jotain rajaa?

ai etkö kerro? ei sitten - molempi pahempi ja muistellaan pahalla.

miksikö asian täytyy niin olla?
eihän tuo minua niin vaivaisi, vastauksen vain jos omaisin, hmm..

jotakuinkin kuitenkin maailma, minäkin, minua vaadimme vasten tahtoani taipumaan toisten toiveiden mukaan, jotta sisintäni seuraisin. luopuisinko oikeudestani olla vaan, vaikka sitten ehkä elää saan?

katsoisinko sisääsi, sanoisinko sen mitä ei saa, koska kukaan ei uskalla - et ainakaan sinä, enkä minä varsinkaan. vaaditko vastuun vakuudetta kantamaan, kataluudesta luvaten toki luopua. uskoa pitäisi perustelematta, tai perusteena paska kasvatus, natsipaska yhteiskunta, mätä maa, etäinen elämä, etana, itsekäs ihminen, iik.

mutta eipä tunnu siltä, sori pojat parit, saatte olla edelleen, vakaina, sokeinako, itseluottamuksenne kalliolla - en sitä murtaa tahdo ma. enhän vie aikuisilta lasten tikkarirahojakaan.

vielä nukun yön, tai toisen, ja mietinkin ehkä päälle. katsos tiedän kyllä kun hetki koittaa, nähnen myös kun avaan silmäni, ja takuulla näen jos sinä silmäsi avaat. sen lupaan, jos en ikinä muuta, jos en edes yhtä sanaa, tekoa käsinkosketeltavaa.

kun hetki koittaa, nähnen myös verkot valossa, yhteydet ympärillä.
ei se vielä mitään, mutta odotapas, kun hetki koittaa! sittenpä näet!

luolasta (vihasta)

pinta peilaa pintaa (sen alla)
kuolaa kauluksella suolaisella
täksi itseni hylkäsin
iäksi

tyyni saari kuin valtameri (kuohuu veri)
oikein on tuntea oikein
ja tukahduttaa...ajatus tukehduttaa

hiljaisuus kuin kallellaan hylky (kaiku...odottaa)
tai oikeastaan pelkkä ranka
polta pois

what elvis?

what if all the threats are there
even if they, we don't say them aloud?
and all the looks that you don't see
, they might as well conceive pure hatred from beyond all

what if
i just intend to make you look the other way
with this maybe as well
as with anything

Poetry in Exile

I have no candle flame
to write my stories by
no secret lover, no pleasant tree
by whose kisses, cooling shade
is life and I might rest.

Though a stranger ocean calling
and a sun of the new years world
there are no older songs alive
no mystery presenting
nor your delicate face.

Little by little the winds have gathered,
now clouds briefly whiten
- grey and dark.
Would sail away, and watch
the birds flight.
But the rocks are sharp
and treacherous the farther roads.

The adventure might still
be left within the confines
of the mind.

With happiness so near and light,
and yet we might not grasp it.
Want to see the sky castle clouds
and dreamed far away gardens.

The palm of your hand open
-outstreched towards the light.
We are gazing away, blinding
ourselves to all around.
So dull; life & suffering
petty & real joy.

A ship sailing; contradiction
and blood, a thousand symbols,
transgressions and new horizons.

Yet ever we seek the
eastern islands, ever beyond
where at the edge of the world
Paradise regained.

But hand and eyes and weary feet
are ever the same.

And a music calling to search
and within sleep
is still tangled with real.
Sweat is not out of tune,
they all still represent how
illusory what we wish regained.

It is the past that brought,
all the little stories
that subjugated will:

The pride called gold
and heavy weighing chains.
Taste the iron, remembering
how many things, all not so sweet
have been made with blood.
And stained with ashes
when we renounced the woods.

Every dream of seas
cost lives and trees.
The one cheaper
than the other,
and all in the name of the lord.
And still centuries
we have those tropical desires
however bitter
they now might taste.

When morning stars rise
and the moon is very low
I feel the new world,
is very old indeed.

My magic light is lying,
but nevertheless its serves.
Heat carries flowers
and waits for rain.
The sun will sometimes soon
rise again. With all the blood
this earth still spilling,
all the broken hearts,
I wonder why night ever comes.

The pencil served the scribe,
and the poet knew to trick it.
Lightning, flood and peace.
Beyond that plain,
that lovely village
and tempting garden
lies the spring of forgiveness.
It gives rebirth in the land
of dying and comfort
where the living stalk.

But I have digressed
from my native streams;
might wake me up.

Behind every tear
deep inside lies a dream
that a word and touch
might mend. In silence.

At the shore, night has fallen.
Hands together we watch over
the blackness of sea
and imagine there is
no distance, no time between us.

// ´tis truly farther away, than I've ever been. Old fashioned...

for example something like 17 years before me

somebody else thought they were moving.
i didn't see them.

they say they stopped
i hear but heard not

what i see in us now is quite quantum
like that black sabbath song
i don't know surrealism
but some time it did make a point
about existence
which i don't know about

what can i say...
often i fear, but fear not:
there most probably will be
for example something like endless (recursively endless, redundantly unending and infinite)
years after me
years of moments, what the hell, maybe even situations
and somebody will tell stories someday.

the totality of illusions is reality?

(&freedom is me, forever is love, whatever they say and neither the sea nor the floating leaves (yet green))
(@all symbols make equal indifference take meaning)
(whether)(sneaky snipe two blindness give sight) no(no)
[note: tomorrow compose, yet tomorrow - evil morphosyntax more evil analysis but no categories presumed]

-shake hidden
-no kiss until righteousness, no death before bodhi

required postpseudoscientific inexplanation: is the approximation of the totality of neurotransmissions including and esp. ones in a relashionship of causality with social constructs less than or equal to the approximation of the totality of the aspects of the social construct commonly called reality?

demanifest fate, lucky bastard:
productive (shiny (happy (eat sleep fuck drink TV exhibitionism (people))))
suicide solidarity forbidden on pain of solitary death

copyextremeright:

system&structure: me
layout: me
layout if thought ugly: you
bullshit: me
bullshit in case of backfire: someone else, preferably you
and again: scramble like everybody else, worm!

tener sueño

Why drift in a dream land, when the world so lively?
Why wait for sleep, when the oblivion of morning interrupts those shadows?

So seemingly sad and tired, wandering eyes open, mind blank;
pretending to see where life's joys unfold, but all the while
the spirit teeming with stories of the wild,
feeling oppressed by the colourful walls of the city.

Fled to some Lovecraftian dream, sleep whispers of cities unheard
and meadows and forests from unimaginable distances
too strange and fay for the awakened to remember.
So they slip away with the rising sun
leave small patches for a while.
Once gone forever those visions
make the day chilly and drab;
wishing to be somewhere else, a faraway path
to the next unknown,
but the only surprises are the wonders
and disappointments of daily interactions.
And only in glimpses when the woods are singing
is there content & rest.


\\ H.P. did not only write horror, just to clarify. This place 's gettin' dusty and quiet - 't has almost a certain quality, as far as a neglected poem-blog can. Ex oblivione

mustavalkoinen verenpuna poskillani

aikuistumista se kai on
kun oppii, ettei tähtiin yllä vaikka kuinka kurkottaa

että kuitenkin voi olla oppimatta tulella leikkimisestä mitään
muuta kuin miten tehdä se uudestaan
ja lopussa hylätä vähäkin kertynyt varovainen viisaus
kirkkain kajo polttaa parhaiten

vain iso tyhmä lapsi kunnes toisin todistetaan

(seisoit ja hymyilit
vasta valossa
näin liekin (uudestaan)
jonka polullani pitäisi loistaa

(ilma kiinteytyi ja aika tarrasi kiinni katseeseen
maailman tyhjyyden paino hartioilla
kaikki antamatta jäänyt - menneisyys tämän padonnut
kepeä vain se loukussa lepäävä
jonka vasta löysin (uudestaan)
sen vapaus olisi tuonut vastuun
jonka välttely on kelvannut elämästä

kaikki aistini
sisäsyntyisen ylikuormituksen altakin
huusivat
vapaus!
valo!

liika on kuitenkin liikaa
hetki hajoaa
ja katoavan huomisen sirpaleet
heijastuvat nyky-ikuisuuteen
kokoan niistä kilpeeni kiiltoa
(lisää! lisää!)
sovitan itselleni
sepittämällä
kauneutta kalseaan)

pelkään että he näkevät minut
äkkiä, ennen kuin tuli leviää
itseksemme istumme
saa lähes pimeys (uudestaan))

tehdä oikein ja olla väärin (hiljaisuudetta, näkemättömässä unessa)

//although I don't consider this one to be any good, I like it more now than when I wrote it (which was earlier today), and this kind of miracle is enough for me to open my electronic mouth-pen here for the first time in ages. i also kinda like the idea behind the structure although i didn't give it time to mature (that's my way, now and also then). and i just need to get things out of me and somehow it helps thinking somebody might even read them. i also know that these commentary thingies annoy stefan - one more reason to write!

Dansa med fjärilen - ett vinteröde

Jag står på kalmarken,
mina ögona är blind.
Det är så frostig
mina fingrar - vita
förnimmar ingenting.

Men jag kan inte lämna stället,
kan inte gå ini.
Jag är rädd för mardrömmar
vilken återvänder varje stund,
när livet hittar min liten själ igen.

Jag frysar och ber till öde himlen,
den iskalla vinden bara friskar på.

Och jag ser en fjäril
som mitt på vintern
dansar med döden.


// God nytt år! Och nu har vi snö igen.