Archive for the ‘я не понимаю’ Category

And I wondered what if…

Samantha Smith hadn’t died.

The child superstar no one seems to remember…

Wise,

with spunk,

she changed lives.

And while many mourn Hillary’s demise,

I wonder what if Samantha Smith had become

President of the USA.

Who she was and would have been, today.

And how much better the world would be.

But,

alas…

In “reality”,

sadly, very sadly,

I imagine the system would have molded

and stymied her into

another pathetic,

grasping,

power-maximizing,

political drone.

Disenchanted,

once again,

I curl into the foetal position

on my pathetically anemic,

uncomfortable

bed.

Reality is hard.

I wish for sleep,

alternative

actuality.

 

©ddr7hd

 

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A little before they put me away,

in a cell,

beyond time and place,

Donald Trump had been elected “leader of the free world”.

Leader of the Free World?

Frankly, who won the election is not my focus,

it’s the very statement: “Leader of the Free World”.

Indeed.

I simper, deliberately,

as,

grandiosely, that’s what Americans

(and many others from deferential nations)

call Mr. President.

My,

oh my,

why,

such hubris!

Such arrogance!

Really,

such use of words,

intent and content,

is absurd.

Yes,

indeed,

that’s the word!

Welcome to the life on Planet Earth,

everyday theater of the absurd.

 

©ddr7hd

 

What Beauty?

At the end of the day,

it’s like,

well, that’s that,

and was there any point?

Frustrated, violated,

implicated, complicated…

Screwed over by people

and inanimate objects,

screwed over by societal

and weather systems,

screwed over by life, death,

revolution and resolution,

screwed over by everything,

so it seems,

night and day,

no end.

Catch your breath, if you can,

before it is gone forever.

Sigh.

Yawn.

Scorn.

Wishing others unborn.

Disenchanted,

the giant seeks solace in sleep.

©ddr7hd

 

Happy 14th of January!

So they tell me.

Really?

I feel so matter-of-fact about it.

What does it mean?

I think, therefore I am…

I think… I am entering into

a beautiful new realm of increased detachment.

Freedom, in captive surrounds.

Ho-hum,

sigh,

societal construct,

time,

captivity.

I say, revoke and repudiate

such negativity.

Wish upon a star in an unseen sky,

and be free.

 

What does declaring oneself Avant-Garde mean?

Why, anything I want it to be.

And that may well mean something different

tomorrow from today,

or yesterday,

indeed,

and at times I will deny my membership

of your Avant-Garde clique…

Your definition,

your society,

I will flea.

As, alas…

Your boundaries, restrictions and machines,

your timelines and agendas,

mar the eternal possible beauty of the human soul and being.

Like, peace.

Perchance to breathe

and be still.

Still, nonetheless,

I have been and will continue to be,

Avant-Garde,

in my own, unique, forward way,

whether you see it, or not.

Cliché:

I march to the beat of my own drummer…

Ipso facto,

I am Avant-Garde epitome.

 

And…

Amidst the confusion,

society’s shrill voices,

myriad dictated choices,

realize…

the power of “I don’t know”,

and “I don’t need to know”.

But *this* I do know,

a personal revolation,

Sofia in my ear,

am I compelled to share?

No.

And, so…

But, for your benefit, I will say:

Selah.

Pray and embrace,

the power of detachment.

 

In a strange sense,

we all want to reach the end of history.

The actualization

of the embodiment

of the best that we can possibly be,

no more evolution necessary.

Francis Fukuyama thought it came with the end of the Cold War

and the supposed triumph of liberal democracy.

Yukio Mishima,

obsessed with tradition,

passion for a system,

the emperor deity,

thought it came with death

(in a literal and personal sense, he was right).

 

 

For me,

an anonymous member of the Russian (and/or Ukrainian, Armenian, Soviet, Global, etc…) Avant-Garde,

lost in time and place,

it is

Life itself

and the power of being able to say:

“I understand”

and

“I don’t understand”.

 

Once upon a time,

they welcomed us

and our strange, brilliant ideas.

Funny, how things change.

It used to be hard to get out,

but get easy to get in.

And Lady Liberty smiled opaquely,

welcoming.

Then came openness and restructuring,

so as to say,

doors opened, doors closed,

houses were besieged,

some fell,

crumbled.

Now,

lines on maps fluid…

It’s easy to get out,

but hard to get in.

Big thinking no longer enough to impress,

indeed,

system will stress:

“No more welcome,

unless you undress…”

 

Follow the purple umbrella

(the color is not significant),

you’ve paid for the tour,

now enter museums of splendor,

magnificence,

historical importance,

indeed,

museums of decadence.

Look at the gold!

Look at the art!

Look at the opulence!

Look at the young prince’s carriage, how ornate, how neat,

it was pulled around the palace grounds by merino sheep.

Look at the wealth captured by the few,

adulated and celebrated by the many,

used to perpetuate the cycle,

Habsburgs, haves, and have-nots.

I sigh,

and close my eyes

Continue.

More of same.

Accoutrements of wealth and fame.

A long and twisted walk through the hallways.

But wait, what’s this?

Oh,

here in a dark corner,

is a small room with mementos from one of many wars,

understated chamber of horrors…

Indeed, how many died,

in the name of lies

and bloody war,

for the glory of empire

and emperor?

 …

 

In captivity.

Alone,

since the last public torture,

the only audible voice my own

… whispers.

In peace (in a shitty little cell).

Safe from the madding masses.

Alone with my thoughts.

I inhale and exhale,

It’s beautiful to be aware of my every breath.

In peace.

At peace.

Solitary confinement.

Time and space to think.

It’s the ultimate in introspection!

Or is that just what they want me to think?

My captors, my manipulators,

they’ve been leaving me alone,

letting me be.

Indeed,

there’s always someone pulling the strings.