(in the background... rome's:
to die among strangers playing)...

get me off this merry-go-round -
please let me step off it,
i've had enough of this senseless repetition
of but one man's biography -
i've had enough of celebrating his
birth, i've had enough of celebrating
his resurrection and...
being bound to a people:
that do not know what to do about his death,
his death that has to see every hill
be renamed golgotha...

get me off this merry-go-round...
the days prior when everything seems to be
ablaze with neons and flickering dots
of a spiderweb without the architect -
and how these anglican efforts come,
and how they are released back
into a nullifying void...
i'm tired of catholics wishing each other well...
i'm tired of protestants wishing each other well:

be merry! women, wine and song!
perhaps... prior to a swan's dedication to
hacve risen into a amore-adore
and that descent into the shallow mourning
of the widow's laces in see-through-black...

and prior: this litany of grievances against
the family: mother against daughter...
daughter against mother...
sister against brother...
a father's non-existent pride that:
his son should have done more than he has...
and all these strains -
the children writing letters of presents
that later become pandora's boxes...
the adults writing mental letters to
death and its harem of executioners -

and all for this gluttonous feast...
mind you: i have to deal with three days
of this "celebration"...
that in Poland Christmas Eve is most
important...
most important in that: it's waiting
for a prosthetic miracle to include
the once organic hand... later to be nailed
to some driftwood of history...
after a while: today is earth...
tomorrow as yesterday is a tear...
the week to come will become a slight
amnesia of sweat and irritation...
a month will pass and the tear will
become a puddle of rain...
then a year will pass and a pond or
a lake will emerge...
then five years... ten... and a river will
break the barricades...
the mountain will be found to flow down
from... until all time becomes a meeting
with the sea - the eternal yawn when
facing a thought standing at its shore -
the content and contex of a body its bound
to...

christmas and all things depressing...
i welcome the quickened decline of day
and the seemingly eternal night...
what should brighten my resolve:
if it were not as simple... as to escape this
misplaced celebration...
the society is carved, the family is carved...
all we have done is squabble in the past year
and in the past years...
to suddenly work an evening of
cordiality for some "myth of a beginning"...

by christmas eve i will have placed
on a table 12 side-dishes - some will be prime
meals... like a salamon and some
beetroot broth with dumplings...
everything will be kosher catholic...
no meat of the earth...
and i will sit between two bodies
with me: the third party in this squalor
of an icon...
the biggest dread coming from the fact
that: i could simply look the part...

and when his death is not celebrated...
when a birth is damped with two-faces
and seasonal expectations...
when the birth is more important than
the death and the resurrection...
i always found christmas to be
an added nail to the coffin...
call it a year... call it whatever water deems
worth to be ascribe to such a passing...
always this pretend jovial acts...
this pressure to somehow not find
the coming of winter without any
mediocre non-clinical bouts of "depression"...

it's not like in Poland, during easter...
where you'd bring the eggs of castratos
to the church for blessing...
mythical catholicism of the East...
i haven't spent christmas in england
for the better part of 4 years...
but christmas is no different to the east
as it is to the west...
perhaps better television...
but... but... i can't stomach this...

give me the days after the new year...
multiply the days in between...
so i can return to my grey mist...
to burning the greek alphabet into my mind...
to subsequently burn the cyrillic alphabet
into it too...
let my days be filled with an ease
of writing this latin text...
but let me burn my mind with eyes
of coal - greek in my left eye: cyrillic in
my right... and the glagolitic crown
disguising itself alongside some runes...

let me write a picture...

o
cz
y
m y ś l e    (a corner stone)

o
č
y
m y ś l e

o
ч
ы
м ы сь л э (kamień węgielny)

          ę                    ę
    ę                ę
       ę                        ę  
кaмиэнь в(      )гиэлны

     no russian diacritical
  equivalent...

give me the days when
such things are important...
not this bedazzling of the jury -
the glorified birth...
the flight... herod's paranoia...
the subsequent filicide...
puppet king over-estimating his
worth...

perhaps then the marriage
of the hebrews with the greeks
to topple rome - this rome -
this hydra - this supposedly *******
of clay... being resurrected elsewhere
and everywhere -
the britons - who never sunk
into the fate of other people who
kept: ah b'eh and v and Q and...
kept the graphemes...
changed the eagle into a lion...
and the greek chimera into a unicorn...
and were never debased by
the imagery of rome...
but nonetheless didn't decend as
the german: with the umlaut and his
unique ßignature... or the next myth...
the next year...

it's almost the only joy left that compensates
this celebration:
not having anyone to buy presents for...
to compete over who's what gave that smile...
that frown...
and to give oneself the only present
worth giving - a chance to retain awe for
this otherwise sick-inducing repetition
that's 20x worse than how seasons
are predictable enough to be brought down
to the mundane wording of poetic odes!

i find no joy in this celebration -
only children will ever find it...
this is the time when family records are being
drafted... the summary of "family"
is being evaluated...
i find no joy because: i have no children...
and when all others have no children...
and even after a while when those
that will have grandchildren no longer
have their grandchildren...
and you return, somehow...
to a ***** of aged despair -
a mother, a father...
or... as someone alone...
what is it, that's being celebrated...
chance a conversation with me over
Easter... and i'll reply...
this truly is a worthy holiday...
there is so much joy in it...
but this christmas: this birth into a darkness?
yes - the greater analogy of life?
what is there to be celebrated?
the pettiness we dish each other
throughout the rest of the year?
we, "magically" forget?
that idiotic anagram: santa clause?
satan's clause?

if he be the son of god...
i'll be the god looking over him...
after all: the price of being...
an omni- litany... is to abandon one's
throne... for someone to sit in it,
or for it to remain empty...
even zeus didn't abandon his throne
for more than a flirt with an earthly woman...
the polytheistic gods knew:
how not to abandon power...
but to... fuse themselves with all
things mortal... and create the demigods...

i mean: if an omni- litany entity...
is going to incarnate itself? by the miraculous birth?
who's up on that throne?!
god abandoned heaven to save earth...
oh we can be it at this all day...
and we won't even feel shame
not having scientific facts and counters...
we will talk like children again...
who grew out of playing hide & seek...
and began thinking about philosophy...
having found themselves talking
about theology...
then... at least then...
talking about an existent / non-existent being...
whichever... we can exist...
it doesn't matter then...
whether ****** (ha-shem) IT exists or not...
we'll listen closely...
and find... two voices strapped to a room.

if belief was as simple as the plethora
of doubt... darting thoughts...
if belief was as simple as how it consolidates
itself in people who cherish ritual...
like the ritual of an alarm clock at 6am...