28 March 2011

Whine et Wine

delusions illusions can I start creating
a reality more fine, no I know nothing

I remember this feeling from months ago
cannot feel mindful while failing to know

a body wiser than mind decides to stay silent
which is big of a bore with a future so salient

21 March 2011


in pattaya airport a guy is handing out free iodine provided by someone, or something, while at the same time a group of rather drunken girls are popping the very same pills under the perigee moon. everything is as surreal as it gets, so surreal one has to think what is surreal anyway. maybe it could be that which is not our perception of real as it is most, or all, of the time, if I am allowed to speak about our perception with the terms provided by the field of compressed percepts.

my phone rings and the surreality hits a bit more harder when I hear my brother telling about a quake just experienced where I kinda grew up as “a sound of a car backing to the wall of the house.” 2.8 on the richter. what? how was I not “home” at the first ever possibility to feel an earthquake there?

to top things up, I later end up learning that an afro and drag inspired make up are hot in the eyes of a senegalese pusher but not in the eyes of a bald dwarf in a suit. damn. I guess the most natural thing would be to apply the all finnish approach and “blame the alcohol,” but I do want to give it up for the moon. I go for the surreal today, thank you.

but, to be honest, being conscious of one's escapism makes it less of a coping solution and more of a problem, or maybe I would rather say more of a question. if one were to stay still, it can only be pleasant if it means stillness of the mind but action of the body. or then it is just me who is made to run out into the dead grounds of inner city masses. I actually didn't see the moon because I was inside a shady lair of a bar with great ska all night until I had narrowed the span of my consciousness to the very immediate reality of trying to survive in wilderness with a poorly numbed cerebellum.

result? being a douche. 

16 March 2011

Signs Petersburg

пицтурес такен ин интернал спацес оф сайнт петерсбург

15 March 2011

Outside Petersburg

пицтурес такен ин ехтернал спацес оф сайнт петерсбург

12 March 2011

Lies we tell

we have been laying on her big bed by the window for days, during which I've seen nothing but random snowfall, clouds, planes, even some sunlight, and heard nothing but the rising and falling of the traffic with occasional ambulances and helicopters making their distinct sounds. 

she has not said a word since she asked me to come over, though I've had her communicate through crying and biting and such. there's not many like her around anymore, that being people who only speak when able to stand behind whatever words uttered. I know there's something important, big, that's lingering above and around this void she has let herself sunk into.

she turns around and presses her oily cheek against my chest. I adjust myself to hold her, and run my fingers on the soft skin of her back. I see her phone blinking silently on a tabletop across the room, something it has done countless of times since my arrival. I cannot believe the battery hasn't yet run out.

my hips and my back hurt from all the immovability this being present has required, and I haven't been able to sleep anymore in hours, or since yesterday noon to be accurate. I guess it is some sort of a limit of mine that's crossed when she, for the third time during these days, manages to gather strength enough to try to climb up from the whatever void by sinking her teeth into my skin.

I force the fingers of my left hand into her mouth and push her down, pleading for words from a pair of closed, wet eyes. and so she sings.

since I was a kid I thought
I was the one who is crazy
here in this society marked
as being the quintessential
height of human evolution
but now I have understood
without being proud in any
way that I am not the crazy
one here but it is the damn
premises we have accepted
as our very ideals that make
us but a bunch of loon tools

I see from your eyes that you know what
makes me speak like this and I know you
are born wise and I am born as a damned
fool who has to learn everything by being
kicked in the face by that everything and
believe me I have no idea why I have not
released myself from this ferocious realm

these past days have shown me that all great systems of thought
are nothing but us trying to explain ourselves out from the damn
equation which assumes and is correct in positing us as a scarcity
on this planet in regards to us being the one and only species into
an extended suicide together with a very rare mentality screaming
out if I am going to vanish then everything else is going to vanish
with me because nothing matters but consciousness and me oh me
I have not but the experience of my very own consciousness so let
me just do my work and live my life and feed my kids and jerk off

can you show me where do I fucking sign
to sign myself out of this equation and be
free from the shared burden of idiots who
are being fed day and night the identity of
a lethal cancer addressed as the consumer

hello destroyer of the worlds
the great consumer of... stars

 I know there is no form I can sign and I have ceased also to believe into a liberation stemming
from the inside and thus being reflected or shone on the outside because that is just how them
tools have for thousands of years explained to themselves why they need to have meaningless
jobs instead of really looking into what is it that makes us all feel deeply sick inside because I
as the dolt I am have reached it and it took only some years to finally catch the deepest internal
conflict by the balls and it stems from the understanding all of us have inside about the need to
exist in this world as an integrated part which functions only in respect to the rules of harmony

and oh do I understand whims
manifested by suicide bombers
because I feel the same when I
think about all them idiots who
speak about genes as if they're
speaking about big differences

and the worst thing now is that I see where this path is taking me
and the next question will be whether or not consciousness as we
experience it has developed to serve as a tool for a class of beings
who are here for no other apparent reason but to use their assumed
powers to create not for noble ends but the birth of a real death star

because how can we be
such dumb fools if that
dumbness isn't a quality
serving a higher purpose

when she pauses for more breath I do what any of us tools would - kiss her into a quiet tear smeared oblivion. as far as I am concerned, all this is known and well understood in a deep level within, and yet still I, nor the majority of them who I've come to know during my life, have not killed themselves. so... what's the point in singing about these things?

07 March 2011

Cheat 4 Chaos

greetings. this message is written from a world which possesses the power to put whatever, like food, gold, sacrificial animals, or men, into a vehicle delivering them to be burned by the sun. we've developed this far thanks to irresponsibility stemming from a culture based on such things as division of labor. 

hierarchy makes responsible behavior obsolete. there's always someone to take care of a problem, any problem. so it is thought, and we've become damn passive while the solutions have gotten more and more grim. 

we've cheated to make this all happen. cheated. results of this cheat are in my face day and night. a nightmare with an underlying feel of deep pain, probably arising from the fact I can never be free here. how could I be free when I am one of them responsible for the existence of this... chaos?

I know what you want me to do for them kids who have yet to step into these damn footprints. I've known it my whole life and I promise to ride the tiger until my deed is done. 

in this world there are a few of us, warriors, to still take on the noblest quest within: war for truth. when it is fought and won, we grow ready to begin the external war. from not experiencing it, I know nothing about it. yet.

04 March 2011

Just do it

I believe art to have a special cognitive role for men, which is a step quite far from the rather common notion of art having developed from “too much spare time” into something humans “just do,” without any role in their survival whatsoever.

back tens of thousands of years ago men begun to show signs of possessing a conceptual mind through decorating their artifacts with, mostly, geometrical patterns. this is not to say that animals don't have concepts, but only to show men to have complex concepts enough to have developed a will to externalize them, as if to really “see” what these concepts are. same works with something called “moral ideals.” we tend to have a hunch derived from a collection of previous life experiences of what is right and what is wrong, but to really make something out of that raw material of concepts and ideas we need artistic process to formulate a solid entity which embodies those concepts into something coherent in the material domain.

01 March 2011

From here to there

thank you silver bullet for all these years
and welcome quaranta d

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in the case of confusion: dyslexiaisokhere ät gmail.com