Days on Earth

Modern and old,
You have become,
The willing nomad of a foreign land.

No ties to feel,
Yet doing it all,
Kick and be sick
That- is the trick.

The need to talk is still alive,
And disillusioned at its best.
Both the need, and lack of time - to rest.

To speak without fear -
that the time used - is but a silly game,
That my friend- is your newest reason to feel alone again.

The root-less being I have found
Is still teaching me how to become-
A truly adopted 21. century man.

Oh - you simple love of mine.
Each day I come,
to your rented room,

To eat and to have -
what the common call fun,
Drink, laugh, feast and sex

You simple one.

I can't take it anymore,
The simple life you call your own.

Too little change,
Every thing's too strange
I'm still not your,
The body nor soul.

What is it then, that makes me come?
I don't know you simple one.
Maybe it's the pain that my life is in vain.

Just ignore my depths,
And we'll be fine,
You'll still be sure
That my need is pure.

For a fact it truly is,
It's just the past erasing deaths.


You are truly blessed, love of mine.
Your ignorance in love is one of the kind.

Oh you simple love of mine,
Please except this hurting soul,
I will need you in the time to come
As soon as I'm done, fighting the evil one.

I dwell among the common.
But I have long surpassed the need to find myself.

I'm there because of the Truth.
I feed myself with the usual, hoping for food.

The need is all that remains.
The power to remain.

I got the feelings,
I got the pain,
I got the need.

It's not in vain.

I'm alone,
I'm not at home,
I'm all but fun,

So what's to be done?

Believe in change,
Believe in joy,
Believe in truth,

And you'll find what's hurting you.

It's not the pain,
It's not the frame,
It's not the view thats killing you.

Feel the urge, the need to preserve,
The long lost truth, that's hurting you.

The hurt you feel is not the pain,
It's the need to love again.

Integrity, and love - to have and hold,
To take the blow, if it's so.

Believe and survive,
Keep your hearth alive,
Don't let the despair,
Take you anywhere.

I, primitive and lazy
Remained the same

After the Paths…
Reduced to written words

Once popular writing, became
Only writing.

Multimedia has been inbred into us all,
While I nourished mine into my laziness.

Able to see both the sounds and movements,
Without the know-how to actuate

Self-condemned to observation,
waiting for the moment of cognition,
while praying for endurance and strength

I, primitive and lazy
Among varieties of springs,
waiting for the permission to drink.

Transitional forms of humanity…

Leech

A sublimate

Not strong enough to create

Not clear enough to teach

Without the simplicity needed for convincing

Not useful enough for success.


Lazy and mostly lonely.
Always on the edge between pleasure and its negation.

My colors can change, my thoughts ruffle

They may even come to a decision. From time to time.

Part of a minority

A minority with an unclear part

Called the middle class.


A living proof of a blurry symbiosis.

The proof that human parasite organism are real.

A leech of society.

A leech to be extinguished, and as such…

off course extremely charming

It’s time for regrouping, my dear leeches

Time for giving.

Unconditional and constant.

Time to return to the sun.

Time to shine without asking for recognition and honors

Grow dear leeches. This time-decide.

Giving or death

Not mine, not mine...
This one I can define.

Its the loved one that died,
The departure and the loneliness that arrived,

The passing of time,
the lack of friends and internal sunshine.

I know to hide,
to realize the light and to fight,

Oh that I know, of that you can be sure,
I just need to find,
some new way to ease my mind.

Take your time, everything is fine,
we are all combined,
into one meaning of time.

Calm your hearth, relax your soul,
and you will find - the love for evermore.

The new


We are new. Never older.
Exempted from what they called an Ideal.
With faith in the abstract or more often without.

Aware and sad, empty and alone.
We are new.
We bring the End.

Not fit to create.
Aware, miserable and cold.

Give us some life – you old.
The Faith and the strength.

The new are on their death.
We don’t want the end!

All themes are used up. Themes a young man (the one that is (in the eyes of the contemporary literature critic)- to attract the hearts and souls of the would be consumer), would find attractive and intensive enough that would therefore count as a communication model that will be able to sell.

All short memories have faded. The one a man, who feels the need for it, wants to write down in a form called avanguard.

The long term memories are buried somewhere or simply not intriguing enough and relaxed at the same time (as a prerequisite to be readable) or (for the more elder readers) not enough old.

For those who still have a fetishistic attitude towards books and are not considering them a conservative matter or a deformation.

All there is left is the Space which is considered to be an ideal. It may really be a peak or Zen or one of the Ways, or just a horizon, a change, a clear that has no beginning or a history of tails.

Creepy or constructive.

Worlds are meeting, worlds we can say goodbye too, worlds we can fight against, learn from them or stay in them.

Two worlds that meet, building together based on time, but without real interest of the same in - what is referred to as a Form which has the need to express itself, to wrestle with the multitude of the unsaid. Unsaid issues on different objects in the form of consumers of different specters of the material or spiritual worlds.

Two spheres morphing into each other in one tangent with unforeseeable parallels.

Tangents which are forming - contrary to common sense and knowledge as we like to call it, transformed into terms like ratio or irrational.
The peace allows creative movements, fitted into the heretofore reasoning known as Heliocentrism, or the cognition which completes the yet unknown strings of the string theory.
A naturally conditioned departure from a fixed point, as from any representative point which would allow a subjective viewpoint, in order to get to (for the human need understandable ) conclusion or knowledge, gives longevity which increases with every contact.
Every meeting in the multicultural commonality of spheres, defies the known.

“Life is a river” –said a Wiseman , after being asked about the nature of life.

"Really? A River?” -said the asker…

“Why ? Isn’t it ?“-said the Wiseman in his wisdom, confirming the nature of human knowledge.

And then she started to become a living memory. She entered the words I have kept so well...
She smiled, and imitated taking a picture with a photo camera thus caring herself into the everlasting. The photo of her taking the photo that is not.
Forever more.

And then…she hugged me…
And I felt a part of her soul penetrating into mine. Digging in her- not sure what she did.
I sighted. Thinking if I was allowing her to do something I shouldn’t – by the book, or is that what The book is all about.
I looked myself into the mirror, and a tear rolled down my face.
She had the power.
She just is, and it was enough for me – the simple creature, to take my thought away.
Oh God- you are unthinkably big.
“ Look its raining styrophore …look…”
“He he … funny”- she added and went to eat.
With a voice and in a way someone would say, “I need to eat”.