Be nice and starve an artist

Be nice and starve an artist.
His life is meaningless.
On air he should subsist
to maintain his success.

Be nice and slay an angel.
His wings are way too big.
Pave his sacred road to hell
and do not care a fig.

Be nice and fuck a virgin.
Her youth won’t last for long.
Caress her hair and touch her skin.
You can do no wrong.

Be nice and throw a preacher
into a lion’s den.
Let lions be his teacher
and not a crowd of men.

Be nice and burn a Bible.
For drivel it contains.
Why bother with such trifle
that keeps your mind in chains.

Be nice and hang a Jesus
into your living room.
His story never ceases
to inspire grief and gloom.

Be nice and waste this hour
if you want to make some strides.
This world is the will to power
and nothing else besides!

*Painting “Martyr on a circus ring” by Fyodor Bronnikov, 1869.

In his heart the fool will say

In his heart the fool will say:
There is a heaven and a god.
Instead of learning he will pray,
meditate and cry aloud.

These filthy little believing beasts
who spread their poison in our midst.
All you prophets, preachers, priests:
You have no right to live, exist.

All you mystics, seekers, saints
who corrupt the youthful minds.
What evils, crimes and moral taints,
in your presence one often finds.

You call your Lord in times of trouble
and you beg for his saving grace.
You’ve been living in one big bubble
shielded from your own true face.

You say that you enjoy god’s bliss
and that you have felt his touch.
What kind of nonsense is this?
Your pretty words do not mean much.

You think that God is by your side
and watches over your every move.
You hold this fancy for your guide
but all this you cannot prove.

You claim that God is beyond reason
and yet your mind is never still.
Beliefs and dogmas are your prison
that you have built at your own will.

*Painting – “The Fool” by Pablo Picasso, 1904.

Some people say their dreams out loud

Some people say their dreams out loud
but I prefer them to enshroud
in darkness, rain, storm and cloud,
with my strength and might endowed.

Some people yearn for gods, spirits
but I prefer my mind and wits.
No exceptions my rule admits.
In my soul no deity fits.

Some people search for happiness
but I prefer to digress
from all the honor and success
to a place with no address.

Some people crave for love and sense
but I prefer to dispense
with such pride and pretense
at my own risk and expense.

Some people want to be great
but I prefer my own fate.
For better days I cannot wait.
To live today – it is too late.

*Painting “Dream of Icarus” by Sergey Solomko

Everything will be alright

Don’t cry for me, my little girl.
For you alone my heart will swirl.
Take my hand and hold it tight.
Everything will be alright.

Don’t cry for me, my precious gem.
But If you do, I won’t condemn.
I stand beside you in this fight.
Everything will be alright.

Don’t cry for me, my lovely dove.
With you alone I am in love.
In your presence I take delight.
Everything then is alright.

Don’t cry for me, my sweet rose.
What future brings, no one knows.
Set these words before your sight.
Everything will be alright.

Don’t cry for me, my unknown friends.
This is not how my story ends.
Though shadows may appear tonight.
Everything will be alright.
*Painting – “Sylvester-Smiling” by Robert Henri, 1914.

What this life appears to be

What this life appears to be
is something strange it is not.
My eyes look out but do not see.
This wasted life is all I’ve got.

What I was one year ago
today I am not anymore.
All things are in flux and flow.
I have no roots, I have no core.

What were these nights before the dawn?
My darkest hours I spend in light.
All precious things have long been gone
I am asking now, is this alright?

What I am today is this –
an author of these boring songs.
Let me jump into abyss.
To no one else my soul belongs.

What has happened here before
these things were in flux and flow?
I am not the same anymore,
my soul has died long time ago.

*Painting – “A troubled soul” by Ferdinand Hodler.

I wonder if I ever had known

I wonder if I ever had known
how fragile is the hardest stone.
To wear and tear all things are prone.
So leave me now to die alone.

I wonder if I ever had a heart
to give away or to break apart.
Into the wind I throw my dart.
Where it lands, I care not a fart.

I wonder if I ever had a dream
to be a king and to reign supreme.
Twice I stepped into the same stream.
My life is not what it would seem.

I wonder if I ever had a soul
that I could neglect or control.
What does it matter, after all –
to see the parts but not the whole?

I wonder if I ever had a chance
to lag behind or to advance.
Under the open sky I live and dance,
I am awake and yet in trance.

*Painting – “The farmer” by Max Liebermann, 1894.

Dear me, I know you understand

Dear me, I know you understand
that I am not at your command.
Your orders will not be obeyed,
Your throne is lost, I am afraid.

Dear me, I know you feel
that no one steers the wheel.
Your soul runs its own course
with all its might and force.

Dear me, I know you comprehend
that I am not your trustful friend.
Your name is just an empty noise
that disturbs my mind and poise.

Dear me, I know you care
that I don’t fall into despair.
How quickly then this all would end
if I had not much time to spend.

Dear me, I know you understand.
You’ll never reach the promised land.
Life is small but death is grand.
Dear me, I know you understand.

*Painting – Self-Portrait by David Wilkie 

It is not hard

It is not hard to write
something sweet and contrite.
From darkest corners comes this light.
It shines so powerful and bright.

It is not hard to believe
that all things you can achieve.
You have no right to grieve.
Don’t cry before you leave.

It is not hard to say
that everything is okay.
Let us walk our little way
and make the best of today.

It is not hard to embrace
the demons you have faced.
Show no fear or haste.
Your hopes are not misplaced.

It is not hard to sense
that life is so immense.
This sweetness of incense
keeps us in suspense.

*About the accompanying image for this poem

The time has come

The time has come to heal my wounds.
With joy and hope my soul abounds.
All fears and doubts have gone away.
My future life begins today.

The time has come to change this life
With chance and luck this world is rife.
Today I stand here and make a vow
to face my fears a day from now.

The time has come to end this farce.
In my depths the light is sparse.
Though darkness falls on all of us,
my dreams will never turn to dust.

The time has come to make things right,
to bring my secrets into the light.
I take this burden off my hands
as it is and as it stands.

The time has come to say goodbye,
I want to live and not to die.
My failures drive me back and forth.
Take my word for what it’s worth.

The time has come to face my fears,
to grab this life by its ears.
Now is the hour of my birth.
My Heaven is a place on Earth.

*About the accompanying image for this poem

I don’t need no prose or art

I don’t need no prose or art
in which to soothe my drained heart.
Many fools have appeared smart –
be it Plato or Descartes.

I don’t need no words of praise
to set my tender mind ablaze.
A sly remark or a witty phrase
can lull my soul into sleep for days.

I don’t need no gods or saints
who would hear out my complaints.
I live my life without restraints,
despite my faults and my taints.

I don’t need no hopes or dreams
to know it’s more than what it seems.
The Moon has its secrets as Sun has its beams,
I walk the line between these two extremes.

I don’t need no love or trust
to feel vibrant and robust.
Within each flame, there reigns a frost.
When fire ends, what else is lost?

What nonsense gives your spirit wings?

What nonsense gives your spirit wings?
What melody your silence sings?
To which past your future ever clings
above all powers, above all things?

What nonsense inspires you to act?
Is it something concrete or abstract?
All that’s broken, remains intact.
No faith in god refutes this fact.

What nonsense allows your faith to last?
Your hope for future or regret of past?
The universe is indifferent and vast,
Your life is short and fading fast.

What nonsense gives you strength and power?
How much truth you can devour?
Cut down a tree and pluck a flower.
This life of yours lasts but an hour.

What nonsense causes your head to spin?
What are the fruits of death and sin?
All fades away, much to our chagrin.
Our journey ends where we begin.

All my life I have feared

All my life I have feared
the darkness of a silent night.
But now I know. The sky has cleared.
The hidden truth has come to light.

All my life I have counted
golden teardrops in your eye.
Endless fears I have surmounted
touching rainbows in the sky.

All my life I have raped
the Vestal Virgins of my mind.
From all the hells I have escaped,
leaving fallen ghosts behind.

All my life I have claimed
the void behind the royal throne.
Of my past I am not ashamed
though my flaws are widely known.

All my life I have suspended
my beliefs in a godless life.
But now I know. The curse has ended.
Let our peace begin with strife.

My only candle I have blown

My only candle I have blown,
in darkness now I sit alone.
There are no sins to atone,
I reap the seeds that I have sown.

My only truth I have lost,
these thoughts I now reduce to dust.
From all the love and all the trust
I turn away now in disgust.

My only life I have flushed,
in misery I sit now crushed.
I sleep in filth and loathsome ash,
my greatest hopes were cruelly dashed.

My only mirror I have broken,
I sit now with my eyes wide open.
That dreadful silence has surely spoken
and all the ghosts have now awoken.

My only flower I have cut
and every door I have shut.
I sit now in my rotten hut
and ask myself to live or not.

All the secrets I have seen

All the secrets I have seen,
in every corner I have been.
Every thought – good or mean,
and every image in between.

All the poor and splendid places,
All the sad and happy faces.
All the roads and hidden traces,
All this and more my soul embraces.

All the flavors I have tasted,
All the love and all the hatred.
So many hours I have wasted
to know all this – made or created.

All the joyful states and fears,
All the laughter, smiles and tears.
From all these deeds and histories
I have gained my expertise.

All the mouths I have kissed,
nothing I have ever missed.
From every table I have eaten
and every fear I have beaten.

All the gods I have drowned,
no other idol I have crowned.
Every truth I have owned
and every sinner I have stoned.

In all these images I have seen
I’ve never found one human being.
No filthy beast or a vile machine
could be so lost or so obscene.

Pretend I’m lost, then come and find me

1. Pretend I’m lost, then come and find me.
   Pretend I’m hungry, then come and feed me.
   Pretend I’m ill, then come and heal me.
   Pretend I’m honest, then come and deceive me.
   Pretend I’m wise, then come and fool me.
   Pretend I’m strong, then come and defeat me.
   Pretend I’m wealthy, then come and rob me.
   Pretend I’m amusing, then come and ignore me.
   Pretend I’m guilty, then come and forgive me.
   Pretend I’m filthy, then come and cleanse me.
   Pretend I’m pretty, then come and love me.
   Pretend I’m holy, then come and adore me.
   Pretend I’m charming, then come and please me.
   Pretend I’m noble, then come and serve me.
   Pretend I’m tranquil, then come and disturb me.
   Pretend I’m austere, then come and tease me.
   Pretend I’m lonely, then come and approach me.
   Pretend I’m alluring, then come and seduce me.
   Pretend I’m angry, then come and appease me.
   Pretend I’m worried, then come and console me.
   Pretend I’m dead, then come and mourn me.

I don’t know

I don’t know what is good and what is bad, what is important and what is not. I don’t know what is to be done or what could be done and whether anything should be done at all.
I don’t know who I am and who are you or who is this and what are they, where I come from and where I go, why I write this and why you read that.
I don’t know what is right and what is wrong, what is polite and what is rude, what is happiness and what is misery, what is precious and what is horrid, what is beautiful and what is sublime.
I don’t know whether I should do something or do nothing. Whether I should do this or that. I don’t know whether I can do both and if I could whether I should. I don’t know if I should elaborate on that or not.
I don’t know what is the purpose and what is the meaning. I don’t know whether this amounts to anything, something or nothing. Even when I speak – don’t be misguided by this seductive trickery – I really don’t know what I am talking about.

Probably the best post I have written so far

 

Diabolical intelligence and the bliss of being evil

There are some people who are always for half-measures. People who are scared shitless of the consequences. People who think they are better than me. People who offer half-baked advice and housewifish opinions. People who want to tell me what to do. What they don’t know and what they cannot understand is that they must learn from me. But they are not doing this, because they think they know better. These people are beginners and dwarfs in comparison to me. They cannot insult me even if they tried. These people can lick my ass. I will smack them in their face if they tell me what to do. These people are mad. They are a bunch of idiots. They deserve to be treated as pieces of shit. They are lunatics who belong in asylum. Assholes and fucking idiots who should be locked up for life. Somebody needs to hit them in their face. These madmen should be put in their place where they belong. They should stop bothering and interrupting me. They are so stupid and ignorant that they don’t care about anything and they care even less about me. Their questions are meaningless and not my answers. These people don’t exist for me.

Blessed are the pharisees!

We easily mistake an act of malicious evil and raw deception for an act of charity and loving kindness. The bond of trust between two people is cemented by broken promises and dashed hopes. We misinterpret a curse for a blessing. We confuse obscenities and foul language for a rare moment of intellectual honesty, truthfulness and genuine authenticity. Rudeness is the new poetry. Petty little lies are considered profound and deep. Stupid remarks and blatant tautologies are the new pearls of wisdom. Trivial one-liners constitute a thorough analysis. Blessed are the pharisees! 

The Yekaterinburg lecture: Sasha Grey on popular culture

On her journey of becoming a global icon of our time, the multi-talented artist Sasha Grey recently stopped by in Yekaterinburg, Russia to give a public lecture. Yes, you read it right and your eyes are not deceiving you. The former megastar of porn, the wonderful Sasha Grey was not giving a blowie – as one might have thought or expected – she was, rather, sincerely presenting her views and diligently enlightening the masses on the current state of our culture. This is not the beginning of some sick and twisted joke. Far from it. These are dead cold facts. And I have evidence to prove it.

According to the local reports (see – <a http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7QfBx3gdiNQ</a&gt; ), the building – in which our heroine appeared –  was packed with listeners, journalists and other media representatives. Not everyone got in to see the history unfolding right in front of their eyes. The less fortunate had to wait outside for their chance to receive an expert advice on proper being and authentic living.

What follows next should be viewed in the tradition of Demosthenes’ Philippics and Cicero’s letters, Lincoln’s Gettysburg address and Martin Luther King Jr‘s speech “I have a dream”. The Yekaterinburg lecture of Sasha Grey is nothing short of brilliance. Before all is said and done, it will go down in history as one of the greatest orations of modern times. Obama’s ghostwriter should really take notes on how to generate a devoted following and an electrifying magnetism beyond the borders of Washington.
But before I present to you the partial transcript of Miss Grey’s lecture, remember that you read it first here. So, when one fine day my words come true and I acquire a halo of a prophet, you are fully entitled to confess: “Magnus was my master.”