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ZigZag
Adrian Ioniţă
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I am a thousand teresita wave-kissed snag
rejoicing in a fingertip a solid wall
peeking out between the bricks bee-loud,
I am a vaunting definition frozen in a wag.
If you are not my tomb I cry,
the starshine thrush of man-made-madeline
I am the thousand winds-where-with-faith sails mirth
Unblushing dreams, untrodden wuerdevollen Tod & dye.
Me am I in a calm sector of your mind
it isn't China province Reuters SF did
the cranes miles roast an orphan You got Mail
Silentio Stampa strikes unministered in rain.
Tahara taking falling snow
betwixt the river, inch by shifting soil
the golden shaft of circling flights
birds tammy timor tom timon
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I am the bald flower that blooms
the tigers maiden manacle of rain
a yellow jacket butterscotch crag jag
twig big dug stag flung femade moonswung rolobag.
# ZigZag is an "instant cofee poetry" born through the interaction
with the messages from
groups.yahoo.com/group/discutii
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A Valentine Postcard from Venus
Chris Tănăsescu
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for Raluca
Look, my insomniac eyes now make allusions
to al-'Uz·za - this drowsy blood keeps babbling as if
buried in black clay, that's what your hands tell me
while softening the shroud of dark air on my face.
Oh, yes, your ancient love for all my future
dawns, that's what I sniff tonight as I keep
searching through your Iranian miniatures; I know
you're going to translate the dreams I've al
ready forgotten into your hippy moves - and
those cherrystones you let me cherish with my teeth,
the so-called quiddities in such a poem, quahogs
I munch just like the lewd hogs of the sorceress
Circe who still wakes up at 3 AM
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and cooks me pasta with powdered parmesan
and serves me red Moldavian wine directly
from her burning palate - shake it mama on
the CD-player, chewing the fat on how
we've been referred to as inferior planets
hugh hugh! Ok then let me hush with my
rehashed shiv the endless plains of all your
Ishtar Terra and have no mercy on
the Venus mercenaries that started once
again to thrive in our splitting temples.
#
the author is the leader of the band Margento
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The mEtA-fouR
Alex Sigartău
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meta-dream+
turn-upside-down book,
look away downward eye,
perplexing reflection
in plural catastrophe
sleeping like dead eyes
my love has forgotten light
to closing prisms.
alluring hideoscopes.
to turn away from lust
at lust's sight.
to turn away and
breathe in fear
orgasmic meta-morphoses
crushing highways
light new shoe
and crawling still
beams of visions
craving and
dissolving to repent
one's self to
hieratic vicinities
turn to true. of words
lost and lost yet again
fires of hell.
i seemed to have
remembered. in oblivion
nonsense is the
consistence of the universe
slumber of ghosts
serpent's place,
uterul lui alex, [alex's utero]
shadow of desire
and paradise lost
is called sin &
death both brought
unto ashes-soft
indeed appear to
reason. state from
the abyss: jehovah,
he who burns last
few holy ghosts.
forget forget note
of the devil's party
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wind shadows
cum am învăţat să pierim.
liniile trase peste pământ
îndoaie linii drepte
te pierd te pierd
te prind din fugă
să nu te las să
mori. crystal. amănunt
sinistru închide fluturi
în el fluturi lumină
să moară cu ochi
pierduţi în descompunere
în frig rubin de bujor.
frozen like morphine
Translation from Romanian of the last part [by Alex Sigartău & Axel Lenn]
the way we learned to perish.
lines drawn across the sands
bent like simple lines,
I'm losing you,
I'm catching up to you on the run
I will not have any of this;
die: crystal. sinister detail
secluding butterflies
inside. they
should dissolve with eyes
lost in decay
in peonish ruby cold,
frozen like morphine.
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On Cartoons
Axel Lenn
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Jesus is comin', hide the porn!
The 2005 publishing of several cartoons became yet another scandal of colossal proportions at the beginning of 2006. Though not so frequently mentioned before, the clash of civilizations plot inevitably surfaced in serious tones, leaving behind the idea that a cataclysmic conflict in the near future is a definite maybe. Considering the vast human organizational diversity, intercultural asperities are almost commonly decent cliches - they can be encountered constantly throughout history, modern to ancient times. But, a clash of civilizations?! Is such a view compatible with the third millennium realities? Definitely NO.
First of all, a cartoon is, according to a Webster's definition, "a sketch or drawing, usually humorous, as in a newspaper or periodical, symbolizing, satirizing, or caricaturing some action, subject or person of popular interest". Second, anyone has the right to express whatever views in whatever contexts, just as anyone has the right to address a court on offensive issues. Taking it to the streets and staging a complete chaos is clear nonsense, however. There were more than few voices stating the famous cartoons of the prophet Muhammad were "stupid", "poorly inspired", "malicious" - none of these epithets come close to the cartoons though, the one depicting Muhammad with a bomb on his head is quite interesting. The core message they were supposed to carry and, at the same time, the core idea that fueled their creation addresses Europe, in an urge to reconsider its tolerance politics, and not the Muslim world. The fact that Islamic states have huge problems such as religious slavery, male supremacy, death penalty imposed on LGBT persons, and state terrorism, problems that cannot be considered culture-related, is quite a different matter.
Are those the first cartoons depicting the prophet ever published? No. Are those the most spectacular? No. It is more than clear that someone used them to generate a violent spectacle tendentiously named a clash of civilizations, where Muslims start tearing everything down and killing themselves basically. Indeed, a very spectacular splash of civilization, and I'm referring to Islam, currently undergoing Christian Europe's medieval adventures. I'm pretty sure there were many Muslims who found the above mentioned cartoons quite funny - it has to be said they most surely live in a non-Islamic country since, officially, being lay in Islam equals death. And this here is hazardous venture in dangerous areas where the world's greatest library and school
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of Alexandria, for example, got burnt to ashes following a still
functioning logic: if your books or the principles taught by you are also found in the Koran, then their existence is useless; if they are different from the Koran, they are dangerous and must be destroyed.
No wonder Salman Rushdie has a death sentence upon his head, as do all those who dare express a point of view opposite to Islam - including those cartoonists depicting the prophet. In this light, the Islamic world is the biggest threat to itself having a tremendous self-annihilating potential, as seen with the violent civil outbursts in many Arab countries throughout the past two decades, thus imagining it could seriously turn against the rest of the world is nothing but fiction.
I could not help noticing that Christian religious figures were quick to support the prophet's cause, showing once again a gap with Europe's lay voices. As a matter of fact, the whole cartoon scandal enacted another clash in a centuries' long dispute between lay and religious principles. Freedom of speech is not to be lectured in church, in a temple or a mosque, or from St. Peter's balcony, but religious unconditioned obedience is. In the European highly lay and individualized eyes, that would rather watch Beavis & Butt-head than a pope's lecture or burial live on Vatican TV, any attempt to resuscitate Homo religiosus from his agonic decrepitude is definitely pathetic - so pathetic in fact, that some initially unobserved cartoons turned into spectacular delight circulating the media and private email addresses worldwide.
With the masquerade over, certain questions remain unanswered however: where does tolerance begin and where does it end? Extremism is no stranger to religious ideas, the conflicts of the late 20th century are eloquent in this direction. With all do respect to the outstanding principles and ideas of Islamic cultures, there are many primitive and cruel features that should not be there. For equally if not greater misdeeds, Christianity paid its price; the Muslim world will eventually pay its dues sooner or later this century, as there is one little thing that cannot be fully controlled: the individual. If expressing yourself on disturbing aspects of this or that religious movement is reason enough to fuel social violence and generalized hate with official urges to murder, there is not much to debate on the core issue here: why should anyone tolerate intolerance?
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I'm with Depressive Hater
Roxa Truţa
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Sweet mother of all possible gods and holy grails, how is this even possible? Through the loud silence, she has seen the mellowing of disgruntled voices, some sinner (or inner?) apples not ripe, but rotting on the stony ground of her mind. Take the dreamy softness of her soul and lay it carefully on the intervention table; study it, then touch it, you will feel the compulsion of solidifying ice. Absent, but here; there, but beyond infinity's limit... if thoughts were real and solid, she would be the world's biggest museum.
Never attached to those who aren't like her, she looks around, but she's fed up with people who share her ideas and way of living, so she looks to the pole once more. If those people are called normal, then normality is totally upside-down from her modest, but loose opinion about it. Someone who is not her, and not like her, someone happy with what is, instead of what could be, instead of the perfection. Someone who thinks about triviality as art, someone lacking fire, someone to envy for the peaceful obiviousness. Does she want to exchange her back-stabbing chaos for one day of blissful ignorance? Fuckin' aye!
So why does she need what she hates the most? It's simple, the opposites strike the immense balance and move the boor mountains of behaviour. There's too much unjustified hatred in the world, but she realized her is well-defined and entitled.
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Unjustified means something completely different; much of it arises from the victimisation complex that sweeps much of mankind. Whoever is in charge, whoever is powerful or successful will also be hated.
This immature hatred often evaporates quickly with a little reason or thought. But the most widespread hate is the one that belongs to people who fall victim to their own insipid shortcomings, and want a scapegoat.
Then again, why hate stupidity when it provides someone with so much time to spare on life's truly meaningful pleasures? Some of these activities are combing facial hair, ringing the door bell, then run away, counting the pixels of an LCD and many more. Then a brief shade of wisdom strikes her and her thoughtful depression suddenly becomes hate towards people whose skylight leaks a little. She feels, once again, trapped in an unescapable sanctuary where ignorance rises too high, leaving the ones who care behind, leaving her way behind. And there is hate... her background is painted with more noise, more fangs and more teeth, like the covers of our childhood's metal disks. 'Agony is the price that you pay in the end', like Pantera says.
Unjustified hate and unbounded depression? Old shoes. Careless existence? New shoes she has never walked in, and maybe never will.
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