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

 

Children of nowhere

Those rotten truths and the atrophy of written words

life is outside the inferno of cadaverous literature

the ever-increasing waste of past thoughts

attempting impossible resurrections

                            free the world from fossilization

allow it to burn and dismiss its ashes

our best experiences are never contained

            they roam beyond the frontiers of definition

close those covers of inky nothingness

            step into the bare unadulterated flux

                             mend with the unknown

Flee from cages of routine and metropolitan nonsense

recognize the hollow of every day

            reject the veil of prospects and careers:

                              usurpers of wonder and transformation

children of nowhere

            creators of ambiguity

exorcise the daemons of logic

                             celebrate your insanity!

 

Go back to Beyond Language

A Modern Hero

A modern hero
Hero-1

We can watch him quietly chewing his dinner. His gaze is imperturbable and his thoughts invariably these:

The nothingness that exists in all forms, and the nothingness that is yet to be born.

The modern hero awaits (and this waiting period is interminable) for a fatal threat. This threat is anticipated throughout the cycles of the clock. It is always approaching, never disappearing.

What can he do?

Nothing. Resisting the menace of existence is a futile and wearisome illusion. He will initially find himself in hypertension, guarded against an invisible enemy. Since there is no defence against his opponent, rebellion would represent a defeating madness. Acceptance must be learned and practiced. However, salvation is not achieved solely by the acceptance of one’s own precarious situation. He has no escape, he must sacrifice a distracted and unexamined life in order to become bearer of a strange suffering.  He will be the hated antagonist of any unfounded human optimism.

For what?

To cure himself of a malady that is not only his own but also a dormant illness that all conscious beings carry within.

What relieves him?

From the perspective of the world he has secluded himself in an abstract and spurious discourse; from the perspective of his own condition he has renounced his faith in a world of form and substance, he has lost trust in the socially approved states of consciousness. He lives in a mythological world, albeit, his myth has not yet been written nor can it be.  He is dispersed in a flux of perception that not necessarily implies an objective external world. His experience cannot be communicated, it does not have the logical structure of a normal human situation.

Is there a light at the end of his tunnel?

From the standpoint of the all-too-human, suicide may appear as the last desperate, but effective, act of liberation, but this won’t be his course. He has selected an ambitious journey: The transmutation of consciousness. An intuition convinces him that the reality we live in is only one of many possible creations; and in the sober creation of less restricted states of consciousness he will achieve his ultimate objective: inner peace.

A prospect of madness

 

 

 

Would you call me mad if I can confess of a certainty in the prospect of the future, even when I fully acknowledge that the vicissitudes of Time can easily outsmart the most rigorous mathematical prediction; yes I was sure that in ten years’ time I would be looking back to this very same day – today – as the fantasy of a naïve child’s imagination that mistook the nature of reality for that of a game: haven’t I erred in my conviction that life is best lived through the transformation of its contents into those poetic representations that plunge me into an ecstatic state of mind, in other words, in trying to grasp life by its tail by scrutinizing every tottering thread of Time had I not missed the meaning of reality by inspecting it too minutely, too unsparingly as to leave out of the range of my investigations the global experience of existence?

I saw in that Delphic vision a day when all these conglomerates of experience that surround me today would be no more than the debris of a vanished Past, a trivial irony that would have no more power to excite my cynical laughter. That day will come when I rent a paltry hotel room in Belgrade, killing my time with a lousy inexpensive hooker and when night comes I will stare despairingly at the ceiling wondering if abandoning my youthful delusions was a wise choice, since by then I would have purged myself of any prospect in the road of human creativity and would be living in the pulsation of every naked minute, suffering like every other human being in the claws of the beast of existence. And every so often I would glimpse outside my window to see a crumbling civilization and I shall utter words such as these:

Withered petals gliding down
Breaking from their cone
Into scattered puddles in the street
Let each petal leave my rose
Each desire run away
All sorrow, regret and concern
Vanish below –
What is it to me that we must die
Why should I carry the burden
Of Fate’s indifference to us?