一座演化中的島嶼

People who live in society have learned to see themselves in mirrors as they appear to their friends. Is that why my flesh is naked? You might say - yes you might say, nature without humanity? Things are bad! Things are very bad: I have it, the filth, the Nausea.
-- Jean-Paul Sartre

Time is invention, or it is nothing.
-- Henri Bergson

We used to swim the same moonlight waters
Oceans away from the wakeful day


My fall will be for you
My love will be in you
If you be the one to cut me
I`ll bleed forever


Scent of the sea before the waking of the world
Brings me to thee
Into the blue memory


My fall will be for you
My love will be in you
If you be the one to cut me
I will bleed forever


Into the blue memory


A siren from the deep came to me
Sang my name my longing
Still I write my songs about that dream of mine
Worth everything I may ever be


The Child will be born again
That siren carried him to me
First of them true loves
Singing on the shoulders of an angel
Without care for love n` loss


Bring me home or leave me be
My love in the dark heart of the night
I have lost the path before me
The one behind will lead me


Take me, cure me, kill me, bring me home
Every way, every day
I keep on watching us sleep


Relive the old sin of Adam and Eve
Of you and me
Forgive the adoring beast


Redeem me into childhood
Show me myself without the shell
Like the advent of May
I`ll be there when you say
Time to never hold our love


My fall will be for you
My love will be in you
You were the one to cut me
So I`ll bleed forever

Perhaps this is the origin of melancholy which weighs upon the most beautiful human faces: the presentiment of hideousness peculiar to the human face, of a rising tide of stupidity, an evil deformity or a thought governed by madness. For from the point of view of a philosophy of nature, madness arises at the point at which the individual contemplates itself in this free ground - and as a result, stupidity in stupidity, and cruelty in cruelty - to the point it can no longer stand itself.
-- Gilles Deleuze

One more night
To bear this nightmare
What more do I have to say


Crying for me was never worth a tear
My lonely soul is only filled with fear


Long hours of loneliness
Between me and the sea


Losing emotion
Finding devotion
Should I dress in white and search the sea
As I always wished to be - one with the waves
Ocean Soul


Walking the tideline
I hear your name
Is angels whispering
Something so beautiful it hurts


Long hours of loneliness
Between me and the sea


I only wished to become something beautiful
Through my music, through my silent devotion


Losing emotion
Finding devotion
Should I dress in white and search the sea
As I always wished to be - one with the waves
Ocean Soul


Losing emotion
Finding devotion
Should I dress in white and search the sea
As I always wished to be - one with the waves
Ocean Soul

Georg Trakl (1887-1914)
Tr. Margitt Lehbert


Windows, vivid beds of flowers,
An organ's sound is wafting in.
Shadows dancing on wallpaper,
Whirling madly all around.


All ablaze the bushes waver
And a swarm of gnats will sway.
On distant fields the swish of scything
And an ancient water sings.

Whose breath comes to caress me?
Swallows sketch lunatic signs.
The Golden woodland in the distance
Through boundlessness softly flows.


Flames are flickering in the flowers.
This mad dance spins around
Enrapturing, on the yellowed paper.
Through the door someone looks in .


Incense smoke and pears smell sweetly
And Glass and chest in twilight doze.
Slow the feverish brow inclines
Down towards the bright white stars.　　　　

The sole law of abandonment, like the law of love, is to be without return and without recourse.
-- Jean-Luc Nancy

To live an event as an image is not to see an image of this event, nor is it to attribute to the event the gratuitous character of the imaginary. The event really takes place - and yet does it "really" take place? The occurrence commands us, as we would commands the image. That is, it releases us, from it and from ourselves. It keeps us outside; it makes of this outside a presence where "I" does not recognize itself. This movement implies infinite degrees.
-- Maurice Blanchot