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Tommy Johnson Dec 2013
You can hear the voices of our peers being silenced, ignored, shunned and distorted.
Staggering out of their bedroom doorways to the street corner to score a dime bag.
Bright, insightful millennials freezing in search of warmth from something to believe in that will encourage them to look forward to see another day.
Where our economy has made financial prudence clear when talking about education, yet price tags of university tuition's skyrocket.
The refused, the ones with hope but no money or scholarships; tread the streets with the echoes of electro house pulsing in their skulls.
Those who strip themselves down and shred their own morals to scraps just to find themselves and to see their own limitations.
Searching for answers to the unknown, to ascertain what they are, who they are and why.
Timid in high school, pushed along with nothing and no one to put their creative vigor into.
The squeakiest wheels that were never even considered to be given a good greasing.
Faculties giving them lethargic hellos on the first day of school, bestowing celebrated goodbyes to them on graduation day, diplomas in hand.
Now are the ones slumped over in a lackadaisical position contemplating how they can afford an education.
They work eight to ten at seven twenty five an hour Monday to Friday; and weekends staying in as not to blow their earnings.
Those who commute to university and balance a job with it, I applaud you.
The bewilderment of adulthood, the overabundance of pressure and responsibility.
Awakened from nightmares of lost opportunities, missed trains and lost contacts.
To step out of bed and splash water onto a severely distressed face and staring into a mirror with a despairing look.
Then hoping a bus to Garfield to bring back weight for all the embryonic smokers not yet at the point of make or break, just save up enough to pave my own way.
Gazing at the town on a roof top, chugging down the tenth…no…twelfth beer of the night wondering how this all happened.
Wild sensations of kissing an attractive stranger, the rush of touching on things never felt, tasting pleasures only the lucky have known.
The passionate, yet dissolute yearning for that ever eluding ******* adrenaline. Pounding, Pounding, Pounding until the culmination of energy has come.
Flip sided to those dizzying, tear jerking thoughts of suicide, annihilation of ones being, the contradictions of their faith in themselves and the people around them.
Unexplainable waves of anxiety crashing onto the shore of a diminutive island of optimism
Striving to look past the panic, the gloominess and fury that may or may not be present. But to remain composed and press forward to what awaits them.
Coffee keeps them going. Cup after cup, late night cramming every bit they can; into their caffeine driven psyches until the indisputable crash and failure.
Packs and packs of menthol cigarettes to calm their rattling nerves but at the same time killing them slowly. Their lives will seem shorter than the time it took to finish one bogey when death is near.
Marijuana induced ventures to run down burger shacks, laughing hysterical in the car ride, eyes heavy with a most ridiculous elastic grin extending from ear to ear. While inside millions of thoughts and realizations of consciously simple speculations and troubles become clear and unproblematic. So the joy is mirrored outside in.
LSD trips in Petruska dancing and singing in the rain! Making music, making love; playing pretend and creating art. Becoming a family while kicking back under the warmth of an illuminated tree on a cool fall night.
MDMA streaming through the body, everything is as it should be
Beautiful, lovely to touch, wondrous to stroke, marvelous to move.
To contact and connect, converse and converge with the dwelling desire to share what you feel with everyone for it would be selfish and unpleasant to keep it in.
Mushrooms oh the emotional overflow I need not say more but ****.
Then there are over the counter candies, Oxycontin, ******, Adderall and Xanax, painkillers and antidepressants. Ups, downs, side ways and backwards.
Selling addiction and dependency legally to kids. Making heroine, ******* and speed easily obtainable to them. Changing the names and giving out prescriptions so the parents can feel like they're actually helping their children but are subconsciously making it easier on themselves because they cannot handle the way their offsprings actually are. Some parents a feel it is the only way, I wish it wasn't so. Becoming zombies, mindless addicts before they even start to mature into puberty. I've seen it, firsthand front row.
Oh, the monotonous, mundane rituals and agendas of our lives. School, work, sleep eat, the sluggish schedules and repetitions of yesterday's conversations and redundancy of itineraries we had plotted months prior.
Same people, the constant faces of boredom that groan in apathy and hold the fear of complacency.
We talk about how hum drum out lives have become and what we could to put some color in our world but don’t.
We speak of how unfair the system is but ultimately confuse ourselves and everyone else due to lack or organization and dedication so nothing is changed.
We speak of breath taking women we want to share ****** fantasies with but can’t even muster enough courage to send a trivial friend request.
Texting away for hours trying to court those who now occupy our minds and possess our hearts hoping they may allow us to acquire their attention and affection. Calling them only to receive futile dial tones and know we are being evaded.
Weeping on and on for seemingly endless time frames of a dilapidated relationship that was so strained that a miniscule breeze could cause it to collapse but still clinging to every memory as if they were vital hieroglyphics depicting your very essence.
Brilliant theories blurted out in a drunken stupor.
Ingenious hypothesis shrouded in marijuana smoked out room.
Remembrance of friends long gone.
The marines, the navy.
The casualties of drug addiction.
The conquerors or their afflictions.
The scholars.
The insane locked away on the flight deck never to be seen again.
Teenage mothers unsure of themselves, abandoned by their families for they believe that they brought fictional shame upon the family’s name. The fate of the child is unclear but the mother’s everlasting love shines through any obscurities in its way.
Dear mother of the new born winter’s moon may the aura of life protect you and your baby.
The father gone without a trace.
He will never know his daughter.
And it will haunt him forever.
Parents bringing up their kids with values and morals, The Holy Bible, mantras and meditation, the Holy Quran, The Bhagavad Gita, and Upanishads. Islamic anecdotes and Jewish parables.
The names all different
The message the same
The stories unlike
Goals equivalent
Faith
Kabala, Scientology and Wicca
Amish and Mormons
All separate paths that intertwine and runoff each other then pool into the plateau of eternal life.
But do we have faith in our country, our government?
They do not have faith in us. Cameras on every street corner, FBI agents stalking social media, recordings of our personal lives and police brutality. 4th amendment where have you gone?
We say farewell to Oresko the last veteran of the last great war. And revisit the Arab spring, Al-Assad’s soldiers opening fire on innocent protesters, one hundred fifteen thousand lay dead. Bin laden dead, Hussein hanged, Gaddafi receiving every ounce of his comeuppance. War, terrorism, the fear of being attacked or is it an excuse to secure our nation's investments across the sea? Throwing trillions of dollars to keep the ****** machine cranking away, taxes, pensions, credit scores, insurance and annuities all cogs in the convoluted contraptions plight.
My dear friend contemplates this every night laying in bed, fetal position; the anxiety if having to be a part of this.
Falling apart on the inside but on the outside, an Adonis, *******, Casanova wanna be. Who worshiped the almighty dollar, gripping it so tightly until it made change, drank until he had his fill falling face first into the snow. The guy who lead on legions of clueless girls wearing their hearts on their sleeves not knowing he had a girlfriend the entire time. Arranging secret meetings in hidden gardens, streaking into the early morning. Driving to Ewing in his yellow Mustang to woo a sado masochistic girl. The chains and whips do nothing to him he is already numbed by the thrill. Then he comes home, lays in bed until one, with no job and having people pay for his meals.
He knows what he does and who he is wrong. He recites and regurgitates excuses endlessly. He cries because he knows he is weak, he knows he must fix himself. I sit on the edge of myself with my fingers crossed hoping maybe, maybe he will set himself straight.
My chum who can talk his way out of any confrontation and into a woman’s *******. Multitudes of amorous affairs in backrooms, backseats, front rows of movies theaters. Selfish, boastful and ignorant, yet woman fling themselves at him like catapulted boulders over a medieval battle field just to say hello. These girls blind to see what going on, for their eyes were taken by low self esteem. A need to be accepted, to feel wanted even only for fifteen minutes. Poor self image, daddy issues, anorexic razor blade slicing sirens screaming on about counted calories and social status. Their uncontrollable mental breakdowns and emotional collapse. Their uncles who ***** them, their parents who split up and confusing their definition of love and loyalty for the rest of their lives. Broken homes, domestic abuse and raised voices, sending jolts of fright into the young girl’s fragile minds. I send my sorrows to you ladies, to see such beautiful creatures suffer then be used and thrown away with the ****** that was just ****** deep into their *****.
Then I see women and men of marvelous stature, romantic in the streets holding everyone and everything in high regards. Finding beauty in anything and anyone. Enjoying every second as if the rapture was over head eating exotic foods from unheard of countries and cultures. Bouncing to the sound of whimsical , reverb ricochets and sense stimulating music. Huffing inspiration to create something out of thin air. Dancing to retired jazz and swing albums as if no time had past since their conception. Wearing bold colors and patterns, thrifty leather shoes or suede.
Dawning pre-owned blazers because why spend hundreds of dollars on new clothes just to look good but feel uncomfortable with a hole in your pocket. Dressing up but dressing down, so class yet urban I love it, chinos, pea coats and flannels so simple but chic.
At night they go to underground dens, sweaty bodies, loud music and freedom. Expressive manifestations glowing fueled with MDMA and other substances to further their enjoyment of the dark glorious occasion. Kandi kids sporting colorful bracelets, not watches for time is of no concern to them, they have all eternity they know that.
Going to book stores, coffee shops just to have some peace of mind and a moment of silence to themselves so that can weave the tapestry of imaginative innovation. Writing their own versions of the same story, endless doors of perception, reading news papers and taking it with a grain of salt. Watching the news on TV with a hand full of salt. Searching for the real story so they can know if the world they all live in is actually safe.
She who made her own way breaking hearts, rolling blunts and making deals. The flower child of the modern age, left the rainy days in search of radiant sunshine, idealistic. Reality was subjective, purple dyed hair, multicolored sweater with sandals on her feet. A ten inch bowl with bud from California packed in tightly. Coming from Dumont to Bergenfeild then on to Philly to Mount Vernon. Off to Astoria and the Heights. Now to Sweden laying in the grassy plains below the mountains. Good for you my friend whom I have loved, may fortunes of unsullied joy come to you and all you meet.
Since you’ve left I have encountered drunken burly firemen just trying to have a good time. Pounding down Pabst Blue Ribbon as if it were water; as if it were good tasting beer. But heroes none the less.
EMT's, young eighteen years old high school graduates, saving lives reviving people who are a mere inch close to death.
Sport stars getting scholarships thanks to their superior skills and strength.
Striking beauty school students who are into making the people of this world a little bit more beautiful on the outside.
All these people, successful, doing things. Departing to their desired destinations. I see inside them, they carry baggage, loneliness and insecurities. I can feel their guilt slowing them down. All have their loads but it’s the way they carry them that shows who they really are. And to me their all gems.
Not far in Paterson I watch the junkies limping across busy winding street, perusing a severely needed fix. “Diesel!” they shout beneath flickering streetlights, asking for spare change and if bold enough a ride to some shady sketchy place. I give them a dollar and politely decline. They’ll die without it. Vomiting up bile and blood, twitches and shivers are all you feel when it’s not in you. They cannot stop, they need help. Why not help them instead of “assisting” those who are homosexual? Cleansing so they can be granted entry to the kingdom of God. Looking down on people who have found love and understanding and a deep attraction to others who just so happen to share alike genitals.
Narrow minded uproars about the spread of AIDS, nonsense! The puritanical onslaught of those who want nothing more than the rest of us, love. "Gay", "****", "******", "queer", how about "kind", "funny", "genuine human being"? The right to be married and divorced should be an option for everyone to enjoy. The strains and hardships of matrimony are yours if you want them. If you don’t agree don’t hate or harm just allow them to be peacefully. Same goes for anything for that matter, Jehovah's going door to door, Mormons from Burbank. New ideas are never a bad thing, they’re not a waste of time. On average you have about eighty years to mull over your options.
Some people don’t live long enough to do so, cancer is rampant, blood diseases, ****** diseases, natural disasters coming right out of left field and blindsiding the innocent bystanders of both hemispheres. Some go through life handicapped, autism is apparent these days. Schizophrenia, Asperburgers, ADD and ADHD. Some lose their golden memories of their many valuable years walking down Alzheimer's Lane, not being able to remember whatever transpired only a few moments ago but revisiting gold nuggets from from fifty-some-odd years ago with ease. Some go through life delusional or bipolar. Some can't even sleep at night but they still carry on. And if assistance is needed it is our job as a race to help our brothers and sisters, no one deserves to be excluded from the gala of life. Or be denied by society and pumped with brightly colored pills from doctors promising a cure but prescribing a crutch.
Finding solace in sincerity.
The serendipity of it all hasn’t been uncovered and that keeps me going.
“Radiate boundless love towards the entire world above, below and across. Unhindered without ill will without enmity.” Oh Buddha the truth as it ever was.
Who is he who keeps these thoughts from the conscious minds of the population?
Who is it that distracts us from the humbling beauty and overwhelming devastation of this place of existence we’re in?
It’s they who do under the table parlor trick behind our backs.
Those who broadcast mind numbing so called reality TV shows without an underlying value or meaning.
Those who produce music, proclaiming extravagance to be the end all be all gluttonous goal we all should aim to achieve.
And those who turn noble causes into money making scams and defile pure ideas.
And of course those who give false promises of easily obtained  bright futures, those who don’t care, those who steal, ****, curse, bad mouth and lie. But still manage to get elected into positions that more or less decide out fates. Monsters, demons, banshees howling inconsequential worries and leaving us deaf to hear the real issues.
The
zebra Mar 2017
split the atom an we get fission
mass becomes energy
but can we split a second
enter the essence of the present
what would it mean to us
to be that mindful

ask your self doesn't your mind
only occupy past future
abjectly incapable of living in the present
in the true present there could not be even a ghost of a thought
theres no time to think

can we enter
an incalculable split second
and totally take in that instant
with a forgotten organic technology

is it the big bang in perpetuity
yet quiet as a mute
a raging ever expanding sea in a connected
but distinct dimension

if you entered it
would it not utterly erases all of history
the thinkers and doers along with it
the step beyond the alpha and omega
the great underlining reality

imagine the penetrated moment
an all consuming unimaginable
trans-mutational merge
omnipotent
yet forever imperceptible
to those among us
time locked
an irreducible limitation
like an ant in a closed paper bag
a fixated reflexive machine
wandering aimlessly
with an unknowable mission
and a relentless survival mechanism
with no chance of survival

time as a cosmic metabolism
its medium space
a vast cauldron
an infinite vessel containing endless points of light

everywhere
myriad phenomena
its terrain and the temporal creatures that inhabit it
both exquisite and hideous
an incalculable zoo
histories victors and victims
one and all vanquished
by the curse
consciousness of dis-juncture
a merciless countenance of limitation

yet could time be an illusion
rooted in a narrow awareness
bereft of an eternal
inexhaustible self effulgent now
the rapture
an eternal ******

if we could only penetrate into it
would it swallow us
and blot out the drama of creations theater

is the
now
conscious
illimitable
ecstatic
a perfect meta moment ?

we hear from sacred texts
like the Vedas... Bhagavad Gita.... and Kabbalah
that we may enter beyond the veil
passed time and its ravages
passed mind and its distortions

not to the heaven of religion
in its endless
closed system precepts
anthropomorphic metaphors
theistic gobbledygook
and
sophomoric social engineering
a kind of cliffs notes
god for dummies

we can enter
the eternal abode of the divine
a point between
the splitting of seconds
revealed through the simple act of mindful breathing
pierced by the effort of a focused mind
Know throughout as

Mohan the enchanter.

or even Gopala or Govinda

Jagganatha is known as



Shri Krishna appeared in Gokul

Many legends have been told

with skin as Jambul as a jamun

And flute music like the song of a bulbul



Legends and stories carry on

through rasleela, they are known

through Krishna Lila, they are showcased

but all throughout the king is born



His radiance appearance of

Jambul skin and a peacock feather

or even crown in Tribhanga and his flute

with sweets notes of love



As a warrior in the battle of Kurukshetra

Throughout the Mahabharata, he is known

here he shared with Arjuna

what is known as the Bhagavad Geeta



Hare Krishna Hare Krishna,

Krishna Krishna Hare Hare

Hare Rama Hare Rama

Rama Rama Hare Hare



With this, I offer my salutations to you

Oh Lord Krishna,

Please accept my humble

request to thee
jmm Sep 2017
In response to "To the football players who took a knee," by PluviopileSr:

In response to all of the people who have tried to silence our suffering:

So, you think we are disrespectful?

Jump into my skin.  Walk to school each morning, head held high and feet grounded into the concrete.  Continue walking as cars rush by, and pretend not to notice as some of them roll down their windows.  Be warned, they will hurl insults at you.  "N-ggers don't belong here."  "Get off our street."  They will hurl back-handed compliments.  "You so fine, mama, you gotta be mixed."  "Come in my car, baby, that *** belongs here."  Don't respond, but know that later these words will echo in your head, making you a foreigner in your own home. Get used to saying "no," without saying no at all.  And when you do refuse, don't be surprised when those people pull over and leap out of their cars.  They will follow you.  And you will have to determine whether to stay and fight or to run.
That is disrespect.

Get taken aside by a mall cop.  Have that cop ask your best friend if he stole the shoes that sat on his feet.  Watch them argue, attempt to step in and pacify them both, and listen as the cop spits at you,"N-ggers like you are always lying."  Your best friend will respond like lightning, but you will feel the entire world begin moving in slow-motion.  His fist will pull back, veins popping through his dark skin, and your first response will be to hold him back and push him away.  To avoid any chance of conflict.  Avoid any chance of danger.  He will try to fight, and you will not.

Elders teach us that if you act and dress professionally, keep your hands where the officer can see them, and don't speak back, then nothing bad will happen to us.  But take a moment to watch a video.  Watch Alton Sterling, whose name I still have trouble saying out loud, be shot as he lay on the ground.  Watch Delrawn Small simply approach a police car before he is shot.  Watch this happen over and over and over again from the intolerable comfort of your bedroom.  Your brother's blood is spilling on the concrete.  Your sister's feet are dangling from the floor, and you are doing nothing.  You are not allowed to do or say anything without being told that you are disrespectful. People police your tone in order to muffle your message.

No one who is protesting has said a word against the military, against the people who fought for us to be safe from other countries.  The two topics are completely different.  But we cannot forget that now is the time to protect all of our citizens.  Protect us from each other, from extrajudicial ******, from the system that has kept people of color from feeling heard in America.  The flag stands for a history of citizens who fought for their freedom, but we can't deny that it also holds the black blood which has been spilled and never given justice.  

The military and the ****** of black men in America are completely different topics.  Putting them together is irrational, and it is a way to divert from the meaning of kneeling during the National Anthem:

Our country is in a state of distress.  If no one will acknowledge that, we will fly our own flags half-mast.

There is not a God who can provide liberty and justice for all.  He does not change people's minds.  It is our job to live, live freely, and to make our own choices on how to treat the people around us.  Whether or not you follow the Bible, Torah, Quran, Bhagavad Gita, or anything else, we must acknowledge our differences and treat each other with love.  Your emotions and choices are your own.

So yes. I'll take a knee with Colin Kaepernick. I'll do that any day, if it means not standing with the system that makes life more difficult every day.  Because what is more important: being safe or being heard?
Salmabanu Hatim Jul 2018
We give expensive gifts to our children on
Birthdays,
Achievements,
Marriages,
Adulthood (21 years),
and on and on.
Have we ever given them?
The Quran-Islam
The Bible-Christians
The Bhagavad Gita-Hinduism
The Tohra-Judaism
Guru Granth Sahib-Sikhism
Kojik-Shinto,
Avesta-Zeroastranism.
In today's world of chaos our children need them.
If learning is important why not between the pages of the holy books.
Let's make our holy books as important as our mobiles.
We meditated on the beach a little after sunrise
dawn poured gold over the ancient pages of the
Bhagavad Gita

As David read from that sacred text
seagulls paused mid-air and sand pipers
stood transfixed
pearls spilled from his lips the
very ocean blue lips of Lord Krishna

“Realize that which pervades the universe and
is indestructible; no power can affect this unchanging,
imperishable reality”
“The body is mortal, but He who dwells in the body
is said to be immortal and immeasurable” ~ Bhagavad Gita

I too listened enrapt, eager to learn more
the Sea rushed anxiously towards us
lapping at our feet
its pounding surf resembling the mighty five horse drawn
Chariot of Sri Vasudevaya

Just then...
Krishna Janardhana blew His conch
rays of the morning sun ignite a brilliant halo
crowning His head

“This infinite joy of union with the Lord
is easily attained by those who are free from
the burden of self-will and established
within themselves.” ~Bhagavad Gita
I'm seeking to amass a Collection
of the World's spiritual, mythic and philosophical codices.
I want to collect them out of veneration
for those who came before who have tried to illuminate the Paths:

The following is my library of such books of yet.
Entries in bold are my recommendations;
entries italicized are strongly recommended.

-Old Works:

Egyptian Book of the Dead
Tibetan Book of the Dead
The Bhagavad Gita
Euclid's Elements

Tao te Ching (I have 3 translations)
I Ching (2 translations and a workbook)
The Qur'an
The Bible

-Newer Works:

Plato and a Platypus walk into a Bar: Philosophy explained through Jokes
Quadrivium: Number, Geometry, Music, & Cosmology
The Pulse of Wisdom - College Eastern Philosophy Book
Food of the Gods by Terence McKenna
The Elements of Reason - College Logic Book
1001 Perls of Buddhist Wisdom
Net of Being by Alex Grey
Art Psalms by Alex Grey
The Portable Nietzsche
The Red Book of Jung
The Portable Jung

The Subtle Body - Encyclopedia of chakras, auras and other personal energy systems.
Who are you? - 101 Ways of Seeing Yourself
--

I seek to compile this Collection
not to have a nice looking bookshelf;
nor do I seek to find which one is right.

I seek to learn from each of these
the lessons that are intrinsic in our Lives;
they're all matters of perspectives.

I want to compile the aspects of each philosophy with which I resonate
and integrate them into my own,
forging a dynamic and holistic individual philosophy.

All of these books are Mystical masterpieces.
All of these books provide insights to the nature of our Holy Reality.
All of these books ultimately attempt to express the same ineffability.
All of these books are interpreted then translated and interpreted again.
The way I see it,
I may as well do it for myself; draw my own conclusions:
Think for myself.
If anyone seeks further information
such as publishers or Authors not mentioned, please let me know.
If anyone has suggestions for additions to my collection, please let me know. :)

Quadrivium is simply and unequivocally badass.
Confronted by battle Arjuna disputes
But Krishna proposes more pious pursuits
Accepting one’s duty
With transient beauty
Concerned with right action but not with its fruits
Ranger Jun 2014
“We knew the world would not be the same. A few people laughed, a few people cried. Most people were silent. I remembered the line from the Hindu scripture, the Bhagavad-Gita; Vishnu is trying to persuade the Prince that he should do his duty, and to impress him, takes on his multi-armed form and says, 'Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.' I suppose we all thought that, one way or another.”

― J. Robert Oppenheimer

Father of the atomic bomb
I am destroying my world and I wish I could stop it.
Farnok Oct 2014
"The wise lament neither for the living, nor the dead"
Just a quote I read recently. I like the idea of it, to a certain extent, and thought I'd share it.
Lucius Furius Aug 2017
January 1, 1000

Year One-thousand, January One,
starts the new millennium.
The villein, Jacques, in Reims,
wakes to find his world unchanged.
His hut stinks; his flour's wormy.
He fears God's wrath, but trusts His mercy.
Walled in by his community,
set in Christian certainty;
by their fireplace, with his family, sitting,
he plans the plots he'll plant come spring
The stars above him do not move;
he knows God's power --and His love.

                                                          ­                                        
1118

Others loathe such conformity:
their minds and spirits must be free.
Tutor Pierre finds knowledge increase
in the arms of his pupil Héloise.
Risking life and reputation,
they learn a different conjugation.
(L'Université de Paris's great philosophe
and the canon's niece --in reckless love.)
You think the danger overstated?
Let me remind you that Abélard was castrated
--and the **** confined to a nunnery ...
whence she wrote most eloquently.
("Though I should think of God, I think of thee.")  


225

Dear Francis,
I hear that when you visited St. Peter's
you exchanged clothes with a beggar
and stood all day at the door of the church;
that you asked the people of Gubbio
to be kind to the wolf who was eating their sheep;
that you call birds your "sisters" and fire, your "brother";
that you would have us give all that we own to the poor....
--Perplexed in Perugia

Dear Perplexed,
I ask only that you see God's hand in all creation:
wolf, *****, flower, stone --
God gives to each His rain and His sun.
What man is in the eyes of the Lord,
that I am --and nothing more.


1517

Martin Luther says you can't buy salvation;
the individual conscience is the only true religion.
Of intermediaries, he'll have none;                              
Man is responsible to God alone.
The Bible, being God's holy Word,
must, by each Christian, be read and understood.
Humble toil is a service of God
far surpassing the holiness of monks.
God is terrible in his majesty;
by faith in God, are we made free.  


1611

[London; Shakespeare addresses assembled friends as he
retires to Stratford;... a mysterious stranger rebuts.]

"Despite it surely not being my intention
to slight the worth of imagination,
to doubt the value of our fictive craft,                                          
there can be no question:  in their import,
the actual deeds of actual men
must, perforce, surpass the disembodied pen.
This [pointing] is merely men upon a stage;
these, merely words I've placed on the page."

"Master Shakespeare, I beg to differ:
it is your words which will live forever.
When fiery Phoebus ten million times
has run his course 'round rotund Earth, men will
still be astonished at Lear's great woe,
still sigh with Juliet for her Romeo."


1711

They've placed Monsieur Voltaire in prison.
This will not postpone the Age of Reason.
Men will speak and write as they see fit,        
be governed by laws and the intellect.
        

1783

[General Washington, at Annapolis, Maryland]

"My friends, I'm honored deeply,
by the faith which you here show in me,
your confidence that these qualities
which served so well in war might now
to governance be applied successfully.    

"I, myself, have doubts:
I fear that battle's clear, cold steel will be dulled
in the gauzy murk of diplomacy.
And though I were suited to this high estate most perfectly
still I should shrink from it.
I think of Caesar,
returning, triumphant, from Gaul,
his heart full of zeal for the good of his people,                  
who achieved much, but whose lordly rule
gave way to others far less wise....

"There's a name for a man raised above men as a god:
it's 'king'. I'll have no kings!

"Thus, I surrender to you,
the duly-elected representatives of the States,
the outward and visible sign of my authority:
this sword. Let the world take note
that these united States, born under tyranny's yoke,
shall, in word and deed, henceforth
be governed democratically."


July 27, 1890

Vincent finds his world has narrowed,
(--what wonders he'd seen in la lumière d'Arles!--)
all the things for which he's sorrowed--
rejection by his cousin Kee,
reliance on his brother's charity,
failure of his "painters' community"--
come welling up....
He walks to the field from which he'd come.
In his pocket, the letter he'll never mail.
The wheatfield he'd so recently painted.
In his pocket, by his chest,...
the gun.


July 16, 1945

[Robert Oppenheimer, near Alamagordo, New Mexico]

    If the radiance of a thousand suns
    were to burst into the sky at once,
    that would mirror the Mighty One's splendor....
    I am become Death --World-destroyer.
    --The Bhagavad Gita

Everything was so much clearer
when it seemed the Germans might get the thing first....
Now it's all so terribly muddy....
Who knows what these generals'll do with it.
...The radiance of a thousand suns....                                                         ­                                                 

That 100-foot tower --completely gone!...
If we didn't do it, someone surely would....
I am become Death --destroyer of Worlds.  


January 1, 2000

Year Two-thousand, January One,
starts the new millennium.
The sales-clerk, Jacques, in Reims,
wakes to find his world unchanged.
He's got Internet access! Two cars!
He doesn't fear the universe....
The only group he's part of
is guys who drink at the local bar....
He goes to church, but doesn't believe.
His job, his marriage --nothing is certain....
Even the stars above him move.
He knows God's power --but not His love.
Hear Lucius/Jerry read the poem:  humanist-art.org/old-site/audio/SoF16.MP3 .
This poem is part of the Scraps of Faith collection of poems (https://humanist-art.org/scrapsoffaith.htm )
Michael Hoffman Aug 2012
You see what glitters
can’t keep your hands off it
feels so soft
tastes so good

By the time you’re in high school
it’s already too late
to get enough of it

but you try anyway
like a responsible adult
despite marital ennui
despite collapsing financial machines
despite leveled forests
despite legal hypocrisy

so reality conflicts
with your childhood dreams
and you go numb
despite the glitter
you’ve piled up
in your desperate garage

then as a senior citizen
you grow scared of ending
you pretend all the craving and striving
meant something

even though you never believed in God
never prayed or meditated
never read sacred literature

and insisted
who needs the Bhagavad Gita
when you have a portfolio
who needs the Maharishi
when you have CNN

eventually age wins
you ache
you get wider
you are too tired

you stop counting
what’s in the garage
doesn’t matter now

all you need is room
for one more thing
about the size of a camp stove

it all stops
when you carry the generator upstairs
close the windows
put towels under the door
and pull the starter cable

the literature says
“Quiet….. runs all night.”
which comforts you
like the glittery things of your youth
wyatt rabbit Jun 2014
In a town just up the mountain
straight out of an old John Wayne movie
where there's no parking lots
just places to tie up your horse
and the jail has one cell
and you'd expect to see Billy the Kid
breaking out of it any minute now
joshua trees
and tumble weeds
and all the bars have swinging doors
and there's a coffin leaning up against one of the walls
of the bar with the swinging doors
that's where you took me to your favorite place in the whole world
a restaurant
where a different band plays every night
with a different sound and a different look
from ones composed of old hippies and cowboys
playing their accordions and mandolins
singing old folk songs that everybody just knows
you don't know how you know
you just do
and then to the band of kids
straight out of suburbia
singing songs about ******* and heartache
with their hair slicked back
and their pants rolled up
and their moms are sitting right there
in a table right in front of the stage
eating burgers and salads and talking about the burgers and salads
then there's the girl from New York
she spells her name real weird and keeps her hair long and flowing
just like her dress
and she sings about empty motel rooms
and the Bhagavad Gita
and she tells stories in between songs
and there's writing all over the bathroom walls
little gems like
"what would Joan Jett do?"
or
"punks not dead, punks sleepin' drunk"
but mostly
just names of lovers in hearts
sometimes just initials like a secret code only they know
and the dates that they became lovers
there's paintings on all the doors
horses and hookers and cowboys under the stars
and all the walls around the stage
are covered in license plates
one from California from 1939
one shaped like a bear from Canada
one from Saskatchewan
wherever that is
and all the drinks
come in mason jars
and all the candles on the tables do too
and none of the chairs match
but that just makes them all unique
you're sitting in a one of a kind
but the whole place is really one of a kind
and that's why it's her favorite
she finds all these things to be just beautiful
not to mention the bartender keeps giving her free drinks
because it's her birthday and they take her word for it
and she's making friends with all the hippies
and she's dancing under the strings of lights
and we're kissing under the dark black sky
and I've never seen her so happy.


*s.mndi
George Krokos Nov 2023
.........and helped to shape your life.

I got this idea from another website a few years ago and thought it would be interesting to post here as well.

Name 10 books that have most inspired and helped to shape your life and if possible in a few words say why.

For me they have been:
1. Autobiography Of A Yogi (In fact all books by Paramahansa Yogananda)
2. New Testament (Including The Psalms and Proverbs)
3. The Bhagavad Gita
4. The Holy Science by Sri Swami Yukteswar - the guru of Yogananda
5. The Science Of Breath by Yogi Ramacharaka
6. Discourses by Meher Baba
7. God Speaks by Meher Baba
8. Play Of Consciousness by Swami Muktananda (also Siddha Meditation by the same author)
9. The Tao Of Physics by Fridjof Capra
10. Cosmic Consciousness by Richard M. Bucke

Not only did the above books inspire me but they also helped to shape my life by offering an alternative world view about a lot of things that we hardly ever hear about and namely that there is a real mystical path towards realization of the purpose and goal of one's life and the way to achieve that end. In effect I can literally say that they blew my mind and have formed a solid inspirational basis for some of the poetry and prose writings that I've posted on the internet over the last several years. There are however many other books which I have also read and studied over the years (by quite a few classical and mystical poets/writers) that come very close, but the 10 books that impressed and stand out most in my mind are those listed above.

What are the 10 books in your life?
______
Written back in 2015
Upon specific request a more detailed description will be given on any of the above titles. One may even find, needless to say, a description of each of the above titles on the internet.
You were my altar! About your ears I recited my prayers, my waking prayers in my soul by the contemplation of the beauty of your magnificent lips, the esoteric contours of your body and my spirit wanted to hear the songs that emerged from your mouth, delicate whispers aroused by my whispers in your ears.

You were my altar and I wanted to enter your temple, go beyond the veils that hid your mystical sensuality and behold thee naked, revealed before my eyes. My mouth wanted to reach the honey of your ******* and sweeten all my judgments.

You were my altar, and my lips constantly wanted the wine in your mouth, revealing in my mind the secrets of the Divine that dwells in you.

You were my altar and on you I recited my songs, my sutras and litanies written in the siddur of my soul.

You were my altar, my esoteric Garden, and your Lotus was my heavenly song, the Bhagavad-Gita of my heart. I was your Arjuna and you was my Krishna ... ".
Dipankara Vedas on the altar of the Sacred Feminine Femilinidade to Esotérika - The Poetry Of Awakening.
Julian Aug 2020
Eyelash blinkered in hubris Rubik’s knight
Elevation of pogrom ennobled by triaged triumph minus the cynic summation of all light
Littoral swank bronzed like starlet fantasia with a Carey mountaintop jeer
Reichstag extinguished blaring sirens of cacophony capers to benumbed Linkin Park cheer
Knells intrepid by quakes of remonstrance staged in histrionic applause
Southern Colonies shifting in Charleston surgical in orderly slugabed dogged laws
Slipshod through ribbacles of rengall zenkidu among the sertivine poison ivy
Grimace at gamboled rivulets of a moribund Vanilla Sky for departed wiseacres of savvy dicey ICE toxic Harvey Dent slimy
A mannequin Marx Ralph alienated the truest alien by pioneering disdain of a hostage giraffe summiting a Swiss Alp
Master of time 12th bradycardia for Generator design parked beneath escarpments of base aphasia milquetoast in killjoy Strickland nickels away from a gubbertushed mouth
LOST legend enunciating the furor of epochs of egalitarian traipse
Trapped by the bootlick of a wrinkle of Van Winkle revolutionary agape
Curved by soliliquy master of belletrist prose
The vogue can’t help but bunt, balk, denounce the remembrance of Lady Madonna pose
We beat the muckrakers of rummaged lisp of culinary suns that the sons of privilege are emoluments to apolaustic zeal first known to transmogrified nuns, before the poppies made the few into many and the notion of an insuperable line of infinity into a spherical nullification of the concept of none
Estrapade engorges the fustilug magnet of the kitsch Kenosha Chicago Demolition drive-by-derbies “once read”
That two kings one Titanic by skin-color dashed dreams the other both the coins of tails eloped with heady dreams of head
Sacrifice shadow dancing with pettifoggery in slumps of aboriginal dances of marsupial rice
Native to extortion gouged blind as Samson exacts lachrymose cremations of Pikes Peak trick-or-treat aghast with fright
Temples raised in 46 years cemented never in the Mumbo Jumbo politics of those lacking the oceanic schadenfreude among queers
That by their exclusion the panmixia of fluid alchemy is dauntless scrabble limited by NORAD notions of Tears for Fears
Henpecked rooster awakens the serfdom of Ronald’s (sly spy) Drugs sailing with dovetails of elapse downtrodden in modern clubs
Drunken *** addict sell-out charlatans berated  by Ingram Angles sent by maleficence are the grubhub of Harriet Tubman torching promising tapestries with rugged rugs
Slinging the bait of fish-hook dimples on freckled effigies of ****** humiliation outmantled by Mickey weight
I thunder a fulgurant explosion against recrimination of white-collar criminals that philander saturnalia in pretense with facetious swarpollock freight
Crooks of tyranny exhort the paranoiacs of indemnity to sunken canned soup applause of a Warhol extortion
Berating my audience with drooling slavers of inelegant tortoise byzantine like an Istanbul dredged with intortion
Mr Deeds is not a champion of BRE Properties nor the pinnacles of inertia, a psychiatric squeeze
My orange juice is not a car chase against treecheese in terminal punitive disease
Soaring with the prosperous tongue against the walloped nativism of pounced impounds having too much fun
I let the other guardians of the order of salvation pivot vitriol in loaded dice against Orangutans of Swedish minted gum
Caesar died for the seizure of Anglican pride of a namesake percolating millenia for Brutus in the Washington Bullets of a conquered Ottawa on strike carnal with Chauvinism in regional divide
Never has there been a more hollow trope than the agency of deep state defamation of a scurrilous backbite of gnashing pride
Lost to pollster tricks of acquiescence and caricatures of a menacing personage Swift on the Riff but never the snarling Menace of a Blondie Biff
I tower above the anthills of conformity of luxury in Jamaican Bob Sled Teams testing the curiosity of enlightened “What Ifs”
Canada Dry for striking people enthused by Rye abides in the memory of reform that skulks the skunks that make every Scudworth cry
Because a Dental Dam damsel living in streets of peril fascinated by distance is the contortion of entreaty in the pasquinade of attempts at American Pie
May the city of a figurative crucifixion burn with the irony of a thousand suns as Wendy’s burgers unload on prejudice with albatrosses of winsome puns
Fixed data interpolated by convenient lies of serial killers who aim for blue skies shanked in Oswald infamy for the imposture of any flashbang revenge against cinematic guns
I blacklist the Zemeckis villainy as a trudge of travesty
Hedged lies blinkered by Batman and Robin puns redeemed by Dinosaurs of Amnesty
Obviously belittled by futures etched by a more honest infinity
Because 88 keys are not a stroke because the infinite bees know the parlance of divinity
Invited lissome taxidermies of Capone against teetotalers of parvanimity of vainglory overthrown
Showers the honest hominist reckoning of a world where neither crudity of know-nothing radical polarization owns every inept baritone
Crusading a secular war because the gubbertushed eccedentesiast spinsters of Santa Cruz deserve a gassy overtone
Torch the SC Pacific Avenue for peace
Let the world unite behind a singularity with purpose in ventilation of Speedman’s release
That antithetical Jacks of many names are wed with the progeny of enduring lists of NSA protection rather than rentgourge Denver PD eager to chaos decimated by the decimals of a region forever boycott and impeached
To the decisive curling of the frolicked Abandoned Pool servitude crass disasters are the sheol of impudent flagrant overreach
Regnant on the turmoil of invented throne
I scowl at the chicanery of Capone’s Chicago sweltering with Kenosha infamy tossing contortionist strippers a vulcanized bone in a DIA Diamond that even 11,500 years of knowledge is surpassed in condemnation of screaming E.T. calling the right home
Speak Now because the reach of forever is God appeased not by a kowtow but a mobilized ambition for Why? When? And How?
History will remember gentility as the kind steward rather than a Disco Demolition Derby of urbacity venerating a seasonal Golden Cow
Hipsters flock with folly to South African extortion for freebooters who bootlick the aceldama of war against the sublime currency of a winner surrounded by thugs
TOO MANY URBAN KIDS ARE TAUGHT BY REDUCTIVE TAUTOLOGY TO HATE The United States of America RATHER THAN NURTURING SYNCRETISM IN PATRIOTIC HUGS
Imperfect in design with disagreement in plainest sight
Sometimes libertarianism with a Democratic twinge is clearly in the right that should believe in reform even when the footloose girouettism is too tight
Yet forestalled for authentic grit the grisly rentgourge of venal abysses knows the countermand against Rand with hyperboles of the clearest *******
The true flock congregates around scepters built not with militant graft but a promenade of sultry dance for the defiant C.L.I.T.
Exercise with the Rock knowing school buses of dogmatism inferior are distraught
Dying dogmatism is a peacock of industry the yeggs can easily unlock rather than truckle with truculent Scottish Rites tasty with Connery Scotch
Defenders of the misleading staircase because of the carapace of Hovering pertinacity easily won and bought
Neither scary nor deliberate streets are rumpus of elevations of unbounded anarchy considerate but robbed by the illiterate
That the delegated mansion will be robbed by the cooperation of the remorseful idiot recognizing his snide mendaciloquence in destructive Roswell Records limerick
Scowls are on petrol and patrol hoping Tesla is a short of bravado too intrepid to sanction free-for-all profligacy in alleys that bowl
To the Emerald Street lie of hypes of perdition rather than merely a seasonal token embarrassment coal
The fossilized future is the irrevocable past because more respect is needed than the ***** of a maskirovka caste
Diamond Lightning in Bhagavad Gita prancing with the delusion of the everlasting mummification of Brawndo ash
Dinner with Egyptsy malingers on tomes etched flippant in integrity and all about the curated snare of kitsch cash
The cache valley of LASER tag shattered like Joseph Smith flagellating the confederate hayday with articulate gnash
Fast & Furious the amused by Suburban subway know the trailblazer trashes of The Stupids’ being Einstein about Boogie Dubs rather rash
Streaking through a Tucker rule the Buccaneers live for the SoulSeek of a riddled ruler benighted of prerogative of Roger Goodell bumping in his Ferrari the tucked serenade of Tool
Wrong band because they linger in the shadow dancing backpages of scandals of Norweigan hourglasses of shameful hush hush Vikings mining furloughs of pulverized anticipation sand
Humbled retinue shelves the ossified limpid droll drool
As the haze of submarines scouting pridefall galls of indolence betraying innocence becomes moral cigarettes of Menthol Kool
Reparations for chappy chapstick games of bowery riches
The urbane needs to read, discern and maneuver against whiplash found in Navi witches
Swapping homes with crack addict legalese an *** to a bronzed party crackling with cackles Home Alone
Knows a toiletry of escape gullible like Seahawks wishing they could contain a fumbled season by Mahomes
Jones methamphetamine paranoiac manure desiccated by folksy homilies of brimstone cremation deserts his flock to abide by a flagging wayward temptress
Decimated by the agency of time his Austin crenellation flounders in grimace of the untimely swoon his covert empress
Blinded by the light of darkness in subversion
Excoriated for the deeds of his permission to demote commotion into only an acquiescent dance with barbed etch-a-sketch conclusion- a half-baked *******
Quacksalver poetaster wrinkled with hatred simpering paranoia strangled by Hendrix abeyance of turgid delusion
Lurid underground Princeton gilds infested with defected dementia in cozens in the fritty of heralded mistress SHE appointed
Sandlot ravens cloistered the bravado of thirst for chosen words scrappy in clawed henpecks the pointless illegal sanctioned to brusque witticism anointed
Lamps of pathway sparkle with coruscated stargazer Winslet dreamy swank illustrious by providence
Engrenage of delopes of pettifoggery identity staggers the woozy dismal day of disjointed wounds on Native sons Denver can’t damage in a lonely campaign for the prodigal bends of Overlook Lorraine Motel bent
Intrepid in gallantry I swoop the scrivello tusked with might
Penetrating the vivid dreams of the serenade of alpenglow daylight
That love might rule over chance and probability above the specter of dynasty prodigy progeny tithing gravity in rent
Yet this taper of majestic poise will outfox even the careless gambles of the prodigal son Mr Sender already traipsed conquered and went
The mountaintop is so clear from the cloister of authenticity drinking Eminence Front of the WHO rather than the coherence of the near
Because titans shepherd the good flock without insult and not quavering with insuperable time flackey with tremulous fear
I dare this day to outlast benighted ignorance of the narrow gate of a persecution tsunami on a Lisbon tear
Because galloping ahead of the internecine sheds the serpentine craft of 3:1 Genesis met with the worst fleeced fleer
Not auctioned off like ******* vogue to the disfavor of poor taste
I am the true Royal Flush that can always count on the aced basic but mostly acidic flourish of a jest in bass predicated on the basis for Mozart pH
Today could be the summit of acclimated prodigy in startled degrees temerity could never bet against
Because you better bet the Bros and Cos of civilization are skilled in ostentation of Sterling Pound defense
Never offensive to the liturgy of triumph beckoning an apocalypse now tentative memory on a Manifest Destiny frontier rarely on wickers of extinguished cattle ranchers knowing the gamut of acumen to defend a fortress with the best fencing James Bond could dispense
Now is either a cordial joke of a flagrant anarchy balking at destiny
Or the sunrise majesty of the twelve tribes and beyond defeating the stingy bees of infamy
Your choice doesn’t defeat my voice
But your action heralds my loyalty with a triumphant Victoria of an age not for agelast geeks intimidated but living clairvoyance with fidelity to the right choice for the right time to swim in elegant rejoice
(1977 Words)
Oh God Please

help us
no more war!
stave the 
gushing blood of our wounds

bile, hatred, fear, greed, revenge




Swords drawn, guns cocked

We line up on the side of 
Light or Darkness





Beloved, how can I ask for the end of war
when there is a dark battle raging in my own heart?




The Bhagavad Gita says the real war is within

seething in our hearts and minds
We must first slay the enemies inside ourselves




Yes! This abysmal war has gone on long enough

we've wrestled with countless angels and demons
over the course of many lives, many battlefields


Every pink and golden glorious sunrise
Mercy dawns
a chance to embrace the moment
with all our heart and soul


We breathe in
innocence
a new day
fresh beginning
I looked to the western sky at sundown
I saw it as the Canvas of God.

I stared into the deep infinity of the night sky
I imagined every star a pin ***** in the black horizon
offering tiny glimpses of the Light on the other side.

I came to realize
heaven is to be found
in the moments after sleep consumes the intellect
just before dreams tease the spirit.

I feared inner peace and sought distraction
to the point where distraction took the place of inner peace
and I was content with it.

I sought to deny myself
thoughts,
beliefs,
experiences…
I had sacrificed them
to a code that prohibited them.

I tried to do the right thing
when most of the time I hadn't a clue
what the right thing was.

Awake now
I celebrate diversity
and seek to tear down the walls of intolerance.

I closed my eyes and thought
"This is all there will ever be".
Thus I taught myself to love darkness.

I opened my eyes and thought
"This is all there will ever be".
Thus I taught myself to love light.

A guru led me into a place within myself
neither light nor darkness
he told me "This is all there will ever be".
Thus he taught me that if I wished to find it again
I must empty myself 
surrender to the Supersoul.

It was then that I realized I knew nothing.

I read the Bible.
I read the Bhagavad-Gita.
I read the Koran.
I read a lot of other stuff, too.
It all made sense and I thought to myself,
"God has always been my favorite author"

Then I wanted to be a philosopher.
Then I wanted to be a priest.
Then I wanted to be a hero.
Then I wanted to be a famous rock star.
Then I wanted to be a mentor.
Then I wanted to be a scholar.
Then I wanted to be a Marine.
Then I wanted to be a champion.
I wanted to be a lot of things.
Too many things.

One morning I saw a storm brewing in the eastern sky
and I gave God a high five.

I willingly lost myself in the dreams of others
then felt used and manipulated
when the credits began to roll.

Science nurtured my intellect.
Thoughts nurtured my mind.
Imagination nurtured my spirit.
Dreams nurtured my soul,
satisfied with poet's nonsense,
content with someone else's song.
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2021
(churn .0
charged
q1.O - a 502 bypass)


following yesterday's ****** of an internet experience,
someone who staged being appreciative of my work
began to divulge his own innermost secrets,
two failed marriages, Vietnam...
ambitions for changing society....
childhood misery... so i replied... i tried to make
it out as empathetically as i could on some points...
and as sympathetically as i could on others...
empathy? childhood misery...
being uprooted from my homeland...
forced into learning a new language at the age of
eight with no prior knowledge:
thank god i was equipped with some flare
for the universal language of mathematics...
come to think of it, mathematics saved me...
no some crazy-*** algebra... although give me
a quadratic equation and i'll all teeth in...
so i disclosed my own "stuff"...
i'm only 35... this guy must be nearing his 70s...
he turns around and blasts at me:
only i can tell you my miseries!
you can't tell me yours! thank god he only blocked
me rather than report me...
i've archived the exchange...
once i was "instructed" that one should start reading
philosophy when one becomes older...
what's the use of that?!
when someone nearing 70 does the leftist manoeuvre
of having no discussion?!
he can stage his little tirade and block
while i'm left scratching my head...
so when do i get a chance to reply?
a 70 year old man... i was expecting more...
i'm glad of the two of us: someone matches
their age... tired old ***...
he can do his little snippet of grotesque
******* all he wants... i hate internet drama:
i avoid it at all costs: i'm yet to record a video
of myself or push out some audio:
i think i won't bother... it might attract the wrong
sort of crowd: the sort of crowd that think
reading is boring / a chore...
is this a variation of gate-keeping?
no... it's just a filtering process for the readership...
it was supposed to be this great escape come
Friday night...
well... the true escape only came today...
i finished studying up on my NVQ preliminaries...
almost finished the English section,
one section left... i'll do that tomorrow...
fill in the first module for the NVQ...
today i sat down to the mathematics section...
GCSE statistics, mode, median... mean... range...
but i swear to God, not at GCSE level did we
ever touch upon the: estimating the mean
of a frequency group...

e.g. the sequence already rearranged
to find the median:
   11, 15, 17, 20, 20, 28, 32, 39, 46
to find the interval?
   range: 46 - 11 = 35 ÷ 3 = 12 ergo...

groups   freq.   mid-point    f x m-p
11-22        5           16.5             82.5
23-34        2           28.5             57
35-46        2           40.5             81

Σ(freq) = 9
Σ(fxm-p) = 220.5
      estimated mean of a freq. group is therefore:
25...

i don't remember doing this sort of statistics
at GCSE level, it has taken an NVQ qualification
to look at this...

mind you, my mathematics was a bit rusty...
but i'd rather spend a Saturday evening doing this
than... said above example...
dealing with people i don't want in my life...
who know perfectly well that they're not
compatible with it: too boot...

- **** me... it was such a joy learning about
compound interest too...
FV = P(1 + I)ᵀ

i.e. / e.g.

X invests £3,500, the interest is at 3.5% p.a.
for 6 years, the future value of investment
is therefore:

FV = 3500 (1 + 0.035)⁶
      = £4690.33

the interest?
   I = FV - P
   £4690.33 - £3500 = £1190.33...

i also forgot about the rules of BIDMAS...
brackets first, integers, i.e. 2⁶...
then the division / multiplication
(left to right)... then at the end... the addition /
subtraction...

e.g. 15 ÷ 3 + 3² + (10 + 6³) - (2³ - 2²)
  exactly... even i thought i knew...
it's so welcoming to refresh the simplest of maths,
esp. when you've been hiding in an ivory
tower of writing...
                       5 + 9 + 226 - 4 = 236...

as someone in my mid-30s... i can truly attest:
there's no point seeking wisdom among
one's elders... they're just tired old gits...
perhaps not all, perhaps some Socrates might arise
once more, but they're just like the rest of us,
if not worse...

they behave in the same incredulous ways
as might be expected of any other generation,
esp. the Millennials: yeah, thanks for down-beating "us":
here's this, for not giving us enough slack...
like these "elders" were the ones who fought
in either of the two great wars...
***** please... all they know are proxy wars
and "collateral damage"...
the next time i'll be looking up to an elder
gentleman, he better not mind me drinking a beer
& smoking a cigarette while sitting on
a bench with me... chances are...
he might disappear for a while & come back
with a vintage Rayleigh bicycle!
so we'll talk about Rayleigh bicycles...
bicycles in general... how his son works long hours,
how his grandson has trouble speaking...
thereby i'd comfort him: wait a while...
he'll come through with his speech...
the rest of them can follow suite with the rest
of the generations...

if i could have only posted a rebuttal...
one way traffic system of conversation?
mein gott: i would have never guessed!

such a splendid Saturday night:
no need to go clubbing, pick up low-self-esteem girls...
well... nothing usual there...
i sort of missed out on the whole hook-up
culture... i spent most of the time in a brothel...
once every half a decade:
when a cat irritated me by insinuating she
was ready to be: geared-up when she was
being groomed... i had to fight the whole
******* foundation... scratch a few bricks
with my fingertips before i finally lay my hands
on a naked body of a woman...
that it happens so rarely: i'm all the more thankful for it!
too much... is numbing...
too little, quiet the opposite... prolonging...
invirogating... ****... invigorating...

oh but the fun really began when working out
the schematics of a die (a pair of dice)...
i never knew that the opposite faces added up
to 7... 6 & 1, 3 & 4, 5 & 2...
optical mathematics... just like me riding a bicycle
minding traffic: unconscious spatial coordination,
but in this version: more concentrated...
                 3

1                            5
       2                             6

                  4

that's a cube, by the way... i have left out
the lines of enclosure...

or the following schematic, reg. 3D objects...
within the confines of algebra, standardised by X
to denote space & count...

plan, front, side... in this instance, variations of front?

       X                      X                    X
X X X               X X X             X    X
X X X X            X X X            X X X X

lego blocks... Danish bricks... something or other...

for my meagre efforts, for everything that doesn't
associate itself with the genius of algebra,
or conjuring up... a E = MC²...
after all... even if i did...
there would be an Oppenheimer with his
reflection from the Bhagavad Gita...

well **** me, at least it's a welcome break from
"solving" a sudoku...
eh... it's almost like looking for a median...
it's as "complicated" as linguine doesn't
represent spaghetti... savvy?

what a Saturday night! but i was rewarded,
for my meagre efforts...
storm Arwen brought... accents of snow...
oh those ballerinas, pirouetting...
how i missed them, not enough of them
for the sleeping corpus to even mention them,
not enough snow for snowmen,
for snowballs... not enough for any proof of snow:
you must have been awake from midnight of
the 27th of November through to the 3am of
28th of November to notice these ballerinas...

you must have also acknowledged:
the night sky is more beautiful since the return advent
of the moon, i don't blame him for ******* off
to the southern hemisphere: looking for winter months...
i welcome his return...
finally the night sky makes sense:
since his return...
all the future worlds of unexplored constellations...
the nights have become... eye-piercing gladness bound,
chained even!

finally the cold is here, what i'm most comfortable in,
to reflect the skin i imbue...
winter is the most alive season for me...
almost anyone can share
the taste for summer... esp. at the "riddle"
of the equator...
oh the northern splendours,
how i adore this cold... if i could i could spend each
night in the forest sieving through
the last, fallen, autumnal leaves...
for scouting for a height of scent invested it...
sweetness of decay, come winter...
freshened by the absence of insects...

also, recently... i've been talking to this girl...
i'm 35... she's 50...
rarely can i compliment a woman for...
finding new music i might like...
it happened once...
i was 21 she was 18... she introduced me to...
in extremo & Дельфин...
i tried introducing her to GONG...
& King Crimson...
                             well... "**** happens"...
but this girl, introduced me to...
HALOCRAFT... Greek instrumental band...
i never felt so... kissed by a warming of a tide...
i think i introduced her to something of my own...
she probably heard of the bands already,
girl for now, woman already...
beside that: a dream to be had...
i can't remember when a woman would influence my
listening diet... music used to be such a private affair...
how would i break away from listening to too much medieval
music...
i sort of suggested... your suggestion
is almost synonymous with hammock's: kenotic...
no, not boards of canada... or 65 days of static...
that's too post-rock...
or even:
godspeed you! black emperor: F# A# ∞...

i guess my "consolation" comes without regrets...
i can't look up to my elders,
i don't have any contemporaries...
the best bit of advice i ever learned
was from Alexander Dumas:
they best advice anyone can give anyone is...
to not give any advice to begin with...
i practice this rigorously...

i can't look up to older people like prior generations
might have...
lechery riddle old ****-wits...
time moves with me...
there's nothing to look up to!
two failed marriages... this that & the other...
i'm glad to have not failed in marriage...
it didn't take me two ******* takes
to realise my failures...
i learned it the first time prior to engaging
in a single one!

perhaps that's why the old sod blocked me...
he failed twice,
i am: highly unlikely to fail just once...
maybe he was afraid of... himself...
mostly people fear others... not because
they can see themselves in others...
rather: they are finally able to see
themselves: in themselves...

                  don't you think?
whatever you might be "thinking"...
i might thinking of "thinking"... to begin with,
this sorry-***-tale of 8 winds
& a sqaured number of sorrows...

            i can't remember the first time, the last time,
when a woman's recommendation of her music
taste appealed to me: appeased me...
such a rare event... it must be celebrated!

storm Arwen came, i can't cycle around my vicinity,
no matter... she brought with her
an accent of snow...
winter is here: the night sky is reclaimed by
both moon & constellations...

alles gut: reicht
dies alle gut: ist genug...      
    
       dies ende:
                               anschließend somit weit!
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2019
what became of real-time language:
an over-baggaged monstrosity
of nuance -

                    and of course:
all those beautiful handwriting
examples -
   lost to the digit of
an A whereby, once upon a time...
there would be some idiosyncracy
attached...

graphology, was it?

              - but yes, over-burdened
by nuance:
how - you almost have
to explain the joke,
to see a low-hanging fruit
of a punchline...

the camel broke on the nuance,
it buckled before it
even arrived at the eye
of the needle...
                   and...
the rich man squeezed past
a penny...

only today, after remaining
for over 24 hours,
i started thinking
of the schizophrenic quadratic
equation,
genesis: subject-object
dichotomy...
rather than the mind-body
duality of Descartes...

        and i tried to invite
myself to be entertained:
you know...
   the more i found myself
being, ahem, "offended"...
the more i found my heart
to increase the threshold
capacity for the variety
of feeling...

     a-pathy...
             less...
             without a pathology
and more...
         pathology-in-itself...
yes, i know the letter
with the hyphen a-
   implies "without"...
   but there never really is
an a-pathy...
            so? pathology-per-se...
i can't even begin to
understand why feelings
are so alienating
to some people of cold
logical concerns...
           sure:
   if someone has to succumb
to... mouthing-off...
            when feelings
cannot feed of the succor
of the grand silence...

my heart my anchor -
even if my mind, my ship -
        is sinking into
the yawning gnash of the waves
of existence before me...

only today, a film about
r. d. laing from 2017...
me?
         less about l.s.d.
and more:
    a tongue riddled (rather than
plagued) by metaphors...
   or...
          trans-***?
  hey, hello...
     how about you meet
the meta-mind?

         but such a complete disregard
for feelings?
what other feelings?
the grand oratory feelings
of being: "one of the tribe"?
the logistics of the +
    in 1 and 1 equals 2?

           i too once had
the faculty of treating my thinking
as a labyrinth basis for
a fraction of, reality's narrative...
but i lost that, capacity...
now all my thinking is
a spiral,
    devoid of an ethic that
would require something more
than:
               and what would
a hypothetical autism of
solipsism (man) think of all this?

bouts of the hermit stuppor...
conversations with one's
own shadow...
  and... trying to topple what
has survived from:
ensuring the word: philosophy
is excused the peddlestool
of pretentious cloaking
and staging for a theatre of...
'not another decade of
unanswered questions!'

    in handwriting,
on a napkin...
    'if i were sane enough,
i'd be entertained by the
speculative reality of, physics...
because what is physics,
once the determinate act of
the bhagavad gita
has been cited...
      of no god but of man
the argument: regarding
"who" is to play the dice...

it's almost "wrong" to claim
the sanity of people
who are entertained by
a speculative reality of physics...
unless you've read enough
or became engrossed in
enough science fiction...
that... that isn't speculative
reality... is it?

       so i'm mad...
               and more attune to
something called...
   engrossed reality (of philosophy)...
but again...
    that is such a pretentious word...
a charlatan's word,
a sophist's word...
                but i am haunted
by questions... no one can answer me...
for every step physics takes
forward,
       ethics takes two steps back,
and metaphysics takes
three steps back...

- and yes, a rigid vocabulary
helps...
   to make the "words in between"
fluid...
               gaseous ego,
gaseous god,
                       suckling parasite
at the end of the umbilical cord
the grand nihil...

primarily:
    you can spend 7 hours in bed,
listening to a radio station
from Kielce, radio FAMA...
    toiling in sweat and in
a spiral where once was a labyrinth...
with an empty heart...
and... get up to find
a dwadzieścia groszy
             coin in your bed...
      if i only found a radio station
as good as this...
i wouldn't have bothered
collecting all these *******
hoarded bricks of either
compact disk or vinyl...
       alas...
             irony...
      you only find a decent
radio station...
                    once you started
to not bother buying your own
d.j. coffin...

     what was that quadratic
about, though?  
   to internalize 'weeling and not
externalize "thinking"...
         i don't know...
              numb heart shield
of 1 + 1 = 2...
             reality instructor of:
swam, and didn't drown...

come the inner-circle joke...
       yet what is more... "interesting"...
the feelings of the individual,
when they do not morph
into the feelings of... mimic...
        surely...
             it is good to be in possession
of an agitated heart,
  prone to... throbbing of feeling
which are not coinciding with
feeling...
   whereby said feelings...
need to be... internalized...
eaten raw on the count
  of the throbbing count...
muddling the mind...
but not to the point where
the muddled mind is allowed
to translate itself into
a tongue that... primarily wants...
a telepathic-congregation
of: the zoo of zombies let loose
on the suspect...

        i say:
forget eating the bread and
drinking the blood...
i say:
   eat your own heart first...
         and... enjoy the silence.
Lawrence Hall Apr 29
Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                 Hey! Hey! **! **! Mindless Chants Have Got to Go!

One seeks in vain for a “Hey! Hey! **! **!”
In the Bible, the Torah, the Bhagavad Gita
In Tolkien, Lewis, Frankl, or Yevtushenko
In any declaration of the rights of man

The Greek philosophers never barked “Hey! Hey! **! **!”
Phillis Wheatley would have rebuked that vulgarity
Lincoln yapped no such drivel at Gettysburg
Elizabeth Bishop argued with wit and grace

“Hey! Hey! **! **!” is boorish and ineffectual
And would never be spoken by a true intellectual
Qualyxian Quest May 2020
The Bhagavad Gita
The Song of the Lord

To do my duty
I am implored

Real religion
Needs to be restored

Hittin' town
In a ***** old Ford

Sacred sound
Sacred cord

Adam and Eve
Both of them bored

Down and out
But back we roared!

— The End —