Ceci n’est pas un poème déprimé

The hatred of my hatred vindicates me:
I am still a consciousness
in and of the world, death foreshadowing
in all of its tissues

My body tortures itself
I must watch, I watch
pain is no measure as my spirit is gone
this is not suffering: I am an automaton

I don’t want to wait
while life flees from me
like a scared rodent flees
from bigger rodents

Ceci n’est pas un poème déprimé was originally published on Meandering home

March 30. Time, being, freedom, etcetera.


Instead of this:
“Time/being/freedom/the soul/matter/consciousness itself is like dripping honey” I advice you to write this:
“I think about dripping honey and I feel good.”
Perhaps you like those abstraction. I reckon you know them much better than I do. I don’t like to talk about these words because it O feels like arguing it feels very bad. Regardless of how many books I read about time, being, freedom, the soul, matter and consciousness, people keep explaining me what it is. And I totally lost my interest in them. I’m almost sorry I don’t like to talk about them.
I don’t remember this day. I probably wrote in a café until the evening and tried in vain to catch a movie at the BAFICI, went home O early thinking about my next writing and falling asleep with sore eyes and without brushing my teeth! This looks like a travel weblog. And tomorrow I’ll write what I had for breakfast. I’ll write I had time, being, freedoom, the soul, matter, and consciousness for breakfast O.

March 30. Time, being, freedom, etcetera.


Instead of this:
“Time/being/freedom/the soul/matter/consciousness itself is like dripping honey” I advice you to write this:
“I think about dripping honey and I feel good.”
Perhaps you like those abstraction. I reckon you know them much better than I do. I don’t like to talk about these words because it O feels like arguing it feels very bad. Regardless of how many books I read about time, being, freedom, the soul, matter and consciousness, people keep explaining me what it is. And I totally lost my interest in them. I’m almost sorry I don’t like to talk about them.
I don’t remember this day. I probably wrote in a café until the evening and tried in vain to catch a movie at the BAFICI, went home O early thinking about my next writing and falling asleep with sore eyes and without brushing my teeth! This looks like a travel weblog. And tomorrow I’ll write what I had for breakfast. I’ll write I had time, being, freedoom, the soul, matter, and consciousness for breakfast O.

March 30. Time, being, freedom, etcetera.


Instead of this:
“Time/being/freedom/the soul/matter/consciousness itself is like dripping honey” I advice you to write this:
“I think about dripping honey and I feel good.”
Perhaps you like those abstraction. I reckon you know them much better than I do. I don’t like to talk about these words because it O feels like arguing it feels very bad. Regardless of how many books I read about time, being, freedom, the soul, matter and consciousness, people keep explaining me what it is. And I totally lost my interest in them. I’m almost sorry I don’t like to talk about them.
I don’t remember this day. I probably wrote in a café until the evening and tried in vain to catch a movie at the BAFICI, went home O early thinking about my next writing and falling asleep with sore eyes and without brushing my teeth! This looks like a travel weblog. And tomorrow I’ll write what I had for breakfast. I’ll write I had time, being, freedoom, the soul, matter, and consciousness for breakfast O.