Come
swing like a pendulum
then fall
squash me like an ant
dead, beat, microorganism
could all the volumes of metaphysics
misconstrue this fact?
let it out
you are the entire nothingness
that ever was
you are everything… that’s gone
wrong.
Poetry
numbers and illusions
The desert
the streets are made of sand
crumbling tombs, atoms
they are disintegrating
sidewalks and numbers
bleached, ambiguous
some street signs
echoes and hallucinations
this urban hell
streets turn into cities
cities into graves
graves into civilizations
worlds into multiple voids
this is not philosophy
but it tastes like it
I, you, us
in a substance
quite unknown
still unidentified
that is the illusion of knowledge
secrets and denials
to become confessions
of the upcoming third millennia
when you are the tip
no longer the base
you fall
fall you disappear
in quiet intangible
sleep.
Awake or not
wave upon wave
silence within silence
void delivering avoidance
what is the word
for the miracles
that keep us alive.
true living
What I call true living
is found at the periphery of all modality
after a week of uninspiring tragedies
petty, yes
small unrecognizable anxieties
a tiny indulgence
like a return to a temporary home
that is true living, to say
“I am a great sufferer”
and drink the bottle
to curse the others
after a nagging narcissism
pretends to obliterate a reason
to go on breathing.
That is true living
to hold tight to the street
wayfaring, intoxication
denial
a great wide hole
alive alas
at the bottom of any common asphyxia
true living
is the edge
the final wound.
Hope on my hair
Hope slithered down the wall to my left,
she had two long antennae and whoosh
she jumped on me or so it seemed
at first I couldn’t tell exactly where she landed
my left thigh was my first guess, but looking closely
she was not there. Finally, I saw her
not on me, but at the base of my office chair
playing, gliding from one side to another,
I raised my sight to keep writing this, now
I look down again, Hope is gone.
I look around, she moves swiftly and likes to fly
she is green and fragile like a crystal, so I am wary
my clumsy feet could crush her to death; at length
I see something move, far off near the window… but
no, it’s just a fly preying on an old leftover.
So, I stand up with hands on my hips,
I look up, down, to the side, my back, my feet,
she is nowhere to be found.
I come back, write a few more lines and I spot her
next to my ear – she sits at the chair’s top,
she’s playful and hops on me
she is walking all over me, it tickles.
After a while she seems to settle on my mess of a hair
I can feel individual fibers twitch at each of her steps
where will she go, I imagine you asking,
into my ear, into my skull?
I’m going leave her alone, playing, wandering atop
my jungle hair.
I will probably slowly forget her, get accustomed to her
pranks and romp. One day, tomorrow perhaps,
a gushing wind will break my gloomy meditations
and I will, in shock, gently touch my hair
to find Hope,
still sitting there.
My mirror
What was it that you said?
am I still not inaccessibly alone
imagining hordes of men and women
conjuring movements of civilizations
as the smoky characters of a dream
as the twisted story of a hallucination
is that your echo by the candlelight?
how can a voice enter this airless chamber
in the skintight solitude of my nullity
corner
my acute angle
a point without length, without breadth, without breath
breathe, did you say?
where comes that voice
the invisible companion
hidden behind layers of insensitivity
how can something delicate survive
near my poisonous skin…
am I still not alone
dreaming worlds and stars
are you there,
my mirror, my love?
Wordless chaos
How is incoherence
a name
for actual – wordlessness
segments
lack of coherence
there cannot be five consecutive sentences with meaning
deserted
memory and chaos
together
the world
is burning
language is boiling
the air
in which we speak
is tired
of another
prediction.
on magic
By the proximity
of endless spirals
spiraling dimensions
firmly situated in front
of the faces and worries
as if by magic
but magic so fiercely unwanted
it is looked upon as
ordinary occurrences
so without objection
the red flame of wine
sinks and stays at the bottom
encapsulated by the glass
yet its fire is irrepressible
too powerful minuteness
seeded in all things that
transform us
magic, unheeded magic
magical cores burdened – with reality
together with the ungraspable circumstance
of happiness
containing not identifiable things
rather emerging like a gigantic bubble
at the center of a monotonous lake
more and more is given
more and more resides
I extend my grasp to any one spiral
to the suddenness of it all
there are magical births here
trembling with infinite abundance.
The beautiful irrelevance of language.
Limitations to discourse and knowledge.
The undeniable reality of language,
the sounds inside our heads,
the discourse within our skulls,
the rigorous mathematics of our technologies,
is a matter of great uncertainty.
The fact that we rely so deeply in the functions of language
seriously undermines our attempts
at concrete knowledge.
The discovery that knowledge is portrayed by language
or symbols
and that linguistic symbols are inappropriately
capable of representing perceived reality
is an astounding obstacle to our assessment
of an objective reality.
In more simple and human terms,
the realization that we obtain “acceptable” knowledge
in any form by its communication
either by mathematical symbol or linguistic form,
already makes it clear that we are submitting ourselves
to an established norm.
This norm is adopted,
valued
and protected
by the establishment,
namely,
Science,
but once this establishment is submitted to the scrutiny of doubt,
we realize that Science or concrete, irrefutable knowledge
depends, and in fact,
survives on language and symbol,
thus we can begin doubting the certainty
and accuracy of its claims.
The first undeniable doubt is the perception
of the incapacity of language
or any symbol
of portraying reality.
Language is by its own nature, rigid, stiff and linear.
No matter how prodigious the scientist
or philosopher is,
the fact that he or she describes reality
by communicating a symbol,
already contributes to our suspicion:
the use of a rigid tool (language) to describe
a fluidly ungraspable perceivable reality.
The proof that language is inadequate to describe accurately reality
is in no way possible of being proved by language itself.
It must be realized, perceived, experienced by the thinker.
Just as Science seems to be the absolute truth to the world today,
we must never forget that Science is not an entity by itself;
it is preached and believed by humans.
Any human, no matter how committed to objectivity,
will still be influenced by subjective impulses, personal past experiences
and biased ideologies.
Science has by this account two main weaknesses.
It utilizes linguistic symbol to portray an un-symbolic phenomenon;
and secondly, it is sustained by humans which are never unbiased.
Braver men…
That I must
never
be read
will be clear
from the vacuous
vocabulary
I must borrow from
and still
there are memories
or phantoms
of an uncertain past
the magic bricks
I thought I could
move with one
finger
the trees that watched
my infant
nothingness
I must never be read
my life is already
buried by dust
there are braver men
out there…
with fear
the embodiment
of disaster
that I call
“breathing”
is not
of any use…
there will be
peaceful silence
when this and other
poems
are no more…
they can’t surface
but sink
drop,
deeply,
disappear.
Stop
Stop.
Please stop.
Leave whatever you are doing right now,
and do me a favor.
Look out outside your window
(I truly hope you have a window)
to some small gilded leaf in the sun.
Stare at it,
there’s nothing romantic,
poetic or beautiful
about that leaf.
It is just there
motionless or
swinging with the wind
it is just there
almost too fragile
almost too irrelevant
but it is there.
It is drunk with something
it has something we don’t.
It is not brighter or duller than us
but it has more depth
than our little lives.
Beyond Language 
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