Written by Marten Bart Stork(A) Small change. (B) A little different. A little goes a long way. Together all the bugs on this planet not only got us outnumbered, but they also got us outweighed. What’s a little and what’s a lot? What is big and what is not? An amount only has meaning in comparison to something else. The size of something only has meaning in comparison to something else. What is a galaxy to us could be only the nucleus of a cell. The cell of a body so big we could never even experience it as such. What’s small change for you to someone else could mean so much. Make (a) small change. (B)e a little different. What is change? What is difference? Change is everything. Change is the difference between everything and nothing. The conflict between everything and nothing. Change is energy. If an object or an event never change it’s impossible to experience them. If there is no difference between things it’s impossible to observe the things. Difference is information. The difference between 0 and 1 Creation out of nothing. Everything is the change from nothing into something. Change is the difference between everything and nothing.
Written by Allen Caldeira
Failing that, the cows mated in pastures and the saints all dropped acid, screens shattered around them, falling plastic and glass darted through the square, twinkled around the edges and the martyrs fell in with the prostitutes at cyber cafes where internet trolls and media warriors lived vagabond at all times. The streets began to warp into the rice paddies they once were, the teenagers with igirlfriends and sloppy, sexless lives, dragged themselves into the fields and made new love to new dirt. The monks chanted sutras from the temples before Tokyo rose up from the swamp of its past, recapitulated itself into the drying eyes of the martyrs awaiting their executions for their telling of a future unstrained by the past. Tokyo, born again from the ashes of itself. Tokyo, born again from the ideas hefted onto it by Carthusians and Andalusians. Tokyo, born again from how some thought it should be. And now the internet cafes cool down, whores roll in from opium dens, fat half-chefs spin takoyaki in the streets, and the saints sit with their backs to the city, slopping up ramen in a business cafe.
Written by Nynke Nina
going over and over
keeping them sharp
keeping them vivid
slowly less specific
the sound of your voice
the looks on your face
distilled into fractions
pieces of a reality
attempt of the mind
going back to events
and my thoughts wander and wander
making it a cracked mirror
to what it represents
of our experiences
is far away from me
but all I get
is a sample of reality
the connection we had
is blurring the trace
*You can find more of Nynke’s work at Mevalia.
Written by Sybrand Veeger
Young philosophers and poets,
Romanticists and laureates:
Hegel, Holderlin, Schelling –
All boarded at the same dwelling.
Tuebingen: birthplace of this German school,
Housed the love for thought and God as World.
There the Spirit was wound up,
And charged up with philosophy’s jewel.
Before the romantic diamond was blasted
High into the Western firmament,
It was patiently polished by three friends,
Three brothers who looked through the same lens.
Our memory has been blurred somewhat,
By endless cynical tomes.
Let us do justice to this crazy lot
By listening to their polished tones:
Spirits and idealists,
Plaguing all their thought-lists,
Histories and dialectics,
Invading all our Geistes!
Hegel thought ideally,
Schelling, the youngest madman:
Laughing stock of these boy-men.
Wisemen: human owls,
Obsessed with Grecian fouls,
“Philosophers of Nature”?
Transcendents of the Structure!
(Spinoza lived among them,
Both in thought and soul,
Forerunners of our Spirit,
– these Germans knew for sho!)
-It’s Tuebingen! House of Genius!
Schelling und Zeit!
Was surely love at first sight:
– an expansive, contractive force,
Anti-hegelian with no remorse!
Indeed lacked all possible linearity,
Question: Absolute Spirit?
Answer: No, Hegel, forget it!
Second boy, Hegel:
Napoleon, his World-Spirit,
No irony, his lyrics:
Too serious for satirists…
Third boy, Holderlin,
A true poet in his lyrics:
”Hyperion! The Greeks truly did it,
Philosophy, poetry, you name it!”
Holderlin willed no thought system;
He assigned verse to the Spirit’s voice:
“The poet’s vocation must be the combination
Of reason and energy, as musical expression”.
All these three combined,
Fused together are Divine:
They make up a human trinity
That deserves a space in memory:
Assign a corner of your soul
To this brotherhood’s legacy,
Hang a cross in your mind
As a reminder of their eternity.
Art and Text by Marten Bart Stork:
Everything Must Be Forgotten
I remember you.
How do you remember me?
Do we remember accurately?
I don’t remember being born.
Or where I was before.
Because everything must be forgotten.
So we can do it all again.
The show must go on.
And we will play every scene.
In every possible way.
And we will play all the different roles.
Forever and always.
But we must keep on forgetting.
So we can do it all again.
We must keep on forgetting.
Or else we go insane.*You can see more of Marten’s work on Instagram.