whistling away the dark

have you ever noticed -

decisive things always take place

in doorways, on borders, on edges.

when the fall into the abyss seems imminent

or trespassing is danger unfolding

then the only thing that makes sense

is to laugh at the final joke;

perhaps for you, only for you

and just this one time,

to fall is to fly.

free fall

letting go is the hardest

when hope swells in your chest like a beehive;

transfixed by illusions the mask grows and hardens

polished, smooth, “comme il faut” - 

you can barely breathe

yet you’re proud you fit in.

this is order and its face is frightening:

the invisible code of chaos is hiding 

beneath the graceful handwriting.

before it all began

there was a luminous stillness

a dancing silence -

unfathomable merry-go-round of endless


my friend Marvin always said

things are not what they appear to be -

hope is a drag, the dopamine of the ignorant;

demonology, clairvoyance, blind faith are

butter popcorn for the theatre of fools;

dissonant tunes numb fears and vanities;

armies of idiots march proudly,

shouting their right to be happy,

to kill, destroy, consume, multiply.

oh, loving humankind shouldn’t be so hard!

old homeless Marvin once a code breaker 

of encrypted life forms and secret writings from other worlds,

now rummaging through the garbage bin - 

he knows who they are, what they do:

“they’re grasping in the dark at whatever they can reach -

they’re not avoiding the crash -

just slowing down the fall.”

ash summer diary

that summer of 2022 i sold a few small canvases that i had painted in the manner of baselitz: soul-searching colours and upside down dreams - i felt no joy - there was no rain for two months in june and july - fires consumed forests and moors in several parts of our region - villages were almost burned -  firemen were exhausted some went mad and started more fires themselves they were drunk on danger and heat - nobody counted the animals birds and other creatures who died in the fire only human lives counted - war had been ravaging ukraine for several months so probably not even those - millions of people fled their homes and sought shelter in other parts of europe - they had left with children, suitcases and their dogs, cats, rabbits, birds, guinea pigs - the covid pandemic slowed down - yet poisons continued to pour into rivers and seas and toxic fumes to rise in the air - the end of the world pressed its gaunt face to every window but they all turned a blind eye - that summer my dog died - she just lied down one morning on the kitchen floor and stopped breathing - i didn’t even have time to hold her in my arms - i dug her grave in the garden under the white camellia tree i carried her stiff and heavy body - had a last look at her glassy eyes  i couldn’t cry there was just a mute scream like a broken bone in my chest i couldn’t sleep for weeks i couldn’t go out for walks because all the roads were still marked with the traces of her steps and i didn’t want to cover them with my loneliness i just stood by her grave and stared at the black earth every morning - one day she came to me again as a white crow on a roof top - i had never seen a white crow before so i knew it must be a sign from her - i even took a photo of the bird but couldn’t understand what it meant - perhaps life was waving a white flag at me -  no more struggle - be still - keep silent - it won’t be long.

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