Bat Winged-Souls

By Norbert Tasev

Every line of the new poems is also a social critique deeply imbued with ars poetics, in which the writer asks questions, confesses, and formulates questions. As he puts it, "radical question marks" should be put into the self-manipulating, duplicitous and grotesque world. At the same time, he does not skimp when he almost viscerally dissects his own inner lyrical self down to the smallest detail, from the chain of memory to the complexities of the adult life. A shell, a persistent sense of loneliness, and a stubborn lack of either an inner compulsion or a sense of responsibility, seep through his lines. Elemental, self-deprecating emotions, laced with cynical self-irony, resound from the depths of the poems. The present volume is a worthy attempt to bring together nearly three years' worth of material, while continuing to enrich the lyrical output.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Norbert Tasev
• Release date: Aug 5, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215125212

Norbert Tasev

Hi Everyone! I'm a History teacher, and I love literature, poems, and novels! I write many literature books, but I can't sell the big Hungarian's Book Companys! I think the most important thing is is read, because the culture and the world discovered by the books! I hope everyone how's love books interesting to my new books! Have a nice day for everyone!

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BAT-WINGED SOULS

By Norbert Tasev

Copyright 2023 Norbert Tasev

Smashwords Edition

TABLE OF CONTENTS

DECEMBER DIRT SENSATION

HORDES

I ASK THE LITTLE

FEAR IN THE BRAIN

WIDE ROAD

SETTING AN EXAMPLE

COMPLEX RISK OF THE EXISTENCE

ROVER-CLATTER

MAYBE IT DOESN'T MATTER?

MALE SIGH

HARLEQUIN ON THE STAGE

ROOM WITH LINE OF SIGHT

FENCED OFF

DAWG-DOG

DECEPTION-FASHION

FOR NAGGERS

IF THEY READ IT

APPROXIMATE DREAM

PILGRIM GHOSTS

BLACK DOTS OF INSOMNIA

ELIT SIGNS 

CLASHES

BANISHED FROM THE WORLD

DESTRUCTION OF REGRET

SLEEPLESS HELPLESSNESS

STRUGGLING TADPOLE POPULATION

MIGRATION OF BODIES

WILFUL BLINDNESS

APOCALYPSE-NOCTURNE

SHADOWS FROM HELSINGER

SECRET SPEECH

FREE-LOOTING

POISONED

POISONED STIMULUS BRANCH

FAST AGE

GRADUAL ROTTING

STATE OF AFFAIRS

QUOTABLE LIGHTNESS

YET NOT AN EASY LESSON 

THE TRICKSTER

COMPULSION-REST

INTER-OPERABILITY

LETTER

ZERO-DOWN ZONE

INATTENTIVE OMINOUSNESS

STAGES OF COUNTERFEITING

THREE-BROAD

MIND DIMENSIONS

ATTRACTOR OF SCARCITIES

IMPRACTICAL SHAPE

UNCERTAIN STATE OF MIND

ETERNAL REBEL

ON THE DOORSTEP

AGE-SYMPTOM

DOOMSDAY-IMAGES

UNACCEPTABLE ABSURDITY

QUARANTINE MINUTES

REDEMPTION SEARCH

RUSTING LOCKS

RUNNING OUT OF HOPE

THIEF-WRINKLES

WAIST SISYPHUS

CONSECRATED PREY-AGE 

DEAD SOULS

ROLE REVERSED   

NIRVANA-CARAVAN

THE ANATOMY OF THE MEMORY

HASSED HORROR

MESSAGE TO THE WORLD

SUPPLEMENTARY-ACTION

PROCESSION-DURING

ANTIDOTE TO SELF-PITY

NOTHING-NO-ONE INFLATION

TRANSLATED FOR TOMORROW

PUBLIC-GAME 

SILENCE IN THE DIN

THE MASK OF THE ESSENTIAL

ON THE EDGE OF THE EXISTENCE

WHO HAS FALLEN SOO FAR

SYMPTOM RUNS

SKATING FROM OUTSIDE

THE MASKS OF LONELINESS

WITNESSING IN THE XXI CENTURY

CONTRADICTORY EGO

SLIPPER BUTTERFLIES

EXPLANATION

RESIGNATION FOR OCCASIONAL VOICE

WOUNDS IN THE DEFENCELESSNESS

STILL TIME FOR PAUSE SIGNS

STRETCHED EXIT

FREE-FALL

MUD-THROWING TIME

SILENT-VOICE COMPLAINT

SILENT AVALANCHE

THE APPROXIMANTS

SHAMED BORDER LINES

DISORDERED DESTRUCTION

COLLISIONS BETWEEN EACH OTHER

VIRUS DESERT

MORSE SIGNS DOOMED TO BLAME

SEDATION

DONKEY-GENERATIONS

BAT-WINGED SOULS

THE CHESS PLAYER

LAID DOWN POSITION

BITTER COLLAGE

TIME-AMENDS

DEEP POINT

NEAR-GROUND THE EARTH

BOUNDARIES OF EMOTIONS

GLORIOUS-RAMMING

THE INTIMATE SILENCE OF ABSENCE

LYRE-SLUSH

NOSTALGIA

CLOSED-LOOP MONTAGE

STRETCHED EXIT

LIKE A RUSTING BITING PLIERS

APPLICATION FOR TRUST

BODYLESS SELF-ISOLATION

LIFE EXIT

CROSSHAIRS OF TIME AND SPACE

PUBLIC FEELING

DISEASE OR SNAKE

ENCOURAGING TOMORROWS

INTERMEDIATE SUMMARY

THE GARBAGE HILL OF THE FUTURE

DOUBLE FIBERS

SLEEPING UNACCOUNT

THINKING OF DISEASE

THE FLAG OF NO

A SOCIETY INTO YOURSELF

WITHOUT FACES

INTERMEDIATE SUMMER STATE

THE GARBAGE HEAP OF THE FUTURE

DOUBLE FLIP

SLEEPING RESTLESSNESS

THINKING ABOUT DISEASE

THE FLUTTER OF NO

A SOCIETY IN ITSELF

WITHOUT FACES

FIBER-MOSAIC

KIND OF LETTER TO MY FRIEND

DIFFICULTIES WITH ECSTASY

DEATH WALTZ

UNWORTHY BETRAYAL

EXISTENCE-ERASING

PRECOCIOUSLY TIME

ANONYMOUS RISK

INTERNAL RUMBLINGS

CELL CUTTING

BETWEEN YET AND NOT AT ALL

THE COMMON HOUR OF HOW WE ARE

POINTING MIRROR WORDS

BACKGROUND OF AN ERA

NO NETS, NO ROPES

SEEKING COURAGE

ONE SIGNIFICANT MOMENT

FAREWELL TO THE BROODER

TIME-SILENCER

AUTOMATIC DREAM

IN A SURREALIST DREAM

CLOSED

TO AN EMAIL

NEGATIVE CROSSTALK

I DREAMED OF YOU

IDYLLIC FOOTNOTE

SOCIAL PRIVATE PRINT

DECEPTED HAPPINESS

UNTIL THEN, WHAT?

RE-EDUCATION

MODERN XXI. CENTURY FRESCO

BETRAYALS AS A GIFT

WHO STARES IN FRONT OF YOU

POSTMODERN, NONSENSE MESSAGE

LATE DON QUOIJOTE SUPPLICATION

CURRENT, REBILLION SPIRIT

MOTIVE FOR JUDGMENT

I COULD SAY

BACK TO DEATH

SIMPLIFIED STATEMENT

A MIRAGE OF DEPRAVITY

ON THE MARGINS OF A LOOMING CENTURY

AN ACCOUNTABILITY FROM A PHILOSOPHER

RETURNING ME-TIME

BROKEN ATTITUDE

PUNISHMENT IN AGE

DOUBTS AND SHORTCOMINGS

UNANSWERED QUESTION

SACRIFICE CENTURY

EMBODIMENTS OF SORROWS

PEACE WITH US

POSSIBLE CONTROVERSIES

SOMETHING REMAINS

SNAKE DANCE

IN THE HOUR OF SELF-PITY

PROFANE REFLECTION

SWAPPING

NEW-NONE

EXPENDED LIFE-TIME

INCONSPICUOUS CARE

EXTINCT CELESTIAL BODIES

THE COMPLEXITY OF THINGS YOU CAN'T SEE

SURVIVAL PARADOX

WHAT NEEDS TO BE SAID

TRIAL FUNERAL

RESTLESS JOURNEY

TWISTED BODIES

CAPTIVE TO UNKNOWN POSSIBILITIES

HUMAN SACRIFICE

BEHIND YOUR FACE TORSO

VARIABLE NOTE

SPARROWS CHIRPING

FEVER-DREAM

DIFFICULTIES OF AGREEMENT

ROW WALL OF SEERS

SUPREME CONFRONTATION

RING LAYERS

DERAILED TURNS

HAVE BEEN ON THE VERGE OF MORE

DREAMS OF INTRUSIVES

THINGS IN BETWEEN THINGS

SOUL-BODY INTERACTION

SOCIAL DEPTHS

BLOWN SORROWS

NUMBERING

HALFWAY TO RECKONING

AS SOMEONE CAUGHT IN THE ACT

EMOTIONAL BLOOD

DESTINY-NEEDING

INSIGHT

UNPOPULAR PRIVATE SPEAKING

LOOP NICKNAME

HUMILIATING WHISPER

INVITING LONGING

HUMAN-STARS

SIGNAL FRAGMENT

TAMED APPLICATION

MOVABLE SHELLS

AS IF I HAD BEEN HUMILIATED

PREDICTION ABOUT MYSELF

WEIGHT OF MEMORIES

TIME AS DAYS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

DECEMBER DIRT SENSATION

December's success, appreciation-Hajhász's sensational drawings. They mediate distribution of food, apparently, interests and lovers mingle, or they change hands concisely, like caustic lye in water, so that they can earn recognition by creating free advertising for new music albums. Let's help each other! Call the donation line! - there are no traces of tears on duplicated, grinning advertising faces, false promises shine like the brilliant but self-igniting glitter dust of used Christmas tree decorations.

The cut film footage would be reduced to fragments: one or two well-to-do pensioners try to do everything in the false cheer of the reporters, while they support drunken homeless people for the sake of the crossfire of cameras. The whole world lives in festive, raucous alertness, only the most important thing has been forgotten: to give sincere feelings in exchange for their kindness.

Both the poor and the well-off stand in line for mixed flour and sugar like a living net. They are driven and crushed one by one by the self-conscious, visceral desire for possession. They huddle, jostle each other for more advantageous positions, and if there is no other way - mutual verbal obscene slanders follow. The I was here first! - a slogan killer joke is always a good idea.

Funny cruising days somehow all flow together at this time. In the evening, the dirty-gray slag material, like the melted móchsing mass, settles or settles early. One or two more famous celebrities wait with grinning impatience for the clicking flashes of cameras, and when the inventory is ready, they move on.

Pretend charity reigns everywhere. They change the shape of secretly courting flirts, like street bohemians hungry for sensations. What could shed light on our sincere actions could be selfless giving. Sensing the new fame marketing, they throw romance, love, compassionate love - just let the free hunting in the market economy begin while the commercialized help continues to exist!

HORDES

Hate, squirming on the cube, like a heart-drawing emotionless diva with a pouty masquerade ball, a squealing naïve, or a ghostly dealer-crazy, the festive mass flow of cruise lights between bullet-hit house walls.

A silent rhythm, a raw transition in a single part. Timeless, partying, partying season. Locked in between habits and cheap, small-style trends, new cheap and sticky daridos slide in front of the city without a break. A heavy, spacesuit-wearing World is already wasting away in the sticky filth that smells like the end of the world, where everyone is an accomplice or a traitor.

Noise, chatter, intimate violation of silence can be heard again. In the crypt-willow of indivisible, inseparable faces, like the hysteria of noisy markets, only profit always floats up, and instead of the knife-cutting cold falling snowflakes, which always fall at unworthy intervals among the many sole-licking hells. – The infernal self-absorption is fluttering higher and higher by garlands and decorative flashing light bells: crowds of human wrecks are swirling and buzzing. World-beating in one buzzing jumble.

Every minute, the dilemma of the modern consumer is to buy cheap and discounted products. Wide-eyed, devastated homeless people line up in front of the tents of ermine fur-dressed mink-fur-clad, lightly-made-up celebrity ghosts. They can't run away anywhere. We live behind glass-walled cages in an untouchable way. Surrounded by brainwashed, grinning baby-fools. Out there, it's now the galád give-and-take unloading market without stopping. Lack of prospects already breaks molecules, instincts and cells in everyone.

I WILL TAKE THE LITTLE

What follows soon will be petrified, stoic silence in musty-smelling, barn-towns. Aggressive hatred, crushing envy, their law hands are a growing octopus claw electromagnet. In the depths of brainwashed minds, only one law subjugates everything: to ruthlessly trample, suck out everything, neither humanity nor empathy-tolerance can remain clear, natural - it can no longer be a merciful, holy gift.

There is only one verifiable proverb that can be used for what has already happened: A dig, from which, like a drunkard, the nothingness of the Yellow Land is slurred. - The era when the eyes can find real, more harmonious love seems more and more unreal. When mouths romance the Universe. When the hearts that hesitantly professed love fell into each other, beating.

With stony smiles and signs of Janus faces on the faces, where faithful words would still have value and credibility - the dull mask of plastered masks is increasingly withering. The arrhythmia of the real Beauty is barely visible through the wall of inner retinas. All the hidden, wandering memories become shaggy manes. All the remaining drumsticks are already piling up. Is it possible to go through everyday life without inhibitions?!

Slowly, everyone is scared away by the overwhelming, insidious desire to position themselves. What follows is a mere standard: everything and everyone can be bribed by positioning and wallowing. You have to put up with slow, delayed division, you have to put up with life. Escalating, false confusions cannot win a battle only when someone has already accounted for everything and laid down his lute.

FEAR IN THE BRAIN

The unrelenting terror of fear wakes me up every night. He would stomp on the pitiful blunders and attempts of my existence. Smells like Nirvana, pregnant with nothing. I was forced to listen to the cheap János refrain: You will die, because in your worldly life you were a pathetic coward, whose mud will never grow laurels! – And no matter how hard my shipwrecked, forever consuming nerves try to stave off hangman moments, instincts and senses rush together at rocket speed into my still awake skull.

My consciousness spins like a wheel unworthy of pity. The little child, who is crying furiously inside, begs and whimpers. A trumpet-sermon roaring from a single speaker speaks and shares its own: because suddenly, the brainwashed, horrified calvary of the masses, their hate propaganda, even the screaming words of the mentally ill leaders screaming in the newsreels... And then where is the horror that doesn't want to stop?!

It's just a roaring, stomping, distorted monologue of voices from crackling microphones, threatening me as it tumbles down a darkened chasm. The execution squad of human bony hands is an unsalvageable killer-robber, the laughter of serial fire-laughter spreads above me - unbreakable bonds in a confused time. And in the end, the hermit-solitude of my childhood stuck here, which cast a shadow on the happier, holier hours, like a wolf's gaze in the face of eternal death - after that, everything collapses into one another, and only inside there is still some faint debris of my humanity still able to stand firm, to wait for the life-slap, the threatening blow that demands my turn!

WIDE ROAD

The single thread flares out like a hair-thin strip. It's an insignificant, worn-out mouse path, which has the color of the full moon from the yawning shadow of sizzling leaves, and I dare not trust myself to it, because somewhere high up there are vapor crystals dancing in the air. It's as if I feel how past, present, and future carve out the silhouette of my defenseless orphanhood. How the patronages of promises that seemed like pieces of shavings are crumbling between Damocles' millwheels.

Labyrinth escapes, rock-hollow Macadam roads through castle-fields hidden by trees and rocks, somersaulting on soaked, slippery slime-street stones, I go through the agony of nerve-wracking brain movements, numb muscles, not at all to my own pleasure - higher powers intervene at every age, so that I can shine inside, like a firefly in the nights of yew flowers . A conscious desperation of hopelessness in the wider world...

In many cases, the path of small disaster does not offer an apparent way out. Will all the fierce, mature men decide their fate decisively?! He is unruly and gloomy, believing that fooling around is a scary business. In unworthy hourglass cages. Can't you relax, can anyone help me with my affairs? After the small-style dances of jingling silver coins, prancing kurafis, gigolos and vigécs run.

The most difficult thing is to get in touch with the eccentric prophet-greats of contemporary literature, if the real answer is a passive-rigid rejection. Every day, people complain to me that modern people are often forced to manipulate twists and turns. One day I will have to see for myself: runaway lambs can never become brave wolves!

SETTING AN EXAMPLE

Your nerves need peace. Your body needs peace, harmonious balance. You yourself have known for a long time: the day after tomorrow, you will definitely be confronted with your shipwrecked, formerly vulnerable counterpart, whom they saw as true to itself, childishly naive, meowing in lamentation. Yet, unknowingly, everyone could feel the self-consuming restlessness inside.

He rarely slows or rushes there anymore, where something meaningful can happen. It's better to lie down with dignity and stoicism! says his sane, thoughtful mind. I say: This is a bad thing! You may no longer be able to find the happiness you've always wanted; you would have embarked on unknown expedition adventures in last-minute ruins if you could.

Your mind is still unyielding, restless. Don't let extravagance ruin your members. Rather, rage like wild, untamed tornadoes and still try to build relationships. – Deliberately avoid the traps of vain self-deceptions and deceptive promises. Your self-indulgent, useless thoughts are laughed at and put on the shelf. Your consciousness can also be Alzheimer's minute.

And can the end of the world, sad Sisyphus role do much harm? You have to stand up and keep fighting. Just listen! What you have done so far, in the universal, proud language of cultures, was just as worthy of you, as was your exemplary pessimism, as it was many, many times in childhood.

Pellengér-Idő, like expired goods, sooner or later throws it into the trash, and even if you protest in vain, you branch out in favor of something nobler and more worthy - you don't run away. Don't tell yourself like this: your life, even when vulnerable, is getting tougher and more dignified through the pains that have been forgotten inside!

COMPLEX RISK OF THE EXISTENCE

A career or a dream job is not as bumpy and smooth as you think. You can see the killer in his petty, insidious gestures, putting the wreckage and calvaries of modern man everywhere. And you couldn't believe that you were left alone, a rebellious sheep among massively brainwashed wolves.

In winter, a band of hide-and-seek, with a rumbling sound hits you like a sharp projectile, and vomits on the decorative cobblestones of public areas. You know, because you can see how holy he is. With two hands on paper, you scribble serenely, while outside, ice flowers crown the snowdrops of your wasted mountains. You were so childish and stupid all along. Believe that everyone is always good and the world can be made better this way.

As soon as you were hooked, trampled, your penguin-face undressed into Being, then bounced back as a penguin-ball several times. You were tortured, you suffered a lot at an early age - but your selfish stubborn stubbornness persisted. You could scurry around in the wake of literary greats, and they couldn't hear or pay attention to you anymore. You gave decipherments and worked even more persistently, to see if there would be Someone left who would inherit and decipher your hieroglyphs with dignity and humility.

But you didn't even notice that you barely exist in your shapeless hiding place. - You felt again and again and again the furious hyena-crushing of moments of terror, in which every smart egg is sooner or later left to itself and exists only for its eternal self. If you have to thrive in an unfathomable, grotesque world, it is appropriate to throw yourself away at every critical and risky moment, even the orphaned hussar who voluntarily digs his own grave. You gradually deepen and widen the crust of Everything, just like the complex risk of Being!

ROVER-CLATTER

I can only wear my sunken cheeks more and more listlessly. Instead of withdrawn protests, a soul-tortured, stubborn sense of self. With self-deprecating, deceitful faith, sooner or later the struggling torments of my dark-locked existence will only strain me.

Don't let crammed columns and talkative orators preach to me with promises of a better, more livable future. They have already deceived the living and the inanimate who stood on the rope long ago and who still could. In the nightmares of my dreams, the compulsion to be loud screamed threateningly, limping. Everyone needs another show with a yew life or a silly celebrity they can look up to, look up to as a role model, and who they can extol, like lying saints.

Teachable jerkiness is slowly taking my life away. I should fall again into the home of darkening, yawning chasms; every pitiful, throbbing heartbeat became a timed bomb click between rib cages. Tears of thorns are oozing from the furrows of my grave face, which has already set out on the road. I would like to visit unspoiled, harmonious homes.

A flock of screeching, ferocious birds lurks above my head, waiting in ambush, hoping for its prey - the longing for cosmic satisfaction echoes more and more dimly in the trapped environment of my thinking. Immersed in the old Kharón foams of innocence and orphanhood, I wonder when I will actually be in flesh and blood by my side. Someone who, sensing that dark waves of depression have reached me, will reach out to me with a selfless hand? Do you always give strength and support?

I'm sinking into lethargy down there. Perhaps all is lost. The dogs of different countries snarl at each other loyally, pitifully!

MAYBE IT DOESN'T MATTER?

The Allness deliberately withdrew into itself. Let him find true, loyal hearts, who could still believe that they were created and made up for each other in a fairy tale. If I was terrified in the prison-cages of fears on a full, moonlit night, the ominous words of the commissar did not seem to speak of my Alamo courage - but of how much I could confess about true, broken loves.

My now much-tossed, sheltered self would call to me like a pilot: guide me towards safe harbors of refuge, and let a redemptive, proud light lift its angel wings as a grace in the place of darkness. And let golden showers of golden showers fall on me. - In my sinking city of Nineveh, it is fitting for me to wander around humiliated, while many people always thrive alone.

Conscious fear plays a melody in my heart with a grotesque violin note. Here on earth - maybe - I don't have the opportunity or the future to change my affairs. You can hear the monotony of career transports. It's late to bleed the promises. Startled looks of animals wave or stare blankly back at me from the broken graffiti walls.

Soft, decadent orangutans and multimillionaires lick the teeth of VIP - wellness centers. Sober, creative thinking and development are often bled to death by the current trendiness of money and stupidity. Insanity and rabies surround the escape hatches of notoriously self-absorbed freethinkers.

Every day ordinary people are bombarded with measures that smell like regulations. My face, like a sunken, million-year-old old man who no longer dares to laugh in the land of many smiles - but cries, tears undeservedly and bitterly. Blood clots must crawl up and down between my cells and I don't know how long I will want to live?!

MALE SIGH

Blaspheming, ungodly words, the stoic spitting of gold, which were celebrated by Janus-faced lying demigods, good-natured fake gestures - the revealed lies, envy in the air, a vile presence of mind, and the fact that I have often tired of the truth of my actions make me vomit.

Like fate-lost tumbling up and down the ostracized donkey steps of Existence: I claim the bars of window lights as mine. I'm running away from rings of rainbow lights. Cursed childhood memories scream in me with a thirst for revenge. They knock aside the cracked bell of my soul. Perhaps the man or the small child has long ago become nothing. Like a yellowed photograph, it winks back for the last time in happier times of peace.

Who will drag me from unforgivable childishness into Existence so that I can surely become independent?! I lie on my back on broken sound waves. I'm sorry if you get carried away by an unworthy, sudden angry temper. In my mind, I am patient with his sense of surprise. It is still good to immerse yourself in amorous, whimsical, silly talk.

I have to learn to get back on my feet for sure, otherwise they will push me to the ground, destroy me mercilessly. It's slowly becoming my right to be completely selfish. There was hardly anything left of the relics of my obligations.

I should get out of this no man's land now so I can't stop all the way to England. My immature Icarus wings were secretly cut off by some silent, suffocating need, and now, as a wingless mortal, my creativity slips into gray everyday life, although not willingly! An angel glided through my soul: it would have been nice to greet you again...

HARLEQUIN ON THE STAGE

What kind of childish stage play is this? A thirty-six-year-old, stoic man decides to become an eternal child again and, if necessary, rejuvenate himself.