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Mereology studies whole and parts
I am sum of body parts
This is the view from outwards
On the left my heart
Pumps blood to every part
Intricate relations
Part to part
Nervous system
Originates from crown
I am a whole of my body parts
Physical appearance outwards
Myriad of wholes in different garbs
I talk of living part
Non-living part made of parts
Living, non-living make the universe
The whole universe still a part
A part of the Super Consciousness
Super Consciousness is indivisible
Has no parts
Yet It comprises
Living, non-living parts
Individual consciousnesses
Part of Super Consciousness
Their sum doesn't make Super Consciousness, The Ultimate Whole
For they lose identity and merge
No longer to be part
Mereology studies whole and parts
Tenant 4d
The plains held no hold on us
The dust that saturated our throats
Meant nothing,
An easy fix
A lick of that German botanical stuff
Was enough to keep us spitting soliloquies for years.
We were cowboys.
Mo on my donkey and you on your camelback,
Or was it a Marlboro?
The point is it didn't matter.
You'd light up, and ask me to step out on that back porch, and
It wasn't the city skyline.
It was the plains.
And looking into the stars on those nights
I swear we could make out the platonic ideal.
We were Greeks.
Descending down into the Piraeus
Wrapped up in lion robes as if they were togas.
Hercules and his bronze was but copper in our golden age.
And only the most noble grapes laid at the foot of our hilltop vineyards
We were kings.
Nothing was beyond our reach.
The divine sactioned all that we touched,
And the heavens laid at our feet as if to say
We were cosmonauts
Floating through space.
Our journey unfazed by the nature of time.
But it didn't matter,
Because we were solipsistic modifiers.
Brains in a vat
Growing fat on our phantasmal  navel-gazings.
But we weren't.
We were absurd
Rolling boulders up cliffs
Only for them to fall back again.
But it didn't matter because we together
And you were my brother
I remain the worm
no one gets me
only the early rising bird
that opens its beak
and swallows me whole
down the endless gullet I fall
not stopping
no chance to wonder
if life was ever truly fair at all.
Leslie Jade May 30
The matter of things and how it came to be
In the mere sight of the plight of a bee
We grasp with the thought of thee
Of how uncertainty became a plea

If I stand on earth, what shall my use be for?
Answers to pleas, keys to the door
Nothing is definite, like a shore
Yet we continue to voice and roar

And that’s the beauty of human nature
The things we know are no sheer stranger
Still, There is thus far greater than common scripture
And the search for truth would be an adventure

Behold, the power of doubts arises and upholds
It waits, in self, and for the world it unfolds
And for the records of millions, it withholds
The continuous and further truth-seeking in refolds
Cannot see what I see,
Do not know what I mean.
What it all means, yet,
I am the demeaned.

Willfully plow into the depths,
Destroyed by its contents.
Yes, I’m sad,
Yes, I’m sad.

Cannot allow myself to close my eyes;
To sleep or rest,
To look away.
To see everything,
To know,
Is all.

Nearly forgotten elation,  
Those thoughts transmitted in times of joy.
Hope at times afforded.  
Faint memories linger,
Try to grasp.

Expand beyond minds,
Escape this medieval frontier.
Human nature;
Is what I desire,
What I crave.
Unification;
Singularity,
What I desire,
What I crave.
Cannot clutch,  
Not yet time.

Primitive,
So primitive.
Only human,
Who’s to blame?

Elevate us pathetic **** sapiens,
The Gods are laughing.
Pray to the intelligence,
The One.

Existence;
Immersed in it's ambiguities.
Meaningless suffering,
Life is unjust.

It is all truly there,
It is all that there is.
Onerous to accept it.
War with reality,
It seeks to destroy.
Onerous to accept it.

Do I long to live?
Do I long past tonight?
Where is everyone going?
What can they see?
What do they gain?

Left behind.
Drowning in real
Refusing to ignore,
Dying to explore.
Dying... to explore.
I can't take anymore.


-
Think so highly of such a lowlife as myself,
Or am I it?
Am I it?
Am I it?
Anmol Mago May 23
Drowned in a puddle of
empty meaningless sounds
Distant screeches and
Haunting howls
like a lonesome owl,
meditating on the vast dead
numbness clouds
over my intellect

Like a swarm of cicadas
Gathered around gaslight
A higher cosmic wisdom
Embraces the castaways
The unsaid word
heals the souls scarred by
illusory world of sounds
In solitude the irrefutable truth
dawns over the blessed hearts.
I hath taken a liking unto musing
Upon a discrete cliff
Leaning over the edge of Britain's
Borders so much so,
That troubles nostrils
Grow numb upon days
Devoted in sheer solitude
Unto that cliff housing peace,
Content and their daughter,
Stillness.
You were here before…
Searching for something,
Your hands fumbling from spine to spine
Inferno, Paradise Lost, Michelle Obama,
Bertolt Brecht. Glance to see a figure serving coffee,
You will amount to nothing. You or I?

Life is a series of disoriented imitations…
Strange noises slip from your throat,
Strange because… you see…
You're intelligible. Bertolt Brecht.
Something more absurdist… but no…
Sisyphus. Observe him push a boulder
Over and over… Sartre…  ****.

Why do you believe a reference
Reflects intelligence? Stupid boy,
You're a pseudo-intellectual.
Why rage against the standardisation
Of mediocrity if you yourself are
Mediocre. Why use enjambment on
Lines previous for convenience?
See the banal intolerance of your poetry?

You were here before,
Stroking spines… whatever that means…
This was about a feeling…
But even that is null.
Bertolt Brecht rots and laughs…
A small child picks fruit.
Reference to Inferno and Paradise Lost, two texts about the fall of man, and his conflict with evil.

Reference to Michelle Obama, I will not elaborate.

Reference to Brecht, theatre practitioner who emphasised detachment.

Sisyphus, used with the implication of Camus' absurdist masterwork "The Myth of Sisyphus".

Sartre, existentialist philosopher. Life is meaningless until you find your own meaning. My understanding is that Camus differs. A juxtaposition.

The passage of time is a strange thing, so is my state of mind.
Anmol Mago May 6
Look through the window pane
beyond the silhouettes of dim lit faces
beyond the city skylines
beyond the cascading clouds
Into the horizon - infinite
Look into the vast nothingness
Which cradles our
petty civilisational ego
Like a mother unasking,  in it's kindness

In this rare moment
elation of the soul
pure joy flowing through your veins
untainted by sorrow
A gamut full of emotions bursting through your gut
A universe gushing through your eyes.
Om Ah Hung
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