The choice you have made

is the heart of the matter:


your free will, acting.

I'm afraid that if I die

People wont know things only I know

Like how N likes their carrots

Or how L loves her dad

Only I know this, like this

Of course others know some of this too, some of the time

But no one

Not one single person knows that you

You two

Are perfect

I mean this literally

I was gifted this knowledge when you were born

I know this viscerally, like this.

Or that you're beautiful in ways that make me hate words

In ways that render language hollow, meaningless, obscene

I am not being dramatic.

And also that you are good

By which I mean loveable

Like very and always

Fundamentally, inherently

This is not something you can ever change even though you'll probably try

And you might convince other people

Maybe even your dad, or your therapist, or your lover, or yourself

But you'll never convince me

I don't know why

This isn't something I did, or discovered or worked towards

I just know this

And I need you to know this

In case I die

Which I will eventually.

I hope by then my living knowing will become yours

Because I believe you can know this too

In a way, I know you already do

Its the truth, and the truth is always knowable and always here. Although sometimes we misplace it

So I'm here to remind you, for as long as I'm here

And I'm leaving you this in case you, or I, or death, misplace it.

21/11/3

the grass on the hill
speaks nothing until
our ears open with age
and the demons dark will
loses meaning

the soft melody
of piece sends a thrill
to the harbor of will
and causes a self
into being

action a skill learned
from birth to grave
we pay not attention
to continous pain
and we travel

All my magic spells

come from knowledge, study and --


lots of willpower.

i want a spring bonsai tree
possess it as own
shape it to controlling will

The fence isn’t intended for sitting.
Why hesitate to choose a side?
It’s only just a hop this way or the other.
The fence – claiming a no-man’s wasteland.
Still, you can’t stay for so long
or you end up perched right there
again, and again. The foliage appears
so green and vibrant on that side.
And yet, on this side, it feels altogether more real.
If you hop down here or there,
still, you’re in the yard; still,
you’re playing and making a choice to live.
But the fence? I see
there's a watching, but where is the living?
Where is your truth?
Fences only define edges,
they can’t create truth.

the grass on the hill
speaks nothing until
our ears open with age
and the demons dark will
loses meaning

the soft melody
of piece sends a thrill
to the harbory of will
and causes a self
into being

action a skill learned
from birth to the grave
we pay not attention
to continous pain
and we travel

The hadron collider showed an unknown influence affecting subatomic particles.

“Is this proof of a higher power in the universe?” asked Marianne Williamson.

“Is this Will, is this magick?”

Yes Herr Nietzche, there will always be unknowns in human science as the scientists should have known all along, instead of substituting the most recent names of observations as the replacement of God.

No, there probably isn’t free will but we seem to be life in the unknown with more power than any other around.

This universe may just repeat on and on but what do you do with that knowledge? Can you even help to choose what you choose?

All these past influences and instinctual impulses lead the charge. But there's that spark. That mystery if we can ever really know and comprehend it all with limited senses, time, and minds.

Maybe you don’t have a choice in your life, but you can have the feeling you do. The feeling you can shape your world amid the destiny you feel in your heart.

Practice being a yeasayer to life because that just might be your fate.
Amor fati each time around.

I cry with misery, inside
I collapse, again, again
I have to fire myself
to hold on

Time is short and goes so fast
but I have to go to bed
to lie down with my tiger
and get up with it

Homely chatter in the kitchen
the soup is already smelling and
I know there are candles burning
If only I could sleep

I shiver when I put back the blanket
I'll move the bed to the winter side
My tiger stays in bed
and rolls over again

The dry tears contract
my skin, come on, out
there are blackberries and
smell, smell the fresh bread

I pull myself together
caress the stiff parts
and wrap up myself nicely
as the tiger I've been

An intrinsic insistence of negative choice
A high-jacker of will
An undeniable voice
A captivating spirit that justifies oneself
A sideline observation
Our resistance on the shelf
A resurgence of trauma
A manifestation of pain
An implicit reminder from within
A validation of weakness
An inference of youth
Our self inflicted sin