Poems

There is a Light –

The light is blue,

But first an instruction:

“Blue is not Blue, Blue is Orange.”

Orange is a contemporary colour

Orange is post apocalyptic.

The traffic sounds are incoherent chaotic

(Music genre: punk rock)

News reading

Alien language of authority

Task Rabbit

Through the rabbit hole

Urgency - tension and diffusion

Scooter sounds

High speed driving sequence,

But on a solar powered scooter,

Preferably yellow.

Lights dim 10% (lighting instructions)

Reaching destination

Digital Revolution

Too late –

Curses in Finnish sound anticlimactic.

News: Intercity blocks taken over –

The Army of the Flying Baby pink Elephants Faction is real

The Fiction is real

(Music genre: News reel muzak)

The International Guerilla forces –

Force International luxury communism

Occupation Unchecked

Check privelidge

Uncheck new forms of resistance

Checkpoint.

Lights dim 20% (lighting instructions)

Disadvantaged, are the

Needs that the state cannot cater for.

Rejecting a Nationalism model

The Nation is outdated.

Upholding and perpetuating

Nothing but xenophobia and rascism.

Eat the rich

Live broadcast of the devouring.

Live broadcast of the devouring

Industrial complex known as Finland.

Checkpoint.

Phone call -

…

“Moi

Hei

Tota

No-ne

Ja

Ja”

…

Phone call ends.

More bad news?

The cow protectors are lynching the beef-eaters

What is going on?

There is a War

Between those who say there is a war and those who say there isn’t…

It is known.

Lights dim 30% (lighting instructions)

Paper clip to trash the simcard.

Sims don’t need passports

Invalidation

Do you come from a country previously undivided?

Fearing the mob

The tanks enter the University.

We were in love

Leaving in a hurry

The checkpoint

Checkpoint Helsinki

The wildfire began when the factory was shut down

Dissent

Dissent

Don’t resent

37% are denied entry, annually.

Statue of Mannerhiem is decapitated

He Killed a lot of people for being a communist

He was a Swedish Guy

Worked in the Russian Army

Became Finnish through liberation –

Aliens take note.

Mannerhiem had a horse

You have a scooter

Exploited and exploiters.

Change can only come through violence

The power that produces a State is violence

There are no safe spaces – only the Ghetto and the Gated Community

Elimination is Brutal

How to justify violence?

What is Reasonable?

What comes after?

Trauma

The hero’s death or the idiot’s death

Is the same

“Did you live a good life? Enough to base a movie on?"

Lights dim 40% (lighting instructions)

Self organised communities and a

Cool patch on leather jacket uniforms

Sirens sound protest

Merihaka khaki undercover

The gun was kicked out of his hand

The gun is weaponised light

The light is Orange

Orange is toxic

(Music genre: Dark psy Electronica)

Fleeing Finland

Calling the factory

Calling the office

Calling the studio

Calling all post-fordist forms of workspaces

Phone is picked up by a disinterested receptionist

I say, “I quit”.

Gun cocked

Explosion

Explosion

White noise

Explosion

Debris

(Music genre: Ambient Dark Club)

Imagine a chase sequence

Tension, Sirens – Basic parameters

(Music genre: Industrial electronica)

Bird sounds

Alien pigeons

Water psychedelics

The drinking fountain Is toxic

tap water is so passé also toxic

Sea side

also toxic

Crossing Hakaniemi

The Hakaniemi double cross

The sigh …

Complex relations to the welfare state

Dumping everything

Travel to somewhere nice, like India

Club venue

More Alien pigeons

Closed corridor

Club music

(Music genre: Dark psy club)

I dont know your name

“Checkpoint”.

Names have power –

Military control

Have you eaten yet?

I’m not hungry.

I am your father

Recommend a Restaraunt

“Will there be singing during the dark times?

Yes, there will be singing about the dark times…"

Bertould brecht broke the fourth wall

Where is the Feast we were promised?

(Music genre: Restaraunt muzak)

“I’m sorry, there is only self service here“

Self governing commune

Self responsibility

Self Control

Self regulation

Self censor ship

A Ship of Fools.

Lights dim 50% (lighting instructions)

Peaceful under water

Dams under maintainence

Flood gates unchecked

Zones left unprotected

Battlefield Earth

After the storm, the army was sent in

The army was made of artists and curators.

The goal of the state is to re(in)state

The order was sent by pigeons

A post apocalyptic apartheid,

Class distinctions

Incoming policies are written, nay, injected into the system

Causing the Deep Sleep.

The coma will last till the Empire remains

The Hurricane accelerated the revolution

Hunger games

The gamification of Hunger

Reality is a consensus

We are ruled by TV –

Eyeball economy.

The ‘Utopia’ is a High profile neighbourhood for the rich.

“The art crowd were profiting from the mediation of the conflict."

Lights dim 60% (lighting instructions)

Out of area placement

Starting a movement

We will live online

There is a time when you have to resist the commodification of the resistance

Say no

(Music genre: Restaraunt Muzak) continues

Say no

Say no to pigeons

Say no and electrify the fences

Barricade the Doors

Build the Walls

And put spikes on the facades.

Say no to pigeons

High up

Lights dim 70% (lighting instructions)

The Illusion of life is

Hating the mirror

Ballet is not pink, you

Stupid burgeoise audience

The ballet dancer at the opera

gives condescending orders

Causing misinterpretation of the survival instinct

People with higher level of anxiety suffer from it more.

We are all immortal cyborgs

Cultural memory is stored in massive hardrives

The Archive is on the Cloud

The cloud storage is a stone in Nevada.

The aim of all life is in Death Valley

The aim of all life is death

Tank explosions

Shopping complex in flames

The museum in the mall

Bomb the Fascist monuments

The Bank

The Opera house

Explosions

Unpaid credit

The Sun is out.

There is no Sun

Behind the solar panels

(Music genre: Saami music)

The lure of commercials

Retail therapy

Buyer’s remorse

The melancholy of forgetting

Projecting desire of luxury communism

Anticipation

Rejection

Depression

Seagulls

Seagulls

Seagulls

Explosions

Debris

(Music genre: Celtic Heavy Metal)

Lights dim 80% (lighting instructions)

Science Fiction 101:

Aliens unite human groups

Huddle to regroup to repell

The outsider

The Invader

The Coloniser The Refugee The other

In all shapes Sizes, and Colour.

Clingy Unattractive Overtly aware. Different now…

Lights dim 90% (lighting instructions)

Imposter syndrome

Invested Hypocrisy

Lifestyle choice

Those who know Know

That there is no Exit plan

There is a Light that never goes out

The End of Civilisation is not the End of the World

The End of the World is not the End of Life

The End of Life is not the End of Civilisation

And then it was said, “Let there be Light.”

(exit)

Lights dim 100% (lighting instructions)

How to begin?

A good beginning

one of Harun Farocki’s beginnings:

We can drop in the middle of events.

How to begin, again?

In 1992,

This beginning takes the form

The Hero is thrown into the world.

One of

Another Beginning

Does the World exist

This beginning is among his last:

in 1992,

These works are building blocks.

There used to be one TV per flat.

Another group of works investigates

In its inception,

Reality would have to begin.

Another of Farocki’s beginnings:

Looks like it might have been just a glitch.

A soldier

Like warfare,

In an interview published

Filmmakers have hitherto only represented

Paradoxically the beginning is also often the last

Today, workers are leaving

I know I am not alone in this.

All of us are now in a position to answer your question:

Does the world exist,

Reality would first have to begin.

– an anticipation.

an art of creating beginnings

One of Harun Farocki’s beginnings:

We can drop it the middle of events.

On July 30th, Harun Farocki died.

It trickles, disseminates, preserves.

glitches of a new technology

a stunning form of consumer-oriented warfare,

How to begin, again?

Reality’s absence stays put.

This beginning takes the form of a statement:

Which roles are valid.

Production holds conflict

It is its most basic form.

Another beginning:

if I am not watching it?

You’re lucky it hasn’t got arse physics or else I would.

Why don’t people eat their browsers instead?

Cinema is now rephrased as architecture

Think of a televised ballet performed by a fantasy military sports brigade.

The technology was too slow to keep up with Farocki’s furious pace.

Stagecraft for reality

Reality would have to begin.

Another of Farocki’s beginnings:

Looks like it might have been just a glitch.

– now generated by images.

Just like the paper airplane, by the way.

Words of the Chairman:

something like a 3D animation.

the point is to generate worlds differently.

The beginner’s spirit day by day.

he is no longer here.

People faint every time it comes down Karl-Mar-Allee.

All of us are now in a position to answer your question:

Does the world exist, if I am not watching it?

reality can finally be brought about.

I am not learned, I am not ignorant.

I have wandered

Is my life better than other people’s lives?

I have loved people,

Shortly afterward,

As reason returned to me,

I saw that even on the worst days,

Men went to escape from death, strange beings that they are.

Yet I have met people who have never said to life, “Quiet!”

Can I

Am I

I came

I am not

I lived

I must

I was

Outdoors, I had

This brief scene excited me to the point of delirium

I went to the house but did not enter

All that was real; take note.

I had no enemies.

Once the glass had been removed,

I was asleep!

Even after I recovered,

They gave me a modest position in the institution

Even though my sight had hardly weakened,

Yet something in me quickly stopped wanting.

They said to me

I liked

Behind their backs I saw

I knew

She would

She was

I had

The law

She got

This was one of her games.

Who threw glass in your face?

I had

I had

I had

A story? No. No stories, never again.

The Dark; side of the Night,

Fiery Jazzy Dynamos of the never-ending kind

Fans of The Stranger Tales,

Schizophrenia and BLANK!

In Taxicabs and other Neon time machines

Soul ascending next dimension/ Astro transcendental

Starry Starry sky,

Show us a new song

A threefold thunderbolt rhapsody

Racing across from the Midnight past to midnight black

The path of excess leads to the tower of wisdom

Sometimes…

A Kafkan wilderness – Cold metal Grey and dry dust

Rain-washed black tar, speckled with charcoal grey

Grey rats grey birds grey dogs and other grey bipeds

No red – only something soft that may pass for mud

A few tufts of hair and slivers of chewed out bleached bones

Awash with the waters of the Styx / and Poison / polluted

Cold hands of a wind tickling Embers burnt / barricaded

Damp, dank and dark are the colors of this world

Lifeless and drab, there are greens and blues

Dreamless machine lives and washed out hues

Drink from the flowers / Eat the seed

Dancer of Death of the nether never land

Are you following me?

Overlooking civilization / Murakami upside down…

Super-non-Flat / where we are

Prisoners of own worlds isolated manifest before your eyes,

In parallel world Timespace Continuum wormhole Black hole reality

As breaths compress / stars die / Atlas, turns the axis

We could be starlight, with nothing to prove / suspended animation

In between the lines lies lice lies and blood thirsty sex

Mindless – opinions fed to drug fuelled masses

They eat feasting on rotten meat / fleeced

Atrophy to nerve ending capacity – no time. No time

I’ll be there when you’re gone

Movement / no movement – pregnant stasis

The inherent soliloquies of a six billion planktonian people

Vast oceans of sand and watery deserts / barren and unforgiving

Can we know ourselves if we don’t know where we are?

Is it silence that we hear, or a roar

A grandmaster playing Psychedelic, thick like tar

Mushroom cloud substance, gooey chaotic stuff

Thunderous, deafening, tumultuous / Brownian motion funeral march

Narcotic anarchic / Supernova Fantastic / stretching like elastic

Surrounding us engulfing us choking us drowning us

Womb of pain /Anti Mother / the Phantom Zone

Will we be destroyed by our very own silences?

I

A streak of white light

In the dark recesses of my mind,

Blinded, I hear…

A noise, a thud.

Again, again with every beat

A sound within, A pulse

Blending across

The soft membrane of the body.

Soft music, slightly building

Black, red, pink peach, yellow,

First sensations, warm

Floating and secure,

Separated from myself

By time and space.

II

The day meets the night,

As the Sun touches the Moon…

And the stars dance around

Amidst psychedelic clouds

Of purple, mauve and gold.

Where am I? What am I doing here?

Cracks, cobwebs and fairy dust

Wires, cables and tape

Ash, rubble and black roses,

Odds and ends, junk –

The leftovers from the yesteryears,

Mementos of a timeless memory

And an age forgotten

Before we became men

III

We are who we are,

But who are we, we know not

But we are who we are,

The Blind balanced monsters of the Idd

Stitching up the wounds of the soul

I prepare to go at it again

I sit, stand and lie down

I go round and round

Coming back to where I start

Again and again, it’s the same spot

Day by day, and in helpless nights

Watching the clouds pass me by

I think and I think

Wondering how it will all end

And then I think that first I should begin

IV

You sit on your high and mighty throne

Of concrete metal and stone

Unperturbed, unmoved

Wise and confused…

What of us, the lesser beings

The commoners and the fools

Those who seek sustenance

And those who seek nothing at all?

What path leads you?

What path leads to you?

How many questions must be asked

For one answer?

How long is forever?

I

There is a churning, a tide

Within and without.

Embrace it, or escape it,

A liminal space – a crossroads of sorts.

Black on charcoal grey wash

Speckled with dull red, white and turquoise.

Gaseous, nebulous, haze whirls around me

Blurring my vision

Continuing to grasp, to grab at something,

The futility of it all makes me smile,

Will write more when I reach somewhere…

II

I am somewhere, between now and here,

Between two insignificant specks of time

Suspended, it’s difficult to move

Or maybe it’s slow motion,

A defining moment in the grand reel of life

Walking, walking eternally

Down unknown paths and winding ways

The brush is the meat cleaver, the blood is paint

All is lost, all gained

The words are simple, the thoughts complex

Are you following me?

III

Follow me, little one

The carnival is beginning

Point, counterpoint

Synthesis – we move ahead

A circular line, spiraling

Similar yet never the same

The dichotomy and the balance

Illusions surrounding me

Absolute black turns to blinding white light

The Heroes disappear,

The frayed ends of sanity dissolve.

Such is the fate of the world,

Our feet will always tread on the spit of others.

IV

Thoughts strung together,

A series of images, a thousand words

Multiplying, branching out

Implode in my head

Milestones in eternity

Sprouting from a seed of thought

These thoughts and words and images

Need freedom, from me and themselves,

Taking root and breaking free

The seed becomes the Bodhi tree

Salvation comes as time goes by

I’m following the fool’s path

Are you following me still?

A Body split in two, not mine anymore

Ripped, Torn and Raped – ash and dust shroud it

A Garden of Leaflessness, who says its isn’t beautiful?

A picket fence in my own home and the house of my people

Barbed, Spiked and dripping with poison hissing and burning

Blind Cerberus is on the prowl, he is everywhere, visible but unseen

The mad demon rampages and tramples around ceaselessly in

Schizophrenic chaos, vomiting anarchy like toxic luminous fumes

A mirror cracked, Shards fall to the ground like diamonds broken

And faces that gaze back a thousand fold, like voyeurs peeking and staring back at me

Each incomplete, a virtual reflection of a hallucination that rises up in the smoky bog of our prosperity

The stench of a Dying civilization the rising Bile of guilt

We laugh like mad children, nervous and tittering

Naked and stripped we point to each other in failed attempts at redemption

Drunk on the liquor of Aries, huddled in our private ghettos we are all alone

Mute spectators in the cosmic coliseum, we witness

The Genocide of hope, freedom and the reason to be

The vengeful Gods, The Iron Fist

A New World Order of Black and White

Mechanical men, a parade they say, drumming a requiem

Marching towards Xanadu, and to kingdom come

The inherent chaos of all things, compounded

And Don Quixote will fight the ogres no more

Passing a herd of flying baby pink elephants,

Dragons of fire and ice

A lake in the middle of nowhere

Of milk and honey and chocolate and coke

Marshmallow lotus

The bird is burning

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust

Here come the comedians

The jesters and the fools

A procession, a fair,

Fun and mirth are in the air

Beyond, the clouds are stirring,

Beware, the light is fading.

The drums start beating, thundering

And blend into the noise of war.

Soon, the gunmen shall arrive

The sound of their march drown

The jesters and the fools

The tents will be empty,

For all eternity

My world will succumb to the

Voices of reason

The phoenix has flown

Passing a herd of flying baby pink elephants,

Dragons of fire and ice

A lake in the middle of nowhere

Of milk and honey and chocolate and coke

Marshmallow lotus

The bird is burning

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust

Here come the comedians

The jesters and the fools

A procession, a fair,

Fun and mirth are in the air

Beyond, the clouds are stirring,

Beware, the light is fading.

The drums start beating, thundering

And blend into the noise of war.

Soon, the gunmen shall arrive

The sound of their march drown

The jesters and the fools

The tents will be empty,

For all eternity

My world will succumb to the

Voices of reason

The phoenix has flown

Cracked mirrors and still waters

A skewed reality, I step within,

Picking up the shards of glass, diamond dust

Turns to rubies with each pinprick

I prefer emeralds, wish I were a Martian

Awash in the rivers of Idd

The wall is breached bit by bit

Through the crack I glimpse

Two hanging horses,

The bamboo chime,

The rusted tin can,

Jade leaves and gold feathers,

A grave tree amidst clouds of fluff,

Falooda skies,

Lit by a street light painted red, in which

A turquoise bulb flickers incessantly

Psychedelic chaos

Bubblegum pink, cerulean blue, lemon yellow,

Rose Gold and white.

Phoenix flying, dying,

Being reborn

A palace of exile, vast, endless

A string of doors and gateways

Endlessly passing through

I reach the beginning

To lose oneself in a world

Of one’s own making

Madmen, genius and fools

Chess games between Morrison and Dali

Or battleships, or kabaddi

Glass palaces can exist

If only in my mind

In worlds of daydreams and sleepless nights

In spells, prayers and enchantments

In quantum theory and microphysics

Mythology and science fiction

These worlds shift, ripple and shimmer

Drip, meander and distort

Flow along from dream to dream,

And I move on.

A wound, cut fresh,

A pain, now healing,

Tracing the contours of body and soul

The diagonal leaves its mark again.

Icarus finds his wings again,

The falling, now paused, becomes flying again;

Beyond midnight, as the night turns to day,

Peace, finally settles on his brow again.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,

The new day dawns again;

As the rain washes the tears and the world,

Mars red, burnt umber and parchment white fill the canvas again.

Threshold,

Hole in a Tree.

Haunted Burning ground,

Surrounded by Evil Ghosts –

Was that a Home?

Look on…

Torture,

Neglect,

A Living corpse.

Embrace –

Gather up…

Wrapped in a mother’s womb,

Secure in my cocoon

I hear…voices

Joy and pain are one

Ecstasy, Agony

Feel it all, little one

The circus is beginning.

Numb I have become

Warm and intuitive, mutate

To Cold and calculating,

Push, pull,

Strain, break

No joy, no pain

Nothing.

Twisting and kicking

Everything is upside down,

The white light calls

Life is death

Pink, Purple, Blue, Black

Feet first, I arrive

Stillborn .

Throbbing –Alive.

Spreading branches –Roots

Pushing –its limits

Expanding.

Evolving

As if sprouting into –

Something else, self.

Touch of a Butterfly –A spark, frivolous.

Movement, dance

The cosmic beat –

Millisecond of enlightenment.

The withering flower

The setting Sun

Nirvana of everyday life…

The Dark

Deep of

Space

The unknown

A body

The Self

Falling

Twisting

Writhing

Mute

Agony

Pain

Suffering

Understanding

In transition

A journey –

Series of selves.

The End

Darkness

Pitch Black tar of nothingness.

Paranoiac Schizophrenia

The brink of Death

Death.

Sleep

Dream –

Life

The cosmic Yin and Yang.

Circle of Life

Harmony

Light.

The Beginning

We filed slowly, languidly into the hall

The auditorium was vast and silent

As we seated and were darkened, the voice continued:

A Garden of Leaflessness, who says its isn’t beautiful?

A picket fence in my own home and the house of my people

Mute spectators in the cosmic coliseum, we witness:

A Kafkan wilderness – Cold metal Grey and dry dust

Rain-washed black tar, speckled with charcoal grey

Grey rats grey birds grey dogs and other grey bipeds

No red – only something soft that may pass for mud

A few tufts of hair and slivers of chewed out bleached bones

Damp, dank and dark are the colors of this world

Lifeless and drab, there are greens and blues

Dreamless machine lives and washed out hues

Overlooking civilization / Murakami upside down…

Super-non-Flat / where we are

Prisoners of own worlds isolated manifest before your eyes,

In parallel world Timespace Continuum wormhole Black hole reality

As breaths compress / stars die / Atlas, turns the axis

Atrophy to nerve ending capacity – no time. No time

I’ll be there when you’re gone.

Narcotic anarchic / Supernova Fantastic / stretching like elastic

Surrounding us engulfing us choking us drowning us

Womb of pain /Anti Mother / the Phantom Zone

Vast oceans of sand and watery deserts / barren and unforgiving

Thunderous, deafening, tumultuous / Brownian motion funeral march

Movement / no movement – pregnant stasis

Will we be destroyed by our very own silences?

The inherent soliloquies of a six billion planktonian people

Can we know ourselves if we don’t know where we are?

Glass palaces can exist

If only in my mind

In worlds of daydreams and sleepless nights

In spells, prayers and enchantments

In quantum theory and microphysics

Mythology and science fiction

These worlds shift, ripple and shimmer

Drip, meander and distort

Flow along from dream to dream,

And I move on.