god

second place

second place poet

learn meanings
asphyxia
coated roughness
in tender existence
panic so beautiful
you call it
god

learn the noise
behind the word
lurking behind
a search
so silent
you call it
drums

learn abyss
a fall
inevitably soft
dismemberment
asunder
you call it
peace

learn meaning
holding the concept
explosions
ready to kill
the unity of thought
you should call it
jackpot!

Peregrino – Wayfarer

cuando terminé
de empacar
el universo
en mi mochila
ya había olvidado
a donde iba,
quería sentir como si
un candelabro opulento
colgara sobre
mi cabeza
iluminando con sus mil
brazos
todas las distancias
en este palacio
de tierra,
el destino
por más sinuoso que fuera
terminaría en el abismo
por eso te dije
antes antes antes
de que seamos polvo,
seamos barro unánime
en las manos
del alfarero,
un tazón
lleno de vino
para el poeta,
un seno de arcilla
en la boca del
dios que canta.

A translation:

By the time
I finished
packing
the universe
in my rucksack
I had forgotten
where I was going
I want to feel as if
an opulent chandelier
hangs over
my head
illuminating with its thousand
arms
all distances
in this palace
of earth
however sinuous
the path
it ends in abyss
so I told you
before before before
we become dust
let’s become unanimous mud
in the potter’s
hands
a cup
full of wine
for the poet
a breast of clay
at the mouth of
the god
that sings.

contemporary poetry

booze in my theology

When I wake
the day
is
a wide-open eye

I had a god
under my fingernail
but onychomycosis
got to him one day

I am a connoisseur
of nothing relevant

by night
my
vessels
are empty champagne bottles
waiting to be full

I drink red, white, pink, yellow, black, eerie
wine
still looking for a fermented god
that even a nihilist wino can love
still looking for the wretched divinity
that will close the eye
of
tomorrow.

nihilist poet

the tunnel

Tunnel_nothingness_Nihilism_Poetry

pain rains
on me
like sleet
shaken off
the grey clouds
by a bored god
careless
in his steps
a punishment that
comes to me
for being a murderer
of silence,
interrogating
the rows
of bartenders
pleading them
to help me set up
a light
at the end of
the dark tunnel
of time
a beacon
so the alienated crowd
could finally
stop the frenzy
when they
see
it’s only a tunnel
and nothingness
at the end.

contemporary poetry

deepest

snowy streets

I release a deep breath
unawares of anything
I’ve been away
weaving dreams
like a curing madness
the petty circumference of my desire
impels me to
move
not one finger
an inertia comparable
to an everlasting god
that has lived a thousand infinities,
in the deepest streets
in the coldest thoughts
I am a reckless survivor
dreaming in poetry
as a small pebble
tucked away
under the entire
weight
of the universe.

I turn my head
finally
after days:
the streets are covered with snow.

I’ve been unaware
like the boy
quietly placing a dot
after every sentence
of lyrical self-absorption:
the consequence
of being
irrelevant.

nihilistic poetry

madness

Madness is the
irrevocable

like the powerful sun

shining waste

over 40 blocks of metal

strings that form a braid

braids stitch on us

thirsty loneliness

a mile machines

cannot reach

find me a gulp

of eternity, an inch

of Godhead

I’ll stop the soft drugs

coffee, sugar, TV

if you promise twenty

forty years ahead

I will encounter timelessness

madness is the irrevocable

a table

with all the books of genius

and a noose

to sleep!

where my wakeful hallucination

finds its soul mate: dreams

madness the

irrevocable

two hours before two

more hours

I shit and eat
and fathom the origins
    of the universe
tears come because I am
    trapped between
centuries
       amongst idiots
reaping nothingness

I cry because

madness consumed

all intelligence and determination –

the endless parade of perception

of one day

exchanged for 24 hours

60 minutes

seconds of oblivion

and eternity

that never kills but

transforms

madness is the

irrevocable

a hopeless trap

within the miracle

of existence

Nihilistic Poetry

Newfound

I, the dream of a god,

an outcome of invisible hands

at once performance and spectator

this precise instant

this internal precipice

a newfound religion

whose scriptures are written

in every one thing

where the god and the dream are the same

the cloud and the rock are inseparable

the sweet motion of transience

coursing over the stream of eternal action

I, alone and united,

one more spoke of divinity

one more billow of infinity.

More Useless Poetry ?

From A to B…

A: (clasping hands in triumphal display) And that’s how it will all end…

B: (in pensive mood) All theory is interpretive. All facts are theory-laden. There is no pure objective world out there that we can measure and explain. The act of measuring itself is a creative process. We define reality as we go along. After a while, our own creations become idols, so that a law of physics is merely a cognitive habit. What is interesting to see is that every age in history has presumed possession of Absolute Truth. What will be revealing is that meta-narratives are relative to the epoch’s climate, ideals, unconscious motives, and so forth. Today’s theory will become tomorrow’s mythology.

A: (visibly offended) My god!

B: (smiling and sympathetic) But I’m likely to be wrong…

An undesirable confession

(or lack of conformity)

There are no guidelines. Understand this sentence, remember it daily – it is essential to the journey of life. There have never been any guidelines. If ever a semblance of direction has been portrayed by some ideology or religion, it is only an attempt at a guideline. It is not certain, not even provable. Every faith in a transcendental code by which we can live our lives is today being un-made, perhaps only because it was originally man-made. We are lost, forsaken in the remote chaos of a lonely planet, with no guiding hand that would lead us to any certainty – to any firm truth.

I set these words forth not in the spirit to challenge those that are able to find comfort in this oppressive world; on the contrary, I report only the widespread experience of constriction and confusion that is rooted in the mind of 21^st century Homo sapiens. I am wholly willing to commit to the idea and passion of a benevolent god or cosmic purpose, something which will deliver the long-sought peace that most of us have been searching for. Yet, the more intense the search, the horizon of faith turns darker and frailer. How can I believe in something I don’t feel? – this is the question that exiles us into metaphysical orphanage. No matter how fervently we search for that ultimate reality, the journey is always daunting, constantly haunted by self-doubt, fear and irrational panic of that impenetrable unknown which is the substratum of our everyday lives. So the desire of guidance, the search for something greater than one’s self, is suspended and there remains only a perception of enclosure – a trap in which we all belong.

So, once the awareness of the impossibility of escape is made clear, should we assume our defeat? Should we not analyze the environment of our perplexity and express the conditions of our despair?

What exactly is our trap, what constrains us to impotence? I am only one more man lost in the maze, able only to postulate wild theories of decay. But here are my thoughts:

Insecurity shapes our early life. We depend extensively on the care of our parents until we become sufficiently independent to take care of ourselves. From the very start we look for something beyond ourselves to help us deal with our hostile environment and to give us the comfort of control; control over the unpredictability of the world. By the time we reach the age of reason we are accustomed to depend on other sources, whether it’s our parents, god or social institutions. Naturally these fall short from achieving this and we return to our capsule of solitude. Even the most passionate advocates of religion shudder in fear – didn’t Jesus himself before his death utter words of irrevocable loneliness? (My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?)

Now, what I’m about to expose may seem far-fetched, perhaps there are a few arguments I have skipped to reach the end. The emptiness felt from this lost of trust in the original sources of comfort (parents, religion, social/political establishments) needs to be fulfilled. That’s when a new monument is erected; an indestructible idol substitutes our previous dependence and consolidates itself as the last resort. What is this new idol?

Very simply: a rôle. We fashion a rôle for our lives, an identity of what we should be that is safely kept within and no longer outside. A phantom so powerful it literally controls the direction of our lives. But how did we substitute external comfort for internal obligation? Weren’t we already terrified of our loneliness that we begged for a new sense of communal belonging? We coil within ourselves because we feel disappointed about the outside world, finding it untrustworthy. We need to believe in something and the only thing that came to fill this part was our artificial identity. We created a set of standards, goals and principles by which we guide our lives, something that could not be shaken up very easily and could stand the erosion of change.

Our subconscious harbors this identity which is so elusive we suddenly lose track of its agenda – our original choices are forgotten but they mark the remaining course of our lives. We become slaves to our rôle which was initially fashioned to give us comfort but now only oppresses us with the urgency of its fulfillment. It is a double-bind, we are trapped by our desire to feel valuable, significant or united to something greater than us but we have not found this in our modern lives. We then submit shamelessly to the commands of a career which mortifies us with achieving more and more; exhausted by the end of the night our lives feel empty, confused, lost in innumerable desires.

This sense of urgency comes about from the competition we experience every day. Competition for a better role, a more reputable identity. Deep down we are all celebrities to our own egos and because of this we yearn to become as celebrities to others. Frankly, however, we wish others to see us as we want to be, but not as we truly are. We compete blindly with each other to create the “better” person, whatever this is. There are no universal standards by which we can judge who is a better person, it is relative to the values of each human being.

This competitiveness is best seen in large cities. Cities are breeders of competition, urging its inhabitants to outrun each other. The conveniences that a city provides to its dwellers are irrelevant compared to the pressures and hostilities it creates. A decisive change of perspective is urgently needed: that of de-urbanization. How long can human beings last in a state of high tension, when large concentrations of men and women fight daily, physically and psychologically, to be on top? The greatest concern is, do they even know why they are bustling about?

What if this is true? We regard ourselves too highly during the day but then return unsatisfied to bed; panicky with the feeling that we have no control and even our goals in life are to be doubted. The idol of the ego must inevitably fall too, leaving us naked in despair, gagging with the question: who am I?

Awe and confusion swirled together

pain

Pain by Hands of Crimson (deviantart)

We fling ourselves out into the depths of this tumultuous motion (there is always an implicit decision to stay alive) – we are agonizing in the effusion of forms, attitudes and energies of this world, we succumb to the simultaneity of all events, approaching a boiling point which will end in a devastating orgasm. This life that with relentless power can lift you to regions of unshakable astonishment will drop you with equal force into the pits of boredom and suicidal retreat. It becomes an experience so intense that all those wonderful insights attained by your constant awareness to the profundity of existing forms can be, and will be, torn apart by the abysmal fissure that comes in between reality and our conceptions. Our epoch has demystified the themes of history, art, philosophy, science – any study that pierces Being and divests it from the shallowness of routine – themes we are engaged in by our simple breathing and acting in a world that is constantly being measured, recorded, discussed and because of these, it is being doubted more than ever.

Out of the circumstance of standing on the axis of what is to come and while repeating beyond illusion the experience, over and over again, of existing as part and parcel of this monstrous universe – out of all these circumstances there arises a sentiment which remains for the most part unspoken yet when united to the urgency of our desires it wishes to break through as a divine voice, a repercussion that will echo through the immensity of space and time, an outpouring of this vital disbelief that defines our existence; in short, an eternal statement understood and recognized by everyone:

Can all this be real?

Exactly because the world’s diversity can only be matched by its incomprehensibility the human being, passenger in life, is unable to remain in the state of absolute veneration (the all-too-common fear of the unknown) and must distract himself with whatever nuisance is thrown in his way. Fortunately, there is excitement in monotony; there is pleasure in painful depressions.

We are obeying something vastly superior, something that always exceeds our two modern poisons: reason and technology. We aspired to imitate nature with those silly contrivances. We, subjects to our bodies, to history and the course of the planet, we return to bed every night insulted simply because we cannot deceive ourselves much longer: the world we have come out of has created itself and us without the tool of reason; and in that inexplicable unreasonableness it has fashioned machines infinitely superior to our latest technologies – we see it all around us, the biological world, a miraculous product abandoned by the silent God of Purposelessness.

After we finish with this continuous enigma, we open our eyes to challenge again the naked world, to tease it with our actions and desires….

“oh what a world” we say,

and reenter the game once again.

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