irsinkast

What does the world need? What is ‘the world’? Is it: the people? The economy? Nature? The planet? The future for your children? The social idea has been outlawed in favour of the capitalist oppression. In the US they would call me a communist for that. In Europe they’d call me all over the place. Still the eco-fascist I guess. Am I wrong to believe that everything is intertwined? That, due to our exploding numbers, whatever we decide will have a profound impact on everything else? That, if we want to maintain this pathetic claim of being a moral species, it would be our responsibility to factor in all variables in every decision we take. If you say: yes. Then we’d better start acting accordingly and respect the real order of things. Planet, eco-system, wildlife, humans. And not vice-versa. If you say: no. Then you’re declaring natural law. And there will be no more hiding behind anything. Not for you. Because we us the lowly the commu

I've been out of it for a while. And it felt good. Not that I was ever really into anything. I get tired of getting stuck in the rut quite quickly. So I back out of my obligations. I’m bad with compulsions like that. Or other. The year is coming to its end and we haven’t come any closer to finding each other again. You set a standard that is no longer in my spectrum. I can’t meet it anymore. And it frustrates you. And I don’t care about it. Somewhere I lost the urge to justify or to heal it. I have amputated this need with a blunt device: replacement. A highly unelegant solution. I see your feats whiz by. The pose the gestures the allure. It’s all still there as if you never even blinked once. Again, as always, we are all completely obsolete. Your flapping of the arms. My getting all aggravated over nothing. I no longer believe it is about you. Nor that it ever was about you. It was, and is about me. I irritate me. That’s good to know. No? Very helpful indeed.

Come on. Make it happen. Proceed, grow, develop, evolve. I look up and see the clouds fly by. They race onward with insane velocities. It’s crazy come to think of it. Nothing ever stops. Neither should you. That’s what you hear every second of every day. But does it really have to be true. Isn’t it just like that because it has always been like that. Because no one knows how to challenge it anymore? Isn’t it so that all things are exactly the same? Made from the same materials bound by the same dark matters? So wouldn’t it be more true to say that in fact nothing changes? Ever. Aren’t all our efforts and all the manifestations  simply superficial. When everything comes to a shrieking halt and we squeeze ourselves out of the pace. And we interlock with the violent modulation of what we call ‘now’. Isn’t that were we feel best? Isn’t that when we feel at our very best? Isn’t that how we succeed in feeling  beyond our feelings? Whence came to life this contrast between the world an

Strictly speaking, we should all be going nuts. Killing each other off, brutally. Raping and looting town after town. It seems there is no hope whatsoever that our imaginings will overcome anything. This farce of a life is fully mechanical. Intricately conceived as it may be it remains but binary because we are caught in a simple vessel operated by cravings. Literally everything can go wrong. And so it does. A life mistakenly fabricated and knead into the pretension of expressing divinity. The painfully disfigured simulation of essence. The atrocious side-track. The universal excuse. The common failure. All indicators are there and they keep on swelling. You will find them projected into all of us on a smaller but more detrimental scale. That is why we all quickly identify them as liars when they try to push it on us. But like true cowards, we don’t flinch. We stay well on track. Not even dreaming of contradicting it. Of speaking against the allotted importance. The fight is fixed. The

Some days you want to see the end of as quickly as possible. Some days you want to have forever. Here I’m stretched in the middle of feelings. The hope of this creeping working day to be forgotten before it even started. The fear of losing precious elements of magnificent days that race by with irrepressible force. Where it seems as if we get no chance to bloom. Where we want more of the same instead of less of the same. I want ways to reverse this. I pretend to be on the beach while I’m behind my desk. I feign relaxation while my head spins mad with worry. But that ain’t new. Every time I think I’m done writing. That I’ve said it all and I’ll just repeat myself new things happen to feed me. Not with knowledge though, because that would silence me I believe. I’ll stay as far away as I can from the quest for knowledge. For now. Once in a while or rather often really I’ll enjoy the beauty of my shallowness. I plan on lavishing myself with a worse version of me. Just for tonight.

There was a man. And he was worthless. Then he was not even that anymore. He had vanished and he didn't know it then. Every other week he tried to make it. He worked his very best to stand out like he used to. Before. The people around him didn't even mock him. He was invisible even though they shook his hand and took his money. They simply refused to take notice. So after a while he was sure he grasped it. He believed that he was not passé or forgotten. He had transcended to another dimension. He could get away with anything. His posture changed. His voice changed. And while he started doing all those things invisible people do, people started seeing him again. At long last it was something worth looking at.

Being confident will get us nowhere but to those places we would prefer to avoid if we knew any better. Which we don’t. I feel conspired upon. Someone is dumbing us all down and they have guised it as free will. Executing your right to freedom. It’s nothing new. But this is: "no more of that shit please". Accusing others of expecting more and more is not the same as the silent bugs that tiptoe into you as you yourself expect more and more from what transpires around you. The ideal becomes the standard. The norms rocket. I, for one, can not keep up anymore. Something is tugging on my mind. Showing me, in things that are far bigger than words, that there is a broader spectrum on the rise. An expansion of consciousness. A disclosure. And all I can do, except to wait for it, is regress further into harmony, which will make me more impressionable once it arrives. It will not be a reward. It will

I think time is controlled by the mind. It flexes and stretches all over the place. When things feel great they last no longer than seconds and when they hurt like hell it seems like they are borne and nearby forever. We can learn to manage this process as an actual skill Though it will be more of an unlearning. We can make the wonderful things last longer than forever, even if they have lasted only seconds. Years of anguish could become as fleeting as a thought. This will make one happier. Loads happier. The art will reside in no longer accepting the signals of this reality. The physical evidence that tries to tell you what’s what from a human point of view. Simply ignore it. Nothing is actually confirmed. No power of attestation is invested in anyone. Believe none other than who you know to be inside, for they have no real faith in you. And do not fail to consider everything imaginable. Hence, you will pass wel

The depression is hitting with full force now. Short days and long hours and no play-time. I can't believe the ongoing nagging and chatter in every room I step into. I’m pulling my hair out just to feel something other than the argumentations of progression I have been raising. My survival mode is so blatantly pathetic that I can only hate myself for it. Once more, I am a farce, making all the wrong choices, seeking all the wrong and easy answers with all the wrong people. It is all in me. Nowhere else. Empathy and compassion and my helping hands have become raping excuses. Deviant roads, stray freedoms and gore. Just gore.

Too many questions and assignments are forwarded to land on my lap. I try to keep this hot, hot head a lot cooler, thinking about nothing and focussing on the task at hand. But why? This is not for the greater good, or for the needy, or for the harmony of my heart, or for the ancient rites. This is only for the devil at the wheel, pouring us into the ripping gears like oil. We are nothing more than oil. There is no more body and no more soul in the execution of these tasks. While I have already learned these lessons of huge import many times. They never change. I warn others not to slide into the wax but I dive in, head first, year after year. This office room is the same as the one I hated 10 years ago. They did a nasty job on us. Giving us that final push into the irreversible. Now, I'm too old to hate wholeheartedly.