well... the hype is over, long gone, done and dusted -
out of Heathen came the soundtrack
of some life - standing out quasi-radio-head black-star,
Lazarus for the video -
girl loves me - and i guess the John Coltrane
accent on dollar days -
but like Caesar said, i too will say again:
i expect a sudden death -
i want a sudden death, i don't want a
delayed letter type of death -
i don't want a thought of death as some
postcard from Monte Carlo - wishy washy
wish you were here -
a sudden death and not this waiting game
under the influence of morphine -
a sudden death, the checkmate -
Damocles' sword hanging on a
horse's hair - VIOLINS! VIOLINS!
during the ballet i charged all the jealous
energies into the art -
i could have looked-on couples kissing
with resentment - with jealousy -
but i put all that cognitive energy into
the ballet - and it worked, plus
i had my Sancho Panza with me, i have only
151 pages of Kant left to finish,
and living in a democratic society
and not being an academic specialist i will
move on to someone else - which always feels
like such a shame to never see the obscure works
of the man - esp. when in such works you
have to engage with the work, you have
to follow the architect like a low-life labourer -
i wish philosophy books could be like
David Bowie's last album, were everyone can
write autobiographies, overload on
subjectivity, sponge in sponge out -
bias and forced trolling - but Heathen sums him up
for me - i wouldn't care for a retrospective on
death - as if it eve gave man a deeper introspective
when he was at mortality's zenith -
i guess it's too bleak at mortality's nadir
to say an introspection is allowed - because it isn't -
it's not magnetic enough for the teens -
it doesn't raise profits - mortality's zenith is
kaleidoscopic introspection - a single image:
a million sound variations, the story is the same:
to leave an imprint akin to the mountain or the sea.
the nadir? retrospection - the limitless space in
a limited time. the English language is good
at shortening philosophical prose of Germans -
but it never really hired enough labourers to
follow the plans of the architect, a book like
Kant's is nothing but a wonky table, when it ought
to be a Statue of Reason - this form of writing
investment will never appeal to many -
read a book of philosophy on the tube and people
will cite very few words of interest in engaging -
you can be truly selfless in the literary realm,
you don't have to do ponce with good-feeling
in charitable work - might as well read Kant -
that's a selfless act alone - funny, isn't it?
i think it's hilarious - i'm working charity on unread books -
or books that if they have been read, get
regurgitated from a single labourer's schematic shortening -
a prior / a posteriori / analysis / synthesis etc.,
i could have worked in charity shop,
Kant's book became my charity shop - i tend to use
my limbs sparingly - why would it be anything else?
the architect envisioned a house, given
the number of eager labourers all he got was three bricks
stacked on top of each other without cement to glue
them firm.
i could have been jealous of the couples in London -
but i charged all my jealousy into the ballet -
i left for home with Kant -
all i saw was butterflies, and 2 weeks from now, est mort.