Thursday, 21 May 2015

Wits' End

A youth filled with everything
Every outcome
Every end.

fell dead;
like culture;
the death of which provoked him.


Tuesday, 27 January 2015

Moon Gazer

Franz Masereel
I can't sleep. Light a candle?
Only there are no matches.
The whole world is silent, and I am silent,
I gaze at the lunar light.

And think: how many eyes
In just this same silence,
At such a quiet, clear hour
Are trained on the moon.

How tedious it must be to swim
Above our heads,
To coat strange windows with silver
And to see so many eyes.

A century ahead, a century back,
But in the world all is the same-
Dogs bark, and dreamers
Gaze out the window.

G. Ivanov - 1931.

Wednesday, 3 December 2014

In hours like these...

Past one o’clock. You must have gone to bed.
The Milky Way streams silver through the night. 
I’m in no hurry; with lightning telegrams
I have no cause to wake or trouble you. 
And, as they say, the incident is closed.
Love’s boat has smashed against the daily grind. 
Now you and I are quits. Why bother then
To balance mutual sorrows, pains, and hurts. 
Behold what quiet settles on the world. 
Night wraps the sky in tribute from the stars.
In hours like these, one rises to address 
The ages, history, and all creation.

-Vladimir Mayakovsky


Tuesday, 7 October 2014


Scale continuous

 the staff 

never             flat.

Painting ~ Konstantin Yuon, 1913.


Thursday, 7 August 2014

To Laughingly Invoke...

I lit my cigar on nuclear ash,
And I Am,
Theoretically speaking…
A Doped up spaceman
Looking high
All the time.
And I laugh at everything
with the sternest of expressions;
my remarks will become
as disparate as your
principles and actions.
You should know that I never laugh
oh no,
I'm deadly serious
about the things that amuse me.
I am afraid
of my public face.
Hence why
my passions reside
In secret.
A closeted disposition
protects the world
from necessary
but unwelcome
As I've been lead
to believe,
it is my own
exclusive right
to trouble myself
with everything
that troubles me.

And so,
Nothing is ever

"Thanks to me".

the people who talk,
they are the ones who see,
eye to eye.
the precise feeling of understanding
your full capability,
and armed
with that
precise knowledge,
it is decided that you needn't exercise it.

gallivanting perniciousness
is the prescribed stance of the nihilist,
by those most in denial!

Infer what isn’t meant
and you adopt the stance of the angry political class;
Artless in your demeanour,
you perceive monochronism in plains of radiant colour;
A liberal 'thinker' is 'appalled'
by a perceived injustice
because he has never been angry;

Lawyers and politicians; the most artful of all prosaics.
Before whom,
Innate rights have to be qualified in tournaments of pre-requisite litigation.

And you, the jury,
The artless masses,
Overlook my 'neologistic' tendencies.
To the extent that highlighting the word
is still a pointless exercise:

To say that "when Cubism collaged futurism,
all other art was rendered pointless."

Gets me nowhere
in my pursuit of expression,
much like,
Gentlemanly affection;
in today’s world,
is an aphrodisiac in reverse.

The most pathetic kind of kind.

I could go on,
but such boredom
is a predicament
of which to be highly ashamed,
and righteously scorned
by people such as myself.
You should know that I never laugh

oh no,
I'm deadly serious
about what is humorous.

So you should know that I never laugh,
Such an Absurd stance,
is absurd
for those who don’t know the meaning 
of the word.

Yours, SiBot

Wednesday, 16 July 2014

Today's Nonsense

"—You think I'll weep;
Lynd Ward
No, I'll not weep: I have full cause of weeping,
But this heart shall break into a hundred
thousand flaws,
Or ere I'll weep; O Fool, I shall go mad."
"Gradually there settles down a dreadful, eternal silence of the cemetery. All go mad, without words, they realise what is happening within them, and make up their minds for the last shift: to hide their grief for ever from men, and to speak in commonplace, trivial words which will be accepted as sensible, serious, and even lofty expressions. No longer will anyone cry: "Life is a waste," and intrude his feelings on his neighbours. Everybody knows that it is shameful for one's life to be a waste, and that this shame should be hidden from every eye. The last law on earth is—loneliness..." 

Résigne-toi, mon coeur, dors ton sommeil de brute!

(Resign yourself, my heart, sleep your brutish sleep) 

-Lev Shestov: Apotheosis of Groundlessness


Tuesday, 1 July 2014

сигарета | мазохизм | Маяковский

(I don't plan on petting you, Dear Friends, with that very introduction).

Given my artless surroundings, it seems my contemporaries think I should be embarrassed about what they don't understand. And so at their wish, as a necessary form of masochism, I'm considering taking up smoking as a pastime. 

So I put the question to you, and don't worry, I will measure your response by 
its artlessness, and thus despise myself further,

Is this the right course to take? 

Bear in mind the neigh'sayers (I'm expecting a riposte from many a horses mouth)... will likely find themselves scorned, given, a) the artlessness of their reproaches for such an activity, and b) my determination to infuriate those who think they know better, since those same people really are the most artful of all prosaics, who quite frankly need an artistic slap in the face. 
I'm becoming hastily sickened by your artlessness but you'd still rather I digest it all myself. Hence why...

I Better take up smoking.

And when in hospital bed with a screaming heart, 
just dying to be
Don't be fooled. 
If this kind of masochism is 
the only way,
to live, 
then it is better  
to be alive now,
so to regret later on...



1, Smoking hasn't been banned
2,"Smoking is not a rational, informed choice of adulthood. Eighty percent of smokers start as teenagers as a result of intense peer pressure." As I have posited, quite on the contrary, its a rational deduction, given our surroundings; a slow process of self-immolation.
3, Thankfully I'll still be free/classified old enough to still be able to necessarily intoxicate myself.

It takes

quite a time,
to get to know people,
smoke many a packet of cigarettes
till you raise
that wonderful word
you're needing
from the deep artesian
folk wells.

-Mayakovsky, 'Talking with the taxman about poetry'