I can't guess what's outside my mind
I even don't know what's inside
there's only words that I can find
still trapped beyond their wrong and right

I tried to analyze what's me
and I did find I am not there
'though I'm still trying hard to see
my self gets lost within my stare

it seems this is the final line
there is no answer from beyond
my mind plays tricks on my weird mind
so I can't tell what i have found

I sense a gap yawning at me
extremely bored by useless tries
I can't control what I can't see
and what I see still blinds my eye

this gap is wide and it is deep
I would get lost if I should try
to cross it with a logic heap
since every meaning is a lie

hope I'm not ****** to realize
that there's no way for going on
that going further won't be wise
may cause confusing right with wrong

I blame my helplessly forced thoughts
for showing what I can't deny
although I know it's them of course
that hide the world from my fooled eye

I can't guess what's outside my mind
and don't know what is all inside
there's only words newly combined
to live on beyond wrong and right

the gap is deep and it is wide
I'm lost no matter if I try
to reach out for the other side
since every reason is a lie

but writing on to change what's true
may lift me to a novel top
a strange one with a wider view
for getting closer there's no stop

'though gaps restrain what I can do
but there's no way for giving up
lost, yearning for a self that's true
maybe I already went one step
.....................................................too far
........................................................... and
...........................................................
....­....................................................... fell
...........................................................
....­.......................................................
.........­.................................................. into
...........................................................
....­.......................................................
.........­..................................................
..............­............................................. the
...........................................................
....­.......................................................
.........­..................................................
..............­.............................................
...................­........................................ gap

A paradox does lie below
Since many wise men claimed to know:
All spoken truth is doomed to fail
Cause every word works like a veil
Just hiding what is meant by it
As soon as we try to decrypt
Cause every meaning’s far beyond our wit

And as a consequence of that
They don’t know what they really said
Cause every thought they claimed they had
Can make its thinker really mad
Who tries to analyze its sense instead
Of going on or just ahead
Cause every logic is a truth born dead

All logic is a severed head
So paradoxes are no threat
Since they can help because they show
That we can’t say what we do know
Although we do it all the time
As long as we don’t fix loose signs
Cause we destroy the truth that we define

And truth would be a living thing
If words could leave their twisted string
That dooms all thoughts to keep on wondering


*So wait a minute
There is a trap in every thought
With a chance in it
To find another better word

begging for a senseful win
we offer everything and wait
but much too late and we've been
expecting our getting worse
no rehearse, that is the curse
of our too well hidden fate

sleeping to forget the dream
we won't remember anything
but pull the sting - well, it seems
there's still the better way to choose
no excuse, we all did lose
the time that only hope can bring

once we found we were stranded here
stumbling through a spooky sphere
strangely changing, growing weird
leaving even all the best ideas
behind

hoping that there is some hope
that could stand against our fears
and all the years down the *****
that we implored so soon to rise
but it denies and frightened eyes
cannot guess what seemed so clear

turning away - the world won't stop
and history is a part of us
but present fuss will blow up
the concepts of our fathers' minds
no rewind, we cannot find
'cause there's no sense in our must

seems every reason's caused by dust
but even now these dreams don't rust
'cause meaning is the wildest lust
since we woke up by looking just
behind

What is happening right now
Is there a chance to understand
How everything is linked somehow
And nothing random makes more sense

Prophetic lines – poetic rules
If there’s a future left to know
I’m lost with writing as a tool
Which does affect the very show

There is no way to understand
In causal terms or logic laws
Somehow we are creating sense
That weirdly frames its very cause

It seems that we are woven in
A thought becomes reality
Are minds the place where we begin
To make us dream what we could see?

Is everything deluded signs
Adapting selves in unknown ways
To things that are from some behind
As long as each belief betrays

By making aspects seeming real
Independent from our views
We seem to act just to reveal
The context we’re forced to reduce

But how to think of such a place
Such a condition makes minds sick
We are a knot of time and space
Reflecting within a broken trick

It seems there is no way to know
Whether there’s another way to go
Or not

So are there new realities
Beyond those trenchant causal chains?
Are these new patterns that we see
Or just misread coincidence?

Are we fooled by how we feel?
Constructing by using minds
Interpreting what’s hardly real
How to decide what we could find?

We are unable to describe
What is outside the way we think
We can’t grasp things that we wipe
Out with our mental way to link

We are unable to decide
If there’s another truth that hides
Or not

Abstract thoughts can only reveal
an abstract world to understand
we cannot say what is real
how to detect beyond our sense

distant dreams repeat themselves
right behind my conscious thoughts
but all I feel is fleeing stealth
masking every thought up core

so all I have is an idea
of how to wander between shifts
knowing by not being here
or anywhere without a drift

I am alive - at least: am I?
all is floating through my mind
I see an image, that's a lie
but what is hiding there behind

my ideas and mental fakes
the answer is not mine to know
the question is not mine to ask
construction is part of the show

confusion is part of the show
so I repeat schematic dreams  
(repeating weird schismatic dreams)
that were schematized by no
one else that I appear to seem

instancies instead of rules
abstractable by asking minds
after all I'm always fooled
by knowing what I seemed to find

but feeling free since I can make
sense out of dubious words and facts
enjoying every working fake
makes me a living mind that acts

in a world that's far beyond
the ways I can explore by thoughts
but all is blurred since it responds
to what's created in mind first

so integration lames my view
adapting to what I can think
changing within the things I do
framing self-referential links

so integration frames my mind
adapting to what I can think
living within the things I find
born by precursively ringed
ways of experiential links

regularity describes the place
where logic proves its basic might
it's hard to leave its suggestive trace
and to analyze a pointless night

cause everywhere we'll spot a point
from which we'll have to start again
and after all we'll find a joint
to reach a more familiar lane

and so we try to understand
but understanding changes all
you can't use light to see dark land
nor understand such thoughts that crawl

beside the well known logic path
through the unknown that you can't hold
ambivalently yours like your breath
but looking back just needs a story told

so we can't escape that blurry snare
no matter how we try to think
we're bound to the very sense we bear
this thought is quicksand and we sink
as long as we try to resolve this link

as complex as a net of themes
   metaphors are living things
   language of self-minded brains
   interwoven with a world thought sane  
   but deluded by senses and sense
   cooperating just by chance

you can’t deny those alien parts
that hide within your twisted self
nor cannot face just what they are
just like you can’t escape their hollow spell
that you can’t shelve
though it’s no use to delve

   chaotic like each world of thoughts
   worlds are nested in each word
   concepts of our looped up minds
   rooted in something that we can’t find
   cause we change with it and through each guess
   coevolving law or mess

we can’t deny these shady parts
that constitute our very self
nor cannot guess just who we are
just like we can’t escape that fuzzy spell
that we can’t shelve
though it’s no use to delve

there is no ground to stand upon
   as soon as we look what’s beneath
   but in the moment we go on
   a way’s rebuilt under our feet
so going on works as a ground
   and there’s no way of standing still
   we better swim or we will drown
   we are a process at its will
only in motion we are real
   so out of reach for static thoughts
   there’s a dynamic self that feels
   why understanding is a fitting word
since our points of view are fixed
   unable to reflect the complex loop
   changing within its feedbacked tricks
   that chase our circling selves right through
   constantly renovated tubes

we can’t deny these foreign parts
that constitute our very world
nor cannot guess where we should start
to rearrange our mental world of words
that guide our thoughts
in which we just occur
systematically blurred

there were some hints of hidden plots
but I'm unable to reveal
I found some separated spots
still unable to tell which link is real

and so I try to analyze
what rather should and must be framed
since all I see creates disguise
that's much too complex to be ever named

of course it has been clear to me
that I can never understand
trapped in the wrongest strategy
but this slight insight it could never end

living within recursive strains
and sensing that there is a sense
more valid than just causal chains
but only describable as weird chance

so all foretelling must stay vague
and loosely caught in blurring lines
just guessing back allows to make
out what still must resist to be combined

seems context can produce a part
that hides some future in degrees
of freedom interpreting art
seems the mystic whole is stored in a piece

but there's no way to find out how
to find what is the fitting view
since perspectives change truth right now
and every looking back is always new

breaking habits means crossing lines
to unveil the contexted mess
just writing what my brain combines
still so far beyond my most daring guess

but this is where I cannot get
by words bound to logical thoughts
I treat them in new ways instead
where all I is weakly felt metaphors

and all I see is kept in mind
and stretching out with every verse
but well, of course no one can find
what only contextually occurs

a strange result is feeding doubts
since all is trapped self-reference
that can be clearly talked about
asking how to comprehend any sense

outside the very performed act
but what got written down at last
is a shadowed trace that reflects
translating what cannot be tracked unmasked

with or kept by well defined terms
but ambiguous metaphors
leaving space for views to confirm
spotted patterns that could reflect my course

but each changed context brings the chance
to find new ways of reading how
the world was caught within found sense
constructed just against backgrounds of now

behind the things that we perceive
there is an untrue reality
that we can't guess 'cause we can't leave
the flat sphere of what we “know” and see
so try to feel what is there

without really asking how nor what nor where
you'll sense a metaphorically sensed snare


beyond every possible thought
there is an unbelievable world
that we're weirdly forced to ignore
as long as we rely just on words
so try to feel what is here

between changing meanings seeming less unclear
in a vague and polylemma-bearing sphere


a mindful balance opens doors
to a world that's still your very own
you can't know what it has in store
and hardly control the “chosen” known
hope you will enjoy your life

'cause since reflection's based on impulsive drives
we can't know for what nor if we really strive


yet, you don't fear your unclear fears
that soon will seem as real as the stars
but born without abstract ideas
you just are the very thing you are
so try to enjoy it all

*since the last veils prevent each others’ fall
to get to know actually means to recall

please* take a wide look at this now
at the present where you could stay
and attention may just slow down
the time experienced by brains

find peace of mind within your self
on the way you could live your life
there's ups and downs, but there's no hell
if there's a way where you don't strive

for useless things that you don't need
for senseless meanings out of reach
believe in hidden ways that bleed
beyond your very deepest grief

but there's no guaranty for us
that there won't be another truth
where we stay lost to ***** lusts
we are still the ones that may lose
although it seems it's us that choose
still dreaming within unknown musts
and without any valid clues
driven by (so far) dialectic cues

but take a wide look at this now...

(some)
whispering
something whispers
something is speaking

something is speaking to me
something is speaking through me
something that I could never see

besides the written words I hear
wrapped in my very „now and here“
ambivalent but sounding clear

there is this world I'm living in
things are different – curled up within
this world to which I've never been

these words seem to reveal what's made
just by the sense their letters made
while I returned to where I stayed
and I'm still there 'though I had strayed
I was and I am still afraid

to fail as long as I do wait

afraid that this weird chance could fade
rewriting my poetic fate
by guessing it's never too late
just for a brand new mental state
at last, all things that we await

could fall into place and time and sense
that we mindfully create
                  at chance

but sounding much like thought through plans
suggested by looped confidence
but writing on through doubting hands
what each thought newly understands  
right when the whispering starting ends