My feet know how to walk the stairs
up and down
when it is light
or in the darkness
only when I think about it
I will stumble
I also know how to live
going up or down
when in the light
or darkness
only when I think about it
I will stumble
I looked up
between all the buildings
in a corner
I saw your windows reflection
colored by what reflected it
I thought about going up
but I lost sight of it
when I moved on
I am not too far away
from where I walk
but I don’t really see
where I go
I am listening to myself again
whining about the same
spending all this time with me
with habits I don’t like
that fit me so well
so strange
I walk on
knowing that my feet will land
without knowing
We often see the outside
of what is the same
we are evolved to be scared
of the unfamiliar
a difference triggers
your upbringing reacts
Is it possible that we are a mere caricature
of our possibilities
To get into you
I have to push buttons
far away from the entrance
I wonder what that is about
Sometimes I come across
a door into you
all out of place
not at all you
an afterthought
placed by who
wanted to help
Today
my thoughts were trapt
inside me
I had to live with them
I saw you hiding
in yourself
I saw no lock
from the outside
or handle
to try
maybe your open
or locked from the inside
I will never know
There is so much color in the city
but in my mind
looking back
I see grey
except
when I met you
my wall
standing still in front of you
I do remember
your color
I have no real attachment to celebrating the new year. When I was young, it was exciting to buy fireworks and search for leftovers long into the night. Later, I had work where I had to work on those days, and as an anarchist, I can’t help but see the relativism of all these celebrations. And I don’t know why that one day a year is chosen as some kind of turning point, mainly because most of the time, maybe all of the time, real changes happen on entirely arbitrary days. All these traditions come from your surroundings and are fed and seen mostly uncritically, the same traditions that make us anxious about foreigners and let us see women as something other than men, to name just two of the more nasty ones. Traditions are fascinating when you read about them in a history book.
A part of relativizing your own (made-up) culture is realizing that what is normal for you is not normal for others.
From down here
those guardrails look nice
luckily
down here
I can't fall far
I love standing in the middle of a crossroad
when it is quiet
In life you sometimes feel like
falling
with no ground
underneath
you don’t tumble
just endlessly
it always seems
you pick up
where it ended
somewhere in thin air
some last time
A wall staying together
bounded by our time
and some imagination
We move in particular ways
just so we can ignore
what is just
out of the frame
Nochrisis 