(The fantasia of a fallen gentleman on a cold, bitter night.)
Once, in the finesse of fiddles found I ecstasy,
In the flash of gold heels on the hard pavement.
Now see I,
That warmth’s the very stuff of poesy.
Oh, God, make small
the old star-eaten blanket of the sky,
That I may fold it round me and in comfort lie.
(fantazie padleho gentlemena na chlane hořke noci)
Jenou, najyl jsem extáze v finesse housli,
záblech zlata podpatký na turde dlazbě
že vydim kteri teplo je esence poezie
O, Bůh, dělej malou
starou hvezdý jedli deku
ktero ja mohu slozit kolem mně a v pohodli lezim.
“We come into existence without given purpose or adoptable values. From this hollow environment, empty of reason or moral, comes our greatest anguish: an anguish defined by the burden of self responsibility. A responsibility to build ones own purpose, identity, and values. We are born an empty frame and are then forced to live our lives as the artist whose masterpiece is the self portrait. From this perspective our greatest anguish becomes our greatest gift. With loss of religion each person is born the creator, and with that comes the responsibility to create. With the individual as the creator life becomes a matter of aesthetics, making the ugliest trait is apathy. Those overwhelmed by the responsibility of this optimism turn to religion. These are the mentally handicapped: unable to create and live for oneself they require the crutch of another’s values and purpose. We must except that each person is their own project, and that we live to design ourselves towards a vision of how we wish to be. With each choice, be it passive or authoritative, we act as a model for all people; with each choice we sculpt man as we would have him to be. There is no one ideal, no Michelangelo, but rather an entire form as man could be in each of us.”