soptunnan - en förtrollad trädgård

...

Nyss tassade jag barfota ner till valvet där soptunnorna står. Den milda septembernatten var tyst när jag ställde upp locken på de två tunnorna och började bearbeta deras innehåll, flytta på påsar, lyssna på hur de lät för att försöka utröna deras innehåll, men inget var uppenbart.

Tunnorna var för välfyllda för att jag enkelt skulle kunna detektera det, eventuellt, intressanta innehållet. Till sist la jag på min egen soppåse överst och ordnade till den, fällde ner locken och tassade tomhänt hem igen. Jag borde ha tvättat händerna när jag kom in egen - men jag gjorde det ej.

Soptunnan är en förtrollande trädgård där allt som kan finnas också finns; för dem som letar skola finna - men det är av yttersta vikt att man respekterar de andar som befolkar denna värld, oftast av skuggor dold.

Den aktsamma hanteringen av de olika material som finns där är av kolossal vikt. Det handlar om att ge något - inte bara att ta med sig. Ty snart kommer tunnan att tömmas och innehållet anträda sin sista resa. Vi måste därför visa det vår respekt.

...

the reverence vehicle malfunction

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stuck already,
i turn to the fragments... pictures within my reach; they are few, and
all scattered, i arrange and rearrange the
papers on my desk as a means to move forward... but i am stuck

the reverence vehicle is just words on a pale surface,
it has no body of its own,
a coat of paint would do it no good,
it is stuck in its place; my head... i chew gum

third verse ends before it starts,
sentences malfunction,
letters have no adress, they can not be sent, they drift,
i chew words, i want to smoke cigarettes - not only
in my dreams... 

this is not the beginning,
there are no such things as beginnings,
not here, in this corner... but there are no corners,
anywhere,
i am stuck in this... the asteroids will come to us with annihilation,

in my dreams, or just in between sleep and wakefulness, i do things
that i don't remember, i would want to remember...
but i don't...
there is something there, when i am in bed, and under the mattress is
things that i use in that particular phase... that near sleep
phase

i don't understand why i have to do it, night after night,
use those objects, that are hidden under
the mattress... the doctor wanted to give me three new type of pills,
but i am reluctant as to the benefit of them,
i am already stuck with a host of other pills, i'm not so stuck in this text anymore,
it might be

the seventh segment will be the last,
all texts must end, not because there are no more words; they are always too many,
i have mentioned the asteroids,
nothing can save us... shouldn't we be happy?

...

inte mer

...

inte mer,
än ett ord, två ord, en mening,
en byggnad, tak,
ansatsen till en rumslighet,
något som sluttar,
någonstans,
till eller från,
inte mycket mer, ytterst lite, inte mer,
än en meningslös,
ha förtröstan i detta,
men förbli, förbli avlägsen något helt,
endast delar, små, små delar, av något större eller mindre,
inte mer, inte mer än ett skelett,
skingrat i undervegetationen, bortsläpat av små djur,
inte mer, bara små djur som rör sig längs med,
eller utefter, som stannar till och nosar,
allt det där som prasslar,
rörelsen i ögonvrån,
inte mer, inte mer än så

...

stars

...



stars -
they fall,
from your eyes, into my
vision, blurs my
thoughts,
destroys not me, but the distance

stars -
between us,
points on the map of night,
i go, but you stay,
i go ahead with my head so brilliantly open,
waiting for the stars,
to come, blaze a path for dreamers, for us,
and the earth of my past,
shatters within me,
give room for you to stay

stars -
so few for real, stuck in the pages
of your book of life,
i go, here i go,
in silent recital of your poetry,
remembering as i go,
the river of years that came between us,
that are no more, only a
room to stay


...

sorrow

...

a

white
paper
looks
at
me,
thinking
of
genocide
and
armchairs
of
a
piercing
blue

...

bitch

...

the bitch,

page,
senseless,
deep ditch,
road,
hitch-hiker,
see far,
go further

...

new life

...

new life, new words,

old shapes,
a knife,
a stab of cold air,
creating tunnels of unimaginary beauty,
locks the door to my heart,
seals it shut

seeds,
sprinkled at random,
found growing, lodged in strange places,
my kitchen of sorrow,
water,
where it shouldn't be, a farewell to past ordeals,
i forget, and then i die,
in denial

cut off from,
and drained of roads, aiming anywhere,
a soldier blinded by too many choices, returns with a language robbed of its pictures,
an alphabet all shot to pieces, but not dead,
not dead, but transmogrified, and hopelessly alive,
still retaining a beauty fading in and out of focus,
creating new words,
new life

nothing,
the inside searching for its outside,
for a key of possibilities, that could recreate an environment where a lock could take shape,
its material still only the mirage of a thought, yet something actual to cling to,
a faint scent insisting to be noticed,
forcing an answer from the mirror of unrecognition
- that scar, 'tis you

...