Pride And Grim Determination

It’s incredibly bad when a headache lifts,
creating false joy, just to descend again
when the hapless sufferers submerge
themselves in happy activity, just to feel
the swelling becoming twice as bad than
before, to find it more impossible to
concentrate, finding nothing in the outside
world can stir their passions because the
physical discomfort is too big to allow any
other sentiment than pride and grim de-
termination to present a positive face to
the world; to escape the melodramatic
sympathy of too-gentle folks who always
exclaim ‘Shame!’ when hearing about the
sufferers’ plight, then recount their own
medical history of successful treatment,
making it clear that you are a fool for not
having visited the same specialist – I’ve
followed the specialists and treatments
of other Know-It-Alls before and they were
all unqualified disasters, so please keep
your history to yourself and let me suffer in
peace, let me treasure my negative core of
discomfort in relative ease…

The Black-Hole Feeling In My Head

Enjoyed two marvelous days at work, Tuesday
and Wednesday, managed to keep the allergy
at bay, after a weekend of illegal eating, venison
with spices and chicken in marinade, slabs of
chocolate, and horror of horrors, a Monday pizza

I enjoyed the unusual good humour that had me
singing and laughing at work, tonight came the let-
down, the headache and growing fatigue, my eyes
growing weak, lost concentration – time to slack
off, I lay on your knees while you watched TV, but

Couldn’t sleep, took medication and went to bed,
remembering my fantasy of earlier today – yet
resignedly accepting that it had lost its effect, my
system went into shut-down, like an overloaded
computer simply informing the disillusioned user

All documents will be closed, then proceeding to lose
all data unsaved – although I used to think my store
of facts would be lost, it felt so real, this terrible black
-hole gravitational power imploding in my head;
seemingly sucking in even light quanta

But maybe because I repeat everything as if at least
five persons are learning separately, I do retain some-
thing – just feeling a desperate need to repeat them
again, five times or more, just to make sure; I
fear the black-hole feeling in my head

Making it seem information goes in to disappear –
never to surface again…

Windmill Of Officialdom

Found enchanting pictures on the Internet,
staring in delight while my colleagues see
red, all figures to be redone, old documents
to be reassessed and to what end - simply
to make some bigwig look good, who had
never been involved in the process, who cut
our budget, making us look atrocious, who
needs window-dressing

Staring at hurricanes and resembling galaxies,
mental hurricanes blowing through the office, our
local novice quietly forging on, not sure yet where
the sun rises and where it should set, the rest of us
charge ahead with the zeal of a pack of hyenas, ready
to attack and destroy the rhinos of problems blocking
our path to private nirvana, carefully ignoring the
production sheet on my screen

Doing only one little thing before dragging my feet, digging
on the Internet for pictures of Walt Disney’s Fantasia, the
fairies skating to the music of Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker
Suite, an additional dimension to embellish documents
lacking pictures, my soul revolts against them, besides,
Sancho Panza within me is dreaming with Don Quixote
about how to attack the windmill of officialdom…

Hurricane Ivan

A Spiral Milky Way Galaxy is a terrible hurricane
in the sky - see how hurricane Ivan resembles the
picture of our Galaxy – isn’t it strange how nature
repeats itself, creating all things by means
of vortexes flying in pinwheel streams?

The Ice Princess - Origins

Walt Disney listened to the Nutcracker Suite
by Tchaikovsky and illustrated it the way he
visualised fairies would dance; the Ice Princess
saw how the flew over the ice and just knew
that is what she would do - invite Crystalline
to skate with her right into Xanado...

Fight This Churning Four-Legged Beast

I wish I were not so set on following the Man
of la Mancha, I wish I did not play the role of
Sancho Panza who chose him for a leader;
but no, only Quixotic quests will do for me,
fighting windmills and any soul-destroying
thing I see – the monthly sword fight that
leaves me bloody and hurt and broken is
the fight against the ubiquitous production
sheet, it goes against my grain to write down
every deed, account for every moment I
breathe; I fight this churning four-legged
beast desperately, although I know it is but
a windmill – it still seems like the devil to me

To brag with every little thing I have done, to
say at what time I stared at the screen and
when I went down the street or skipped down
the passage, feels like self-betrayal and more,
like betrayal of al ideals regarding freedom and
rationality, yet to fight the beast reveals a total
lack of wisdom – nay, of love, a lack of self-love
and love for the authorities to whom I’ve sold my
soul for a salary, if I really had a good image of
self and a John C. Maxwellian conscience, I
would have filled in my production sheet on a
daily basis, yet it seems like the fulfillment of
the book “1984”or Alvin Toffler’s “Future Shock”

My subconscious believes it is my god-given duty
to fight against administrative enslavement and the
mass extinction of imagination and free will – please,
please allow me to let go of my irrational prejudices
against a man-made system that brings so much joy
to humanity, please enable me to fill in forms with joy,
account for every moment of my life on earth, restrict
my mind to the administrative moment at work, enjoy
painstaking research – whoa, wait a minute, however
much I desire to do translation work, dot all the i’s and
cross all the t’s, I realize a miracle of such magnitude
is too much to ask, probably because self-deprecation
will kill my soul, living in a body without a soul is as good
as becoming a ghoul, I would rather be a zombie – or a
blood-sucking vampire, a parasite – there must be a way
to fulfill duty and still be myself – if only I could find it…

Sunday 1 February 2009

It’s growing later and so grows
my fear for the rebel living within
my soul, the unwillingness to do
senseless things simply required
to make time pass, to earn money,
playing games with little rules and
merit determined by how well we
keep the useless rules

How excellent meaningless lists
are compiled, how long we stared
at useless texts compiled by people
with nothing else to do than play finite
games with idiosyncratic rules, doing
things that hold no advantages nor
change the fundamentals in life

To be judged by posterity for our dexterity
in applying our brains to childish pursuits for
which we are paid so we can take medicine to
keep playing the same useless game…