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The Cure

I am not depressed.
I am realistic.

Your idea of curing me
is to make me sick.

I would rather see the truth
than soak in fake happiness.

I would rather feel pain
than imagine fake joy.

I would rather live
whatever that entails –
I would rather know
than fake beliefs –
I would rather think
than fake agreement –

I am not depressed –
I just have sharper vision than you.

You can’t cure me
since you spread the disease.

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For All the Flaws of Our Life On Earth

Could I earn a place in Heaven –
by what means
and what might it do to me?
What if I found that once there, then
not only had I ceased to be
but too that Heaven isn’t as it seems?

That is to say, what good is to be had
cut off from everything –
what good to learn when nothing
resembles a chance to ever meet the bad?

For all the flaws of our life on Earth
I must say –
I’d choose this life, right here and now
over a place in Heaven any day.
For all the dreary, and for what it’s worth,
no other place provides a chance for growth.

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The Arrival of Spring

Spring arrived
or so I decided
today.

The dark fog
hovering in my head
I willed away.

At least for now
the sun shines
and the air is clear –

the cold awakens thoughts
and silences
the nightmares –

The snow of yesterday
already melted,
disappeared

it took with it all traces
of our movements there –

the sludge seeps through my shoes,
no longer waterproof.
It’s good,
it helps me stay awake –

I hung away my winter coat
this morning
since I choose
not to allow the winter to go on –

and if the winter disagrees
so be it –
I’d rather catch a cold
than stay inside

My feet are freezing
but it helps me breathe –
it helps maintaining focus,
not to feel

and I will walk today
and stay outside
and try to think

and I won’t sleep until
the thinking
has been done

Spring arrived today
because I need it now –
I cannot wait two weeks
for clarity of mind.

I’ll air out my brain
and will the darkness away
and see what I can find –

perhaps some energy
that I thought lost –

perhaps a way to will away
the nightmares of the past –

perhaps a flower sprouting
in a pool of half-thawed
ice-encrusted mud –

perhaps to catch a cold –
that would be something new to think about –
perhaps I could –

perhaps a beam of sun
that cannot yet be felt –

perhaps a stray thought
that could help me write a poem
again –

perhaps some lungfuls of the air
might help me sleep
a healthy sleep
with no nightmares –

My feet have led me
out into the park
where they sink
into the thawing soil –

the earth seemingly knows
that I need to feel grounded –

With feet like icicles
I proceed
ahead –

the Spring of my making,
right here and now,
a stuttering breath –

an interlude between darkness
and darkness –
light, cold and wet –

alive –

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I Trust In the Poet

I trust in the poet
to be able to phrase
all that I wish to say
and I trust her to do it –

I trust her to scatter
the fog with her words,
to comfort and heal all
the bruises and hurts –

I charge her: be honest,
be brave and direct
whenever I fail
myself in that respect,

be sad or be angry –
all that I don’t show –
so that it has an outlet
and won’t fester in me –

be all and say all
that you know I would like to!
I trust in the poet
to carry it through.

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If I Lack Words, I Must Make Them

There… there…
no, I failed to grasp it again
but I was close this time…
That word just keeps eluding me…
I have it… I have had it… I had it…
It’s gone…
I speak the things out loud
inside my head
I would have liked to have said
out loud
but even then that word
eludes me…
What was it now again?

I lack that word to describe myself
and what I am…
I have a handful of clichés
and even they don’t even
approximate
what I am…
What am I?
Something indescribable
apparently…

I am a finger hovering over a keyboard for a
missing key…

I am a note lingering in the air after the music has ended…
I am the anticipation before the music has started to play…

I am a synthesis – but of what? Of past and
future making present? Of art and technology making a future I’m not sure I even wish to live in? But would I rather live in the past?

Where in the world do I belong? In the physical world where I am technically situated I might as well not exist, but I cannot really exist in the
virtual world I inhabit. My words come out as nothing but the clatter of a keyboard. As if I was only speaking to myself. I look up and around and think that I might as well be.

But I chose this for myself didn’t I? How can I complain that I am lonely and that nobody understands me when I chose this? I had alternatives. They were worse. I chose this. I chose the
keyboard. I chose the clatter. I chose the silence. Because the price of speaking is so damn high.
I chose the computer over the people. Because the computer is logical and follows instructions. It understands the code I write. Humans cannot be relied upon to understand the words I say. They do not always. They do not – mostly. But the
computer I can talk to. And it doesn’t suddenly decide that it would rather have its software
written by someone more attractive or less needy or less socially awkward or less quiet. It just
accepts me. It’s just there when I need it. And I never have to struggle to express myself to it like I have to when around people.
That was my choice. But it was never an easy one.

But maybe it doesn’t all have to be as black and white as I have made it out to be. Maybe I can combine everything. Maybe I can speak to people through the computer. For lack of better options. And maybe they would actually hear me.

If I lack words I must make them. I must re-program the language to fit me if it doesn’t. And it doesn’t. I must reshape my language in my own image and hope that somebody will understand what I mean anyway.

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Those Humans

You know them, those pesky two-legged creatures who constantly bother you when you try to work and just won’t respect your privacy. When you plan a trip to finally be alone with yourself in nature, they might even suddenly decide to tag along.
It is as if they think themselves the most important thing in the world, and in your life. It is as if any proof to the contrary is invisible to them.

Continue reading Those Humans

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Nej tak

Jeg ønsker ingen opmærksomhed –
jeg ønsker ingen –
hvad er det imod
at have fred
med sig selv?

Jeg ønsker ingen lys –
ingen dag –
bare det fløjlsbløde mørke
der udligner vreden
og vugger mig som havet
skønt jeg ikke kan sove –

Jeg ønsker bare stilheden
som runger for mine ører
med sin særegne musik –

Jeg ønsker bare ensomheden
fri for andres tanker
der klæber til én
som snavs
men er sværere at vaske af –

Jeg ønsker bare…
intet!
Jeg ønsker at ønske intet!

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My Questions

I have so many questions;
at least one for every person I have met,
both the ones alive
and the ones who are dead.

I have so much to ask everyone
because I want to understand
my life and its connections;
something I just can’t!

I have questions for my parents;
grandparents (now all dead);
and family members I have – or haven’t – met.
For teachers, classmates,
partners, friends;
for cleaners, lunch-ladies, janitors,
secretaries, bus-drivers, waitresses,
hairdressers, yes,
even the creepy guy who stocks shelves
at my local supermarket.

I have so many questions
that I’d like to ask them all
but all I ever say is: “What a weather!”,
“Got my e-mail?” or “On which shelf…?”

And besides, the most important questions
are the ones I ought to ask myself…

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Disenchant Yourself

Disenchant what I have treasured,
treasured in my heart for years –
disenchant yourself and free me
from my own continuous tears

What’s the use of crying – tell me –
when you’re crying for a dream?
What’s the use – it equals lying,
loving what has never been

Disenchant this worthless idol
which I’ve kept for lack of more –
kept and locked up in my soul
rather than bar it at the door