we all want order.
we believe that for art to be beautiful
or even life
there must be order.
our brain always finds a way to make things
in order.
thus if there is a spoon and fork, we think
that there must be a plate
if there is an egg, a chicken must have only two legs
if there is a window, there must a frame
we miss the point sometimes: for a window to really exist
we need an empty space, not the frame
a spoon can be laziness, when you are feed with it
and a fork can be but Neptune in disguise
the brain itself is one convoluted map that it it malfunctions
it is hard to pinpoint the exact disorder
what we lack is the acceptance that everything
is not in order
the boat is in the sky,
the baby is deep down the sea
a bomb is in the bed
and the devil is drinking wine in the church
decent men that we have high respect
are thieves
justice is as twisted as a broken leg
and judges look like robots
don't you see sometimes that the king
has actually no penis? i mean no clothes
rightly said, no balls.
i love disorder now. If you see my room where i
am typing this poem
you will never like it. There is shit on computer table.
My favorite dog's shit.
my wrist watch is on my feet and my
eyes are at the back of my hand.
my point is , this is a crazy country. you do not expect
anything in order anymore.
and the danger is, with time,
we will love it. we will tolerate it and those
crocodiles and snakes will say: idiots,
unless you kill us, you will have no other choice.
unless you revolutionize, collide, rotate,
rattle and roll, you will still have us.
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