Extraordinary machine

I’ve been very lucky in my construction. I’m incredibly ecological and need very little fuel for my production process, which by the way is extremely efficient and resistant and needs only occasional maintenance interventions. It’s almost miraculous, seems that the most productive and resistant alloy of my whole genealogical tree has ended up in my branch. Such a bliss, however, is counterbalanced by a serious issue: where to find spare parts? My origins being scattered here and there around the globe, I don’t know where to start searching (Bulgaria, Italy, Macedonia, Russia…?). This can seem a light issue, but right now, when I’m occupied in outrooting and extirpating my own organs and limbs, I’d like to know where can I find them again, one day. Any idea?

addendum
… in this deracinating activity, I’d love to learn new methods. I do it very inelegantly and violently, I’d love to acquire cleanness and perfection in the execution. I’d love to be an artist of the extirpation, to create the perfect place for a possible additional component. One day I’ll stop growing hearts and then I’ll definitely need some new.

Popularity: 2% [?]

Considerations about wine and Hölderlin at 11.30 in the morning

Es reiche aber,
Des dunkeln Lichtes voll,
Mir einer den duftenden Becher,
Damit ich ruhen möge; denn süß
Wär’ unter Schatten der Schlummer.

Put in layman’s terms:

But hand me,
Someone, the fragrant cup
Brimming with dark light, that I
may rest; sleep
Would be sweet, in the shadows.

Popularity: 2% [?]

Dogs/Metaphors

How awful our love towards dogs is. As if nothing in them was actually lovable, as if their utility or their looks were a complement to our lives and character. A dog has to daily demonstrate its usefulness, its preparedness, it brings us cats and rats on the mat in front of the chimney-piece, it offers us awards, it silently sniffs the air to read what we’re needing and feeling and strives to fulfil it, so that we can love it, so that we can keep it a day longer, so that we can throw something out from our overfed table, something we’re unable to ingest when we’ve already untied our belts and the upper button of our trousers.

This is not an advert against neglect of animals, this is an image of utter surprise in my own ways to relate. “When I’m a good dog they sometimes throw me a bone in”. I work hard, I search for cats and rats and kill them for those I love, display my trophies in full sight, so that the nest is safe and they know they owe it to me, so that I can have my share of the cosy warmth, and damn I’ve earned it. How strong and resistant I must have been if only now, for the first time, I feel tired and need some unpaid for rest. I’m great at sniffing the air and seconding the atmosphere, really deserve first prize and a well lit place. And when my ego wakes up and I start barking, it really doesn’t last long, you can keep me a day longer.

Popularity: 1% [?]