More words.
Against my resolution to do more and talk less.
Yet, no drawings, just more words.
I have spent all my life, now I realize,
like many artists, trying to remove from the eye of my mind
all that was unnecessary, in the wishful attempt to find
what is really necessary, by the shortcut of an easier way.
Remove, necessary action anyway...
It did not prove different than any other enterprise of mine,
all of them hopelessly reflecting my very being,
my being other from my kin
and my constant awareness of this fact.
Therefore, my constant drifting back to old desires,
no matter how far I have gone.
How can you explain to them, to one of them at least,
the unavoidable result of my actions?
Going as far as my mind can lead me,
no matter how much I want to just stop thinking,
going that far and still expect, expect to find someone,
already there, waiting, maybe even further than I have ever gone.
Going as far as my energy will lead me and when I know
that I am as far as human eye can see,
still expect and want to see someone, already there,
just to prove that I am not the last specimen of my kind.
To prove that my kind is still out there
and that there is a terribly beautiful sense
in me, in me being stubbornly attached to what I believe in.
Even now, words do not come easily,
since planned thoughts make way for new thoughts,
constantly spawning from words, from the flow of words,
children, often unwanted, of my impatient intellect.
I feel an ancient beat, pulsating in my heart
and it is too ancient for anybody to recognize,
or to even feel familiar and comfortable with.
Where can I go from here?
Where can I go, if not somewhere where I can feel less unique,
where I can breathe, smell and see familiar moves,
familiar thoughts?
Is this new world supposed to find me
or am I supposed to?
The more I walk, the more I remove
and the less time I have, for anything or anyone.
Quicker and quicker, I pack and leave,
leaving nothing where I once was, where common souls
thought to see another predictable being, one of them.
Why do I need them to see it?
Shall I not pursue what I know I should?
Without a distraction, without any single pebble on the road stopping me,
just to be measured by me, just to make sure
that it is no diamond after all?
Shall I not know already where diamonds really are
and leave, quick as the thousand thoughts that separate me
from the people who live here?
Leave and for where?
I bow my head
and admit that this confused landscape
is but the landscape of my soul,
me being the alpha and the omega
of my torture.
I would just like to gaze into Irina's eyes once again,
for them to tell me:
"It's harder for you than it is for anyone else... but if you want to believe it, you are home already".
Against my resolution to do more and talk less.
Yet, no drawings, just more words.
I have spent all my life, now I realize,
like many artists, trying to remove from the eye of my mind
all that was unnecessary, in the wishful attempt to find
what is really necessary, by the shortcut of an easier way.
Remove, necessary action anyway...
It did not prove different than any other enterprise of mine,
all of them hopelessly reflecting my very being,
my being other from my kin
and my constant awareness of this fact.
Therefore, my constant drifting back to old desires,
no matter how far I have gone.
How can you explain to them, to one of them at least,
the unavoidable result of my actions?
Going as far as my mind can lead me,
no matter how much I want to just stop thinking,
going that far and still expect, expect to find someone,
already there, waiting, maybe even further than I have ever gone.
Going as far as my energy will lead me and when I know
that I am as far as human eye can see,
still expect and want to see someone, already there,
just to prove that I am not the last specimen of my kind.
To prove that my kind is still out there
and that there is a terribly beautiful sense
in me, in me being stubbornly attached to what I believe in.
Even now, words do not come easily,
since planned thoughts make way for new thoughts,
constantly spawning from words, from the flow of words,
children, often unwanted, of my impatient intellect.
I feel an ancient beat, pulsating in my heart
and it is too ancient for anybody to recognize,
or to even feel familiar and comfortable with.
Where can I go from here?
Where can I go, if not somewhere where I can feel less unique,
where I can breathe, smell and see familiar moves,
familiar thoughts?
Is this new world supposed to find me
or am I supposed to?
The more I walk, the more I remove
and the less time I have, for anything or anyone.
Quicker and quicker, I pack and leave,
leaving nothing where I once was, where common souls
thought to see another predictable being, one of them.
Why do I need them to see it?
Shall I not pursue what I know I should?
Without a distraction, without any single pebble on the road stopping me,
just to be measured by me, just to make sure
that it is no diamond after all?
Shall I not know already where diamonds really are
and leave, quick as the thousand thoughts that separate me
from the people who live here?
Leave and for where?
I bow my head
and admit that this confused landscape
is but the landscape of my soul,
me being the alpha and the omega
of my torture.
I would just like to gaze into Irina's eyes once again,
for them to tell me:
"It's harder for you than it is for anyone else... but if you want to believe it, you are home already".
VIEW 8 of 8 COMMENTS
this piece you've posted here reminds of Rilke, not necessarily in diction but in shape and structure; it is quite totemic.
ca va?
Then again, I am not so sure if I'd take weed from a bum.
Who knows what's in it.
Although, I may have liked it either way.