
Free will
like a metronome it gives rithm
a hold on
in a deaf world

Free will
like a metronome it gives rithm
a hold on
in a deaf world

You held me in the past
with different lenghts
and sometimes times

The world is beautiful, even where life seems to be impossible.
Sitting down here in the snow
reading no news that is old
what we all do to each other
in the name of your truth
just not real here for me
in this seemingly
impossible
what the world is for me

I remember where I lived
slept all those nights
the outside
the cold wind
a slight sun
the darkness behind the clouds
the steps in the snow
and grass
in the summer
I not only remember
I am somehow
still there

I stare out my window
there is no reflection
only outside

The sun reflects again
from under the clouds on the other side
while the moon
looks on
The day started different.

Caught inside barbed wire
where I lost my way in
between all the empty space
reminders of why I sit still.
Is this to enjoy?
That familiar view.

38 There has recently been a great deal of idle talk using a loose and altogether inapplicable term: pessimism. Everywhere the talk is about pessimism, and everywhere people (occasionally even sensible people!) are wrangling over a specific question which they think admits of an answer: whether optimism or pessimism is correct. What they do not understand, although it is palpable, is that pessimism is not a problem but a symptom, that the term should be replaced by nihilism, that the question of whether it is better to be or not to be, is itself an illness, a decline in strength, a kind of hypersensitivity. The pessimistic movement is only an expression of physiological décadence . . .










If you ever restored a wooden boat, you probably know what you see in these pictures and what it entails to change a heavily damage keel for a new one. If you don’t know what is going on, I would like to tell you, but not now; it will take a couple of hours because I don’t want to take shortcuts. You can, of course, become an apprentice boatbuilder for a couple of years and find it out yourself because reading about it or doing an internet search will not help you much. It’s like a metaphor for life and the many questions within; there are no shortcuts…

I had the universe in mind
how it all might fit in a drop of water
rolling of someones back.
It is easy to make larger
that what is unimaginable.

Don't look at me
when you open me up under pressure.

A new year
already blossomed
like last years
expectations
We wake up in the morning of our life
naked, and you don’t mean anything to me; you are not there.
There is only me and an endless world inside
and out there somewhere.
Then they take you, they tell you without words
there are lines that divide.
You can’t even choose; your life is determined
like falling asleep.
You sometimes, while you are standing, see these lines in the corner of your mind
of the puppeteer pulling on the loose hanging strings.
You almost started to forget your why.
We all long to before those lines
to the other side.
To nowhere land, where we can play again
the puppeteer
and sit down
naked.

To be drawn into the future
make sure you get hooked on it

Just before I hit
the world
shook inside
engraving the moment
for eternity
I identify with the green leaves
soaking in the sun hanging from a dark branch
ignorant of the ground my mother is from
I’ll wait till it drops
on the ground that seems
estranged from here