Konrad Caikin

A birch that tries to grow between walls

Birch is trying to grow between walls.
Is this birch trying to go for the highs?
Birch is silently growing between walls.
It is a birch growing between  walls.
Is it a birch growing between walls?
All shaky, all kind a a full of recollection
There is a birch growing between the walls.
There is a birch growing,
Growing between walls,
As much as growing can take birch,
It is growing between the walls,
Birch is growing between the walls,
The birch is growing between walls,
Is it the birch growing between walls?
Birch is growing between the walls.
Which walls? Never to see,
There are walls.
Birch is growing between walls
Is birch growing between walls?
Birch is growing between walls
Walls growing between birch?
Walls are growing between birch
Is there wall growing between birch,
There is birch growing between walls.
Is there a wall growing birch between?
You tell me.



Konrad Caikin

Everyone! cap on a floor

Take aside your picture,
look, Look at yourself, go
Go on, what’s the sight? Gazed?
Yes, it is your, it is night stars shining
Sounds to motivating?
What does stand in front?
No the sculpture that’s re-memory,
Replay as they say these days,
A stagnation that you turn in circles,
For as long as, you know, mind fucking does.
Still, blood doesn’t teach you?
Ah… we have body….
Smile, cameras and microphones,
Oh do their pedantic job!
Be sad…
Oh, there is a local pharmacy, mate!
What’s the sound?
We “all” need to eat the freedom!!




Konrad Caikin


Take me there,
in and out the

When no longer able to handle the hanging
Of the soul colliding mischievously
About all the glasses

filled, with

Passing light machine light
Filled with expressions turning,
Turning, turning in the sound,
The crawling vocals in the state
Of mind

, savored with in touch
The all the systems,
Existing only just because.
Trail after trail, mailing
All the empty hearts in fulfilled boxes
Something like as if there something
To do about the howling of the

In all this bigotry of
Self satisfying noise and rust,
Marketing, telling chit-chats
And singing commercials devastating

All there is  in soul malfunctioning,
Functions just for the sake of community.
Deprivation, plastic and sandy
Love that only means a word
To a crying soul, telepathically
Trying to convince, the life in
After death still existence,
When person cannot be alive
Even after being born.

Stab a human,
You will notice  who, and how
It is easy to turn the world of heaven
Into completion of even more heaven,
More smiles,

more smiles behind the till.
More happiness that doesn’t even
Scrape the surface

of ecstasy,
That’s why all those kids of philosophy
Taking mothers tablets, pills,
Powders, liquids as the holly blood of sun,

Who the who, who screwed
His phallic deprivation in the
Womb of nature, nature that

So fragile in its musicality
Transiting from one state to other
Being as the moments are.


Smoking and smoking
Cigarette cannot finish the
Cigarette started before the
By the fifth, reflection in again
The gaining,
Exaggerated so many times its
Impossible to differentiate

whats happening now
Or whats about to happen
In the moment




Tell me child, why we are still infants,
Pretending to be adults, when we only
Comprehend the age as sanctions to
The virtues in sinister algo-times
Towards the majesty of self justification.

Take it easy, relax, enjoy yourself,
Diabolical convictus in prison
Of self

expressive where trying to be
A person on a stage, a character
Everyone sees, misses, lurks to,

In a narcissism of self indulgent
Manifestation that is lost in
Plus minus cocaine of focusing light.

Ego, center of the book,
Blow harder to hear it clearer,
Is it always that pleasant to be waisted

Walking on one foot, while having two,

Instances are rare, where is my biscuit?

Echo! echo! echo! echo
Tell me something more you don’t know
Splash your tears


Is it all that’s getting too abstract,
To tac to tac?
I don’t know if I told
Anything new, or old
The same wet towel, I guess…

You can’t buy madness on market,
It is too cheap to be sold,
That’s why you spend money in
Alterations, Sundays and Fridays


Again, just, to just, justify.

Higher, higher or with a bit of uncertainty
Lower, lower, colder, warmer,
Bi-polar order is here a season.

Strings of colors, grey, grey, grey, grey, grey, grey, grey, grey
Grey, grey, grey, grey, grey, grey, grey, well hello?

Summertimes, song fundraising torture?
You are such a beautiful animal,
Can, can, destroy the can,
Just to step can, that’s all
Well, that’s all.


See, I don’t remember if we talked

You as I, I as you stage

Division bells, resonating with high hopes,

Throat slightly cancerous aching from smoking,

Trying to be painted as one of those
You don’t know, classical establishments,
Silly me,



what have I said?







Konrad Caikin

slender bard

Slender bard self killing grim
Give it a moment, give it a shelter,
Magic doesn’t appear on street full tales,
Marvelous oblivion at the bottom muse glass.
The red box full of cables, where is tree to hang
Self executive believe in sanity.
Bard hands are freezing, while denying autumn
Spirits are not that warm in empty stomach,
As the piss is thick, mixing guts
Into poetic expression behind scene,
Stage always looks like theater,
Even the suicide is there a game, without loss.
A joke says; every bard from place of drink,
As the flowers sold by weekday churches,
Misplacing texts with glamour
Deduction meaning alive one can be
In singularity of crossed legs
Sitting sexually while pretending.
Guessing temples of Babylon collapse twice
Before trinity as holy turns to be a legend
In a sniffing runny nose that bleeds
Under the eyes glowing temptations
In one or two miscarriages of civilization.
Alight, alight, alight, glorifying uncertainty
As a dictated newspaper leaflet of justifying
When insanity is overrun by dictatorship led harmony.
Slender bard and now red cables,
Touching knees with hands of grounds,
Muse kisses buried knights in moons
Planets being overtaken by over the over night
Of climbed temperatures high eyes
Kneeling-confronting direction mislead.
Easy go,
Is there anything going on with dead sculptures
Being burned to debris of silly-deal
With angels breathing winds clapped-up.
Gods never been seen before by alive
Communication of presumably sober mind,
Slender bards negate to see them all the time,
Food is not a virtue for full struggle,
Patience is not a virtue to carry on writing
For confidence to bliss the grounds
Kiss a muse, a muse kiss
A still glitter blurring a bright…


Konrad Caikin


Are we trying to bury someone
Not the one of us
Dispatching all the tries of life
We are trying to bury someone
Not one like us,
Dispatching organization identically
With departure coming with arrival,
Simply because with loss tangling cause
Are we the ones’ tried to be buried
Or are we the one’s that trying to bury
The place of a burial, a wasteland,
Because what is the time when lime is squeezed
And all the rest of us is buried in the place,
Where burials’ took place to commemorate
Life after death, before death engaged
With the away to back,
Are we trying to bury someone
No the one of us
As we are not the ones’ that are buried.



Konrad Caikin

Still a question; humans or people.

Kill the drunk, they are worthless,
As much as the sober ones, yes, yes,
They don’t see, politics, it’s for idiots,
The gamblers playing without cards
Artificial significance in their thought,
Scrambles, shambles, not for every morning,
Television based newspaper “truths”.
Quite dark suggestion to know the name,
Surname not necessary, call the ambulance,
Unless the bureaucratic license has expired
Before the electoral manipulation;
Then, ladies and gentlemen, it is not corruption.
Be honest, be tolerant, be happy after all
Nothing that bad on a screen,
When a child dies on a bay,
Your favorite TV entertainer enjoys children,
And one somewhere in Europe holds them locked for decades.
Nothing to forget or remember, right?
All is good with bread and wine,
Body and blood, cross and road
Priest and innocent, innocent-priest, right?
Or wrong? I write, don’t know if I am right, write?
Are you willing to tell your surname?
Surely there is not enough dedication
To eradicate all the drunk and sober,
They are all the same, lame, insane,
Welcome to the world of people;
Still don’t want to be a human?


Konrad Caikin

we spoke so much, but we never sa’d

Inspecting freedom of speech
While electing war-machine,
To rule the shine of people
Dead bodies always turn cool.
Have a cup of mass media
Never feeling guilt on a shoulders,
Death is never real on screen
With music and flowery-smiley presenters.
Corruption has never reached sunset,
Diamonds they shine with transparency,
Propaganda counts on sunrise
As statistics is everything that is true
Ideologies build idiot(cracies)
Democracies and atrocities.
Liberalization for every slave,
Who reads constitution as holy books.
Sinister are those who not apply to law
Virgins and raped, right or left
Humans or people, look, see?
And then there are kings and queens
Forever as they may live
Only blood turns them industries,
While the mass is kept in opium,
Legal as illegal as lawyers say
Everyone is god, high wanna-be.
Sexualised marketing, crystallization
Adult lessons and adolescence
Do we teach our children
Sex is only for pleasure
Or for only procreation only,
As all those singularity theories
Teaching us, Universe is endless,
Go on, god-alike, you can do it, good job!
How many exodus we have now,
How many do we remind ourselves,
Boarders, walls, hating them neighbors too,
Inviting with please, never letting in
As, you know, preconception mechanism
Is the only one that’s still works comfortably.
Justice is criminalized under the nod,
No one hears, no one speaks, no one sees
As rainy reminds of sunny, vis-a-vis.
What is that goal to expect in a match ,
When one can replay penetration
Multiple times, before orgasm
Becomes an automatic doors.




Konrad Caikin

Al ratito

I look at the sky,
Hoping for heavens,
I gaze upon tensions
Between all those people
I am being distracted
By those entrances that never come,
I know the Ocean I see
Has an end, al ratito! My lady!
Those streets, so many, too many,
Crossroads, roads, range
Between what’s about, what’s left
All those streets are known,
You taught me summer,
You know ma lady where it is
Al ratito!
All those bottles and all that bottomless,
Rivers we saw, still flow the same,
Jumping we do in rhythms of co-exist,
Stones may fall, sail down the find
Al ratito, my dear.
Walking the same path we walked to walk
Singing the birds recall the song
Of flight of height, of light
Al ratito my lady!
Al ratito, al ratito,
Over the ocean with no horizon,
Sinc. leading us in togetherness,
As castles have cracks,
We break the wall that we see
To hold on, onto each other
In al ratito, evermore moment?
Al ratito ma lady!
Ma lady, how soon is the sunrise?
Al ratito?
See you soon!
Hell upon me here,
I will see you there,
Here, there, alas you know were we dance…




Konrad Caikin

sweets; something else

When my grandmother used to bring me sweets
It was something else, not only to taste
With delight, sweetness of joy,
Of how great compassion
Is, when turning from where it is felt.
When my grandmother used to bring me sweets
It was something else, more than a lesson
Powdering in wonder for knowledge
Letting my head run in circles to see
Just the edge of the Universe.
When my grandmother used to bring me sweets
It was something else, where from,
How; many paths walked on,
Meetings, crossroads, choices and expressions made
To try that sweet with thought and sight.



Konrad Caikin

draft; if you may

Steal ends up in vanity, when it’s covered in honey
Sunny vow shattered by the cloudy suggestion
One, two, many invited to sail the crack
Bleeding the mother earth collapsing in tears
Flooding  lower light-hope love, castles crumble in dissatisfaction
Giving and to waste, prostituting ones bread
For the greed and shallow fortunes;
Lies become too true to disbelieve
Catching the fresh wind with voyeur opened doors,
See, angels them dancing cloth’less, yet masked
Eyes shit with blood dripping throat, while body upside down
Full stomach smiling sunset, inviting for some honey
Calls, calls a night ahead, come and dissapear
Again in no but the same being alien in limbo.



Konrad Caikin

Cosmopolitan kids

Cosmopolitan kids playing with fire
Enticing, suggesting these days to be longer
Till until, who know’s
The sunrise will come again
In response, in temptation
To wake up and feel no hangover,
As it’s over, trashed luck
Need to be here is irresistible,
That place where one tries to feel some on
Delicate, desperate, demanding
Call the hospital tomorrow,
Yesterday already passed to many time
Considering the time, the time
What does it say to you?
Killer to be or be to joy
In messing about with estate’s?
Interestingly enough animals
Appearing, reappearing in colours
Summed up the existence well,
Food has been that one last.
Flattering tools shine over;
Foolish eyes in mask there appear
Disappearing encounters told some so
Lie, Lie, Lie don’t feel embarrassed
Counting coins to survive
By self, by ones food and mouth
Lying is old school, relax.
Do you still believe in write?
I have no car to drive’round
Singing blues, “As it’s all so easy”
Enter the labyrinth, ha-ha
Animations still a bill.
Cosmopolitan kinds and their ideas,
Trusting them is heavy, misleads
Serious that face that says no word
Looking through the window, pretending
Oh, the kids are never, have been born…





Konrad Caikin

Just listening

Context: being pleasantly intoxicated, listening to the many different drunk conversations with highly dizzy concentration.

London accent, she heard it
Is that being threatened
No just… A?
Giving the truth
She said. Would you?
What you ask me…
Can you believe…
We do it… come back and…
Please listen to what I say you,
Just for a moment…
You, you anytime inappropriate.
So what?
Why do I buying a pint?
I don’t fucking blame ya’,
He is a fucking left handed…
Come tomorrow…
We need to work out
You bet I never said that.
I touch the…
Worst trend ever…
I played to study…
We guessed to… is it tequila time?
I’ve already said…
That’s a lower level.
Thanks very much
I  can pay you for it
Thank you a little…
A little bit.
I tell you what, I…
Do it light…

P.S. There is no end to possibilities as long as differentiation of singularity happens..folwres may grow again….



Konrad Caikin

Being mainstream and pulp

One cigarette has filled up an empty ashtray.
Cynical bartender gave me more change
Than there is to a character, who fallen
Down to sleep in a mellow torture
With speechless conversations, while hearing.
A man with baseball cap looked
Over the fence in defense of his hope,
Handful tattoos, cool inadequate speech,
Greeted him a woman he so never paid
Attention, only on a sunny days…
Pulp tyranny all over the place of thought,
Something else there is to contemplate
In a cosmopolitan annual leave,
Just because is so fucking fashionable.
Pulp delicacies you can eat
In those high restaurants,
Knowing they are expensive, chemically processed,
Prepared by a chef, who cleans their ass
Before a counterpart with a scar on
A nose and bleeding heart
Serves the delight you so deserve.
Pulp drink call… missed call..
Soft, you know?
Pulp intoxication, such a way to get
And rid off the shadows they have said
Turning around and saying
Hands up; virgins on a market!
Have a free train ride!
Red, blue, wing are colored,
Tell yourself where to go: left’o’right?
Dilemma is right to be left,
Recommended with a feeling strange
Demos always write for crates.
Pulp doors step has two ways; Where to go?
Deal has been made to sit down, talk
Decide in a talk, when to move,
Where to go, when you’re already told.
Pulp predators, pissing in toilets, streets forgotten,
Teller tells tales talk to tense…
Pulp morning, mainstream feeling…
Pulp naked sky in memory as its cloudy.
Pulp lyrics, when rhythms is mainstream.
Pulp suggestion, mainstream meaning.
Pulp religions, mainstream brain shower.
Pulp delirium, sing me a song,
I’m a child, want to sleep
What do you propose, man’ish life;
What do you suggest? Men walking
Down the street and pretending
All that gamble in stock
Is another rolling, roll the stone,
Oh rivers mainstream is pulp.
Pulp lion doesn’t live in Europe.
There are no lions in Yourope…
Up, up, up, up, up, up, up, up, up, still Vatican says,
There are no lions in Europe, only in zoo’s,
Twinkling with aggression, well
The motivation, lion built in wall street
Motivate yourself child
You are a grown up now!
Pulp a plump, pump a tire,
Yes, roads not that pulp; plump.
Yes, singing… counting literatures
Last to be first
Revelation of scene pulp’n’mainstream.
Pulp still writing to make sense for today.
Tomorrow as they say.. up,up,up,up,up,up they say
Tomorrow; is it going to happen?
Yes! That’s what we want
This cigarette is fulfilling my
Dream, there is to be so
Fucking beautifully compulsive
It’s endless
Being mainstream and pulp!
Pulp; it s completely different feeling
At night with all those people,
Romantic as they used to say,
I say clearly not enough attention
That is not taken as attention,
As a look no more; no gaze.
Pulp there is, still as it is soft,
Soft, up, soft, up, soft, up soft, up…
Did I hurt your feelings?
Well let it be so well, like a veil.
Pulp is still mainstream
I wish I could be lost
As you dear folks,
Still taking a piss in a toilet,
Desperately breaking the glass
Oh…wait…It might have been the holiday, Friday.
Pulp-mainstream, why such a
Desperation towards negativism>
Preconception; yeah I swear.
What is this shadow with a company,
Simple minded television,
Will tell for heavy minded
Justice you believe in, yeah, pulp.
Mainstream luck upon watching something to interpret,
Are you, smart-ass-educated,
Feel the wheel? It’s a loop.
Mainstream, is it shattered?
Mainstream? You proposed to dig your own grave.
To pass on as holly wine you do,
On those good old Sunday mornings,
Pulp and mainstream the being,
I wish my glass was not that full
Yes, it was read, it’s full.
The long coated fidelity forgot,
That glass is always full, you fool.
Pretending? Cough a little bit, a little more…
Pulp! I am sorry! Am I sorry?
The broadside does its job,
Nobody even been sorry in a moment
Of just that been so in to proof
That soft good, paralyzing mainstream look
Is it me, who writes or those do right
In front of their desperation, yeah…
It feels wheels like pain,
That where I understand when ‘educated’
Sit in there, in office and sink
Beyond their dreams, just to get, some rest they don’t deserve.
Why? Too much to ask,
Call the government,
Pulp tales, between two good story tellers.
Squeeze out all that scramble,
Can’t bake an egg on water,
Yet can drink it, that’s for sure!
I, yes you bloody ego-centric
There is an end to every light, the shadow follows.
Repeat, the call sounding fond
Business as usual… a-a-a delight,
Losing sophistication, the poetic one…
Being mainstream and pulp




Konrad Caikin

I don’t remember the child I used to be

I don’t remember the child I used to be
The yesterday always loses the battle
In respect and dedication towards today,
Left behind, Days pass making memory
Somehow in lost contemplation of its value.
I feel as I never turned out what is
To be a child in rule and rule,
Why do I lie myself in reflection,
That I never been born naked,
Full of push to live outside,
I don’t remember the child I used to be.
Sitting on the chair, pretending
Desperately telling few less words,
When I turn to be outside, out-loud
Killing wall paint, breaking through.
Melancholia with rain running down
I discover not the loss or never-been,
The self in ships of sail
Willing say across the sea.
I don’t remember the child I used to be,
While clouds to shapes of imagination
And bread was leafs so green, so everywhere
Squared the adulthood appears to be,
Of, flow, oh low, what’s matter?
I don’t remember the child I used to be…
There and here, more and less
Till… Until the dreams give recollection
All that lost; history reminds with accuracy
Of social misinterpretation.
I am not to obey the paradigms
Choke on coal building industries
In other words, monarchies as always,
Don’t forget words change with changing people,
Meanings with a good see and thought
Alas, leaves the same comfort of death.
Entering desperation to containment,
Elsewhere, always on stage
To be so many times executed the living
Tall hopes in market street, high.
I don’t remember the child I used to be!
Pastor future bottle knock,
Water is basing survival,
Let’s become God’s, alcohol on table!
Am I a human or pretending to be animal still
Hunting, foraging, walking the nose,
Living in reality dealing cards
On a whole of a basis of hope
Sit and come away, I and me,
Who’s, this, that, whatever,
I don’t remember the child I used to be…
Out-lawed stammering to speak,
Ah, super that crippled men
Deciding with greatest reason of all
Intervening the gap between the seconds.




Konrad Caikin

A glass less, than a glass less tip toeing

A glass less, than a glass less tip toeing
A space full of walls, noise, drunk
Trying to intervene the soft political coincidence
Intrigued the knocking at the door,
Laugh around the round table,
Kill yourself before you lose.
Overcoming one conversation, to make conversation the one
Bankrupt fidelity in so many masters of choice,
Less there is, to drink some more.
Brown finger tips, listening to mystery;
Expression id heavy lifting, not Olympic cchouce
Tell somebody else, who listens all that poetry
Try, bear light colliding only
In the eyes gazing so passionately in blues
Have been taught in life, glass reaches no bottom,
Lyrically selecting apocalyptic beginnings,
As if nothing can so as desired,
With low estimated underground dance
Or wishes singing tall for moments.
Blisters upon thoughts rubbing walls of four
Night has come very, very silently
With a drop of sunset on horizon.
Pissed and off face hanging, pretending;
Gravity doesn’t exist in reality,
In a pen scratching sound
Telling self drainage is for decoration
Although, frankly, not to mention
Old broken boat sinks only
For the sake of matter.
Sea bird wings the life
With a loss of moment, when thy blinking
All the time across the tails of legends
Sweet direction come alas, all saint
Substantially, gazer gazed amazed.
Elders lived, they survive, at least or to extent, illusive
And the choices that are always correct
They really do care about the youth.
A glass less, than a glass less tip toeing.