I saw beyond what others see

Chapter : A teapot reflects or More Expressions of my heart:

 

 

 

I

Who is I?

  IC

   I feel

You drifting

Away

From me

I touch you

G

 E

  N

   T

    L

     Y

But you do not

Respond

Why are you leaving me?

You have grounded me as my I!

Where do I turn now?

　

　

　

  

Rug

Like a rug tarnished by age

Soiled by acts of rage

Neglected and walked upon,

I cling to the ground,

Awaiting my demise.

 

　

Kampf

How can I learn faster than this disease,

Can take over my mind entirely?

Between blankness and raging rivers of thought

My period of control is growing

Shorter and comes more infrequent these days.

How do I escape this villain which now

Holds me captive, squeezing out my essence?

I beseech you to tell me what you feel--

To be mad or to die?

I will not be locked up--placed away.

I can not stand being a prisoner

Not anymore, I’ve been one my entire life.

My riddle has been solved, now my struggle--

I find, is truly the carrying out

Of this plan-- I will obtain my freedom.

　

 

My wager

It is assumed that every gambler

Enters a game with a hope

To either profit from the endeavor

Or (bored and killing time) at bare minimum

Break even.

Now, quite logically if this

Hypothetical gambler finds himself

Losing consistently, he would

Most indubitably withdraw

With whatever he may still have had left.

The gamblers “survival” is

Dependent on making sensible

Extrapolations of the cards in

His hand and the cards which

He has had in the past (what he’s seen/experienced)

From the extension he estimates

How his “luck” (future cards) will,

Most likely hold (similar trends in future hands).

If you’re losing, why not walk away?

 

　　

 

 

The Existentialist:

Depression
 

The dark is staring me down, the pain is here to stay

Looking for an internal rein, disasters teeming on my hearts domain.

I embrace a whim, and dissolve into disarray

The dark is staring me down, the pain is here to stay

I’m losing myself--I’m fading away.

Living in each particular moment of the day against the grain;

The dark is staring me down, the pain is here to stay

Looking for an internal rein, disasters teeming on my hearts domain.

 

Collapsing into emptiness

The walls of my mind are cracking--I’m crumbling within

With nothing to hold on to, the killer inside is defeating me

Gasping for each breath, realities lines are so thin

The walls of my mind are cracking--I’m crumbling within

My heart is a cold chamber--the corrosive agents begin

Into a familiar and recurrent nothingness I fall endlessly

The walls of my mind are cracking--I’m crumbling within

With nothing solid to hold on to, the killer inside is defeating me.

 

Impasse

Mental knots bound up so tight

I sigh as I stand reflecting in the shadows

Dark, dark world with your vestigial light

Mental knots bound up so tight

My hollow pursuit for happiness fades into the night

My illusory gauntlet disappears, this homeless isolate now knows

Mental knots bound up so tight

I sigh as I stand reflecting in the shadows.

 

Withering into truth

From a dark attic, lined with cobwebs, I emerge as an outline

In a hall of mirrors I stand faced with the task of creating me.

I am--my existence has preceded my essence, I must self define.

From a dark attic, lined with cobwebs, I emerge as an outline

The jaded weeds, left to rot, are called Divine

I live in a world with others, a choice as to what truths to accept to see

From a dark attic, lined with cobwebs, I emerge as an outline

In a hall of mirrors I stand faced with the task of creating Me.

　

 

Maat:

She who is eternal, she who does not change

Is the answer we sought, the unity in thought

Although sometimes in our society it seems pretty strange

She who is eternal, she who does not change

Is always here--never out of our range.

Categories, complexities, obscurities which mans mind has brought

She who is eternal, she who does not change

Is the answer we sought, the unity in thought.

 



 

　

Each creates his own truth

  Ruffling feathers… it’s only when challenged that we find ourselves:

    Once a young poet asked me how I coped with life--on a daily basis--with everything that I’d lived through. I told her that it was only from a dark, painful journey with doubt and faith that led me to the current calm. This is the explanation I gave to her:

    After cautious thought and grueling study, I have found that my God is NOT a punishing, overarching personal God; rather, “he” is the highest facet of my source of endless Love towards life and fellow man. My God is my utmost ability to reason. My god dwells within me. I believe strongly in innate goodness (no man is entirely evil--shades of gray).

     As Michael Montaigne once said, “Of poetry originally, but really of so many other things; it’s easier to create than to understand. For I do not see the whole of anything nor do those who promise to show it to us.”
 
    Most religions must be, in the bitter end, accepted on faith alone! The creation of the world is just one step ahead of us. I must always remember that no matter how educated and skeptical (freethinking) one may be, one must not attack different views with crass egoism and impunity (the latter is evil and will not be spoken of!!!). My belief is but one of many.

   The existential crises or if you’d rather Plato’s cave; which each of us must endure (angst, or a trickster figure) gives birth to “higher” thinking. It’s only through the deepest doubt of everything that one has believed “Is” and “Has” been, and will begin to be…that you’ll advance. Learn from the past. Live in the present, where you can truly find an immediate self.

    Every action carries with it innumerable consequences that has the Self as the ultimate author. Clear out the hollow, shallow beliefs and become a TRUE SELF who knows what she IS and BELIEVES. FAITH IS EMPTY WITHOUT DOUBT. It’s only through doubt that you can truly understand what you believe. At this point I dismissed the poet.

Speaking the words:

I was sitting’ on the corner at ½ passed when

Not knowing if I’ll be coming back again

A taste of old whiskey and a shot of sigh

Some where’s gotta be an answer why.

I’m roaming around in the sands of time

Waiting to be carried in Christ’s hands.
 

Lord, I praise u can’t u see

Broken old soul wishing for mercy

I done what I thought was right

Never chose the path that was easily in sight.

I done what my heart told me to do…

Always trusting…seeking out you.

Give me a sign

Sitting on the corner of ½ past when

Not knowing if I’ll be coming back again.

 

　

 

Cascading sorrow

Torn apart by gods with nothing

Left to hold on to but my tears--red is the color I bleed.

Oh Marsyas, I am, as you once were, reduced to a shell

Crucified

More dead than alive.

I’m waiting…wait…wa…

　

 

On the leaving of…

As Dido did, so shall I.

Humanity my lost bedfellow,

Why have you forsaken me?

I see and reproach the flowering stream of life.

I shall live, but live no more;

Blood.

Aimless float

Bell aqua sighs hopelessly waiting

Lacking the energy (or motivation) to find peace

Lacking the energy (or motivation) to do else wise

Hopelessly we wait…



 

Lily pad

Like a frog I hop

High into the air

Soaring into the light

Only to come toppling back down.

Falling, fading into abysmal darkness;

Night, night dragonfly where

Have you been? Soaring around

The shore of sanity--madness

(quite a razors edge you know)

On your wings all doth fly.

The world is bipolar!

The uncertain

A single ember remembers the flame,

Is this what her life has been reduced to--ashes?

She sighs clinging desperately

To her hope (in humanity)--------------

Will she once again rise like the Phoenix?

--Or, fade quietly away, smoldering in her melancholic demise?

Uncertain she sits, waits…

 



 

Chapter: Baking in the oven or thoughts on paper

   

    “The Cave” bridges a gulf of darkness with a new vision. The sweet agony of living stands as a marker to mar these weary hands. Humble lines of misery etch these lines of mystery. For the first time in my life I long for something more; a light amongst seemingly insurmountable night--

   Bound wood, where is this area propounded by the Poet, my lost soul? I seek the warmth and security of the rays of sun outside the dark cavern of my despairing sadness. I hear an echo roll out its thunderous cry: remember the unseen--unspoken in your heart?

   A doctor, a consultant will not help. A pain that can’t be controlled. Sinking away in derogative harmony--I believe in the magic of your eyes--tonight I love you in my heart. I have a passionate plea to live on for you…but can not fight the natural course of things…

 

Thank you,

   Take my hand and I will grow with you--learn with you. Please accept me as I accept you, as we walk through this world. In his grace I pray--

    Dark and gray, often unclear to us, is the path upon which we emerge; but, we must see that sometimes a tabula rasa is sometimes a Rosetta stone. The light is there if only we are willing to see it. Desire, aspirations, keep us separate from “Him” and yet are be but not mere mortals?

   Does our mortality not depend on these impositions? If we didn’t reach for the stars (oh how we soar through the sky with our minds so high) would we ever stop to see that we’re still standing on the ground?

   Prophet--Is divine intervention when one steps forward and acts unselfishly? When one is enabled by the talents and fortunes of God to have worked their way to comfort, and then upon sensing a need gives any surplus to another? Is the Divine when we lose ourselves, forget ourselves, and become nothing but Other? Walking the footsteps of the valley of tears, need not be a lonely travel…friend, Sister…

  

   Love is rooted in Other. As you know and clearly show in your actions and interactions you understand this concept well. Thank you. Remember we have a strong brother in God. Peace be with you…

Sher

Chapter: A picture is not always what it seems, but is worth a 1000 words

   They call me the antichrist: I must be a Mephistopheles when I say that we are different but equal. A light-bringer is depicted in: “Love another as I have loved you”---isn’t it? My God, why would anyone embrace many differences? Shit you should be like me, fucked up, correct?

    I’m right, you’re wrong… right? Do you like being belittled? I don’t and didn’t. Ignorant minds impose their Will harshly on others--depicting absolutisms on another authentic human being.

   Evil is only in a small persons perspective; an action needs to be judged on its own accord, and the validity as it pertains to the good of the greater whole--majority rules on this one!

   Hate goes nowhere! Haters go nowhere! I forgive when I’m upset--I distance myself from those who are particularly harmful in hopes that in my absence they will calm, adapting better to change and stress.

   I will not peruse aggressively--I don’t believe in this. I am not a wolf--I am a lamb. Deal with it! I love--J’aime…Me amo…Ich liebe…

    Sorry there’s nothing new under the Sun; I can only have a slight growth in my applications to better suit the current times and circumstances. I am not terribly unique in my trends of thought; my cascading realities. Oh the masks we wear when we deviate from the norm. We try to cover our real selves--an actor in a play.

   Atonement, pursuit of happiness, abolished to a purgatory on Earth? I’m like life amplified! I’m a stream of consciousness: Oh how those still waters run deep in this Fisher of Man; It’s complicated when my 3 angels came and relinquished a despairing pain. Grandma Bert, her mother and Jude came to save me.

   I drowned in the coldwater of my bathtub. Only to awake to voices mandating me to get up. I didn’t have a choice. I rose from the depths as though I were leagues beneath the surface of the water. Vomiting upon the re-emergence and re-introduction of air; I spewed out the toxins of my illness upon the floor. Shocks ran through my body like fireworks exploding under my skin--I could feel again, for a while, recovered by an extreme accidental drowning at night due to a loss of consciousness spontaneously occurring. Unfortunately the problem wasn’t fixed; I got sick and numb again.

    I’m in physical agony--oh God help me…Please, if you please…I beg of you, lord have mercy. In a millennium of madness I am on my way out. On the brink of my own and mass destruction the essence of my demise therein lies my voice.

    A bunch of double-entandras fill my head--twice told tales, I’m no longer original. I’ve become a few regurgitated old facts of life… no chance for help… I’m scattered.

   “Why is it when we talk to God we’re said to be praying. When God talks to us…we’re schizophrenic?---Lily Tomlin. Tongue and cheek people make me feel lock jawed. I grind my teeth.

    “Psychosis”--yeah I see a schizophrenia everyday in society! Disorganized is when people won’t listen to one another. When one person talks about a subject and another person sitting with them responds with their own personal aggrandized topic (a tangent of propaganda completely unrelated) that miscommunication is annoying!

   When a personal close bond is expressed at McDonalds by two employees, then as one individual happily excuses themselves to stroll to the bathroom, and is met by the echo of backstabbing comments; I find this unnecessary.

   There is a total lack of unity, loyalty, sense of respect, and responsibility displayed by these fools. What happened to consideration of others? Socially this shitty behavior “goes nowhere” but to the pot. Lack of effective productivity in relationships warrants a big, fat shut-up to dorky people acting like this.

  You extinguish ties by a Nihilistic disease of, “I love humanity, it’s people I hate”. Ambiguously adopting terror-tactics for sanctimonious reasons suck! The co-erosions to the conversion of the mind to madness--this is scary!

   Religious fanatics who have procured a superstitious ritualistic compulsory existence in the world--leaves of three let them be-- A human understanding through, obsessive-compulsive eyes, repetition based on a belief that there is an interconnectivity indirectly between natural elements and your minds desire to manipulate them without contact (unrelated activity)…seems silly. We associate and create patterns, I think that your mind is confounded and doing this, with no basis in reality.

    We, as humans, attempt to gain control: mastery and efficiency; over our environment. We like certainty over the Universe. Guys idiosyncrasy’s are ok, really! Un-predictabilities aren’t that bad. Do you, dear reader, recognize the fallibility of our own cognitions?

   We need to be realistic in our aspirations for others; people often can’t measure up to the extreme desires that we project on to them. We need, for ourselves and others, to be proud of accomplishments. Being open and honest…there’s a novel postulate!

   I express frustration openly--because you won’t. I can be rude and immature and everything else you want to call me. I don’t mind. Like a river I’ll flow unnamed in the long-run… flowing over the rocks… I live and am.

   Choices? I make my decisions. Do you? I am a responsible acting agent of life---are you? If you manipulate situations are you the tortured and me the abuser? Do I behave poorly (portly and self-centered as a bastard-child of hate)? Do I take without reprise? Am I satisfied with the minimum? Are you?

   I cause a lot of my problems and you have punished me for it. I serve the time for the crime. I submit to the pangs of hunger, and you return with the response of excessive force--always have. So where’s some kindness?

   Arguing appears to go nowhere. Every time I see my picture adorning my wall, it always seems the same… and yet it depicts a portrayal of motion.

   Strange emotion, I feel as though the portrait of people climbing a stair case is a lie--it appears to mimic life trapped in a moment of time and yet it captures more the unyielding Death of a view that will not change.
 
   Something that doesn’t grow or enact modification on it’s own behalf rather, simply hangs itself, mounting its existence irreversibly on the hook of tattered decomposition, I.e. rotting under the dust of its concrete stillness… is to me, Dead. It has no life left in it. It’s fettered by the ropes of its own visually lofty, attention seeking position.

Chapter:Plugs or the empowerment of my reality

Reinforcing me:

“I turn upon the pages of her love and read upon each line a story”

“His story, a grace which blesses the very essence of my Being. Love then Lost--oh what a cost…he has paid to walk upon this land…so long… he has held my hand. What is and possibly can Be, etches these lines of mystery--‘why would anyone choose me?’--I ask…

He answers.”