Category Archives: There is no justice in poetry


It was too late

A few weeks earlier, there might have been a chance to save the intrepid explorer. Alas, the environment had overpowered him and broken through all of his protective gear. The goggles, the standardized dictionaries, the regularly scheduled communal low-stakes domestic activities – they did nothing. Not even the makeshift metaphorical tying himself to the mast had helped. He had heard the siren call, and succumbed. He ventured too deep into the memetoxic environment, and did not return. Only a husk of his former self remained

To think that, back in the old days, they let young academics go alone into these territories, without even so much as a supportive conversation to back them up. A simple introduction to methodology, some theory, and then off they went. Alone, unprotected, at times also unfunded. Sacrifices to the optimism of early digital humanities

The broken man murmured, the only phrase he knew how:

Sonic, and Knuckles, and Knuckles, and Knuckles, and

Just checking

Someone told him to check his privilege

So he did

His first discovery was that he was not alone in the project of checking his privilege. In fact, statisticians and social scientists alike made rough estimates as to the geometry of the outer areas of said privilege, employing ever more sophisticated methodologies in their efforts. They said it was both fractal and exponential, getting bigger in different ways depending on the measures used to measure it. Overall, perplexity reigned; phrases like “somehow both bounded and infinite” were tossed around with frightening regularity

Moving from the periphery to the center, he quickly discovered it to be an intricately tangled web of services, targeted incentives and hidden opportunities just waiting for him to use them. Any one aspect would take weeks to understand fully, and the prospect of understanding it all in its entirety seemed beyond the scope of the limitations imposed by human longevity (the boost provided by free healthcare notwithstanding). Nevertheless, free university courses were available for the express purpose of enhancing public awareness of both parts and whole. The most difficult part of it all seemed to be knowing if and where to start

A profound sense of vertigo overtook him. If this was what it was like to be a regular nobody under socialism, imagine what it’d be like to be a slightly richer nobody under socialism

The skateboard academic

He was, to put it bluntly, a good educator. Not only did students leave his lectures heads abuzz with new thoughts and a desire to get new impressions – they also anticipated each new lecture with trembling knees, and a mild sense of awe at the upcoming widening of perspective. Nor were they mere passive recipients of information; the aforementioned anticipation sparked action, reading, discussions, in some cases a whole academic habitus. From a pedagogic perspective, he was quite the thing

From a pragmatic business point of view, his presence also had distinct advantages. In survey after survey, students reported they had actively applied to this university instead of literally all the others – based on his presence alone. Indeed, even those who had managed to get enrolled at more prestigious universities had turned them down in favor of coming here. Of all the things that put the university on the map, he was one of the more significant

Alas, he also had not published a paper in 2.7 years. When the administration took note of this abysmal performance and lack of academic excellence, they immediately informed him that his contract would not be renewed

Honest Johns

They look like job applications, she thought as she scrolled past the dating profiles, one at a many. Every ounce of social capital, real or imaginary, scrambled together in an effort to impress whomstsoever. Some were stylized using the tools of some trade or another; others were barely cobbled together. Not a single one of them, she guessed, were honest.

And then it happened. The unsolicited. Given her current mood, she almost appreciated the unrelenting directness of it all. No pretense, just the ding-an-sich.

Still. Report and block. Some dishonesty is worth the price of admission. But only when admitted.

Closing in on the encounter

It was a mystery to everyone involved. Children all over the world had started to draw very similar pictures, seemingly without talking to each other. All explanations as to why this happened drew a blank. At first, it was thought to be cultural influences – kids drawing what they saw on television. As pictures were reportedly seen in places like North Korea, the deepest Nigerian interiors and remote villages of the Amazon, this hypothesis was rejected. For the same reason, the notion that it was a group of artists roving the lands teaching kids to draw this way (for purposes unknown), were dismissed. Scientists were, to use a popular word in the press, baffled

A comprehensive research program was put in place to solve the mystery once and for all. Every scientific discipline (and a few unscientific one, just in case) got funding to figure it out. Most scholars made the rational decision to treat this as free money to finally do some actual work instead of being forced to hunt grants nonstop, but a few took to the mystery. And, after a daring adventure involving a container ship experience a week-long timelapse, many formal interviews and a whole lot of informal restaurant chatter, they finally solved it

Turns out, it was aliens

More specifically, it was aliens trying to send a message. The problem was, they had no conception either of money or how art circulates through society, so they blindly sent it to anyone willing to draw. Given that drawing is something that kids do, the images primarily ended up in their heads, resulting in the geographical distribution that so baffled the world. Given also that kids’ paintings are not seen as meaningful communication, the message remained unheeded

The scientists in question decided not to report their findings. Instead, their article opened up with the immortal words: “As Jung postulated,”

A list of dangerous assumptions

The existence of the world

I’ll do it tomorrow

The future is certain

Ah, now I understand

This will only take a minute

They know

Just one more turn

I did make a backup

The cat has enough food

The 90s ended

I’m too young

I’ve studied enough

The future is uncertain

I thought I made myself clear

It won’t take as long this time

It can’t be that different

It’s just a matter of

I’m too old

I’ll just check the social medias real quick

I am the protagonist of reality

I am not the protagonist of reality

Emotions are unimportant

I have to be perfect

They don’t know

Everything is exactly as I think it is

Nothing is as I think it is

Excess motivation

Every corpse on Mount Everest was at one point a highly motivated person. They looked at what it would take to get where they wanted to go, assessed all the available means to get there, negotiated the process of acquiring these means, faced inevitable logistical setbacks, eventually got to the mountain, and started ascending. They could, at any point, have given up and returned home to a comfortable bed, a marked lack of extreme physical hardship, and a stable altitudinal situation. But they didn’t. They persevered, because they thought that was the thing to do.

Fortunately, our protagonists were only climbing a relatively small hill.

Disaster preparedness

She had it better these days. Over the past weeks, she had made many new friends, heard many new stories and shared many a meal. For the first time in a long while, there was no lack of food, warmth or company. Things were, when all important things were considered, better.

Her new friends often talked of some sort of catastrophe. How global finance had collapsed, how the internet had stopped working, how there appeared to be a war on some far-off continent. She knew very little of such things, and at present did not care too much. Such things were abstract images, something only known in general notions, irrelevant when compared to what mattered.

Food, warmth, shelter.

The others didn’t seem to care that she was homeless. Why would they – they were homeless too, now. The only difference was that she had lost hers years before they did, and knew how to keep going without one. When the disaster struck, the one thing that changed was that they now noticed that she was there.

Food, warmth, company.

All things considered, things were better now.

Soulsearching for modern people

Get in touch with your feelings! the helpful people said. So you decided to take a look. Survey the terrain. Familiarize yourself with the lay of the land. Get to know yourself.

This is what you saw:

Nothing lived there. The ground was craggy and hard to navigate due to the constant artillery shelling, and it was hard to determine what it might have looked like before the war. Bombers flew overhead, occasionally dropping their deadly payload, occasionally becoming the payload as fighters drove them screaming into the ground.

This was not a recent battle site. That is not to say it was abandoned, or that fighting had ceased. Quite the opposite. Fighting had commenced for many moons, and any hope of peace had long since died, along with the best of several generations. This was not a recent battle site, and the bodies did not linger long enough for it to become a graveyard. Neither living nor dead prevailed. Only war.

The onslaught of feelings never ceased. At all times, they threatened to overrun the understaffed ramparts. They roamed the trenches, lurked the shadows, sprung upon those caught unaware. No place promised safety. No wall could be too high. No measure could be too extreme. All that mattered was keeping them at bay. By any means necessary and possible.

As a result of this, those areas that are not constantly reformed by the eternal explosions, are desolate hellscapes where even the thought of ecology has long since perished. Succumbed to the forces atomic, (anti)biological and chemical, nothing will ever grow there. No matter how many rays of sunshine (in the form of cheerful aphorisms ) find their way there.

As you take in the details of the scene, you notice that this isn’t the only site. In fact, it is but one of many similar theaters. The battle lines stretch out for as far as your inner eyes can see, and if the strategic maps are anything to go by, the only limit to the scale of it seems to be entropy itself.

This is your inner life. These are your feelings. This is your soul.

Get in touch with your feelings! they said.

Your only rational response is: no.

Love is an invasion

Love is an invasion. If you’ve ever experienced it, you know what this means. Anything and everything you had going on before love invaded had to make room and make way. No matter how important, no matter how urgent, no matter the matter – the invader seized the means of cognition and rejigged them for its own ends. Your opinion was not consulted, and your well-being was not an issue during the course of further internal conquest.

Thing is, though. Love is a greedy invader. It does not stop at your borders. You are but a means to an end, and that end is the one thing you can think about. The war is on, and the mobilization is total. There is no such thing as dodging this draft. You are going to cross boundaries, and you are going to invade everything there is to invade on the other side of them.

If you’ve ever been the war aim of a love campaign, you know exactly where this is going. Straight at you. At all times. Using any means necessary, until either of you break. Everything is collateral damage.

Love is an invader with a terrible sense of tactics. And strategy. And any notion of appropriate measures. And of when the victory conditions are achieved and the invading can come to a halt. It is, to be sure, the very best countermeasure against its own success. Any time you need to undermine it, just remind it that it exists.

It worries too much. And it makes you do it, too.

Worry is a call to action. That is to say, another invasion, since that is the name of the game. The worry has all to do with the profoundly impossible question of how to be sure that the Other really loves you back. There is no way of ever really knowing, yet the worry compels you to seek out signs that it is so. Using any means necessary.

The biggest undermine is that any declaration of love is meaningless unless it comes freely and without prompt. If it is coerced then the worry remains, and if it is prompted then it is merely a grammatically and socially appropriate response to the situation. It has to be freely from the self to the Other, and with the Other being in full invader mode at all times due to the very nature of the situation –


I would suggest doing something less warlike. It has better long-term prospects.