What builds our borders? What runs through one’s veins? Where will any origin ever emerge?
Why are we feetless? When did we lose our teeth?
The skin of my soul burns, my claims age since years.
My brain hurts, it asks, why is the questionnaire gone?
But answers are bold men without any reason.
Our thoughts are spaceless. The feeling of own existence is running through the paths into the leafs of trees. It is not the point where is the point, the point is where there is no point. Only wings can tell the meaning of feet. Take a piece of cheese and squeeze between your teeth. You will see. Can’t tell you why we age, my friend, but of one I am certain, to create on time. Your brain hurts – you really live.
Bold men is still around, asking: WHY?
Can we ever be surprised by the empty feeling of truth
Have we not always invented meaning by feeding the old
The young are starving, this seems a question we can avoid.
We can look both ways. Why don’t we?
Even through the smoke, we only see mirrors.
Questions need not seek or even appropriate truth; there are only expressions that build, that express one another. A family builds a loving home. A tyrant lays a slab of marble as his monument, and lets no one carve their own mark for fear of “distorting” the edifice. The young are emphatically hungry, this is good, they will deface the old purified ideals. But all grinded cheese must be spat back into pastiche, so as not to lose our teeth.