ON THE WRECKS OF UNMOTULATED ANXIETY
Wanting to forget his nightmares and shadows, from waking up disillusioned, a person is constantly left alone, if only there is no one by his side. The tinsel-liar Life wakes up to be seen, as if it wants to bring the living back to itself in the tempera color of dissolved rainbows, while it can. It is as if, on the horizon of conscious awakening, which has begun to solidify, he is already able to project the One-Essence into his mind, before his soul's eyes, so crystal clear that it creeps almost viscerally into the funnel of cells and molecules.
Because the harmony with the Infinite, the restless longing for a home-shelter, which can only rarely be possessed by anyone in his life, still resides hidden in man. Like most people who once lived, the dying person also tries to cling to his orphaned mortality, just like a child-man who grew up and later became a child. In instincts and brains, halfway through, the sure realization is still rampant: the tru...
Subconscious mirrors
Now just think about that little boy who was sad and anxious to the core, who kept crying, and then there is no need for false words, curvy mirrors, another Janus face, another mask that covers everything. If something binds you, chains you to life, to the world - break, destroy the obstacles that bind your existence with the defiance of a lion and the courage of a swaggering pepper.
If you can no longer be free, because forced happiness, an arranged marriage forces you into rage, even then DON'T GIVE UP! Just think now of the millions of treasures of unbridled memories beating inside you, and then there will be no need for unnecessary words. Then there will be a face from the present, a mask on it, and also a third person who is taking shape, who can now manipulate the explained, convoluted lies at any time.
Then your once innocent, naked face—your soul—will be less visible. Then the brainwashed, deliberately blunted, dumbed...
BEYOND IMAGERY ASSOCIATIONS
It is becoming increasingly difficult to survive in the court of time-spinning frog-kingdoms, since - it seems - worms and insect offspring seem to be permanent, and faithful ass-lickers and sole-lickers continue to appear in the long, slimy trails of snails. A well-known game of chance, just like the Russian roulette tricked into the spleen, will be a predictable downfall at the same time, since the person himself is hiding himself in it, and because nowadays the wise donkeys are laughed at just as much as the fools in Hamlet, because among the vile and inferior moles only the the blind tunnel serving as an escape is the only worthy one that can still merit the possible alternative truths of the proofs.
Why are the more important explanations behind things barely decipherable?! In mass communication, which has begun to atrophy, someone always makes mistakes for selfish, greedy, manipulative reasons, symbolic intentions, without exception. Pimples and padl...
BEYOND PERCEPTIONS AND ASSOCIATIONS
It is becoming increasingly difficult to survive in the court of time-spinning frog-kingdoms, since - it seems - worms and insect offspring seem to be permanent, and faithful ass-lickers and sole-lickers continue to appear in the long, slimy trails of snails. A well-known game of chance, just like the Russian roulette tricked into the spleen, will be a predictable downfall at the same time, since the person himself is hiding himself in it, and because nowadays the wise donkeys are laughed at just as much as the fools in Hamlet, because among the vile and inferior moles only the the blind tunnel that serves as an escape is the only worthy one that can still merit the possible alternative truths of the proofs.
Why are the more important explanations behind things barely decipherable?! In mass communication, which has begun to atrophy, someone always makes mistakes for selfish, greedy, manipulative reasons, symbolic intentions, without exception. Pimple...
Medieval Marvels II
MEDIEVAL MARVELS
These are the best Medieval poems in modern English translations of Old English/Anglo-Saxon poems and Middle English poems by Caedmon, Geoffrey Chaucer, Deor, William Dunbar, Godric of Finchale, Charles d'Orleans, Layamon and the greatest of the ancient poets, Anonymous. There are also translations/modernizations of late Medieval poems by Thomas Campion and Sir Thomas Wyatt.
Some of the oldest English poems are among the most beautiful, including "Merciless Beauty" by Geoffrey Chaucer, "Sweet Rose of Virtue" by William Dunbar, and "Oft in My Thought" by Charles d'Orleans. All completely free here …
How Long the Night
(anonymous Middle English lyric, circa early 13th century AD)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
It is pleasant, indeed, wh...
SINGLE DAY POSSIBLE SITUATION
Now I still try to faithfully and humanly practice the life-rhythm of the time of day in the silence that has been familiar for years; the world of disfavored things that often overwhelms the earpiece. In the thinking cerebral cortex, just like in acidic solutions, the photographic negative constantly circulates more than a million fragments of organically integrated memories of Existence, which have taken place and which may still take hold.
Autumn's rosehip leaves descend with a silent heart; in the stagnant immobility of Time, it is as if only a wandering wanderer-anxious musing, a restless tormenting instinct is only awake to remind the frail, vulnerable person as much as possible of the consolations of the apologies that started to fail, the promises made with frequent handshakes, the preserved promises, the opportunities to meet but missed; the clenched, gnashing teeth of every spoken and unspoken action suddenly start profusely towards one...
An example of better times
For so many outcast, useless years, the shadows are following us everywhere. Sluggishly, swaying and crouching, they trudge through our determined, set goals.
Between ditches, traps, and piles of wire barriers, an empty void-crater, lunar boat-landscape shines. We no longer have the strength to strike treacherously among them, to drive them away, so we are forced to wait on our own.
The blind, rattling discipline of our readiness just doesn't relax; it squeezes the insecure octopus tentacles of our present more and more tightly. An Alamus herd of human-demons haunting each other circulates in the air.
The popular message of scowling backsliders and doubters does not expect thanks from anyone. Others easily devour the rotting waste of poor almsmen who are pushed, crouched down, while the shadows are already devouring themselves. - In damp darkness, one always thrives alone.
Many people say no to award-winning life offers ...
Medieval Marvels: Modern English translations of Medieval Poems written in Old English/Anglo Saxon English and Middle English
These are the best Medieval poems in modern English translations of Old English/Anglo-Saxon poems and Middle English poems by Caedmon, Geoffrey Chaucer, Deor, William Dunbar, Godric of Finchale, Charles d'Orleans, Layamon and the greatest of the ancient poets, Anonymous. There are also translations/modernizations of late Medieval poems by Thomas Campion and Sir Thomas Wyatt. Some of the oldest English poems are among the most beautiful, including "Merciless Beauty" by Geoffrey Chaucer, "Sweet Rose of Virtue" by William Dunbar, and "Oft in My Thought" by Charles d'Orleans. All completely free here … How Long the Night (anonymous Middle English lyric, circa early 13th century AD) loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch It is pleasant, indeed, while the summer lasts with the mild pheasants' song &h...0
WRITING AROUND
They don't want to understand; at best, they only feel the whining, chanting, aggressive undertones of the deliberately dumbed-down, stupid, propaganda speech; to the secret, Apocryphal slang language that infects the coordinate system of manipulable human brains. The formula - like almost everything else - is childishly simple: take, own, add nothing.
Vile counter-arguments are becoming superfluous. This is how the injury-tolerant human soul becomes a self-enclosing nut shell. The face and eyes - a vulgar way - are more and more insidiously covered up, rather by slyness, smooching, or hinting that only a few privileged people will do well, while the majority will be miserable just to their liking. Silence, like humility, is distressing. Our human words have no weight. We march towards abysses without a path, because the goal and vision often do not want to agree or form an alliance.
- Even the unspoken words that turn on themselves on paper ...
SLIM AMONG STRAIGHT SOULS
In this world, the sobering, lying and false admonitions of the human head are heard, behind the windows you can still clearly see the alley-smelling, rat-gnawed, urine-smelling city of Nineveh, in which - sooner or later - everyone cheats, deceives or manipulates others for a career, for five-minute fame, for good-sounding Júdás money, and the dog doesn't really care anymore that he leaves unwashable dirt stains on his own soul.
Those who have agreed now will rather break up the next day and immediately part ways, hunting for new chick meat, those who thought they had arrived, find shelter in the rush, will suddenly continue to stay, because they will soon realize that laurel wreaths here are only for the hard-working ass-lickers and sole-grabbers.
- The 72-hour, slightly grumpy nurse suffering from insomnia - since one can rarely find a vein so sleepily - usually tries three more times on the patient before finally taking bloo...