Krig och Fred

Man kunde också likna den vid en fabrik som gör sprängämnen eller silkesstrumpor, läkemedel eller giftgaser, allt efter behov. Eller vid ett flygplan som transporterar bomber eller sårade vilka träffats av dem. Att det går att ställa om vårt samhällsmaskineri och engagera varenda kugge i krigets tjänst, beror på att vår civilisation även under fredliga perioder är inställd på att bryta upp sammanhang, krossa motstånd, omgestalta, erövra. Den måste ha varit tänkt som ett medel till människornas frihet och lycka. Men människornas frihet och lycka har kommit att betyda herraväldet över jorden. Detta erövrarmål, som allt mer kommit att bestämma utvecklingens hållning, har inte tålt att några gränser bestod för människan.
Därför har civilisationen även under fredstid varit på krigsfot.

Väckarklocka, Elin Wägner

Politik och Samvete

Som pojke bodde jag en tid på landet och jag minns tydligt en upplevelse från den tiden: när jag gick över fälten till skolan i den närbelägna byn såg jag vid horisonten en stor skorsten från en i all hast uppförd fabrik, [...] Varje gång jag såg detta kände jag intensivt att något var i grunden fel, för människan smutsade ner himlen.
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Om en medeltidsmänniska plötsligt hade fått se något liknande vid horisonten - t ex när han var ute och jagade - skulle han förmodligen ha trott att det var ett Djävulens verk, han skulle ha fallit på knä och bett om räddning för sig och sina närmaste.
Vad har då egentligen den medeltida lantmannen och den lille pojken gemensamt? Något mycket väsentligt, tror jag. Båda har en långt djupare rötter i det som vissa filosofer kallar "den naturliga världen" eller "livets värld" än de flesta vuxna av i dag. De har ännu inte blivit främmande för den värld som är deras konkreta och personliga erfarenhet, den värld som har sin morgon och sin kväll, sitt "nere" (jorden) och sitt "uppe" (himlen), där solen varje dag går upp i öster, vandrar över himlavalvet och går ner i väster och där begreppen hemma och borta, gott och ont, skönhet och fulhet, nära och fjärran, plikt och rätt fortfarande har en mycket levande och bestämd innebörd. De är fortfarande förankrade i en värld som känner gränsen mellan det som är välbekant och som vi bör bry oss om och det som ligger bortom horisonten och som vi bara ödmjukt bör böja oss inför, eftersom det utgör ett mysterium

Politik och Samvete, Václav Havel

Some People Know

Sometimes people know.
Sometimes people think to know.
Some people seemingly never know
Some seamlessly never see what shown
What candle infuse those words of thank you?
So radiant and bright. A light to follow through the night.
Life's taste is ever bitter. Still some drink with a smile on their face.
The lucky ones are not those without scars.
Sweet and bitter, both just different tastes.

Pieces of Lego

Words played out as pieces of Lego.
Dressing ideas in motley. Dressing them in uniform colors.
They flicker, they die. Leaving an abandoned ruin.
The world revolves ever changing. Words don't stick.
They are stolen, redressed. Their scent changing ever so slightly with time. Changing with those who steal them.
Ever so fragile, ever so important, ever so futile.
The late evening summer laughter travels well across the lake.
The friendship seemingly transcends between human and nature.
The words created it. They imprint on the night's fabric.
The feeling of happiness and brotherhood. All born.
The drunkenness of life is pure. Born from small flickering pieces of plastic.
Why would it ever make sense?

A Summer's Bee

If I've grown bigger, how come I feel smaller? I recognize this street somehow but I don't think I've been here before. But I have I realize. A city is a copy of a city is a copy of a city. There must be something rational about a street like this. I've never been here before. But I have, in another time, another place. I'm standing where the indians would have been standing. They come here every summer to dance and earn some money. I remember your smile when you said those words. A smile implying that this was one of the big secrets explaining the fabric of life. You always had that kind of shine about you. As if everything was a secret created for your eyes and by chance shared by others. How can you not love when someone cherishes life? I'm certain you did in your sense. I understand you knew nothing. As I knew nothing.
At the corner was the café. Such a known place for you. How could I have known I would not come back. You showed me your everyday life and it was all exotic. Exotic, but also common I came to understand. You showed it in such a magic way. Enchanting the listener to share your enthusiasm. You told me of your friend that was so full of positive energy. She was younger. I knew nothing. She knew less. Even so, it is the fate of all flowers to be born a seed. When we sat down in the wooden benches I thought God would inspire and enchant us. Even in summer it was so cold outside, coming into the warmth of the church didn't enchant me. I couldn't even keep awake as the priest preached. Of all the things I thought I was. That I wish to become. Why was I never? It doesn't bother me now. It all passed away from me. Not as much a story of two people drifting apart. More a story of two people drifting from an illusion into a bitter and cold world. But even the taste of vinegar has a rich taste for he who chooses use to his senses. You defined me. You live in me as I guess I live in you. The imprint of your enthusiasm make me smile as the memory of what is lost sometimes makes me cry. I'm blessed to have met you. But life never expands on regrets

Choose to be

You laugh and cry. Marvel at another mans fantasy.
If you strip away the make up, a story unravels.
For all we see. Of ideas of what we can become. Of magic powers and of technology not yet invented.
The man on the screen is not interesting because of his powers.
He interests you because he tells you a story about yourself.
About your anger, your self-pity, of your happiness.
You laugh outside the cinema doors. Remembering scenes and scraps of dialog.
You remember the gadgets, the magic and the choices. What if you could fly - if you were invisible?
How would it change anything? Your fantasy is inflamed, the borders of reality are allowed to falter.
The story could have been stripped of all things embroidering it. The core would still tell you something about yourself. Of what you can choose to be.

An Autumn Night

It's a subtle feeling spreading through the inhale of cold autumn air.
The placid falling of snow doesn't know of human drama.
Of longing or of desire. It falls all the same.
It doesn't care if it is beheld or cherished. It falls to melt away.
As the dark encompasses the city people hurry through the streets to return to the warmth of their homes.
The cold scares them away from the streets. Beckoning them away. Home into their couches, into their computer chairs.
Cherishing produced dreams of an exciting life.
Imagining themselves as part of what they choose to see.
The cold dislikes no one.
It's a shard reflecting parts of ourselves. Open to he who wishes to see.