Nights.
Looking forward to
Lose myself in various stages
Of sleep unfolded consciousness
From alpha waves to REM,
It's all still there to dive again,
Until bright, busy daylight
Suddenly pops in, just in time
To scare all dreams away.

There’s no free will.
Just some neurons
Tied together, that fire
Before you even spell
I am, I do, I will.
And consciousness
Is just a word,
To name yourself
In front of mirrors,
You accidentally pass by.

So what?

I wish I’d hear your neurons spike,
In rythms of love and despair
When you change your mind again,
And search for someone new to care.

You can’t swallow the truth
No matter how hard you try,
In every bite the seed remains,
Of meaning, irreducible,
That sticks forever to your tongue,
in darkness, undeniable.

You got me all snowed in
and isolated in a foreign land
which used to be my own,
although I never called it that way,
some others did and told me so.
But now, long after it was poured
in concrete shapes,
of memory, thought and form,
you got everything covered up.

White layers make all edges disappear.

People who wait for the weekends to come,
collect their time in broken vessels.
They search for those hours
when life feels real again;
they seem to hold fish in their hands,
and expect to feel the ocean's depth.
But just like time, it slips away
so easily, every sunday afternoon.

You have to see things from above
to understand them close up front,
but when they are right next to you,
don’t ever try to look beyond.