butterfly's dream

original title: "schmetterlings traum"

i thought i had to be real
but which fact could prove me?
i percieve a rhythmical knocking
which escapes here and there

while my planet 
with a speed of 107.000 km/h
makes its way
i seem to maintain a firm footing...

within seconds
a tree changes its garment
and only because i am thinking
i don't know at all if i am

now, do i exist?
	— or does this still lie ahead of me?
or did i leave that state
	already
		behind me?

furious time,
which we for our safety
presumptuously
learned to measure,
flyes together with us
through our lives...

now, do i exist?
	— or does this still lie ahead of me
or did i leave that state
	already
		behind me?

thoughts like these
slink through my brain
an i must reject them in all haste

so that i can function.

pregnant, over bridges, to the sea

original title: "schwanger, über brücken, bis ans meer"

it'll work out.
i'll wait.
i'm not doubtful yet.

i'm quiet.
i endure.

  i remember.

    you don't.

i'm waiting.
it'll be ok.
you're asking, what is it?

i'm weeping.
i still know.

  you laugh. you forget.

    i don't.

rm -rf /

let he who is without sense
draft the first stone.
no one has any intention
of building a garden.

the world at the bank
until the end of the money.
in the name of the mother, the daughter
and the day before.

  i didn't have faith in much,
  you were hardly a believer.
  spit it out!
  a dogma needs space.

  they believed you missed
  your muzzle.
  spit it out!
  a dogma needs room.

in all of the shadow
of the social noise,
protected from the amazement
of a dazzling idea,

a truth is growing out of fear,
that you cannot become true,
that you will spot it and leave,
that your noise will stitch up its womb.

    fear of the love of others
    is the mother of racism.

    i see charles darwin
    gaping through the shop window:

    already mannequins within,
    still apes without.

comment: if you translated the german original for "spit it out!" literally, it would say "get out (with) the language", but could also be understood as "remove your language". "einen maulkorb verpassen" usually means "to muzzle someone", not "to miss a muzzle", which the context suggests in the way it is used here.

in his name

original title: "in seinem namen"

there you have the images of a god
they set colours onto the highest's throne
don't look directly into their suns
to get you back - they're already waiting

there you have the words of a god
he attached great importance to good form
don't listen to closely to what they say
what they have up their sleeves - you already know

it is only inspiration
vague sketches and contours
look for the highest inside of yourself
and not inside of images or words

»while we are standing,
the shadow is falling down.
morning sun blueprints the first drawing.
to stand in blossom is a deadly business,
but we agreed: we live.«

soundlessaying (slaves of love)

original title: "lautlossagen (l'esclave de l'amour)"

i. vow of silence

if i asked you now: "let's speak about being silent", would you smile at me and be silent? no, since you don't understand me. you'd rather ask what that's supposed to be good for, for you would have nothing to say, and that's something different from the kind of silence which i thought about. you don't understand me. let's be silent about something else.

ii. enters she the room

i.

she doesn't speak too much
and to understand her
is like interpreting a dream

tells whole worlds
without a word
she enlivens the room

we passed our time away in silence
did not think we were happy
but simply were it

gauged our senses
opened ourselves
and were free

"i don't even know for myself who i actually am. whether i am that way the other's say i am, or the way i think for myself i am? no idea. or whether i am like the musik i listen to?"

ii.

we withdrew inside ourselves
not each on our own
but in agreement with each other

were silent
about problems
of immeasurable insignificance

in a life
where you promise/make a slip of the tongue
too often

we don't rely on empty words
to arise purely
in fulfilled silence
in fulfilled silence

not the one who doesn't speak
is dumb
but the one who doesn't say anything

and so we are ablaze with
how nobody could say:
»i thought it over...«

"i am infinitely lonesome, but in my loneliness it teems with people. this feeling never left me alone. i don't think about death. many poeple ask me what i want to do when i'm old; i don't waste a single thought about that today."

iii.

healing night's evening
ballerina
candles — roses — wine

tells own islands
without a movement
she's leaving the room

is not quite lonesome any more,
and who knows?

where will she be?
who will she be?
whom will she be?

until the next time.

(followed by a discussion about what comes after death)

comment: well, "lautlossagen" is absolutely untranslatable! it starts with the title, which is by far not the only neologism in it. i wonder if it makes any sense to someone — which is a pity, for this is still one of our favourite compositions, with lyrics like an escher-drawing.