hissa fana, hissa flagg !

gör välkomna skogens stora ugglor.

tjut med silverlunga,

skrik med djävulens skarpa tunga.

en stor krigarinnas hemkomst kungörs.

välkomna Inannas ugglor med pompa och prål,

med pukor och trumpeter och trummor av stål,

med basun och teater och spel !

mardrömska jätteugglor spänner sina vingar, sina ögon !

enorma vener och artärer

målar en sprucken mosaik

över deras mjuka fågelkött

som blodtunnlar sprängandes.

de flyger överallt.

varje åldring i säng,

varje nyfödd i krubba.

varje skog, varje hav, varje fjäll,

varje gård, varje torg.

en ospårbart gammal uggla funderar

över allt som varit och allt som sedan är.

hon finner sig snabbt tyngd

när hon skänker huvudbry

åt människans amnesiska kultur

och hennes avsomnade kampgunst.

hon suckar först lätt.

hon suckar snart emellertid tungt

när hon vidare reflekterar

över detta stora moderna skräp… –

vilket misslyckat projekt det ändå är,

denna sju miljarder stoftkorns hopning

slumrandes under Inannaugglans skuggande vingar !

 

vilka försmädelser hon får utstå av folket !

krigarinnan.

av folket, som är så dumma och förtappade att de inte ens kan begripa att det är att darra och jämra sig de borde, vid blotta åsyn av den stora förskräckliga uppenbarelse som stirrar dem rakt i ansiktet !

hennes liv kom som en häftig låga någonstans från ur i mitten av en enorm rökdimma vars kraft avlar de vackraste former ingen kan se !

halvmåneläppar,

smält kopparhår vackert mjukt.

gyllene brynja av brons.

gyllene midja, gyllene händer stålbeklädda.

ugnsglödgat malm, Nimbus guldbekransad,

dansande svärdsegg, härdat stål.

en hagelstorm av kastspjut,

ett svärmande kaos runtom.

 

tjusningen

i ett övervunnet motstånd

betyder allt

för henne.

att utvidga Guds domkrets på jorden !

en fjärils tro på vinden

och en getings tro på sötma

är en människas tro på nåd,

en cynikers på alla tings sjukhet och fulhet,

och en krigarinnas, på hennes extatiska kraft.

denna extatiska kraft har vissnat bittert, som en trött augustimaskros, till något som mest liknar grått och tragiskt stoft. det känns nästan hopplöst och meningslöst att numera fortsätta be för hennes tillbakakomst och för hennes mytologiska upprättelse.

den extatisk kraft,

som i händerna på krigarinnan

en gång i tiden omstörtade världar i plural,

har nu omvärvts besviket

i en bakvänd

f ö r b a n n e l s e v i r v e l

likt ett nyfött barn lindat hårt i den varma filt

som långsamt men säkert även kväver det,

gjorde den inget ljud ifrån sig när den försvann...

den bara tyst och enkelt

f ö r s v a n n

   

...eller kan vi ännu hoppas

att något någonstans fortfarande brinner

på svaga blågröna flammor

där, inuti det hjärta

som till synes förbittrat all sin glöd?

hennes liv spänns mellan fyra stora hingstar

som står alla vända mot varsitt av de fyra väderstreck,

och som snart ska komma att iaktta sin rasande galopp.

eteriska skuggor vimlar ur tusentals portaler av sten och huldran smyger längs förvirringens och trötthetens fjordväggar i jakt på en hemlighet som ruvats på genom alla epoker, någonstans uti det kosmiska av en vitorm med slocknade nebulosor som ögon och med en kropp skulpterad i gråsten:

ett fasansfullt och skräckingivande avgrundsdjur som vänder sig i sitt rede och ruvar vidare på sitt blyga och skygga inre.

vidundret vrider sig i sitt enorma gryt och oroliga drömmar och sömnparalyser från helvetet skälver vem som än sover någonstans i grytets närhet.

more old stuffzz, ca 2015

It seems people approximate "respect" with "common decency". It is not the same thing. I am kind and benevolent by default to people. when I say I don’t respect them I mean that I don’t admire them. But I am still decent to decent people. But average, decent people do not impress me. I wish not to waste my love, my admiration, my respect. These people are just unimpressive puddles of human mud. Nothing more, nothing less. And I do not respect that particularly. But I am still nice and they still have human decency and integrity and I accept their boundaries, but―I do not admire them.

Where are the heroes and heroines? If you want respect… then move worlds! Being “in the moment” and “accepting yourself” does not do the trick for me. Respect is a powerful world, and I believe in the power and truth of words. I am spiritually militant towards Foucault and Derrida.

You might hate the feeling of vomiting but you will surely feel better as your tummy has purged itself of its corruptive contents. Does that mean you hate vomiting, or appreciate it?

“The only thing I can see democracy doing, over longer stretches of history, decrepit as it lies today in sludgy sewers of modernity, is giving the people it so eagerly governs the illusion of jurisdiction and the balance of powers; of democratic process; of suffrage and of many beautiful modern rights. Democracy is rather built on the idea that sovereignty is handed over to the people, but what really happens is that the true mechanisms and effects of power becomes obfuscated behind the smoke-screen; from concealed and ultimately failing forces the democratic project bellows its smoke.”

“They fail to account for the underlying tectonics of history when imagining and utopianizing the future, and they scoff and spit at the librares, these irredivivous accumulations of the wisdoms! Why can they not cede that tradition is multi-dimensional? Tradition has been a tool of oppression, it is true, but as well the very wheel which turns the tide of time and anchors it to history; to our historiography. We pin down the human condition by trapping it under the heavy weights of history as if trapping a bird in cage as to let it scream from therein. Yes – tradition is multi-dimensional. Tradition – in many respects oppressive, gruelling and insensitive to the eyes and ears of modern man and to man of history alike – is of fundamental importance to everything we call and feel Holy, and it encapsules what is worthy of defense until no man stands anymore! And your pitiful attempts at philosophizing away the existential absolute of such a notion is dangerously stupid, also ridiculous and frustrating. Tradition is a hammer and there are plenty of heads to crush and there are plenty of nails to nail as well. Tradition is an essentially human behavior and a deduction of man's conditioning in material-scientific reality and as well beyond it. On the matter of what is beyond it though, much and almost none can be said – that mystery devours all.”

“A man who is indifferent to history and tradition is a man without hearing, without sight. Such a man can live, of course — but what a life?”

THE DESTROYERS OF MYSTICISM, PARTS I-VI

                 I

   you can not just believe in yourself
   and in the matter by which you are surrounded
 
   you have to believe in something other as well,
   otherwise the human in you
   can not continue being human

   to doubt is to foster health !

   blind faith is blind seduction
   and is to be dealt with at one's peril

   blind faith is spiritual possession and it is bad

   it is a demon of blindness
   which possesses your faculties then !

                     II

   never mistake mysticism with this blindness !

   not everything you cannot see,
   is the result of this blindness

   some things you cannot see
   are indeed nevertheless true,
   though very, very mystical

        i know this much :

   it is not evolutionarily intuitive
   to seek the otherworld –
   man does it nevertheless !

   and we do it by way of mysteries ...

  mysticism ! the compass by which
  the human finds her way out of this
inherent lostness and desorientation !

   mysticism ! the keeper of sanity
   in man as well as in woman,
   and, most blatantly, in the children
   they so beautifully beget;
   how they play and laugh and tackle and cackle  
   with their faeries and their kittens in their sagas !

     the great mysteries
     and an imagination spiritual
     make healthy provisions for us
     as well as our children !

           III

 the destroyers of mysticism
 are inasmuch the destroyers of human potential,
 because the common human being
 has always been, in heart and for all
 practical and psychological purposes, a mystic !

 to hell with these apologets of a Hetoimasia
 remaining unthroned forever and ever !

 to hell with these apologets of the secularization
 of not only the polity and our institutions
 and our cultures and councils and communities,
 but also of the human soul,
 and our minds, and our hearts !

                   IV

 firmly on the top of the hill, on the cliff,
 outlooking a roaring coast in red,
 the vermilion skies and storms in black,
 the deathly omens and tides and tempests,

 they stand
 
       and just ...
        
        sigh

    they sigh unimpressedly !

   but the destroyers of mysticism
   shall fail in their grand work ...

   because indifference is no formidable foe
   to the realities of life and our conditions within it !

     an existential philosophy
     on lithium and diazepines it is
 
and fed on this philosophy,
man will turn his path toward darkness,
and he shall render himself an endling
no one, no thing nor a God would really care about :
when the day comes,
I think he will not even care for himself !  

surely this endling shall not even care about himself
and the prospect his very own vexistential demise !

   … he outsourced that responsibility
        to machines already aeons ago !

       Orwell
       Huxley
       Boye
       i salute

      I stand in zealous, repudiatory militancy
      against the future and whatever more filth
      it shall bring upon us, with its waves crasshing
      on the dams of our ever tomorrows !

                    V
 
  the heart of the human angel fell
  through the grass and the earth and lava
  and through all the layers of dirt,
  like a great iron anchor, an old, rusty iron anchor,
  or like some Olympian titanium rod
  sinking deep and fast towards
  the ocean-chasm floor

  who really knows what happens
  when it hits abyssic bottom,
  reaches our planet's geothermal center ?
 
             VI

     but i shall (try to) leave it
     on a somewhat positive note !

    i shall extend a (somewhat perverse) olive branch,
    just for the sake of my humanity :

   at the end of days, after all,
   i think he will beg for suffering and punishment
   becaus the alternative – indifference in eternity –
   will ultimately outweigh with terror
   whatever hideous torture the Living God
   could verily scourge upon him !