I Hope I Never Learn

It is true that every year this day I write you something. This year I was tempted to wake up and hop in the shower right away without taking the few minutes to address the year that we are leaving behind. Surprisingly, not because I can’t wait for 2012 to go away and mark this pseudo-momentum where we get a clean slate and the clock starts ticking again. No, that is not it. Don’t get me wrong, I love clean slates. I love them so much that I am willing to dirty up my life a little in order to be able to get a clean slate at one point or another. But no, that is not it at all.

The reason why I was reluctant to write you is simple. For the first time in my life, I can’t really grasp how a year has in fact gone by since the New Year’s Eve of 2011. If you know me well enough you will also be very aware of my preoccupation with time, also known as my constant fear of time fleeting and not making enough of it. Yet 2012 just fled, and I don’t know how I feel about that. But I was talking to you about clean slates. For the first time in my life, I feel that I don’t need one. And this is equally liberating and at the same time frightening. What does one do without a clean slate? Do you just carry on or do you aggressively cut the rope just so that you can start again? I do not claim to know the answer but I have a feeling that a year without mistakes, is unimaginable! Your bad times have got to, and will forever, drag you down like cold air but this is only for you to graciously float back up even higher with the warm, it’s simple binary oppositions. A year without mistakes would be a year without a % on the back of the vodka bottle. Because mistakes make you who you are, and do not be fooled for one second into thinking that it’s all going to change with the chronological changing of the year. Forced change is not change, it’s a coup. Change comes with experience and age, a challenging movement of mentality, not a numeric movement of 12-13.

And I feel that I have changed. I have maybe changed so much that I perceive 2012 as a year of no mistakes, as a year of no % in the back of my vodka bottle – despite the copious amounts of vodka I consumed in its passing. So, 2013, as I am sipping my first drink in your presence, I’ll have one wish for you. May you be a year of rights and wrongs, and may you let me jump in that fountain of youth and never learn too much. Chapter one again, here I go again..

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The Language of Mice

And while I was limping
Back to the place I call home
A ragged man with ragged clothes
And ragged hands and ragged eyes
Appeared
Out of one nowhere
Into another
I call mine.

He said his buddies called him Max
Though they spoke the tongue of mice
And leaned towards my face
Took a good look upon the lines
And said he’d help me.

He said, our souls live on the meteors
That drift through space over our heads
Over the roofs, the city towers and the clouds
Where the eternal blackness reeks of God
And rains black particles of poetry
To any fleshy antenna looking for it.

He said that in the end, we all grow rot
That we become too much to handle
And when we fall, we fall teeth first
And we injure the ground
Where we refuse to cling.

He said that the stars used to have names
Before the arteries got mapped
He said there was a river, far to the south
Full of fish that fed on birds
But its name was too sad to pronounce.

And then he said that he knew you
By name and by heart
Like the highways in his palms
He knew where you led
And where you would take me
One soul’s a meteor, he said
But a pair makes a comet
And two falls make a kiss
And two birds are too much
For any fish to handle.

Stretch your antennas, he said
And the black rain will reach you
And you’ll know
The names of the stars
And the language of mice.