#determinism
Oh, if the world was a stage,
Gilded with thousands of amber lights,
Curtains rise and fall, with never-ending delight.
A thousand stories overlap and intertwine,
Each page gingerly brushing by,
Your fingertips as you unwind.
Suddenly though, the pages bare their fangs,
Nicking skin, bringing bittersweet tears to your eyes.
Sorrow and joy, and love combined.
Oh, if the world was a stage,
With vast brushstrokes of vibrant colour,
Decorating cardboard, props, and sheet.
Morphing them into fantastic shapes or,
Warping backgrounds into a web of streets.
Trivial moments given purpose,
Life made frail and afraid,
Embarrassments made public,
Heartwarming moments endlessly replayed.
Humanity takes centre stage,
As life unfolds in great array.
Oh, if the world was a stage,
With people yanked – and tugged – by string,
Marionettes in endless motion,
Each one reduced to just a plaything.
Again and again, the same shows play,
The curtain rises and falls.
The same woes and joys in every way,
Seemed doomed to enthral.
Again and again, the same shows play,
The audience grows tired.
The stage responds with harsher lights,
As a new plot is inspired.
The pages cut deeper and deeper,
Forcing pain and fright.
Pages fray and people tear,
The set’s paint begins to drip and run,
Lights flicker and static swarms the air,
But this play is not done.
The sound stage fills with screams,
As the horsemen take the stage.
The usher offers ice-creams,
But can’t take the pain away.
The spectacle continues,
With iridescent flair.
One by one the horses gallop,
Into a spiral of despair.
Strings snap and marionettes fall lifeless,
No backup to take the stairs,
A world of hate and hurt,
Swallows itself.
Apr 24
Apr 24, 2026 at 2:25 PM UTC
Perhaps all our stars were in the right places
and guiding our lives as some say they do;
perhaps God was planning, perhaps Fate was smiling,
or perhaps it was Chance that brought me to you.
I knew you taught math, started books at the end,
that you loved to travel, to garden, and sing.
When you came through the door, I learned something new—
that all of my life I’d been looking for you.
Your eyes searched the room, and I quietly prayed,
my heart would have broken if you’d turned away.
But my heart wasn’t broken, you saw me and stayed,
and we shared our stories the way people do.
At first we were cautious, at our age you’re cautious,
our hearts had been broken and mended before,
and there’s just so much breaking a heart can endure.
But God has kept blessing and Fate has kept smiling,
the stars still align, and the years have been kind.
Our genes haven’t failed us, no one has assailed us,
and putting it bluntly, we’ve been very lucky
with so many things that we cannot control.
Here in our shared world, our love has kept growing,
and we’ll go on loving till death do us part.
And whatever comes after, we’ll be there together,
and never forget that our love is forever.
Aug 7, 2025
Aug 7, 2025 at 10:37 AM UTC
Yesterday, I died in my dream.
I am still alive.
Does that make any difference?
What is my name?
Who am I?
Oh! I remember
Isn't it determinism?
Today I sleep well.
Tomorrow I will...
They don't need you.
Jul 3, 2025
Jul 3, 2025 at 4:33 AM UTC
The reality is that
our causality
determines our existence.
'Our', is meant literally
in that we also partially
determine our causality
together.
This is co-constitutive in nature.
However, this power to create
our own destiny is always within
the limits of our own contexts:
our past choices,
our environment,
our language;
the people around us,
the history within which
our identity emerges
and the current modes open to us
to be different
(or the same).
So, we are here.
And we will be there.
And we have
somewhat of a choice.
Jul 1, 2025
Jul 1, 2025 at 2:04 PM UTC
I wonder,
I ponder,
The path I need to take.
I march my way in grassy fields,
To see what I can make.
I trod here,
Trod there,
I trod to find my stake.
For each path hurts its own,
Each path has its wake.
I hike thee,
I climb free,
A mountain I should quake.
The paths are getting harder now,
I tremble and I break.
A wall here,
A crack here?
I must find flaws I forsake.
Each wall built that blocks my path,
Brick by brick I take.
Now a bend,
Sweet end,
The last is not fake.
My journey had gone coming quick,
It is final, my sake.
Apr 6, 2025
Apr 6, 2025 at 5:17 AM UTC
When I was younger
drugs were something I wanted to do
and as I grew older
drugs became something to do
and as I grew even older
drugs became something I had to do
and now
drugs are something I used to do.
Some things are just meant to be
but they’re also meant to have been.
Mar 16, 2022
Mar 16, 2022 at 9:13 AM UTC
Reaching out from the feeble space of my world
For something real to come into existence
To burn from the canvas of imagination
Yet immediately entangled in an infinite confinement
Staying forever trapped
We look for authenticity, we crave for creation
Feeling the need to be someone who can be not
While riding the unbridgeable wave of determinism
Still, riding it, we can
So, place your feet with faith
Breathe in all the air you can
Then plunge forward and become
A blinking shooting star
A spear of joy
Life calls you, that's all you need to know
Dec 9, 2019
Dec 9, 2019 at 10:47 AM UTC
Trapped by the skull
…
That's a solid limitation.
Neurons I could count
to the last and every one.
These processing units
are of a finite amount.
Meaning we know nothing more
than what fits in that skull.
...
Though
Connecting collective wisdom in our environ
enables us to do more than the bare individual.
Ahhh, all so wonderful. But you see what I mean
We can't stand up against an unlimited cognitive machine.
Oct 17, 2018
Oct 17, 2018 at 1:45 PM UTC
The world was determined
To be where it was that day
And so each time sinned
Was inevitable in that way
The master of puppets
Thus the plot twister
Blows the trumpets
At the evil mister
Who killed a protagonist
Then himself hanged
Thus an antogonist
Inevitably becomes determinist
When he finaly does see
He is not free to be
While the protagonist
Rises up free
Into chaos
The arms of uncertainty
May 15, 2016
May 15, 2016 at 4:29 PM UTC
Promises made by diviners: first,
the month of my undoing dissected,
uncertainty excised. Fingers splayed,
the prophet makes a pretty ritual
out of ribcage. Says: any bone
can be an oracle bone, given time.
Unhook the vertebrae, then.
Plate apart the musculature
and there’s fate, that red spool,
that hungry spine. Ask me if I
believe. I believe all prophets
are butchers. The small chime
is her fingers at my glass rib
and not my leaving. Ah, fate,
that tangle of guts, of chyme.
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 3:01 PM UTC
Determine meaning of toxic
probe quantity of goodness required
to cease metabolic function
Give space to inspections
of remaining affect-reserves
Adjust interior humidity
to +/- decency
Console yourself.
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 1:28 PM UTC
I wonder how far
you can change your personality
and all those susceptibilities.
Those patterns you follow
as you weave your fate.
But is it your own?
Can you trust in those
sense and sense abilities?
Cause personally
I don't know
if this personality
is something you own.
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 4:19 PM UTC