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Silent Sanctuary Jul 2016
As insecure toddlers, we were often told by our parents that inner beauty is more important than outer beauty, this is how they were able to instill in us the confidence we may have today whenever we represent ourselves in front of other people. However, this is something I find to be quite inaccurate.  If you ask a random person about what they find beautiful and attractive, most of them would probably begin to describe a person’s physical attributes than the internal attributes.

Beauty is defined to be the perfect balance and harmony with nature, which may lead to feelings of attraction and emotional well-being. Since the attraction is subjective, the term “beauty is in the eye of the beholder” takes place. Many individuals would like to believe that looks are never important, and that judgments should be based on a person’s internal well-being instead of its outer counterparts.

In our modern society, external beauty is more favorable since everything becomes more convenient, than when you only have internal beauty. People will always see your external beauty the moment they see you and not that beautiful mind and soul of yours, and that’s what makes them attracted to you. Just like with expensive cars, the moment a car is put into the market, the consumer who will buy them would first look at their exterior first before they would look for its driving ability; no matter how good its performance may be, these people would always look at its exterior. Also, external beauty can help you be successful, it can land you jobs, earn more money, and help you be treated with more respect by strangers than those with internal beauty.

The preference for external beauty than internal beauty is what is wrong in our current society. We live up to the evolved norms of society that we have started to grow backwards. Outer beauty fades, and no matter how beautiful you are on the outside, once people get to know you, you’d be nothing but a simple less attractive human being than you once were. I would leave a wonderful quote here written by a great author: “A tree may look as beautiful as ever; but when you notice the insects infesting it, and the tips of the branches that are brown from disease, even the trunk seems to lose some of its magnificence.”
This is a philosophical thought not a poem.
Rachid Insa Jun 2013
Every single one of us comes into this world as a seed
Whether we reach our full potential remain to be seen
We are filled with dreams
Still, is our heart strong enough to rely on its self esteem?
Indeed, a weak heart is tied down by desire
A such gifted liar
Controlled by it, you will suffer from it's whims
Slowly but surely broking your wings
Procrastination,sloth are his deceit
Making you believe that your life is infinite
While its running out like a hourglass
Internal war for internal peace
This is what is needed for it to cease
A heavy task that will leave you full of sweat
But is life worth living if it is filled with regrets?
Test Ting Won To Tree
By
Charles Fleischer







Rifleman decal water is to Tiny basket liners as Strained yo-yo string is to?
Dark wool glowing is to Oldest lost oddity as First genetic engine is to?
Black quail taint is to Nut curdled paint as Hemp biscuit dominoes are to?
Steam traced paper is to Lemon ash vapor as Digital ****** wig is to?
Eccentric brine mimes are to Electric silk slacks as Spark formed lava is to?
Sunchoked black hornets are to as Rescued orphan doves as Retold cat jokes are to?
Hand traced videos are to Braided rubber spines as Opal rain dancers are to?
Halogen anchor gong is to Annoying bread portraits as Soft bracelet lockers are to?
Old troll bios are to Select cherub echoes as Broken matchstick parasols are to?
Dome nine chariots are to Frayed lunar remnants as Fuming honey flasks are to?
Bluing assault operas is to Beading fluted flowers as Magnetic lawn tweezers are to?
Converted flea sponges are to Floating dog murals as Frozen Archie comics are to?
Molded road pads are to Crusty gumdrop thread as Straw ribbed pelicans are to?
Inflatable diamond vowel is to Single gender raffle as Groovy desert coffee is to?
Temporary solution radiation is to Idiotic witness mumble as Motorized marshmallow kit is to?
Panoramic utopian paranoia is to Aggravated **** silhouettes as Unhinged gun sellers are to?
Homesick ghost pajamas is to Virtuous fly fungus as Royal sandpaper gloves are to?
Gangster hayride tickets are to Deer milk Oreos as Turnip fairy maps are to?
Glue gun **** is to Nocturnal cabin mice as Cab fare corn is to?
Speckled fish nickels are to Under water bric-a-brac as Epic snakeskin paisley is to?
******* bungalow pranks are to Drowsy vapid oafs as Quantized cavern fish are to?
Raunchy snail kimono is to Coiled time dice as Smeared equator malt is to?
Metallic centaur franchise is to Transparent cheese chess as Spotted glacial remnants is to?
Sky fused pong is to Rustic mothers brattle as Granulated canister ointment is to?
Overgrown maze mule is to Mated smugglers hugging as Floating thesaurus exam is to?
Sliding coed sprinkler is to Soapy whitefish rebate as Precious lamb diaper is to?
Mushy acorn luster is to Lilac protein rings as Slapstick wrestler dialect is to?
Freaky plankton bells is to Rolling horse divorce as Morphing morphine lips are to?
Sticky razor sparkle is to Emerald muscle spasm as Glaring cat cipher is to?
Peppy unisex mustache is to Pelican fighter syndrome as Clumping night grumble is to?
Scanning paired pearls are to Ruby rubbed roaches as Satanic sailor flotsam  are to?
Glowing asteroid solder is to Ideal shark data as Failed frail doilies are to?
Numb nuts boredom is to Fantastic icy phantoms as Sporadic silk creations is to?
Crooks crow chow is to Loading spackled bonder as Gargled snowdrop blasters are to?
Outdid myself today is to Outside myself again as Outlived myself controls is to?
Venting shuttlecock upset is to Texting badminton kitten as Settler tested motels are to?
Prepare paired vents is to Prefer paid events as Pretender predicts fiction is to
Crunchy mental fender is to Catching mentor menace as Poorly seasoned lettuce is to?
Outside sidewalk inside is to Seaside outcast input as Sideways landslide victory is to?  
Compile fake password is to Compost world poo as Compose village anthem is to?
Crooked crotch blunder is to Loud crowd thunder as Divine vine finder is to?
Chucks’ wooden truck is to Bucks good luck as Sticky ducks tucked is to?  
Overhaul underway overseas is to Overturned downsized pickup as Underground onramp overloaded is to?
I’ll bite there is to Aisle byte their as Isle bight there is to?
Gnat gnawed wrist is to ***** show beans as See through putty is to?
Flapping floppy guppies are to Buzzing zipped dozers as Muddy ****** strippers are to?
Dark diagonal dialogue is to Diabolical dihedral die as Interesting circadian exposition is to?
Experimental flossing expectations are to Waxed dental traps as Permanent impermanence resolution is to?  
Outran ringside intrigue is to Sidetracked onboard boatload as Loaded firearm topside is to?
Phony ****** phone is to Chewy ego honey as Yogi Mama’s dada is to?
Nimble teardrop squiggle is to Humble cage curtains as Loyal truckstop morals are to?
Torching curled elastic is to Sonic neighbor clamor as Golden droplet integers are to?
Duplex pupil scanners are to Nacreous cloud clocks as Shrouded flute shops are to?
Lawn rocket tendrils are to Finding surreal borders as Sheep monarchs children is to?
Gloating ungloved squires are to Busting double doubters as Pushing woeful doctors are to?
Tricking snowbelt firedogs is to Panmixing blackened haywires as Unclothed shameful leaders are to?
Malicious ranch ritual is to Internal puppet bubble as Ornate underworld masquerade is to?
Rustic debonair Eskimos are to Mindless sassy elves as Gorgeous somber acrobats are to?
Learned earthy pimps are to Fearless sneaky Queens as Somber gentle vagrants are to?
Shocking horse wear is to Glossy sled fluid as Damaged chipmunk tongue is to?
Traditional agony chart is to Damp voodoo motel as Backwoods museum quote is to?
Magical cat cabin is to Dapper porpoise humor as Malicious graveyard foam is to?
Therapeutic gazelle cushion is to Stored alibi equipment as Stunning tempo light is to?
Fantastic rascal art is to Wasted prune dust as Jupiter’s ****** law is to?
Little nut razor is to Gigantic hyena shield as Hourglass pillow fever is to?
Coiled rain clouds are to Dizzy tycoon clowns as Lime eating cowards are to?
Possessive epicurean demonstrators are to Faded eavesdropping giants as Determined swanky drunks are to?
Aquatic preview pocket is to Soggy judicial topiary as Finicky hamster fabric is to?
Enlarged fruit cuff is to Obedient mumbling orchestra as Dark tenant tariff is to?
Recycled flash thermometer is to Botched temptation probe as Pet glider grid is to?
Seriously shy idols are to Costly driving perfumes as Ferryboat chapel wine is to?
Winged jalopy details are to Faithful spectral fathers as Sprinkled mint rainbows are to?
Spelling unneeded words is to Sprouting donut ***** as Blaming mellow mallrats are to?
Eroding loom keepsake is to Magnificent accordion canoe as ***** bongo fumes are to?
Souring violet ink is to Juvenile insult park as Periodic ferret envy is to?
Obedient boyfriend aroma is to Sanitized fat lozenges as Dramatic jailer garb is to?
Mysterious patrol group is to Dynamic maiden discharge as Captured hurricane ratio is to?
Lackadaisical bigot bingo is to Oblong care merchant as Expensive swamp shampoo is to?
Petite orifice worship is to Atomic barge pet as Plucked hair exhibit is to?
Elite officer wallop is to Automatic yard rake as Healing ****** glitter is to?
Needless swan costume is to Giant jungle goat as Organic picnic napkin is to?
Leaky jet steam is to Innovative fascist whistle as Enchanting idol evidence is to?
Plastic mascara seduction is to Greasy thermal ointment as Attractive muskrat crease is to?
Lucky camel pills are to White coral Torah as Eternal stage clutter is to?
Roasted oat **** is to Sloppy *** glue as Nylon table debt is to?
Steep nook catastrophe is to Empty dome damage as Pulsing breeze powder is to?
Empty sack power is to Hitched buck stroke as Red claw warning is to?
Ultra brief slogan is to Yummy lab mutant as Pathetic ball armor is to?
Nauseating fish splatter is to Obstinate ****** twitch as Strained ***** coffee is to?
Mezzanine intermission fossil is to Proven **** apathy as Golden duck shroud is to?
Civil tutors torment is to Thor’s posted theory as Yellow melon rain is to?
Immense olive raft is to Exploding kangaroo buffet as Ethereal witness index is to?  
Marching dark speeders are to Searing scribble fighters as **** tripping sinners are to?
Seeping viral angst is to Aged hermit tea as Murky bowl nibble is to?
Condensed blister guzzle is to Pink dorsal pie as Lavish speckled runt is to?
Needy insult poet is to Sedated acorn trader as Dry honey zoo is to?
Veiled trust flicker is to Deranged poser fashion as Flat sizzle tangent is to?
Purified diet spray is to Nebulous wishing target as Thrilling screen dope is to?
Majestic ribbon astronomy is to Bizarre formation sector as Rebel bell gimmick is to?
Sealed dart whisper is to Green silk draft as Cold vacuum varnish is to?
Clumsy raven power is to Insect island circus as Minted mink drapes are to?
Curved map ruler is to Tiny lethal radio as Blue fused metal is to?
Inverted laser invasion is to Damp sheep dump as Puffy gown smoke is to?
Saucy Channel blazer is to Leather goat filament as Starched locomotive hat is to?
Broken jumper leads are to Disgraced mini exorcists as Designer shamrock caulk is to?
Tweaked poachers smokes are to Assorted sulfur pathways as Collected bedlamp trickle is to?
******* bungalow pranks are to Drowsy vapid oafs as Quantized cavern fish are to?
Crawling battle worms are to Vibrating metal pedals as Mentholated matrix wax is to?
Missing meshed rafts are to Liquid rock pipes as Crinkled bean bikinis are to?
Tithing **** joggers are to Perforated buck fronds as Leather zither picks are to?
Fearing truthful cowards is to Rambling preachers mumble as Gazebo ambulance gasoline is to?
Shelving elder’s whiskers is to Poaching goalies pesto as Radical tricycle angst is to?
Mucky gunboat polymer is to Primeval maypole flameout as Cathedral greenhouse intercom is to?
Diaphanous safety prize is to Unleashed saucer lion as Dorky blonde ropewalker is to?
Tapered spring meter is to Silver silo mythology as Misguided judges medallions are to?
Alligator x-ray money is to Cherry unicorn water as Coyote cactus toy is to?
Cowardly dorm scrooge is to Atomized pewter script as Flattened spore smoothies are to?
Trash can yodel is to Flashing wired spam as Exploding chocolate pudding is to?
Sonar blasted bushings are to Threading ruined wheels as Forty shifting boxes are to?
Tiny balloon rebellion is to Softened square cleanser as Iconic soul sucker is to?
Harmony night light is to Spanish nitrogen desire as Squirrel cavern iodine is to?

Lazy winter secret is to Slow airport widget as Silly mustard binder is to?
Elephants raising raisins are to Microscopic lamb planet as Purple hay puppets are to?
Caribou venom vaccine is to Electronic lemonade choir as Demonic princess massage is to?
Beet coated bridge is to Fattened needle point as Mylar monkey spine is to?
Ashy ink dust is to Youngest rabbi planet as Orange cartoon geometry is to?
Cold green chalk is to Cobalt ladder farce as ***** river filters are to?
Sublime sheep master is to Sleeping past rapture as Subliminal bliss jelly is to?
Ocean crust slippers are to Twigged germ radar as Popping sharpie scope is to?
Zen wrapped beep is to Oak foamed code as Wicked flashing sizzle is to?
Dew eyed sleigh is to Say I do as Act as me is to?
Humpback on hammock is to Ham hocking hummer as Hunchback with knapsack is to?
Corned flag jelly is to Draped wing chewers as Tripping swan acid is to?
Futuristic Rembrandt chant is to Almond likened meadows as Asian timber blue is to?
Nap in sack is to Flap on Jack as Ducks dig crack is to?
Flowing flavored lava is to Gleaming optic layers as Enhanced goose gibberish is to?      
Flag tied pajamas are to Saline checker choir as Speed reading quotas is to?
Whipped spam spasms are to Misted shaman scripture as Testing pitched bells is to?
Cave aged eggs are to Crowded tiger cages as ****** wagon pegs are to?
Pigeon towed car is to a Man toad art as Wolf whisker wish is to?
Second hand clothes are to Minute hand gestures as Final hour prayer is to?
Slick wicked shavers are to Tricky watch boxes as Sprouting pine tattoos are to?
Waxed stick ravens are to Match stick foxes as Narrowed thermal towers are to?
Ice cave rice is to Laced face lice as Gourmet pet **** is to?
Diamond lane anniversary is to Space age appropriate as Time travel agency is to?
Lime bark violin is to Lemon twig guitar as Lunar sky waffles are to?
Fake rat **** is to Smart cake batter as Rugged fur tax is to?
Tarred raft fluff is to Flaked rafter dust as Lined liquor flask is to?
Flakes will fall is to Take Bills call as Broken maze compass is to?
First faked voter is to Entombed cartoon honey as Smallest aching smurf is to?
Fancy bared ******* are to Flaky fairy treats as Kings amp filter is to?
Bone window folio is to Whittled fake pillow as Little fitted jackets are to?
Nine nuts brittle is to Ate pear pie as Six packed poppers are to?
Incandescent playground pencil is to Elastic hand worm as Perfumed piano ink is to?
Opal shifting anode is to a Windup lion decoy as Pale paisley trolley is to?
Stacked black boxes are to Old packed tracks as a Throwing micron hammers is to?
Apricot bark furnace is to Merry Orchid Choir as an Ivory rinsing funnel is to?  
Narcotic honey nuts are to Slick flag toffees as Silk fig sugar is to?
Orange coin raisins are to Low note candies as Smelling balled roses is to?
Pocket packed monotints are to Tragic ladder hayracks as Ravishing speed traders are to?
Crayon spider resin is to Coral squirrel forceps as Wolf tumbled loaf is to?  
Silver wheat flies are to Width shifting wheels as Golden blister blankets are to?
Really tiny hippopotamus is to Masked fat podiatrist as a Sad sack psychiatrist is to?
Miniature Mesopotamian monuments are to Apple minted elephants as Raising wise ravens is to?
Lathered nymph nacre is to Sonic ion constellations as Concealed iron craft is to?  
Epic gene toy is to Ladies bubble sled as Jagged data bowl is to?
Bugged dagger bag is to Pop sliced meld as Atom bending moonlight to?  
Rural madam’s deed is to Dyed dew dipper as Eight sprayed dukes are to?
Jiffy grand puffer is to Floating altar myth as Vintage dark mirth is to?
Undercover overnight underwear is to Overpaid undertaker overdosing as Overheard understudy freebasing is to?

Black grape crackle is to Red cactus ruffle as Installing padded pets are to?
Snide snobs sniffing are to Sneaky snails snoring as Snared snipes sneezing are to?
Exploring explosive exits is to Explaining expansive exports as Expecting expert exchange is to?
Shrewd logic ledger is to Puppets dropping cupcakes as Placated topaz octopi are to?
Door roof tools are to Cool wool boots as Wood cooked root is to?
Bright fight light is to Night flight fright as Mites bite site is to?
Floor flood fluid is to Wooden door Druid as Nasty **** broom is to?
Accurate police photography is to Intelligent microbe geography as Condensed aerosol biography is to?
Cowardly cowboy grime is to Corpulent corporate crime as Bosnian dwarf necromancer is to?
Jell-O clearing shaker is to Brillo cleaning shiner as Cheerios bowling shields are to?
Mumbled mindless hokey is to Fumbled found money as Humming kinder bunny is to?
Daisy’s clock setter is to Lilly’s boxer toxin as Poodles rose paddle is to?
Watch Bozo Copernicus is to Hire Clarabelle Newton as Find ***-wee Einstein is to?
Amethyst thistle whistles is to Lapis pistol whip as Diamond bomb scar is to?
Dandelion seahorse rescue is to Crabapple dogwood farm as Faux foxglove lover is to?    
Optical poppy stopper is to Polar halo lens as Day-Glo rainbow sticker is to?
Savanna leopard spotted is to Eskimo lassos kisses as Alligator lemonade standard is to?
Bill of Rights is to Will of left as Thrill of night is to?
Baptize floozies quickly is to Useless outsized nozzles as Puzzled wizard wanders is to?        
Chaps wearing chaps are to Chaps contesting contests as Consoling concealed consoles is to?
Quiet squirming squirrels are to Aeon beauty queens as Queasy greasy luaus is to?
Knew new gnu is to Sense scents cents as We’ll wheal wheel is to?
Blazing zingers ringing are to Wheezing singers flinging as Freezing finger number are to?
Lamb tomb jogger is to Dumb numb **** as Thumbed crumb bug is to?

Blue accordion casket is to Jaded scholar ***** as German mushroom circus is to?
President George Flintstone is to Funny Fred Washington as Abraham Jetson’s dog is to?
Google Desmond Tutu is to Kalamazoo Zoo Park as Zodiac actors Guru is to?
Swamp cradled whisperer is to Cherished drawbridge cello as Bludgeoned prankster outlaws are to?
Dukes pink mittens are to Smeared nest carava
Katrina Wendt Oct 2011
Every light makes a shadow
And every shadow is darkness.
The darkness holds a secret
A secret never to be revealed by the light.
Every person is light
But everyone holds a secret.
A secret buried deep within themselves
Covered in darkness.
When the light meets the darkness
They clash.
There is no neutral or gray.
In the end, only one is left standing.
2005
Jami Denton Feb 2010
No matter how much my body resists it, the internal dialog never stops, cant destroy it. with my cigarettes, or junk food, or my bad attitude, can’t make extinct the thing that’s possessed me.
right in front of you
like a worn out tune of blues,
looking like leftover food, but not so tasty.
it’s a dream of mine, and in time i will learn what it takes to
make the seed grow.
never know? doubt kills like
pesticide,
insecticide,
boys at columbine.
with vicious and preconceived certainty.
no humanity or humility, only cruelty.
like the beast of nature, (pardon me)
nature of the beast.
the nature of the beast
will never cease. like the internal dialog, never stops. can’t destroy it with my cigarettes, or junk food, or my bad attitude. can’t make extinct the thing that resides inside of them, that’s possessed them.
alexis hill Feb 2014
we have what
we need
the internal
compass

grant it the
trust

to bring
us where
wherever we
want to be.

we have what
we need
the internal
compass

leading us
north, south
west or east.

we have what
we need
the internal
compass

the needles
pointing upward

follow the
direction
I will follow
your footsteps
if you wish to lead.

we have what
we need
the internal
compass

the directional
force lies
within us
resting internally.

we have what
we need
the internal
compass

leading our
conscious and subconscious
inside of you
inside of them
inside of every
crevice of the
earth.

the eternal compass lies within-
the seams of the universe.
Rob Rutledge Sep 2013
There was a blinding light,
Then silence,
Then a hiss.
Air escaping,
Gasping bliss.
Glass shatters,
Shadows play.
A nuke hit the stern,
Evacuate!
No delay.

Days passed,
No one came.
No one heard the message,
No one 'brought the rain'
The solitary escape-ship
Suitable only for one,
Headed forlorn to the next
Inhabited sun.

"Nine thousand, seven hundred light years away"
The computer said in its monotonous way.
"And what of our air,water and fuel?"
"Approximate range is 6.2365r light years,
Will that do?"

"No" he said with a sigh.
Confined to his coffin
Not much to pass the time...

Internal recording 00001// lifeforms:1// life support: 97%
"This is Hal Katurn of the trade ship 'Endeavor'"
"Can anybody read....?"
"It's just me here......
In the vastness of space...
A grain of sand..."

Internal recording 000012// lifeforms:1// life support: 88%
"It's been a while now just me alone,
No contact friendly, or otherwise
In any nearby zone.
The quadrant is quiet....cold..."

Internal recording 000021// lifeforms:1// life support: 67%
"The stars....They....
They look so peaceful...hehe
What do you say?"
"Was that directed at me?"
Said the ships AI.
"Not you, the ones outside silly!"
"............?..........."

Internal recording 000037// lifeforms:1// life support: 24%
"Row...row...row....
Your...mind......
Gently out to space....
Lonely lonely lonely lone
Life is but a race...."

Internal recording 000042// lifeforms:0// life support: 0%
"..............................."


The farmer heard a roar
And stopped his toil for
A moment,
No more.
He saw the heavens fall
And knelt in prayer and awe.

He hurried to the hole left in his land
Where a voice spoke in a language he didn't understand....

"This is Hal Katurn of the trade ship 'Endeavor'"
"Can anybody read....?"
"It's just me here......
In the vastness of space...
A grain of sand..."
A kind of poem story, if you got this far thanks for reading till the end!
Amanda Blomquist May 2013
The basement of my mind.

   Cluttered with **** storms and broken promises,
          Withered alongside reminiscent daydreams of passed past nightmares.

I stare...
   Into the internal dwellings of my deepest catacomb.

          Unable to process what resides in my literal unconscious dungeon.
   It's everything i've attempted to hide.

To die.
   To let dwindle between cobwebs and dust bunnies.

My breath falls short.

   Sifting through the residue of forgotten treasures and material shackles.
          They bond me.
Surround me.
   Overwhelm me...
          The unresolved burdens have taken residency within my hindered chakras.

My chest  is heavy.
   The weight distribution of disappointment is sharper than expected.

It eats away at me.
   An elusive daily ritual.

Tucked away it remains far from common thought patterns.

Waves of emotion.
   The tides roll in.
          Upon their migration my muddled secrets and hidden betrayals are uncovered.
               Discovered.

The look in your eyes when they fall upon my frailty.

My internal stack of unfiltered, unregistered, and unassured disheveled boxes.
   Full of disheveled useless things.
          Covered in a thick layer of problems i'm incapable of handling alone.

Alone.
   It sits unaltered and ever growing.

The piles.
    The filth.
          The remnants of what should have been happiness.

It all falls into misplaced sediments.

I'm a mess.
It's showing.
I'm naked.

    This hell.
This murky chamber of unwanted mementos from failed attempts and lost friendships
          This dreadful, endless room.

Oh, to live in a home without a storm shelter.
    Without room to store unnecessary baggage and all the unclaimed items in my mind.

To find solace in meager living.
   All this weight fitting into a backpack.

To minimize my insanity into a carry on.

   To leave.
To go.
    To be light enough to feel the light.

To escape this cellar.
     To live.

To release my self from my own idealogical prison.
    To penetrate the bars of fear.
          To dig myself out from all the things I never want to speak of.

To be free.
     Ahhh, to be free.

To breathe fresh air over molded dust clouds and stale particles.
     To touch without needing to rinse my soul clean.

To re-stack, rotate, and Tetris these piles of insecurities.

To break habits
           that i've reinterpreted from childhood addictions and failed father figures.

To be better than what i've become.

To set fire to this sham of a lifestyle.
     To be reborn in the ashes of this outgrown armor.

To let go.

To make you proud.
     To find pride in myself.

To not be embarrassed by my place settings and mismatched knick knacks.

To allow souls into my temple without them stumbling into my isolated lunacy.

To welcome love.
        To love.
    To love even the darkest crevasses of my being...

I need to renew my license to live.
     Overdue and out of line,
           My past self has expired.

One step at a time, breathe.
    One box at a time, breathe.
       One thought at a time, inhale.
    One lust at a time, exhale.

Inhale.
    Exhale.
Breathe.
        Repeat.

Awaken.
      Accept.
  Grow.
          Repeat.
Clearing space externally to open space internally.
Fah Aug 2013
(via phatphilosophers)

(via phatphilosophers)

(via phatphilosophers)
jeffrey-lebowski:

Untitled by Yayoi Kusama.
Acrylic on canvas, 45.5 x 38.0 cm. Signed and dated 1993
jeffrey-lebowski:
Untitled by Yayoi Kusama.
Acrylic on canvas, 45.5 x 38.0 cm. Signed and dated 1993
(via phatphilosophers)

These are the days that must happen to you.
Walt Whitman, from Leaves Of Grass (via violentwavesofemotion)
(via phatphilosophers)
18 HOURS AGO / LARMOYANTE
axiatonal:

Canola Flowers Field, China
axiatonal:
Canola Flowers Field, China
(via awaveofbliss)

(via awaveofbliss)

whatisadvertising:
What would modern technology and social networks look like if they were vintage ads
This is a post gathered Facebook, Twitter, Youtube, Skype, iMac, Nintendo Wii and Sony Playstation as if they were vintage ads.
(via thebronxisburning)
aplacetofindlife:

Someone Should Start Laughing
I have a thousand brilliant lies For the question: How are you?  I have a thousand brilliant lies For the question: What is God? If you think that the Truth can be known From words, If you think that the Sun and the Ocean Can pass through that tiny opening Called the mouth,
O someone should start laughing! Someone should start wildly Laughing Now!- Hafiz
aplacetofindlife:
Someone Should Start Laughing

I have a thousand brilliant lies
For the question:
How are you?

I have a thousand brilliant lies
For the question:
What is God?

If you think that the Truth can be known
From words,

If you think that the Sun and the Ocean
Can pass through that tiny opening Called the mouth,

O someone should start laughing!
Someone should start wildly Laughing Now!

- Hafiz
(via cosmic-rebirth)

meditationsinwonderland:
Chimamanda Ngozi Adiche, We Should All Be Feminists
How could I not reblog this?
(Source: bakongo)
1 day ago – 234,004 notes

artismyempire:
gentledom:
A wonderful analogy.
What I shall do today.
(Source: boyqueen, via thebronxisburning)
1 day ago – 30,054 notes

(Source: maryhadalittleblunt, via awaveofbliss)
1 week ago – 81 notes
beachsloth:

SYNESTHESIA by Joshua Espinoza
                God watches everyone’s first kiss. Although God used to be an awesome God He’s been a bit lazier as the years have progressed. Long ago God felt that raining frogs on Egypt was cool. People were turned into pillars of salt for looking at the destruction of their towns. Now God isn’t into that whole vengeful thing. Rather He realizes the importance of free will and understands it is more important than any instruction manual.
                Dreams are the ultimate instructional manual. Sub-conscious hates being a sub. Sub-conscious wants to be dom-conscious. Unfortunately such things do not happen anymore. Drinking dreams from people is potentially delicious. Flab is the hallmark of a family man or woman. Their dreams have become realities. Mere impulses of creatures become vaguely self-sustaining then fully self-sustaining. Right in the heart is where the familial love lives. Floaters in the eyes are more than floaters. When one sees floaters they see ghosts. Floaters are ghosts for the vision-impaired.
                Afterlife is big into God. Death brings people closer to God. They live in God’s domain hoping for the best. From on high the angels live on the down low. Beneath angels are the exciting ones, the ones they can and do mess up. Humans are interesting for their ability to mess up all the time and somehow remain completely loved. Every human is made in God’s image. Once people come back to God they realize how much of their decisions were good, how the evil was more than counterbalanced by the good. Living in Earth tends to make people forget how fortunate they really are.
                The world hates leaving people behind. In Heaven everything is fine. From Heaven people can see themselves from light-years away. Such distance makes it easier to see what the right and wrong decision was. Death takes the people away. Online presences remain long after the body has left. Everything has a digital footprint entirely different from their real life footprint. Sometimes it is bigger and sometimes smaller. It depends on the lust for life.
                Kissing is a form of lust. Lips love each other. Lips like locking together. That is where the key to the heart comes from, from the lips. Words flow from the mouths of babes. Life means the words work well but the tones work better. Even babies understand the importance of tone. Words are meaningless. Tones are tender. People wrap themselves up in tones, in the environmental sounds that surround them for that is what it means to be alive: it means to interact.
beachsloth:
SYNESTHESIA by Joshua Espinoza
                God watches everyone’s first kiss. Although God used to be an awesome God He’s been a bit lazier as the years have progressed. Long ago God felt that raining frogs on Egypt was cool. People were turned into pillars of salt for looking at the destruction of their towns. Now God isn’t into that whole vengeful thing. Rather He realizes the importance of free will and understands it is more important than any instruction manual.
                Dreams are the ultimate instructional manual. Sub-conscious hates being a sub. Sub-conscious wants to be dom-conscious. Unfortunately such things do not happen anymore. Drinking dreams from people is potentially delicious. Flab is the hallmark of a family man or woman. Their dreams have become realities. Mere impulses of creatures become vaguely self-sustaining then fully self-sustaining. Right in the heart is where the familial love lives. Floaters in the eyes are more than floaters. When one sees floaters they see ghosts. Floaters are ghosts for the vision-impaired.
                Afterlife is big into God. Death brings people closer to God. They live in God’s domain hoping for the best. From on high the angels live on the down low. Beneath angels are the exciting ones, the ones they can and do mess up. Humans are interesting for their ability to mess up all the time and somehow remain completely loved. Every human is made in God’s image. Once people come back to God they realize how much of their decisions were good, how the evil was more than counterbalanced by the good. Living in Earth tends to make people forget how fortunate they really are.
                The world hates leaving people behind. In Heaven everything is fine. From Heaven people can see themselves from light-years away. Such distance makes it easier to see what the right and wrong decision was. Death takes the people away. Online presences remain long after the body has left. Everything has a digital footprint entirely different from their real life footprint. Sometimes it is bigger and sometimes smaller. It depends on the lust for life.
                Kissing is a form of lust. Lips love each other. Lips like locking together. That is where the key to the heart comes from, from the lips. Words flow from the mouths of babes. Life means the words work well but the tones work better. Even babies understand the importance of tone. Words are meaningless. Tones are tender. People wrap themselves up in tones, in the environmental sounds that surround them for that is what it means to be alive: it means to interact.
(via bluishtigers)
1 week ago – 74 notes

(Source: samsaranmusing)
1 week ago – 78 notes
maymonsturr:

My mantra.
maymonsturr:
My mantra.
(via cosmic-rebirth)
1 week ago – 568 notes
foxxxynegrodamus:

***
foxxxynegrodamus:
***
(Source: lnpfeed, via awaveofbliss)
1 week ago – 1,635 notes
cosmic-rebirth:

Live joyfully, make your life a dance, all the way to the grave.
cosmic-rebirth:
Live joyfully, make your life a dance, all the way to the grave.
(Source: cookiecarnival)
2 weeks ago – 22,305 notes
“The point is not to pay back kindness but to pass it on.”
– Julia Alvarez (via cosmic-rebirth)
(Source: amandaonwriting, via cosmic-rebirth)
2 weeks ago – 275 notes

(Source: diawf, via awaveofbliss)
2 weeks ago – 2,799 notes
bl4ckhippie:

Fly.
bl4ckhippie:
Fly.
(Source: rootsrukkus, via awaveofbliss)
2 weeks ago – 750 notes

(Source: lizzlizzcomics, via bluishtigers)
2 weeks ago – 110,456 notes
meditationsinwonderland:

ॐ flower child in Wonderland ॐ
meditationsinwonderland:
ॐ flower child in Wonderland ॐ
(Source: vegan-hippie)
2 weeks ago – 139,177 notes

(Source: jrich103, via cosmic-rebirth)
2 weeks ago – 4,848 notes

pleoros:
Helminadia Ranford - Guilin,China
(via hungryforworld)
2 weeks ago – 329 notes
designgather:

Oak Room
Andy Goldsworthy
designgather:
Oak Room
Andy Goldsworthy
(via cosmic-rebirth)
2 weeks ago – 286 notes
miguu:
don’t be afraid.
lean into your genius.
let your own brilliance support you.
you are something
we have all been waiting to know.
please.
(via bluishtigers)
2 weeks ago – 339 notes

odditiesoflife:
Amazing Jabuticaba Tree
This is an incredible tree that bears its fruit directly on the main trunks and branches of the plant, lending a distinctive appearance to the fruiting tree. The jabuticaba (Plinia cauliflora) is a fruit-bearing tree native to Minas Gerais and São Paulo in southeastern Brazil. Otherwise known as the Brazilian Grape Tree, the jabuticaba is grown for its purplish-black, white-pulped fruits. They can be eaten raw or be used to make jellies and drinks, including juice and wine.
They are wonderful trees to have and are fairly adaptable to most environments but they grow extremely slow. Jabuticaba flowers are white and grow directly from its trunk, just like its fruit. The tree may flower and fruit only once or twice a year, but when continuously irrigated, it flowers frequently and fresh fruit can be available year round in tropical regions.
Common in Brazilian markets, jabuticabas are largely eaten fresh; their popularity has been likened to that of grapes in the US. Due to its extremely short shelf-life, fresh jabuticaba fruit is very rare in markets outside of areas of cultivation. So if you are ever in Brazil, be sure to try the incredibly tasty fruit called jabuticaba.
source 1, 2
(via hungryforworld)
2 weeks ago – 1,462 notes

(Source: samsaranmusing)
2 weeks ago – 118 notes

(Source: rorycwhatsyourthesis, via samsaranmusing)
2 weeks ago – 130,113 notes
oecologia:

Star Trails over Matterhorn (Switzerland) by Felix Lamouroux.
oecologia:
Star Trails over Matterhorn (Switzerland) by Felix Lamouroux.
(via samsaranmusing)

burningveins:
multicolors:
benskid:
Know where you stand.
Wow
This is kinda creepy..
(via hungryforworld)

Do not think you will necessarily be aware of your own enlightenment.
Zen Master Dogen - (1200- 1253) AD (via samsaranmusing)
2 WEEKS AGO
101fuymemes:

COLLECTION OF awesome CLOUDS
101fuymemes:
COLLECTION OF awesome CLOUDS
(via roslynoberholtzerbddd)

itscolossal:
Planetary Structural Layer Cakes Designed by Cakecrumbs

Do not resist events that move you out of your comfort zone, especially when your comfort zone was not all that comfortable.
Alan Cohen (via raeraenjma)
(via awaveofbliss)
4 WEEKS AGO / THE-HEALING-NEST
so apt
so apt
(via awaveofbliss)

(via awaveofbliss)
treewellie:

"The area between Kluane Lake and Haines Junction, Yukon, skirting the great cordillera of the Wrangell / St. Elias Mtn. range, is commonly productive of these stacked lenticular clouds … In late summer, as the sun begins to set around 11 PM, it’s beautiful to see these unique clouds, which are higher in altitude than their surrounding companions, catching the last peach coloured rays of the sun."
treewellie:
"The area between Kluane Lake and Haines Junction, Yukon, skirting the great cordillera of the Wrangell / St. Elias Mtn. range, is commonly productive of these stacked lenticular clouds … In late summer, as the sun begins to set around 11 PM, it’s beautiful to see these unique clouds, which are higher in altitude than their surrounding companions, catching the last peach coloured rays of the sun."
definitelydope:

BBQ on the balcony (by fernlicht)
definitelydope:
BBQ on the balcony (by fernlicht)
(via awaveofbliss)

Birth by Alex Grey
Birth by Alex Grey
(via receptive)

(via bluishtigers)

(via awaveofbliss)

There is a time and place for decaf coffee. Never and in the trash.
(via 17yr)
(via hungryforworld)
1 MONTH AGO / MIDWESTRAISEDMIDWESTLIVING
surreelust:

Man with His Skin by Peter Zokosky
surreelust:
Man with His Skin by Peter Zokosky
(via cosmic-rebirth)

Oh soul,
you worry too much.
You have seen your own strength.
You have seen your own beauty.
You have seen your golden wings.
Of anything less,
why do you worry?
You are in truth
the soul, of the soul,
of the soul.
Rumi, from Who Am I?   (via bluishtigers)
(via bluishtigers)
1 MONTH AGO / VIOLENTWAVESOFEMOTION
xpudding:

xpudding:
(via cosmic-rebirth)

(via thebronxisburning)

(via cosmic-rebirth)
treewellie:

La costa de la luz by Francisco Mingorance
treewellie:
La costa de la luz by Francisco Mingorance

itscolossal:
Mirror City: A Kaleidoscopic Timelapse of Chicago, San Francisco, San Diego, Vegas and L.A. [VIDEO]

(via cosmic-rebirth)

awkwardsituationist:
gmb akash documents the 350 kilometre journey from dhaka to sylhet, bangladesh made by those who, unable to afford the price of a ticket or find room to ride inside, risk death by traveling atop and between train cars
(via suntochukwu)
purpleaggregates:

White Tara The female enlightened being of long life, wisdom and good fortune When I see the signs of untimely death, May I immediately receive the blessings of Arya Tara; And, having destroyed the Lord of Death, May I quickly attain the deathless vajra body. OM TARE TUTTARE TURE MAMA AYUR PUNAYE GYANA PUTRIM KURU YE SÖHA OM TARE TUTTARE TURE SÖHA
purpleaggregates:
White Tara
The female enlightened being of long life, wisdom and good fortune

When I see the signs of untimely death,
May I immediately receive the blessings of Arya Tara;
And, having destroyed the Lord of Death,
May I quickly attain the deathless vajra body.

OM TARE TUTTARE TURE MAMA AYUR PUNAYE GYANA PUTRIM KURU YE SÖHA
OM TARE TUTTARE TURE SÖHA
(via dancingdakini)

(via guerrillatech)
hungryforworld:

Monet’s Garden. Givery, France.
hungryforworld:
Monet’s Garden. Givery, France.

(via awaveofbliss)

(via cosmic-rebirth)

Internal and external are ultimately one. When you no longer perceive the world as hostile, there is no more fear, and when there is no more fear, you think, speak and act differently. Love and compassion arise, and they affect the world.
Eckhart Tolle (via samsaranmusing)
(via suntochukwu)
1 MONTH AGO / SAMSARANMUSING
malformalady:

The golden spiral of fungus. In geometry, a golden spiral is a logarithmic spiral whose growth factor is φ, the golden ratio. That is, a golden spiral gets wider (or further from its origin) by a factor of φ for every quarter turn it makes.
Photo credit: Devin Raber
malformalady:
The golden spiral of fungus. In geometry, a golden spiral is a logarithmic spiral whose growth factor is φ, the golden ratio. That is, a golden spiral gets wider (or further from its origin) by a factor of φ for every quarter turn it makes.
Photo credit: Devin Raber
(via deeperthansoul)
polaroidsf:

Welcome to Eden
polaroidsf:
Welcome to Eden

(via bouddra)

It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of
meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for
your dreams, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me
RAJ NANDY Aug 2018
THE ENIGMA OF TIME IN VERSE: PART TWO
Dear Friends, having introduced ‘The Enigma of Time in Verse’ in Part One, along with few selected poetic quotes, I now mention what some of the important Philosophers thought about Time down the past centuries. But while doing so, I have tried my best to simplify some of those early concepts for better understanding and appreciation of my readers. If you like it, kindly re-post the poem. Thanks,  – Raj Nandy of New Delhi.

          THE ENIGMA OF TIME IN VERSE : PART TWO
   I commence by quoting Sonnet 60 of Shakespeare about Time,
   Hoping to seek some blessings for this Part Two composition of
   mine!
“Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,
  So do our minutes hasten to their end;
  Each changing place with that which goes before,
  In sequent toil all forwards do contend.
  Nativity, once in the main of light,
  Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown’d,
  Crooked elipses ’gainst his glory fight,
  And Time that gave doth now his gift confound.
  Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth
  And delves the parallels in beauty’s brow,
  Feeds on the rarities of nature’s truth,
  And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow:
  And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand,
Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.”

              PHILOSOPHY OF TIME
Animals are said to live in a continuous present,
Since they have no temporal distinction of past, future,
or the present.
But our consciousness of time, becomes the most
distinguishing feature of mankind.
Though we are mostly obsessed with objective time, -
As the rotation of our Earth separates day from night.
With the swing of the pendulum and the ticking of clocks,
Which regulates our movements, while we try to beat the clock!
But the ancient theologians and philosophers of India and
Greece,
Who were among the first to ponder about the true nature
of all things,
Had wondered about the subjective nature of time;
Was time linear or cyclic, was time endless or finite?

GREEK PHILOSOPHERS ON TIME:
I begin with Heraclitus, the Pre-Socratic philosopher of 6th Century BC born in Ephesus.
He claimed that everything around us, is in a constant state of change and flux.
You cannot step into the same river twice Heraclitus had claimed,
Since water keeps flowing down the river all the while and never
remains the same.
This flow and change in Nature is a process which is ceaseless.
The only thing which remains permanent is impermanence!
Here is a quote from poet Shelley reflecting the same idea:
“World on world are rolling ever
  From creation to decay
  Like the bubbles on a river
  Sparkling, bursting, borne away.”

Now Heraclitus was refuted by Parmenides, born in the Greek colony of Elea,
On the western coast of Southern Italy, as his contemporary.
Parmenides said that our senses deceive us, since all changes are mere illusory!
True reality was only eternal and unchanging ‘Being’, which was both indivisible and continuous - filling up all space.
Zeno, a pupil of Parmenides, through his famous ‘Paradox of Achilles and the Tortoise’ had shown, that when the tortoise was given a head start,
Swift footed Achilles could never catch up with the tortoise,
Since the space between the two were infinitely divisible, resulting in the impossibility of movement and change in motion!
Now the Greeks were never comfortable with the Concept of Infinity.
They preferred to view the universe as continuous existing ‘Being’.  
However, unlike Heraclitus’ ‘world of change and flux’,
Both Parmenides and Zeno have presented us, with a static unchanging universe!
Thus from the above examples it becomes easy for us to derive,  
How those Ancient Greeks had viewed Time.
Time has been viewed as a forward moving changing entity;
And also as an illusory, continuous and indivisible Being!
To clarify this further I quote Bertrand Russell from his ‘History of Western Philosophy’;
“Creation out of nothing, which was taught in the Old Testament, was an idea wholly foreign to Greek philosophy. When Plato speaks of creation, he imagines a primitive matter, to which God gives form as an artificer.”

PLATO AND ARISTOTLE ON TIME:
For Plato, time was created by the Creator at the same instance when he had fashioned the heavens.
But Plato was more interested to contemplate on things which lay
beyond the sway of time and remained unchangeable and eternal;
Like absolute Truth, absolute Justice, the absolute form of Good and Beauty;
Which were eternal and unchangeable like the ‘Platonic Forms’, and were beyond the realm of Time as true reality.
Plato’s pupil Aristotle was the first Greek philosophers to contemplate on reality inside time, and provide a proper definition as we get to see.
He said, “Time is the number of movement in respect to before and after” - as a part of reality.
To measure time numerically, we must have a ‘before’ and an ‘after’, and also notice the difference objectively.
Therefore, time here becomes the change which we see and experience.
Time takes on a linear motion moving from the past to the present;
And to the unknown future like a moving arrow travelling straight.
Aristotle had developed a four step process to understand everything inside of Time and within human experience:
(a) Observe the world using our senses,
(b) Apply logical rules to these observations,
(c) To go back and consult past authorities, if your logic agrees with their logic,
(d) Then only you can come to a logical conclusion.

No wonder in our modern times, experiments conducted by the LDC or the Large Hadron Collider, located 100m underground near the French-Swiss border,
By going back in time simulates the ‘Big Bang’ conditions, that moment of our universe’s first creation.
The scientists thereby, study the evolution of our universe with time, which  resulted in the  finding of the Higgs Boson !  (On 4thJuly 2012)

NOTES :  All elementary particles interacting with the Higg's Field & obtain Mass, excepting for photons & gluons which do not interact with this field. Mass-less photons can travel at the
speed of light with a mind boggling 186,000 miles per second! Now this LDC is a Particle Accelerator 27 kms long ring-shaped tunnel, made mostly of superconducting magnets, inside which two high-energy particle beams are made to travel close to the speed of light in opposite directions, and the shower of particles resulting from the collision is closely examined, presuming that these similar shower of particles must have been produced at the time of the ‘Big Bang’ some 13.8 million years ago, at the time of Creation! Sound like fiction? Well, Prof. Peter Higgs got the Noble Prize for Physics, for locating the particle called ‘Higgs Boson’ among those shower of particles, on 10th Dec. 2013.

NOW TO LIGHTEN UP MY READERS MIND, FEW TIME QUOTE I NOW PROVIDE :

“TIME WASTES OUR BODIES AND OUR WITS,
  BUT WE WASTE TIME, SO WE ARE QUITS!” – Anonymus.

‘Time is a great Teacher, but unfortunately it kills its Pupils!’ – HL Berlioz

“Lost , yesterday, somewhere between sunrise and sunset, two
   golden hours,
   Each set with sixty diamond minutes.
   No reward is offered, for they are gone forever!” – Horace Mann


PLOTINUS & ST. AUGUSTINE ON TIME:
Now getting back to our Philosophy of Time, there was Plotinus of the 3rd Century AD,
The founder of the mystical Neo-Platonic School of Philosophy.
He had followed Plato’s basic concept of Time as “the moving image of eternity.”
Mystic Plotinus tried to synthesize both Aristotle and Plato by saying that the entire process of cosmic creation,
Flows out of the ONE  through a series of emanation!
This ONE gave rise to the ‘Divine Mind’ which he called the ‘Realm of Intelligence’ and is an aspect of reality,
When everything is understood in terms of Platonic Forms of Truth, Justice, the Good, and Beauty.
However, the later Christian theologians had interpreted this ONE of Plotinus, -
As the Christian God, the Divine Creator of the Universe.
For God is eternal, in the sense of being timeless, in God there is no before or after, but only a timeless present.

Now this lead St. Augustine, to formulate a very admirable relativistic theory of Time!
St. Augustine, the greatest constructive teacher of the Early Christian Church, had written in Book XI of his ‘Confessions’ during  5th century AD, -
His thoughts about the enigma of Time which had perplexed the Greek philosophers of earlier centuries.
To simplify St. Augustine’s thoughts, I now paraphrase for the sake of clarity.
Time can only be measured while it is passing, yet there is time past, and time future in reality.
To avoid these contradictions he says that past and future can only be thought of as present: ‘past’ must be identified with memory, and ‘future’ with expectation.
Since memory and expectation being both present facts, there is no contradiction.  
“The present of things past is memory, the present of things present is sight; and the present of things future is expectation,” - wrote St. Augustine.

This subjective notion of time led St. Augustine to anticipate Rene Descartes the French philosopher the 17th Century,
Who proclaimed “Cogito, ergo sum” in Latin, meaning “I think, therefore I am”, and is regarded as the Father of Modern Philosophy.

Now cutting a long story short I come to Sir Isaac Newton, well known for his Laws of Motion and Gravity.
Newton speaks of ‘Absolute Time’ which exists independently, flowing at a consistent pace throughout the universe, which can only be understood mathematically.
Newton’s ‘Absolute Time’ had remained as the dominant concept till the  early years of the 20th Century.
When Albert Einstein formulated ‘Theory of Space-time’ along with his Special and General Theory of Relativity.

Now the German philosopher Leibniz during 17th century, had challenged Newton with his anti-realist theory of time.
Leibniz claimed that time was only a convenient intellectual concept, that enables to sequence and compare happening of events.
There must be objects with which time can interact or relate to as ‘Relational Time’ he had felt.
Ernst Mach, like Leibniz towards the end of 19th Century, said that even if it was not obvious what time and space was relative to,
Then they were still relative to the ‘fixed stars’ i.e. the bulk of matter in the universe.

CONCEPT OF TIME AS 'SPECIOUS PRESENT' :
During late 19th century, Robert Kelley introduced the concept of ‘spacious present’, which was the most recent part of the past.
Psychologist and philosopher William James developed this idea further by describing it as ‘’the short duration of which we are immediately and incessantly sensible’’
William James also introduced the term “stream of consciousness” into literature as a method of narration,
That described happenings in the flow of thought in the mind of the characters, - likened to an internal monologue!
This literary technique was later used by James Joyce in his famous novel ‘Ulysses’.

TIME CONCEIVED AS DURATION: HENRI BERGSON (1859 -1941)
Next I come to one of my favourite philosopher the French born Henri Bergson.
The Nobel Laureate and author of ‘Time and Free Will’ and ‘Creative Evolution’.
Will Durant in his ‘Story of Philosophy’ says Bergson was ‘the David destined to slay the Goliath of materialism.’
It was Bergson’s ‘Elan Vital’ that life force and impelling urge, Which makes us grow and transforms this wandering planet into a theatre of unending creation.
For Bergson, time is as fundamental as space; and it is time that holds the essence of life, and perhaps of all reality.
Time is an accumulation, a growth, a duration, where “duration is the continuous progress of the past which gnaws into the future and which swells as it advances.
The past in its entirety is prolonged into the present and abides there actual and acting.
Duration means that the past endures, that nothing is lost.
Though we think with only a small part of our past; but it is with our entire past that we desire, will, and act.”
“Since time is an accumulation, the future can never be the same as the past, -
For a new accumulation arises at every step, and change is far more radical than we suppose…the geometric predictability of all things, Which is the goal of a mechanistic science, is only a delusion and a dream!”  
Bergson goes on in his compelling lyrical style:            
“For a conscious being, to exist is to change, to change is to mature,
to mature is to go on creating one’s self endlessly. Perhaps all reality is time and duration, becoming and change.”
Bergson differed with Darwin's theory of adaptation to environment, and stated;
“Man is no passively adaptive machine, he is a focus of redirected force, a centre of creative evolution.”

Martin Heidegger, the German thinker in his ‘Being and Time’ of 1927, had said:
“We do not exist within time, but in a very real way we are time!”
Time is inseparable from human experience, since we can allow the past to exist in the present through memory;
And even allow a potential future occurrence to exist in the present due to our human ability to care, and be concerned about things.
Therefore we are not stuck in simple sequential or linear time, but can step out of it almost at will!

CONCLUDING  PART  TWO OF ENIGMA OF TIME IN VERSE
In this part I have tried to convey what the Ancient Greek Philosophers had felt about Time in a simplified way.
Also some thoughts of Medieval and Early Modern philosophers and what they had to say.
Where Sir Isaac Newton stands like a colossus with his Concept of Time, Laws of Motion, and Gravity.
Not forgetting Henri Bergson, one of my favourite philosopher, of the mid-19th and the mid-20th Century.
All through my narration I had tried to hold the interest of my readers, and also educated myself as a true knowledge seeker.
In my concluding Part Three I will cover few Modern Philosophers along with the relativistic concept of time.
Certainly not forgetting the space-time theory of our famous Albert Einstein!
Thanks for reading patiently, from Raj Nandy of New Delhi.
  *ALL COPY RIGHTS ARE WITH THE AUTHOR ONLY
Kasey Lorenzini Aug 2010
An internal stutter
I see you again, for the first time.
The sting of reality’s slap
Makes my inside collapse.
You are here now –truth.
Did you ever have any feelings, --you probably never felt any
They have long since hit the road, if you did.
I think deep breaths will help clear my head.
Oh no.
I almost had forgotten,  
But I am instantly reminded of
Just how heavily you have always worn that enchanting scent.

I say…
You say, “I don’t know”
I say…
You say, “I am home for some unfinished business.”
Suddenly a blossom of hope strains,
Trying to reach the ray of sunshine that your words send.
But instinctly I know,
Those memories I have
Need to remain
Faded from the pain,
Never to be fully visible again.
I have faltered --A slip that will cost me much.
This moment of internal turmoil lasted only for a blink,
No more.

Blink- you have already turned.
You introduce me to a girl --the New girl.
You don’t know yet that she has a lover on the side, (is that my place to step in?)
Like you did with me.
Blink. Stutter.

Why do you always do these things here --at my job?
These meetings happen over and over again.
Since that faithful day a couple of months ago…
You broke my heart in your first breath
Your second breath you asked me to be your bestest friend.
How cute.
Blink.Stutter.DeepBreathe.

Now you bring girls to me to rate, compare.
I told you then,
I couldn’t handle something like this,
Can’t you understand that I need to heal first?
(I have to heal first)
How did you retaliate?
You said, “You have been the longest one night stand of my life.”
Stutter. Blink. Stutter.

My world collapsed with your words.
Now, you come to me to flaunt your new flings,
To rate, compare?
Stutter. Blink. Stutter.

She casts me a devious glance,
She knows who I was --who I am.
You turn your back.
The girl is still trying to cling to your arm.
She will be thrown to the wayside soon.

I lay on the floor,
A puddle.
You never look back --you never would show that kind of weakness.
Acid rain corrodes everything
I have tried to rebuild.
You never look back.
My heartbeat staggers
Back to regularity.
But my backbone disintegrates
Leaving me in a heap.

If only, if only, the blackbird cries.
I used to be love struck.
Now I’m just ****** up.
Copyrighted by Kasey Lorenzini 2010.
Morgan Mercury Aug 2013
From the beginning
we were born to die.
There is no starting over.
There are no second chances.
With death carved on our skin
how could we live a normal life?

You could run but you'll one day run out of breath.
It's just a game.
You hide your pain and sorrow.
Save it for another day
when everything just falls apart and you can't pick it up.

Medicine and alcohol keeps you awake
As you hunt your demons and monsters.
You could choose to die but then this world would fall apart.
You give others that second chance,
you give them time to run and escape
while you slaughter their monsters,
and **** their demons instead.

You've got blood on your hands
and a soldier's heart.
Your brain is beautiful
just corrupted.
You smile to stay strong
and your humor hides your internal scars.

In the end
you'll look back on your youth
and notice you died a long time ago.
You never had the chance to be happy.
You'll never know the feeling of growing old with your lover
because all your lovers are either buried below your feet,
or somewhere up in the sky with the stars.
It's not that far,
one day you'll be with them.
Then, you'll finally be able to rest your tired hands.
Supernatural
Sam & Dean Winchester
It seemed the space between us became torn and
Profoundly distanced....................

Jamming bony knuckles and spread eagled fingers,
Lying their mapped out journey.....direction on point patrol....
Adorned by silver decoration, delighting in their skinned habitat
Shafted, deceit punching the recipient of the poison digits
Prodding and pushing their intent....dare you contradict
The intended carved out dose of punishment, Risk and
Safety......not yours and never would be; stooped
Down under the assailing bony palmed attachements
That delivered penetrating power, cupped around
Your arm til it became discoloured, pressure points
Backed you into a corner, up against the grain of the
Brick wall, cold and damp, the odour reaching
And scolding your nostrils with its stale internal vows
Refuse, stretching and protruding its foul remnents
An earlier life, when you were not under threat fades
Your very existance in jeopardy, your eyes pleaded for
Normality, willing someone to hear your silence, grip you
Tightly, not with malice, but with bravery and valour
Right now you need that shining knight, that white
Horse galloping down the blind alleyway, yet you
Know that won't happen for you're already sinking
To the floor, the blow comes sharp and stings, warmth
Exudes and trickles a path downwards, leaving your
Body, finding the cold concrete beneath you, travelling
Outwards................
Benjamin Novak Apr 2015
I shouldnt resent feelings for arent they me?,
A mistaken representation of my internal sea.

Though the messengers native tongue is without face,
the message is clear "you've fallen from grace".

The sensation avast of our reality,
I relinquish this dependence on sanity.

Please defend me in my cry against man,
And witness my fall into the depths again...
Amanda Blomquist Nov 2016
The basement of my mind.

   Cluttered with **** storms and broken promises,
          Withered alongside reminiscent daydreams of passed past nightmares.

I stare...
   Into the internal dwellings of my deepest catacomb.

          Unable to process what resides in my literal unconscious dungeon.
   It's everything I've attempted to hide.

To die.
   To let dwindle between cobwebs and dust bunnies.

   Sifting through the residue of forgotten treasures and material shackles.
          They bond me.
Surround me.
   Overwhelm me...
          The unresolved burdens have taken residency within my hindered chakras.

My chest is heavy.
   The weight distribution of disappointment is sharper than expected.

It eats away at me.
   An elusive daily ritual.

Waves of emotion.
   The tides roll in.
          Upon their migration my muddled secrets and hidden betrayals are uncovered.
               Discovered.

My internal stack of unfiltered, unregistered, and unassured disheveled boxes.
   Full of disheveled useless things.
          Covered in a thick layer of problems i'm incapable of handling alone.

Alone.
   It sits unaltered and ever growing.

The piles.
    The filth.
          The remnants of what should have been happiness.

It all falls into misplaced sediments.

I'm a mess.
It's showing.
I'm naked.

    This hell.
This murky chamber of unwanted mementos from failed attempts and lost friendships
          This dreadful, endless room.

Oh, to live in a home without a storm shelter.
    Without room to store unnecessary baggage and all the unclaimed items in my mind.

To find solace in meager living.
   All this weight fitting into a backpack.

To minimize my insanity into a carry on.

   To leave.
To go.
    To be light enough to feel the light.

To escape this cellar.
     To live.

To release my self from my own ideological prison.
    To penetrate the bars of fear.
          To dig myself out from all the things I never want to speak of.

To be free.
     Ahhh, to be free.

To breathe fresh air over molded dust clouds and stale particles.
     To touch without needing to rinse my soul clean.

To re-stack, rotate, and Tetris these piles of insecurities.

To break habits
           that I've reinterpreted from childhood addictions and failed father figures.

To be better than what I've become.

To set fire to this sham of a lifestyle.
     To be reborn in the ashes of this outgrown armor.

To let go.

     To find pride in myself.

To not be embarrassed by my place settings and mismatched knick knacks.

To allow souls into my temple without them stumbling into my isolated lunacy.

To welcome love.
        To love.
    To love even the darkest crevasses of my being...

I need to renew my license to live.
     Overdue and out of line,
           My past self has expired.

One step at a time, inhale.
    One box at a time, exhale.
       One thought at a time, breathe.

Inhale.
    Exhale.
Breathe.
        Repeat.

Awaken.
 ­     Accept.
  Grow.
          Repeat.
Pierson Pflieger Apr 2012
A bright light annoys my eyes.    I can’t get away from it- I don’t like it.  
Tired and overwhelmed with obligations and requirements,
I’d rather not complete or even think of-
I’d rather they did not exist.  

What do they prove?  

I am comfortable and lazy.  
I would like to sleep, but the smallest agitations are an unbearable annoyance.  
Obnoxious voices speaking a tongue I don’t know, laughing at my condition-
I’d rather be asleep-
quiet and asleep.  

I want a cigarette.  I hate cigarettes.  
I don’t hate cigarettes; I rather like them, especially with coffee,
but I hate how they manipulate me.  
I want one, but I’d rather sleep.  
I wish I could smoke in bed.  
I should have showered before bed.

Self-confidence comes and goes.  
Sometimes I don’t care what people think; other times it’s all I think about.  
It’s judgmental; it’s worry of acceptance, worry of not belonging, worry of standing out.  
People- including me- want to be individuals, but are not brave enough.  
Society does not accept true individuals, it kills them.  
How can I be unique or allow true self to be and true identity to exist when there is fear?

When I see her, I wonder what might have been.  
There was a connection, or maybe just an attraction.  
We lead different lives.  
She is pure and good in the church sense; I am pure and good in my own way.  
But, these two lifestyles could never intertwine.  
I must admire what she is from a far.  
I should not dwell on it too much because it is unfair to the present.  
We always want to know.  
We want to know the future, but I will get there at my own pace.

Lying in bed, I don’t remember most days.  
I only remember lying in bed the prior night, trying to remember the previous day.  
Sometimes I hate my body- not enough muscle, skinny legs, blah hair.  
Against society's standards I am mediocre.  
They know what a man should look like; I am not him.  
We are all not the portrayed he or she.  
Those people only exist on screens.  

This is the last place I want to be.  
Stuck in a class I couldn’t give a **** about,
listening to a Professor I can’t understand drone on and on in his sing-song,
marbled-mouth accent.  
Occasionally trying my patience with a drawn out, “You noh wah I main?”  
No.
I don’t know what you mean.  
I can’t understand what’s coming out of your mouth.

Apparently, the only way to be a good teacher is to jump through hoops and
dance for the cloudy heads of a department.  
If I play their games, I will have blisters on my lips from having to kiss too much ***.  
I do not need to be validated, approved, passed, accepted, or liked by them to be a good teacher.  
I know I will be a good teacher- they have no influence on that.  
They only have the ability to stall me and help steal my money.

The worst is when the pain sinks into your eyes, dull and deep.  
The pressure tunnels around your temples and tries to bore a whole through your forehead.  
Six Advil cover up the pain- only for an hour.  
Everything within your skull pushes out like a balloon on the brink of bursting.

The worst is the restless anxiety experienced lying in bed right before sleep.  
It is the empty churning of stomach, half shots of adrenaline that tickle your veins,
while the mind races like prey trying to evade predatory jaws.  
Your heart flits, skips, and stops,
as your mind obsesses about the seemingly infinite list of things you have to get done.  
That only adds to the stress- since you’re not sleeping, something could be accomplished.  
The worry heightens, the obsession increases until- sleep.

An instant of eye contact can be rare and intriguing.  
Instants too small to have time, can convey so much.  
Eye line meets eyes, eyes lock- message of vast information conveyed.  
A minute moment, an insignificant second, so monumental.  
This blip exchange ignites an internal fire of emotion or ruins your day.  
The messages that can be exchanged in the smallest,
feasible time frame are vastly unique to each experience.  
Polar and extreme: Love me - I nothing you.  
Eye contact conveys an incredible amount of information, but perhaps to be keen to it-
is to be vulnerable.  

What if it were acceptable to give into every desire or want?  
What would the world be?  
Would it be that much different or would the internal, human morale still enforce invisible boundaries?  
What would we do?  
Would the private become public?  
Would others see our lowest animal drive?  
Humans are the only being capable of acting above or below their nature.  
Rough.
Raw.  
Human animals.

It is ironic when something is built up to high expectations, but turns out anticlimactic.  
Was that it?  
That is what we waited for?  
When something does not meet expectations, it creates hollowness, an emptiness, or unfilled hole.
  
What do you do?  
What can you do?  
You can learn from it or you can let it bring you down.  
It is better to look for the positives
than dwell on and become disheartened by the negatives.  
Learn and Grow.

I am a poor student.  
I have been loaned money I will never be able to pay back.  
I am paying for a degree, to get a job that will never return the favor.  
I am strangling myself financially for a “higher education”, but am I getting it?  
Perhaps it is not the institution’s fault; perhaps, it’s my own?  

so much depends
upon

a green dollar
bill

glazed with American
greed

beside the fabricated
dream

I am poor and will be poor, but I will be happy.  
Everything costs.  Everything has a price.  Life is expensive.  
How can I save?  What can I afford to put away?  
When forty dollars in your bank account is a pleasant surprise-
surprises are cheap.
This is a piece I wrote for a class while in school.  The goal of the assignment was to capture "agitated consciousness" (write the moment you wake up, experience high or low emotions, right before falling asleep).  First thought, best thought.  I recently found this and have only made minor changes.  It is not my favorite piece I have ever written, but there are moments I enjoy.  If you have never tried to write like this, I would encourage it.  It's challenging, fun, frustrating, and revealing.  Thanks for reading.
Kewayne Wadley Oct 2018
At the end of the day I can't think of a better place.
A solemn moment.
The clutter of all my favorite things.
I lay uneducated, amassed in comfort.
In lieu of scented furniture.
She's with me where ever I go.

A populous of
Things which I notice, not being home in a while.
Conscious to where I lay my head.
A notion only the homeless truly understand.

A nostalgia of born necessity.
I am ignorant.
Realizing only now.
I needed not wait to feel,
The clutter of all my favorite things.
bouhaouel zeineb Oct 2015
I chose feminism because I believe in equality between genders.
because I’m against gender roles, men who need a woman to get their **** done are not “cute” and are nothing but spoiled little brats.
because my virginity, my body hair and how I dress up are none of your business.
I chose feminism because I’m not a *** machine nor a baby producer I value much much more than that.
because I don’t need a man to validate my self worth, I already know what I’m worth.
because in some countries ***** women are forced to spend the rest of their life under the same roof as their assaulter.
I chose feminism because a woman who speak up and raise her voice is a ***** .
because in my city a woman was beaten by her husband the night of their wedding because she didn’t “bleed” in the *******.
I chose to speak up because an 8 year old Yemeni girl died of internal injuries at the hands of 40 year old husband on their wedding night.
because ****** is not a ***** word and my periods are not disgusting.
because more women need to speak up and speak for their rights
I chose feminism and everyone should do the same .
Abby Nov 2015
This is a matter of internal affairs.
The people need a leader but the leader isn't there,
So they don't know what to do
Because mom and pop only taught them how to follow.

The problem isn't them, the problem is you
Blaming everybody else for the **** you didn't do.
Your parents didn't tell you that the world wouldn't wait.
They forgot to tell you that power is influence.

And you let yourself get influenced.
The affair is internal because all you got is you.
When there isn't anything left,
What the **** will you do?
Samuel Hoffmann Nov 2017
Help me catch my internal voice,
Help me catch it please.
It got away, it ran away,
Its no longer inside me.

It screams it shouts,
It yells the truth,
It tells my judgments and lies.
Its out of control, gone way too far,
I need to get it back inside.

Help me catch my internal voice,
It somehow got away.
“No way?” Please stay,
Please,
what did he say?

He told you I think you fat, right?
He told you you’re stupid or dumb.
He told you something to ruin our relationship,
Please don’t listen he’s wrong.

Help me catch my internal voice,
he is saying things he shouldn’t say.
Internal voices should stay inside,
And not go out to play.

He’s saying things I’ve thought,
That I can’t deny --I won’t lie.
But he’s an internal voice,
If you’re offended its your fault, not my.
Here's another lovely poem I wrote a while ago. It has a cool beat to the words but I can't really read it for you --or can I...
Anyway, Enjoy! (Or don't)
Mouth Piece Dec 2013
I wonder if we could swallow the universe with the cosmos of our internal struggle. I’d rather not delay in chewing a few morsels while the galaxy devours us. Still my stomach gnawed chicken bones against my advice. My woeful digestion salted my compromise in the bliss of juicy delicacy. Complacent and  alone a full stomach consumed my flesh in the unlimited dimensions of matter. In this darkness my name is a mist noted on the prequel of my death. In your gaze I revived on the bridge of your frayed lashes. You dropped me a line on your tacit glances and I remembered who I was. Soaked in emotion the earth was faded in the lines of my palm. With each internal keystroke I feasted on the victory of my invisible eternity.
Thank you Jesus
Kris Dec 2009
Time moves on and people revert back to their old ways leaving chaos in their wake.
Spoiling memories, past and future.
I am not a toy.
I can't be tossed about the room. I don't work on demand.
I am Pinocchio.
A Marionette without the strings.
Free to walk the world.
Free to sing.
Free to dance and move to the pace of my own drum.
I spoil no one.
I am me.
I am independent.
Stop trying to tug at non-existent Nylon strings because I will not be controlled.
I don't like to be ordered about.
Left feeling lonely and sad.
Used.
I do what I don't really want to do.
We fight on new levels each time we are together.
I cover up my tears and woes.
Put on a happy face.
Im sick of the stormy weather.
I break promises and I lie to protect crimes and sorrow.
I am a Monster.
sincelastjune Nov 2014
i live inside my mind
it's a broken home
negative thoughts line the walls
insecurities cook in the kitchen
broken is an understatement
i'm internal
not external
i won't tell you i'm dying
you will see it, feel it, hear it
that's how i am
it's how i'll always be
i don't think i will ever be set free
from myself
Lizzy May 2015
Fabricated.
Fictitious.
A fake floating feeling
Falls short
Of my fleeting fantasy.

This insidious infirmity
Isn't what I intended.
I've been inflicted
With internal indisposition.
In need of an ideal identity.

Who am I without
This ****** to make me whole?
How do I heave my heart
Away from this hole?
Have you seen how hard this is?

But it's been short of a year,
Of believing I can simply be.
And before I break
Bleed me of my bane.
And for me, bear no malice.

Tightly take me
Away from my terible tempest.
Time tells me it's time to stop.
Too long I've tortured my tenemet.
Tame the tantrum tearing through me.

Sober seems strong,
But it's systematic survival.
Stopping the surrender
To something stimulating.
Learning to stand sedated.

No I'm no longer numb.
No longer neglecting me need
For new novcane.
Knowing I'll never need
This vaccine again.

You are all my ambition.
Dispelling my ailments
And afflictions.
I am hard to adore, I know.
You are my new addiction.

You have me dreaming,
Praying we are real.
Made me feel.
Don't decieve my brittle belief.
Keep me, don't leave.

I'm not the kind to fly.
For you i'd try to dive.
Unafraid I might die.
I don't hide from the night.
This is what I've been trying to find.
nui Jul 2018
Today or should I say what was left of yesterday, the most important time during the day when the moon is in a modestly transient display, I would consider taking my life. It is early evening, I couldn’t hold onto what I thought I could live for, giving into intolerance too easily, was like life for me was cracking in two and I was unable to cause cohesion for the diverging halves. only the effect remains unhinged and hidden inside me, without notice I go on missing from society. I’ve greatly deteriorated over the past few months which felt to me like decades in a room resembling winter. I often open the window only to my dismay that the air out is uncomfortably thick and moist, enough to suffocate my concentration for concern to what lies around instead I retract into this niche I resent completely spectating this limited view found underneath monochromatic inverted shades, for something that might not be much greater than I had wished it to be, I let these ideals of mine run wild in an attempt to let them be real momentarily, to burn out eventually unseen. Nothing should be able to live in such a way, I’m as stagnant as the trees that lie ahead near the streets. They witness every passerby freely sauntering trails laid out for the day, perhaps they, these beings, take it for granted not giving much attention to anything else besides the very goal that keeps them afloat and moving toward for execution to whatever it is they have their minds eye simply on. I’ve known all too well that it is pointless to do the same, I can’t squander what I have right in front of me over a simple goal, although I might not live in life’s given moments pleading for the very attention I sometimes don’t give in to, nothing ever goes unnoticed, these impressions are all that I could ever ask for, the smallest of gifts for me to cherish. Anyways I was only wandering my sight around outside looking for a movement I could possibly run to for help, giving my ears away for barber’s melody to play out loud. Nothing more showed up, only a bitter heat wave, the trees left unshaken from vacant winds. Washing over me was the penetrative structure I felt his sorrowful life flash ahead of me wondering how misunderstood he must’ve felt in such a time where everything was unrightfully wasted from a society that never knew how normalized repression began to feel, so they went about it by going along with the feel other than freely being expressive about internal conflicting issues. Maybe to one or none at all. He deserved better as did all the others. Maybe I’m wrong and only being reflective of myself. For what reason I don’t know. I was telling myself on the car ride somewhere else that I won’t disclose, for it doesn’t matter. I imagined everything I was to do, or should I say that I was accepting of what was to come next reciting in my head that all the dreaming and envisioning I had done up to this point was my life possibly lived, the love I couldn’t help to resist myself from attaining, the opportunity to save the world from collision from and through a great work that could possibly impregnate every sensible mind with a broad spectrum of what an extra day of the week might feel like, more time to spend freely from life’s never ending demand of what is to be expected by and from each and every one of you. I daydreamed of everything I missed during my lifetime so far, I should’ve traveled but didn’t, I’m not filled with fear but that of insecurity always wins the day. I slipped on by to memories that never had the chance to be made, only the threading lies there on a timeless lot gravitating toward evaporation. I left no more hope for myself because I’ve chosen to give it to the others who could actually implement change, those of whom I know I can entrust the life that I wasn’t living to. I made a choice, to disperse this existing body from and to a place where time is stilted upon my departure outside the fields wherever that may be, music guiding me out of the overriding blur beyond the wilt— my memory subsided inside this symphony somewhere that is made up of very early mornings and the light that follows afterward, kindly implying, that maybe, they never existed. I’m without anymore words, Thank you
I’ve decided to lay this one out exactly how I intended it to look; in its most free format, untouched from editing. maybe to expose the half crumbled city that lies in the way.  

I have this thing to get carried away into needless thoughts. 4 am is the time when self-reflecting occurs.

It goes deeper than all this, this is but a simple opening to more uncovered doors.

0202, is when I will be leaving
Aoife Teese Jul 2014
Internal conflict is a mental or emotional struggle that occurs within a character
External conflict is a struggle that occurs between a character and outside forces, which could be another character or the environment.*

what i want vs. what is safe
what i need vs. what i want
what i think vs. what i know

and i don't know much other than what i've been told
but it's hardest to tell if what i'm told is the truth
or the shadows of what i want to be the truth
and what you want me to think

and i want you to want me to think
i want you to want to permeate my thoughts
crack open my sternum and pick apart my little ribs
and find your way into my heart
///////////////////////
Ariana Sweeney May 2014
Always searching for somewhere
Anywhere else
To let my mind wander
Away from myself.
Free to live higher
than even the clouds
Floating on other's thoughts
Blending in with the crowds.

I'm searching, I'm looking
Desperate for escape
Because life is ******
And I don't know my fate.
What's the future hold?
Does it even exist?
Externally scrounging
For internal bliss.
The internal battle..eternal....(one from the vault)


Lucifer and Jehovah dancing some mad bossa nova

While angels on horse backs fought devils with black jacks

The white dove of peace had surrendered his lease

So God ripped off his wings.. he no longer sings

Then the Devil ripped out his heart so it could end at the start.

Wagner and Chopin got frightened..

..and off they ran.

But Beethoven and Bach were sat in the park

Composing arias to fight Hells hot fires.

While Chekhov and Handel burned coramandel

But the smoke from that pyre stank like a byre.

Socrates was sat dispensing the ethics

Hippocrates swore while dishing out medics

The Muses were musing one or two were enthusing

Oooh look.. the good against sinner

Let's go down the bookies and have a bet on the winner.

Cometh the day cometh the morn

Cometh the hour cometh the dawn.

Here is Joshua blowing his horn

And here comes Gabriel but all that he meets

Are the countless dead lining up on the streets

And the wounded and deathbound far far below

I feel sorry for Gabriel I wish he could go.

But Picasso arrives and cries

My God it's my Guernica I'll do a pastiche

Oh F*ck it he says and has a pastis (or two)

Then Pollack turns up totally ******

Picks up a paint and says what I have missed?

What a fantastic sight.. angels flashing demons crashing

The hounds of Hell with teeth a gnashing

Then Neptune arrives astride his watery chariot

Scything through Demons and sat beside Judas Iscariot

Mermen and mermaids mercilessly slayed

By Beelzebubs prototypes

Those that live in the black nights.

But as the dawn breaks God knows what it takes

So he sends for his legions calls out to all regions

Take arms and do battle

Till we hears Satans death rattle.

And the heavens rip asunder to the sound of the thunder.

Satan rings on Hells bell.. tells them all is not well

Then disappears from our sight as if he's turned off the light.

Then I awake with a start knowing that I've been a part

Of something vast something grand

A spiritual war being fought in this land

I am alive and I shall survive.

PRAISE BE.
Meka Boyle Jun 2011
I'm not depressed
I just lack what society coins
Common sense
I live life in all 3 tenses
Because the past
Is the blueprint of my fences
That reign the present in
And I might as well live in the future
In case it never does begin
For sanity is not measured by statistics
The majority's vote does not determine what's realistic
For selfishly we work as a whole
Only as convenience
To reach our own goals
The size of our ambitions
Define the status of our positions
Although this would never reach admission
Independence gains ground by submission
Failure is measured by how well we cope
With the reality of our situations
And the absence of hope
Success however
Is measured by distance
Between the final outcome
And our feeble existence
As we try to conquer life
We digress from our true motives
Doing whatever it takes
To prove ourselves devoted
The ballots were never cast
Yet we take pride that we voted
For the notion that our drive
Is all that's keeping us alive
Is hidden in our conscience
Cuz we don't need it to survive
Life is constant, set in stone
Yet we are continuously changing
Spinning towards the unknown
Oblivious
Until we're all alone
With the thoughts in our minds
Releasing the binds
Which tie us to the perception
Built up by deception
That we begin living the moment we are born
When instead we don't awaken till we win the war
For you can not understand a revolution until you are free
Yet you can not be free till you have a revolution
Like a psychotic docent in the wilderness,
I will not speak in perfect Ciceronian cadences.
I draw my voice from a much deeper cistern,
Preferring the jittery synaptic archive,
So sublimely unfiltered, random and profane.
And though I am sequestered now,
Confined within the walls of a gated, golf-coursed,
Over-55 lunatic asylum (for Active Seniors I am told),
I remain oddly puerile,
Remarkably refreshed and unfettered.  
My institutionalization self-imposed,
Purposed for my own serenity, and also the safety of others.
Yet I abide, surprisingly emancipated and frisky.
I may not have found the peace I seek,
But the quiet has mercifully come at last.

The nexus of inner and outer space is context for my story.
I was born either in Brooklyn, New York or Shungopavi, Arizona,
More of intervention divine than census data.
Shungopavi: a designated place for tribal statistical purposes.
Shungopavi: an ovine abbatoir and shaman’s cloister.
The Hopi: my mother’s people, a state of mind and grace,
Deftly landlocked, so cunningly circumscribed,
By both interior and outer Navajo boundaries.
The Navajo: a coyote trickster people; a nation of sheep thieves,
Hornswoggled and landlocked themselves,
Subsumed within three of the so-called Four Corners:
A 3/4ths compromise and covenant,
Pickled in firewater, swaddled in fine print,
A veritable swindle concocted back when the USA
Had Manifest Destiny & mayhem on its mind.

The United States: once a pubescent synthesis of blood and thunder,
A bold caboodle of trooper spit and polish, unwashed brawlers, Scouts and      
Pathfinders, mountain men, numb-nut ne'er-do-wells,
Buffalo Bills & big-balled individualists, infected, insane with greed.
According to the Gospel of His Holiness Saint Zinn,
A People’s’ History of the United States: essentially state-sponsored terrorism,
A LAND RUSH grabocracy, orchestrated, blessed and anointed,
By a succession of Potomac sharks, Great White Fascist Fathers,
Far-Away-on-the Bay, the Bay we call The Chesapeake.
All demented national patriarchs craving lebensraum for God and country.
The USA: a 50-state Leviathan today, a nation jury-rigged,
Out of railroad ties, steel rails and baling wire,
Forged by a litany of lies, rapaciousness and ******,
And jaw-torn chunks of terra firma,
Bites both large and small out of our well-****** Native American ***.

Or culo, as in va’a fare in culo (literally "go do it in the ***")
Which Italian Americans pronounce as fongool.
The language center of my brain,
My sub-cortical Broca’s region,
So fraught with such semantic misfires,
And autonomic linguistic seizures,
Compel acknowledgement of a father’s contribution,
To both the gene pool and the genocide.
Columbus Day:  a conspicuously absent holiday out here in Indian Country.
No festivals or Fifth Avenue parades.
No excuse for ethnic hoopla. No guinea feast. No cannoli. No tarantella.
No excuse to not get drunk and not **** your sister-in-law.
Emphatically a day for prayer and contemplation,
A day of infamy like Pearl Harbor and 9/11,
October 12, 1492: not a discovery; an invasion.

Growing up in Brooklyn, things were always different for me,
Different in some sort of redskin/****/****--
Choose Your Favorite Ethnic Slur-sort of way.
The American Way: dehumanization for fun and profit.
Melting *** anonymity and denial of complicity with evil.
But this is no time to bring up America’s sordid past,
Or, a personal pet peeve: Indian Sovereignty.
For Uncle Sam and his minions, an ever-widening, conveniently flexible concept,
Not a commandment or law,
Not really a treaty or a compact,
Or even a business deal.  Let’s get real:
It was not even much in the way of a guideline.
Just some kind of an advisory, a bulletin or newsletter,
Could it merely have been a free-floating suggestion?
Yes, that’s it exactly: a suggestion.

Over and under halcyon American skies,
Over and around those majestic purple mountain peaks,
Those trapped in poetic amber waves of wheat and oats,
Corn and barley, wheat shredded and puffed,
Corn flaked and milled, Wheat Chex and Wheaties, oats that are little Os;
Kix and Trix, Fiber One, and Kashi-Go-Lean, Lucky Charms and matso *****,
Kreplach and kishka,
Polenta and risotto.
Our cantaloupe and squash patch,
Our fruited prairie plain, our delicate ecological Eden,
In balance and harmony with nature, as Chief Joseph of the Nez Perce instructs:
“These white devils are not going to,
Stop ****** and killing, cheating and eating us,
Until they have the whole ******* enchilada.
I’m talking about ‘from sea to shining sea.’”

“I fight no more forever,” Babaloo.
So I must steer this clunky keelboat of discovery,
Back to the main channel of my sad and starry demented river.
My warpath is personal but not historical.
It is my brain’s own convoluted cognitive process I cannot saavy.
Whatever biochemical or—as I suspect more each day—
Whatever bio-mechanical protocols govern my identity,
My weltanschauung: my world-view, as sprechen by proto-Nazis;
Putz philosophers of the 17th, 18th & 19th century.
The German intelligentsia: what a cavalcade of maniacal *******!
Why is this Jew unsurprised these Zarathustra-fueled Übermenschen . . .
Be it the Kaiser--Caesar in Deutsch--Bismarck, ******, or,
Even that Euro-*****,  Angela Merkel . . . Why am I not surprised these Huns,
Get global grab-*** on the sauerbraten cabeza every few generations?
To be, or not to be the ***** bullgoose loony: GOTT.

Biomechanical protocols govern my identity and are implanted while I sleep.
My brain--my weak and weary CPU--is replenished, my discs defragmented.
A suite of magnetic and optical white rooms, cleansed free of contaminants,
Gun mounts & lifeboat stations manned and ready,
Standing at attention and saluting British snap-style,
Snap-to and heel click, ramrod straight and cheerful: “Ready for duty, Sir.”
My mind is ravenous, lusting for something, anything to process.
Any memory or image, lyric or construct,
Be they short-term dailies or deeply imprinted.
Fixations archived one and all in deep storage time and space.
Memories, some subconscious, most vaporous;
Others--the scary ones—eidetic: frighteningly detailed and extraordinarily vivid.
Precise cognitive transcripts; recollected so richly rife and fresh.
Visual, auditory, tactile, gustatory, and olfactory reloads:
Queued up and increasingly re-experienced.

The bio-data of six decades: it’s all there.
People, countless, places and things cataloged.
Every event, joy and trauma enveloped from within or,
Accessed externally from biomechanical storage devices.
The random access memory of a lifetime,
Read and recollected from cerebral repositories and vaults,
All the while the entire greedy process overseen,
Over-driven by that all-subservient British bat-man,
Rummaging through the data in batches small and large,
Internal and external drives working in seamless syncopation,
Self-referential, at times paradoxical or infinitely looped.
“Cogito ergo sum."
Descartes stripped it down to the basics but there’s more to the story:
Thinking about thinking.
A curse and minefield for the cerebral:  metacognition.

No, it is not the fact that thought exists,
Or even the thoughts themselves.
But the information technology of thought that baffles me,
As adaptive and profound as any evolution posited by Darwin,
Beyond the wetware in my skull, an entirely new operating system.
My mental and cultural landscape are becoming one.
Machines are connecting the two.
It’s what I am and what I am becoming.
Once more for emphasis:
It is the information technology of who I am.
It is the operating system of my mental and cultural landscape.
It is the machinery connecting the two.
This is the central point of this narrative:
Metacognition--your superego’s yenta Cassandra,
Screaming, screaming in your psychic ear, your good ear:

“LISTEN:  The machines are taking over, taking you over.
Your identity and train of thought are repeatedly hijacked,
Switched off the main line onto spurs and tangents,
Only marginally connected or not at all.
(Incoming TEXT from my editor: “Lighten Up, Giuseppi!”)
Reminding me again that most in my audience,
Rarely get past the comic page. All righty then: think Calvin & Hobbes.
John Calvin, a precocious and adventurous six-year old boy,
Subject to flights of 16th Century French theological fancy.
Thomas Hobbes, a sardonic anthropomorphic tiger from 17th Century England,
Mumbling about life being “solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and short.”
Taken together--their antics and shenanigans--their relationship to each other,
Remind us of our dual nature; explore for us broad issues like public education;
The economy, environmentalism & the Global ****** Thermometer;
Not to mention the numerous flaws of opinion polls.



And again my editor TEXTS me, reminds me again: “LIGHTEN UP!”
Consoling me:  “Even Shakespeare had to play to the groundlings.”
The groundlings, AKA: The Rabble.
Yes. Even the ******* Bard, even Willie the Shake,
Had to contend with a decidedly lowbrow copse of carrion.
Oh yes, the groundlings, a carrion herd, a flying flock of carrion seagulls,
Carrion crow, carrion-feeders one and all,
And let’s throw Sheryl Crow into the mix while we’re at it:
“Hit it! This ain't no disco. And it ain't no country club either, this is L.A.”  

                  Send "All I Wanna Do" Ringtone to your Cell              

Once more, I digress.
The Rabble:  an amorphous, gelatinous Jabba the Hutt of commonality.
The Rabble: drunk, debauched & lawless.
Too *****-delicious to stop Bill & Hilary from thinking about tomorrow;
Too Paul McCartney My Love Does it Good to think twice.

The Roman Saturnalia: a weeklong **** fest.
The Saturnalia: originally a pagan kink-fest in honor of the deity Saturn.
Dovetailing nicely with the advent of the Christian era,
With a project started by Il Capo di Tutti Capi,
One of the early popes, co-opting the Roman calendar between 17 and 25 December,
Putting the finishing touches on the Jesus myth.
For Brooklyn Hopi-***-Jew baby boomers like me,
Saturnalia manifested itself as Disco Fever,
Unpleasant years of electrolysis, scrunched ***** in tight polyester
For Roman plebeians, for the great unwashed citizenry of Rome,
Saturnalia was just a great big Italian wedding:
A true family blowout and once-in-a-lifetime ego-trip for Dad,
The father of the bride, Vito Corleone, Don for A Day:
“Some think the world is made for fun and frolic,
And so do I! Funicula, Funiculi!”

America: love it or leave it; my country right or wrong.
Sure, we were citizens of Rome,
But any Joe Josephus spending the night under a Tiber bridge,
Or sleeping off a three day drunk some afternoon,
Up in the Coliseum bleachers, the cheap seats, out beyond the monuments,
The original three monuments in the old stadium,
Standing out in fair territory out in center field,
Those three stone slabs honoring Gehrig, Huggins, and Babe.
Yes, in the house that Ruth built--Home of the Bronx Bombers--***?
Any Joe Josephus knows:  Roman citizenship doesn’t do too much for you,
Except get you paxed, taxed & drafted into the Legion.
For us the Roman lifestyle was HIND-*** humble.
We plebeians drew our grandeur by association with Empire.
Very few Romans and certainly only those of the patrician class lived high,
High on the hog, enjoying a worldly extravaganza, like—whom do we both know?

Okay, let’s say Laurence Olivier as Crassus in Spartacus.
Come on, you saw Spartacus fifteen ******* times.
Remember Crassus?
Crassus: that ***** twisted **** trying to get his freak on with,
Tony Curtis in a sunken marble tub?
We plebes led lives of quiet *****-scratching desperation,
A bunch of would-be legionnaires, diseased half the time,
Paid in salt tablets or baccala, salted codfish soaked yellow in olive oil.
Stiffs we used to call them on New Year’s Eve in Brooklyn.
Let’s face it: we were hyenas eating someone else’s ****,
Stage-door jackals, Juvenal-come-late-lies, a mob of moronic mook boneheads
Bought off with bread & circuses and Reality TV.
Each night, dished up a wide variety of lowbrow Elizabethan-era entertainments.  
We contemplate an evening on the town, downtown—
(cue Petula Clark/Send "Downtown" Ringtone to your Cell)

On any given London night, to wit:  mummers, jugglers, bear & bull baiters.
How about dog & **** fighters, quoits & skittles, alehouses & brothels?
In short, somewhere, anywhere else,
Anywhere other than down along the Thames,
At Bankside in Southwark, down in the Globe Theater mosh pit,
Slugging it out with the groundlings whose only interest,
In the performance is the choreography of swordplay and stale ****** puns.
Meanwhile, Hugh Fennyman--probably a fellow Jew,
An English Renaissance Bugsy Siegel or Mickey Cohen—
Meanwhile Fennyman, the local mob boss is getting his ya-yas,
Roasting the feet of my text-messaging editor, Philip Henslowe.
Poor and pathetic Henslowe, works on commission, always scrounging,
But a true patron of my craft, a gentleman of infinite jest and patience,
Spiritual subsistence, and every now and then a good meal at some,
Sawdust joint with oyster shells, and a Prufrockian silk purse of T.S. Eliot gold.

Poor, pathetic Henslowe, trussed up by Fennyman,
His editorial feet in what looks like a Japanese hibachi.
Henslowe’s feet to the fire--feet to the fire—get it?
A catchy phrase whose derivation conjures up,
A grotesque yet vivid image of torture,
An exquisite insight into how such phrases ingress the idiom,
Not to mention a scene once witnessed at a secret Romanian CIA prison,
I’d been ordered to Bucharest not long after 9/11,
Handling the rendition and torture of Habib Ghazzawy,

An entirely innocent falafel maker from Steinway Street, Astoria, Queens.
Shock the Monkey: it’s what we do. GOTO:
Peter Gabriel - Shock the Monkey/
(HQ music video) - YouTube//
www.youtube.com/
Poor, pathetic, ******-on Henslowe.


Fennyman :  (his avarice is whet by something Philly screams out about a new script)  "A play takes time. Find actors; Rehearsals. Let's say open in three weeks. That's--what--five hundred groundlings at tuppence each, in addition four hundred groundlings tuppence each, in addition four hundred backsides at three pence--a penny extra for a cushion, call it two hundred cushions, say two performances for safety how much is that Mr. Frees?"
Jacobean Tweet, John (1580-1684) Webster:  “I saw him kissing her bubbies.”

It’s Geoffrey Rush, channeling Henslowe again,
My editor, a singed smoking madman now,
Feet in an ice bucket, instructing me once more:
“Lighten things up, you know . . .
Comedy, love and a bit with a dog.”
I digress again and return to Hopi Land, back to my shaman-monastic abattoir,
That Zen Center in downtown Shungopavi.
At the Tribal Enrolment Office I make my case for a Certificate of Indian Blood,
Called a CIB by the Natives and the U.S. Bureau of Indian Affairs.
The BIA:  representing gold & uranium miners, cattle and sheep ranchers,
Sodbusters & homesteaders; railroaders and dam builders since 1824.
Just in time for Andrew Jackson, another false friend of Native America,
Just before Old Hickory, one of many Democratic Party hypocrites and scoundrels,
Gives the FONGOOL, up the CULO go ahead.
Hey Andy, I’ve got your Jacksonian democracy: Hanging!
The Bureau of Indian Affairs (BIA) mission is to:   "… enhance the quality of life, to promote economic opportunity, and to carry out the responsibility to protect and improve the trust assets of American Indians, Indian tribes, and Alaska Natives. What’s that in the fine print?  Uncle Sammy holds “the trust assets of American Indians.”

Here’s a ******* tip, Geronimo: if he trusted you,
It would ALL belong to you.
To you and The People.
But it’s all fork-tongued white *******.
If true, Indian sovereignty would cease to be a sick one-liner,
Cease to be a blunt force punch line, more of,
King Leopold’s 19th Century stand-up comedy schtick,
Leo Presents: The **** of the Congo.
La Belgique mission civilisatrice—
That’s what French speakers called Uncle Leo’s imperial public policy,
Bringing the gift of civilization to central Africa.
Like Manifest Destiny in America, it had a nice colonial ring to it.
“Our manifest destiny [is] to overspread the continent,
Allotted by Providence for the free development,
Of our yearly multiplying millions.”  John L. O'Sullivan, 1845

Our civilizing mission or manifest destiny:
Either/or, a catchy turn of phrase;
Not unlike another ironic euphemism and semantic subterfuge:
The Pacification of the West; Pacification?
Hardly: decidedly not too peaceful for Cochise & Tonto.
Meanwhile, Madonna is cash rich but disrespected Evita poor,
To wit: A ****** on the Rocks (throwing in a byte or 2 of Da Vinci Code).
Meanwhile, Miss Ciccone denied her golden totem *****.
They snubbed that little guinea ****, didn’t they?
Snubbed her, robbed her rotten.
Evita, her magnum opus, right up there with . . .
Her SNL Wayne’s World skit:
“Get a load of the unit on that guy.”
Or, that infamous MTV Music Video Awards stunt,
That classic ***** Lip-Lock with Britney Spears.

How could I not see that Oscar snubola as prime evidence?
It was just another stunning case of American anti-Italian racial animus.
Anyone familiar with Noam Chomsky would see it,
Must view it in the same context as the Sacco & Vanzetti case,
Or, that arbitrary lynching of 9 Italian-Americans in New Orleans in 1891,
To cite just two instances of anti-Italian judicial reach & mob violence,
Much like what happened to my cousin Dominic,
Gang-***** by the Harlem Globetrotters, in their locker room during halftime,
While he working for Abe Saperstein back in 1952.
Dom was doing advance for Abe, supporting creation of The Washington Generals:
A permanent stable of hoop dream patsies and foils,
Named for the ever freewheeling, glad-handing, backslapping,
Supreme Commander Allied Expeditionary Force (SCAEF), himself,
Namely General Dwight D. Eisenhower, the man they liked,
And called IKE: quite possibly a crypto Jew from Abilene.

Of course, Harry Truman was my first Great White Fascist Father,
Back in 1946, when I first opened my eyes, hung up there,
High above, looking down from the adobe wall.
Surveying the entire circular kiva,
I had the best seat in the house.
Don’t let it be said my Spider Grandmother or Hopi Corn Mother,
Did not want me looking around at things,
Discovering what made me special.
Didn’t divine intervention play a significant part of my creation?
Knowing Mamma Mia and Nonna were Deities,
Gave me an edge later on the streets of Brooklyn.
The Cradleboard: was there ever a more divinely inspired gift to human curiosity? The Cradleboard: a perfect vantage point, an infant’s early grasp,
Of life harmonious, suspended between Mother Earth and Father Sky.
Simply put: the Hopi should be running our ******* public schools.

But it was IKE with whom I first associated,
Associated with the concept 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.
I liked IKE. Who didn’t?
What was not to like?
He won the ******* war, didn’t he?
And he wasn’t one of those crazy **** John Birchers,
Way out there, on the far right lunatic Republican fringe,
Was he? (It seems odd and nearly impossible to believe in 2013,
That there was once a time in our Boomer lives,
When the extreme right wing of the Republican Party
Was viewed by the FBI as an actual threat to American democracy.)
Understand: it was at a time when The FBI,
Had little ideological baggage,
But a great appetite for secrets,
The insuppressible Jay Edgar doing his thang.

IKE: of whom we grew so, oh-so Fifties fond.
Good old reliable, Nathan Shaking IKE:
He’d been fixed, hadn’t he? Had had the psychic snip.
Snipped as a West Point cadet & parade ground martinet.
Which made IKE a good man to have in a pinch,
Especially when crucial policy direction was way above his pay grade.
Cousin Dom was Saperstein’s bagman, bribing out the opposition,
Which came mainly from religious and patriotic organizations,
Viewing the bogus white sports franchise as obscene.
The Washington Generals, Saperstein’s new team would have but one opponent,
And one sole mission: to serve as the **** of endless jokes and sight gags for—
Negroes.  To play the chronic fools of--
Negroes.  To be chronically humiliated and insulted by—
Negroes.  To run up and down the boards all night, being outran by—
Negroes.  Not to mention having to wear baggy silk shorts.



Meadowlark Lemon:  “Yeah, Charlie, we ***** that grease-ball Dominic; we shagged his guinea mouth and culo rotten.”  

(interviewed in his Scottsdale, AZ winter residence in 2003 by former ESPN commentator Charlie Steiner, Malverne High School, Class of ’67.)
                                                        
  ­                                                                 ­                 
IKE, briefed on the issue by higher-ups, quickly got behind the idea.
The Harlem Globetrotters were to exist, and continue to exist,
Are sustained financially by Illuminati sponsors,
For one reason and one reason only:
To serve elite interests that the ***** be kept down and subservient,
That the minstrel show be perpetuated,
A policy surviving the elaborate window dressing of the civil rights movement, Affirmative action, and our first Uncle Tom president.
Case in point:  Charles Barkley, Dennis Rodman & Metta World Peace Artest.
Cha-cha-cha changing again:  I am Robert Allen Zimmermann,
A whiny, skinny Jew, ****** and rolling in from Minnesota,
Arrested, obviously a vagrant, caught strolling around his tony Jersey enclave,
Having moved on up the list, the A-list, a special invitation-only,
Yom Kippur Passover Seder:  Next Year in Jerusalem, Babaloo!

I take ownership of all my autonomic and conditioned reflexes;
Each personal neural arc and pathway,
All shenanigans & shellackings,
Or blunt force cognitive traumas.
It’s all percolating nicely now, thank you,
In kitchen counter earthen crockery:
Random access memory: a slow-cook crockpot,
Bubbling through my psychic sieve.
My memories seem only remotely familiar,
Distant and vague, at times unreal:
An alien hybrid databank accessed accidently on purpose;
Flaky science sustains and monitors my nervous system.
And leads us to an overwhelming question:
Is it true that John Dillinger’s ******* is in the Smithsonian Museum?
Enquiring minds want to know, Kemosabe!

“Any last words, *******?” TWEETS Adam Smith.
Postmortem cyber-graffiti, an epitaph carved in space;
Last words, so singular and simple,
Across the universal great divide,
Frisbee-d, like a Pleistocene Kubrick bone,
Tossed randomly into space,
Morphing into a gyroscopic space station.
Mr. Smith, a calypso capitalist, and me,
Me, the Poet Laureate of the United States and Adam;
Who, I didn’t know from Adam.
But we tripped the light fantastic,
We boogied the Protestant Work Ethic,
To the tune of that old Scotch-Presbyterian favorite,
Variations of a 5-point Calvinist theme: Total Depravity; Election; Particular Redemption; Irresistible Grace; & Perseverance of the Saints.

Mr. Smith, the author of An Inquiry into the Nature
& Causes of the Wealth of Nations (1776),
One of the best-known, intellectual rationales for:
Free trade, capitalism, and libertarianism,
The latter term a euphemism for Social Darwinism.
Prior to 1764, Calvinists in France were called Huguenots,
A persecuted religious majority . . . is that possible?
A persecuted majority of Edict of Nantes repute.
Adam Smith, likely of French Huguenot Jewish ancestry himself,
Reminds me that it is my principal plus interest giving me my daily gluten.
And don’t think the irony escapes me now,
A realization that it has taken me nearly all my life to see again,
What I once saw so vividly as a child, way back when.
Before I put away childish things, including the following sentiment:
“All I need is the air that I breathe.”

  Send "The Air That I Breathe" Ringtone to your Cell  

The Hippies were right, of course.
The Hollies had it all figured out.
With the answer, as usual, right there in the lyrics.
But you were lucky if you were listening.
There was a time before I embraced,
The other “legendary” economists:
The inexorable Marx,
The savage society of Veblen,
The heresies we know so well of Keynes.
I was a child.
And when I was a child, I spake as a child—
Grazie mille, King James—
I understood as a child; I thought as a child.
But when I became a man I jumped on the bus with the band,
Hopped on the irresistible bandwagon of Adam Smith.

Smith:  “Any last words, *******?”
Okay, you were right: man is rationally self-interested.
Grazie tanto, Scotch Enlightenment,
An intellectual movement driven by,
An alliance of Calvinists and Illuminati,
Freemasons and Johnny Walker Black.
Talk about an irresistible bandwagon:
Smith, the gloomy Malthus, and David Ricardo,
Another Jew boy born in London, England,
Third of 17 children of a Sephardic family of Portuguese origin,
Who had recently relocated from the Dutch Republic.
******* Jews!
Like everything shrewd, sane and practical in this world,
WE also invented the concept:  FOLLOW THE MONEY.

The lyrics: if you were really listening, you’d get it:
Respiration keeps one sufficiently busy,
Just breathing free can be a full-time job,
Especially when--borrowing a phrase from British cricketers—,
One contemplates the sorry state of the wicket.
Now that I am gainfully superannuated,
Pensioned off the employment radar screen.
Oft I go there into the wild ebon yonder,
Wandering the brain cloud at will.
My journey indulges curiosity, creativity and deceit.
I free range the sticky wicket,
I have no particular place to go.
Snagging some random fact or factoid,
A stop & go rural postal route,
Jumping on and off the brain cloud.

Just sampling really,
But every now and then, gorging myself,
At some information super smorgasbord,
At a Good Samaritan Rest Stop,
I ponder my own frazzled neurology,
When I was a child—
Before I learned the grim economic facts of life and Judaism,
Before I learned Hebrew,
Before my laissez-faire Bar Mitzvah lessons,
Under the rabbinical tutelage of Rebbe Kahane--
I knew what every clever child knows about life:
The surfing itself is the destination.
Accessing RAM--random access memory—
On a strictly need to know basis.
RAM:  a pretty good name for consciousness these days.

If I were an Asimov or Sir Arthur (Sri Lankabhimanya) Clarke,
I’d get freaky now, riffing on Terminators, Time Travel and Cyborgs.
But this is truth not science fiction.
Nevertheless, someone had better,
Come up with another name for cyborg.
Some other name for a critter,
Composed of both biological and artificial parts?
Parts-is-parts--be they electronic, mechanical or robotic.
But after a lifetime of science fiction media,
After a steady media diet, rife with dystopian technology nightmares,
Is anyone likely to admit to being a cyborg?
Since I always give credit where credit is due,
I acknowledge that cyborg was a term coined in 1960,
By Manfred Clynes & Nathan S. Kline and,
Used to identify a self-regulating human-machine system in outer space.

Five years later D. S. Halacy's: Cyborg: Evolution of the Superman,
Featured an introduction, which spoke of:  “… a new frontier, that was not,
Merely space, but more profoundly, the relationship between inner space,
And outer space; a bridge, i.e., between mind and matter.”
So, by definition, a cyborg defined is an organism with,
Technology-enhanced abilities: an antenna array,
Replacing what was once sentient and human.
My glands, once in control of metabolism and emotions,
Have been replaced by several servomechanisms.
I am biomechanical and gluttonous.
Soaking up and breathing out the atmosphere,
My Baby Boom experience of six decades,
Homogenized and homespun, feedback looped,
Endlessly networked through predigested mass media,
Culture as demographically targeted content.

This must have something to do with my own metamorphosis.
I think of Gregor Samsa, a Kafkaesque character if there ever was one.
And though we share common traits,
My evolutionary progress surpasses and transcends his.
Samsa--Phylum and Class--was, after all, an insect.
Nonetheless, I remain a changeling.
Have I not seen many stages of growth?
Each a painful metamorphic cycle,
From exquisite first egg,
Through caterpillar’s appetite & squirm.
To phlegmatic bliss and pupa quietude,
I unfold my wings in a rush of Van Gogh palette,
Color, texture, movement and grace, lift off, flapping in flight.
My eyes have witnessed wondrous transformations,
My experience, nouveau riche and distinctly self-referential;
For the most part unspecific & longitudinally pedestrian.

Yes, something has happened to me along the way.
I am no longer certain of my identity as a human being.
Time and technology has altered my basic wiring diagram.
I suspect the sophisticated gadgets and tools,
I’ve been using to shape & make sense of my environment,
Have reared up and turned around on me.
My tools have reshaped my brain & central nervous system.
Remaking me as something simultaneously more and less human.
The electronic toys and tools I once so lovingly embraced,
Have turned unpredictable and rabid,
Their bite penetrating my skin and septic now, a cluster of implanted sensors,
Content: currency made increasingly more valuable as time passes,
Served up by and serving the interests of a pervasively predatory 1%.
And the rest of us: the so-called 99%?
No longer human; simply put by both Howards--Beale & Zinn--

Humanoid.
Bad Luck Feb 2019
I think I've always been alone . . .
At least, as long as I can remember.

But there's a part of me,
                       that still feels so connected --
To something near the source,
                        At the core of somewhere true.

Where we exist without our existence's limitations.
Where duality, begins to mean overlap,
                         And both fiction and fact,
                         One and yet another,
                         Things like "this" and "that"
                         Are the same, still . . .
Innocently unseparated,
                         In this place near to creation.

Maybe it's just my brain . . .
                        I do have a habit of creating dualities.
"Together, or apart? No," I think.
                       More like doubting infallibility.

                        --------------------------

So when I say I've always been alone,
I have to ask myself:

                                              "Have you really?"

"Of course you haven't been.
But who you are right now,
is no longer that you . . .
At least . . . not fully
."

                                      "So, if I was alone then,
                                       Does that mean that I
                                       might not be any longer?
"

"Oh, no."
I explained back to myself,
"I think you misunderstood me.
It's just . . .
That you'll never truly know,
Until there's nothing and nobody
."

                        --------------------------

That's a haunting truth to tell yourself,
            When you're off in your own head.
At least I won't be alone in my regret,
                         When I'm among the dead.
I'll find community in that.  
Surely,  that's the place to which I feel so connected!
The place where maybe two of myself is enough
                      to make just one of me feel,
Like I'm worth something more, than more or less,
                      In a place that's neither there, nor here . . .
At least, there, if I don't feel connected,
                     To myself, I may feel near.
softcomponent Feb 2015
What made Anthony so elaborately cold in those early autumn months? What made him glare so sourly at my exhaustion whenever I slithered past his adonis figure in our overwhelmingly ***** kitchen? Was I the quintessence of a terrible roommate? Irresponsible? Ditzy? Was the kitchen—in its pig-trough pig-sty bacon-grease glory—tacitly my fault, despite the observation it'd been I who had purged the mess last? Or was it my drug habits and the fact that on the night Anthony returned from his impulsive trip to Alaska, I was with Chris—blasting Bob Dylan and the Tallest Man on Earth—cradling my chin on the jean-sand islands of my cramping knees, high as a shuttle in the ketamine nebula? These were all questions that stoked the fires of internal doubt whether I liked it or not. People pretend to talk themselves out of status anxiety as if it were possible to entirely neutralize such a natural reaction—as if it were possible not to wonder what earned such irrational disfavor in the eyes of another. Especially when “another” is a roommate, an almost omnipotent staple in day to day life even if efforts are taken to ignore or avoid—a constant weave of growing atmospheric pressure and a pang of anxiety at the sight of his shoes or the sound of his grunts and clangs while at work on a meal in the kitchen—of course, as is obvious, I can take things far too personally. But there were points in which his silence or indifference would scare me—as if he might've wound up a psychopath and broke my neck in a fit of overboiled passive-aggression.
To be fair and give the reader a clearer picture of Anthony, he had—historically—been an incredibly generous fellow and a relatively close friend long before we approached one another on the idea of potential roommates. He was large in build—not overweight in any sense—but incredibly fit with an active agenda to exercise and eat right, both habits of which I had never had the stamina to maintain. Girls loved him. Physically, he was gorgeous—puffy curled hair deliberately stylized into a modern European pompadour; dark hazel eyes with a constantly evolving dynamism in the way they gazed... and a masculine stubble that seemed to naturally grow-out to look as posh as David Beckham, just without all the effort and pomp. Mentally, he was the perfect synthesis of adorable geek, thoughtful philosopher, and strikingly suave, dapper, athletic, and goofy 'good-guy'—he was always out with his friends or at home reading Terry Goodkind's fantasy novels, and on occasion I would see that his looks were almost burdensome to him. As if they were a superfluous gift and a personal curse—constantly forcing him into social over-exertion as an extrovert when he, at heart, was a closet introvert unable to disentangle his self-reflective image from his internal reality. As if he were unable to process the amount of attention he received.
I had tacitly wondered, at times, if he was also in-the-closet regarding something else as well, though I had always admired his effeminate qualities and mannerisms as he never once hinted at a negative self-consciousness about their strange manifestations in open view of the world. Externally, at least, he never acted like they were problems or indicative of some internal lack of found-definition, even on the comical occasion when I walked in on him bathing on his lonesome, quietly listening to Miley Cyrus and playing with a troupe of three rubber duckies—the bathroom light off and several candles burning in aesthetically strategic corners of the room. He also constantly brewed tea using an adorable teapot designed to look like an elephants head, with the hot liquid pouring from the Disney-like characters trunk. This—I reflected—was most certainly connected to his love for the 1941 children's classic, Dumbo. It was a movie he and I held in common, having watched it together on multiple occasions before our cohabiting turned sour. Of course, what was most indicative of this private wandering judgement of mine was the fact that he worked at the city's only gay bar as the youngest bartender employed. At 1 AM every night, all the bartenders (whom were pre-screened eye candy for the patrons' sake) would peel off their skin-tight neon tops and romp around shirtless, shouting last-call through the bright-eyed frey of top 40 hits and cannonading flirtations.  
Not that I wish to put him under the microscope, as if any feminine qualities in a man were something strange or problematic to me—nor do I wish to study his mannerisms like a condescending anthropologist of imperial Britain, establishing pathological definitions for what was never an illness to begin with. No... I ask these questions because he decided, one day, that he didn't like me. I ask these questions because I came upon him in the living room multiple times listening to Alan Watts's lectures on taoism—a strange anxious-emptiness behind his eyes—and when I began to worry he was dipping into some sort of existential depression, I approached him with an Alan Watts book—The Wisdom of Insecurity—in order to make a recommendation and strike up therapeutic conversation on the basis of  a philosopher we had in common. As I did so, he would frantically nod and avert eye-contact, hiding any perturbation well enough for me to assume he was still with me as I spoke. I later found the book on top of the fridge and placed it back on my shelf thinking, 'he probably has a ton to read as is.' It only became apparent when I finally decided to ask him if he was unhappy with me—this was about 2 weeks before he finally moved out—and he responded with, “I've definitely been annoyed that you use my stuff and eat my food all the time without compensation or asking,” which I understood at first until I realized I only did so because he did the same—constantly eating my cereal, using my milk, reorganizing my couches in the living room—but I didn't mind because I assumed it was a reciprocal arrangement and thus took his eggs and his bacon on the assumption (and belief) in pooled communal resources. But he continued: “And you talk at me all the time about things I have no interest in which is kinda frustrating,” which confused me even further when it was only friendly concern I was tacitly attempting to translate into his feeling wanted and liked by the person he lived with. These words, in the end, released the built-tension between us like a bursting pressure valve. He eventually apologized for how he'd behaved, and then largely disappeared from my life.

Sometimes I'll be brushing my teeth, and I'll wonder if he's doing alright. I'll wonder if he found his taoist balance in either silence or speech.
originally written as a personal assignment for my Creative Nonfiction class.
Brandon Amberger Aug 2015
Internal Corruption
A ticking time bomb for a disastrous eruption
An endless tug-of-war
Your mind your body can’t handle this anymore
Swaying back and forth
Back and forth
Near your last gasp
There’s something to grasp
Your last bit of sanity
Like a calm plump manatee
It lays there firm
A foundation now can be set for the long term
Ariel Leann Feb 2014
A stab in the chest,
A puncture to the  heart,
I seek internal rest,
Because you tore me apart

This is how I have been living,
This is my pain,
Darling, This is only the beginning,
I am on a high speed train

Not a single tear to shed,
Not a single heart to be broken,
I am better off dead,
This can be your token

You put me through hell,
You had it your way,
I am no longer under your spell,
I no longer have to stay

A stab in the chest,
A puncture of the heart,
I seek internal rest,
Because you tore me apart

A pure inncocent life,
You corrupted with hate,
This is how I will survive,
I guess you can call it fate

I took all the pain I can endeavor,
I put your insults at bay,
My heart is now severed,
I have nothing left to say

Look into my eyes,
Tell me you believe,
Do not speak your lies,
Its time for me to leave

A stab in the chest,
A puncture of the heart,
I seek internal rest,
Because you tore me apart

— The End —