"hypothetical" poems
*Inebriated blue cloud,
I know you well enough
libertine ways you have
make you a lover of
deep thunder and meek rainbow
and also a chit of a lark
that loses itself in a song
be it is in grief or mirth.
Strange is the ways of my heart,
how much I long to fall in love with you
and proclaim this to the world scheming
to disrupt the pleasures one seeks
without any reason at all
"Look! love has no limits, no reason even
the lovely cloud, softness personified
caresses my foliage with sensuous abandon
kisses me with her wispy lips of moisture"
I know you understand, though unmindful of
my unbridled passion
making breaches in the limits,
I have no illusion about our improbable union.
True, how can we live
happily ever after?
I envy your gift of wings
though you have none visible,
you borrow it from the wayward wind,
too willing to carry your sweet load around.
I stood on the hill top,
wistfully thinking
that you will come and
take me within your soft folds
though I am a tree with deep running roots
that has become a restraining thing.
Freedom without any limit
gets you inebriated every minute,
your love for love, makes you desirable
you live in the present, suspend thoughts on time to come
as it is hypothetical, you say.
You are in a hurry to roam
wherever lovers lead you one after the other
do you have an urge to dissolve and pour-
as water, without any remorse?
Do you know my penitence for your love
on this hilltop is a true sacrifice?
My love for you doesn't bring anything
except my wilting hour after hour.
Let me be on your blue breast for moments
when my boiling love will seek
your shining center that melts, melts
we'd freeze as one, how long my darling?
Time would simply stand still
to a distance, i'd be transported,
where tree or cloud means nothing
we are an incessant rain lasting for ever.*
Feb 13, 2014
Feb 13, 2014 at 10:13 AM UTC
Hypothetical lust
Generated electrical impulses,
The very same that stirred your heart.
Pulse – stifled, still,
Cochlear arousal (still)
The same that heard "I love you"
Physically imprisoned,
We tremble from the pain
Yours in your mind, mine in my brain
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 1:19 AM UTC
You're Selfish.
Sometimes I can't stand you.
I want to rip my hair out the minute you speak.
I want to throw a can of green beans at you
in hopes of breaking your toe.
Is that mean?
Although I know you have trouble with things from the past
What about my issues with the things I can't quite grasp?
My ****** is broken!
I'm sorry I can't care as much about your past as i used to.
Our hypothetical children are all I can think of.
If we can't procreate how do I go on?
That hole in my chest..
You know, the one they call a heart..
It needs that bond.
The one formed between a mother and child.
But still... sometimes I can't stand you!!
How do we make children if we can't even get along?
This would be easier if I didn't love you so much.
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 4:28 AM UTC
20:00 - Dinner
Alone but entertained
I like it that way
21:00 - Skype calls
Not having talked for four days
I've missed her yet the occasional silence is nice
22:00 - Fillers
Scrolling through pictures and sharing thoughts
A pleasant and calm feeling
23:00 - Rethinking
The first hypothetical theories about the day
Laughing at the slip-ups to push them away
00:00 - Reflecting
Doubting choices throughout the week
Faking a small smile
01:00 - Endurance
A familiar feeling spreads
Downcast eyes and a facade of peace
02:00 - Creative
New ideas and thoughts fill up the space
Pick and choosing which ones would hurt the most now
03:00 - Idealistic
Reading stories about happiness, pain and change
Wondering what will become of me
04:00 - Closure
Horrible thoughts tearing down the last walls
Curling up and crying again
05:00 - End
Following a familiar routine before sleep comes
Cradling the broken mind
Jan 13, 2018
Jan 13, 2018 at 7:00 AM UTC
Questions Please
Put up a question please
Throw me a question please
Question, any question
Burning or sensational
big or small or silly
easy or tough or absurd
hypothetical or factual
All questions are invited.
Only and only questions
No Answers at all
As I already have answers
I have answers to all the questions
that ever existed, but ceased to exist today.
I have the answers to prevailing questions
that are making us crazy day by day
I even have the answers to the questions
which are still in the future's belly
waiting to be born one day
in this beautiful and ugly world
Questions please
All sorts of questions
May be from geography or philosophy
Or from religion to defence studies
It may be from medical science or history
Or from space research too
Animal husbandry is no taboo
Questions on skydiving are also welcome
Politics is my all-time favourite
although I can answer sports or adventure
Questions on corruption are also solicited
You can ask on oceanography or calligraphy too
I know everything, literally everything
but neither I am 'Google' nor 'Bing'
I am not even 'Duck Duck Go'
nor I claim to be 'Baidu'
I guessed your question.
You are wondering – "Who am I?"
It's very-very simple Man!
I am a nasty spokesperson from the ruling party
I may be found mostly in television debates
as a panelist, as a debator, as a joker
as a disturbing element, as a liar
as a person making hue and cries
You may or may not like my answers,
but, please like me, please love me
Raise slogans for me, Praise me
Make me famous, make me a celebrity
But even if you dislike me
I don't care, I have my media
I have my own followers
I also own a troll army
I train them perfectly
I pay them heavily
I spend too much on
News media and Social media
I have my own trustworthy mob
who is always ready for violence
anytime and anywhere
at any cost whatsoever
Beware, I am from the ruling party
I inherit a complete readymade system
of Investigating agencies, Ready to book anyone
on false and frivolous grounds.
And it will take years to prove innocence
Innocence may be proved, may be disproved
This also depends on Money, Power and Links
Or the nasty arithmetic of alliance with us in future
So if you still chose to dislike me
It's your choice, but wait
I can still become a minister
Or even a prime minister
I have the quality to lure voters
I have the answers to all the questions
That ever existed or are existing
Or that are stilling waiting to be born.
Jan 7, 2019
Jan 7, 2019 at 2:16 AM UTC
The falling stars in this ironic night
make majesties
out of those cubicle-ridden New Yorkers'
routine Tuesday night daydreams,
where they make macabre escape routes
out of every perfectly-placed window
piercing the concrete sentences
that escalate from Ground Zero.
Your law offices,
corporate ******* headquarters,
are all bursting at the seams
with these drones,
the falling stars of the human race,
all composed of 14 different shades
of grayscale;
could've been
should've been
could've been shootin' stars
that year they were promised
lives of upper middle class incomes
and Lexus dealerships
bought to dent their status
on the neighborhood,
but that sparkle's been emaciated
by the truth,
the underwhelming spectacle of realization
accentuated by the clicking
and the clacking of company keyboards,
each little click
gnawing more at their patience
than the next;
the faceless brush strokes
gawk through that window,
their plans less hypothetical
over the calendar years.
"I can hear it calling me
from miles away,"
says Copy #90045280,
"see, they
SPEAK
to me, man,
tell me to transcend
the hurdle of the windowsill
and make my rendezvous
with an asphalt avenue,
to join the other casualties
of this rut-infested nation
in a life with the real stars,
falling and shooting
and jettisoning alike,
throbbing lights through dark sky silk
and into the hearts of even the most
robotic of this catalog culture,
and I frightfully,
excitedly,
must listen."
Apr 29, 2010
Apr 29, 2010 at 10:53 AM UTC
If I told anyone I was ***** they wouldn’t believe me
I live in a world that preaches against hypothetical violence but when that **** comes into your life, everyone pushes it away.
I remember, no I don’t remember, I can barely remember his name.
I think it started with a “C”.
I think he was from Minnesota.
I think we were on a sixteen hour flight.
I think he smiled at me.
I think I smiled back, because why the **** wouldn’t I.
I think he took that as a green light.
I think I shut my eyes to try and sleep.
I think he took that as a green light.
I am fifteen.
I think too little of his advances and trust society enough for me to rest.
I know that was a mistake.
I know I woke up to a blanket around me that wasn’t there before.
I know I woke up to his palm pressed in my pants.
I know I woke up screaming.
I know I couldn’t open my mouth.
I know I was screaming.
I know my mother was on that same plane three rows back.
I was fifteen.
I told my friends and they never believed me.
I haven’t told a soul since.
Why did he walk away from that unscratched while I have been carrying it around like a dead animal for three years?
Why do men think they can own what they can see?
Let me tell you what I can see:
Five people who asked me why I didn’t fight back.
Four people that were sitting around me and claimed to see him putting the cover on me, yet did nothing.
Three of his friends I saw later on the trip who praised him for what he accomplished upon seeing what I looked like.
Two eyes in the mirror that cry almost everyday.
And one crack in that same mirror that will never go away.
Mar 11, 2018
Mar 11, 2018 at 10:27 PM UTC
Universe has no taste.
With haste,
All runners run the same race,
Winners reaching their last breath finish line.
Could be chance or accident,
Either way I'm happy with it.
So much worrying and anticipation,
Just lifts to dissipate,
On such a long awaited day.
Should it be taken seriously?
I hear fickle people go both ways
Jun 17, 2012
Jun 17, 2012 at 9:58 PM UTC
In Gothic architecture, light is considered
the most beautiful revelation of God;
Beauty is a characteristic of an animal,
an idea, object, person or place that provides
an experience of pleasure, or satisfaction;
Beauty is studied as part of aesthetics, [culture],
social psychology, philosophy & sociology;
An ideal beauty is an entity;
admired; possessing features
widely attributed to beauty in a particular culture;
to perfection:
Ugliness [commonness], [ ] commonly considered to be the opposite
of beauty,
annihilated as an intellectual concept,
no longer exists;
The experience of beauty is often
involved in an interpretation of some
entity [being in balance & harmony];
the experience of nature may lead to feelings
of attraction & emotional well-being;
Because perception is a purely subjective experience,
it was once said that beauty
is in the eye of the beholder;
a sentiment long debunked;
There is evidence that hypothetical perceptions
of beauty involve determining
aspects of things, people & landscapes;
beauty is typically found
in situations likely to enhance the survival
of the perceiving collection
[of chromosomes]
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 6:25 PM UTC
EAST BOSTON, 1996
ON THE BUS
Franz Wright
It's one thing when you're twenty-one,
and I was way past twenty-one.
With unshaven face half concealed in the collar
of some deceased porcine philanthropist's
black cashmere rag of a coat,
I knew that I looked like a suicide
returning an overdue book to the library.
Almost everyone else did as well,
but I found no particular solace in this;
at best, the fact awakened some diverting speculations
on the comparative benefits
of waiting in front of a ditch to be shot
alone or in company
of others, and then whether one would prefer
these last hypothetical others
to be friends, family, enemies, total
or relative strangers. Would you hold hands?
Or would you rather like a good **** sapiens
monster employ them
to cover your genitals?
What percentage would lose bowel control?
And given time restrictions -
and assuming some still had the ability to move -
would ostracism result? Anyway,
I knew the rules on this bus.
No eye contact: the eyes of the terrified
terrify. Look
like you know where you're going,
possess ample change to get there,
and don't move your lips when you talk
to yourself: the destroyed
and sick, the poor, the hungry
and the disturbed estrange.
The badly dressed estrange, even,
and that is uncalled for. The degree
of one's power to estrange will increase
in direct proportion to the depth
of need for others. Do not cry.
This can only bring about, on the one hand,
an instant condition of banishment
from the sole available companionship, or
on the other, a near
fatal beating (one more disappointment).
Just follow the simple instruction
if you ever come here.
It's easy to remember - any idiot can do it.
Don't cry,
the world has abandoned us.
Feb 27, 2017
Feb 27, 2017 at 7:59 AM UTC
I wasn't always so easily discouraged.
I used to bristle with enthusiasm.
I glowed with it.
It didn't matter if the task was simple, or tedious, or daunting, or boring.
As though on rails, I slammed into each and every task with terrific force.
But I got older.
Things that used to come easily grew slippery.
What I used to do without thinking twice, I found myself over-thinking.
I threw the brake. I ground to a halt.
Finally, I became idle. A left-over husk of a kernel that's already been popped.
I drowned myself with doubts. Hypothetical situations that might never happen.
I lived in fear of what might go wrong.
So I began to watch everything go wrong, as though I was helpless.
I was no less able. I was no less compassionate.
But I had grown wary. Of what?
What was it that, out of nowhere, caused me to slow down?
I guess I looked down and realized that if I fell, I would not be getting back up.
When you're young, you have no worries, because nothing is relying on your success.
So you mess up a math problem. You'll get it eventually.
So you botch things with that cute girl who sits across from you. You're young, you'll get it.
Re-assurance, faithfully, unwaveringly. A safety line should I fall.
But I never really fell, did I? So why am I laying down like I have?
Get up.
Get up.
I worry about everything. I worry that I will fail.
I dread what comes, what I can't avoid. But time, and time, again, it comes, and I miraculously don't die when it hits, because I've been bracing for a train-wreck impact, a force that will really, truly, finally, definitely lay me flat for good.
I close my eyes, and brace. But the crash never comes. The silence that was continued to be.
I turn behind me, but there's no train there.
I'm starting to realize, with relief, (with horror), that maybe all I needed to do was step off the track.
I look down, and realize, with a first-creeping then-howling laughter that I was never on the track to begin with.
I look off where the track is. There's no train there, either. Maybe there never was.
Maybe there never will be.
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 12:33 AM UTC
A man I am meant to love told me the amount of skin I show represents my right to consent.
Flesh = Yes
Clothes = No
"Deserving" is a word he used.
A grandfather told his grandchild she deserved to be abused based off the length of her skirt, but this is old news; same story.
Only, I've heard it one time too many and now I'm sick of it.
"Devastated" over my hypothetical **** he'd said,
as though his feelings mattered more than my right to my body.
Well, **** him.
I'm tired of prioritising people whose opinions are so archaic they can't see the crime in their words.
And his words hurt.
He defended the 'nature of men', claiming its an inbreed instinct,
tried to explain the appeal of women as though I don't already know.
Jokes on him.
I'm gay.
But I've never been under the illusion it's okay to objectify or intimidate your way into a person's life.
I've never felt entitled to a person I've liked
And there lies the generational divide
Because neither has my brother.
Being "unable to control certain urges" is just another lie they feed you to perpetuate a culture of ****
I'm seventeen, and yet I know the fear a predatory gaze can cause,
I've been leered at to the extent I honestly thought this is it.
This is the moment I've been warned about.
And then I thought "It's my own fault.
It's dark, it's after nine, I went out running in only a sports bra,
of cause I'm going to find trouble"
because I forgot that I'm not an object.
I'd been fed the same message so frequently it was ingrained into my fight or flight response.
Doesn't that speak for itself?
I'd been conditioned to accept the blame before the finger was even pointed.
So when my grandfather looked me in eye and said he thought girls where asking for it by the way they dressed,
I didn't have the energy to suppress my response.
I asked him if I'd been out drinking with friends wearing a sheer dress and matching bralette, and I was ***** would he consider it my fault.
His answer was met with stunned laughter.
Yes, he'd consider me to blame, and indicated his disappointment should weigh on my conscious.
I am shamed I have the same genetics as such a man.
At least I've learned to drown out his words so they can no longer effect me.
Jun 4, 2018
Jun 4, 2018 at 1:25 PM UTC
Reincarnation
We all die
And that’s a must
Eventually we turn to atomic dust
The atoms have been
And always will be
From before we stepped out of
The primeval sea
They cannot die
Or multiply
They just are
And that’s no lie
So when people say
We have not lived before
Just turn the key
And point to the door
As we are all made
From stuff of the past
And scientists pin their claim
To that mast
So reincarnation
It is a fact
And in this life
We have to act
So sceptics you can argue all night
But of the above there is no fight
The soul and the spirit on the other hand
May be discovered if it is planned
Like the higg’s boson particle
Which is hypothetical
You have the right
To think
Soul is theoretical
Feb 22, 2011
Feb 22, 2011 at 11:32 AM UTC
When the man at the hardware store asks,
what shade of blue are you looking for sugar,
to paint the walls of our hypothetical son's room,
I would have said heartbreak,
the same shade of heartbreaking blue as his daddy's eyes.
Ironic, because I would have rooted for a gender neutral colour,
an agnostic upbringing and a liberal education,
but somewhere down this erratic, dysfunctional relationship,
I stopped caring, or perhaps, cared only of you.
Since you left there's nothing to care about,
there's no you, there's no us, there's no motivation,
my priorities, values and aspirations are still maintaining a distance,
I'm feeling a heartbreaking shade of blue.
Like that one time I got high on dried out ****
I was completely aware of every stage of this breakup,
the shock, the disbelief, the sadness, the pain, the regret,
until it stopped.
The world has come to a standstill,
leaving me tripping between spring and snowflakes on the windowsill,
I'm not coming down from the high, or low,
I should have got you out of my system 4 years ago.
It's not a linear process, said my friend,
and I know what he means,
because for everyday I get through without thinking of you,
I spend weeks curled up in pain in bed or on the floor,
feeling a heartbreaking shade of blue.
Kept awake at night, weary, paranoid and deluded,
suffocated, drowned in despair, sometimes even in air,
in the shallow words, empty promises and plans made,
thrown into solitary confinement among hundreds of other people,
breaking me, when I'm already broken.
All while you stripped me of my dignity, intuition and optimism,
disregarded my needs, exploited my insecurities and wasted my heart,
I thought I knew you,
come to think of it, I don't think your eyes are blue.
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 8:44 AM UTC
Academic conversations about consent are a pure form of agony,
Listening to students and Professor toss around the word like it's a hypothetical commodity,
As if there is question that autonomy and dignity belong to every living thing in that room.
We are asked to dissect the most intimate of physical safeties as if this is a lesson in biology,
Solve 'consent' like a particularly challenging calculus problem,
Pretend as if this didn't happen in the confines of my body.
It's excruciating to have to take an equation,
We'll start with y=mx+b,
And calculate which variables determine basic human decency.
I was young, female, gay, autistic, bipolar,
Clinging to his professions of love like they could stitch the gaping emotional wounds,
And somehow that didn't make me human when he did the math.
I don't know how to argue, Professor, with which philosophical tools,
Professor, that I was a person, Professor,
When he decided to **** me.
Feb 21, 2021
Feb 21, 2021 at 9:27 PM UTC
I like to pretend that I have a tough exterior
That my mind is strong
And that the words and actions of others
Don't bring me down
But that couldn't be further from the truth
I'm so weak
I'm pathetic
It takes seconds
No time at all
For my mind to transport me to a place
A place where I think I'm hated
A place where I believe I'm unwanted
I'm so vulnerable at all times
When one little thing doesn't go as I expected
I freak out
I assume the worst
I make up hypothetical situations in my head
Situations in which nobody loves me
And nobody cares for me
Situations in which I'm ignored with ease
And forgotten quickly
It probably sounds selfish
As if I solely care about what people think of me
But in actuality
It stems from a deep self hatred
I hate myself in such a way
That I couldn't possibly imagine a world
Where people could genuinely love me and care for me
It's no wonder my relationships fail
With not only lovers
But with family and friends as well
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 3:39 PM UTC
i hope, i try to hope
--to believe--
believe me, i try
to trust in trust i think i feel, or think or know
there isn't any code that satisfies
though maybe there's an uber-uber-ultra-meta code beyond what even codes can mean?
meh.
i enjoy the hypothetical,
Paris in a bottle, fairness for all sentient beings, faith in nothing comprehensible,
an English teapot circles Jove from afar
or all that's uncontrollable, for some all-purpose good to decorate the brackish, ocean truth.
and uncertain science is another case,
mistrusting all, testing daring thoughts with razor sight,
to sharpen speech and challenge all
to flex the truth into a fitness ground on which to stand, objective stern
and method doubt to peer and scan the detail bare, denude minutiae
into ever smaller parts, expanse of raw and empty space attuned,
to vibrant nothingness rebound
muons, gluons, tauons, quarks and bosons --Higgs the boon for popular appeal,
to bridge or monumentalize the science-mystic gap
appall the ghosts that Galileo keeps for company
i enjoy the fantasy,
dragons in a flask, perfect love for all, dancing in the dark in joy regardless of the shutter thicken dust
Feb 26, 2013
Feb 26, 2013 at 12:39 AM UTC
In the air, floating just next to the window
solidly constructed
as sure as the golden highway
stretching from Frisco across the Bay
looking square
as the acres of boxcars
north on the interstate
on the south side of Chicago,
it's all atoms...
This morning my son postulated to me a so-far unrealized condition
relating to matter transmitters and, probably, hyperspace. "What
would happen, " he asked, "if some guy transported himself inside a big rock?"
Indeed.
Putting on my ears, I considered the situation. Would the hypothetical solid mass of rock give way, shudder just enough to allow the insertion of a soft, squishy human being? Or would the spaces in their respective atoms--rock's and human's--intermesh neatly with each other? Molecular integration? But such a challenge to the atomic bonds holding the things together might result in a nasty atomic accident. Would that leave a human-shaped void inside the solid rock, a mold exact down to the finest details of skin texture and even eyelashes? Imagine the crystal-filled waters seeping down to find such a hole--Behold!! Geode Man.
Holding my silver pen extended
like a rapier before me,
I dissect the wispy chunks
of smoke. The balance of air
that gave them form
is destroyed. They are
no more.
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 4:29 PM UTC
Allow me to show myself to you
Before you paint a picture of me without a reference
Let me show you what beauty looks like
Below the surface of the skin
I’ll show you the flowers in my mind
They’re so vibrant you’ll think it’s magic
If you tried to recreate them, you’d never be able to find a shade that matches just right
Some of these flowers might be wilted, but they’re still growing
I try to be like them
I’ll walk with you
Down the spiraling staircase, from the garden of my mind
We’ll walk among bookcases filled with my thoughts
In a giant library of ideas
My mind is a castle
With thick walls
And moats deeper than your imagination
The drawbridge is almost always closed
If you see it open, you know that’s one of the good days
My castle is built of similes and metaphors so strong
They could shatter a window better than any rock ever could
I use diction as bricks
I built this castle myself out of literary devices and pure magic
My hypothetical brain castle is full of more secrets than you might think
There are trap doors down every hallway
Hidden rooms full of memories i like to keep to myself
My castle has a dungeon
I like to lock away the things I don’t want to think about
There are doors that don’t open, in my castle
Keys i lost a long time ago
When i lose another key, it’s called “forgetting”
Usually I don’t even notice
There are vines creeping up the side of my castle
Things that shouldn’t be there, but they won’t go away
Later, you’ll realize they made it more beautiful
Sometimes, I mistake the castle for a prison
I forget that these walls are meant to protect me, not keep me sealed away
My castle looks more like a cell, than a home
I feel lost among in my library of ideas
The books full of my thoughts seem to be written in a language i do not recognize
I fall down trap doors i forget are there, and i mistake the flowers as weeds
My castle looks more like a cell, than a home
And all I want is to escape my own mind
Feb 15, 2017
Feb 15, 2017 at 1:05 PM UTC
*
Awaken refreshed, hush the alarm, time for another caper,
cuddle with the kitty, good morning, my fuzzy lil slayer!
Feed the furballs, cereal for me, start the coffee maker,
may be a good day today, at least it looks good on paper.
Drain the main, check the mirror, what-up my _playa_—
wait a sec, is it my self-hate, or am I a little greyer?
Inhale my morning nicotine with a sugary caffeine chaser,
hazelnut and doubt, mmm, that's my favorite flavor...
Brush and shave, step into the Hypothetical Argument Simulator,
hope follows soap down the drain—oh well—see ya later!
All dressed up, glance to verify the happiness imitator,
hold my chin up high, but only for the cologne sprayer.
Front door locked, start the car, on the lookout for hidden radar,
try to outrun the bitterness, traffic jam, wish this were single-player.
Make it to work in one piece, if just the outer layer,
brain boiling beneath, my good old trusty traitor.
*
Sep 11, 2025
Sep 11, 2025 at 4:36 PM UTC
Remember? Do you?
*The verses of the Mahabharata,
Where Draupati begged to let her go,
Where being a wife of the Pandavas made her no different from the unmarried women.*
Remember? Do you?
*When inside 1 in 10 houses,
A little girl complains to her mum,
It hurts me in there Maa.*
Remember? Do you?
*The night,
When a girl lay all naked and battered on the road,
When a friend of her's was as helpless as the lost kid at the course.*
Remember? do you?
The nights when people marched with candles in their hands,
The days when we witnessed protests.
*Days after days,
Months after months,
Years after years,
Didn't you,
All of you, tried to build us?*
The ones who were too small to understand,
The ones who were capable enough to understand,
And the ones who understood what all this actually meant.
*From the cheap comments passed
To the guidelines to dress-up,*
You filled our heads,
With the thoughts which were never meant to be there.
From all those sad old lines to the new generation trends,
You made us cautious yet scared.
While there were dreams to be accomplished,
And words that were unsaid,
*Your efforts to build us,
Made us question our own existence.*
*With every tantrum and argument we throw,
We have something for you to know, you know,*
Caging us won't do us any good,
While letting us live without the not so needed guidelines will do.
Set us free and cage the ones who needs so,
For the day you would realise,
*Is merely a hypothetical concept you would know.*
Jan 22, 2017
Jan 22, 2017 at 2:01 AM UTC
Life is a sacred journey.
No two are the same.
Respect for divergence
is paramount
to a holistic experience.
Life
is not about
status-quo
or
expectations,
t'is simply what's made thereof
Lyphe
is a sacred opportunity
not to be taken lightly
Our Bodies
are our umbilical vessels
which tether us
as mortals
to "Reality,"
which, in itself,
seems to me to be
a reduction of potentials
from chance
to actuality
such ephemeral eternety;
infinite limitations;
actualized potentials;
possible paths-
these are but some of
the koan-like attributes
which lead me to use
the rather ambiguous
and ambitious
term "sacred."
Truly,
it becomes
whatthefucksoever
One may well will
to create thereof.
Action is Manifestation,
yet Thought begets Action.
Therein lies the sacred gift of Life.
'T'is all too oft taken for granted.
Every living being
(i am convinced)
has an equally vivid depth of experience
and I find it more than somewhat offensive
that humans (with a lowercase H)
feel they are the penultimate organism.
All is One
in that existence, itself,
tethers us all
to everything
and probably even beyond,
and so
to be so
hubristic and arrogant
as to assume a hierarchy
so convieñantly crested by mere
**** Sapiens Sapiens*
seems to me to be
an anthrocentric and narcissistic projection
of that meddlesome ages-old archetype
of the "Ego,"
that is to say "God,"
whatthefuckever that means!
Find it in thyself
to be humble enough
to accept that each and every iota of "Creation"
is, by virtue of association, equally sacred; divine.
Heirarchy, thus, seems to be a manifestation of some desire for order; control; a yearning to alleviate some hypothetical insecurity as a result of being essentially "absolute, infinite" (vis-a-vis the domain of Consciousness) yet contained within a vessel that is mortal, and, thus, ephimeral.
The Ego doth so loathe it's own limitations:
too bad it's far too arrogant to realize that most of the limitations it experiences are illusions, allusions;
charades of an insatiable Consciousness
Hell-bent on experiencing something
it won't redily allow itself to experience!
What a Holy fuckton of
incredulous, ineffable, impalpable, inspirational **** that would be, eh?! (insert interrobang)
I am me (I think...)
as thou art thee;
so why can't that just be good enough?
Could it be?
What obstruction precludes such harmonious divergence?
I reckon 't'is but us;
and very little else, indeed!
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 9:37 AM UTC
Get over it.
You are.
And that’s just too bad isn’t it?
Good for you, you, you.
Just can’t wait to see what’s next.
Just can’t wait to see what matters to you more.
You going to keep getting upset?
Because I’m going to keep getting irritated.
And consuming all that makes me forget that you’re unhappy.
Don’t care.
At least I won’t if I keep telling myself that I won’t.
I don’t care if it takes forever.
And it doesn’t matter how much I don’t understand at the moment.
Because I understand it now.
And it doesn’t matter how much you love the lyrics or the fact that they are lyrics in themselves. They mean something concerning the moment.
And you said you’re faking until the morning.
And the music cannot be loud enough.
Nothing drowns out the fact that I know the truth.
The neighbors do too, and that is why I won’t turn down the music.
But I could go all night, I’ve done it before,
When someone else has failed me, because guess what? Everyone does. I can have a relationship and believe in it or I can have something I fake, but whatever I have is opposite of whatever the victim feels.
So tell me what you think you feel and I’ll tell you that on principle alone that you are wrong and indifferent.
***** to be you.
But I can sit here all day and keep going.
Because it has been so wrong,
And without metaphors everything is said instead of implied.
And I am tired of lying anymore.
Guess I don’t believe in what is going on anymore.
Let’s get hypothetical,
Then nothing seems as serious,
And I can lie about it in the morning, just as you do.
Maybe I imagine everything that goes on and I have no idea.
Maybe you’re an idea, and you don’t really exist.
I think I don’t really care.
I’ll wake up and spend my life pretending,
And it will feel great,
Because since you think that I am just a mess,
I can show you what I am really hiding by not actually showing you in any symbolic or secretive way.
It’s too bad you act like you care,
Because in turn you will act hurt.
But thankfully I’ll know different.
And feel no regret when I’m done with this.
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 5:46 PM UTC