nothingness

The choice

Nihilism Poetry

I have chosen darkness
in it
poetry swells,
literature breeds
dark and oppressive
I breathe in an atmosphere of coal
black ash swarms in metaphors and
contradictions
beating heart that’s become
sullen with life
I choose obscurity
like the ambiguous rose
within an unmovable abyss
I choose the ungraspable void
where borders and objects
interfuse with phantasmagorical thoughts
leaving no content, awaiting an obscure name –
in this dark dream
the Mysterious
is like wine
flowing through the veins
of whatever I am.

nihilistic poetry

my philosophy

I am no longer immersed
somewhat buried or submerged
but closely tied or floating
with those immediate things we call by words
I am that I am
my most irrelevant philosophy
closest to the light bulb
the breath on my nostril
to the plan and the hope
I am abstractedly here
together with the contents of plain reality
since I have nothing to say
I stare directly at the center of objects
yes, they are there
and I haven’t yet said anything in particular,
however close I feel
to the intellectual assumption
we like to nickname
the world
my words seem abandoned
like the stone someone else
kicked aside
down the thorny bushes
of something else.

Nihilistic Poetry

nowhere to be found

Nowhere Lost

It felt like an absence
because I found myself
naked and in darkness
the wood on which I sat
the timid air
the swollen imagination
could I repeat
my lucky survival once again ?
together, wed-locked
to the void that excites
me, to the nothingness
that caresses me, to the silence
that disintegrates me
I would remain
somewhere, somehow
giving names to unknown
aspects of reality
imagining myself naked
or aroused
or isolated
or none of these
just then,
nowhere to be
found.

Nihilistic Poetry

A modern crisis

a_modern_crisis

We were born after a whole deal of postures and attitudes had been tried and dismissed. It seemed to me that this was the first time in human history when life was unbearable even while we have all the basic conditions for survival and a surplus of commodities. We live in the absence of a raison d’être and our very lives could actually be defined as the search for that sacred reason. We would and probably will travel around the globe and consume every possible experience in search of that elusive understanding that could justify and make sense of all the seemingly senseless gyrations between birth and death, hunting for that catharsis that would erase our feelings of inadequacy and insufficiency.

If I am allowed to make a stand on the current emptiness that governs the modern rebel (and I must state that this rebel is even reluctant to assume this label), I could place him or her within a crisis of value. Let’s formulate this crisis. The ‘fortunate’ human being that is born in a middle-class or higher family is bestowed an excess of leisure, which is occupied with an endless parade of distractions, vague and short-lived entertainments that do not provide deep-rooted satisfaction. This repetition of material hedonism is deceiving and can engage the individual in a merry-go-round of renewable pleasures that are futile in their long-term effects. What an overwhelmingly urban and global society presents as the content and purpose of leisure is more often than not a distraction, a veiling of our impoverished consciousness. The value crisis in which we are situated stimulates thus, within the rebel, a sort of antagonisms against life in general and humanity in particular. Is this a wise human race encumbered by trivial pursuits?

The rebel stands in an existential agnosticism. What can replace the insipid routines, what solution can one offer to resolve the dilemma of human baseness? If leisure represents the time humans can delve in their purpose, our reasoning would lead us to suppose that the average human lives for unchallenging and ready-made experiences. What about the higher fields of art, music, religion, love? Have these been explored sufficiently by the modern man? Do they offer any comfort? All questions with no ready answer, the rebel is obliged to ask without answering, merely pointing to the emptiness without offering a substitute.

The rebel doesn’t conclude hastily but is eager to explore any alternative. The contemporary paradigm is of a successive development from school to career, love to family, wealth to belongings, material accumulations to distractions; yet all this is seen as a deception, a reductionism of the natural potential for a human life. The rebel is apt to adopt a cynical skepticism towards the replacement of one mode of life for another. Life becomes an experiment, a lonesome journey through the limbo of uncertainty. Could religion fill this gap, could music appease this anxiety, could art express this loneliness, could love heal this wound? The experimenter enters them all and many others with caution but will urgently surrender if any of these would deliver him from the surrounding emptiness. Yet traps abound, the guinea-pig rebel still has within the seed of conformism, soon things lose their depth and life abandons its impetus. How to keep the zest for life awake without returning to the dullness of a repetition-ridden soul?

It may seem we are doomed, that any experience by force of repetition becomes insufficiently satisfying for the abyss of hunger that grows inside.

These reflections surge from a modern crisis. A crisis from our lack of meaning, our absence of value. This, in other words, can be called a spiritual crisis. But the themes of this crisis are not god or original sin, it rather belongs to practical ontology, that is to say, a transforming of the quality of being, producing a reality that becomes not only bearable but powerful enough to sweep away the myopic awareness of normal human life. A new understanding might be wanting, a new wisdom of what we understand human life to be, what we do and what we aspire to; a journey that requires a mixture between philosophy and adventure, a compendium of revolt, daring and openness.

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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

My friend

it goes beyond saying

lonely friend

you and I are strangers

afraid of each other

we may frown

as if we were advancing

with some sort of serious purpose

we may drag along, with tattoos and beer

as if we were sure of our cause

I comb my hair to look decent to you

you smile when we say goodbye to be proper

still we move in circles… wide empty circles

the wine soothes

our sleep pardons

suddenly you awake from elliptical wanderings

you are at a park interrupting your routine

brutally condemning our ongoing lies

the denial of loneliness and panic

can we stand another day of hypocrisy?

No, no, let’s not make questions

there are no real reasons

a chaos we organize in years

an avalanche we interpret as experience

though words may be wide as universes

my lonely estranged friend

we are bereft of all true meaning.

Nihilistic Poetry

Wrong gone

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.

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.

Nihilistic Poetry

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.

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!

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