Tag Archives: love

5th of April 4th, 1984…

“what does the LORD require of you but to do justice…”

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One of the Bible’s (OT and/or NT) foremost statements, mentions God’s topmost requirements from mankind, which is “to love/do justice…”
Well, if mankind’s self-righteous, mostly fundamentalist “christian” crowd would heed this basic advice, they would have to stone their god and his accomplices, simply because these scriptural books are by far, whosoever’s most blatant record of injustice against mostly unsuspecting innocents.
My inner rage against this sadistic display of injustice is paired only by a cancerous pain and sorrow for the countless victims of this merciless religion, closely followed by it’s prequel, judaism, and it’s sequel, islam, all just patched-up versions of ancient, human sacrifices requesting religions.
Because it’s utterly hard for me to decide if child sacrifices to Moloch were more vicious than leaving an entire nation to centuries of Egyptian slavery, or the sacrifice of a god’s son for the “sins” of others, or the raising to power of a god’s inquisitorial vicars, or eventually the public maiming of petty thieves, or hanging of infidels…
To expect the love of justice from heirs of countless generations of victims of gross injustice, amounts to a sadism against which the Inquisition’s methods could be considered as mere colloquialism.
A “story” we were told by one of the most idiotic zealots to call himself a “pastor” I have ever encountered, story which regardless if true or purely fictional, would make nevertheless a good point to what this so called “justice” is all about.
The tale speaks about soviet psychopath Joseph Stalin, inviting a western official to a protocol visit to his Kremlin. After usualties, the guest(s) asks Stalin about how could such a system manage to keep such a large nation into what couldn’t be called as less than oppressed submission? Stalin asked one of his attendants to bring him in, a live chicken. To the obvious shock of his guest(s), Stalin proceeds to pluck all poor live chicken’s feathers off, causing visible and violent injuries, and wounds to the innocent bird. He then calmly throws a handful of breadcrumbs on his own booted feet, laying the scared animal nearby. After a few moments of confusion, and as if nothing seems to have happened, the bleeding, naked bird starts to obnoxiously pick up the crumbs, feeding from atop the boots still sustaining the hands which savagely tortured her.
“You see?”, asked Stalin of his quietly shocked guests, “you can do whatever you want to your people, as long as you remember to feed them…”
Doesn’t this tragically resemble to all bleeding and naked religious yard-birds, thankfully saying “grace” over the usually just-about sufficient meals “provided” by the same god who just some weeks or months or years ago have maybe killed their children, husbands or wives, parents or any other loved ones, silently allowed a few world wars, a few holocausts, scripturally condones slavery, genocide, infanticide, just to name a few of these “how can’t you see” ones?
Unfortunately though, not all naked and wounded human chicken of this world have access to the scarcely provided crumbs.
The poor majority linger in overcrowded social ghettoes, silently awaiting for their well-fed gods to remember them when the time for the next culling-war of the useless’ time has come…
Allow me please, to leave you with some food-for-thought.
About some more than a decade ago, I was part of christian prison ministry, which included the highest security prison of a central European country. Only life-terms, over twenty years imprisonment for multiple and/or aggravated murder and others as such were given the “privilege” to “live” there.
On one occasion, the team leading pastor drifted downstairs with a group of Q&A, leaving me behind, alone and scared with the rest of this “elite” crowd…
One particular individual stood my way towering over my own more than 6 feet with his  7 feet and over 150 kg, asking the following:
“Is it worth being faithful to god and his commandments?”
“Of course,” I replied, “because god is love, and he has the best plan for all of us, regardless of what we’ve done!”
To which he sternly replied:
“I wonder what Job may have had to say to that…”
I left in silence, as on those dim stairs, for this locked-up for life inmate, my god-defending theology would have proved as irrelevant and humiliating, as all other religions. Because only after I have lost – as an already devout trainee minister – my own first two precious children, I understood why I should never again mention that god gave back Job more riches and more children than before.
To this day, not even the daily sight of my other precious children can ease the tormenting pain caused by the loss of my first two…
Because only a mercantile bastard would expect to be worshipped for giving “other” children to someone whose children he assassinated in the first place.

-to be continued…-

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…lia

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Do you remember …lia?
How I used to wait
every Transylvanian spring
just for your velveted self?
The air
was still rare
there
up, where snow
and the sky below
shared the dripping thinness of May…

Grandma always dragged me all the way through
the park,
for the bark
and your purple stained white…

Do you remember?
The pine cried amber,
like ginormous grains of sand
on the forgotten shores of my closing eyes…
Whys
and sighs
and lies…

Are you still there …lia?

Or some angry god has burnt you away
like everything else we love?

Worry not …
’cause if I’ll burn in hell,
I shall swallow all my tears,
to water within
each memory of your leafless scent…

When your mind is in the wrong place…

-A short essay on Nazim Hikmet…-

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“at the age of fifty found his mind in his heart”
Nazim Hikmet

How strange… Of most people it would be expected to have been mentally settled by the age of fifty; how wrong…
I have found my introductory quote within the opening thoughts of an -until now- unknown (for me) Turkish writer’s “Don Quixote”…
Fond of Cervantes’ Don since my windmilled childhood, it wasn’t though the lone rider’s quest for Dulcinea which struck my senses -as I have found my own, two decades ago-, but Hikmet’s absolutely elemental statement, which at the beginning of this 2013th year of my becoming half a century old/young, bears a rather stormy significance…

It’s been a week before Nazim Hikmet’s passing away on the 3rd of June, 1963, when I came into a world from which he was about to leave… If I would have known everything he knew at the time, I would have rather stayed… My mother’s womb’s darkness would have been a better place to die than this despicably hopeless world, made just a bit more bearable by my Dulcinea and our four love buds…

Nevertheless, it’s Hikmet’s own discovery which bought me on my own writer’s knees, realising that it might not be long before being too late of using my mind from the place where it always should have been…

Oh, for long have I been seeking understanding from a place bearing nothing else than about 1,5 kg of fat-like tissue, good enough to add up the groceries and play with quantum physics, but uselessly hopeless when it comes to understanding why some idiotic “celebrities” never seem to understand that the problem with helping the “third world’s” starving children is not only the small quantity of candy bars they are offering in front of heavy-cash paying paparazzi’s, but the shamelessly shining Rolex watches on their “charitable” hands…

I’ve always been a leftist, genuinely believing that socialism, stripped of its parasitic “leaders”, is a much better option than the so called “democracies” where “vox populi” is just the number of votes needed every four/five years by an elite ruthlessly playing the usurped “vox Dei” on their behalf…

In fact, about 25 years ago, I was advised to quit a political school I just begun, because of an essay in which I wrote a critique of Romania’s “Animal Farm”-type socialism, based on heart-felt and yes, wept over memories of Engels’ “The Condition of the Working Class in England”, which I have read when I was about thirteen…
Of course, I was totally convinced, as I am today, that it’s not philosophy to blame, but it’s poor grasp and (mal)practice in a world where -more or less political oligarchies- have long taken over all aspects of life, to their own mercantile interests…

Back to my mind…
It’s hard to have found it’s real place, when I wasn’t even aware of what “mind” is, and even less what “heart” is, acting on a rather instinctive range of ethics, spreading from personal to herd…

Well, it looks it’s going to take another -hopefully more than just a- few decades to learn how to properly use my newly found software in its newly found hardware…
Oh, but which is which?
Uh, the min(d) is the soft(ware), because it’s min(e), and the h(e)ar(t) is the hard(ware) because it’s very har(d) to find it in the first place…
But then, why should be something which is mine, soft?
Is it just because it’s made of soft, fatty myelin?
Derp…

How long, and what will it take to learn Hikmet’s value of one’s every moment of good so scarcely left to him in this life?
Without claiming much similitude with his tormented existence, I’ve fled myself my homeland because the “gentlemen” of the day were just the “comrades” of yesterday, pathetically painted over, and some people started to accidentally fall into allegedly malfunctioning elevator pits…
Yet I still haven’t learned -how could have I, with a misplaced mind- the true value of even the smallest good given and still with me, even if only “until evening”…

I can’t do any better for now than hope to have found at least some… hope after all, by quoting Nazim Hikmet’s verses from his “After Release from Prison”:

“Who’s lying at your side?
Not loneliness, but your wife,
in the peaceful sleep of an angel.
[…]
What time is it?
Eight.
That means you’re safe until evening.
Because it’s the practice of police
Never to raid homes in broad daylight.”