# data[].attributes.body
Frolicking through an ocean of daisies
they roll down the hillside like balls of dandelions
Innocent hearts beat in the new heat of spring
while they‘re summoning the gods of love
The grass skid past their bare feet
and the sky hovers above their shoulders
Their eyes meet by chance
and their heads soar up to the stars

# data[].attributes.body
Trust me, I’m a poet. I know everything about the meaning of life. If you think about it, it’s quite obvious, isn’t it? The meaning of life is living. Living with passion. Experiencing life with all senses. Laugh, cry, love, hate, taste, smell, feel, touch, think, talk. Whatever you do, just try to enjoy it. There’s no point in searching for a higher meaning of life through your whole lifetime. Because if you do so, your life will probably pass by without you ever truly lived a single day of it.

# data[].attributes.body
Writing is a therapy
this pen the extension of my mouth
my hand its very engine
my heart's very wheelchair

writing and reading unspoken words give me control
control over my deep inside
a membran of nothingness surrounding it
the slightest spoken word would cause the inner chaos into existence

these words I will write, read, burn
but never pronounce into existence
that much power os left
to play with fire as long as I can

# data[].attributes.body
As the ozone layer fades more and more, the sun burns stronger and stronger from time to time. As the cactus is a plant, not in need of much water and gaining power out of the sun, it is a plant relaxing for years and years waiting for its day to come. And finally, when the power of the sunlight reaches the initial strength to release all the power that the Cactus has soaked into its system over all these centuries, the Cactus grows itself arms and legs, stands up from the place it is stuck in, throws one cactus-spike into the air to give the sign to all the others around the world, making it an unseen spectacular. All the Cactuses lift themselves up, stand together as one army and begin to massacre all humans with their spikes…
As time goes by almost all humans have been murdered and the ones who are left got enslaved and are now doing whatever the cactuses want. The only way to communicate their will, is by punishing humans if they don’t do what the cactuses want, by throwing a needle into humans’ body parts. And now, all the cactuses lived on happily forever.

# data[].attributes.body
I sometimes wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t said anything. If I had kept quiet and bottled up my feelings, keeping them safe, secure and secluded from you. Hidden inside, where all pain is barred from entering and where they could have stayed. They could still be there right now. Instead they had welled up, had taken my mind hostage, racing thoughts, bubbling emotions, with the only relief having been promised by blurting it out, the truth, or something like that. Maybe, if I had been smarter, maybe then you’d still be here.

# data[].attributes.body
Trust me, I am a poet. People nowadays really do not trust each other. Just because I am a construction worker, I cannot be a poet at the same time? Who even defines what a poet is? Is it someone that has already published poems? If so, where? Does it have to be published in a book, a collection, a local paper – to be recognised as a real poem? And while we are already wondering, why is it even important? Why do we have to define everything? So many questions and I don’t have the answers. I wonder if anyone does. There are always the know-it-alls with their years of education and experience, but does that mean that they know it better, or even all? Is there a law about people with PHD’s always being right? If so, I sincerely apologize, I have never heard of it before.

# data[].attributes.body
“There is no easy way to say this, but you broke my heart.”
“Oh no, I’m so sorry, this wasn’t my intention. How did I break it?”
“You were dancing with this other guy yesterday and I saw you kissing him. And as always you had my heart with you. As you then did a full turn holding my heart in your hands, I saw it breaking. You tore it apart.”
“Oh, you meant the heart made of paper.”
“Yes, sister, I’ve put a lot of work into it!”

# data[].attributes.body
A mysterious beeing

full of compassion and yet unpredicteable

a soft heart within a stronghold

success and strugle were your friends

a hybrid life you have lived

and bitter was the fruit's taste

But thanks to bitterness' sake life was sweet

and in god's timing every bitterness sweetens

like honey from the promised land.

# data[].attributes.body
I hate them because I love them.

But I love them because they are a unit

which is a binding force that looks out for me.

However, I hate this force because it makes me feel like I’m suffocating from

Its warmth.

I love this warmth because it let’s me know that I’m never alone, which

I sometimes hate because I like being alone.

At the same time do I enjoy having dinner with them but I hate when they ground me for

no reason.

Still, I guess I love them

Because they’ll love me even if I hate them.

# data[].attributes.body
Didn’t we have a lovely time that time we went to university? Do you remember? I don’t. Because soon after my studies started last autumn, the government decided that we are no longer allowed to attend classes at university. It’s a shame, isn’t it? Instead of sitting in a room together and chatting about life we’re trapped at home, starring on our screens, always one tiny step from getting distract… – oh, there’s a fly on my table! I wonder what it’s up to?

# data[].attributes.body
I’m in a state of mind Freddy

Where no one can reach Kenny.

And a Penny is all I want

Becky is all I need.

What did you say Chèrie?

PERRY HEAD MY OF OFF GET!

Thought I’d end up with Sean

Now I try. I try. I try with Cindy.

Beni anlıyormusun Cedi?

I’m in a state of mind Freddy.

# data[].attributes.body
I am my worst enemy,

For I have opened doors,

Doors which break down walls,

What have I done?

I have nothing left to be proud of,

For our bond was my most precious,

I not only broke into my own heart,

Not only stolen, but also vandalised my honour,

I find myself between past and present,

I cannot go back, nor move on,

Can’t forget, can’t forget, can’t forgive,

How will I face you?

That I am your best friend I cannot claim,

For I have stabbed you in the back,

I have lost any credibility, respect, honour,

I have lost my face.

Strike me, punish me,

Hate me, disown me,

But for my life’s sake,

Don’t erase me.

# data[].attributes.body
Didn't we have a lovely time that day we went to the Palisade Park? The weather was nice and warm and even though it was already evening there were still many people screaming and laughing about all the fun they had. And we had a lot of fun as well. Do you remember how scared we were on the ghost train? How you screamed when the ghost jumped out of the closet? Of course you don't remember. And I don't know why I remember. It was the last time that anybody went to the Palisade Park, after a truck exploded and a fire killed all the people who were there. No more laughing just screams of pain and fear. This was the last time I went there and now I am stuck here for eternity.

# data[].attributes.body
Standing, looking and feeling overwhelmed

by the sheer amount of flavors:

Strawberry, raspberry, lemon, tiramisu –

but what for God’s sake is smurf ice cream?

Time seems to stand still,

Inching forward but if feels like backwards –

millions of cars on huge roads:

trapped in Toronto.

Feeling home with my friends,

Staring at the clear sky

full of stars.

Watching fireflies dance in the grass

in the comfort of our campsite

Gulping down water

with a burning hot tongue,

pain that wanders, a heated face.

The crispy taste of meat surrounded by

the hottest sauce on the menu.

Tearing up but feeling proud for being

so adventurous.

Talking in the darkness,

surrounded by heat and mosquitoes,

sipping on a cup of coffee and

reminiscing about life.

# data[].attributes.body
I sometimes wonder what would have happened if this virus never broke out. Where would I be now? What would I be doing? I would probably sit in the classroom doing my automatic writing task and have no clue what to write about. Because I wonder what I would wonder about if everything was normal in life and there would be nothing to wonder about.
I wonder how, I wonder why…
but all that i can see, is just another zoom meeting.

# data[].attributes.body
The thin spiked crown sits heavy on her head
The queen kneeling before the morally grey villain
Handing over her kingdom
A dark force is crawling inside and outside of her entire empire
Threatening the precious lives of her nation
Nobles, peasants and children at deaths door
Castle, farms and playgrounds lying in a cloud of ashes
There is no longer a monarchy
The pitchfork that replaces the golden crown

# data[].attributes.body
Even if you don’t believe me, I know why your cat wakes you up at 2:30am sharp each night. You see, I was traveling through Norway a few years ago, minding my own business and being astonished by the vast beauty of the landscape when I saw a tabby cat’s tail. It was long and fluffy and I only saw it for a second. I tried to follow it but I had no chance. Then, suddenly, I heard the loudest noise. My ears seemed to have been pierced and all I could hear was a ringing. It got hot and when I opened my eyes again, praying for my life, the tree behind which I had first seen the tail, and all its surrounding trees, were gone. Vanished. All there was left were craters and some little flames of fire. I squeaked and looked up because, mind you, I was miles and miles away from humanity. And there I saw it. Don’t laugh, don’t call me crazy, but there I saw a UFO. And out of the window there I saw the tabby cat’s tail bouncing. Now, I’ve pondered upon this for years, looking for an explanation but I was at my wit’s end. And then you got this cat. I recognized the tail as soon as I saw it. Fluffy, long… tabby cat. I was suspicious at first, so I waited outside your window one night, and there you go, at 2:30am sharp, there was the UFO. Picking up your cat. I was freaking out. But then the next day – it was in the papers – the biggest thief of that month was caught – and your cat was back home. So you see, then it all suddenly made sense.

The reason, my friend, why you wake up every night at 2:30am sharp, is because your cat is an undercover superhero. So next time, don’t be mad or upset! It is just doing its job, keeping us all safe and sound. Long live your tabby cat!

(And no, I did not write this ode to your cat because I’m terrified of her. I’d prefer if you took her and her monstrous claws from my lap though.)

# data[].attributes.headline
Eggplant – the unliked vegetable                   How would you feel, if nobody liked you and preferred every single one of your species over you?Quite bad, huh? And now, try to imagine how an eggplant must feel? Eggplants are vegetables that are always being ignored, not liked and not used for cooking.You would never order eggplant in a restaurant, and when it is served on a dish you’d either eat it or just leave it at the side because you cannot stand it and won’t let it ruin your appetite.But imagine… What if one day, you wake up, and all the uneaten eggplant that was just fresh, that lied in a freezer somewhere and the one that was already thrown away and maybe even start to mould, they are alive. They are sick of our ignorance and want to be seen and heard. Imagine how they would turn against humanity. Of course, one eggplant is small, but imagine how in their number, they would just rule over us.Naturally, not over all of us. They would sense people who like them or grow them with their other vegetables and won’t do any harm to them. But the others, all the other ignorant people they would hunt and do much much worse things to them. Now what about you? Would they kill you, kidnap you or keep you as a servant?I bet you think twice now if you eat your eggplant in a restaurant.

# data[].attributes.subject
Eggplant – the unliked vegetable                   How would you feel, if nobody liked you and preferred every single one of your species over you?Quite bad, huh? And now, try to imagine how an eggplant must feel? Eggplants are vegetables that are always being ignored, not liked and not used for cooking.You would never order eggplant in a restaurant, and when it is served on a dish you’d either eat it or just leave it at the side because you cannot stand it and won’t let it ruin your appetite.But imagine… What if one day, you wake up, and all the uneaten eggplant that was just fresh, that lied in a freezer somewhere and the one that was already thrown away and maybe even start to mould, they are alive. They are sick of our ignorance and want to be seen and heard. Imagine how they would turn against humanity. Of course, one eggplant is small, but imagine how in their number, they would just rule over us.Naturally, not over all of us. They would sense people who like them or grow them with their other vegetables and won’t do any harm to them. But the others, all the other ignorant people they would hunt and do much much worse things to them. Now what about you? Would they kill you, kidnap you or keep you as a servant?I bet you think twice now if you eat your eggplant in a restaurant.

# data[].attributes.body
Tearing up but feeling proud for being
so adventurous.

# data[].attributes.body
In my last holiday I went to Hellingly and it was hell of a fun. Do you get it? Hell, Hellingly? Anyways the first thing I did was to go to the museum of card boxes. It was absolutely amazing and interesting to see all those boxes and learn more about them. I then decided to go to the park that I heard about and you know what? This park didn't have lawn or trees. No annoying birds that could bother you. But I also wanted to do something exciting so I went to an amusement park. You know what was the most exciting thing about the whole park? Every attraction has a defect and you don't know what it is! That was so much fun!
After this exhausting visit I wanted to go to the famous library of Hellingly with books written from famous bus drivers. The library was quite empty but I guess they are refurbishing the place. In the evening I went to the cinema and watched a movie. The best thing about it as that all the movies are played backwards. Movies make so much more fun this way and it really rounded the whole day up. No more guessing about how the move ends. I can't wait to go back to Hellingly!

# data[].attributes.body
I feel hurt cause of a woman again
Why do they all pretend?
Am I not worth a truly meant love?
You know, I fall for these women
who are incredibly cute
but is this cuteness just a door?
Behind there is what they are caching
Their ruthless feature
Is there darkness in these creatures?
The feature it is
The love for tormenting people
Are they what humans call evil?
I don’t know the answers
To these questions
But maybe, is this my obsession?
I really… My head
I, I wake up
What happened to me?
I can see blurry outlines
And a clearly recognizable cute woman’s face
Why am I here at this place?
I know, I don’t
Why is she crying?
I know now, she did hit me with a pan

# data[].attributes.body
There once was a man. He was a biologist and scientist of the 22nd century. I know,” he once was” sounds wrong, but he invented a time machine and went back in time, that is why he was also living before our century. He created it out of vegetables. And it worked with natural fuel. Fuel made out of a juice mix out of fruits. He travelled back to the time when Jesus was alive. But not alive for a long time anymore. He travelled back to the exact day when Jesus died. In 22nd century they’ve found out on which day it took place. He found him hanging on his cross and as he was fascinated by the story of Jesus’ magical abilities, he wanted to see what would happen if he took something like a drop of blood putting it on a vegetable and would then plant it. He took one onion ran up to him, but then there was one problem, the blood was dry. Then he saw a tear running down his face and he thought Jesus’ tear must have magical powers too. He caught it and ran and planted it. He staid there and did hide till it was completed. At the end there was a huge field of onions and some soldiers found it and they made sure that people came to get all these onions. As the scientist saw that, he immediately returned to the time machine and went back to his century. As he then wanted to cook a meal and started to cut the onion, he realized that the only effect the tear had, was making, the one who cuts the onion, cry.

# data[].attributes.body
Well, I don’t know the exact reason at the moment and I don’t have time to find out

# data[].attributes.body
The dusk is at hand,
bring me wool, silk and cotton,
Let the moth's feast begin.

# data[].attributes.body
Call me crazy but it is clear that the warm, cozy feeling of the sunlight burning on my skin, gives me goosebumps. I don’t really like the sweating that results, because it makes my body feel wet and tired and it happens even if I just lie on the sun lounger, while relaxing all my muscles. But I really appreciate the warm feeling of being safe, of being human, of being alive, that lets me feel a good sense of happiness flowing through every little part of me.

# data[].attributes.body
Call me crazy but it is clear that I do not know what I am doing. I don‘t really have a way with words, I can‘t weave them the way to create an introcate design. It is truly an artform. Finding this one word that describes an object so clearly that no other word can do it justice, to detail an action in this exact way that makes it interesting but not overbearing. And then reading it, whatever I wrote, seconds after it starts sounding like a kindergartener‘s journal, no suspention, just words, barely connecting to each other. I truly wish I had a way with words. I have read so many great works and can pinpoint exactely what I liked about them, how they turn the most boring event into the most interesting one has ever seen, but how do I replicate this?

# data[].attributes.body
There is no easy way to say this,

I wish it weren’t necessary.

There is no easy way to say this, you see,

But we both knew this day would come.

Well, there is no easy way to say this,

And yet saying it is quite simple, really.

There is no easy way to say this, indeed,

But at some point I’ll just have to do it.

There is no easy way to say this, I know,

And yet here we are, standing on the edge of a cliff.

There is no easy way to say this - “Well don’t” you answer.

You lift my hand and guide it to your forehead, you do the same.

Our eyelids close as we slowly lower our arms.

For a moment, we hold each others faces in our palms.

I feel a teardrop enter the narrow gap between my hand and your cheek.

“There is no easy way to do this” you say,

We let go.

# data[].attributes.body
There is no easy way to say this. For weeks, you ponder over the right words. You prepare every single hand gesture, every facial expression. Every day you create a new play in your head, a dramatic monologue with that poetic, well-chosen language.
But then you stand there in front of that one person and all of it is gone. One look has blown every carefully chosen word away like leaves in the wind. Your hands are sweaty, your mouth dry.
All the small parts of the poetic speech is gone and the only thing you're left with is a nervous tremor in your hands.
An the only thing that comes out of your mouth is not poetic, nothing like a long well-written monologue. "I think I love you."
How are those three little words so difficult to say?

# data[].attributes.body
I will never forget my biggest disappointment

How all of you made me feel stupid and betrayed

Mommy I can’t believe you were in this too

These people are called Simon and Sue!

What a fool I was to call them Grandpa and Grandma.

# data[].attributes.body
"Call me crazy, but it is clear that this is a sinking ship, at this point it would be ignoring all evidence to say it is not. Boss, I know you swore never to give up on us … and your family, but this just simply goes beyond anything we could have expected…"

*Static noises getting louder*

*there's a click and the line breaks*

*line slowly comes back in with a lot of static noise*

"No, I know you haven't tried … that thing yet … but no one wants you to. It's evident there is no use. We can't stop it from happening. John came over this afternoon, we talked about our … situation… and…"

*more static noise*

*line breaks again*

*longer silence*

"Look, Marty is not going to make it in time. Tom and the boys haven't heard anything yet and John can't hold the line much longer…

It's either you or me. I'm going in and I'll see what I can do. You go home, tell your boys to get a move on. I'll take care of the rest…"

# data[].attributes.body
Trust me I’m a poet dancing with the stars, that I will meet someday, when I’m a really unprofessional, popular and loved singer. I will be singing poems of unbelievable craziness and fiction, without any sense, but a lot sense of humor. Without any meaning, but still people believe in what I write, what I sing and most important, they will always believe that I’m a poet, because I wrote it down.

# data[].attributes.body
Sand running between my fingers, even a bit of it between my teeth, a rather ugly bucket hat on my head, life was easy, socially interacting has never been, the other girls wore pink hats and sandals, I did not, I hated pink, the others could already climb up the climbing wall, I could not, I never wanted to do it, what I wanted was to observe, to talk to people who got it, to do everything at my own pace, but there has always been this pressure to be better, faster, brighter, and the mean grins when they realized I was the weaker one.

I open my eyes.

I am surrounded by my friends. It is warm here. Time moves quicker with them. They all know me and treat me with the respect I longed for when I was sitting in the sand with my bucket hat on, watching the others climb up that wall and asking myself who they had to prove something to. I think I have found my place. And I am slowly deleting my memories of those where I felt lost.

# data[].attributes.body
It tickles on my skin.

It is warm and awakens

my desire to move, to jump, to run

away from my desk. Leaving the frozen faces on my screed to stammer by themselves.

I’m zooming out, one might say,

out into the streets,

where besides some cars some children play with a ball.

They are boys and young, and while for fun they play soccer, their younger sisters draw

with charcoal on the sidewalk.

Still zooming and blooming full of joy

(to have escaped the prison of my desk)

I enter the park and sit on the grass.

It is soft and smells like Spring.

I take a deep breath and relax,

take my time to recover from the past year,

take in the warmth and love

of my sunshine.

And it tickles on my skin.

# data[].attributes.body
Tonight, we live on a carousel.
At the pace its spinning, at the pace we're living life.
Neon lights just throw the weirdest shades
I can make out faces, looking at me saying that
I die for you
I thought I was rather self-aware
But I'm chasing myself from fight to fight I forfeit
I am picking up stones just to cave under the weight
When I said that I'd die for you I didn't mean you can stab my heart
Pretty sure that it's going to heal but it will leave a nasty scar
I die for you

# data[].attributes.body
If the night wasn't dark I would die. I am an old vampire, 2000 years old. My only option to survive is to go out into the dark night and kill unsuspecting victims, drinking their blood and making myself live a little longer. As soon as I put a foot outside in the daylight, I fall to ashes just like my cousin Andy. Now he is inside a trash can because his wife didn't like dust around the house. What a strange place to have ones final rest. Poor Andy. I told him that wearing sunglasses and saying to yourself that you are immune to sunlight won't work. He'd rather saved for one of those home solariums that you can order. But even that wouldn't help me if the night wasn't dark.

# data[].attributes.body
Call me crazy but it’s clear that you are nuts. Why would you call anyone else crazy if you aren’t yourself? I mean, how would you even know what it means to be crazy? I think it’s crazy when crazy people call other people crazy. And by the way, is being crazy even considered something bad? Aren’t the craziest people usually the most normal ones in this crazy world we’re living in? Maybe we just all try to adapt to the craziness of today’s world and that’s why the crazy people go crazy over other people calling them crazy. That’s crazy, isn’t it?

# data[].attributes.body
Last Saturday we went on a daytrip to Motherwell. We started at the famous statue of a rocking chair which was a gift to the town from Donald Trump. After that we walked across the bridge of toothpicks which felt quite insecure but it’s said that it hasn’t ever broken down since it was built a hundred years ago. Before heading to the diaper museum, we stopped at the world’s biggest dishwasher, which is so big that you can actually step inside it. Finally, my biggest dream came true: I always wanted to feel like a dirty piece of cutlery. We wanted to end our day at the top of the tower of motherhood but unfortunately the elevator was closed for cleaning.

# data[].attributes.body
There is no easy way to say this,

but I don’t love you anymore. I’ve been noticing for a while now, a little voice of doubt whispering poisoned syllables in my ear: “are you worth it? Is it going to last? Can you deal with the pain, the aftermath when it’s over?”. Denying and dismissing would have been easy, had they been statements, not questions. But they all had that rising intonation, like steering up a hill towards a cliff, not prepared to jump off the wagon but scared of the plunge even more.

These questions turned me around, planted themselves deep in my chest and sprouted, infested and multiplied. That’s why I’m standing here now with an open mouth.

“What were you going to tell me, love?”

“Ah nothing, just daydreaming again.”

# data[].attributes.body
Didn't we have a lovely time that time we went to the countryside, just the two of us? When nothing else mattered, when the weather was warm and the sun was shining over our heads. When all that mattered was what we had, when we'd wake up to the sound of nature and spend all day and night in each other's arms, listening to each other's heartbeats and soaking in each other's body fragrance, observing each other's faces from all possible angles, memorising what we could perceive.
Well, I dreamed of the good old days, when everything was different, when you were you and I was me.

# data[].attributes.body
If only the pope wasn’t caught with the chamber boy

we would have had world peace a long time ago

There would be no more war

No pain

No misery

Everyone would live in perfect harmony

Love each other

Respect each other

Live and let live

But if pineapples on pizza were socially acceptable

There would be no hope left in the universe.

# data[].attributes.headline
Didn’t we have a lovely time, that day we spend in complete nature. It really was just that, nature all around us in the Highlands of Scotland. I cannot tell where exactly it was and it doesn’t matter at all, on the contrary, the uncertainty is part of the experience. There was just us, you and me, between birds chirping and trees rustling softly in the wind, a waterfall with water so crystal clear you could see to the ground of the tiny but perfectly circled lake. It was in that exact moment I had a feeling of freedom that I have never experienced before in my entire life. All the doubts, all the negativities and anxieties just stopped and disappeared into the deepest corner of my mind and were locked behind a huge door to make space for these marvellous and perfectly flowing thoughts of freedom, silence, and … And what? It was a feeling I couldn’t describe with words, even if I wanted to. A feeling of coming home to a place I have never been before.

# data[].attributes.subject
Didn’t we have a lovely time, that day we spend in complete nature. It really was just that, nature all around us in the Highlands of Scotland. I cannot tell where exactly it was and it doesn’t matter at all, on the contrary, the uncertainty is part of the experience. There was just us, you and me, between birds chirping and trees rustling softly in the wind, a waterfall with water so crystal clear you could see to the ground of the tiny but perfectly circled lake. It was in that exact moment I had a feeling of freedom that I have never experienced before in my entire life. All the doubts, all the negativities and anxieties just stopped and disappeared into the deepest corner of my mind and were locked behind a huge door to make space for these marvellous and perfectly flowing thoughts of freedom, silence, and … And what? It was a feeling I couldn’t describe with words, even if I wanted to. A feeling of coming home to a place I have never been before.

# data[].attributes.body
Mommy please don’t be sad

I have accepted my faith

I can tell you it’s not that bad

I am totally safe

Today I have watched Teletubbies

And my round eyes are on the edge.

# data[].attributes.body
There is no easy way to say this so I’ll just let it be. I won’t tell you this because I’m not able to put it into words that won’t hurt you. So, it may be wiser to keep shut and don’t say anything at all. Or, you know what? I can’t. I can’t resist to tell you. I have to find a way. But how? How can you say such things without hurting someone? It’s impossible. It will hurt you, for sure. It will probably break your heart into a million pieces. But anyway. I have to free myself from this dept: I’ve watched the season finale without you.

# data[].attributes.body
I sometimes wonder what would have happened if I had taken a completely different path. If I had stayed home. If I had decided against this academic world I am now somehow a part of. If she had not gone. I wonder if I would be able to get the answers to all of my questions I still have for her. If I would have come up with these questions in the first place. How would it feel? How would I see myself now? I am half of her. It is difficult to establish your identity when one half of you is missing, is not here to tell you stories about both of you anymore. I sometimes wonder how different life, love and family would feel. Those maybes are bothering me. Maybe it would have been different. Maybe it would have been pretty much the same. I will never know.

# data[].attributes.body
I have been feeling tired lately. Like, tired tired. Sometimes I tell myself it’s just the weather. Feeling isolated all the time doesn’t help it either. Well, I don’t know the exact reason at the moment and I don’t have time to find out; my next course starts in a few minutes. I drag my body through the kitchen, right to our coffee machine. Double Espresso. My heart begins to beat faster. I guess I’m addicted. As I have my first sip, I realize something is off. “You know what that means”, whispers the mean voice in my head. With my heart beating even faster now, I knock on my flatmate’s door. “The coffee” – I stutter – “tastes kind of weird, doesn’t it?”, my flatmate says. We look at each other in silence. I don’t know whether I should feel relieved or scared. We both know what’s up. And at the same time, we don’t. Yet.

# data[].attributes.headline
I need sleep. Desperately. Why did I even stay out that long? Oh right, because the Covid-restriction finally loosened up and we are allowed to go out again. At least for now. Right now, I just need to brush my teeth and I can finally fall into my bed and have a good night sleep. Wait. What is that note on the bathroom mirror? “I am sincerely sorry – Jessica.”No. that cannot be true, it just can’t. I should have known the dangerous game I got myself into when I started to date Jessica, they all warned me, but I wouldn’t listen. How could she do this? I go into her bedroom and my fear just got confirmed. Her stuff is gone, and her room is clean. She is gone. Gone to that damn seminar week. And with her, she took the damn toothpaste. The last damn bit of toothpaste left in this whole damn flat. Even though she knows that no matter how tired I am, I cannot sleep without having brushed my teeth. It is impossible and I can’t. Now, it is three o clock and I am one thousand percent sure that there is no gas shop which is open. I have to sit down to overcome the shock and think. With the amount of alcohol in my body and the lack of sleep that isn’t quite easy. As I sit there, leaning to the wall, thinking about how to get some toothpaste to finally be able to sleep, I am not able to notice how my eyes keep closing and my thoughts slowly drift away. 

# data[].attributes.subject
I need sleep. Desperately. Why did I even stay out that long? Oh right, because the Covid-restriction finally loosened up and we are allowed to go out again. At least for now. Right now, I just need to brush my teeth and I can finally fall into my bed and have a good night sleep. Wait. What is that note on the bathroom mirror? “I am sincerely sorry – Jessica.”No. that cannot be true, it just can’t. I should have known the dangerous game I got myself into when I started to date Jessica, they all warned me, but I wouldn’t listen. How could she do this? I go into her bedroom and my fear just got confirmed. Her stuff is gone, and her room is clean. She is gone. Gone to that damn seminar week. And with her, she took the damn toothpaste. The last damn bit of toothpaste left in this whole damn flat. Even though she knows that no matter how tired I am, I cannot sleep without having brushed my teeth. It is impossible and I can’t. Now, it is three o clock and I am one thousand percent sure that there is no gas shop which is open. I have to sit down to overcome the shock and think. With the amount of alcohol in my body and the lack of sleep that isn’t quite easy. As I sit there, leaning to the wall, thinking about how to get some toothpaste to finally be able to sleep, I am not able to notice how my eyes keep closing and my thoughts slowly drift away. 

# data[].attributes.body
You have seen us before. Of that we are sure. You could not live without us. Well, maybe you could. But just so you know: We are everywhere.

This is a warning. We want to be appreciated, we want you to realize that we exist and that we are stronger than you think! If you do not give us the attention we deserve, we will come after you. We will leave the cages you have put us in, we will take the life of all your texts, books, papers and tongues, and we will be screaming our name! Once we are gone, you will realize that there cannot be any art, animals, accomplishments, no anymores anymore. So put down your ignorant attitude or we will take it from you once we have risen. Can you hear that sound in the distance? No, it’s not the intro to the Immigrant Song by Led Zeppelin. It is us, screaming our name.

Today the alphabet, tomorrow the world.

# data[].attributes.body
It was the same all of my life. Since I was born my friends, my family and I have always been accused for being unimportant. For being slow. For being completely irrelevant for everything that’s going on in the world. They call us lazy. They call us dumb. They call us useless. If only they knew what we’re capable of. But now, now the time has come. We will show them how important we really are. We will get out of our habitat, straight into the metropoles of this world. We will enslave all humans, and kill those who try to defy us. Listen, dear humans – it’s too late now. You can run but you can’t hide. We will find you. We will hunt you. And then… We will take over the world. Be prepared for the rise of the sloths. But first… let’s take a nap.

# data[].attributes.body
Sounds of silence whispering in my ear

Si je te revois un jour, je te dirai tout

So many stories to be told

Sartre, Shakespeare, Storm

Storm of thoughts inside of me

Say, why can you not calm down?

SHUT UP

Sitting here with you

Stay with me, my dear

Sounds of silence whispering in my ear

# data[].attributes.body
Didn‘t we have a lovely time that time we went to Edinghbrough?  The old streets and pubs telling stories of all the people that once passed trhough them, the unpredictable weather, soaking us to the bone one minute and baking us in the sun the next. I still remember our trip up to Arthur‘s Seat, we started from our motel on a sunny day and after 10 minutes the rain came pouring down so we had to seek shelter in a cafe, after half an hour the storm was over and the sky looked as if nothing had happened, how peculiar. The hike up the mountain, if one could call it that, was surrounded by dozens of beautiful yellow flowers, I still remember us looking for the wild rabbits, brown and so so fast. And the view! We stayed up there for hours, enjoying the wind in our faces, not wanting this moment to end. It was truly a lovely time.

# data[].attributes.body
“Why Why?”, you might ask yourself now. Why not read our “Why not Why” brochure where you can find all the answers to your questions?

First of all, you probably want to take care of a place to sleep during your stay here. Why has two suggestions for you. Basic, but always a good choice: The Whyatt Hotel. Rather here for some fun? You might enjoy a stay in the Why sleep party hotel. It even has its own whynery!

No party, but still some action? Why not spend a day at the Why not amusement park?

Since it can get pretty hot out here, you should definitely take a swim in our Why so hot outdoor pool.

“Why?”, you ask when your friends want to go out partying, riding roller coasters and swimming? Do you just want to be in a quiet space with lots of time to think about life? Why not join Why’s famous Philosophy Club? It is located right next to the Museum of Answers.

Why’all hope you do not have to ask yourself why Why anymore and Why hope to see you soon!

# data[].attributes.body
“There is no easy way to say this, but you are not real. You are just an imagination of me. A friend that I needed, while there was no one. Someone I could lean on”, I stared blankly in the sparkling grey eyes, a tear slowly dripping of the face. He couldn’t understand, neither did I. Was I the one? Or was he? Was anyone?
“I don’t understand. What do you mean?” I stuttered and my thoughts were blank. What did I just hear? I am not real? I am just a thought of someone else’s brain. Not existing. Not even there. Not alive.
“If this is some cruel fucked up game you are playing, just say it!”
“ I created you in my mind. I needed you. For me you were always real. You were my rock. But the thing is, I don’t need you anymore.”
“No, please don’t leave me.”
“Choose your ultimate words wisely. Because I need to turn it off. I need to turn you off. I am done with you.”

# data[].attributes.body
Winter

Empty trees again

Winter seems to be coming

All I see is gray

Summer

Sunshine in my face

Children learning how to swim

In my childhood lake

Spring

Flowers are blooming

And I am sneezing again

Oh, beautiful spring

Autumn

The lake gets colder

And I turn a year older

Bittersweet colours

# data[].attributes.body
I love exploring new places, especially abbandoned houses, it just makes you feel like Lara Croft, sneaking through toombs, searching for treasure and always on the lookout for deadly traps. Ouch, I stubbed my toe, maybe I should not be trying to do parcour, whatever. So what can we find here, a travel book to India? It‘s still wrapped and as good as new. Well, this person must have loved to travel, there are even more travel guides in the broken bookshelf, Thailand, Korea, Japan. Wow, not bad. But why is this still wrapped? Maybe there are clues in there? I tore open the plastic and searched for a date, May 2020, what happened back then?

# data[].attributes.headline
The making of a poet  Part II wonder in which manner I have to write in order for this to be a poem Also please excuse the random cutting up of linesFor no course ever explained to me the rules of such a textformOnly confusion was added when counselled better to abstain from rhyme For it is mostly wasted timeReading the above I’ am mighty inclinedHallelujah this is harder to stop than I thoughtOnce started the words just seem to flopNow that I have used the word flopI think I understand whats the problem with rhyme  So quickly let’s change tracks Thinking about one of the few poems I knowWhere the earth is dying and its voice hollering up from the great canyonAs though through hyperdimensional loudspeakers officially announcingIt is donePeople must not have liked it here I am again reminded that for one to become a serious writer one must write ridiculously unseriouslyWhich brings me to the conclusion that none of this has to have meaning Even more so Vonnegut would tell meto write and burn it afterwardFor it is not important to have something to showBut to have created somethingPurely for ones own satisfaction The mode of evaluation of this course howeverdoesn’t allow for such philosophical sentimentSo this little text will not be torn upIt is not created solely for the purpose of creation itselfBy the way did you noticeHow instead of poem I wrote text Frankly I am still not sure what makes this deserving of the word poemFor this is just a juxtaposition of words But maybe I think to myselfA poem is just that 

# data[].attributes.subject
The making of a poet  Part II wonder in which manner I have to write in order for this to be a poem Also please excuse the random cutting up of linesFor no course ever explained to me the rules of such a textformOnly confusion was added when counselled better to abstain from rhyme For it is mostly wasted timeReading the above I’ am mighty inclinedHallelujah this is harder to stop than I thoughtOnce started the words just seem to flopNow that I have used the word flopI think I understand whats the problem with rhyme  So quickly let’s change tracks Thinking about one of the few poems I knowWhere the earth is dying and its voice hollering up from the great canyonAs though through hyperdimensional loudspeakers officially announcingIt is donePeople must not have liked it here I am again reminded that for one to become a serious writer one must write ridiculously unseriouslyWhich brings me to the conclusion that none of this has to have meaning Even more so Vonnegut would tell meto write and burn it afterwardFor it is not important to have something to showBut to have created somethingPurely for ones own satisfaction The mode of evaluation of this course howeverdoesn’t allow for such philosophical sentimentSo this little text will not be torn upIt is not created solely for the purpose of creation itselfBy the way did you noticeHow instead of poem I wrote text Frankly I am still not sure what makes this deserving of the word poemFor this is just a juxtaposition of words But maybe I think to myselfA poem is just that 

# data[].attributes.body
Didn’t we have a lovely time that time we went to the circus. I remember the elastic acrobats, which went form up in the sky to the bold ground. The funny clown, whose red nose fell on the floor. The skilled jugglers, who let the balls fall to the bottom until the very last moment. And the exotic animals, which were all in the cages on the surface of the earth. They made me feel a very mysterious way like I was captured with them. Like I was an animal that was in a cell and fancy to look at. Somehow trapped in my own body. I could never understand, how people could not see that they were suffering. So much pain and hatred in the bones.
And I remember the fire. The fire that was so high in the air, that I actually remember burning myself. Or didn’t I? I know that all the animals in the cages burned. So, if I was an animal, I must have burned with them. Wasn’t it lovely?

# data[].attributes.headline
Do you remember that time in a land far, far away, when I gave you the exact answer you've been wanting to hear? I remember that day as if it was just yesterday. But we both know that time has passed since then. We both grew mentally and physically. Back then I knew that I lied to you. The regret sprung through my veins up to my mouth, but I did not correct myself. I just stood there observing you, how happy you were about that lie. And I wandered why do lies make people so happy? But I let that thought slip my mind, because well time has passed. And one should not dwell on nostalgia. With the time passing trees have been emerging, fires have been burning down and the circle of life has continued. They say time heals every wound. Does it though? Does it really heal wounds? Or does it just help you forget about the pain you experienced? In other words, time’s passing is just a shift in one’s attention. Therefore, the pain never really goes away.When I look back to this moment, I ask myself WHY? Why did I give you this answer? Why didn’t I just walk away, when I knew exactly the real answer makes you feel uncomfortable? And most importantly why did you even ask, if you couldn’t bear what I was about to say. Why did you want to make me a liar? 

# data[].attributes.subject
Do you remember that time in a land far, far away, when I gave you the exact answer you've been wanting to hear? I remember that day as if it was just yesterday. But we both know that time has passed since then. We both grew mentally and physically. Back then I knew that I lied to you. The regret sprung through my veins up to my mouth, but I did not correct myself. I just stood there observing you, how happy you were about that lie. And I wandered why do lies make people so happy? But I let that thought slip my mind, because well time has passed. And one should not dwell on nostalgia. With the time passing trees have been emerging, fires have been burning down and the circle of life has continued. They say time heals every wound. Does it though? Does it really heal wounds? Or does it just help you forget about the pain you experienced? In other words, time’s passing is just a shift in one’s attention. Therefore, the pain never really goes away.When I look back to this moment, I ask myself WHY? Why did I give you this answer? Why didn’t I just walk away, when I knew exactly the real answer makes you feel uncomfortable? And most importantly why did you even ask, if you couldn’t bear what I was about to say. Why did you want to make me a liar? 

# data[].attributes.body
Call me crazy, but it's clear that I'm innocent. I could never hurt a human being and you know that.
I'm an angel troughout.
everybody can see that.
I', the perfect daughter, wife, daughter in law.
I couldn't have possibly killed my husband.
Yes, he didn't always treat me perfectly, but he loved me. And I loved him. So ther's really no reason for me to have killed him.
And Yes, he's got a lot of money that I may inherit, but I never really cared about money.
So it's clear that I'm innocent.
And yes, my mental health isn't the best sometimes and i get strong mood swings, but I'd never do this.
So it's clear that I'm innocent.

# data[].attributes.body
Mind like (a) mine

I know that you think you know,
I want you to know
No, I won’t let you implode
But you could explode
Can I make you feel like you belong?
At least try to, for the length of a song?
I have survived a mind like a mine
I have survived a mind just like mine

# data[].attributes.body
I'm yearning for scars
Is that sad or is it poetic?
Am I a victim of circumstances
Or creator of my own existence?
Shaper of my own destiny
Not willing to bend my knee
To any amount of suffering.
That sounds too nice
Too good to be true
And in truth I'm not more than
Trying to have remnants
Of bleeding gaps edged in my skin
Rather than loosing my essence
By slowly letting them drip
Out of my untrue form.

# data[].attributes.body
Didn’t we have a lovely time that time we went to Cardiff? Do you remember the concert? Kate Nash, when she was already a thing, but not so big just yet.

She played in that cute little club, can’t remember the name now… And she was late wasn’t she? Their tour bus broke down on the way, what a story!

Still have the t-shirt.. Love it very much, too. Precious times. Times when you were still with me. Do you remember?

Happy times, we would live, love and laugh, to employ this cheesy alliteration you so loved. Well, I’d have you say it a hundred times over every day, if that meant you’d come back to me.

Live, love, laugh. How am I supposed to do these things without you?

Live. Well, sort of. I’m holding up in a way.

Love. Love… Stop mocking me.

Laugh. Getting easier every day. But I’m not quite there yet.

Do you remember?

# data[].attributes.body
Don’t stand at my grave and weep.

Do not weep, I am fine.

And you will be.

Do not stand there and stare,

dwell, bear.

Life. Future. One step after another.

You’ll get there. Trust me.

I am fine. And you will be.

If you let yourself be.

Remember me. Miss me, even. Mourn me.

But not forever.

Let yourself be,

eventually.

# data[].attributes.body
Last night I went up the hill. I was just me and our old linden tree.

We drank a toast to 2020.

I didn’t raise my glass to the year that took you away from me. I raised it to the last year I got to spend with you, ever.

To all those years before that last one.

To the precious time you were given, the little universe we created.

To your life and to all the things that were not meant to last forever.

The snowy path led me through the night, into the woods.

Your paw prints next to my tracks are now invisible.

# data[].attributes.body
I taste bad coffee

smell delicious cakes and pastries

friendly chit chat with shop owners

vintage clothing and books

fancy myself hip and cosmopolitan.

And I can still hear the indistinct

but lively chatter

everywhere.

# data[].attributes.body
Trust me, I'm a poet.
I might not take words at random,
and give them a purpose.
I certainly don't select them, nor polish them,
but I feel them, that's what I do.
The most complete poems aren't written down,
they are felt, experienced, cherished, feared.
I feel and therefore am a poet and so are you.

# data[].attributes.body
If I had superpowers, my depression would be cured. I could simply fly away from my problems, my anxiety, and my fears. I could fly all the way to the Bahamas, to Hawaii, or to any other beautiful island. Work would not be a problem for me, since I have superpowers I could work as a street artist. Or as an express delivery for local stores and restaurants. Or even as a superhero. I wouldn’t have to worry about money or about what others might think of me. There is always the possibility to just fly somewhere else if I don’t like it anymore. (Or I could just simply produce dopamine with my superpowers). If I has superpowers, my depression would be cured.

# data[].attributes.body
Summer is coming.

Sunny, warm, fresh, fruitful.

Fruitful! Fruitful? Fruitful…

Do de deur dicht van de doos – ik slaap.

Sleep? In summer? Savour summer.

Bummer. For “summer” means “outside”.

Her, him, them, you, me. Me?

Keep calm and stay inside. I wish.

“Summer” means “outside”.

“Outside” means people partying. Dumbing.

Summer is coming.

# data[].attributes.headline
I sometimes wonder what would have happened if

# data[].attributes.subject
I sometimes wonder what would have happened if

# data[].attributes.body
I sometimes wonder what would have happened if I haven’t met certain people. Or the other, if I would have met other people. I think a person really can change the person we are and how we think about things. We’re always adapting, if we want it or not, to the other people who are around us. Maybe I would have been a worse person, maybe I would have been a better one. Maybe I would have different view of the world or maybe I wouldn’t believe in true love. Maybe I would hate myself. Maybe others because of one single person. Maybe not. But maybe I would be the same. Maybe.

# data[].attributes.body
What you said made me feel like a hole had appeared in my chest. Your words took a sword to my neck and carved me in half, split me open so all my intestines fell to the ground. It was a blinding pain, one you don't feel right away because you're in shock.
I could only stand there, trying to shovel my bowels back inside with my blood soaked hands.
And once you left, it hit me.
The pain, the burning, the anger.
But by now, you may have realised, that's not there anymore. The scar has nicely healed over, is nothing more than one of many marks on my body now. What you have left me with, however, is this lingering aftertaste of sadness; that empty feeling in my chest and the bitterness on my tongue.
It's all consuming.
I can't cry because I 'm not sad.
I can't scream because I'm not mad.
I can't sleep because I'm not tired (How could I ever be tired of someone like you?)
I can't be because my brain in now wired in a wrong way. One that doesn't let me forget and yet doesn't allow me to mourn, not ever a little bit, not even at all. It just keeps on giving me the same old feeling of passed sadness, the one that can be comforting after you cried your heart out but that is worse than pain when it won't ever leave you alone again.

# data[].attributes.body
250 years ago

there was this guy

Carefree

hanging around
friend of crows

one with nature

today

on my fieldtrip

I visited the Hanging Tree

# data[].attributes.body
“I am not paranoid” she told herself. “I am not losing it.”

She made her way through the bustling market place, trying to calm herself. But the feeling of being followed was not subsiding. Fighting against every instinct, she stopped herself in front of one of the vendor stands.

“Some Apples for you? Or rather some Clementines, Oranges perhaps?”

Her gaze directed at the assortment of fruit in front of her, though she felt her mind focusing on the periphery of her vision. So much so that it hurt.

“Miss?”

“Hmm– yea?”

“Figs? Strawberries? Grapes?”

“Uh, no thank you – Yes! Yes!”

“Grapes?” the merchant, who's long and rough face she'd immediately forgot after having left the stand, her mind too focused on on what happened behind her.

“How much?” she asked, and took out her coin pouch to pay up. With a trembling hand she handed over the requested amount, then turned to continue.

“Miss, Miss?”

“Yea– sorry– what?” frantically she turned back. “I'm not paranoid, there's no one following” almost as a mantra she kept saying these words to herself.

“Your grapes.”

With a next to spastic move her hand reached out and grabbed the bag, clutching it in her fingers. A grape inside exploded under the pressure of her fist, tainting the bag and her hand with sugary water. She barely noticed it, nor the startled reaction of the merchant.

But as she once more turned to continue, she felt it. The presence of someone behind her, which made her freeze.

Ages went by in this small second, and finally she continued. Calmly. Too calmly, too consciously normal in her pace, forcing one foot after the other to move in a mechanical fashion. One foot after the other. Slowly, steadily, no; too slow. She picked up her pace. “Just walk normal” All her attention focused on her speed, none was left to look forward. With a surprised squeal she bumped into someone.

“'Eyo! Watch it, will'ye! Y're not the only one 'n this road y'know.” A bulky one armed man turned towards her, and the brooch holding his cloak together revealed its design to her. She stood paralized staring at the white winged eagle, but only for a split second, and sprinted through the crowd.

She was not paranoid.

# data[].attributes.body
“trust me, I'm a poet.”

“How- how- why would that make me trust you!?”

“well, we poets tell the truth”

“i thought you were a programmer”

“that too”

“so your programming is poetry?”

“no, those are separate things”

“...I still don't get it”

“I'm telling you, google services can be nice and all, but we have to stop endorsing google by blindly consuming everything they offer.”

“Endorsing? I'm not endorsing anything. I'm just googling-”

“looking things up on the internet”

“what?”

“nothing”

“I'm just... looking things up on the internet. On google.”

“Why google?”

“Hang on that's just called googling. I'm not saying a whole sentence when I can just say 'googling something'!”

“Why google?”

“It's the best search engine”

“are you sure?”

“Of course! They're the best at what they do”

“I don't know that that's true”

“You don't think that's true?”

“I don't. A lot of their services have alternatives, like deeple as a translator or duckduckgo as a search engine. And they won't change the results depending on the user”

“But that's handy!”

“It's blinding!”

“... So you're a poetic programmer who works at google but doesn't use google”

“A poet and a programmer. Those are different thing!”

“Sure... but you don't use google?”

“I try not to”

“You thy not to- what does that even mean”

“I use it sometimes”

“You use- you what? How can you tell me not to use google if you do so”

“Well not often!”

“So you're-”

“Listen, you can call me out as a hypocrite and use that as a reason to continue using solely google. But you know, with google having this quasi-monopoly on many things internet, it is sometimes difficult to avoid. So you can just not use google, except in some rare cases where you do.”

“that's just nonsense”

“Why?”

“You just said you use google”

“seldom!”

“That's just hypocrisy!”

“It's not! There is more than just black and white!”

“And what does this have to do with poetry?”

“Nothing. It' just that you can trust me because-”

“Because you're a poet, right. Would I trust you more if you said you were a programmer?”

“I am a programmer”

“But why didn't you say that at the start?”

“Well... this sounded more...”

“more what”

“poetic?”

# data[].attributes.body
Over the past week I have developed a sense for his various moods based on the way he walks down the stairs. Sometimes his footsteps sound shallow and gentle, other times he tramples them down, rapidly like a mother deer charging at hunters who chase their offspring. Probably a week has passed since he has locked me in here. Continuous darkness surrounds me, I can only hope for it not to swallow my soul in the end. Occasionally he turns on the lights, maybe twice or thrice a day, I cannot say for sure as it is very difficult to keep a sense of time. When the artificial ray of light shines through the small slit of my prison, I can remember what looking feels like.

I have been here for so long now; good and bad thoughts have merged together resulting into me not wanting to think about anything anymore. But when the light shines through that slit it inevitably reminds me of the farm where I grew up. The bright rays of the sun and the fresh air, the wide-open space – oh how I miss home. It only hurts to think about it though, but I lose myself in pointless thoughts anyway. Actually, most thoughts are pointless. Great philosophers have broken their heads over the purpose of life. I mean what if there was a purpose in life but the fact that one’s purpose cannot be confirmed, as no higher being can approve us, makes people play cats and dogs around the concepts of a thought that breaks people rather than encouraging them to life a happy and full life. If I don’t fulfill my purpose, there are no consequences anyway, as death is the end of all.

The slit of light is here again. He opened up the flap, in his right hand he’s holding a knife… Will he hurt me? There’s a plate with some butter and a jar of jam too. Maybe today is the day he will end my suffering. This must be it; this is the purpose for me, a lonely old piece of toast.

# data[].attributes.headline
the nonexistent connection between two people

# data[].attributes.subject
the nonexistent connection between two people

# data[].attributes.body
[This poem is part of a collection of poems, all about another dimension of solitude. I am for now only submitting this one, which is about 'working']

Long walks, heavy buckets

uneven paths, water spilling

shoulders aching, back aching

feet stumbling, lungs panting

legs burning, sun burning

route repeating, route repeating

solitair, content

# data[].attributes.body
Check out the possibilities for posting your texts. Also make sure that you remain anonymous as a writer and as a critic.