"acta" poems
Language is an intricate map. One that we've collectively agreed upon as a means of communicating about the 'territory', or experience. Life.
We can draw a tree, and we can write the word "Tree", but neither are trees.
We can draw a pipe, and we can call it a pipe, but it is still only an image of a pipe.
http://www.exoticexcess.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/06/this-is-not-a-pipe-by-rene-magritte.jpg
Language is not the territory.
Language is but a toolbox. A toolbox filled with lots of cool toys and fun sounding words and some interesting etymologies.
But sometimes the task at hand requires a tool we've not yet conceived of, let alone one we have in our toolbox.
Different languages have different tools, but many will suit similar tasks, even if not exactly the same.
This is no reason to assume that, because our particular map is imperfect, that the territory is somehow more absurd.
The absurdity arises when we fail to recognize and respect the fallacies of language. A spiritual person will understand this notion immediately.
This, however, isn't necessarily to say a religious person will grasp it, and likewise is also not to say that a totally secular person won't.
In fact, I find that many of our conflicts with ourselves and others only arise because we squabble about our interpretations of the maps instead of realizing that the maps are in fact tools to achieve an end, but not the end itself.
Once we can step back from our ego
Once we can admit that we can be wrong
Once we realize we've been deceived
Can we begin to again grow strong.
Borders are maps. Humanity is a territory.
Dogma is a map. Reality is a territory.
Education is a map. Life is a territory.
We mustn't allow our perceptions of maps to occlude our ability to live as we are, an interdependent family of meat-bags twirling around a rather uncaring furnace in space.
This is where dogma comes in, and tends to ruin it for the 'little' people.
This is where money comes in, and substitutes itself for value.
This is where entertainment comes in, and substitutes itself for truth.
This is where ACTA, SOPA, PIPA, the Patriot Acts, and the NDAA come in
And move us one step further towards the Vierte ***** (Fourth kingdom. The Nazis fancied themselves to be the Dritte ***** or Third Kingdom).
Recognize the signs. Fabricate your own map. Then learn to leave it on the shelf.
Sep 7, 2013
Sep 7, 2013 at 3:57 PM UTC
syllables tracing periphery,
lips cascading, chasing
the lyrics of one’s soundless
voice gone hoarse with
the melody of a name;
might i perchance remember
the flight of your lashes’
flutter against skin and
flush, hearing my echoes
reverberate along your frame?
Apr 4, 2016
Apr 4, 2016 at 12:35 AM UTC
Bright yellow lights at dusk
Floating along as if they must
Cheer me up, They do. They do.
And the stars are out, so are you
We can lay and forget our problems
Under the moon, I'll forget when
June finally makes it's entrance
Replacing my feelings in May's absence
Camp fires, bon fires, fireworks.
They light my summers, Oh how it hurts
When will I see you again?
My sweet summer love, when?
Let us not worry about that now
We will see each other, don't ponder how
Now it is unbearable, August
Soon you were swept up in a windy gust
Into the hands of a forgotten season
I hope he makes you happy for any reason
September, screams the calendar
Haven't found anyone worth your caliber
I tell myself I must erase
The image in my mind, your face.
July purposely was skipped,
As it was the time, you and I ripped.
Jul 30, 2013
Jul 30, 2013 at 1:00 PM UTC
Among thee, desperation paints
Sallow cheeks and shaking palms
In the temple in which every child
Consecrates a rebirthing, rejoicing Psalm
Are the steadfast oaths of ages past
Belittled with the present ecstatic gestures?
And upon mine, my chest is pounded
In lieu of papyrus padded scriptures
He walks, the offender, through the halls
While burnt offerings are singed with frankincense
And pulls the steeple’s steel bells
In ode to the sorrowful April shower’s Lent
And finally, the King sits upon his throne
Ad clerum, to the clergy, and nods with respect
When eyed, the child burns inside a dress
Whilst he forgot to genuflect
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming age
In which thine beloved empire crumbles
And the voice of fire breathes out like winter breath
In response to those insidious mumbles
In a world where the ox and *** are slain
For charity to make light of a bleary spring
While He still whispers in my conscience
Still exists their soul in everything
Apr 30, 2011
Apr 30, 2011 at 7:25 PM UTC
Rusty axe in hand, cold air on the face
Holding down with a single damp hand
Recoiled in place
Slammed down with a thud and a crack
Another in rapid succession
And then another still in a dark progression
Pain racks the mind, disgust sights the eyes
The twilight moon covered by clouds
Refusing to witness what has transpired
Mind dulled, and heart torn
Eyes front, recoil once more
With a final throw a shatter rings out
The land convulses, the wind cries out
Something beautiful is thrown throughout
It was a cold dark night when it came to pass
That from out of the dark and into the light
I shattered my soul to keep you alight
Jan 1, 2019
Jan 1, 2019 at 3:20 PM UTC