This is here.

The bindings slip, the brittle pages
fall out in my hands.
Everything is putty
or stone.

This is that place where the compass spins;
where memory and experience are one.

All that I have had, is a mystery, to all but me.
Fate by way of history has made it so.
Economics, has made it so.
But I remember - hedging bets, being greedy, giving up, from cowardice.
I remember, deals with the devil.
Then history started again.

I did not change a thing. I have only moved through here
on my way to a cowards end.
Knowing I am a coward, I look for strength.

If I can not be brave, I will be stubborn.
I will be or I will sit.

/I can still be brave, behind the lines.
/Who took these things from me?
/Who am I at war with?
----------------------------------------------------------
Habitus

Habitus: the state as parasite; hidden by its gargantuan implausibility;
hidden by
the dirty dealings
only we
know of.

Habitus: the great excuse; the absolution of personal responsibility.
Habitus: to wash away the homeless; to not know about Africa; to shoot a man for stealing.

Habitus: our conspiracy of silence.
Habitus: the cynic's choice, the efficient ontology.
Habitus: the ghosts of our primitive ancestors.
Habitus: the double cross.

I will be ridiculous, I will hope for the moon, I will be derivative and mediocre, I will
let myself be measured with those ridiculous instruments.
If a book can be written, so can a life.
I know what I have decided. Now, I wait for compassion.


-------------------------------------------------------

In my final moments,
I want to see yellow leaves
in the rain
and listen to Scriabin.

I want to smell Cherry tobacco
and eat gooseberries,
and live in a tent in my pajamas.

When I go, I want it to be like leaving a dear friends
house. No visit last forever.

And on the way home, I want to remember every fine
detail of the evening, I want to know that I was there,
forever.