Effigy Voodoo Doll ~ Sunday, February 22, 2026

Woher kommt Saṃsāra? Vor dem „Ich bin müde und ich habe Hunger“

I was born in Bombay, but the woman who asks the boy, "Where are you from?"

were I to interpret, as microaggression, or to misinterpret

a curiosity, a mind full of wonder, when in the 70s

social etiquette died, the locals asked questions, and made themselves look dumb

birth is arbitrary, the body is given, but the cultural facts

of family background, entitlement, privilege, any other name, bet

research the history, maybe she held a goad, to prod her enemies

no animosity, not inamicable, but eudaimonia

if all speech is spirit, holy or otherwise, these are known as speech acts

not without intention, perdition paves the path, the road to hell, the child

Bombayite, if only, never any questions, to rear its ugly head

only America, land of the free and home of the brave, of the wild

murderous, righteous few, chosen by destiny, manifest, full of dread

born into racism, 16th-Century lies, of anhedonia

author as the speaker, language reflects the mind, the mirror of pleasure

yes, as schadenfreude, to enjoy misery, the sorrow of others

burdened with intellect, or false intelligence, wishful thinking, insight

understanding adults as fully grown children, the body as treasure

to explore the given, the possibilities, how fast, how far, how high

thoughtfulness, a woman, her curiosity hurts none, never bothers

how consideration shines a beacon, a lamp to guide ships with a light

entering a harbor to steer clear of the shore, this woman, a lighthouse

would that I could ask her, that she could remember, decades ago, goodbye

of course, she is long gone but not her sentiment, who Americans hate

maybe the president, does the president know, or maybe does his wife

as the other woman in this relationship, a personal debate

no one else to talk with, old man, enormous wings, tongue as sharp as a knife

witness humanity, searching in the darkness, the president, his spouse

heartless as hungry ghosts, wolves howling at the moon, in winter, it is cold

only California sheds its skin as a snake escapes from its old scales

argue not with the dead, they offer no reply, no answers to questions

still, is the foreigner as a boy, the woman, sharing a soul, how bold

kindness, loving-kindness, no self and no other, an interplay, exchange

solemn vows, promises to return once again, exchange ideas, as tales

to offer to children, but the boy as a man has none, her suggestions

however, to return to his homeland, too soon, I was only a boy

entering a beach town, in my formative years, my mind, a mountain range

beneath San Gabriel, he could see Mount Baldy, so far away from home

obviously, he means Huntington Beach, the pier, he would run to later

yes, his favorite place to visit while at home, this beach town, he could roam

Wherever, no one cared, until they killed Lynel, the harmful debaser

how do I remember horrible incidents of a tortured boy toy

ego gets in the way, my childhood as the boy, the woman was no one

remember to cherish all experiences, good or bad, as he grows

ever more sorrowful, a life of suffering, the cessation of hate

ask and you shall receive, whatever that may mean, shuttle into the sun

resist the negative, embrace the positive, balance duality

everyone tells a lie, the truth remains hidden, where no one ever knows

yesterday, I woke up, a tortured little boy, with ideas, none innate

object of ridicule, effigy voodoo doll, to hold her sewing pins

undermine all efforts, create new obstacles, sudden finality

forget not to forgive, with no apologies, no remorse, what a joke

rummage through the rubbish for a meal, the homeless, the saddest of people

objectively unknown the conditions for pain, a gambler plays broke

maybe for some reason, rationalize karma, under the church steeple

I am only a child, the trimmed wool of a sheep, wolves takes away my sins

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