after

Before I went to the Garden, I was a bitter and misanthropic shell of a person that had lost all believe in humankind and all earthly business.
And after I returned I was fuelled with the energy of love. I was in a blind stupor of it. It was, at least that is what I thought, my work to spread the love, to love everyone and be open minded, to hold everyone dear. It took two months and I realised what I had given up, and my plans did not work out in the least. I submitted to drugs, I despaired, and simply vanished.


R.M. Parkner, The Garden

spiral

Music as damnation. I often wondered, did it soothe my damaged self, or did it worsen it.
I loved it, but it kept my spiraling downwards, kept me in a place of eternal sadness. It did confirm everything I felt and left me no other way to go and no possible exit. And they were not my sounds, nor my words. Nothing but some one others opinions and emotions mixed with a little talent and inscribed on some record. I was at a point of not knowing anymore. I laid down my works as an artist and simply stopped existing.


Robert Mel Parkner, The Garden

iad

in a dream of high clouds and a darkened door
through a dimly lit passage
in green hills
a pathway you might follow
if you chose wise
before you awake
you will know
what is right

ddtm

don´t destroy the machines.

how far

how far does love without compromise go? what if you have to decide? without means without, doesn´t it? but what if so much has changed and you are disappointed? what if trust and respect went down the drain? how to take sides? do I have to take sides? whom should I side with? what happens next? why did it happen? I have no higher understanding.

Before

Before going to the Garden, there were only two options left.
One, becoming an obnoxious wanker and getting selfish beyond comparison, trying only to get what you want.
Two, closing all business with everyone, leaving, becoming a hermit somewhere, one of those people, you always considered to be ghastly and strange, who, in the end will die of a broken heart and almost never be found.


Robert M. Parkner, The Garden-Door

and what is

the fear of an unreflected past.
the joy of biscuits, tea and sun.