i love you,
fresh from
the shower.
glistening and wet,
smelling of aftershave.
"coolwater" by davidoff.  often aslo sandlewood,
goat soap, from the local
farmers markets.

i love you,
dressed up smart.
in a brook's brother's way
dress pants and shirt,
blue linen vest.
johnny walker silk bow tie,
untied is best. then your twist,
(not as original as you think)
converse skaties, no socks
and  bone bleached cuffs,
turned up.

i love you,
in your work gear.
just come home,
you smell of sweat.  
clean and healthy,
always wood shavings
caught up, in your
unruly shaggy hair.
cargo shorts and
t-shirts,
that have seen,
many days of worksite wear.
size elevens in your hands,
those big feet and freaky toes
bare, ******* in the air.

i love you,
in board shorts and rashie.
rushing into the surf,
hand in hand.
with the energetic bundle
of love,
to which we gave birth.

it is not as though,
clothes made this man,
but boyohboy, you, frame them well.

it s the heart, the chuckle
the hands, the philosphy,
the clever, erudite, caveman,
the downright,
man-dumb bloke.
that endears, your heart to
mine.

it is, that you really listen
and take the time,
to make me feel and be,
phenomenal, wise, sensual
and beautiful beside.

i love you,
best, in my bed.
moving slow and sure,
undressed, silk and velvet.
as we express,
the reality of our love
and whisper words,
well known,
and cry to heaven above.

i love you,
then, here, now and eons
on.
even after the worlds
memory of us,
is  nothing,
dust upon the breeze
our love,
will carry, forth
stardust on heaven's winds
and cries of our love and ecstasy
will birth worlds anew

He’s a ***** of in-
tellectual acumen. A real conveyor of post-modern acuity.
What he has to say doesn’t make sense to me.
No one understands his esoteric complexity.
He speaks of Aristotelian “virtues”, Platonic Forms, and other
“practical” participation by the particularities.
Part of all that not even he fully understands.

Juxtaposing Quniean “webs of Knowledge” with Davidson Coherantism
He is challenged by McDowells 2nd nature Bildung.
His conventional English is thus un-sung, while meta-physical abstractions are then hung
Out to dry, in the abstract realm sky. What color is that sky?
“Unfair Question” he cries.

“Tell me about God” I ask, “very well” he replies.
My brain is numb after one question, and a few words.
He continues, “Do the God(s) agree upon what is good?”
Yes is my reply. “If so, do they love what is good?” Again yes.
“Then, is the Good whatever the God(s) love, or do the God(s) love what is Good?”
He must be on drugs.

A little philosophy makes a man an atheist.
A lot makes him a believer,
just not in God. He praises Reason, his room is a shrine.
Within four walls one will not find, no not any sign
Of conviction.

What? All this time thinking, reflecting, meditating, abstracting, observing, weaving grand tapestries of thought and still he does not find a foot hold in reality?
What the hell were you thinking about?
He responds.

A stream of consciousness is all that is,
past is a referent future is a predicate.
I am not the “me” I refer to when I say “my book.”
No sir, I have never spoken to you any knowledge of me.
For that I have none of, but knowledge I am not without.
If it is one thing I know, it is that I know nothing.

I tell him certainly my English teacher would know something to defeat him,
I am soon disenchanted, for he has ammunition for her.
“Ask her”, he says “to ascertain the truth value to this grammatically perfect declarative Sentence.”  
Colorless green ideas sleep furiously.

ººº

Beware lest anyone cheat you through philosophy and empty deceit,
according to the tradition of men, according to the basic principles of the world,
and not according to Christ.

Colossians 2:4-8 (NKJV)

His Nietzschean trip moved from Comic toward Tragic:
Deleuze’s delusions flew out the fenêtre
Airborne and ****** on philosphy’s magic
(the nihilist suicide’s raison d’être…)
Propelled from the window, transcending the Ontic,
his organless body in textual flight,
a schiz-flow beyond on a voyage turned frantic.
His thought – a nomadic adornment for speed,
multiplicitly viewing a thousand plateaux
was a force for unhinging the doorways of light
and a plea for postmodern decoding indeed.
His frame soon encountered pure striated space
in the form of the pavement caressing his face.

He joins other smokers of Gallic tabac,
other esotericians of cognitive frenzy
(those mullahs of madness, those sultans of Whack…)
Sorely missed by his victims, disciples and friends
he is mourned, misinterpreted, copied, dismissed
– but for semioticians he heads up the list.

Another brave Frenchman, some guy named Debord
a bespectacled Marxist (who missed all the marks)
made the mediums’ message a radical bore
dialectically fading the lights into darks.
Indirectly disrupting pop-culture with Punk
and other anarchic phenomena-junk,
he too chose to leave with a nihilist bang –
while we whimper and suffer down here with the gang.
The old situationist’s last situation:
an agit-prop funeral short on elation…

So to French de-constructor-philosopher-ravers
and all who rejoice while society wavers
I offer these lines, like a quick coup-de-grace
and be warned – they’re now viewing the Good Lord en face.

The strands hanging from her Selsun Blue scalp
like pasty, jittery children's legs;
beyond buckwheat, before bottle-ship shoulders.
And she's so kind with her philosphy books and new diet,
I think back to when she was four and where she believed in me,
for the first time.

Her jawline is made up of alien angles,
she has tattooed forearms;
peach fuzz skin decorated with cheap, olive maps,
pointing towards a choreographed heart,
towards a neon mind.

And she has one thousand paper coffee cups
discarded across the urban earth,
spilling out onto the asphalt jungle,
much like every chance she gives.
Bloodied and twenty-four,
an abstract thought in a lonely existence.
I've never known.

I hung you like a lantern in my dark cave
worshipped at your feet but made you my slave
sterilized my heart inside an old autoclave
and tattooed my soul so I would become brave

tried to teach the teacher about genuine apology
attempted to outrun the runner with finicky philosphy
glued the pieces together to make a seamless epiphany
and ended up laughing at myself amidst the general cacophony

I created this mess when I was not at my best
and instead of looking to you now I see right through you
nightmares of yoy dying have turned to desires that leave me crying
I pray that the Rapture may come to steal you away or take me from
the past at last is gone.

I walked the rockiest path that I could find
in an effort to toughen my soles and strengthen my mind
I kept my eyes peeled in case I found a sign
that with eyes wide open I had not been rendered blind

When I reached a plateau I thought of resting
but when you stay long enough you start to think of nesting
watching the birds overhead reminded me of cresting
no rest for the weary testers during testing

Feline Philosphy

The world around us teaches lessons
You never know who can be your guide
So open your heart and expand your mind
Lessons from a cat can be pure joy and pride

These furry felines are both loving and caring
Snuggling and purring by your side
They look for your unconditional love
Your warm affection keeps them satisfied

Cats thrive on curious, playful adventures
With their bright eyes open wide
Their silly and funny personalities
Show you love and divinity exemplified

Kittens are naturally friendly and happy
Energetic and agile in their movement
The give happiness beyond compare
Living with a cat makes days an improvement

So what can we learn from these cuddly creatures

Show the world unconditional love
Always be agile and energetic
Keep your heart adventurous
And make your life synergetic!

Poetry by Sudha
April 15, 2019

I havent had a minute to myself,
To clear my conscience I meditate with water in wishing well,
Even when my dreams fell , it seemed hell , I just know every sick gets well.
Thats my philosophy,
All gets well, and just now? How I make it so well? a guilty mind travels slow with time, find your innocense and reach a devine, not pork and swine but forks and wine and dine with hearts of mimes that speak existence of peace of mind.
See religion is all trial tribulations and signs, and wisdom? Comes from the leading blind and learning to shine.  Well, so swell is devotion, but this world only teaches neglect and biting the hand with food in it still open.
Still its spoken, but none tends to hear, open mouths shake till the truth appears loose like a mirror.
When perceptions arent clearer.
So where do I  lay or lie , the truth?
Love is gone ******* ! Babys having babbies and droppin outta school,
Life isnt cool but its get well thats my philosphy when **** looks like hell.
Gotta keep going, till Im well.
lord as my cosmic witness, positivy is a magnet if you learn it nature, listen-
The sound of silence is in riches,
Thats why corperate stays in the shadow power soaking all the admissions, but the lesser gains more and looses nothing because of position.
Whats my philoshpy? All gets well, yeah it gets better Love is a real you and me , connection between people felt deeper spiritually.
  
...........................................................­.....................................

The perhaps freaky thing is from the first occasion to the last, the affair leaves me disillusioned.


(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCLXXXIIII)


They pulled shots on more fancy presses' scale
Of lo, espresso, than we know, tae thence
Pass 'round the little porc'lain mug for sense
And comment.  Bells and whistles to avail
Whomever of sheer grandeur was't? would hail
Their newr machines as ultmate for intents,
Dad sez.  And we rolled 'cross our tongues th'intense
Black tazos, sip by sip, til such'd wax stale.
Fire up the grill, next:  play the epicure,
As now mein host two diffrent cuts put to
Our palates and good taste.  Wine to assure
Souls twas the height of whocareswhat, we knew
Such conversations, laughter, and for sure:
Philosphy.  Problem's:  I can't think what's new.

08Jul17b