Seven fishermen

You gave the key you need
To all your friends
Who’re caring for a fart
It’s you.
It is you.

You repeat that sound you made
A thousand times again
And you wake up
At the close.
At the end.

And it’s smearing your heart with muck.
Me, love. Her.

Oh, lighten the Licht,
Sang until it bricht.
Seven fishermen,
and none of them real.
It’s you.
Let me assure you, it’s you.

And so it fades away, slowly vaporize,
Me, love. Me.

JBG, 4th jan 2011

was wenn

Was, wenn man Vieles erhalten hat,
kleine und grosse Zeiten, kunterbunte Ideen, gute Miene zum bösen Spiel,
aber die Grösse nicht besitzt, sich dafür zu bedanken?

Was, wenn man viel Zeit investiert
in sich zu gehen, reflektieren, die eine oder andere Flinte aus dem Korn fischen,
und trotzdem weiss, dass Unsinn gross geschrieben wird?

Was, wenn man gegen Regeln kämpft,
solche, die Bund und Gesellschaft, Eltern und Institutionen aufgesetzt haben,
nur um zu erkennen, dass der Krebs von innen kommt?

Was, wenn man Tag mit Nacht verwechselt,
seine Träume verschiebt, seine Ängste hervor kratzt, um dann zu verstehen,
dass die Tafel im Himmelreich zwei Jahre weniger vorsah?

Was, wenn man die Lösung serviert bekommt,
auf dem Tablett aus Platin, gemeisselt in Stein, eine standfeste Struktur
gegen die Wand geschleudert um dem Impuls Raum zu geben?

Was, wenn man den Weg bereits kennt,
dem Netz ausweichen, den Zug nicht verpassen, das Messer nahe bei der Brust,
um gegen die eigene Lethargie anzukämpfen?

Montag, 12.April 2010 - one year ago.

Llamas

I can tell you one thing about llamas: they don’t spit
unless you tease them.
I can tell you another thing about llamas: sometimes
they don’t react to your whistles.

I sometimes feel like a llama.
Why should I turn my shoulders, face your direction
When you howl like a wolf?
Why should I be the prey when I can be the hunter?

When they used me to create the most divine of tunes,
They didn’t stop and think once.
I wish they had.
Oh how it saddens me to be redundant.
How it saddens me not to make the final five.

I voted for you, I spit in everybody else’s face,
And they kicked me out of society,
Like an outlaw, like a pathetic little loser.

I rooted for you, I grassed in front of you,
You tried to tame me, tame my spirit
While, at the same time, you moved me
With your spirit, your smouldering fire,
And I couldn’t turn away from the howl.

Yes, you got me hooked,
Yes, you made me the prey to your haunting,
Yes, I was the chewing llama you pretended to have not noticed you.

Epiphany

It occurs when you’re tired.
You close your eyes for a second.
Try to inhale the thoughts of yours.
Try to forget that life of yours.

You cross your legs for a second.
You feel life’s blood pounding in you.
Your veins start to ache, start to break.
You close your ears for a second.

You need this to stay awake.
You need this to fall asleep.
How long has it been, she asked.
And I said at least three and a half days.

Three and a half minutes.
And you remember that text message.
In your mobile phone.
On your desk next to your wine.

It’s saying you’re good.
It’s saying you’re loved.
And you simply can’t believe your luck.
That’s why you needed that lottery ticket, too.

And the vein in your leg, still.
Throbbing against your knee.
It’s you. It’s been in you all along.
It’s the salty epiphany in you.

JBG, 4th jan 2011