Valentine Godevaard

The imperative for missed chances

[a0ra]

"The “greater holy war” is a man’s struggle against the enemies he carries within. More exactly, it is the struggle of man’s higher principle against everything that is merely human in him, against his inferior nature and against chaotic impulses and all sorts of material attachments. This is expressly outlined in a text of Aryan warrior wisdom:: “Know Him therefore who is above reason; and let his peace give thee peace. Be a warrior and kill desire, the powerful enemy of the soul.”"

Julius Evola

[dacusgodevaard]

There is a poem inside of me,

begging to be written.

It yearns for my hands,

and my hearts' still-beating rythm.

I try to find the words,

but no come to pass.

So, when that poem is finally written

i promise it will be my last

-V. G.

[funeral]

Being left to oneself is actually the most innate condition. Every single one of us is predetermined to die. Our being is a being-until-death. Death is a negation of who you are, but it is also that towards which you are always moving. Death individualizes. It is I myself who will die. No one can die my death for me . . . Death is my death, a moribundus sum that reveals itself to us as anxiety. Because death as such belongs to you alone, anxiety individualizes you and draws you back into yourself. [ . . . ] This withdrawal is also a condition where the bonds to all other people are torn asunder, and such tearing is a prerequisite for living in freedom, truth and actuality. [ . . . ] In solitude people come close to the essential in all things, close to the world and close to the self. It is only in solitude that you can become who you are.

Lars Svendsen, A Philosophy of Loneliness

[katgecs]

foggy drive near cunningham falls state park, maryland

[dacusgodevaard]

Sonetten van de woensdagavond

Ochtendblauw, ochtendblauw,

Door oranje omcirkeld- sonnet in de lucht,

Beloof mij nog één dag,

Voor ik de avond invlucht,

Mijn lievelingskleur, ochtendblauw

Vooralsnog, hou ik van jou.

Avondrood, avondrood,

Elke keer kom je bij mij terug,

Bloedende hemel, vang aan de nacht,

Opdat ik ook dit etmaal wederom betreur,

Vraag ik mij af, avondrood

Word jij de kleur van mijn dood?

- V.G.

[riverspawprint]

Katja Lang - Winterlandscape 2022

[lovewillthaw-j]

Woody and Andy - then and now

[gypsyastronaut]

[dacusgodevaard]

Ach, hoe vaak trok ik de gordijnen open?

Hoeveel regendruppels heb ik zien tikken tegen het raam?

Hoe vaak hoorde ik de vogels de ochtendzon beloven?

Zelden kon ik die belofte weerstaan.

Hoeveel verzen schreef ik om de ochtend te beschrijven?

En hoe vaak stelde mijn pen mij niet teleur?

Zó veel, dat ik de woorden niet meer betreur.

Hoe dan ook; blijf ik regendruppels van mijn raam wegwrijven.

V.G.

[dacusgodevaard]

Ik dien in;

Een motie van treurnis.

De vergadering is geopend,

mijn bijdrage schamper zenuwslopend.

De vergadering, op emotie vooruitlopend,

Zielenwee, wat is het toch een verdrietige gebeurtenis.

De beraadslaging is voorbij;

Staat allen op, zo vangt aan het stemmen.

Knik ja, al dan niet schud het hoofd,

Dan kunnen we collectief de zaal uitrennen.

Ik blijf nog even zitten; enkel ik stemde vóór.

Deze vergadering is simpelweg niet besteed aan mij.

Zo komt aan alles een einde, was het slechts de stemming die ik verloor?

- V.G.

[asightsodivine-deactivated20250]

"I'd rather feel burned by a diabolical pain than to live in these sanely temperate surroundings. A wild desire flares up in me for intense emotions, sensations, a rage against this whole toneless, flat, normal, sterilized life, and a wish to destroy something—perhaps a warehouse, a cathedral, or myself—and to commit outrageous follies.... this in fact is what I have always most hated, abhorred, and cursed: this satisfaction, this complacent healthiness, this plump bourgeois optimism, this life of the mediocre, normal, common man." - Hermann Hesse

[arutai]

Teddy Quinlivan by Jesse Laitinen

[scientificphilosopher]

“The human heart is an ancient beast that roars and purrs with the same passions, whatever labels we may give them. We are so anxious to classify and categorize, both nature and human nature. It is a beautiful impulse—to contain the infinite in the finite, to wrest order from the chaos, to construct a foothold so we may climb toward higher truth. It is also a limiting one, for in naming things we often come to mistake the names for the things themselves. The labels we give to the loves of which we are capable—varied and vigorously transfigured from one kind into another and back again—can’t begin to contain the complexity of feeling that can flow between two hearts and the bodies that contain them.”

–Maria Popova, Figuring

[dacusgodevaard]

Yonder

How many years does it take,

For a rock to crumble under the weight of flowing water.

How many birds are required,

To lift all the heavy hearts from this world.

I yearned, I begged, moreover I desired

Answers, direction, a path away from the pyre.

Revolt, revolt against the modern world.

As in this violent place we all once were hurled.

And then, when the world is seen through eyes as is,

Stared at from empty sockets like a desolate island.

I don't care anymore if rocks crumble, nor do i need to see heavy hearts lifted,

As the cogs turn, the paradigm has slowly shifted.

So we look beyond, not to make ashes,

But finally, to turn into diamond.

-D. G.

[sashagreys-juul]

Choi Sora for Elle Korea, Sept 2016

[queer-positive-archived]

✨trans nebula flag✨

[dacusgodevaard]

Reeds Verloren

Lopend langs de periferie van de stad,

Kwam ik hem tegen, hij die het zó met het leven heeft gehad

Verkleumde vingers die strelen langs bank en lantaarn,

Reeds waren het wij die ook zo verloren waren.

Dergelijke streken, met ons eigen leven vergeleken

Beste jongen, terwijl je daar zo levenloos hangt,

De groeten, salut, wij nemen afscheid.

Bedankt!

- D. G.