To
To, like Rosa Luxemburg,
carry oneself as a free human being
instead of, like the majority of free human beings,
behaving like a prisoner
To clear one’s throat and spill out neologisms en masse
instead of, like the letter-faithful,
asking one’s way forward through the alphabet
To squander spice-strong truth
instead of, like the faint-hearted,
seeking bland comfort in today’s lie
To fling oneself breathlessly into directly acting text
and dissonant sound art
instead of, like the turncoats of tastelessness,
deafly blinding themselves
to the ringing light of creativity
To seize the moment in a capricious universe
that conceals its synchronicities
from the calculating,
but opens them slightly – and then wide –
for the laughter-salvo improvisers
To, like Bob Dylan, make one’s way all the way
to existence’s New York,
instead of, like the aimless,
turning back halfway
to the open pits of Hibbing’s Iron Range
To, like August Strindberg, describe a view
as fascinating as the one from Mosebacke
instead of, like the common man, just having a cup of coffee
and going home to jerk off
Poetry by Ingvar Loco Nordin
Written on 2026-03-08 at 13:59
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