241 Things

1000 Things is a subjective encyclopedia of inspirational ideas, things, people, and events.

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Studium Generale 1000things lectures, The Hague

241 Things

Underneath the roots of trees, under the pillars that carry the cities, under the lake in which the tower drowned, we crawl away, no one to watch us, no one to see us down here, loose, loose, we’re loose, we’ve lured the beast within, we’ve chased it down to here, for we hunt, banish the sun and the door clatters on behind nine waterfalls the rainbows rise in spatters, dome under which we were grown, silence still as stone solidified and soundless quests, dust hovers over the glowing gravel above the underground creek, we light the fire, gnaw the bones, bring out the ochre skulls and count the ages time has scattered on the floor, damply trapped in dank from cool chalk chambers to spots that grew into columns, walls that watch over the drawn out rains.

Outside the sun curls, waters gush, fields flame, but we abstain from light, pound pins into stone, climb, not up, but down past the loose ladders, the waterfall where bat once flew, no black figures hung upside down against the wet vault of this thousand year old cave now, home of the bear, house of the olm and auroch, the cries of our voices hollow from the hearth of our blood brothers, giant shadow of the fire, we continue crawling on the same knees as they through almond-shaped corridors and wander deep, deeply we arrive, we’re pricked by rock splinters, don’t wash ourselves, assume the colour of stone, there’s enough room to sharpen the axes, collecting lard for torches, tanning leather until late, blind the entrance with hands like claws, flatten the feathers on our arms and grope forwards in the dark, cast off time, we touch one another and taste the void at the back of our tongues from when we did not yet speak.

I am the Old World Flycatcher

and I am a looser
not a fashionable cosmopolite
just a conservative from the countryside
when I return from the warm south
there is nothing left to eat
except some leftovers of faded flowers and tough seeds
I am the Rose-ringed Parakeet
and I am a real winner
I escaped from your warm loft to go out for dinner
outside it is as warm as in amazonas
I don‘t eat nuts, I prefer the left overs from McDonalds
people say the city is no good for nature
but I don‘t agree, it‘s a matter of behaviour
if you earn your money with emissions on stock exchange
why shouldn‘t I be the winner of climate change?
The winner takes it all,
the looser standing small...