I read in a poem by Octavio Paz:
The word of man
is the laughter of death.
When I look again it says:
The word of man
is the daughter of death.
We talk because we are mortal:
words are not signs, they are years.
I close my eyes and smile.
Paz is the poet who wrote
I washed my hands in your breasts
and many other things
I think about the word of man:
daughter or laughter
one day I will know
which one I like best
For Octavio Paz was originally published on Meandering home
I am a pop-up human
put me anywhere
pop me up in the street:
Your target group can sample
the human brand / all from
a temporary stand.
I am a pop-up human
with traces of life on my face
100% authentic, foldable at the knees
trust me, we can talk about the fees
Pop-up human was originally published on Meandering home
The poet has the high command
He lines up his cavalry of tin words
In the beginning he polished them
He was still learning at the time
Now the poet is the barbarian
who changed clothes with their general
And then orders them to charge at him and there they come –
How sweet their belief in victory!
The words plant their flag on the edge of the poet’s dream
And he begins again.
Conquest was originally published on Meandering home
A person of color walks into a bar
he gets seated on a prominent stool
and whispers “triple scotch please”
the bartender, who since the unfortunate event
two weeks ago, is a person of color too, says
right away sir and pours his drink and Nina sings
Nina Simone was a person of color, too.
You didn’t see you the gorilla walking in the background, did you?
Person of color was originally published on Meandering home
A father can call the deepest motivation of his child
the tentative and most fragile design of his heart
morally reprehensible. So he summons the energy
that will self-destroy his child.
There are two types of religion
In one, there is a Father and He shall forgive you
In the other, you shall forgive the Father
Our religious energy flows between two generations
in either direction.
We must live free from the filthy desire for redemption.
Two types of religion was originally published on Meandering home
What we see here is the purest form of a dystopian future. Everything we hold dear in traffic will be sacrificed for the convenience of apathatic air-conditioned slumbering in self-driving ugliness, on our way to a slightly colder place in hell. What we cherish most about ‘traffic’ (that concept will disappear during this disenchanting transformation) is the social aspect of it. Forever gone will be turning down the window in order to yell at our dearest fellow mortals. Gone will be the days that we were merely semi-enclosed in rolling aluminum gaskets, still able to hunk at each other and call a motherfucker, a motherfucker. Never again will the complexity of human traffic challenge our minds and invoke polite consideration for those we share the road with, let alone gentlemanlike courteousness.
As we float in the weightlessness and witlessness of our Sedric succumbing to whatever movie we ‘choose’ to play on the high-tech screen it sports for a windshield, we will learn to forget about the father of all modern-day conflicts. It will leave us unequipped for any real conflict situation that might still bubble up from the cesspool of our primate instincts. We will dodge each other at the first sign of genuine, well, otherness. And that, my friends, is a dystopia.
What is a dystopia? was originally published on Meandering home
We visit a Charity Shop in the morning and have a bad experience with the owner. We introduce ourselves and Charity Travel, the rough style. Let me reconstruct the words of the prissy decadent shopkeeper.
“We’re looking to do somethin’ good. Maybe you could link us to some small-scale ngo around here?”
-“You guys are crazy.”
“We could help campaigning against HIV/Aids and…”
-“You are untrained.” (how the &”%* does she know? And we ARE experienced)
“We could assist in an orphanage and…”
-“Who knows maybe you are going to eat the kids. I send you there and the next thing I hear is a kid has disappeared. Maybe you can do this in other countries of Africa where they still DO eat humans (sic!) but not here.”
“Thank you very much.”
And we turn our back on the Charity Shop, giggling about this somewhat sad experience on our way to a huge shopping mall where we get a computer for Yeon so that we can work simultaneously on the documentation of our project.
At night I improvise a tomato soup. Not that it’s relevant, but still.
January 30. You are untrained. was originally published on Meandering home