The weather has taken time
that was left for this old house
I know the windows no longer open
bearing the weight of it’s support
but the trees surrounding
no longer stand
in the way
when this last storm decided
in favor of me
and what I see
Even though I was parked here
in this lot
I stil enjoyed the structure
and slow chaos
I still like
what got planted
in front of my youth
the painting of it
is still hanging here
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
473 The intellect cannot criticize itself, precisely because it cannot be compared with different kinds of intellects, and because its ability to acquire knowledge would be manifested only in the face of ‘true reality’; i.e. in order to criticize the intellect, we should have to be superior beings who possessed ‘absolute knowledge’. This already presupposes that, apart from all perspectival kinds of observation and sensory and intellectual appropriation, there is something, an ‘in-itself’ – but the psychological derivation of the belief in things forbids our speaking of ‘things in themselves’.
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.
I don’t come from a family where people worked with their hands, so I don’t know why I like to heat up metal and hammer it in the form I want it to be. There are many jobs where you make something direct or indirect but shaping hard steel must be one of the most direct ways of fulfilling this urge a lot of us feel, making something out of nothing. It also helps that I can play with fire, make lots of noise, smash a hammer down on glowing steel, and smell the poisonous fumes of melting steel and zinc.
Yesterday I wrote about a book that defends the idea that we have no free will and that our lives are more or less determined from the beginning with very little wiggle room. For today’s post, I was looking for a quote about forging (steel), and I ended up with countless quotes where people tell you that you have to shape your own future. I bet that all these people forge their own path and write about it, do this because they have the character to do so. You can not learn to be adventurous or spontaneous if the circumstances of your life dictate otherwise. Maybe that’s why it is so fulfilling to make something with your hands because almost everybody can make something and shape it in the form they want; we feel deep down that (our) life is unbendable.
The tension in your excess gives it shapes you didn’t expect when you freed it.
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.
It is easier to see one flaw
being there all
alone.
But how do you rank them
when in
abundance?
Nochrisis 