the name of the morning star

the name of the morning star
I’m in love with the morning star.

This is not only about me, my stories, or my search.

It’s about the sky and the stars, and everything behind that deep blue void. Behind that distance, the stone cold space, deprived of… meaning?

No.

That’s not right.

It isn’t the lack of meaning.

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ink on ash

ink on ash
 

The school yard was going to be a graveyard.

Preparations took two whole days, and  a couple of men had been hired to empty the library.

I watched them slowly pile up manuals, maps and books. Considering the size of that heap, it was going to be an impressing fire. The library must be empty by now… I sat in my classroom, staring out of the window, observing the coming and going. Men throwing books across the yard, smoking, drinking alcohol.

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the panther (by Rainer Maria Rilke) – and its claw marks on me

the panther (by Rainer Maria Rilke) – and its claw marks on me

His vision, from the constantly passing bars,

has grown so weary that it cannot hold

anything else. It seems to him there are

a thousand bars; and behind the bars, no world.

.

As he paces in cramped circles, over and over,

the movement of his powerful soft strides

is like a ritual dance around a center

in which a mighty will stands paralyzed.

.

Only at times, the curtain of the pupils

lifts, quietly—. An image enters in,

rushes down through the tensed, arrested muscles,

plunges into the heart and is gone.

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