Poems, thoughts, and stories.
You know that game where you walk around chairs to music? “Musical chairs?” and one is removed, leaving someone standing? “Yeah?” I’m the one left standing, looking at this dumb game, this violence-inspired mirror of the human need to hurt and wondering “Why you ever started to play?” Yeah. “You think too much.”
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When they realize that times and morality have changed, and this time NOT in their favour, they become afraid, like small children who start to scream because their mother says “No,” although they are very well able to express themselves. They become ultraparanoid, in need of extreme polarities, a black and white way of regarding the world. And there is violence and death, as always in times of change.
Carl Abrahamsson, 1989
How do I sift history into sound
cut pain into letters
spell you with words
that cleave night from day
right from wrong
lie from truth?
No.
Awe floats —
leaf in windless landscape
breathless birdsong
your heat —
and so I burn my noisy nets,
kiss my love,
praise
silent hands.
More here.
Greg Beckman 