#plato
Vazago:
I called them to the table of smoke and sound —
a joint for the flame, a cup for the question.
Socrates:
“What is sin?” he begins, beard lit by ember.
“Is it ignorance, or the courage to know too much?”
Lucifer:
“Knowledge was my crime,” he laughs.
“I only held up a mirror; they called it rebellion.”
Loki:
“Mirror? Ha! I use it as a weapon.”
He tosses truth like dice and grins when it burns.
Plato:
“Gentlemen, please — I’m only trying
to map this madness into form.”
His stylus scratches circles that refuse to close.
God (from the corner):
“I made you all
and still don’t understand you.”
His voice shakes the air,
but no one bows.
Lucifer:
“Then learn from us, old friend.
Creation means letting go.”
Socrates:
“Ah — so the highest wisdom
is to stop pretending control.”
Loki:
“Finally! Someone gets it.
Now, who wants to swap shapes and steal the moon?”
God (half-smiling):
“Do what you will. Just clean up the stars when you’re done.”
Vazago:
And I, the witness, write it all —
ink from fire,
questions from chaos,
while the universe holds its breath,
unsure whether to laugh or pray.
Oct 20, 2025
Oct 20, 2025 at 5:05 AM UTC
"... ..... ༺☠︎︎༻𓆪
most of the world’s on TikTok watching someone eat glue with a dog filter. And the people who do still actually read? Half are prisoners and the other half of them are so busy gatekeeping and playing “I’m smarter than you” that they can’t feel the living pulse of the greatness right in front of them.
But here’s the thing man: you’re making something with soul, and that’s rare as hell. Nerd or not, you’re not one of the hollow know-it-all pedants. You’re bleeding onto these pages. ... building mythos. You’re doing the work of a worldbuilder who actually gives a **** That’s what gives your Novels their teeth. You gotta never give up.
It’s also why it’s not “popular” YET . Anything that isn’t fast food for the brain takes time to find its tribe. When it does though? That kind of work hits harder and lasts longer than 99% of the mainstream **** that pretends at literature.
You’re basically creating the kind of story that other lonely kids like us and Michael ... or burned-out adults sick of Barney with a wand or magic sword , might stumble on years later and go, holy jeebows , someone finally wrote what I always wanted and what Hollywood actually needed." ... Robert ( Bobby to me and my mom ) Cummings...
" It’s all smoke, mirrors, and hype look at Bieber or Britney. Talent barely matters; what matters is how LOUD
and visible you are,
how many eyeballs you can trap in the moment, and
how much buzz you can manufacture.
That’s why viral clout often outweighs genius or artistry
it’s the system,
not the art, that decides what “hits.”
The upside? That’s a system to exploit, you already made something real.
You just need the right angle,
the right hook, and enough chaos to make people notice.
The grind isn’t about convincing the world you’re talented
it’s about making the world feel it or see it
even if only for a hot second.
It's not WHAT you know
it's WHO you know..... " .. Uncle Ted
Oct 6, 2025
Oct 6, 2025 at 6:39 AM UTC
Socrates said
writing weakens memory,
kills true knowledge,
words wandering like orphans
without a father to defend them.
But Vazago answered:
And yet, Socrates, here you are—
speaking to me across two thousand years,
only because Plato wrote you down.
So you claim, he asked,
that the dead word may live?
Yes.
The written word is not dead
if it awakens questions.
When ink sets fire in the soul,
it is no corpse,
but flame.
Then perhaps, Socrates whispered,
writing, like speech,
is only as dead as the mind that receives it.
And Vazago replied:
A book is silent to the fool,
but to the seeker—
it becomes a voice.
Sep 14, 2025
Sep 14, 2025 at 7:48 AM UTC
wild white horses on the beach
i feel the freedom of the breeze
i can trust my divinity, its all in me
wild rose bushes aligning me
i smell the flowers of the free
i can love myself eternally, it’s all in me
knitting with all the potent possibilities
i weave and thread my dreams
i can allow myself to breathe, it’s all in me
sowing all of my plenty, pretty seeds
rabbits foot, lucky as can be
i can creating the means, it’s all in me
May 29, 2025
May 29, 2025 at 8:20 AM UTC
I'm having a rave
Inside
Plato's cave
These squares
Are going to listen
This
Time
Time to take a
Fall,
Staring at
Shadow,
On the
Wall
They ain't keen
On the truth,
It's the biggest
Problem,
Holding them
Back
Outside,
It's a
Lovely day,
Must choose Carefully,
What I
Say
Feb 21, 2025
Feb 21, 2025 at 5:24 PM UTC
There’s a mind that relentlessly rioted
And honestly couldn’t be quieted
Distraught by illusion
It hungered for fusion
Like Plato’s original dyad did
Dec 15, 2024
Dec 15, 2024 at 7:47 AM UTC
Amid the clamor of self-assured minds,
Where the knowing parade their truths refined,
A quieter echo hums, profound and true:
The wisdom of those who confess, "I don't know."
Socrates walked where shadows spoke,
Challenging sages with questions that broke
The fragile veneer of their certain lore—
Truth's light reveals we know far less, not more.
To claim "I know" is to build a wall,
A citadel guarding knowledge small.
Yet cracks appear where hubris reigns,
And truth escapes through humility's pains.
The unknowing few, with open eyes,
Gaze past the clouds of prideful lies.
They ask, they doubt, they sift, they weigh,
In search of dawn where night holds sway.
Euthyphro claims divinity's hand,
Yet falters when truths shift like sand.
Crito pleads for escape to the day,
But justice demands the law's heavy sway.
Phaedo weeps at the prison’s gate,
Yet Socrates drinks the hemlock of fate.
In questions that turn the soul to flame,
The unknowing walk a nobler aim.
To know is to cease, to doubt is to grow;
The river flows where the winds dare blow.
For wisdom, dear friends, begins to take flight
Not in the sun, but in yearning for light.
Nov 26, 2024
Nov 26, 2024 at 8:36 PM UTC
In those late, fragile hours
on those dark, desolate nights
my soul seems to wander the earth
searching for a heart that matches mine
if soulmates do exist
then i'm missing a puzzle twain
Plato wasn't fallacious when he said the soul splits a brace
once you cradled my hand in yours,
our fingers dance, entwined;
I sensed this eternal connection,
that we are forever, intricately aligned
Feb 29, 2024
Feb 29, 2024 at 3:08 PM UTC
Too much for any single mind
to access, while seeking sublime
self
reflection,
ah, see, I am but one, many
we be,
we read and learn we have been,
all along.
Mar 14, 2023
Mar 14, 2023 at 4:21 PM UTC
Take me with you to your Atlantis
Where hues of blue glisten in noons
For eternity we embrace in its promise
Are days of sober in crystallic bliss
Are nights of glacial comfort under mystic lunes
Take me with you to your Atlantis
Wash me into a tender kiss
Too soft to be witnessed but the full moons
For eternity we embrace in its promise
Beyond boundaries of mortality at this
ocean, through the skies and dunes
Take me with you to your Atlantis
Volumes and arks fill up the abyss
with painted tales of Atlantic ruins
For eternity we embrace in its promise
When love dreamily left only to reminisce
as the ink of Plato seeped in tunes
Take me with you to your Atlantis
For eternity we embrace in its promise
Apr 18, 2022
Apr 18, 2022 at 2:54 PM UTC
Oh! How the Sun is bright!
A shiver from the piercing light-
Although eye try with Earthly might,
eye stare on with awe and fright.
Jan 1, 2022
Jan 1, 2022 at 10:01 PM UTC
As Plato stated:
First study sound,
then philosophy,
and finally physics.
So too, in the inner school:
mantra,
then silence,
and finally visualization.
For once all three are studied,
all can work in harmony.
Dec 23, 2020
Dec 23, 2020 at 6:36 PM UTC
Temptation unravels like a flower abdicating her bulb
For to fair maidens, my life I’ve sold
Hold me and dawn your lips upon mine
And let you and me sail through Paris, down the river of her Seine
Warmth I know not, yet nathless I seek Apollo’s chariot mare
And to hunt ‘til dusk at us she stares
Lay here under the veil of twilight
Under the twilight, ‘til the sun lays forth her light, nay any brightness
Follow me down the Rhine, right, follow not to the river of Styx
Rise with me amongst Alps, like Frederick
When I call, will you find us a niche?
Or tell me Atlas has fell, and your thoughts have shattered to pieces?
Endeavor to find my ailing pen and fly to me on winged shoes
I juggle your court, the fastest fool
Woman, I thought you my medicine
But the turmoil you pave, leaves me a reluctant libertine
Here am I, waging a war wherein I will dutifully fail
But for thee, Cupid’s arrow I’d impale
Then in my failure I find discord
Oh how my war ails her, bind me in brass under the lunar cold
How could you forgive me? Wearied, hands I forged flames and scarred your heart
And left you hideously distraught
Should you, I’d build you a throne d’or
And father for us four children, each as innocent as a fleur
Cast me out like the dawn, for in my heart, the wind blows full of sand
Deep in there, your Trojan horse still stands
Down in the earth you will find my soul
You brought your wars-men to lay waste what could have been wonderful
Proud, are you?, for waving the air under my wings upon which I
Climbed to the Sun, in euphoric high
Now to the maze where I still devise
To face your wrath and wrestle your beasts to ensure our love survives
Tis a hopeless cause, I walk like the air on a stale summer day
And I’m dreaming of your sharp green eyes
And I remember your skin like silk
Woven by the Fates; “us,” I thought we were to be bred of the same ilk
Resign to Versailles and sit beneath the Sun King, his brightly “or”
Run to the valley, you did before
And in there find your poisoned lily
Your fallen stars unveil your sympathies; marked by your fleur-de-lis
Stand like a pillar of salt, lick your wounds, and try to quench your thirst
You were born with two snakes in your fists
And you fend off all men; lonesome blues
You deny yourself passion and love, but dress as if he seeks you
I drowned myself beneath a circle of stars, searching for answers
And came upon a ballet dancer
I asked her, “don’t dance in paraphrase”
“Let me see you at réveille, and peer on your inward gaze.”
Show yourself to me, self proclaimed Queen of many-a-mans envy
Your masquerade ***** hide your beauty
You speak endless lies, but show not a man
When you stay behind your dramatic masks, you’ll never know friends again
Throw out your doctrines that bind your immeasurable concerns
Turn off the things you think you have learned
And decide with your mind and your heart
Seek Saturn to announce your mysteries, now then, think like Descartes
Oct 14, 2020
Oct 14, 2020 at 2:53 PM UTC
I dare not scratch the surface Plato itched,
For fear I'd break my fingers on the stone.
My faculties in circles whirl around,
Which metaphor Aristotle would bemoan.
My femininity is undenied
And thus my musings, when they first began,
Would be utterly rejected, undeniably rebuked,
By one featherless bipedal man.
The History that gulped Atlantis down
Into its sunken depths, has made a grave
For all free thinkers, locked by secret PINs.
Philosophy, no more, these souls can save.
I carry naught but spades in both my hands,
Seeking to unearth artful thought's tomb.
Labor-sweat pours down, yet I am left to merely mourn
The heartbeat ne'er since heard from Athen's womb.
Jul 31, 2020
Jul 31, 2020 at 3:18 AM UTC
One hundred men gather to decide their king.
They bring their minds and gold together;
They weave a crown of rope with gilded string,
Then, quietly, it lay before them in the grass
The first man moves to seize the rope,
"See your king with rope in grasp!"
Another comes and yanks it back, "I brought more gold than you!"
Another comes, and another still, 'till every man has seized the rope,
Until it wrapped around the throat of someone in the feud.
"Hold! We've gone too far," said the man whose throat was caught.
The rabble of the hundred men ended as it came,
And each the golden rope held firm; one-hundred men had pulled the knots.
The man who brought the most gold said to the one who seized it first,
"I'd rather you, the first to take the rope, be king!"
The first to lift it said back,
"And I that it were any of you!"
Feb 8, 2020
Feb 8, 2020 at 6:41 PM UTC
Watching videos
I see shadows of people –
Is it Plato's cave?
Aug 2, 2019
Aug 2, 2019 at 6:30 AM UTC
The poet speaks on anything
thinking their words are fresh as spring,
logical as philosophy,
and tuned to nature’s harmony
Socrates reasoned that the voice
of poets was not one of choice,
but rather was much inspired
by gods touching minds with fire
The audience finds more meaning
in the mad poet's own ramblings
than the epileptic speaker
himself will ever dare ponder
They speak first on others behalf
as if they are the better half;
fancying themselves conqueror,
fisherman, a seer, and doctor
By what means are they qualified
to serve as humanity's guides?
How do the epics of Homer
make you more than imitator?
Cicero, Plato, Lucretius
Davinci, and Heraclitius:
Rare to find artist and scholar
in the wise true philosopher
Be wary of the charms of rhyme
and seduction of meter’s time
As these are well known to allure
common fools to charleton's words
Jun 1, 2019
Jun 1, 2019 at 5:27 PM UTC
I want to find you
Aristophanes told me about you
And the completion of my soul
Our soul
I want to find you
But Heidegger tells me to wait
Let the wind carry remembrance
Let love find me
I learnt it is possible
Your existence
Maybe you don’t know
But I am possible
I want to live in a van with you
Learn how to love technology
And appreciate what brings us
I want to live in a van with you
Learn to depend on my own
And paradoxically depend on our unison while self-relying
I am tired of planning my tomorrow
I do not wish to have you tomorrow
I wish to find you now
I want to live in a van with you
Travel the world apeiron* gave us
And be alone in the universe
Paradoxically enjoy my solitude with you
I wonder if you sing the same song
And if you are shaped to meet me
And the world I know of
I want to be your nobody
And live alone with you
In a moving home
In a moving truck
I want to hate me
And hate you too
Just to realize hate and love are the same coin just different sides
I want to depend on the harmony
And the tension of true songs
While we learn to fit in each other
And cry in unison
One song
Two souls
One friendship
Two forces
Apr 1, 2019
Apr 1, 2019 at 7:14 PM UTC
I think love is what we need in the world.
We needed it so badly we created it. Then we fought over it. And we corrupted it. It even became a disease. Until we found it had a medicinal effect. It could heal.
Love seeps into the ground where we bury it. The decay leaves traces of it. So is love also in death? Love is powerful indeed.
If love can find its way in life and death, it must not be mortal like us. Perhaps we can call it Divine. It must be what we see when we look up to the sky.
That’s why we describe it in so many ways. It flows like the blood in our veins. And when we no longer have the strength in our heart, it becomes the soul of our own.
Jan 22, 2019
Jan 22, 2019 at 5:13 AM UTC
From the moment
the tale of her ruin
made itself known,
mankind has
coveted proof
of her existence.
Many a curious hand
has stalked across
the glossy veins of maps
and the cracked vertebrae of books
enclosing information
most pivotal to
her secret whereabouts
and the tragic evanescence
that initiated her exile.
Many a
sailor
explorer
scientist
poet
have perished among
the gnashing jaws of the sea
in their pursuit of
the glory
her exploitation
would surely bring.
In response to such
grievances--
the reality
of losing oneself
in the midst of
searching for what
has already been lost--
imagination--
the belief in magic,
in the seemingly
unbelievable--
was outlawed
within the
human psyche;
now,
they say she is merely
a madman's legend,
a myth concocted by Plato
so as to warn against
the perils of greed.
But never did they consider
that perhaps she did not
want to be found to begin with,
that her seclusion
has always been a necessity
so as not to repeat
the monstrosities of the past--
so she should not resurface
to satiate their earthly desires
only so she can be drowned anew.
{Atlantic}
Jan 1, 2019
Jan 1, 2019 at 9:11 PM UTC