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
possibilities;
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.”
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.
about my victories they said:
it was a lucky strike.
about my failures they said:
this is your true worth.
my family. my friends. my enemies.
where are they now
to measure my freedom
with their bitter instruments?
