Icy day… [“Ice” poem collection]

In an icy day

Sitting in the back of the car

Watching people go by

Sinking in the depths of the abyss.

Watching darkness come by.

In a warm day.

Feeling so alive.

Watch that butterfly.

It is dead now.

Why don’t I cry?


At the moment a tear goes down.

I could swear…

I could hear her laughing out loud…

Walking in the cold.

Inside an old car,

Me passing by…

The abyss is calm now.

The car is gone.

Forget the butterfly.

What an icy day…

Proust, Minima Moralia, feeling “special”…

Proust’s observation, that the photographs of the grandfathers of a duke and a Jew from the entrepreneurial class look so similar, that no-one thinks of the social ranking order, strikes at a far more comprehensive state of affairs [Sachverhalt]: all of those differences which comprised the happiness, indeed the moral substance, of individual existence, objectively disappear behind the unity of the epoch.
The notion that every single person considers themselves better in their particular interest than all others, is as long-standing a piece of bourgeois ideology. (Adorno, Minima Moralia, Aphorism 6, source)

Look at drawings/ photos of people in Kenya at 1700, 1800, 1900 and now. They seem the same.

Look at drawings/ photos of people in London at 1700, 1800, 1900 and now. They change, depending on the epoch.

We believe that modern society protects the individual, but it actually crushes it. Our society imposes itself on us.

How special do YOU feel?

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