The snapping point, reaching into the mariane, delving deep, hands emerging with so much dirt on them.
Doing, acknowledging facts, learning from within and without. Turning it all inside out. Watching ones own shell and the shimmer from far away and from close. A wall, a breach. I wish I would be skydancing
forever. The past and the pain, the present in vain. Hopes up boys, we are going in. Send no one after us.
The paintings lay covered in dust. The spare parts neatly on the shelve. One by one, they will be changed till the motor is running again. There are cigarette butts everywhere. Kaputtgehen or repair, or beyond repair, or switches. The two liquids of life and soul are to be left at peace. When the past is over, we can at last sit back and listen to the music of now and forever. The cutting edge. The immediate concern. The struggle for a definition. Phonecalls, assuring voice that tells, we can´t get behind the secrets of it all, we could just reflect what is all there and try it all out, so we are not the losers for eternity. Safety nets all around, we are going down again, again we will jump up. Dancing in the midst of everyone lost. But no words, loving gestures of understanding, tearing at the flesh all, hurting and destroying. All from within, all from within. In the middle of the forest stood a stone, cold and dark, a place to visit and let centuries go by. What would you do, you can tell me. Waking up in hell in the morning, and the bright morning there is very cold. Loosing grip, but just partly. This is the madmans party all over again. can you see them up at the house, having a laugh. Under your window I once sat, and I wanted to sing for you, and for all, but in the end I went home and ate a sandwich and had cold beer. Why, you little sad boy, you peace of driftwood, where have you gone again? I saw it in your eyes that you strayed and wandered. You always come back, like the neighbours tomcat. The need is urgent, the time is pressing to make a stand. Then stand up now. You are exactly walking like a giant, cause they feel small. Niceties you give all around, you are what you do. You propagate the bomb, but never light it up. Hands up and hand it all out. While it all belongs into your head where it all began. Should you travel further and meet all the angels cold and cruel? You take part in the feasts of the saturnalia. You are the son of the planet that watches with his big eye. No moon - talker, but a wanderer in galaxies. You are not mad now. Guessing you never shall be.
Panting, eyes open, wide awake, covered in the sweat of a time that does not exist anymore. Only visits you and you make tea and offer cheese. It does not exist anymore, that is why you can do what you want, for always and forever. The hermit, the tower, the wheel and the heart of swords. The cards are open now. Confusing times, but not useless, not worthless. A thing you are, unverwüstlich. But a desert nonetheless spreads its blanket in your heart. Wraps itself around you. Mirages of a snowed in world and long winters. Do you catch my drift, sad boy? You cannot do anything to prove yourself. But you could do all to enjoy. Enjoy it all without having the pleasure of knowing it all. Look in the mirror and tell me, what do you see. What did you ever see. The hand reaching? The eyes are so deep. You are a scribbler and will always be. Concern yourself with all that. You have the drive for it all, but you will not be the bright star. And also, don´t you be too damn hard on yourself, the world is to big for that. Go with it, but never you go away. You got that crazy feeling? Go down to the corner and talk to the one that talks to himself. Maybe he has to offer an insight. Once again you can stand up, son. There is no hope and no certainty of future, or past. The present light like a leave. All in the aspect of not knowing but doing.
Try and stand up, son. Walk a few miles around the bend, then come back and sit at the desk. Empty paper waits to be filled.
