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the world is much larger and stranger
than you have been led to believe
there are extraordinary things in your everyday lives
there are hidden treasures in familiar shadows
you have been kept shielded
shielded from the dangerous and untamable world of the actual
we hand it all to you on a plate
packaged and pristine
the blandly mass-produced trinkets
the omnipresent corporate cafes
the unchallenging
brainless
autotuned
overprocessed
media
that fills your screens and airwaves
we’ve anaesthetised you like a Huxleyan Soma
with all the aroma
of neatness and control
whilst the disorder of your anarchic nature
has been pounding at your soul
we can never be like you
so we reduce you to simplicity
but you have sparks of divinity
you are married to infinity
we make you fear your imperfections but in fact
they are the diamond of your being
and they will always offer unimaginable variations
you hve forgotten how to dream because we have
removed it from your language
but there are things inside you that are mysterious
and magical
and impossible to explain
and if anything cannot be rationally explained
then (that?) our machines will not compute
you are being watched, my friends
you are taxed (l)ivestock
you are numbers on our screens
and you are seeking little other than
the peaceful parade of pictures on screens
the tranquil melody of corporate lullaby
this is an invitation
put down your newspapers
turn off your tvs
because there is a war being waged for your minds
and you’re starting to feel scared
you’re starting to forget just how free and powerful
you really are
deep inside you there is a roaring fire
that is not cooled by comfort or tamed by fear
a fire that burns in all things
a fire that can drag your fellow beings
out of stagnant waters
and re-imagine your world
with no leader or station
no grants from rich foundations
a world that is not made of atoms
but stories
a world that shifts its shape with every passing
daydream
that intervenes
your daily routines
and the narcotic moments of creative bliss
the bizarre stomach flutterings
with the lovers you kiss
the complex structures you devise
and the endless nights
shooting stars into your eyes
there are trails of light in your collective dreams
there is sentience in your discarded machines
everything in this world is intoxicating
everything is on fire all the time
and you are bound only by the limits
of your imagination
everything else will follow
the world will follow
as above
so below
a new heaven
and a new earth

-wirrow

Born for larger journeys that this life has to give,

I never land on earth unless the step I take

impales me on a hundred thousand flowers.

With my eyes bound by the metaphor of colors

I dream of a single grain of sand,

the humble heir of our protean mountains,

and seed of earth’s yesterdays.

I no longer see my way

toward the flotsam of my imagination.

Where is the genius of my impertinence,

of my heart laid bare?

What do my eyes see at all,

stuffed as they are with sunlight?

I’m winning back my dullish diffidence,

welcomed by a sunless day.

No more mountains!

Only a poor little grain of sand,

confirming the vanities of time.

What shall I ask for a tomb?

That same simple stony speck

whose invisible rock-crystal edge

reflecting it, perks up the sun’s last blazing. 

Ossip Zadkine.