clairvoyance

as magicians bound in realism
some misdirection performs illusions

knowing the staled business
placebo effect in the observer
performer pretends mystical

but unlike faux-meat eating vegans
hypocrites still craves

i know it certain
will not happen

"Night and Fog" Review

For Matured Audiences

Credits to the uploader :kh4nbahadur

Night and Fog documents the tragedy from the perspective of a Holocaust survivor, it pulls you straight into the mood with its poetic narration, its curiosity arousing opening shot of an abandoned concentration camp and its depressing score.

The infamous Holocaust was known to almost everyone through obscured history teachings and heroic war films that didn't leave me with the impact "Night and Fog" did. We are constantly reminded in films and books that 6 million Jews were massacred and other atrocities the Nazis committed but what impact did it really had? To me, little to non, maybe with just a passing thought "Hitler is a real psycho".

After watching Night and Fog, then I did finally realized the cruelty that had happened, blockbuster films doesn't show you that, history books couldn't paint the picture. The raw stock images and footages used were gruesome, Stretched to my 16:9 monitor, I was stared by a real corpse, witness bodies being bulldozed.... They didn't made me scared but empty, it was weird, indescribable.

We people living in this age are enjoying and entertained by WW2 exploits, Nazis and Hitler being destroyed over and over again in countless films, and us enjoying it, yes "justice" must be served and of cause we are also entertained to have them back as always to be our central villainous figure. This is awfully similar to how the Nazis influence their citizens into acknowledging the Nazi's cause, I'm not saying that modern films of WW2 exploits are all propaganda because most of them are to milk money, yet they delivers the same kind of messages:
" Our cause is honorable ", " We serve justice " " We are good and they evil ".....
People may argue that the fact is they really are on the good side and films are portraying the fact but that's not the point, the point is what humans are capable of when exposed to all these ideologies, quote from the last stanza of Night and Fog
"Are their faces really different from our own?".
I couldn't cry nor am i enraged when this documentary completes its final stanza, just empty.

PS: You will be imprinted with lots of gruesome images after watching it, the eyes wide female corpse is still vivid in my memory.

x

by petals swept in mourning winds
pollens wafting on a careless breeze
does bond, a blunt bridge cannot
and our parallel path, did cross

flashed

was heedless leaks of glimmer
moon shine through crack, glows
beacon upon naked coarse nadir
reflection aroused as spring's cold

dismals aching the ever yester
gloom comings momentarily shines
passage of burned out cinders
remains bosom for winter's mime

toothpastes' curse

pure as baby-teeth's white
or users trust's edges weak
toothpastes' are in demise
trapped in stigmatic light

*jack nicholson's close-up grin

to clean off the remnants
of daily blackened fiction
that passes sleek through sieve
staining between tooth-rift

buy as advertised

*jack nicholson's close-up smile

chasing rainbow

chasing after the rainbow has sprouted from earth nearing, her root shimmers bowing to the other end and i chase i chase after from end to end merrily comical-like in catching butterflies joy in reverie repetition blissed frazzled I couched beneath the arc of pure admiring the vibrant awe and without juncture she vanishes in nature's theatrics as if a sleight of hand i wonder her mystery until the next rained rendezvous

in cleansing

in effort to escape shuts my eyes
flickering lights tries to whirl them wide

covering my ears from clamorous turmoil
in loud awakening the fugue world landslides

to take in nothing in hunger, gnarling gut
through mine secretion, luscious what has past

holds breath for having surround in putrid lies
my own foul presence rushes above temple top

in chasm of all, feeling my soul like mimosa
touched by the slightest kiss of zephyr

somethings' abysmal