is wonderful in science is contrary to that which is wonderful in the art of the juggler. For the latter would wish to make us believe that we see a very simple causality, where, in reality, an exceedingly complex causality is in operation.

Science, on the other hand, forces us to give up our belief in the simple causality exactly where everything looks so easily comprehensible and we are merely the victims of appearances. The simplest things are very “complicated”—we can never be sufficiently astonished at them !

Friedrich Nietzsche

Day 1813, i try.

An island in a landscape

surrounded by the ebb and flow of time

a moon that gives and takes

~

the sun shines today

and the sea receded

but it is still to cold

to find my way

across the sand

marked

with silent waves

~

I hear them only

far away

Day 1787, projection.

A light shines behind me

so I see

my shadow at the wall

~

it moves

and I guess

I do to

~

my shadow seems to know

before me

where I go

~

maybe I am the shadow

and turned on

this light

in front of me

Day 1783, exit?

I know

whats normally behind a door like that

a dead end when I go in

~

but I still go

searching for a way out

on the other side

Day 1774, Stockholm syndrome.

I think I never blamed my parents for the way they raised me. It was never really in my character to blame them, and now that I am older I realize that they where just kids when they gave life to me and my younger brother and sister. The way that you are raised has of course an influence on you, but I don’t think we should overestimate it. I was at least lucky enough that my parents wanted to steer me in the right direction, and didn’t blame me to much for their mistakes, but I have to admit that beauty for me cannot go without some flaws, and I like mine.

No matter what kind of parents you have, there is some kind of Stockholm syndrome going on when you think back, and tell your story. Parents get these random, scared little persons thrown into their laps, to take care of. They are not allowed to go, and are ensured by their hostage-takers that they will be fine, as long as they listen to them. After what seems to be ages, they are suddenly free to go, they smell the freedom, like they never smelled it before. And the people that kept you hostage for all these years, you thank them for their protection, and you visit them once a year in their jails.

I am not a parent, but I can imagine that a parent with a conscience is, without a choice, put on a trajectory that revolves around their kids, and no longer only around their own will. This is the kind of jail I was thinking of, but I am not sure that what I feel, is freedom.

The inspiration for today comes from a poem I wrote last year, Day 1577.

I remember the house

where I thought I grew up

~

there was an old chimney

a corner where I played

and my father closed the door

~

in my memories

he was never there

in reality

he often stares at me

standing in front

of my reflection

Day 1770, force of nature.

All that lives, or is just matter on this earth, has to live according to natures rules. We all are slaves to friction, erosion, gravity and the sun that puts most of this in motion. Within these boundaries it seems to be a free for all, we see some order in for instance the erosion of a rock formation, but only when we focus on a part of all that is the cause of this erosion.

Wind and water take the softer parts of the rock in their own fashion. We know about the water, and the wind, and rain, we can go several steps deeper when trying to explain what the reason is that rocks erode. My point is that a four year old kid that starts asking questions like: why? That even the smartest person alive can maybe answer 30 times before they have to concede. We are not capable of understanding it all, the closest we get is imagining it in rough strokes and bold colors.

Imagination is more important than knowledge. Knowledge is limited. Imagination encircles the world.” Albert Einstein

You can replace the rock example from above with history. History is also chaos when you try to understand it all, only when you zoom in, you will get closer to an understanding. But if you don’t zoom in to close, and try to look at that part of history trough the lens of “bolder strokes and many colors” then you will see some highlights, and the more important figures morph into easier to understand caricatures.

A person like Ronald Reagan or Michael Jackson can be described in a book with a thousand pages but I am sure that all of you can do it in three sentences or less. When you make such a bold caricature of a person, or situation, then you (should)know that you are maybe right from your limited perspective, but at the same time totally wrong. To understand Ronald Reagan better you should read a book about him, maybe several, and for good measure, study the eighties. If you have done that, then you can form a more accurate opinion. We are capable of understanding the smaller details in more details, only if you want to understand the big picture you should use your imagination. Don’t use your imagination, when your neighbor so noisy, ask it.

We all share this problem of our nature. It is all so hard to understand, so we adopted our look at reality in such a way, that we are most of the time satisfied with the (almost literal) picture we have of the situation. Look at all the wars that are fought over the years, most of them started because of a misunderstanding of the situation. Remember the Iraq war from 15 years ago, no one was in control there, we understood what was “eroding” our will not to fight, but we didn’t look much further than that.

Inspired by Day 1532

All these free wills

are

colliding

with each other

while nature

is holding there hand

Day 1755, art.

I like going to modern art museums. I like to go, because of it’s popularity, it’s most of the time nice and quiet to walk around. I walk around in other buildings to, looking at the details of it’s architecture and other details. But walking in a public building like that feels often awkward, that’s why I like to go to a museum. In a museum I can walk around, enjoy my surrounding, without feeling out of place.

I put meaning in my pictures, when I write a poem based on it, but I never take a picture with a particular poem in mind. I just take pictures, and surprise myself later. My girlfriend starts with a more elaborate plan when she makes her paintings, that’s another way to approach it. I never thought deep about why there are these different approaches, my first guess is, that it has to do with how our brains are wired. Another reason can be that I never learned how to take pictures, I know all the technical details, but a technically bad picture can still be good. Other photographers know more about light en moods and how to manipulate their gear to the fullest, and repeat that process. These are the kind of artist that plan their photo shoots, and they get at least a technically superior picture.

You see these different approaches in art museums to, blobs of colorful paint, detailed depictions of reality or beautifully made sculptures of nothings. I always look at them as beautiful accidents, like I take my pictures. I am always amazed when people tell all kinds of stories about the meaning of some of the details, the combination of colors, and why the artist did this or that. I personally think that if an artist has something to say with their art it should be “readable” with maybe some explanation, for everyone. If you have to tell what it means, then you should just tel people what you mean without wasting a canvas and paint.

I know that this is not fair. I read philosophy books that need some prior knowledge, and otherwise a lot of explanation. Maybe I miss that knowledge, regarding some of the modern art, to appreciate it in it’s fullest. But I don’t go to art museums to learn, I just enjoy the surrounding, the quietness and the architecture is often beautiful (and hopefully without meaning). And what’s hanging on the wall, can please the visual cortex to, and that’s a bonus.

The poem that inspired me today is from Day 1375.

Modern art

seen

as a reflection

of life

is difficult

to understand

if you look at it

from the wrong

angle

Day 1754, judgement.

I sometimes wonder why we people have such a hard time “showing their through colors”. I can of course dig around in myself to find out, and tell you what my “true” is, but I am not crazy.

Today’s poem is from Day 1336.

They turned off

their light

insight

I can’t see

just

dark eyes

I can’t imagine a person, who would tell everything they consciously know, and think at that moment, to an other person. There is of course no way you can tell, we can’t read minds so we assume that no one shows it all. Even if someone tells you all their darkest secrets, you still don’t know that for sure. We have to assume that we all have something hidden for the other.

Maybe this is the origin of the myth of the “soul-mate”. I would tell myself everything gladly, if I could meet myself, a soul-copy so to speak. There is no other like us, but what if you find a partner that comes close, one you can forge a bond with, a bond that is strong enough for you to let go of all that is cooped up in you. I don’t think relations , every kind of relation, would last long if you let it all go uncensored, even if love is in play…specially when love is in play. I am afraid that we all go to the grave with unspoken words.

It could also just be me, having this particular need. Maybe I have to become Catholic, and take the the judgment that I have sinned for granted.

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