
Is my bandage protecting me
my wounds
or the outside world
from the reality
of my injuries

Is my bandage protecting me
my wounds
or the outside world
from the reality
of my injuries

In half a shadow
I sometimes wander
upon a door
unmarked
inviting

It is strange
when I look to the sky
I first see bright colors
but for some reason
I
end up with a grey
mood

It is interesting how we all look
seemingly
in the same direction

The scaffolding you build
around your new thoughts
are made of standardized elements
and are guided
by strict
local
regulations
not so different
as the thought that stands by itself
at the end

Even a work not done
is satisfying
It still has a future

Symmetry is not
something you need in life
but it is pleasing
for some
the ones who look
for purpose

The seats are waiting
in no particular order
for no particular people
it is silent now
it will be later
but in between
we will not know
we might never know
if something real
is in between

I like patterns
and I am used to one
but is it the right one
is there a right one
is one my pattern

You have monotone
and you have monotone
which one do you live

I don’t hide my door
in a bigger door
to fool you
though that is a nice side effect

560 What we are at liberty to do. – One can dispose of one’s drives like a gardener and, though few know it, cultivate the shoots of anger, pity, curiosity, vanity as productively and profitably as a beautiful fruit tree on a trellis; one can do it with the good or bad taste of a gardener and, as it were, in the French or English or Dutch or Chinese fashion; one can also let nature rule and only attend to a little embellishment and tidying-up here and there; one can, finally, without paying any attention to them at all, let the plants grow up and fight their fight out among themselves – indeed, one can take delight in such a wilderness, and desire precisely this delight, though it gives one some trouble, too. All this we are at liberty to do: but how many know we are at liberty to do it? Do the majority not believe in themselves as in completefully-developed facts? Have the great philosophers not put their seal on this prejudice with the doctrine of the unchangeability of character?

In the reflective window
I cannot see you
but you see me
before I move on
to another level
I don’t want to feel embarrassed

I don’t know what I prefer
room for my own thoughts
in an empty world
or the light
beyond that one-way
door

I get not mixed signals
but signals out of nowhere
and they threaten to block me
on my path
what kind of relationship is this

Who decides
where you can go