About the Longest of Seconds

About the Longest of Seconds

I’ve got lost in a cup of coffee in the days before you arrived.

I’ve thought thoughts that were nothing like my previous life.

I looked at them from the edge of this new life and I dared believe.

There was nothing but my God of pleasure everywhere.

I waited for you, like never before, anxious, almost scared.

The sun was so unsettled on the roofs.

I was sitting on the floor next to all my passionate words,

Looking at you through the glass of white wine.

You had just returned from the East and you hair was cinder.

I told you about how I never stopped to look at anyone who has ever loved me

And what I’m looking for might not even exist, still, there’s always someone loving me somewhere, like you are, here, now. You didn’t mind.

You told me about the ancient book, back home, on the island,

The one about nine worlds and their rituals.

You said I should use my words about myself in the simplest of sentences,

Take out the vowels and make one single word of what is left

Then wear it on my skin until it gets into my subconscious

Into my lungs, into my dreams,

And I become one with my will.

Then I will be certain. The sun will settle, I will no longer feel scared and your hair will be black again.

You said I should let go of what I lived and think about the big blue we are to visit this summer.

It is all real.

And so I twirl around the sand glass these days and let the coffee get cold.

Amorgos is close.





About Selfness

About Selfness

When the curtain lifted, nothing of my old self was left…

You knew better than to open your arms wide and say it is all for me.

You knew the only happiness I ever believed in was the one

That started within me and ended within me.

There was a time when I was afraid to want to live if I didn’t know what for and how

And all the love that was around me was not enough because

It did not sprang from the passion of my mind.

I had to find my own peace and give you value for value.

You know the Greek gods won’t accept anything else,

And we want to live up there with them

Not amongst the common men who trade pity, acceptance, blindness

For value.

I looked at us and I knew we gave truth for truth.

I did not want our love growing from a prescription.

So you let your arms down and offered me time.

I took it, until the day a stranger touched my hair the way you do,

Lightly, protective, the serene heart way…

And I dropped in silence and realized how much I love you

For being you

For being me

For letting me grow my happiness from me and within me

While you watched over my life with your self-made happiness.

We are Vulcan’s children and we know the beginning of truths,

We know how to create our own worlds.



About All Sorts of Terrorists

About All Sorts of Terrorists

“You who are worshippers of the zero-you have never discovered that achieving life is not the equivalent of avoiding death. Joy is not ‘the absence of pain,’ intelligence is not ‘the absence of stupidity,’ light is not ‘the absence of darkness,’ an entity is not ‘the absence of a nonentity.’

Existence is not a negation of negatives. Evil, not value, is an absence and a negation, evil is impotent and has no power but that which we let it extort from us. Perish, because we have learned that a zero cannot hold a mortgage over life.

You seek escape from pain. We seek the achievement of happiness. You exist for the sake of avoiding punishment. We exist for the sake of earning rewards. Threats will not make us function; fear is not our incentive. It is not death that we wish to avoid, but life that we wish to live.

“You, who have lost the concept of the difference, you who claim that fear and joy are incentives of equal power-and secretly add that fear is the more ‘practical’-you do not wish to live, and only fear of death still holds you to the existence you have damned. You dart in panic through the trap of your days, looking for the exit you have closed, running from a pursuer you dare not name to a terror you dare not acknowledge, and the greater your terror the greater your dread of the only act that could save you: thinking. The purpose of your struggle is not to know, not to grasp or name or hear the thing. I shall now state to your hearing: that yours is the Morality of Death.”

Ayn Rand

About Choices

“I am proud that he had chosen me to give him pleasure and that it was he who had been my choice. It was not—as it is for most of you—an act of casual indulgence and mutual contempt. It was the ultimate form of our admiration for each other, with full knowledge of the values by which we made our choice. We are those who do not disconnect the values of their minds from the actions of their bodies, those who do not leave their values to empty dreams, but bring them into existence, those who give material form to thoughts, and reality to values—those who make steel, railroads and happiness. And to such among you who hate the thought of human joy, who wish to see men’s life as chronic suffering and failure, who wish men to apologize for happiness—or for success, or ability, or achievement, or wealth—to such among you, I am now saying: I wanted him, I had him, I was happy, I had known joy, a pure, full, guiltless joy, the joy you dread to hear confessed by any human being, the joy of which your only knowledge is in your hatred for those who are worthy of reaching it. Well, hate me, then—because I have reached it!”


Atlas Shrugged

About No Ends

About No Ends

you tell me it’s all about my skin and my pleasure

all about my body needing skins on tongues

and my mind holding pleasure as the only religion,

you tell me it’s all about the way in which you worship my religion

with your mind and your body.

I choose you because you are my prescription and my friend,

the owner of my desires and the altar of my mind’s religion.

I choose you because I met you halfway to heaven, halfway into me,

to help me build it in my own vision.

I choose you because of all the languages we speak in one tongue

above the needs of the world,

our desires, our minds and our words are all that exists.

We don’t fear the end because it is never in our sight.

you tell me it’s all about my skin and my pleasure

beyond that which others call the end of things…




About the God of Reason

“What is it then – faith versus truth? She grasped the unthinkable fact of a man who was guilty and knew it and was trying to escape by inducing an emotion of guilt in his victim.

What is it that you want to be loved for?

“To be loved for!… you think that love is a matter of mathematics, of exchange, of weighing and measuring, like a pound of butter on a grocery table? I don’t want to be loved for anything. I want to be loved for myself – not for anything I do or have or say or think. For myself – not for my body or mind or words or works or action.”

But then… what is yourself? Do you want love to be causeless?

“Love is its own cause! Love is above cause and reasons! Love is blind! What’s the generosity of loving a man for his virtues? What do you give him? Nothing. It’s no more than cold justice. No more than he’s earned.”

I never thought and nobody ever told us how it could be thought of and what it would mean – the unearned spirit. But that is what you want. You want unearned love. You want unearned admiration. You want unearned greatness. You want to be a man… without the necessity of being anything. 

“Nobody’s ever loved me,” he said. “There isn’t any love in the world. People don’t feel. I feel things. Who cares about that? I’m very lonely. Maybe I’m just a hopeless idealist looking for the impossible.”

Why should it be impossible?

“That’s it. That’s the trouble – you asking all those why’s. Your constant asking of a why for everything. What I’m talking about can’t be put into words. It can’t be named. It has to be felt. Either you feel it or you don’t. It’s not a thing of the mind but of the heart. Don’t you ever feel? Just feel without asking all those questions!”

Whenever anyone accuses someone about being “unfeeling” he means that that person is just. He means that that person has no causeless emotions and will not grant him a feeling which he does not deserve. He means that “to feel” is to go against reason, against moral values, against reality. Observe that you never hear that accusation in defense of innocence, but always in defense of guilt. You never hear it said by a good person about those who fail to do him justice. But you always hear it said by a rotter about those who treat him as a rotter, those who don’t feel any sympathy for the evil he’s committed or for the pain he suffers as a consequence. Well, it’s true – that is what I do not feel. But those who feel it, feel nothing for any quality of human greatness, for any person or action that deserves admiration, approval, esteem. These are the things I feel. You’ll find that it’s one or the other. Those who grant sympathy to guilt, grant none to innocence. And then you’ll see what motive is the opposite of charity.




Ayn Rand