вторник, 25 август 2015 г.

The cosmos contemplates itself with purpose and destiny. A feeling of purpose rushes over the composer who is also a listener. There is a sense of excitement in Island and an expectation of the unknown to come. However, the coming is certain. The order is ensured in the knowledge of a destination, even if the destination is not known.
The human cannot contemplate the cosmos. Pieces, such as Rubric are expressions of chaos, which is fear but also excitement. The human needs a sense of destination but is incapable of looking at the fragments together, which creates a sense of panic, a cosmos, rushing past the human in a pace which is beyond the human capability for comprehension. The human can neither make sense of the speed, nor the direction of this movement and is thus encompassed in the cosmos's journey without active participation. One cannot participate, where one does not understand the action taking place around her. 
The panic and the confusion spring from the egocentric and arrogant need for the human to understand the chaos and to be able to face it, maybe even conquer it. But the human cannot do so. It is beyond the human's potential to realise the chaos of the universal world. Chaos is not to be understood, it is simply to be accepted. The human needs science and god and magic and destiny to make himself the centre of the chaos and the centre of the cosmos. He needs to know he can be equal to the chaos and to the cosmos. But he is not. The human is a different kind of thing and a being, unlie the cosmos and the chaos, which are universal paradigms. Not one, nor the other is superior. They are simply unlike each other. Therefore, the human cannot understand either one and feels panic at his inability to position himself either equally or higher than the aforemenioned, in what he has fashioned as a hierarchy, which other than in his construct of the world is non-existant. 
Humans need rationality. They need to create a rationality, but it is artificial. The order of things is only a human construct. There is no order in the cosmos, there is no such thing as a hierarchy, these are all created by humans and for humans. Because the human is a slightly arrogant creation, which realizes its own fragility and its own simplicity and its own brief existence as a human amongst all other forms of matter and energy, which surround him. Why, even the plastic bag he himself created will outlive him. Indeed, he created the plastic bag because of his fear of all the forementioned traits f the humankind. The human feels the need to promote his self-importance and to exert his own beliefs and even here,  human is doing precisely that. A human is pouring her own thoughts, ironically. Bloated with self-importance and a desire to be heard. 
In a way, it is ironic. In a way it is also sad. In a way, it is both calming and terrifying that humans are so desperate to leave their creations scattered on a small planet in a very huge cosmos. 
One must wonder, and I, human, do wonder, what is so great about being human, is it different from being anything else, do other things also want to imprint their state of being on their environment and leave their marks and create themselves in another shape to lengthen their time in a way? 

 

понеделник, 24 август 2015 г.

The splendours of freedom are at their brightest when freedom is sacrificed
at the altar of security. When it is the turn of security to be sacrificed in
the temple of individual freedom, it steals much of the shine of its former
victim. If dull and humdrum days haunted the seekers of security, sleepless
nights are the curse of the free. (Bauman 1997, p.3)

понеделник, 27 юли 2015 г.

петък, 3 април 2015 г.

viii.

you
will always be
in the back of my mind
and I will always compare
the love affair
you gave me

to all the lovers who follow

their stench of sweat and sex
to the scent evaporating
from your pores
when you slept by me

but I no longer
let you into the fore of my mind
not your face
and not your name
and not the way my lips touch
right at the middle of it.

and that song,
I did not quite fade into you, lovely

alas, now, you
ought to fade into me
where, at the back of my head
nerves will remind my fingertips
what your skin feels like.

whilst no chest will quite
pillow my frail mind
quite like yours did
that does not necessarily mean
that I can't pillow my own dreams
or that I can't sleep in another's bed.

Bath, 2015

неделя, 15 март 2015 г.

the ground

what is beneath me is a pillow,
on it a warm red blanket
and a green velvet cover

there is a calm quiet feeling
i have found in my own mind
where formerly resided chaos, fear and lust
they visit me, the three ghastly brothers.
the come alone or sometimes together
but they no longer stay for long
for I am now here, fully
and I am sat, the ground firm beneath me
and the feel of soft warm velvet on my thigh.



the lake

the lake swallows me
whole never wholesome

there is a silver-threader night in black water
that exists nowhere else
and is enthralling in its silky shimmer

there are no stars underneath the water bed
yet that is the light my eyes long for most,
the pupil strangled by the iris, shadowed with remorse

here lives peace, in the cold, dead silence of words passed
and the wet feel of cold feverish sweat

where weeds clutch the throat,
      and the throat croaks a prayer
             and the prayer dies
                    for no sound and no air lives under the indigo surface of the lake.

Brighton, 2015

понеделник, 23 февруари 2015 г.