Retreat Within, To Escape, To Go Forward, With Time (On Your Side)…

Happy 14^th 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.

…

 

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Avant-Garde, Epitome.

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.

…

 

The Power Of Detachment.

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.

…

 

Beyond the bounds of linear custody…

Inside.

In the cell.

Alone.

Sensory deprivation,

a strange kind of bliss.

No night, no day, no clock.

I no longer had any idea of time.

I had moved beyond the bounds of linear custody,

become free,

in a sense,

in captivity.

…

The thoughts in my head,

words spoken,

internal dialog,

a mixture of present, past and future.

“Screw grammar!” I said to myself tomorrow,

yesterday I will be free.

…

 

Projekt 8.25 (subset #101: Incommunicado.)

It wasn’t my intention to burn any bridges,

so as to say,

but I was determined to make my freedom count.

So,

on hold

(an artificial, imposed, grievous kind of stasis,

one which leads to aggravation, despair, degradation, disintegration),

I decided to take action.

I hung up the phone.

What’s more, I pulled the cable from the wall.

…

Gone…

Incommunicado.

And free,

free enough

to actually hear and focus on the thoughts inside my head,

complete sentences,

and sense,

yes, real, true sense,

innate wisdom,

the still small voice within,

a beautiful thing!

…

 

Projekt 8.25 (subset #94: Keep Walking, Don’t Be Afraid To Drop, Rest In Peace…)

I found myself in a situation of bondage and degradation.

I decided that enough was enough.

I said goodbye and walked away

(oh, that we all could do so!)…

But they weren’t finished with me.

…

Alas,

shit stirrers,

satan’s minions,

woe betiders,

wannabes,

sadists,

purveyors of misery!

…

Nevertheless,

I will not walk to my own execution.

So:

Goodbye,

I said again,

turning my cheek,

and again,

goodbye I said

and kept on walking.

Away.

(As they stabbed me in the back, yet again!)…

Bloodied, I walked away,

until I dropped.

All-consuming pain,

and relief,

as they thought I was dead,

and gone,

so they left me alone,

and they let me be.

And at last,

I was free!

…

 

Projekt 8.25 (subset #88: Meaningless Lives – That’s the way *they* want it to be… Say, let’s fight the powers that be…)

Idiots mislead,

breach the peace

of a short-lived idyll.

The phone or some other alarm rings.

…

We wake up after 6 hours of sleep.

Good morning, wakeful day,

all lies and bullshit,

beginning to end,

money the bottom line,

avarice and greed for some,

survival for most,

we satisfy the needs that be.

…

To perpetuate the constructs of power,

they tell us we get meaning from our jobs…

well,

then,

(but for the basest vestiges,

occasional brainwaves,

self-satisfying stimulation)

most of our lives

are meaningless.

…

 

Projekt 8.25 (subset #84: The Land Of The Free)

Tired,

and because I can,

I climb the stairs

to my room

and lie down

on a beanbag

(does furniture get any better?).

I close my eyes and drift into the ether,

a higher plane of existence,

unconsciousness and sleep,

where I am not in control, truly,

but anything is possible.

…

I am floating

and I look down on America,

I like what I see,

mainly.

But talk of left and right here

baffles me.

Where I am from,

Communists and socialists *are* the conservatives,

it’s the so-called liberals who are most corrupt and debauched.

…

Economy and morality.

Persecution for anyone who doesn’t agree,

kiss ass,

wannabe.

…

Sick, sad, world.

…

 

Projekt 8.25 (subset #83: My Smooth Nature)

I had some time (freizeit).

I had some freedom (freiheit).

So I decided to get naked and shave,

perhaps epilate,

down under.

Actually, I felt a compulsion…

I don’t mind a little hair, but once it gets to a certain length and thickness, and/or coarseness, it’s annoying, it makes me feel old, like Budapest, 1966.

…

Some women insist they do it for hygiene…

In a sense, I do too, for cleansing.

Body and mind.

I do it because it feels right,

so right

and beautiful,

smooth.

Contaminant gone.

Free.

I feel more like myself again.

…

 

Projekt 8.25 (subset #82: Freedom from wage slavery & appreciation of Stakhanovite art…)

I was determined to make my freedom count.

So, I stopped counting seconds and minutes, for a while.

I took my watch off

(My beloved Swatch with the Stakhanov name and design!),

I stopped looking at the hands and appreciated the art.

Beautiful,

evocative,

inspiring.

Ironic really, given my new circumstances.

…