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"impracticality" poems
My quixotic escape to dreamland is Always a whimsical amusement park I'm an angel resting on a blade Of humorous impracticality A blade that hurts reality I'm the dreamer torn between Smooth masculine angels with the wildest dreams Reality can slit my wings, Scorch my blackened feathers, And manipulate my epicurean senses But these lucid dreams Cleanse my slate A dreamer's fortitude is a gentle sigh On the eyelids
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Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 11:01 PM UTC
A Dreamer's Fortitude
She will see them always now The angel numbers  and the simple signs. With the hope of learning the strings Of all you have to offer While the day is still light. She will see them always now The plate numbers and the street signs. With the hope of seeing the truth Of the third eye’s offer While the day is still light. She will see THEM always now The strayed hair and the warmed face. With the hope of experiencing all Of the moments to be reached While the day is still light. She sees a human. She loves my blistered, worn hands. She loves my dreams of impracticality. She loves my memories. Thank goodness she’s my golden hour all the time
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Oct 28, 2018
Oct 28, 2018 at 11:16 PM UTC
1 4 7
on the impracticality of impracticality of the wings of dragonflies made of cellophane in which i wrap myself in the hopes that one day i will suffocate on the impracticality of shoulders moulded to fit the leaning heads of our lovers on the impracticality of bedsprings creaking to wake up the neighbors at three forty- six a.m. or clouds, even bursting at the seams to drench us with our own tears why can’t we just **** each other from the outside instead
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Dec 19, 2011
Dec 19, 2011 at 10:49 PM UTC
love and other suicide pacts
2.26.18 I’d like to think that oblivion isn’t inevitable and that salvation exists, that we aren’t merely hurtling on a war path toward destruction and the unknown, I’d like to think that modern science will save us and that tomorrow is infinite, that we will continue and thrive; that existence is endless, but the dark thoughts crowding the back of my head tell me that skepticism is all I have left to hold onto, that tomorrow I could swerve too far on the highway unknowingly step in front of a bus – and who will have known who I was or what I believed? Who will remember me? I’ve determined that maybe we are just flying through space alone and maybe chaos rules the world and maybe oblivion is inevitable and one day I’ll be gone and it won’t matter, so maybe the only existence I truly have is in mornings waking up to scrape ice off the car, maybe the only existence I’m given is the warmth of sun seeping through my window, sips of lukewarm coffee past 2am, the laughter that lights up the faces of those I call friends, and the fragility of knowing that each moment is simultaneously powerful & insignificant. Being human is trapped within the realm of the impracticality and beauty of not knowing anything. The nature of worlds is to fall into chaos, yet out of chaos is born endless possibility, and out of this possibility I discover that we are living one endless moment of shared anxiety about the inevitable, but we are perfectly capable of living in the light of death, our impermanence enrapturing our hearts. How privileged are we, born to thrive and die, thrown into this mixture of chaos and well-crafted design every moment meeting one another for the first (and last) time.
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Feb 28, 2018
Feb 28, 2018 at 10:44 PM UTC
impermanence
2.26.18 I’d like to think that oblivion isn’t inevitable and that salvation exists, that we aren’t merely hurtling on a war path toward destruction and the unknown, I’d like to think that modern science will save us and that tomorrow is infinite, that we will continue and thrive; that existence is endless, but the dark thoughts crowding the back of my head tell me that skepticism is all I have left to hold onto, that tomorrow I could swerve too far on the highway unknowingly step in front of a bus – and who will have known who I was or what I believed? Who will remember me? I’ve determined that maybe we are just flying through space alone and maybe chaos rules the world and maybe oblivion is inevitable and one day I’ll be gone and it won’t matter, so maybe the only existence I truly have is in mornings waking up to scrape ice off the car, maybe the only existence I’m given is the warmth of sun seeping through my window, sips of lukewarm coffee past 2am, the laughter that lights up the faces of those I call friends, and the fragility of knowing that each moment is simultaneously powerful & insignificant. Being human is trapped within the realm of the impracticality and beauty of not knowing anything. The nature of worlds is to fall into chaos, yet out of chaos is born endless possibility, and out of this possibility I discover that we are living one endless moment of shared anxiety about the inevitable, but we are perfectly capable of living in the light of death, our impermanence enrapturing our hearts. How privileged are we, born to thrive and die, thrown into this mixture of chaos and well-crafted design every moment meeting one another for the first (and last) time.
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/much finer times, spent growing a beard./ the English "philosophical" mentality: does everything have to be hyper-economized                              stature? i do appreciate the technicality of the term... but the supposed practicality of the impracticality of practicing philosophy doesn't belong here;      philosophy doesn't require, or rather, make a request for the usage or the English per se...   and never will...                    the English never made the thinking surmount of thinking per per... as ever... the buggers were always too practical....                      and their access to practicality...             was their access to....      a labor of lust, which surmounted in both a labor lost, and lust misguided:                    come the folded sails.
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Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 10:25 PM UTC
philosophy in English