God chooses for His/Her work
those with (the most) shameful pasts,
falls
or black paint
on their soul “used-to-be-there”,
the ones we might call
the **** of the earth,
for once changed
and renewed
they know God’s omnipotence,
love,
greatness
the best
and can be the most surprising
of His/Her art
in the process of creating
the New Earth
already.

In seclusion and focus
long enough to settle in,
every word or phrase
becomes an understatement
with a greater pause
and reflection to it,
whether we sense it
or not

My thoughts
are morosely
and mostly
a series of miscarriages

En trouvant plus ou moins
l’art de quelqu’un
il se demande
“Qui l’a écrit ?”.
Non, non, non !
Il devrait se demander et se préciser
„Qui l’a créé ?”
car quiconque a pu le transférer
seulement en lettres
et l’y mettre,
mais seulement le créateur,
la mère,
a pu lui baiser
avec son âme et esprit
en lui donnant ainsi la Vie

You shall know thereby
a word or message’s
been right
if your Bowel Heart
trembles at it
whilst Mind can’t wrap its head
around it
(pun intended,
as they say)

Artistic existing and being,
however it is,
comes from the verge
of the land of sense,
somehow non-consciously
and dazing,
like the prophesying Pythia,
yet not that supernaturally