It could have been a distinct world, calmly mushy
but it isn’t. We repeat the intolerance, fake 
information to carry on angry convictions, rake
the weed we believe is theirs, faithfully reject 
that it actually fell from our trees, wind blew
it upon their garden. We assume irresponsibly,
dare blame the other garden for our dry weed. 

The path toward our door is adorned by solar 
lanterns. We bought them to light our tiptoeing. 
It's fading. Without commitment to unconditional 
sources of energy, we’ll fall ill as we can’t contain
disease in a plastic bag forever. We’re stuck in old
streetcars, sell their tickets as if trendy, pretend 
yoga mats are yoga poses. We are fused to a desire 
that never fulfills itself. After a culmination,
the void replaces what evaporated. Without water, 
how will we cool our machines? The void devours 
through a spur of homelessness. Haters spread gospel
of self-righteousness. The naked can’t defend
themselves from the imposition of too much sugar,
corrosion, or a few carrots, a lack of pursuit.1 

Churches, endowed to provide, eat scarlet squares.

If poverty of spirit is vowed, why is physicality 
denied the sacredness of eternal creativity;
dime for a minute? We’re the saddest, as poor as it 
can be, never humble enough to realize that the body 
needs to be tamed so thoughts can follow. I speak
not of desire but of example. The WE becomes an I
as the days shorten. It’s never satisfied, until I 
can’t contain my awe, even after denying I mourn.  

As fresh debates spark, cycling arguments based 
on delirious presumptions spur back to haunt me. 

Even if I stay clear of mind, they enjoy reminding 
me I can’t be free from their act, a dime a minute. 

I ignore them when I have to. I do so by hearing 
the silence I’ve tamed by tiring the body, setting 
new boundaries, tiring thoughts, memorizing rhymes
despite miscalculating. Langue Inconnu allows me
to re-measure the i, I re-invent. Completely tired,
I’m still bothered when I hear either the disastrous
or superfluous chatter that could matter if only… 

I wish I could tell them what they’re missing, but 
I can’t. No one hears poetry growing. I tell about
the I, the beauty of our ugliness. I tell them about
the mountain's birth after it has been burnt  
as incense2. I tell them how bad graffiti3 responds 
to the inability of ours to see beyond the dread.

Either we’re either too this or too that, it’s not
enough to be bare and stung from what so-called 
adults do. I’m one, would you say? I’m growing.

How can they stand proud of their adultness and
deny trees crying hope, a chance to be themselves?

If we can’t see beyond the dread we hold, we’ll 
never heal. We’ve got to see the most devious
in us. What most wants to be hidden, does so 
because if unveiled, a pain unmistakably deep 
will give rise imperatively to a raw beginning.

That’s where love, yes, that bastard love,4
love that pushes us to crave what is impossible 
to be, can flourish even after so-called adults
have lit us up as incense against our will, even 
after being grated against the tar of oil sands. 

That’s why I am bad poetry and I’m not ashamed
of being, but one day… I’ll be glorious because 
there’s no growth until I accept ultimate defeat. 

I will no longer desire to master you. 5
I will no longer will to power. 6

I will will to love. 7

Even when that love ends up bastardizing 
who I once wished to become, 
I choose to be a “yet-to-be”, 
being unfolding, enfolding,
unfolding an idea, enfold,
enfolding an idea, unfold. 8

There’s no final fate, 
but a will to love it, 
mistakes, badness, all 

“yet-to-be” will fix 
what I’ve yet to know
I’ve gotta fix soon

and some times to hate
only to realize harm
comes one's way hating 

that's what yet-to-be 
does... fix mistakes

perfection? if there's 
no grave, it's not here
 
by then even what hate 
would have left me 
would have left me

by then even what love 
would I had been left with 
would I hope tucked me in
 

  1. From imposition to self-defeat
    From an Essence to Existentialism
    From what it needs for it to be to why should it?
    ... But what is Existentialism? Source: CrashCourse
  2. in 奈良市
    Nara, Japan
    as fire destroys
    as fire is purity
  3. beneath bridges in nature trails
    who quite often respect if art is already there
  4. ἀγάπη : ἔρως : φιλία : στοργή : amor fati
    encompass it all to create an alfa word
    is saying too much = saying nothing?
  5. "The problem of modern life is that we internalize the reasons for our own subjugation, as such, and somehow we have to figure out how to liberate ourselves from this internalized subjugation. Why do we obey orders? Why do we actually accept that we are subjugated?"
    My commentary: The problem with Postmodernity is that too much liberation leads us to nonsensical knowledge. Liberation is not being freedom itself, but the process of a continual aknowledgement of my own mental subjugation, but to escape I need meaning that transcends the chaotic-hypnotic dance between differences et repetitions. Neither the poet nor the politician can escape this tap dance if we are dancing on a binary wallpaper with trapped air bubbles that we enjoy to pop. Beneath and beyond any sunrise we might see in the sky, there's a set of elements hidden from view enacting mathematical models as beauty. What we see is not as vast as the reality hidden in plein view. Our subjugation comes into being as we desire not to know to understand what we can't yet see, much less be.
    Quote from: “Open Yale Courses | Foundations of Modern Social Theory | Lecture 14 - Nietzsche on Power, Knowledge and Morality.” Accessed April 20, 2017. http://oyc.yale.edu/sociology/socy-151/lecture-14.
  6. "The Übermensch is the person who achieves self-mastery, who--basically the alienated person--right?--who is in control of his own life--right?--and can express himself authentically, without oppressive civilization. Right? That's the Übermensch..."
    My commentary: Love is the power that does not arise out of self-mastery nor autheticity. Love is even when undeserved, mundanly present, but deeply ignored under a veil of "what should be". I do not need to be an Übermensch to be loved nor to accept myself. Why do we feel that we can only love or be loved if deserved? In a few lines Nietzsche pointed the essence: it is about amor fati.
    Quote from: “Open Yale Courses | Foundations of Modern Social Theory | Lecture 14 - Nietzsche on Power, Knowledge and Morality.” Accessed April 20, 2017. http://oyc.yale.edu/sociology/socy-151/lecture-14.
  7. "...In a way this is a Buddha. It is an idea of a Buddha, but not a passive Buddha. He disliked Buddhism as much as he disliked the Judeo-Christian tradition. The problem with Buddhism was that it is too passive. He wanted to have an active Buddhism."
    My commentary: Beneath the passiveness, lies the subjugation to an idea: what does the unconditional-compassionate love mean? Do I have to will to power to will to love? The will to Love liberates us and allows us to be authentic but for different reasons than the will to power does. The will to power is active, a breaking of tradition: the postmodern raging. We needed postmodernism to understand our limitations, but if we go too far our own ability to understand... confusion and fear reigns free! While will to power attempts to eliminate opression, a will to Love breaks tradition as much as it embraces it. It is an unfolding and enfolding self-realization. It is a self "yet-to-be": enfolding and unfolding through a manifestation and dissapearing of mistakes.
    Quote from: “Open Yale Courses | Foundations of Modern Social Theory | Lecture 14 - Nietzsche on Power, Knowledge and Morality.” Accessed April 20, 2017. http://oyc.yale.edu/sociology/socy-151/lecture-14.
  8. A will to love is not a battle between a passive or active self-actualization, but a balance between both. It is the acceptance of amor fati, but at the same time the unacceptance of it. It does not have to be an either/or statement. It can embrace both and none, but only to correct itself after realizing humbly one's own mistakes. We can only progress if we move forward, slow cuisine if flavourful or otherwise, and observe our mistakes, take a step back to correct ourselves, and then move forward again when ready to understand what's beyond one's horizon. Is this a binary pattern? It might be for a while, but then meta-levels arise, a matrix, a web,a networks of networks, etc. What once was a pattern of differences and repetitions is now... an aleph ℵ ad infinitum, there is more than one infinity. That's why we might have never been modern.
Signature Lina Ru