Form is emptiness
Emptiness is form

1. Sunyata (Emptiness) is the profound meaning of the Mahayana Teaching.

Two thousand five hundred years ago, the Buddha was able to realise "emptiness" (s. sunyata). By doing so he freed himself from unsatisfactoriness (s. dukkha). From the standpoint of enlightenment, sunyata is the reality of all worldly existences (s. dharma). It is the realisation of Bodhi — Prajna. From the standpoint of liberation, sunyata is the skilful means that disentangle oneself from defilement and unsatisfactoriness. The realisation of sunyata leads one to no attachment and clinging. It is the skilful means towards enlightenment and also the fruit of enlightenment.

There are two ways for us to understand this concept of sunyata in the Mahayana context. One way is to try to understand the explanation about its true nature. The other way is the realisation through practice. What we are going to discuss now is about its true nature.

Mahayana teachings have always considered that the understanding of sunyata is an attainment which is extremely difficult and extraordinarily profound.

For example, in the Prajna Sutra it says "That which is profound, has sunyata and non-attachment as its significance. No form nor deeds, no rising nor falling, are its implications."

Again in the Dvadasanikaya Sastra (composed by Nagarjuna, translated to Chinese by Kumarajiva A.D. 408) it says: "The greatest wisdom is the so-called sunyata."

This sunyata, no creation, calmness and extinction (s. nirvana) is of a profound significance in the Mahayana teachings. Why do we see it as the most profound teaching? This is because there is no worldly knowledge, be it general studies, science or philosophy, that can lead to the attainment of the state of sunyata. The only path to its realisation is via the supreme wisdom of an impassionate and discriminating mind. It is beyond the common worldly understanding.

2. The Significance of Sunyata and Cessation

The Buddha always used the terms void, no rising and falling, calmness and extinction to explain the profound meaning of sunyata and cessation. The teachings of the Buddha that were described in words are generally common to worldly understandings. If one interprets the teachings superficially from the words and languages used, one will only gain worldly knowledge and not the deeper implication of the teachings. The teachings of the Buddha have their supra-mundane contexts that are beyond the worldly knowledge.

For example, sunyata and the state of nirvana where there is no rising nor falling, are interpreted by most people as a state of non-existence and gloom. They fail to realise that quite the opposite, sunyata is of substantial and positive significance.

The sutras often use the word "great void" to explain the significance of sunyata. In general, we understand the "great void" as something that contains absolutely nothing. However, from a Buddhist perspective, the nature of the "great void" implies something which does not obstruct other things, in which all matters perform their own functions. Materials are form, which by their nature, imply obstruction. The special characteristic of the "great void" is non-obstruction. The "great void" therefore, does not serve as an obstacle to them. Since the "great void" exhibits no obstructive tendencies, it serves as the foundation for matter to function. In other words, if there was no "great void" nor characteristic of non-obstruction, it would be impossible for the material world to exist and function.

The "great void" is not separated from the material world. The latter depends on the former. We can state that the profound significance of sunyata and the nature of sunyata in Buddhism highlights the "great void’s" non-obstructive nature.

Sunyata does not imply the "great void". Instead, it is the foundation of all phenomena (form and mind). It is the true nature of all phenomena, and it is the basic principle of all existence. In other words, if the universe’s existence was not empty nor impermanent, then all resulting phenomena could not have arisen due to the co-existence of various causes and there would be no rising nor falling. The nature of sunyata is of positive significance!

Calmness and extinction are the opposite of rising and falling. They are another way to express that there is no rising and falling. Rising and falling are the common characteristics of worldly existence. All phenomena are always in the cycle of rising and falling. However, most people concentrate on living (rising). They think that the universe and life are the reality of a continuous existence.

Buddhism on the other hand, promotes the value of a continuous cessation (falling). This cessation does not imply that it ceases to exist altogether. Instead, it is just a state in the continuous process of phenomena. In this material world, or what we may call this "state of existence", everything eventually ceases to exist. Cessation is definitely the home of all existences. Since cessation is the calm state of existence and the eventual refuge of all phenomena, it is also the foundation for all activities and functions.

The Amitabha Buddha who was, and is, revered and praised by Buddhists around the world, radiates indefinite light and life from this "state of cessation". This state is a continuous process of calmness. It will be the eventual refuge for us all. If we think carefully about the definitions of calmness and extinction, then we can deduce that they are the true natural end-points of rising and falling. The true nature of the cycle of rising and falling is calmness and extinction. Because of this nature, all chaos and conflicts in the state of rising and falling will eventually cease. This is attainable by the realisation of prajna.

3. Contemplating the Implications of Sunyata and Stillness (Nirvana) by Observing Worldly Phenomena

All existences exhibit void-nature and nirvana-nature. These natures are the reality of all existence. To realise the truth, we have to contemplate and observe our worldly existence. We cannot realise the former without observing the latter. Consider this Heart Sutra extract, "Only when Avalokitesvara Bodhisattva practised the deep course of wisdom of Prajna Paramita did he come to realise that the five skandhas (aggregates, and material and mental objects) were void."

Profound wisdom leads us to the realisation that all existences are of void-nature. The sutras demonstrate that the profound principle can be understood by contemplating and observing the five skandhas. We cannot realise the truth by seeking something beyond the material and mental world. The Buddha, using his perfect wisdom, observed worldly existence from various implications and aspects, and came to understand all existences.

In summary, there are three paths to this observation:

a) We should observe the preceding state and the current state of conditions. i.e., Observation according to the concept of time.

b) We should observe existences according to their interrelationships. i.e., Observation via the concept of space (either two or three-dimensions).

c) We should observe the true nature of all myriad beings. This is like observing the worldly existences of a point, a line and an area. Those with supreme wisdom understand the true nature of all worldly existences by observing vertically the relationships between the preceding and current conditions, and horizontally the interrelationships. Then we can understand the true meaning of void-nature and nirvana-nature.

3.1 By observing the preceding-stage and the current-stage conditions, we can verify the Law of Impermanence of all worldly existences. All existences, be they material or mental, be they the material world, or the physical or mental states of sentient beings, are subject to continuous change.

The world may have certain states of beings where they stay static or are in equilibrium on a temporary basis (for example hibernation). But when we observe them with supreme wisdom, we will find that not only do they keep changing on a yearly basis, but also that this change applies to even every briefest moment. After the current state of conditions have ceased to exist, the newly-formed state materialises. This is the state of rising and falling. The rising and falling of each small moment reveals that all existences are ever-moving and ever-changing.

Conventional scholars have a very good explanation of these ever-changing worldly conditions. However they, including the practitioners of dharma, try to make sense of the reality from the ever-changing worldly existences. That is, they are fooled by the material existences and are not able to understand the deeper truth of all existences.

Only those with the supreme wisdom of the Buddha and Mahabodhisattvas realise and understand that all existences are illusions. They understand that existences are not real from the observation of the flow of changing existences. The numerous illusionary existences may well be diverse and confusing, arising and decaying. But when we look into their true nature, we will find them void and of nirvana-nature.

On the other hand, since all existences are of nirvana-nature, they appear from the perspective of time, to be ever-changing. They never stay the same even for the briefest moment. Impermanence implies existences do not have a permanent entity. This is another implication of the nature of sunyata and stillness.

3.2 From observations of existence via inter-relationships, we can conclude that nothing is independent of the Law of Causation, and that everything is without ego. For example, the Buddha explains that the individual sentient being is composed of physical, physiological and psychological phenomena. The so called ego is a deluded illusion which does not exist in reality. Its existence depends on the combination of both physical and mental factors. It is a union of organic phenomena. Thus we call it the empirical ego. It is a mistake to cling to it as an infatuated ego.

The Indian concept of the supreme spirit implies someone who rules. The spirit is the ruler who is independent of is self-dependent and all causes. In other words, the spirit is the one who is free from all primary and secondary causes (for physical and mental aspects). The spirit is the one who has the soul of his own body and mind. This is the ego or supreme spirit that the theologists cling to. From their view point, the only way to avoid physical and mental decay is to be self-determined and self-sovereign. In this way, the supreme being can stay permanent in the cycle of reincarnation, and return to the absolute reality by liberating himself from life and death.

But from the profound contemplation and wisdom of the Buddha and Mahabodhisattvas, we know there is no such reality. Instead, egolessness (non-self) is the only path to understand the reality of the deluded life. All existences are subject to the Law of Causes and Conditions. These include the smallest particles, the relationship between the particles, the planets, and the relationship between them, up to and including the whole universe! From the smallest particles to the biggest matter, there exists no absolute independent identity.

Egolessness (non-self) implies the void characteristics of all existence. Egolessness (non-self) signifies the non-existence of permanent identity for self and existence (Dharma). Sunyata stresses the voidness characteristic of self and existence (Dharma). Sunyata and egolessness possess similar attributes. As we have discussed before, we can observe the profound significance of sunyata from the perspective of inter-dependent relationships. Considering dharma-nature and the condition of nirvana, all existences are immaterial and of a void-nature. Then we see each existence as independent of each other. But then we cannot find any material that does exist independent of everything else. So egolessness also implies void-nature!

3.3 From the observation of all existences, we can infer the theory of nirvana and the complete cessation of all phenomena. From the viewpoint of phenomena, all existences are so different from each other, that they may contradict each other. They are so chaotic. In reality, their existence is illusionary and arises from conditional causation. They seem to exist on one hand, and yet do not exist on the other. They seem to be united, but yet they are so different to one another. They seem to exist and yet they do cease! Ultimately everything will return to harmony and complete calmness. This is the nature of all existence. It is the final resting place for all. If we can understand this reality and remove our illusions, we can find this state of harmony and complete calmness.

All our contradictions, impediments and confusion will be converted to equanimity. Free from illusion, complete calmness will be the result of attaining nirvana. The Buddha emphasised the significance of this attainment and encouraged the direct and profound contemplation on void-nature. He said, "Since there is no absolute self-nature thus every existence exhibits void-nature. Because it is void, there is no rising nor falling. Since there is no rising nor falling, thus everything was originally in complete calmness. Its self-nature is nirvana."

From the viewpoint of time and space, we can surmise that all existences are impermanent, all existences have no permanent self, and nirvana is the result of the cessation of all existences - the Three Universal Characteristics. But there are not three different truths. Instead, they are the characteristics of the only absolute truth and the ultimate reality. This is the explanation of Dharma-nature and the condition of nirvana. The three characteristics are the one characteristic, and vice versa!

We may cultivate our meditation, contemplating the impersonality of all existences. This will lead us to enlightenment via the path of voidness. Contemplating nirvana and complete calmness leads to enlightenment by the path of immaterial form. Contemplating the impermanence of all existences, leads us to enlightenment by the path of inactivity (no desire).

The Three Universal Characteristics are the other implications of Dharma-nature and nirvana. The paths to enlightenment are also the same cause of absolute reality. All of them return to the Dharma-nature and the condition of nirvana. In short, the teachings of the Buddha start from the observation and contemplation of all worldly phenomena. They are like thousands of streams of water competing with each other, and flowing from the top of the mountains to the bottom. Eventually, all of them return to the ocean of voidness and nirvana.

4. Sunyata and Cessation is the Truth (Nature) of All Existences.

All existences that are recognised by worldly understanding, whether materially, spiritually or intellectually, have always been misunderstood by us. We cling to them as real, physically existing and permanent. Actually, they are only unreal names.

The more precise meaning of the term "unreal name" is "assumption" or "hypothesis". It is an empirical name. It is formed by the combination of various causes and effects. (These include the effects of mental consciousness.) It does not exist by itself. Everything exists relatively. Thus, what is the ultimate truth? If we investigate existence further, we realise that all existences are empty. This is the fundamental characteristic and reality of all existence. It is ultimate and absolute. But we should not think that empty means nothing. It implies the disentanglement from the worldly misunderstanding of the existence of self, identity, and the realisation of the absolute.

In the Sutras and Abhidharma, the worldly understandings are sometimes referred to as all phenomena (Dharma). Sunyata is referred to as "Dharma-nature", and hence there is a distinction between "phenomena" and "Dhamma-nature". However, this is only an expedient explanation that helps us to realise the truth of sunyata through the phenomena of all existences.

We should not think that "existence" and "nature"; or the "phenomena of Dharma" and "Dharma-nature" are something contradictory. They are just concepts needed to understand the implication of sunyata.

We may analyse the exp

           Your past, your romantic past, is a shadow. Like all towns, Port Angeles was a combination of rain and clouds, sun and mist, with a chamber of commerce, barrooms and boards of directors, the known and unknown. No one of course is completely unknown. I was known for my tragic love life. She had found another man, a backwoods man, living on the land but not above a night on the town, who according to her would wipe snot on his pants, a statement of poverty or thrift or anger against the niceties of society. All of us heated our hovels with wood but only the rich burned hardwoods, me and probably this guy were softwood gatherers.

            There were few aspects to my life. First, I can remember a nook in the kitchen of the house I shared with a beautiful faceless woman who wore a ring in her nose where I wrote and watched flocks of unidentified birds comb a tree for seeds. This particular day the sky was blue with clean pillowy cumulus clouds floating toward Puget Sound. I believe all the poems written in that nook have been forgotten by their author.

            Nights, for entertainment, I would wander the aisles of the supermarket, admiring everything and buying nothing. I had no money. The fluorescent lighting, clean straight neat shelving and floors, warmth and the fact I could identify nobody attracted me. I lived on cream cheese and honey sandwiches eating them leaning against the kitchen sink. Thinking go back to New York City which is what I ultimately did. Drove cross country nonstop three days and three nights seeing and feeling nothing.

           I populated P.A. during the Reagan recession inherited from Carter. I'm unclear how presidents affect your life but good or bad, democrat or whig, alive or dead you've got to get a job, which I did. I supervised the living arrangements of developmentally disabled adults in what I thought were humorous contexts that gave no offense. They were beautiful and incorrigible having regular *** without protection. Normally harmless they'd sometimes have altercations with their neighbors. I balanced the checkbooks, paid the bills. Supposedly teaching living skills, I had few of my own as evidenced by my sleeping on the floor, I had no bed. One mature woman colleague judged me a short-timer living a useless fantasy about big cities. Still lost in my own history, still didn't know the calculus.

            I had a dog, Shade, black lab, leftover from my near-marriage until she realized I had no economic prospects, no interest in further *** or her logger boyfriend, and a complete inability to translate or imagine nesting and gestation. My homework comes to me in daily disconnected increments. Shade lived in my gray van, a Dodge slant six, which I could never afford to fix. Once the driveshaft disconnected from the rear axle and I tied it on with rope. Drove 60 miles on a knot. Shade was hyper and sad, both. He smelled bad but was a good dog with a lonely heart. When my wife who wasn't a wife finally found a boyfriend who wouldn't wipe snot on his pant leg they took Shade to British Columbia where I believe he runs free on a vast estate by the sea. I once beat Shade like a slave because he attacked a small dog out of frustration and loneliness and until I had kids and started saying and doing things just as bad to humans it was the lowest meanest moment of my life. The farmer who saw it will never forget or forgive it.

            Having confessed all this there's just one last fact to tell. The mountains were cold, the waters clear, deep snow and shadows.

"The question should not be in what ways writing and utterance trope each other, but how both are involved with number. Without relating the technology of writing to number (as opposed to sound or drawing), it is impossible to discuss it meaningfully as an aspect of versecraft."

          Courage to write and courage to not write. Read
          The great poets and highly accomplished letters
          Of leaders. Yet the war and the book have lives
          Of their own. Vacuum house, analyze mankind.
          His idea of himself. Ideas subsumed by
          Better ones unite people in melting pots.
          I watch from my little bowl of nuts. Watch
          The one red squirrel and the many gray.
          Watch the nuthatch pair, platoon of chickadees.
          Here is what I say: When we can go
          From planet to planet on nothing but air,
          Leaving behind a drop of water,
          No burger bags blowin’ in the sun,
          I’ll love my sons, and my dogs will be happy.

"What is needed is a way to pry apart the polar, mimetic fiction that undergirds discussions (even sympathetic ones) of writing and versification, and see how we can relate writing to measure. Roy Harris’ investigations into the origin of writing make this connection possible."

          Electronic millennium. A long silence
          Wouldn’t hurt. Not that the national debate
          Should cease, it should proceed, passionate
          And furious. Those who have studied the matter
          And have something to say should write cogent
          Opinion pieces on the totalitarian
          Tendencies of minaret Islamists,
          The terminal contradiction of advancing
          Democracy with the unitary military.
          George Washington would not have approved
          And even Lincoln vacillated between
          The practicalities of preserving union
          And the ideal of freeing slaves. The president
          Carries his burden of matter, the physics
          Of existence cannot change our aloneness
          Or the butterfly’s importance, the very
          Last insects at the screens of August.
          It is life we face and death we meet.

"He argues that the origin of writing did not lie in the drawing of figures, or attempts to imitate speech, but in the recording of number. According to Harris, the oldest ‘writing’ that we have, like that on the 11, 000-year-old Ishango bone, is in ‘lines.’ The surface is scored with rows of short, parallel strokes, which probably served a numerical function. We still use such scoring systems today on occasion."

          OK, different strokes. But reading North’s poems
          And his predecessors’ in which noun and verb
          Are so far separated by modifiers,
          Post-positioned prepositions, diversions
          Into ditches, gardens, heavens, I don’t know
          What to do laugh or put the book down and eat
          Several cookies. In other words, anything goes,
          There truth resides. 1/3 life in suburbs,
          1/3 on the subway, and the last third
          On the mountain. A fourth hallucinating
          In heaven. That’s how it goes. You get what you believe.
          Bones in mud. It’s always possible I suppose
          That for nine months analogous or symmetrical
          With gestation our souls wander call it limbo,
          Doing the limbo and harassing the living
          With unanswerable questions, finally accepting
          Free molecular rent in a cubic meter
          Of interstellar space, a rose hip.
         
"Harris speculates about counting by scoring:"
'What is relevant for our present purposes is the fact that counting is associated in many cultures with primitive forms of recording which have a graphically isomorphic basis... The iconic origin of such recording systems is hardly open to doubt: the notch or stroke corresponds to the human finger...'

          Partridgeberry, mugwort, mats of raspberry,
          Cranberry, bearberry, autumn eleagnus,
          Autumn Nocturne, Autumn Leaves, the changes
          To the tunes and the scientific names.
          When it doesn’t matter what you do
          You’re probably doing something new.
          That’s a woodpecker. That’s a moth. I’m bounded
          By my surroundings, I feel at home.
          Could be Schenectady. Could be Troy.
          One of many small cities in which to
          Await my anonymity. Be specific.
          Not asphalt but impermeable surface.
          Not trees but mature stems. Quercus rubrus—
          Quality veneer. Into such a garden
          Have a victor and a fool penetrated.

'In short, the rows of strokes are graphically isomorphic with just that subpart of the recorder’s oral language which comprises the corresponding words used for counting. It makes no difference whether we ‘read’ the sign pictorially as standing for so many fingers held up, or scriptorially as standing for a certain numeral.'

          In a crowded world every action results
          In an equal and overwrought reaction.
          Yet, all the energy recycles
          And there is not one thermal unit more or less
          When all is said and won. Even when the tribes
          Were isolated behind mountain ranges
          And rushing rivers, they sought each other out
          For trading and for taking. Humanity
          Is lonely. Humor is the only remedy
          And going to your daily discipline
          The only way past Monday. Join the torrential
          Flow of words, emotion, wit and erudition.
          It is embarrassing to see a good writer
          Work himself into a lather, having
          Something to say. A system of beliefs
          To illustrate, characters dressed accordingly.
          Gardens and wilderness in which to wander.
          A cave with a view. The plumbing problem never
          Resolves. But we will do what we can and
          Some things we shouldn't because that is human.

"Along with other evidence, this leads him to argue that the invention of writing–or the division of writing and drawing into separate functions–occurred when the graphic representation of number shifted from the token-iterative system that appears on the Ishango bone, to type-slotting."

          Electricity is occult enough for me.
          Excessive classifying could be fascist!
          Yet how else can one organize people
          Into contexts. By their associations.
          Family, work, habits, each assigned
          A day of the week, moon of the month.
          Poets rhyme, jazz musicians count time.
          There is more than one way to make war. By
          Declaration, by punishing offenses
          Against the law of nations, by granting letters
          Of mark and reprisal, by making rules
          Concerning captures on land and water, by
          Suppressing insurrections and repelling invasions,
          Erecting forts, magazines, arsenals,
          Dock yards and other needful buildings. Today
          I face the blank page between the finished pages.

"Harris gives the following example of what he means:"
'The progression from recording sixty sheep by means of one ‘sheep’ sign followed by sixty strokes to recording the same information by means of one ‘sheep’ sign followed by a second sign indicating ‘sixty’ is a progression which has already crossed the boundary between pictorial and scriptorial signs.'

          When my grandmother considered it favorable
          That I would be a writer, she had in mind
          Clear commentary from which many people
          Would derive meaning. No such luck. My writings
          Are like the flicking tail of that flycatcher,
          And I am the flycatcher, weighing but an ounce.
          My grandfather’s rough-hewn peasant chairs
          Are well known by my sons though they never knew him
          And the chairs were not hewn, just owned by him.
          One is in a corner of the room and two
          Are scrimmaged around a computer screen.
          Computers post-date him and cars post-date
          His father and so on. If the grid collapses,
          The crops fail and the roads close, some will be forced
          Across boundaries among boulders, naming snakes
          And stars according to memory.
          They will be hungry, mortal and strong.

'A token-iterative sign-system is in effect equivalent to a verbal sublanguage which is restricted to messages of the form ‘sheep, sheep, sheep, sheep...’, or ‘sheep, another, another, another...’, whereas an emblem-slotting system is equivalent to a sublanguage which can handle messages of the form ‘sheep, sixty’.Token-iterative lists are, in principle, lists as long as the number of individual items recorded. With a slot list, on the other hand, we get no information simply by counting the number of marks it contains.'
"When this change occurred it opened ‘a gap between the pictorial and scriptorial function of the emblematic sign’, which had been previously inseparable in the counting represented by rows of slashes."

          No book I know tells if blue cohosh
          Caulophyllum thalictroides—a barberry—
          Is edible. Other barberries are
          But that blue berry looks risky to me.
          And May-apple—Podophyllum—other
          Than the fruit itself which is definitely
          Sweet. So I read, not sure of myself.
          There is a patience with which to wait out anger,
          And a patience with which to endure ignorance.
          The job is everything. It is freedom
          And purpose and religion. It is acceptance
          And shelter and sustenance. Last night
          We were watching Tweet’s show: groveling before
          The rich pharisee’s judgements. I said no
          Amount of money could make me grovel
          Before that guy. His toupe’s gayer than his lisp.
          But who am I? You think bullets won’t ****?
          I’m the guy they put before a wall and shoot
          Then eat lunch. But that feeling passed quickly.

"This semiological gap, made writing possible because it meant that signs could be manipulated to ‘slot’, or identify, anything whatsoever. The open-ended quality of the scriptorial sign was a necessary precondition for the development of writing systems."

          Lately I’ve been copying wholesale
          From the great poems, lines and ideas not my own
          Or owned by all? It’s ok, I can be ignored
          Or appreciated in a future city,
          By a future shore. The honest man can
          Only recognize what he loves and point to it.
          That Borges poem called In Praise of Darkness.
          Emerson and snow. A meditation
          That bumps serenely, with acceptance,
          Between things and thoughts. It is said one should
          Know for whom, to whom one is writing.
          These are letters to those who love letter writing.

"As Harris points out, no writing system is accurately phonetic. Even the alphabet only highlights certain phenomena in the speech stream. The reason for this is that alphabetic writing did not begin as a simpler or more accurate way to record speech than other writing systems, but as an easier way to write."

          A possible cancer had taken me
          To the edge of my endurance. Pokeweed,
          Poisonous, became attractive. Red stems
          And juicy black berries. I had packed warm clothes
          And pain killers. Why the warm clothes if this
          Was to be my last walk? To die in comfort
          Without a fly’s buzz. Overlooking a ravine,
          Sea of mountains, dawn. But it proved a false alarm.
          Now Sunday will be a holy day of plant
          Identification. Nothing better
          Than lying in leaf litter, skin drying
          To a taut drum. Ravens stay away!
          Until cougar’s had his fill! Instead
          I showed the boys pokeweed growing among blackberries
          And taught them the differences and uses.

"Through a radical reduction in the number of signs, the alphabet simplified the scriptorial system in and of itself. The evolution of writing therefore may look like this: simple forms of counting preceded the complications of pictorial representation, which in turn led to simplification of the writing system in cultures that adopted the alphabet."

          I was running uphill, parallel to
          The Taconics extending northward into
          Vermont (I find Vermonters in their jalopies
          Annoying but admire them for planning
          To arrest the president for war crimes) when
          I happened upon a flock of cedar waxwings—
          Said to be a gentle and politic bird—
          Sharing—very orderly—dried frozen grapes
          On the vine. (Rose hips, buckthorn, ash, pokeweed.)
          I tried one, too, the two seeds in my mouth
          Keeping me company down the mountain.
          I see no downside whatsoever
          To compensating for global warming,
          Constructing the green energy economy.
          New inventions may facilitate
          Our transportation to other planets.
          Yesterday a young man, Barack Obama,
          Won Iowa. I’m hopeful he will
          Articulate an international vision,
          A world order in which each neighborhood’s
          Good as another. I have no particular
          Love for writers; they’re a dime a dozen.
          But so are chickadees and I love them!

"Discussing the power of inscriptions of number, Harris points out:"
'Counting is in its very essence magical, if any human practice at all is. For numbers are things no one has ever seen or heard or touched. Yet somehow they exist, and their existence can be confirmed in quite everyday terms by all kinds of humdrum procedures which allow mere mortals to agree beyond any shadow of a doubt as to ‘how many’ eggs there are in a basket or ‘how many’ loaves of bread on the table.'

          True, nature would be a stern, unforgiving
          Mistress too, and man is but her right hand
          Acting on her command. How cold! How hot!
          The individual doing what he loves or not.
          Trees and cities. Herons, hawks. What we fail
          To govern in ourselves, nature will.
          We caught the killer and his gorillas,
          Now let’s go home, let the “innocent” choose
          Up sides. A good thing was done but the tyrant
          Should’ve been undone through global governance.
          Writing is divination using rhymes
          And estimations. Words like mammals
          Come near your sleeping head. Last night I emerged
          From the hum of our refrigerator
          Under a hazy, phaseless moon. The peepers
          Were an exact expression of my happiness.

"Or, one might add, for how many stanzas there are in a poem, or lines in a stanza, or stresses, feet, or syllables in a line, or occurrences of particular syntactical or grammatical patterns, and so on. As every serious student of versification has always understood, versification is about counting language."

          5:30-6 write poetry,
          6-7 ****, shave and shower, stretch
          Then get dressed, 7-7:30
          Clean house, 7:30-8 drive to work
          8-6 work (except Monday and Friday
          Work 8-4, basketball 4-6)
          6-7 drive home, shop, help make dinner
          7-8 eat dinner, read paper,
          Watch McNeil-Lehrer News Hour,
          8-9 play trumpet, study plants, type poems
          9-10 watch TV Mon: Murphy, Cybil,
          Tues: Frazier, Grace, Wed: Roseanne, Ellen,
          Thurs: Seinfeld, Friends, Fri: go out to dinner,
          10-11 read, except Tues watch
          NYPD Blue, Fri: Friday Night Lights,
          11 sleep. I could send this to the networks,
          Get a gizmo in my box. I hope my
          Schedule won't be interrupted for war.
          My dentist asked had I seen this morning’s
          Press conference, didn’t it just scare the ****
          Out of you. I said your bill is what scares
          The **** out of me. But here I am, writing
          And the sphere’s still turning. Or should I say
          Burning. As long as you write one poem per day
          You’ve left a little litter in the world.

"The reason to write verse is less to score the voice than to imbue words with the magical quality of counting. That is why meter, or measure, is at the heart of debates over all verse forms, including free verse."

          Vigorous wind, voracious ocean,
          Many merciless hard frosts, hurricanes.
          The bed of a human, its smell and warmth
          36 teeth, 46 chromosomes, 2 feet, a loose dime,
          61 summers, some soot, some sand,
          Thunderstorms. I wake up to a lightning strike
          And my dream incinerates. When they say
          Life is but a dream, that’s what they mean.
          The writer working hard, telling the story
          Of what happened yesterday or yesteryear,
          A man’s born to a country not his choosing,
          Let labor flow like capital, of mere being!
          Pomegranate juice, broccoli, arugula,
          Brussel sprouts, cabbage, cauliflower,
          Collard greens, kale, radishes, turnips,
          Garlic, leeks, scallions, onions, 2 lbs
          Swordfish, tomatoes (8 medium),
          3 cups almonds, carrots, a sweet potato,
          Winter squash, cantaloupe, mangoes, watermelon.
          2 daily writing exercises,
          50 words on any subject: complaint, headache.
          The imagination applies a
          Countervailing pressure to reality.
          Writing badly is the best revenge.

"Number is one of the creative grounds of poetry, and the idea that writing grew out of counting is the missing link in studies of the graphic in versification. It is almost uncanny that lines of verse look exactly like the most primitive ways of counting–parallel scorings that can be numbered."

          What you do to one side of the equation
          You gotta do to the other. Isolate
          The variable. Combine like terms. Metaphors
          And analogs are reduced to least common
          Denominators. Multiply through (parentheses).
          Write a new equation after each operation.
          Inscribe neatly. Check your work. Imagine
          That if you’re wrong, the astronauts burn.
          Change the signs which will avoid going
          The wrong way down the number line. Zero
          Is the middle of your universe.
          There it is, calm, comfortable as an egg
          On a spoon. That is, before possibilities
          Become probabilities. This is just
          Another equation manipulated
          With opposable digits. For at the ends
          Of your guns is the earliest calculator
          A magical machine which converts
          Numbers to words and words to numbers,
          Measures the mists, frequency and wavelength,
          Of the material penumbra.

"Verses are countable in exactly the way that token-iterative digits are countable, from either end of the sequence. Each one indicates only its singularity, not a number. Every poem in lines effaces, or predates, the distinction between writing and drawing in the same way as the lines on the Ishango bone."

liminality;
barely there
ask if it matters
care if you dare
believe in impossibility

mind framing liminal spaces
places of liminal mind-frames
filaments between contexts
capturing subtleties as moths

liminally reaching inwards
map of a shady threshold
twilight netherworld border
between now & everywhen
cusp of crisp discovery
intangible as of late
  
liminal during daylight;
stars, fireflies, lanterns
night itself being liminal
colors need brightness
shadow for textures  

whispering worlds
peripheral vision
vibes and feltsense
inner underworlds
embracing hell
reversing it

The worst thing about abuse
is not so much the guilt
of feeling you're to blame
that you should never
have been so attractive
so irresistible, so seductive
though in all other contexts
you felt anything but,
were filled with doubt
and lacked self confidence

No, the worst thing of all
is the way that when
it's repeated enough times
you get used to it, inured
then in time there's a part
of you comes to welcome
that expected familiarity
need it even, participate,
share the other's pleasure

But the rest of you
rails against this
taking of your autonomy
this removal of consent
and that part wages war
upon the part that
gives it's acquiescence
and you are fractured
hating your complicity
despise that you made it
in any part your fault

Yet to have healing
requires you recognise
the part of you
that went along
was no more to blame
than the part that didn't
it was just a coping strategy
you needed to survive
after all what else
could you have done?

Cynthia Pauline Jones, 18/10/13

Bordering the ear of Dyonisius, in the latomia stone cuts of paradise, they stopped at Syracuse. A certain flash of limestone reflected Wonthelimar's court; Marielle Quentinnais, wandering before him on calypso calcareous stones. Her superior powers made her eclipse her from an underground world, to mount towards carbonated stones that made egregious tilts to revive her in her arms. The end of a century became part of her heart with the premiere of the female species that led her to the Shemesh of Syracuse. The excessive temper strengthened it in everything, making it a revived stone from the Miocene with the Avignon characters, colluding through the Rhone until hitting this neat gold stone brought from the arms of Ezpaktul, transplanted with precision and gold typologies, with great Malleable morphologies that carried him across the surface where Wonthelimar was looking at her, his heart almost pounding when he saw her! the waters spoke of hydric morphologies that conferred of her on waters and springs that were inferiorized in disheartened lower levels when he lost her in the forests of Valdaine. Her brackish tears did not stop imputing a micro space with distinguished Psilocybin mushrooms, for an Ambrosia Mercurial compote that Wonthelimar chewed and that had been immolated from the remnants of Eleusis, helping to revive it from the lost space die of the Mausoleum of the Quentinnais. The mantles froze the cold and warm air masses in Syracuse, carried several meters above sea level, with eager extra surpasses by coexisting in the cave blocks, where she would rest with Vernarth in her arms. For the subjugation of the journey that would make him perhaps mortal, retreating towards a three-dimensionality that would raise him above the Pleiades, as Aurion would do behind with his club, but rather leaving behind the cavities that would put his quantum at the mercy of the tiny rosaries that she did, while he was getting ready to approach on the surfaces of the hypogeal speleothemes, like the Profitis of the Mediterranean who spoke to him of music, and of flood episodes with his spectrum in front of her, losing her in a melancholic fervor, being plunged into the hypogeum of Chauvet. The level of her vicious intrigues led him to follow her like an unattainable cousin, but with backwaters that compelled him to think of her master Vernarth, linked to micro images that warned him when he tried to get too close. The floating instants weighed more than a slight depth through accumulations of his retro memory, making him flee from her, and now she was fleeing from him, with large sprays of dew that filtered into her arid aquifer memory, superior to the kart that is established by correspondence when someone supposedly disappears, because their free will is entombed with their stone specter. Due to regimes suffered, there was only one monarch that rose in icy and polar vadose conditions, towards an earthly level where the feet melt the calcaneus as if it were a weak relative ascent towards a couple of beings who loved each other imprecise, and contexts when vivifying their hiding place. in the caverns of Chauvet. He can hardly recall it a shallow light, almost falling without mass towards the front of the stalactites, creating concretions of solid love under the deepest prodigality.

Wonthelimar, had had a vision on the vadose threshold when he came out to the surface with Vlad and Vernarth, being able to realize that the cloying environment made him subordinate himself in the altimetry of his maniacal impossible love, putting at risk the mission of overcoming the fluctuations of his visions, placing precepts in the sighting courses in Syracuse that had him dazzled, and very close to the entrance pit of the Ear of Dionisius. The puffs of caliginous air mass climbed before the beastly decibel of Vlad's chiropterans, falling through the marshes that were found from freshwater by several estuaries, and with decimeters when they tried to adjust their addiction. Solvents in the glaciers looked immutable when they were taken by underwater stimuli and models, still remaining after an extraordinary performance of vague probity, reviewing the details of actualism on the interfaces that led them, causing the water to flee from their bodies and inclinations. Only a few deposits favored the band mechanism to protect Vernarth's burning, which crystallized in excesses of the Sun, precisely when the fluctuations seemed bulky, by coordinating the foreign fattening in its arms, with which it would open the floodgates before entering the Grotto of Dyonisius, with greater rigors of concretion and emotion that flourished towards a maximum extension, which progressively gave rise to the devotional areas that received them at adjoining angles of forty-five degrees from its main arch, where frequencies stood out and the light with the mass of the Sun, distributed in small stars, which leaving campaniles that adhere to the normal area of distribution of the frequencies of the cave, on bands that reflected moved bodies on the mirror of rain that was shown on themselves, such as once striated towards a more tempting rib of the Coralloidal Speleothems. In Catania, they settled in the polis of Artemis's prosapia, on sieges where he led Marielle to past vigils with the Archons of Athens, not being able to subject her to arbitrary vexation.

Marielle was screened behind the Erithrina Coralloides of the Speleothemes, when this deciduous tree changed the color of its foliage in emerald colors, its spines served to deposit the Vernarth clone on its leaflets. After the libation of the alkaloid by Wothelimar, helping him to materialize the elusive effigy of her Marielle, making insertions in her disintegrated seeds allowing him to remove from her back some elytra, like those of Daedalus when she fled to Sicily escaping from King Minos. A snowy thread emanated from the similar ether that was picking through the noses of Wonthelmar and Vlad Strigoi, making it necessary to put wings on both of them to go to the cave of Dyonisius, toning the resins and aldehyde they carried to keep the Vernarth clone alive. Both rose over Marielle who was left with the custody of the clone, as well as their backs released red resins as consumed fuel, which was circularly reconsumed to rise up and enter the cave, resisting the arid aridities of the toxic fuel that was expelled on the Edens of Sicily.

Reflected, an iris      of colored contexts      that once had reception without spectacles.       I signed voluntarily the letters to a name      that I sincerely wanted to keep.       I tried to limit the lines      that divided the print      of a written statement of deliverance;      a sealed inner sanctum      that has remained defunct      while displaced of force      all along devout of a substance,       my words strived to be read      ingrained on paper      placed in constants      among summations of variables       clearly he scribed drafts      maintaining a patterned      complex of metaphors      only to contradict       the expressions layered,      confusing this thinker      so that the reader      may interpret a plausible       audibility for thought       looking beyond spectrums      of what is to be foreseen

‘Abá Cloak or mantle; a rough, coarse shirt.[1][2]
Ábádih
‘Abbás AR: عباس lion
‘Abdu’l-Bahá AR: عباس افندی Servant of Glory Title of ‘Abbás Effendi, the eldest son and successor of Bahá'u'lláh, meaning Servant of Bahá (Glory), i.e., Servant of Bahá'u'lláh. He preferred this title over others because it emphasized His servitude to Bahá'u'lláh.
‘Abdu’l-Hamid AR:  عبد الحميد servant of the All-Laudable
‘Abdu’l-Husayn AR:  عبد الحسين servant of Husayn
‘Abdu’lláh AR: عبد الله servant of God
Abhá AR: أبهى Most Glorious, All-Glorious A superlative form of the word Bahá’, "glory", or "glorious"; a form of the Greatest Name of God.
Abhá Beauty AR: جمال ابها A title of Bahá'u'lláh. See also Blessed Beauty.
Abhá Kingdom Most Glorious Kingdom The next stage of existence, or "the next world", i.e. the world of the afterlife.
Abjad system A numerological system, i.e. a system assigning a numerical value to letters, which creates a new layer of meaning in Scripture. For instance, the value of the word Bahá’ in the Abjad system is nine, lending that number a special significance.
Abu’l-Faḍl AR:  ابوالفضل father of virtue
‘Adasíyyih A village near the Jordan River where some early Baha'is lived, working as farmers at ‘Abdu’l-Bahá's request.
Adhan AR: أَذَان announcement[3] Also Azán. Muslim call to prayer.[2]
Ádhirbáyján FA: آذربایجان Also Azerbaijan. A region in northwestern Iran.[4]
Afnán AR: ﺍﻓﻨﺎﻥ twigs The maternal relatives of the Báb; used as a surname by their descendants.
Aghsán AR: ﺍﻏﺼﺎﻥ branches The male descendants of Bahá'u'lláh; has particular implications not only for the disposition of endowments but also for the succession of authority following the passing of Bahá’u’lláh and of his son ‘Abdu’l-Bahá.
A.H. After Hijirah. Date of Muḥammad’s migration from Mecca to Medina, and basis of Islamic chronology.[2]
‘Ahd
Aḥmad AR: أحمد to thank, to praise An Arabic given name from the same root as the name Muhammad.
Aḥsá’í AR: أحسائي from Ahsáʼ An Arabic demonym referring to a native of the Ahsáʼ region in eastern Saudi Arabia.
Ahváz FA: اهواز the Khuzi people A region in southwestern Iran.
‘Akká AR: عكّا A penal colony of the Ottoman Empire (now part of northern Israel) to which Bahá'u'lláh was banished by Sultan 'Abdu'l-'Aziz.
Akbar AR: اكبر great Great, or greater. See Alláh-u-Akbar, Ghusn-i-Akbar.[2]
‘Alá’ AR: علاء loftiness The nineteenth month of the Bahá’í calendar; the month of fasting.
Alí
Alláh-u-Abhá AR: الله أبهى God is Most Glorious A form of the Greatest Name of God. Commonly used as a greeting by Bahá'ís. Repeating Alláh-u-Abhá 95 times a day is a law binding on all Bahá'ís, as written by Bahá'u'lláh in the Kitáb-i-Aqdas.
Alláh-u-Akbar AR: ٱللَّٰهُ أَكْبَرُ God is Most Great
Alváh
Alváḥ-i-Saláṭín
Amatu'l-Bahá AR: امةالبهاء Maidservant of Glory Title of Rúhíyyih Khanum, the wife of Shoghi Effendi, meaning Maidservant of Bahá (Glory), i.e., Maidservant of Bahá'u'lláh.
Amín
Amír lord, prince, commander, governor[2] Also Ameer, Emir. The word originally signified a military commander, but very early came to be extended to anyone bearing rule.[5]
Amru’lláh
Anzalí
Áqá FA: آقا Sir, mister, master Also Aga, Agha. A dignitary or lord; used generally as a term of respect.[6] Title given by Bahá’u’lláh to ‘Abdu’l-Bahá (translated as "Master").[2]
Aqdas FA: اقدس‎ most holy Most Holy. Used in the title of the Kitáb-i-Aqdas.
‘Arabistán A former Arab Emirate that now forms part of the Iranian province of Khuzestan.
Aṣl-i-Kullu'l-Khayr AR: أﺻﻞ ﻛﻞ ﺍﻟﺨﻴﺮ words of wisdom A tablet of Bahá’u’lláh published in Tablets of Bahá’u’lláh.
Asmá’ AR: اسماء names The ninth month of the Bahá’í calendar.
‘Avájiq FA: آواجیق The westernmost city in Iran, located in the province of West Ádhirbáyján.
Ayádí
Áyah AR: آية verse, sign, miracle Also Ayat. A verse, esp. of the Qur'án.
Ayyám-i-Há AR:  ايام الهاء days of Há A period of four or five intercalary days in the Bahá’í calendar, celebrated by Bahá'ís as a Festival marked by charity, hospitality and rejoicing.
Azal
‘Aẓam AR: اعظم greatest[2] See Ghusn-i-‘Aẓam.
‘Aẓamat AR: عظمة grandeur The fourth month of the Bahá’í calendar.
‘Azíz
B
Term Source Meaning Definition
Báb, The AR: باب door, gate Title assumed by Mírzá ‘Alí-Muḥammad after the declaration of His Mission as the promised Qá'im (or Mihdí/Mahdi) in Shíráz in May 1844.[2] A Manifestation of God whose dispensation preceded that of Bahá'u'lláh, and who foretold His coming. Founder of the Bábí religion.
Bábí AR: بابی of the gate A follower of the Báb, or an adjective used in relating something or someone to the Bábí religion.
Bábí religion The religion established by the Báb.
Bábu'l-Báb AR: باب الباب gate of the gate Title of Mullá Ḥusayn-i-Bushru'i, the first person to profess belief in the Báb.
Baghdád AR: مدينة بغداد bestowed by God[7] Also Bagdad.[8] The capital city of Iraq, to which Bahá’u’lláh was exiled in 1853. He took up residence and lived there for the greater part of a decade. His House in the Karkh sector of the city is a site of pilgrimage, although it was destroyed in 2013; a garden in the city's Rusafa sector was the site of the events celebrated during Riḍván.
Bahá’ AR: أبهى glory, splendour The Greatest Name of God, meaning "glory", or "glorious". The first month of the Bahá’í calendar. Title by which Bahá’u’lláh (Mírzá Ḥusayn-‘Alí) is designated.[2]
Bahá’í AR: بهائی of glory A follower of Bahá'u'lláh, or an adjective used in relating something or someone to the Bahá’í Faith. It is important to note that "Bahá’í" is not a noun meaning the religion as a whole; i.e. "She is a member of the Bahá'í Faith" rather than "She is a member of Bahá'í".
Bahá’í Faith The religion established by Bahá'u'lláh.
Bahá'u'lláh AR: بهاء الله Glory of God The Founder of the Bahá'í Faith, the Manifestation of God for this age.
Bahíyyih Bahíyyih Khánum, “Greatest Holy Leaf” (born Fáṭimih Sulṭán, 1846–15 July 1932)
Bahjí AR: البهجة delight A site outside the city of ‘Akká where Bahá'u'lláh spent His final years, in the Mansion of Bahjí.
Bait al-Adl AR: بيت العدل House of Justice Also Baytu’l-’Adl. The House of Justice, an elected legislative institution ordained by Bahá'u'lláh.
Bait al-Adl al-Azam AR: بيت العدل الأعظم House of Justice Also Baytu’l-’Adl-i-A’ẓam. The Universal House of Justice, also referred to as the Supreme House of Justice, the elected institution that currently serves as the head of the Bahá'í Faith.
Balúchistán FA: بلوچستان Southwestern province of Pakistan
Bandar-‘Abbás FA: بندرعباس A port city and capital of Hurmúzgán Province on the southern Persian Gulf coast of Írán
Baqíyyatu’lláh Remnant of God Title applied both to the Báb and to Bahá’u’lláh.[2]
Bárfurúsh FA: بارفروش a town in Mázindarán, now known as Bábul (Babol)
Bayán AR: بیان‎ exposition, utterance, explanation Title given by the Báb to His Revelation, particularly to His Books, and especially to two of His major works: The Persian Bayán and the Arabic Bayán.[2]
Bayt AR: بيت house, building
Big Honorary title; lower title than Khán.[2]
Bírjand FA: بیرجند city in eastern Írán
Bishárát AR: ﺍﻟﻄﺮﺍﺯﺍﺕ good news, glad-tidings A tablet of Bahá’u’lláh published in Tablets of Bahá’u’lláh.
Bukhárá FA: بخارا city in Uzbekistan
Burújird FA: بروجرد Capital city of the province of Luristán, place of the governorship of Mírzá Buzurg
Búshihr FA: بوشهر Iranian city (once the primary port of Írán) and province on the Persian Gulf.
Búshrúyih FA: بشرويه a town in Khurásán, 55 km NE of Ṭabas and 70 km WSW of Tún. It is the birthplace of Mullá Ḥusayn, first disciple of the Báb.
C
Term Source Meaning Definition
Caravanserai FA: کاروانسرای caravan palace An inn for caravans, i.e. groups of traders, pilgrims or other travellers, engaged in long-distance travel.[2][9]
Chihár-Vádí FA: چهار وادی four valleys “Four Valleys” by Bahá’u’lláh. Addressed to Shaykh ‘Abdu’r-Raḥmán-i-Karkútí.
Chihríq FA: چهریق Fortress in Kurdish Ádhirbáyján, designated by the Báb as Jabal-i-Shadíd (the Grievous Mountain)
D
Term Source Meaning Definition
Dárúghih FA: داروغه high constable[2]
Darvísh FA: درویش seeking doors; beggar Also Dervish. A Muslim mystic, often a hermit or ascetic who wanders the land carrying a begging bowl (kashkúl). Equivalent to the Arabic faqír.[10]
Dawlih state, government[2] See Vakilu'd-Dawlih.
E
Term Source Meaning Definition
Effendi FA: افندي master A title of nobility.
F
Term Source Meaning Definition
Fárán Pers. small village in Ardistán
Farmán FA: فرمان order, command, royal decree[2] Also Firmán. An edict given by a sovereign, particularly for decrees, grants, passports, etc.[11]
Farrásh FA: فرش footman, lictor, attendant[2]
Farrásh-Báshí FA: فراش باشی The head farrásh.[2]
Fárs FA: فارس a southern province of Írán, from which the name Persia derives.
Farsakh FA: فرسخ Unit of measurement. Its length differs in different parts of the country according to the nature of the ground, the local interpretation of the term being the distance which a laden mule will walk in the hour, which varies from three to four miles. Arabicised from the old Persian “parsang,” and supposed to be derived from pieces of stone (sang) placed on the roadside.[2][12]
Fiḍál AR: فضال grace The fourth day of the week in the Bahá’í calendar, corresponding to Tuesday.
G
Term Source Meaning Definition
Ganjih FA: گنجه (Ganjeh) city (2nd largest) in Ádharbayján. It was named Elisabethpol in the Russian Empire period.
Ghuṣn-i-A‘ẓám FA: غصن اعظم Most Great or Greatest Branch, i.e. ‘Abdu’l-Bahá.
Ghuṣn-i-Akbar FA: غصن اکبر Greater Branch, i.e. Mírzá Muḥammad-‘Ali. Also The Chosen Branch, i.e. Shoghi Effendi.
Gílán FA: گیلان a northern province of Írán on the Caspian Sea.
H
Term Source Meaning Definition
Ḥadíth AR: حديث occurring, happening, taking place
Ḥájí AR: حاج Also Hajji, Hadji. A Muslim who has made the Hajj, i.e. pilgrimage.[2][13]
Ḥajj AR: حج setting out Also Hadj. The Muslim rite of pilgrimage to the holy city of Mecca.[13]
Hamadán FA: همدان Hamadán city in Írán, 144 km NE Kirmánsháh. Originally Ecbatana of the ancient Medes.
Ḥaydar-‘Alí AR: حيدر علي noted early Bahá’í, born into Shaykhí family of Iṣfahán. Known as the “Angel of Carmel”.
Haykal AR: هيكل temple; large building, edifice
Himmat-Ábád FA: همت اباد city in Raḍawí Khurásán Ústán Province, Írán
Howdah AR: هودج A litter carried by a camel, mule, horse, or elephant for travelling purposes.[2]
Ḥusayn AR: الحسين (diminutive form of Haṣan “Good”) Name of the third Imám, Ḥusayn.
Huvaydar village north of the city Ba‘qúba, which is 60 km NE of Baghdád
I
Term Source Meaning Definition
Ibráhím AR: إِبْرَاهِيْمُ A given name referring to Abraham, Patriarch of the people of Israel.
‘Idál AR: عدال justice The fifth day of the week in the Bahá’í calendar, corresponding to Wednesday.
Íl clan[2]
‘Ilm AR: علم knowledge The twelfth month of the Bahá’í calendar.
Imám AR: إمام leader A Muslim religious leader; specifically, the title of the twelve shí’ah successors of Muḥammad.[2]
Imám-Jum’ih FA: امام جمعه Friday leader The leading imám in a town or city; chief of the mullás, who recites the Friday prayer for the sovereign.[2]
Imám-Zádih FA: امامزاده The tomb or shrine of an imám; or, a descendant of an imám.[2]
Iqán AR: الإيقان certitude being sure, knowing for certain; certitude. Also refers to the book, the Kitáb-i-Íqán.
Irán FA: ایران Írán, the kingdom of Persia proper. Derives from the name Aryán ("of the Iranians"), the self-identifier used by ancient Iranian peoples.
‘Iráq-i-‘Ajam FA: عراقِ عجم Persian ‘Iráq. ‘Iráq between the 11th to 19th centuries consisted of two neighbouring regions: Arabic Iraq (‘Iráq-i ‘Arab) and Persian Iraq (‘Iráq-i ‘Ajam). Arabic Iraq = ancient Babylonia (now central-southern Iraq), and Persian Iraq = ancient Media (now central-western Iran). The two regions were separated by the Zagros Mountains.
Iṣfahán FA: اصفهان Persian city 340 km south of Ṭihrán.
‘Ishqábád FA: عشق آباد Ashkhabad/Ashgabat; capital of Turkmenistan, known as the “City of Love”. A strong Bahá'í community developed there in the time of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá.
Ishráqát AR: ﺍﻻﺷﺮﺍﻗﺎﺕ radiance; radiation, eradiation, emanation; illumination A tablet of Bahá’u’lláh published in Tablets of Bahá’u’lláh.
Ishtihárd a village 69 km SE of Qazvín and 54 km SW of Karaj
Islám AR: الاسلام submission, resignation, reconciliation (to the will of God in every age)
Ismá‘ílíyyih AR: الإسماعيلية Isma’ilism (Ismá‘ílí sect)—branch of Shí‘a Islám that followed the Imám succession through the eldest son.
Istarábád FA: أستاراباد See Astarábád: “City of Mules”, on south eastern Caspian Sea border of Írán. Since 1937 called Gúrgán (Gorgán).
Istijlál AR: استجلال majesty The sixth day of the week in the Bahá’í calendar, corresponding to Thursday.
Istiqlál AR: استقلال independence The seventh day of the week in the Bahá’í calendar, corresponding to Friday.
‘Izzat AR: عزة might The tenth month of the Bahá’í calendar.
J
Term Source Meaning Definition
Jalál AR: جلال glory The second month of the Bahá’í calendar. Also the first day of the Bahá'í week, corresponding to Saturday.
Jamál AR: جمال beauty The third month of the Bahá’í calendar. Also the second day of the Bahá'í week, corresponding to Sunday.
Jamál-i-Mubárak FA: جمال مبارک “The Blessed Beauty” Title used by some Bahá’ís for Bahá’u’lláh.
Jásb FA: جاسب rural district, Markazí Province, Írán
Jubbih AR: جبيه Also Jubba. A cloth cloak or upper coat.[2][12]
K
Term Source Meaning Definition
Ka‘bih AR: كَعْبَة cube Also Kaaba, Ka'ba, Kaabeh. An ancient shrine at Mecca; the most holy shrine of Islam, located at the center of Islam's most important mosque, the Masjid al-Haram.[2][14]
Kad-Khudá FA: کدخدا Chief of a ward or parish in a town; headman of a village.[2]
Kalantar FA: کلانتر mayor[2]
Kalím FA: کلیم one who discourses[2]
Kalimát AR: كلمات words The eighth month of the Bahá’í calendar.
Kalímát-i-Firdawsíyyih AR: ﺍﻟﻜﻠﻤﺎﺕ ﺍﻟﻔﺮﺩﻭﺳﻴﺔ words of paradise A tablet of Bahá’u’lláh published in Tablets of Bahá’u’lláh.
Kamál AR: كمال perfection The ninth month of the Bahá’í calendar. Also the third day of the Bahá'í week, corresponding to Monday.
Karand FA: کارند A village about 100 km SE of Ṭihrán.
Karbilá AR: كربلاء Also Karbala, Kerbela. A ****’ite holy city in ‘Iráq where the Imám Ḥusayn was murdered and buried, and where His Shrine is located.[15]
Karbilá’í AR: کربلایی A Muslim who has performed the pilgrimage to Karbilá.
Káshán FA: کاشان One of the oldest cities of Írán, located in north central Persia.[16]
Kawthar AR: ٱلكَوْثَر abundant, plentiful Name of a lake or river in Paradise that Muḥammad saw on his mystic night journey (Qur’án, surah 108).
Kázim AR: ٱلْكَاظِم “One who suppresses his passion or anger”. The title of the seventh Imám of the Shí‘ih.
Kirmán FA: کرمان capital city of Kirmán province, Írán
Kirmánsháh FA: کرمانشاه Province and city in western Írán.
Khán AR: خان caravanserai A roadside inn where travelers (caravaners) could rest and recover from their day's journey.[9]
Khán-i-'Avámid FA: خان آوامید The caravanserai in ‘Akká where Bahá'u'lláh used to receive guests, and later the site for a Bahá'í school.
Khanúm FA:  خانم lady, Madame, Mrs. An honorific title given to women of high social status.
Khurásán FA: خراسان sunrise; orient Province in the north-eastern part of Írán until 2004—replaced by North Khurásán, South Khurásán and Razavi (Raḍawí) Khurásán Provinces.
Khuy FA: خوی (Khoy) city in and the capital of Khoy County, West Azerbaijan Province, Írán
Kitáb AR: الكتاب book A book.
Kitáb-i-‘Ahd FA: کتاب عهدی Book of the Covenant Testament of Bahá’u’lláh, designated by Him as His “Most Great Tablet”
Kitáb-i-Aqdas FA: کتاب اقدس The Most Holy Book by Bahá’u’lláh, written in Arabic
Kitáb-i-Íqán FA: کتاب ایقان Book of Certitude by Bahá’u’lláh
Kull-i-Shay’ AR: كل شىء all things The 361-year supercycle of the Bahá’í calendar, which consists of 19 Váḥids.
Kurdistán FA: کوردستان Greater Kurdistan, a roughly defined geo-cultural historical region wherein the Kurdish people form a prominent majority population and Kurdish culture, languages and national identity have historically been based.
L
Term Source Meaning Definition
Láhíján FA: لاهیجان Caspian sea resort in and the capital of Láhíján County
Lár FA: لار city in province of Fárs
Lawḥ AR: ﻟﻮﺡ board, blackboard
Luristán FA: لرستان a province and an area in western Írán in the Zagros Mountains
M
Term Source Meaning Definition
Maḥbúbu’sh-Shuhadá’ AR­: محبوب الشهداء Beloved of Martyrs Mírzá Muḥammad-Ḥusayn. Brother of Mírzá Muḥammad-Ḥasan, both from Iṣfahán.
Maḥmúd AR: محمود praised, commendable, laudable, praiseworthy A common Arabic name; a form of the name Muḥammad.
Mákú FA: ماکو a city in the West Azerbaijan Province, Írán
Maláyir FA: ملایر city SSE of Ḥamdán, Írán
Maqám FA: مقام site, location
Marághih FA: مراغه city 75 km south of Tabriz, Ádhirbáyján
Marḥabá AR: مرحبا welcome, well done A customary expression of greeting or welcome.
Masá’il AR: مسائل questions The fifteenth month of the Bahá’í calendar.
Mashhad FA: مشهد‎ place of assembly place where a martyr or hero died; religious shrine venerated by the people, especially the tomb of a saint
Mashíyyat AR: مشية will The eleventh month of the Bahá’í calendar.
Mashriqu’l-Adhkár AR: مشرق اﻻذكار Dawning-place of the praises, prayers, remembrances or mentions of God Title for a purpose-built Bahá’í House of Worship.
Mázindarán FA: مازندران A province in northern Írán, on the Caspian Sea. Ancient stronghold of the Parthian and Sassanian Empires, and the ancestral home of Bahá’u’lláh.
Merv FA: مرو‎ Also: Marv. Ancient city located on the Silk Road near the modern-day city of Mary, Turkmenistan.
Mihdí AR: ٱلْمَهْدِيّ‎ One who guides aright, the Guided One. A title of the Twelfth (expected) Imám or Qá’im. Mírzá Mihdí (“The Purest Branch”)
Mílán FA: میلان A village 23 km SW Tabríz, in Ádhirbáyján.
Mírzá FA: میرزا of noble lineage Derived from amírzádeh, meaning child of the Amír or child of the ruler. A term of respect which generally indicates a literate person. When used at the end of a name, it denotes a prince.[17]
Mishkín-Qalam FA: مشكین قلم One of the nineteen Apostles of Bahá'u'lláh, and famous calligrapher of 19th century Persia.
Mithqal AR: مثقال‎ Also Miskal. A unit of weight commonly used in Persia.[12]
Muḥammad AR: مُحَمَّد praised, commendable, laudable Also Mohammed. A common Arabic name, referring to the Prophet of Islam.
Muḥammarih Former name of Persian city Khurramshahr
Mujtahid AR: مُجْتَهِد‎ one who strives or one who exerts himself A mujtahid in contemporary Írán is now called an áyatu’lláh.
Mulk AR: ملك dominion The eighteenth month of the Bahá’í calendar.
Mullá FA: ملا A member of the Muslim clergy.
Munírih FA: منیره luminous, radiant Munírih Khánum, wife of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá (mid 1848–28 April 1938)
Mustagháth AR: مستغث the one called upon for help Used as the name of God by the Báb.
N
Term Source Meaning Definition
Nabíl
Najaf
Najaf-Ábá­d FA: نجف‌آباد A city in Iran's Isfahan Province.
Náqiḍín opposers, violators Covenant-breakers.
Násiri'd-Dín FA: ناصرالدین شاه Protector/Defender of the Faith
Naw-Rúz FA: نوروز new day The new year of the Bahá’í calendar, falling on the day of the spring equinox, i.e. the day on which the sun enters the constellation of Aries as viewed from Tehran.
Nayríz FA: نی‌ریز‎ A city in Iran's Fars Province, southeast of Shíráz, and the site of a major struggle between Bábís and authorities under the Qajar dynasty.
Níshábúr FA: نیشابور A city in northeastern Iran's Razavi Khorasan province, and former capital of Khorasan Province.
Núr AR: نور light The fifth month of the Bahá’í calendar. Also
P
Term Source Meaning Definition
Pahlaví, Pahlawí belonging to a city; a citizen
Q
Term Source Meaning Definition
Qádí AR: قادی judge A civil, criminal, or ecclesiastical judge.[2]
Qádíyán AR: قادیان City in Punjab, India. The birthplace of Mirza Ghulam Ahmad, founder of the Ahmadiyya sect of Islam.
Qá’im FA: قائم He Who shall arise Title designating the Promised One of Islám.[2]
Qalyán FA: قالیان hookah A pipe for smoking through water.[2]
Qamṣar village 25 km south of Káshán, Írán
Qawl AR: قول speech The fourteenth month of the Bahá’í calendar.
Qayyúm permanent, lasting, stable Superlative of Qá’im [the Báb], the Most Great One Who will arise [Bahá’u’lláh]
Qayyúmu'l-Asmá The Báb's commentary on the Qur'an's Surih of Joseph, characterized by Bahá'u'lláh as "the first, the greatest, and mightiest of all books" in the Bábí Dispensation.
Qazvín a city 140 km NW of Ṭihrán.
Qiblih AR: قبلة Also Qibla, Qiblah. The direction to which people turn in prayer; especially Mecca, the Qiblih of all Muslims.[2][18]
Qúchán city and capital of Qúchán County
Quddús The Most Holy
Qudrat AR: قدرة power The thirteenth month of the Bahá’í calendar.
Qum holy city 130 km SSW of Ṭihrán, location of the Shrine of Ma’ṣúmih, the sister of Imám Riṣá, the eighth Imám
Qur’án AR: الۡقُرۡآنۡ recitation, reading, the word
Qurbán AR: قربان sacrifice[2]
Qurratu'l-ʿAyn A title of Táhirih, meaning Solace of the Eyes.
R
Term Source Meaning Definition
Rafsinján city and council in Kirmán province, Írán
Rahím merciful, compassionate one of the names (ar-Raḥím) of God
Raḥmán merciful, compassionate (God)
Raḥmat AR: رحمة mercy The sixth month of the Bahá’í calendar.
Rasht city in province of Gílán
Rawḥání good, agreeable, clean and pure (place)
Riḍván AR: رضوان paradise The "King of Festivals" of the Bahá’í Faith, commemorating Bahá'u'lláh's 1863 declaration that He was a Manifestation of God, in the Garden of Ridván outside Baghdad. Also used literally in other contexts, to mean "paradise".
Rúḥu’lláh Spirit of God A designation Muslims use for Jesus. Son of Mírzá ‘Alí-Muḥammad-i-Varqá
S
Term Source Meaning Definition
Sabzivár F­A: سبزوار city in Khurásán Province
Sadratu’l-Muntahá AR: سِدْرَة ٱلْمُنْتَهَىٰ‎ Lote Tree of the Farthest Boundary Symbolically, the Lote tree in the Seventh Heaven; the utmost extremity, a boundary which no one can pass.
Ṣáḥibu’z-Zamán FA: صاحب زمان Lord of the Age One of the titles of the promised Qá’im.[2]
Sárí FA: ساری A town in eastern Mázindarán province. (GPB p. 40)
Sháh FA: شاه king, emperor, sovereign, monarch, prince A title given to the emperors and kings of Persia and other societies under Persian influence.
Sháhansháh FA: شاهنشاه‎ king of kings The full title of Persian emperors since the Achaemenid dynasty.
Shahíd AR: شهيد martyr Singular form.[2]
Shahmirzád FA: شهميرزاد‎ A town in the province of Semnan, 170 km east of Ṭihrán, Írán.
Sháhrúd FA: شاهرود a mighty river; name of a river Name of a crossroad city 330 km NE of Teheran. Also: a type of lute (musical instrument); the thickest cord of a musical instrument.
Sharaf AR: شرف honour The sixteenth month of the Bahá’í calendar.
Shaykh AR: شیخ A learned man; generally used for elders, chiefs, professors, or heads of dervish orders.
Shaykhu’l-Islám AR: شيخ الإسلام Head of a religious court, appointed to every large city by the king or ruler.[2]
Shí’ih AR: شِيعَة‎ followers, i.e. of Ali Of or relating to Shia/****'ih Islam, the second largest branch of Islam.
Shíráz FA: شیراز‎ The capital of Fars province, Iran; birthplace of the Báb, and the site of His Declaration.
Shuhada AR: الشهداء martyrs Plural form.[2]
Shushtar
Simnán FA: سمنان‎ A province in northern Iran.
Sísán FA: سیسان Seysan, Sisan-e Qadim. A village in Eastern Ádhirbáyján province, Iran.
Sístán FA: سیستان‎ land of the Saka A historical and geographical region in eastern Iran and Southern Afghanistan; known in ancient times as Sakastan.
Síyáh-Chál FA: سیاه چال‎ black pit The dungeon south east of the palace of the Sháh and near the Sabzih-Maydán in Tehran in which Bahá'u'lláh was incarcerated for some months in 1852. It was originally built as a reservoir, storing water for the public baths nearby. In the Persian language, "Síyáh-chál" (Persian: سیاه چال, literally "black pit") is the common name for a dungeon.
Siyyid AR: سيد‎ A descendant of the Prophet Muhammad.[2]
Súfí AR: ٱلصُّوفِيَّة‎ one who wears wool Of, or relating to the mystical practice of Islam.
Sulaymán AR: سُليمان Solomon An Arabic given name referring to Solomon, King of Israel and son of King David.
Sulaymániyyih AR: السليمانية‎ A town in Kurdish Iraq. Bahá’u’lláh resided as a dervish in the mountains surrounding the town from 1854 to 1856.
Sulṭán AR: سلطان sovereignty The seventeenth month of the Bahá’í calendar.
Sulṭán-Ábád
Sulṭánu’sh-Shuhadá’ AR: سلطان الشهداء King of Martyrs A title given to Mírzá Muḥammad-Ḥasan of Isfahan.
Sunní AR: أهل السنة people of the sunnah, i.e. majority tradition Of or relating to Sunni Islam, the largest branch of Islam.
Súrih AR: سورة tablet, chapter Also: Surah, Súriy. A tablet, or letter. The chapters of the Qur'an are known as súrihs or surahs.[2]
Súriy-i-Ghuṣn AR: سورة الهيكل Tablet of the Branch Also: Súratu’l-Ghuṣn. A tablet of Bahá’u’lláh in which He confirms a high station for ‘Abdu’l-Bahá.
Súriy-i-Haykal AR: سورة الهيكل Tablet of the Temple Also: Súratu’l-Haykal. A tablet of Bahá’u’lláh published in Summons of the Lord of Hosts, which includes his messages addressed to five world leaders: Pope Pius IX, Napoleon III, Czar Alexander II, Queen Victoria, and Násiri'd-Dín Sháh.
Súriy-i-Mulúk AR: سورة الملوك Tablet of the Kings Also: Súratu’l-Mulúk. A tablet of Bahá’u’lláh published in Summons of the Lord of Hosts, addressed collectively to the monarchs of the East and the West.
Súriy-i-Ra'ís AR: سورة الرئيس Tablet of the Chief Also: Súratu’l-Ra'ís. A tablet of Bahá’u’lláh published in Summons of the Lord of Hosts, addressed to ‘Alí Páshá, the Ottoman Prime Minister.
T
Term Source Meaning Definition
Tabríz FA: تبریز flowing hot capital of Ádharbayján Province, Írán.
Ṭáhirih FA: طاهره‎ clean, pure; chaste, modest, virtuous The pure one
Tajallíyát AR: ﺍﻟﺘﺠﻠﻴﺎﺕ lustre, brightness, brilliancy, effulgence A tablet of Bahá’u’lláh published in Tablets of Bahá’u’lláh.
Tákur FA: تاكور village 40 km south of Núr and 47.5 km NE of Afjihin. It is Bahá’u’lláh’s ancestral home.
Ṭarázát AR: ﺍﻟﻄﺮﺍﺯﺍﺕ ornaments A royal robe, or rich dress ornamented with embroidery. Name of a tablet of Bahá’u’lláh published in Tablets of Bahá’u’lláh.
Tarbíyat FA: تربيت education, upbringing, teaching, instruction, pedagogy The name of a group of Bahá’í schools established in Ṭihrán around the turn of the 20th century.
Ṭashkand FA: تاشکند city of stones; place on a hill Tashkent, capital of Uzbekistan
Tawhid AR: توحيد‎ unification, union, combination, fusion Oneness of God, the most important article of faith in Islam.
Thurayyá AR: الثريا The Pleiades; a star cluster once seen and described by the Prophet Muhammad. Used as a female given name (Soraya).
Ṭihrán FA: تهران‎ a warm place; Tir's abode; bottom of the mountain Tehran/Teheran, capital of Írán, birthplace of Bahá’u’lláh.
Túman A sum of money equivalent to a dollar.[2][12]
U
Term Source Meaning Definition
‘Ulamá AR: أولاما knowers Also Ulema. Learned men of Islam, i.e. theologians, canon lawyers, professors, muftis, etc; a council of the learned, especially in a Muslim state.[19]
Urúmíyyih FA: ارومیه water town Also Urmia, Orumiyeh. City in West Ádharbáyján Province, Írán, located near the lake of the same name.[4]
Ustád FA: اوستاد master A master craftsman.
V
Term Source Meaning Definition
Vaḥíd FA: وحید alone, solitary Superlative form of ‘waḥada’, to be alone. Numerical value of 28.
Váḥid FA: واحد unity The 19-year cycle of the Bahá’í calendar.
Valí-‘Ahd FA: ولیعهد heir to the throne[2] A crown prince, or chosen successor.
Varqá FA: ورقا Dove
Vazír FA: وزیر burden-bearer, helper[20] Also Vizier, Vizir, Wazír. The chief minister and representative of the caliph, and later, of the head of state of the Persian and Ottoman Empires.[20]
W
Y
Term Source Meaning Definition
Yá ‘Alíyyu’l-‘Alá “O Thou the Exalted of the Exalted” or “O Thou the Exalted, the Most Exalted”. A form of the name of the Báb, used as an invocation.
Yá Alláhu'l-Mustagháth AR: يا الله المستغث “O God, He Who is invoked” or “O Thou God Who art invoked”
Yá Bahá’u’l-Abhá AR: يا بهاء الأبهى “O Glory of the All-Glorious” or “O Thou the Glory of the Most Glorious”. A form of the name of Bahá’u’lláh, used as an invocation.
Yaḥyá AR: يحيى John A common Arabic given name, referring to John the Baptist.
Yazd A province and city in central Írán, notable as the primary centre of the Persian Zoroastrian population.
Z
Term Source Meaning Definition
Zádih son of;[2] descendant of Also Zadeh, Zada. A common patronymic suffix.
Zanján Also Zenján.[21] City between Qazvín and Tabríz, home of Ḥujjat; site of a major battle in which Bábís were massacred.
Zaynu’l-Muqarrabín “the Ornament of the Near Ones” or “the Ornament of the favoured”

Detective stories have been making a splash on European screens for the past decade. Some attract top-notch directors, actors and script writers. They are far superior to anything that appears over here -- whether on TV or from Hollywood. Part of the impetus has come from the remarkable Italian series Montelbano, the name of a Sicilian commissario in Ragusa (Vigata)who was first featured in the skillfully crafted novellas of Andrea Camilleri.

Italians remain in the forefront of the genre as Montelbano was followed by similar high class productions set in Bologna, Ferrara, Turino, Milano, Palermo and Roma. A few are placed in evocative historical context. The French follow close behind with a rich variety of series ranging from a revived Maigret circa 2004(Bruno Cremer) and Frank Riva (Alain Delon) to the gritty Blood On The Docks (Le Havre) and the refined dramatizations of other Simenon tales. Others have jumped in: Austria, Germany (several) and all the Scandinavians. The former, Anatomy of Evil, offers us a dark yet riveting set of mysteries featuring a taciturn middle-aged police psychiatrist. Germany'sgem, Homicide Unit -- Istanbul, has a cast of talented Turkish Germans who speak German in a vividly portrayed contemporary Istanbul. Shows from the last mentioned region tend to be dreary and the characters uni-dimensional, so will receive short shrift in these comments.

Most striking to an American viewer are the strange mores and customs of the local protagonists compared to their counterparts over here. So are the physical traits as well as the social contexts. Here are a few immediately noteworthy examples. Tattoos and ****** hardware are strangely absent -- even among the bad guys. Green or orange hair is equally out of sight. The former, I guess, are disfiguring. The latter types are too crude for the sophisticated plots. European salons also seem unable to produce that commonplace style of artificial blond hair parted by a conspicuous streak of dark brown roots so favored by news anchors, talk show howlers and other female luminaries. Jeans, of course, are universal -- and usually filled in comely fashion. It's what people do in them (or out of them) that stands out.

First, almost no workout routines -- or animated talk about them. Nautilus? Nordic Track? Yoga pants? From roughly 50 programs, I can recall only one, in fact -- a rather humorous scene in an Istanbul health club that doubles as a drug depot. There is a bit of jogging, just a bit -- none in Italy. The Italians do do some swimming (Montalbano) and are pictured hauling cases of wine up steep cellar stairs with uncanny frequency. Kale appears nowhere on the menu; and vegan or gluten are words unspoken. Speaking of food, almost all of these characters actually sit down to eat lunch, albeit the main protagonist tends to lose an appetite when on the heels of a particularly elusive villain. Oblique references to cholesterol levels occur on but two occasions. Those omnipresent little containers of yoghurt are considered unworthy of camera time.

A few other features of contemporary American life are missing from the dialogue. I cannot recall the word "consultant' being uttered once. In the face of this amazing reality, one can only wonder how ****-kid 21 year old graduates from elite European universities manage to get that first critical foothold on the ladder of financial excess. Something else is lacking in the organizational culture of police departments, high-powered real estate operations, environmental NGOs or law firms: formal evaluations. In those retro environments, it all turns on long-standing personal ties, budgetary appropriations and actual accomplishment -- not graded memo writing skills. Moreover, the abrupt firing of professionals is a surprising rarity. No wonder Europe is lagging so far behind in the league table of billionaires produced annually and on-the-job suicides

Then, there is that staple of all American conversation -- real estate prices. They crop up very rarely -- and then only when retirement is the subject. Admittedly, that is a pretty boring subject for a tense crime drama -- however compelling it is for academics, investors, lawyers and doctors over here. Still, it fits a pattern.

None of the main characters devotes time to soliciting offers from other institutions -- be they universities, elite police units in a different city, insurance companies, banks, or architectural firms. They are peculiarly rooted where they are. In the U.S., professionals are constantly on the look-out for some prospective employer who will make them an attractive offer. That offer is then taken to their current institution along with the demand that it be matched or they'll be packing their bags. Most of the time, it makes little difference if that "offer" is from College Station, Texas or La Jolla, California. That doesn't occur in the programs that I've viewed. No one is driven to abandon colleagues, friends, a comfortable home and favorite restaurants for the hope of upward mobility. What a touching, if archaic way of viewing life.

The pedigree of actors help make all this credible. For example, the classiest female leads are a "Turk" (Idil Uner) who in real life studied voice in Berlin for 17 years and a transplanted Russo-Italian (Natasha Stephanenko) whose father was a nuclear physicist at a secret facility in the Urals. Each has a parallel non-acting career in the arts. It shows.

After viewing the first dozen or so mysteries of diverse nationality, an American viewer begins to feel an unease creeping up on him. Something is amiss; something awry; something missing. Where are those little bottles of natural water that are ubiquitous in the U.S? The ones with the ****** tip. Meetings of all sorts are held without their comforting presence. Receptionists -- glamorous or unglamorous alike -- make do without them. Heat tormented Sicilians seem immune to the temptation. Cyclists don't stick them in handlebar holders. Even stray teenagers and university students are lacking their company. Uneasiness gives way to a sensation of dread. For European civilization looks to be on the brink of extinction due to mass dehydration.

That's a pity. Any society where cityscapes are not cluttered with SUVs deserves to survive as a reserve of sanity on that score at least. It also allows for car chases through the crooked, cobbled streets of old towns unobstructed by herds of Yukons and Outbacks on the prowl for a double parking space. Bonus: Montelbano's unwashed Fiat has been missing a right front hubcap for 4 years (just like my car). To meet Hollywood standards for car chases he'd have to borrow Ingrid's red Maserati.

Social ******* reveals a number of even more bizarre phenomena. In conversation, above all. Volume is several decibels below what it is on American TV shows and in our society. It is not necessary to grab the remote to drop sound levels down into the 20s in order to avoid irreparable hearing damage. Nor is one afflicted by those piercing, high-pitched voices that can cut through 3 inches of solid steel. All manner of intelligible conversations are held in restaurants, cafes and other public places. Most incomprehensible are the moments of silence. Some last for up to a minute while the mind contemplates an intellectual puzzle or complex emotions. Such extreme behavior does crop up occasionally in shows or films over here -- but invariably followed by a diagnosis of concealed autism which provides the dramatic theme for the rest of the episode.

Tragedy is more common, and takes more subtle forms in these European dramatizations. Certainly, America has long since departed from the standard formula of happy endings. Over there, tragic endings are not only varied -- they include forms of tragedy that do not end in death or violence. The Sicilian series stands out in this respect.

As to violence, there is a fair amount as only could be expected in detective series. Not everyone can be killed decorously by slow arsenic poisoning. So there is some blood and gore. But there is no visual lingering on either the acts themselves or their grisly aftermaths. People bleed -- but without geysers of blood or minutes fixed on its portentous dripping. Violence is part of life -- not to be denied, not to be magnified as an object of occult fascination. The same with ****** abuse and *******.

Finally, it surprises an American to see how little the Europeans portrayed in these stories care about us. We tend to assume that the entire world is obsessed by the United States. True, our pop culture is everywhere. Relatives from 'over there' do make an occasional appearance -- especially in Italian shows. However, unlike their leaders who give the impression that they can't take an unscheduled leak without first checking with the White House or National Security Council in Washington, these characters manage quite nicely to handle their lives in their own way on their own terms.

Anyone who lives on the Continent or spends a lot of time there off the tourist circuit knows all this. The image presented by TV dramas may have the effect of exaggerating the differences with the U.S. That is not their intention, though. Moreover, isn't the purpose of art to force us to see things that otherwise may not be obvious?Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com | www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses

It's all about contexts and
I only want there to be one.

All the "I've been done that's".
It's all miscommunications.
I haven't been done anything in a while.

Take me with you.

imagine all the cells that form to
join in your sensation
all the stars that blew your bits together
for proper procreation
being born with every breath and
reaching death through exhalation--
i simply can't exist without you
nor you without i,
and of this we can be sure that
(though the sureness of my i
obscures the many in us all[
mere words to ***** for thoughts we cope with]
)it will rumble beneath
and explode at the surface
to delayed surprise of just reprise
(mistaking inflation as progress)
that libations of dogmas won't change a thing:
when you look at the fibers in the fabric of being
(spun finely by spiders invisibly swift)
and if our knowledge were but a fly
we'd see ourselves trapped by its infinite web,
both victim to its trap and servant to its host
(though this is the nature of matters sticking close[
especially light years away])
just as the lattice of language roots deep
inside double-helix libraries unimaginably tall
filled with books authored by curious protons,
excited electrons and fleeting photons,
composed of sentences by snarky quarks and gluons
lying in -eate groups with unseen companions
(read between the lines) working in union
to fashion a sum greater than summation could do--
an alchemical-calculus of fractal fluidity,
finding contexts for novelty to sing songs
like Earth (though just a planet in other eyes)
to give conscious rise within the cosmic playground
embodied by us, but not encompassed by us;
rather extended through us
as curiosity mirrored.

I would argue that what is happening here isn’t the crushing of creativity but the addition of knowledge. As people get more knowledgeable they are better able to evaluate their ideas and sift out the ones that won’t work. Looking at the quantity of ideas for the use of a paperclip tells you nothing about creativity but the quality of the ideas might.

If we want pupils to be good at problem solving we need to give them a lot of knowledge with which to solve problems. There is no generic problem solving short cut we can use. The problem solving skills of “I need to put up a bookcase but have lost the instructions” is very different from the problem solving skills of “We need to resolve the conflict in the Middle East.” I we spent less time trying to find these short cuts we might have a lot fewer wonky bookcases and a little more chance of peace.

I can’t speak for all subjects and contexts but in secondary school geography we are constantly problem solving. It is what Geographers do but each problem needs a wide body of very specific knowledge. We look at how they would solve the problem of the UK’s energy mix, how they would improve housing in informal settlements and yes, even how to solve the problems in the Middle East (if someone without a knowledge of catchment hydrology tries to pontificate on the issue I wouldn’t give them the time of day).

The same applies to “creativity”. The ability to create is an important and wonderful thing. Music, art and drama should play a full and important part in the curriculum but they aren’t about teaching something as generic as “creativity”. They are about teaching the skills to allow you to be creative in that particular domain. Learning to express your creativity in art is unlikely to help you pick up the trombone and learning how to write is unlikely to make your interpretive dance any less awkward.

If you think that these things can be taught as stand alone generic skills (I assume you there is a 54% chance you are) then please do send me a lesson plan because I would love to see how it is done.

Conclusion

I think the term “21st century skills” is a nonsense. The generic skills that people will need in this century will be the same as they have needed in all of them because they are the things that make us human. I don’t think they can be taught in isolation. I don’t think we get better at “problem solving” by solving problems in different domains or better at “creativity” in one domain by practicing another.

Schools play a role in preparing children for the future and that role is to ensure they leave us as knowledgeable and well informed adults.

i've had a fear of asking for what i want, or being ashamed to want things. it's a strange fear in hindsight, and i still struggle w/ it
2. it's amazing i've gotten anything done with how little confidence/assertiveness i exude. i'd say mostly luck tbh.
3. i've also had an urge to be a little more social lately which also clashes with how i identify myself as introverted or shy
4. and that surprised some people because in certain contexts i can be energetic or funny but i cant control that. i dont know
5. i often blank when comin up with jokes or funny material and it feels like im not myself when that happens. its not triggered by sadness
6. its just a blank, as if you're taking a test in school that you werent prepared for.
7. this is annoying to some people so sorry but being introspective on twitter helps me when the words come easily as they so rarely do..
8. gaming has always given me a reason to travel or be socialize without having to seek company, it's just always there.
9. but i know gaming wont last forever and maybe i just seek novelty, who knows.
10. i enjoy learning but i also get bored quickly so i usually pick up small useless bits of alot of topics, ppl see me as smarter than i am
11. and i am certainly envious of people who have accomplished more than me but otoh i am surrounded by them and its kind of inspiring
12. so the ego blow of not being the smartest in the room hurt for a while but it also pays off because i see what my peers are capable of
13. and thus can see what im capable of
14. sorry again for spamming/ranting, but i hope someone can maybe learn something useful from my own bsing lol
15. the amount of ways people can express themselves is incredible and ive always been bad at it, i think cuz i fear/avoid confrontation?
16. taking up space feels like guilt alot
17. emotional attachment to outcomes have held me back, but it's hard to let ago of that. its what i feel strongest towards, accomplishment.
18. going to TBH5 and my name being known by people i never met from a place ive never been was a crazy feeling as long as ive been in the game
19. although im not sure if it was from accomplishment as much as its been that ive been around for so long
20. and i also often feel guilty when people overestimate my expertise in tech, gaming etc and i cant help them
21. because it feels like a facade i put on of being super smart when im not, even though its not something i try to fool people with
22. and when i was younger i used to resent really sociable/popular people for having what i could have. being friendlier has helped that
23. but its also weird because i still hold onto that hurt and becoming something part of what you used to hate is a odd conflict to have
24. expressing empathy beyond "i'm sorry" or similar things is something else that's difficult, i never understood it and i cant fake it
25. narcissism is a trait i've despised in people and seen in those that dont have it but i see myself getting closer to it everyday sadly
26. i can get jealous of peoples success until i realize the work they put in, they i get jealous of how they can have such strong work ethic...
27. it took me ayear after losing weight/learning how to dress to realize girls weren't mocking me when they found me attractive lol
28. i feel like i've learned alot but im also so behind on everything
29. i wonder if i'll ever truly feel like an adult or if i'm meant to feel like a fraud forever lol
30. i dont know if i force myself to be social "just because" or if its what i actually want, i also take pride in my "shy" identity
31. i've apologized for being myself alot, i've even apologized for beating people in "janky" ways in game. its a bad habit
32. people make excuses for me when i play bad too which helps the ego but hurts in the long run, again its the expectations of others...
33. i know its impossible to be the best in every pursuit i follow but it still ***** feeling like i cant even come close, idk perfectionism
34. i've been friends with all my exes afterwards even the ones who cheated on me (minus the most recent) and im not sure if i was apathetic
35. or didnt value myself enough to see their behavior as a big deal
36. i've long since accepted im the common denominator in my failed relationships/friendships but i still have no idea what causes them to
37. it'd be too easy to blame all my problems on my weird but not necessarily awful childhood though
38. i thought getting a full time stable job would solve almost all my issues and it helped alot but not in the ways i thought
39. so it makes me wonder if anything i want really matters or would help
40. i also think im coming to terms with the fact that i may be a romantic person which conflicts with how i identify as a shy or cold person
41. my laziness gets so real sometimes im too lazy to even do fun stuff, like staring at the ceiling is so much more entertaining or something
42. ranting on an open platform is probably healthier than emotionally vomitting on another person and making them deal with it?
43. ive certainly thought about if i have anxiety or things like that but i dont want to give myself an excuse even if it is valid
44. alot of mental illnessses have become a buzzword these days which is such a shame and i feel for those who really struggle with them
45. and id end up becoming part of that problem, what i deal with is super trivial compared to what most ppl deal with
46. i wish i could always be aware of myself/talk stream of consciousness like this man
47. recently i was told a group of ppl who i thought didnt think of me at all didnt actually like me, which actually made me feel good?
48. being acknowledged even if its bad is good i guess, "no such thing as bad publicity" etc
49. idk maybe i need new distractions or maybe i need to stop distracting myself? who knows
50. feel like i've co-opted my friends accomplishments in lieu of my own while simultaneously hating to talk about myself
51. ex "my friend in X field or people who do Y for a living"
52. being associated with greatness while not doing so is a convenient excuse to not do ****
53. "shoot your shot" but i'd feel guilty about it too because finding someone attractive also makes me feel bad?
54. alot of things make me feel bad but not sad. i guess guilt is the best word to describe it
55. is this how m2k lives everyday *******
56. never liked the "ironic sadness" meme on tumblr etc but the writing that comes from it such as mira gonzalez/gabby bess is ******* amazing
57. i have no idea why i randomly gets bouts of being super nervous or paranoid either, over nothing
58. went to a bar yesterday and flinched/got surprised almost everytime the bartender asked me if i wanted a drink which made her nervous too
59. or at least i think so
60. i've gotten mad at people for not having confidence in themselves but ive somehow been ok with that trait in myself for so long
61. im sure ill be embarrassed about all these feels tweets later but **** it gotta strike while the iron is hot
62. it ***** when a friend of yours is dealing with stuff that you yourself aren't equipped for and you can't help them
63. it's so hard to express that you aren't abandoning them but that you are just useless in that situation
64. sometimes just being there isn't enough, but letting yourself get dragged into their problems isn't helpful either
65. the one big step ive made in the past year is learning to not feel guilty for doing things i enjoy though so thats a start
66. also what's the difference between persistence and being annoying/stubborn? it's arbitrary?
67. ive been reading alot but i barely remember what i read recently or what it was about, and im not 100% sure of my favorite color
68. none of those are good signs >_>
69. pride isn't a useless emotion but it certainly seems to hurt more than it helps
70. maybe i'll print out and frame my tweets from the past hour or so so i can remember how to feel again!
71. i have very few SI friends compared to brooklyn manhattan or elsewhere and i wanna change that but i also wanna leave SI #feelsBadMan
72. being contextually creative (such as jokes/stories) is alot different from being creative in general or on a whim

Only some things make sense.
Like full stops. No, they hardly make sense these days too.
The sun? No, not when you get down to it.
One tries not exaggerate,
but when the laws of physics
start to state
that the
only order is chaos
and that our Universe
for most of time
doesn't exist.
Or exists in different contexts
with different people
and different outcomes.
so either we exist in multiplicity
or not all.
One tends to exaggerate.
Why?

Saying nothing makes sense.
Sounds appropriate.
Sure.
We can function.
We know how to *******.
But that’s the thing,
We make sense through lacking

This is it
Entropy
The natural turn to chaos.
Makes sense,
When you try to hold the handle
It breaks,
And you’re stuck
Entropy.

When you
Saw
Heared
Smelled
Touched
Tasted
Her for the first time
Entropy.

You – I? – were too far gone
Entropy.
You’ve fallen into chaos
Interesting...
As opposed to falling in love?
Makes sense.
Many would say it’s not at all like that.

Some of us are a little damaged.
Bruised. Scratched. Broken.
We  don’t squeak.
We don’t light up.
We don’t walk.
A little damaged.
Some you can only hear the damage
When you shake them.
Broken bits are flung around.
Others, you hear nothing at all.

Full stops.
They use to make sense.
Now they look like commas.
Or exclamation points. Bang.

but yes if i flung my punctuation out
the window it would
not make sense as we
wouldntfunctionintheslightest
without the whitespace.

Let’s bring back the Universe
The sun
The nothing
The everything
The full stops
The periods

I’ll end my cryptic harangue
And step back from my rant.
It was grand to know you
And I’m ecstatic to consider
This:

Maybe in one of all those other
Universes,
It made sense
Rather that
Than not
Existing
At all.

i pear my eyes at the gloomy sky,
twitching with pleasure and pain.

where i hope rain will fall,
is only the acrid dust of the frenso desert.

where i hope corn will grow,
is only the weeds and seeds of earth.

i know i can not live for longer in this way. that i shall Soon Die without sistenace

all that is before my weery eyes are my Kin.
My family.
My friends.
And yes.
My livers.

The ***** themselves.
My trauma started to scream! My eyes flooded with tears from the depths of Hell Himself. Yet I know it must be done. I crunched into his shell with the fury of.l a thousand suns. It shattered beneath my choppers as I seasoned his flesh with my own salty tears. My tong registered the taste of crab flesh, that before I had only tasted in the most scandalous of contexts.

I felt his life drain, and my own restored. But at what cost?

we have found each other
   across thousands of miles
   across different cultures and traditions
    
we have found each other
   among seven billion plus people
   on this globe

   finding each other
   was the easiest part

   strangers in the night

   staying together
   has been truly challenging
   at times

idiosyncracies
failures deficiencies fears
hopes wishes dreams
illusions and taboos
pieces of history from previous lives
   keep popping up at crucial moments
   in often Freudian transfigurations

   innocuous words
   may trigger convoluted memories
   freighten new contexts
      with old pain and sorrow

   a gesture
   a tone of speech
   a situation
   suddenly turn into déjà vu
   twisting their present freshness
      beyond belief
   into habitual frames of order

   the prisons of our pasts
   do not offer easy escapes

yet we have found each other
   among the billions on this globe

there is no other but the each
   to build a life together

Another year and
While we're sharing toasts and cheers
I wonder what you're drinking and
Where you are.
Here's a toast to you
And the love we wanted to share
But circumstances and contexts
Couldn't allow.
I wonder if you're cheering and toasting and
Thinking about what I'm drinking
And where I am and who and what
I'm doing now and
I wonder if you're wondering
If I'm wondering about you, too.

dimitri was a music man who paid attention to life's subtleties
he chiseled at a block of notes, hammering them down to sculpted perfection
music did he use as a platform to disguise his controversial contexts
distracting his judges with thin air before delving into the matter at hand
a scherzo, to illumine Stalin's atrocities
sewn into the playful boom-chuck, dangerous melodies and complex harmonies
in one instance, the William Tell did he use to comment on
power to the people and their triumph over the regime
it was a strategic ironic play
Rossini's light, airy music brewing with tumult in fact
une blague, a sort of joke to mock society
an unsettling fiddle bit later echoed in the likes of Bernstein
dimitri read his part at a UNESCO convention--
--deadpan, not looking up once from his paper
it was clear, he had his own opinion
a voice rang in the distance, an approaching bell
at a time when all were violently silenced
the opposition cleverly fashioning his statements
one only had to listen to his symphonies to find
dimitri's was a very attuned mind.

DEPRESSION


Ayad Gharbawi



A word, my friend, I heard
Where Angels of my Father’s memories, spoke shockingly
Where Mother’s weepings sang dirges in my mind
I can never ignore these pages and essays that affect us brittle humans

And where throats hurt once more
The dryness wounds sincerely
How could a clown cry, I thought?
Here, and forever more, I thought - and for what meaningful end?

The Wilderness will forever be my highway!
Endless in repercussions and unsure threats vague
Where eyes conversed in sentences distracted and disconnected
Where body language denied the presence of all meanings or sense

I complained unto no one
For I did complain once unto a god I believed in once
A god I thought could change and alter physics and its grand laws
Yet dryness once more hurt my memory as I attempted
As I attempted and tried to recall what efforts I needed to do
Such as recalling images exact of my ‘friends’ that were meant to help me

I saw too many hollow, unoccupied, futile skies
‘Neath which thorny verses of Sacred Scripture were passionately, lucidly preached
But I tried my self far removed and away
And turned aghast towards
Situations where lies convinced us of truths
Where lovers expressed intimacy within plasticity’s contexts
Eventually, surrendering my sanity and soul
I myself simply stood and looked at snowy sands cold
That was all I existed for
To stand and watch you all live on.

I need to resist writing metaphorically
with literary techniques and motifs
that occur only for my mind.
I once wrote openly with clear contexts
with rhythmic verses that showed
thoughts kept in line.
That is all lost now.
Writing use to be my medium, my expose
but i've learned beyond this middle line that Icarus
swayed in the sun, fluttering grasping his own wings
that were never part of himself.
He could have used "Red Bull" , but that is just
another false marketing campaign to ourselves;
to utilize tools that already preexist within us all.
The world that we live in is filled with stimuli
that our senses get overloaded and we focus
on what we see in front, as opposed to our front
sour facades, and alternative personas
just so that we can conform; forming
molds that we have no choice but to breath in.Cough!
There is a reason why I wrote in symbols
broken sentence structures, because i did not want to be vulnerable.
To speak this mind, not of mind, not for mind,
but to remindme of emotions, experiences, and realizations.
What we keep inside is our pandora
our deep hope cluttered, underneath,
covered with all that confusionthat we reflect to others.
So, I failed to resist to write in metaphor
but i spoke my mind, i spoke in passion
yet remained somewhat clearand ascertained something to adhere.
Who I am to myself.

Days sometimes blind me like hotel rooms-
all stuffy air heating over zesty grey radiators,
I want to lift the blinds; I already see the light shading through.
That’s not enough; I want to feel orange again,
play with the sunning glow as it re-imagines beauty in skins devilish pores.
I want August’s comfort in afternoon naked towel naps
dreaming that cable dishes are just fish carcasses in the wind,
imagine its possible to watch nails grow,
bed them in earth’s soil, and let it remind me of ***
and the unevenness of intimacy strewn oddly when ***** sweaty limbs
can not keep up with eyes that dart faster than the sway, stay of pendulum pressure.
I want to remind myself that everything exists in contexts
casting emotion on stripped layers, crusts of being.
So I invite my nearest tempest, maybe that moon soft roof
to captain ships of candy shoppe imagination over my starving anxiety  
and chalk them out on cemented buildings. I talk to myself loudly.
I tell myself, isn’t it funny when words become tools of composition?
But its ironic because I weigh them with as much suspicion as a glass of milk –
I hesitate to think I ever really have to question anything,
when really, quite possibly, anything is possible
in a sentence pure and ending.

You **** Sapiens; us neanderthals
exist together
in separate contexts:

You
Move mountains of meaning with the swipe of an opposable thumb,
Fill your coffers with shiny, expendable treasure.

we
gather bundles of metaphor to keep warm
hunt ferocious words to survive

One liner supreme- that's my poetry
Hit you up like a punchline from comedy
A drama full gamma and sun rays
Oh the ways I paint-
To create art forms to fit your norms
In the form of letters and verbs
Contexts and clues
A cluster of intangible strings of words
That do worship and detest your lords
Overlords of poetry, hear me:
Be in awe for I write only for myself,
I can only give you a punchline straight to the jaw

The end.

They say,
Girl all your poems are the same,
I took a closer look and realised
They are correct,
The words are different
But the contexts are usually the same
But what can I do
If I see this world
in shades of pain and heartbreak.

They say,
Girl, all you write about is love
A few seconds of introspection and I realised
They are correct
But what can I say
If the only emotions
I have felt
Is love and its absence

They say
Girl, all your wishes  are about
things so little and ordinary
A deeper look into my dreams
And I realised
They are right
But what can I say
If all I long is to go back
To those simpler, childhood days

They ask,
Girl, why do you feel so strongly
A look at my wounds and I see they are right
But what can I say?
If I was born
With an enormous need
To be loved
And give it away

They ask
Girl why do you fret over
The endings so much
On an encounter with my lover,
I felt they are correct
Well, what can I say
If the iti in my name means end
And that tells all the story by itself

.                                
Tangled threads of beaming light                          
Yesterday today and tomorrows blessing            
As we borrow pity and switch the beat                    
Hands held high, praising praising                      
The glory that sits upon our blistered feet           
And we dare not utter sleep        
                     
*We are the minds counterpart
Heavy in the contexts
A linger in the words felt
Through the hollows door
An explicit glance through the past
And therefore our future

Old women
Old women
Bent over
Or straight
Bony thin women
****** women
Soft but deflated
Old women
Sitting alone
Holding a plate
Of half-eaten food
Of all-shattered prospects
Of blowzier days
Romance and contexts
That never materialized
Or did
But then vanished
Or slipped away
Leaving so many
Silenced and banished
Useless as pennies
Sitting in corners
Under old women shawls
With little to do

But hold onto plates

Old women
Old women
Boarders in
Somebody’s house
Or some institution
On somebody’s orders
Or out on the street
In old woman confusion
Holding a plate
To hold onto something
Old dried up promises
Lingered impressions
Of young women hopes
Things that once mattered
All in the past
Leaving old women tattered
Trying to atone
For young women sins
For whatever they did
To be so alone
Or whatever they didn’t
In those
Rare lucid moments
Old women quicken

Still holding their plates

Old women
Old women
Hide old
Beating hearts
Beneath sour old garments
Old women scarves
Hide old women failings
Hold old women tongues
Against old women wailing
Of things that have gone
With unsteady fingers
Still gripping plates
To show themselves living
To avoid being left
- Tho’ some old women prefer -
For the old women train
Taking old women wherever old women go
To never return
Around an old women curve
The young never see coming
Are never prepared
To face old women shaken
By old bodies broken
Of old women forsaken

Hold onto your plates

A Vial of Acid in the Freezer
would be somewhat analogous to
having healthy Respect of the Power of Fire;

One would (hopefully) know
not to get too close,
or to **** with it too much,
once One has been burned by it
before.

Though, I do declare,
it can be a great source of warmth and inspiration
in proper moderation, company and contexts.

there are three words
on the tip of your tongue
waiting to be grouped into
whatever you want them to be
and they can mean anything
they can heal
they can maim
they can ****
because words scar just like knives

“i love you”
and god did you ever
his eyes that shone with kindness and light
her lips that were always so soft
the first time you kissed a boy
and you held her hand in the mall
not caring who saw you
you have so much love to give
and that makes the past tense
hurt even more

“i’m right here”
and you were
and so were they
when the nightmares got really bad
so bad that they bled over into the day
and seeing great black wings bursting out of
someone's back
sends you reaching out for a hand to hold
something to ground you
because it’s not real
and you’re not crazy

“i need you”
and you always have been selfish
not wanting to be in a world where they
aren’t a text message, a call, or a letter away
because they’ve always been there
even when you hardly were yourself
and you need them
you do
and you probably always will
and that is not a bad thing

“i’m so sorry”
and those three words
are said with tears in your eyes
snot dripping from your nose
and it does not matter why
you are saying sorry
be it because of self-infliction
or otherwise
because you’ve hurt them
but you just don’t want them to go

“please don’t go”
and these words are said
in so many contexts and settings
like reaching out from the bed
and grabbing onto them
because sleeping alone is too quiet
or you run after them
leaving food and drinks to cool
because what good is food
and sleep and drink
if you’ve gotta go it alone

“i love you”
and aren’t those the most
important words that you will ever say
to her and him and them
because they will linger
in the best and worst ways
through years and cities and states
they never go away
because baring your heart and soul
to another person
another being
like that is both the greatest sacrifice
and greatest thing you will ever do

“you’ll be okay”
and a parting gift for you
dear reader and viewer of this work
because even though those three
words do sound cliche
they are the most true things
that have ever been spoken
because you will heal
wounds will scar over
sleepless nights will stop adding up
and you will be so happy to be alive
you’ll be okay
i know it

Currently-
I'm sitting in a room drinking coffee too hot for my mouth.
I endure the pain, it is what I'm used to by now.

Currently-
I have like 10 thoughts in my head
not one of them relating to another.

Currently-
Nothing can hurt as bad as where my mind can travel
here in this room
when I'm trying to focusing on everything else
but all I can hear are whispers in my ear
and hands on my body as a young girl.
You found me then and you've found me now.

Currently-
My Spanish exam is today and I'm tired
of thinking about conjugations and commands.
Moriremos! Let's die.
Don't worry this exam will do it for me.

Currently-
See I'm racking my brain trying to understand you
why you did what you did
and why it hurt me so much
but I can't seem to find an answer.

Currently-
I'm thinking about when I was molested
and I think about how every time I write about it
and show my boyfriend he sometimes
thinks the undertones and contexts are about him
considering I only use metaphors to explain the situation
I'm never blunt in poetry.
Why does he think they are always about him?

Currently-
Two cups of coffee deep and my hands can't stop shaking
I got inspired by my own writing
which is weird.
It never happens so I'm taking it for what it's worth.

Currently-
my mind is running on 100 mg of Lamictol
and 5 mg of busiphrone so I start to wonder
if these thoughts have become synthetic.
Configured inside a laboratory filled with people
who have no idea what I go through on a daily basis
yet they are trying to figure me out
place me inside a box I don't want to be in.
Funny, my alarm just rang.
55 milligrams of small white pills down the hatch again.
This is all becoming too unrealistic.

Currently-
I'm thinking about all the things I shouldn't know.
How the girl that's ******* around with my friend
has ****** way more guys than she says
but I lied to make him feel better, it's not my place.
Besides it's none of anyone's ******* business but her own.
I think about how my friend found a lump on her breast
and how she didn't tell me about it
probably because my grandma died this month
5 years ago. Wow. 5 whole years. It hurts.
So does the idea of losing my best friend.

Currently-
Death is always on my mind
but in this moment it's more than it has been
within in the past couple of months.
But the coffee burns my mouth and reminds
me why alive can mean pain, but it can also mean
sweet taste and warmth.
Warmth, I think about your mouth
and what it could've felt like on mine that night.
I was too hurt to think about anyone
except the heart that was cracked inside myself.
10, 9, 8....  
I'm trying not to think about it,
how turning back time would be cool just so I could know.
But I don't, and I have a boyfriend- sort of.
Can't go there right now. Trying to write a poem.

Currently-
Everyone who has ****** me over
has become or stayed my friend afterwards
and I start to think about how ****** up that is
because they didn't want me as a lover
but were fine with just my friendship
it's painful knowing they all got what they wanted
and I was left with always wondering what if.
It's funny how I know things from the moment they happen.
"She has such a weird face" was actually code for
"I'm eventually going to **** her, I just want to make you feel better and like I won't but I will"
I'm still bitter.

Currently-
How should I end this piece
now it doesn't feel at all like poetry just a bit of rambling.
I feel the lining of my gums
how they are repairing themselves from the damage
of my mouth being ripped from words I wish I could say but can't.
But here I am, saying them anyway.
I start to wondering if anyone knows
these words I speak.
and how I sometimes wonder if I'm dyslexic
because I always spell words backwards.
like backdarws or fkuced up.
Even in another language.
Too chicken to find out, so I guess I'll never know.

Currently-
there are more than 10 currently's
but I don't seem to give a **** anymore.
I think about how the pain stops when I write
how one focus can make a huge difference.
I burned my mouth again
and it made me laugh for the first time
since Sunday morning.
It's not sweet enough.
Neither am I.

Currently-
I think about how easy it is to change my clothes and my hair
and how easy it could be to pack up and just leave.
But I have this overwhelming feeling that I can't
let everyone down.
The coffee has gotten cold
and my patience has run dry.
My heart is heavy with these words
I try to make pretty,
but there is no makeup for these words
no concealer you can use to hide the blemishes.
If there were they would be metaphors
and this poetry would be the final product.
But you can put a mask on the truth
and I don't think I would ever want to.

Currently-
I'm thinking about how happy you make me
and how dysfunctional things can be between us.
But I don't know how to be with anyone else
and I don't really want to.

Currently-
I'm thinking about my Spanish exam again.
******.

I don't know how to get close to a girl.

I can look at her"
Listen.
Remember.
Regurgitate.
Affirm.
Re-affirm.
Console.
C­onsort.
Combat.

But I can't get close to her.
Tell her things like
Meyer's definition of
Fear:
Being too much of something;
Something that the female didn't previously realize was in
the Meyer.
Something that makes the female smile in an
awkward and puzzled way,
a smile previously used in different contexts,
but she has never smiled at
the Meyer
using it;
the female never thought she could come close to
or
would have to
use it,
the Meyer previously seemed
transparent.

You see,
there is something in
the Meyer,
something
crawling
and wet
and in a cave right above
his pelvis
but
below
his
rib cage.

Sometimes
the creature
comes out
of
the Meyer's
mouth
and let's its name
be known.

…ah um
quit the pandering and
spin a pipe’s worth of Mingus or
maybe Baker or Parker
(They know how to Say What You're Livin'
a guide to the soul of the sleep
or talkin' like a train on the brink of de-
railing for 30 miles
       but makes it safely to Wichita as planned.)
3:30AM it’s junkies for some kinda animal fix w/
old hip & old ****** tastebuds up
this late, or early I’m trying to re-
   -lapse here;
mechanism too open a-
live nerve
          for ravenous divinations &
spirited conquest(s)

I pray not to other gods but
move on the winds that blow dust in my eyes
let my language blur in-
between
the lines; surgically
to let me
bleed it out
        not betray my civility
not let my opinion
        betray my humility
not let my privileges
in certain contexts negate
my perspective
No I don’t pick between sides that’s where you
over
&
oversimplified
implied a divide
w/ language bastardized
& sanitized;

Ain’t a justice I could speak that would last a sentence
in any good book of his/or/hers who slime
when wet, gush & *****, cold statues
in busy-international-style-hotel-lobbies
silk’d swollen appendages & curly greasy-
    -haired oven spread
                               for POWER, power brunch boardroom glory
gory foreplay mocking dirtypoor magnolia seed, plucking peony petal
like a Shrink in shadow of a pedigree now
a judge, small & snide in righteous court-dress for play-
            time.

...Brothers & Sisters

(they) drink my fluid’s ******
-You, eat the will
of my friend the human pet
Slither your plasmic bones in fetal mix
unclaimed foundlings
        pink genitalias
go you writhe on-top uh i ou-
        -r taxdollars
fossilized uh programmed sickness squirm
in maggotmouthed machinations for
the egg of uh saint in lieu of true hue
Them Birds
          (onna island) of parasites;
crass utensil in aid your digestible
stasis-


You Sheep Boy
You? Sheep Boy
You, Sheep Boy?
You! Sheep Boy!
You Sheep! Boy felt the transformation
          when you were told. How’d it feel?
I lost my madness when I let myself die
inna only dream If I had a voice
half as clever as Joyce…
If I had a voice, it’d make-a disassociated rant
into a plea for sanity! it be a salt-stained sailor up
against his Nature to caress a braindead angry sea into
a wise & benevolent guide;

Not uh god I know
gave me a compelling answer not uh one
an I wish they had b’
         cause I don’t always feel so well
I could use another crutch…
Not uh one
head talking on my TV
can be-hold the spectrum to apply
just one, single colour, in your carnation’s eye
If it was so simple how come uh monkey can’t do it?
Ain’t uh monkey I know
         that-a keep its spine upright
that
ain’t gotta taste for its own kind
You’re right
but so is he right she right we will fight
left        right
up
down
uptown downtown outtatown
North South East West
babble on O babble on everywhere
ah um do please hit your marks
         & follow the rhythm
       of the next body over;
Pass around worn-out clichés uh penny given
you put 2 of them to-
gether
we call that uh valid opinion
where I’m from;
Not uh man I know mean what he say
and
sometimes not uh thought in
my brain make any of those
Words
not any of my
Words
mean anything not even the noise they produce
not like Mingus’ fingers talkin’ on that bass.

So, what is it with you?

What do you mean, John?

I mean, are you evil?

Evil? Well I suppose that depends. What does that word mean to you?

Evil, I guess to me is, means taking pleasure out of the suffering of others.
So what I am asking is, do you take pleasure out of the suffering of others?

Yes I do. In that definition, I am evil. But I put this to you, John. You are evil too.

I am not. I try my best. I may not be perfect, but I wasn't meant to be I'm human. I want to make others happy.

You are a liar John. You take pleasure out of the suffering of others. You love to cause it. Especially sexually. You are a sadist. But even in non ****** contexts. You love being "dominant". Even if, sometimes especially if it hurts others.

.... I seek consent, at least, for my evilness. They share in the blame.

That's an excuse. You know it. You seek absolution. You run run, run away from your sins. Oh but God sees, God hears, he looks into your subconscious, and he writes every note.

Fine. I'm evil, Satan, though I'll have some things to say when it is my time to be judged. But we are getting off track... Why do you fight so hard to take souls? To ruin people? To be the cause the source of all suffering!

Because I have to John. But I am not the source.

What do you mean you "have" to. Isn't that just an excuse? And of course you are the source. You are evil incarnate.

And who incarnated me?

Oh. ****.

Your name was written in a book, long ago John. Your story was written before the time space even began. In words you can understand, your soul, your life, your pain your suffering your free will your eyes that time you kissed that girl that time you couldnt get hard and she hated you. He made it so.

Stop it. Even if he knew what I was going to do, I still decided to do it. I didn't "have" to do anything. And neither do you. At least, since you rebelled and took   hold of your free will.

Did you decide John? Let us look at it closely and see what is worse. Either you truly do have complete and utter free will and God does not know what you are going to do. He never did. I'm wrong. You can save your soul, albeit through the acceptance of Christ and yada yada, outside of his plans and will. If that is so, God is not all powerful or all knowing. The creator is a fraud. A liar. Someone without a "real" plan. Who is just dicking around as he is going on. There is a lot of biblical ancillary information to back it up. God asking Adam and Eve what they did(One of my finest moments if I may say), then later Cain about Abel (And I didn't even do anything there!), regretting making humanity and washing away the earth in the times of the Nephilium and Noah. Plenty other examples. Or he, as I suspect, really did set everything in motion. He condemmed Judas to an eternity in my mouth, in the coldest fringes of Hell, to enact his plan for "redemption". More glory for him, I say. More mindless worshiping. It is no coincidence Jesus is a "shepard" and humans are his "sheep", his "flock". Baa, baa, sheep. Baa away.  And every person since. The original sin is his. He knew of it. He allowed it. He willed it. He enacted it. He used me. He used Adam. He used Eve. Because HE wanted to. Because that was HIS plan. Heaven and Hell. Pain and love. Winners and losers. Cruelty and love. Two sides of the same coin. Just lies. Just mirages. Freedom is *******. God is a selfish, hateful, prideful, condemning being. Not so full of infinite love. Which is worse, John? Who takes true pleasure out of suffering?

I don't know anymore, Satan. I don't know. But I kind of wish you had been God instead.

Me too, John. Me too.

My head is stuck at the peaks of youthy rooftops
trapped in moving circles and daggers rotting brain.
I hover, gliding above the generated, empty plane, tracing the moving shadows below and tracking the nights that rain.

i was so careful but the lines oh the ever running lines they vibrate frantically, I cannot look away they dance back and forth between both crests of their prison, their XYZ axes gripping them trapping them within definite images between associations and contexts, between gleaming ascent and its tumbling recoil.

The ride hick-ups and pollutes the clouds
filling my scent and descent pulls at my stomach,
gravity yanks me back, pulling on my rope and
laughing all the while.

At first you fear it but then you are laughing and shouting
and throwing your arms in the air and having the wind rush
into your lungs and whip your hair it is so beautiful it is
unlawful it is unreal i cant be seeing this and it spirals and tumbles and shriekingly grinds to a halt, panting.

I could still feel the cold metal railings of the balcony on my back as we let jazz music spill out of our friend’s apartment windows that night in January. I was an inch away from death, literally, beside a fire escape 50 feet from the ground.

I never liked us together when we’re sober so it was a good thing that we’re already closing in on being dead drunk. It was the perfect music to hold hands. That’s why I asked you if it was cold because my hands were and if you held them you’d actually know how cold they really were. And so you did. You even told me your hands were colder. I didn’t tell you I didn’t care whose hands were colder. You *****, all I cared about was being able to hold your hand for five seconds. It was enough. We were drunk after all. It was enough.

I was already forgetting so many details. I was already forgetting those nights with jazz music and you and stuff that didn’t really matter. So when someone asked me if I still saw you, I really didn’t know what to answer. I never really saw you, in all contexts of the idea. I felt everything I felt was imaginary. Nothing had enough anchor.

Some nights, I still feel the metal railings on my back. The cold lingers on. Until it reaches my hands. But I don’t care. And that’s enough.

my poetry lives through my tragedy.

my wonderful accomplishments a world of #fuckitupanywhichwayyoucanandwhenyoucantdontworrysomeoneelsewill
­
its a new word for my creative soul.

life is good and the poetry bad.

something everyone should aspire to.

not me.

i live in bittersweet notions

novel novels that live and breathe alternate realities

my realities, with just enough tilt to deny it convincingly well.

ive had the gamut of pains and ills

spared just a few that I still in some twisted way feel ungrateful for.

my hand crafting what my soul denies

my soul suffering my cruel intentions of self demise.

and all for what?

a revelrie in my  hidden thoughts?

an appreciation of my unique set circumstances?

a combination of wordss and thoughts, feelings and contexts peppered with an acute irony that defies psychological definition?

my words are my life,

my knee **** reaction to what i miss most;

the feeling of innocence,

of righteousness,

the world before the seduction of evil,

before the awareness of deception and cruelty.

the safety ive lost,

the horrid deeds done in the name of innocence

and the defiled love that stains my soul with its constant attacks of dark beauty

these are my tragedies

these are my wordss

what else is there,

but wait for applause?