Archive for August, 2016

Time and place, bending the prisms, I say some strange things, open to misunderstanding. Society doesn’t like subversion and dissent, even inspired promptings of the Holy are subject to arrest.

Don’t you fear the gulag? The things I’ve seen and heard…

Shit, no, I’ve seen “Oz”, I fear America!

 

Lepa sela lepo gore,

world of shit,

world of squalor.

I pray silently,

(lest you hear)

for deliverance

from your noise,

distractions,

and destruction.

Your blasphemy of life.

 

Quintessence of evil,

shifting sands,

blazing Kalahari,

gone, baby, gone.

Become a cold, wet land

of mud, mold and molasses,

sticky as shit,

toxic,

escape impossible.

Devil dogs,

people of hell,

torment and despoil

anything pure.

Jilted and jolted,

hard thud,

we slip and slide,

turn around,

on our heels reality.

Pedigree curs out of control,

rip and tear,

people stand by,

blankly stare.

Bloodied and dazed,

we get to our feet,

one follows the other,

we are relieved to be

walking up the hill.

 

Till und ich.

Posted: 2016-08-28 in ©ddr7hd, DDR, Heidi, Pain, The Swimmer

Till Lindemann was a basket weaver.

I was a politician’s assistant,

indispensable,

key employee.

Now I am unemployable.

 

Asshole, gets it wrong,

one way or another,

always the same,

but what’s in a name?

Boglárka, after all,

is not Bogdan’s sister,

despite my dream,

and the wrong team wins,

as often as not.

Live sport’s a lost cause,

water polo a rort,

geopolitics debatable,

always an angle,

facts and borders malleable,

history forgotten,

people want bread and fruit

ripe

but not rotten.

Breathless, I sigh.

Ksenia sings the blues.

 

Standing on the beach,

I watch the waves

and look out at the horizon,

seeing an ocean of possibilities,

a sea of infinity,

endless opportunity,

perpetuity…

this water has been with us

since the dawn of existence,

ultimate, awesome, recycling power,

if only we could understand,

appreciate and respect

what that implicates and bestows,

what it should compel…

Life.

 

The dead soldier, hero slain, life laid down,

is said to be forever young.

(Like that’s sufficient consolation!) …

Platitude,

vicissitude,

an attitude

plainly bullshit wrong.

Empty sentiment,

intention misdirected,

sacrifice not truly respected.

Soldier:

murdered, taken, gone,

forever dead,

a fading memory instead.

 

Obeying my body and soul,

I opt out,

for a season or three,

I need peace,

screw your outward pretences,

fuck society’s ideas,

this is me,

here.

The moment

and the existence of life,

perchance to sleep and dream,

is,

indeed,

close enough,

I say,

to

the right stuff.

The essential, personal rapture,

no one else understands.

 

Preacher says we’re in this world to be Kings and Priests,

not bit-part actors or mere minions,

it’s in the Word, after all,

the righteous, by Jesus, have dominion.

I want to believe.

I need to believe.

But I get no respite,

no relief from the shit of life,

people and systems screwing me over,

constantly,

drowning at the bottom of the barrel.

And, yes, I can do all things through Christ Jesus,

but why does it always have to be the hard way,

for me,

every day like pushing a massive boulder up a narrow mountain trail.

So tired,

pissed off and rejected,

pissed upon and dejected.

It seems I’ve been forgotten,

failed.

A king and a priest?

Like a Romanov and Rasputin?

1916, 1917,

all semblance of propriety lost,

bludgeoned and beaten.

(No, Jesus, no…)

 

It’s all over.

And I feel empty, deflated, tired and wasted.

Used, abused and confused,

wondering about the point of it all.

Farcical and contentious,

it gives me the shits…

like Caster oil.

Corruption, poverty, moral decadence,

depravity, no one around to bear witness,

to see.

To ask:

Is this the Olympics?