"jung" poems
Sayon man makalimot.
Assignment malimtan,
Klase malimtan,
gamit malimtan
ug ubang mga buhatunon malimtan,
pero pag abot sa imo, nganong lisod man.
Dali kaayu sugdan pero ngano man jung pwerti lisora undangan
ang gugma ko sa imo nga gadala raman unta ug dangan
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 8:20 AM UTC
Are tumhe dekha aj to lga ye sab tumhe bta du.
Haq hai nhi mera koi phir b thoda haq jata du ..
Or kehdu tum behad khoobsurat **
Ye jo tumne akhon ke kajal ko b palko ki had me dal rakha hai.
In aankhon ne jane kitna kehar sambhal rakha hai.
Kya chamak hai aankho me jaise ek choti si khush duniya ka sapna paal rakha hai.
Socha cheru thoda tumhe or thoda sata du.
Are tumhe dekha aj to lga ye sab tumhe bta du.
Haq hai nhi mera koi phir b thoda haq jata du ..
Or kehdu tum nazneen **
Phir kuch tumhare galon k un khaddo ki gehrayi dekhi.
Na us se gehri koi khaayi dekhi.
Nazar htane wala tha k us muskan ne rok lia..
Muje aj sambhalne se pehle tere chehre nadan ne rok lia.
Jane tumhe ye sab kehna lagta hai khata kyu.
Are tumhe dekha aj to lga ye sab tumhe bta du.
Haq hai nhi mera koi phir b thoda haq jata du ..
Or kehdu tum dilnashi **
Vo choti si kali bindi jo thik maathe k me kahi hai.
Vo b har shayar ko kheench rahi hai.
Jaise muje kehti ** idhar aao tumhe kano k jhumko ka pta du.
Are tumhe dekha aj to lga ye sab tumhe bta du.
Haq hai nhi mera koi phir b thoda haq jata du ..
Or kehdu tum dalkashi **
Ye phir thode uljhe thode suljhe baal hai.
Inki to ada hi bemisal Hai
Tumhe tang karte hai.
Manmarji chalate hai jaise tujse jung karte hai.
Chere pe aate hai tum unhe phir peeche karti.
Kabhi clip se kabhi rubber se kheenche rakhti **
Kabhi aaye chehre pe to shayad main b hta du.
Are tumhe dekha aj to lga ye sab tumhe bta du.
Haq hai nhi mera koi phir b thoda haq jata du ..
Or kehdu tum koi kehkasha **
Or vo sone ki nath ko koi
kaise taal sakta hai.
Jise tumne apni teekhi si naak me daal rakha hai.
Or kuch batein in sab se pare hai.
Tera chutkan sa Gussa hai jane tu kaise handle kare hai.
Phir vo pyari si hasi vo sharm haya vo bachpana vo nadaniya.
Samjhdari vo nasamjhi
Vo adayein vo shaitaniya.
Or sambko tumne brabar rakha hai.
Jane ye hisab kaise lagakar rakha hai.
Kya kehna hai kya sunna hai kya bolna hai kya btana.
Kab ruthna hai kab manana hai kab satana hai kab jatana hai.
Teri har ek choti moti khoobiyon ne dil me aatank macha rakha hu.
Jane tune kitne salo se khud ko ishq se bacha rakha hai.
Jane mujme kab se or kyu ye thode guroor k lakshan aaye hai
K tuje suna sabne hai samjh sirf hum paaye hai.
Tum jaisa or koi mere aas paas ni hai.
Phir kaise manliya jaye tum aam ladki ** tum me kuch khas nahi hai.
Ha aj maine ek kadam apne beech ki sarhad se thoda bahar aaya.
Tumne apna hunar azmaya tha vo pic dalke use shayri bnake maine apna hunar aazmaya hai.
ye padhke tum socho k inam du is shayar ko ya koi saza du.
Are tumhe dekha aj to lga ye sab tumhe bta du.
Haq hai nhi mera koi phir b thoda haq jata du ..
Or kehdu tum afreen **
Tum khoobsurat **
Sep 12, 2020
Sep 12, 2020 at 1:20 AM UTC
Tu ** Jungali
Tum ** Janwar
Tere dil mein hali kala raang
Tere dimakh mein sirf jung hi jung
Mera nam, mera chehra, meri avaz,
Sab ik khwab sumjo
Mar gayi mein teri liye
Aur tum mere ghuzre hua kal ka bhooth
s.q.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 5:16 PM UTC
Kethte hai log pyar aur jung me sab jayas hai...
To kyu do dilo ko milne par itni jhanjhat hai...
Kehte hai log pyar aur jung me sb jayas hai...
To kyu majhab ke naam par pyar ko alag krne ki Ibadat hai....
Kehte hai log pyar aur jung me sb jayas hai...
To kyu do **** ek jaan hone par sabko sikayat hai...
Kehte hai log pyar aur jung me sb jayas hai...
To kyu pyar krne walo ko milne par itni siyasat hai...
Kehte hai log pyar aur jung me sab jayas hai...
To kyu do dilo ko dur karne ki sabko ijjazat hai...
Kehte hai log pyar jung me sab jayas hai...
To kyu pyar krne walo ko saadi ki itni tension hai...
Kehte hai log pyar aur jung me sab jayas hai...
To kyu jamane me pyar krna galat hai...
Kehte hai log pyar aur jung me sab jayas hai..
To kyu pyar karne wale itne badnaam hai...
Kehte hai log pyar aur jung me sb jayas hai...
To kyu do dilo ko alag kiy jate hai...
Kyu pyar karne wale sath jeene ke bajae marne ko chunte hai...
Log kehte hai pyar aur jung me sab jayas hai...
To pyar ko majhab ke naam par, jaat ke naam par, alag karna kahan ki insaniyat hai...
Log kehte hai pyar aur jung me sab jayas hai...
Sahab pyar karne walo ko alag karna jayas nahi...unhe milana milne dena jayas hai...
Ajj se mat kahiy ki pyar aur jung me sb jayas hai...sb Jayas hai
Dec 6, 2018
Dec 6, 2018 at 8:44 AM UTC
*No, no, no, Dirtbreath. I say we call the big one an elephant,
and the small one a mouse*.
Eve
I'm sure red's a better color for me.
M. Monroe
She has a face that could sink a thousand ships.
Ulysses
*Now that Hawking's dead, I'm the smartest
guy on Earth.*
D. Trump
You're too Jung to understand the Superego.
S. Freud
No. You keep it. I have enough.
B. Graham
Are you sure that's the Delaware?
G. Washington
E=Mc Donalds.
A. Einstein
Go pound salt.
Gandhi
What day is it?
Roosevelt
That's one small.... oops!
N. Armstrong
I don't remember any of my dreams.
M.L. King, Jr.
Hey, John, I can see your house from up here.
Jesus
Beaches, fields, streets, hills. Did I leave anything out?
W. Churchill
Yeah, yeah, yeah, of course I wrote 'em all.
R. Starr
It's just too big to wrap your brain around.
S. Hawking
Don't lose your head. This won't change a thing.
Robespierre
Before I was fined, I walked the line.
J. Cash
Could you lengthen the title and shorten the book?
Tolstoy's editor
What if we put the workers on conveyor belts?
H. Ford
I have a splitting headache... hmmm, interesting.
Oppenheimer
I've never liked orange juice.
N. Brown
Really? You want to blame me?
******
He stings like a butterfly.
S. Liston
#timesup #metoo
A. Boleyn
Mr. Watson. Come here. Spare me a dime?
Bell
Roebuck said he'd be back in ten minutes.
R.W. Sears
To be or to do be do be do.
Shakespeare/Sinatra
*When you call me Whitey, I get cotton pickin ****** off.*
E. Whitney
We're the team to beat!
Toronto Maple Leafs
Don't call me a Mother!
Mother Theresa
Is that a Cuban?
M. Lewinsky
Apr 30, 2018
Apr 30, 2018 at 6:50 AM UTC
Hildegard of Bingen
the most musical abbess
of the year 1097 a.d.
met with Jung the unconscious detective
and Ginsberg the howling poet
for lattes at some Starbucks
in a vibrating city
on a shimmering afternoon.
Angelic minuets keep flowing,
effervescing through my chakras
like tonal champagne . . .
the glowing femme declared.
Beams of ethereal light infuse me,
tsumanis of energy tempt me
to dance right out of my habit.
Ignoring the possibility
of seeing a naked nun drink coffee in public,
Alan mused behind his hornrims . . .
I get what you mean
like I have felt the same perfusion of joy
watching cans of peas and ayahuasca
dance with talking bananas
at the A&P; Market near my pad in Brooklyn,
can you dig it?
Still suffering from his Freudian hangover,
Carl reframed them both . . .
Any conclusions or convictions
drawn from such experiences
may not self-verify because
your introspective identifications
attempt in vain
to concretize the amorphicity
of decentralized psychic sensations
which reach conscious awareness
only at the expense of extension.
What did he just say?
Hildegard asked Alan.
I have absolutely no idea,
the portly poet answered
as he doodled an intricate mandala
on his hemp napkin.
Jan 1, 2012
Jan 1, 2012 at 12:21 AM UTC
Years later
Bathsheba's psychiatrist
Was analysing the tryst
Between King David
And her.
It was no tryst
Said she.
What a slur.
He was a ******
And an opportunist.
An amoeba would concur
Said the psychiatrist
That a shower screen
And being more demure
Would have been
Quite spiritually enterprising.
You cannot expect
Kind David to desist
From objectifying your femurs
And a cracking pair of amethysts.
Don't treat me
Like some calculating
Hormone Exchange Unit
You sexist misogynist.
You are not fit
To analyse me.
You say your name's Freud
But you're wholly devoid
Of any insight
Of what is amiss
Or my troubles might be.
Not one piece of grit
Have you put in my oyster.
You obsequious churl
I'm a girl you don't mess with.
I could have you hung.
But instead she dismissed him
and booked an appointment
With a certain professor
Who went by the name of
Carl Gustav Jung.
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 11:27 AM UTC
I'm seeking to amass a Collection
of the World's spiritual, mythic and philosophical codices.
I want to collect them out of veneration
for those who came before who have tried to illuminate the Paths:
The following is my library of such books of yet.
Entries in bold are my recommendations;
entries italicized are strongly recommended.
-Old Works:
**Egyptian Book of the Dead
Tibetan Book of the Dead
The Bhagavad Gita
Euclid's Elements**
Tao te Ching (I have 3 translations)
I Ching (2 translations and a workbook)
The Qur'an
The Bible
-Newer Works:
Plato and a Platypus walk into a Bar: Philosophy explained through Jokes
*Quadrivium: Number, Geometry, Music, & Cosmology*
The Pulse of Wisdom - College Eastern Philosophy Book
*Food of the Gods by Terence McKenna*
The Elements of Reason - College Logic Book
1001 Perls of Buddhist Wisdom
*Net of Being by Alex Grey*
*Art Psalms by Alex Grey*
**The Portable Nietzsche
*The Red Book of Jung
The Portable Jung***
The Subtle Body - Encyclopedia of chakras, auras and other personal energy systems.
Who are you? - 101 Ways of Seeing Yourself
--
I seek to compile this Collection
not to have a nice looking bookshelf;
nor do I seek to find which one is right.
I seek to learn from each of these
the lessons that are intrinsic in our Lives;
they're all matters of perspectives.
I want to compile the aspects of each philosophy with which I resonate
and integrate them into my own,
forging a dynamic and holistic individual philosophy.
All of these books are Mystical masterpieces.
All of these books provide insights to the nature of our Holy Reality.
All of these books ultimately attempt to express the same ineffability.
All of these books are interpreted then translated and interpreted again.
The way I see it,
I may as well do it for myself; draw my own conclusions:
Think for myself.
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 4:13 AM UTC
#1. What in the world
possessed you
to do that!?@#$%^
My god . . . that was so stupid and careless!
#2. Why? . . .
I trusted my intuition.
My heart believed,
emotional logic compelled me.
Fluid, spontaneous from the gut.
#1. You’re crazy.
I would never
put myself at risk like that.
#2. What risk?
Getting harrassed
by the mind police?
They don't own me.
#1. But they punished you.
#2. No, just a little
desperate flaggelation.
#2. But look at yourself
all boxed up,
stigmatized and branded.
#1. You mean the labels?
Those words they use
to define me?
#2. Yes, you’re a bad person.
#1. No, I’m not.
#2. Yes, you are.
... and they argued til dawn
neither knowing
nature does not declare winners
but admires innovation....
like when Magellan sailed off no edges
when Einstein confounded everyone by sailing in his head
when the Wright Brothers lifted off
when Tesla moved electrons
when Christ embraced the centurions
when Gautama just sat down
when the librarian refused to take Catcher in the Rye off the shelf
when Lenny Bruce swore on stage
when Leary and Alpert left Harvard
when Joan of Arc refused to recant
when Gandhi and friends burned their English wool
when Jung declared a spiritual psyche
when the UFC earned a huge Neilsen
so be your own guru
take kava kava instead of Prozac
barter with your hair stylist
and when someone says
you are wrong
ask them why
there are no dinosaurs
in the Bible.
Dec 5, 2012
Dec 5, 2012 at 9:18 AM UTC
Fog Happens
Yup. Not profound, even Jung, Kant and Freud,
wouldn’t deny their eyes, would no doubt disagree
with symbolic, philosophical implications, and the
head banging ramifications for the immediacy of
the spiritual impact while driving in this grey ****
Fog differs every time, and on an island, that’s for
**** sure. Today’s incarnation, the fog comes over
the water, but respects the man-made, timbered,
bulkhead, so the yard, with its circus of ravens, crows,
and other invisible birds, insects, rabbits, is visible,
but absent the inhabitants who are smarter-than-humans,
they remain aboded thinking, only stupid humans believe
they can navigate and forage, in a fog penetrating in air
that is 97% humidity and 100% peas soup thick skinned.
The time? Of course.
It’s 7:36 AM on the East Coast, and beyond the lawn lies a brackish bay that will lead you to the Atlantic and north to the Titanic, direction Newfoundland. Not enough info to geo tag me, but those who know me, knowledgeable in my early mornings scribblings, know my whereabouts, my telephone number. Do you?
Fog Happens to everyone and at random intervals, Nope. Not thinking of the brain clouds of ordinary Lethologica and Lethonomia. (Sunday lazy so just look it up and say out loud, gotta remember them words and laugh out loud cause you ain’t gotta a prayer.)
Fog Happens
in the heart, spreading north to the consciousness, and the lethargy of movement impeded by the lighthouse bells tolling “danger is about,” our light stolen, but you need to know, you’re perilously close to danger. Any action taken when heart-fogged can have awful consequences so stick close to bed, yank out your tablet, write a poem, listen to sad love songs on that Pandora Station, or send GIPHYs and emojis to your six year old granddaughter who is 108 miles to the west of where you both hide beneath coverlets, and laugh out loud with her like the bells chiming outside, and that helps move that heart~fog hanging low, out to sea.
YUP.
Fog Happens
Fog Passes
Jun 25, 2023
Jun 25, 2023 at 8:00 AM UTC
Dimaag kehta hai kay tumhay saath lekar nahi chal sakta
Par dil kehta hai ki tumharay bugair bhi nahi chal sakta
Ajeeb Kashmakash hai!!!
Dil aur dimaag kay is jung may kiska saath doon mai?
(Urdu and Hindi)
English Translation
The mind says that i can't take you with me
But the heart says that i can't go without you
Oh!!!....what a dilemma!!!
In this war between the mind and the heart...whom do i support?
Dec 16, 2016
Dec 16, 2016 at 12:16 PM UTC
i couldn't stand the heat,
spent most of the time in the shade,
everyone made fun
of the guy standing by the pool
reading a book, pretending to
be a sundial;
i was called the whiskey-man;
one night i slept outside
and by the time i woke up my glass
of brandy disappeared;
mingled with the "auctioneers"
of a good time; boy one of those
kenyan girls was hot... oomph,
she looked like oiled coal, slimy bits
and raw ***
i know i was a tourist...
played a stupid drinking game with
two english girls, snogged one
at the end of the game, wasn't invited
back to the room for a *********
spent hours at night looking at the tide
splashing the shore, cried at the painting
so alive all the museums and galleries
became graveyards of appreciation;
it was a holiday resort, i admit,
although one bartender asked me to do
a local tour of the place, go clubbing,
supposedly a colonial ******* i was
upon first reading;
but the heat though! god almighty, couldn't
stand the temperature,
i was literally an ice-cream cone most
of the time, took to the shades,
wrote a short story for my grandfather
about an elephant dunking his trunk into
a bottle of brandy...
one day got chatting to a scottish pair
and a russian couple,
told the scottish guy about travis' 12 memories
album,
i was originally asking for a cigarette,
so we drank and chatted about mickey mouse
politics of america...
the scottish guy eventually ran off and jumped
into the kids' shallow pool veering
on blind-drunk-happy...
another time i too jumped into a pool
with my clothes on...
******* this heat...
ha, hmm, those kenyan macaques were funny
esp. on prompt of being fed on the balcony...
but boy that baboon was a menace,
a real anarchist, charged in like a donkey
with meningitis and stole food...
although one baboon had massive haemorrhoids...
and given his fat pinky *** it was even funnier to watch.
oh yeah, and this guy muhammad wanted
to take me to a crocodile sanctuary of his...
i sort of refused the invitation,
and no, i didn't go on the zoological escapade
of a safari to see the Masai tribesmen...
just gave c. g. jung's modern man in search of soul
to one of the caretakers of the resort.
Mar 26, 2016
Mar 26, 2016 at 7:43 AM UTC
There are situations in which one is cut off from the opportunity to do one's work or enjoy one's life; but what can never be ruled out is the unavoidability of suffering. In accepting this challenge to suffer bravely, life has a meaning up to the last moment, and it retains this meaning literally to the end. — Viktor Frankl
[T]here is no coming to consciousness without pain. — Carl Jung
Should the conflagration climb
Run till all the sages know — William Butler Yeats
Heart-injured in North London, he became
The Latin scholar of his generation. — W. H. Auden
It's urgent,
Imminent,
Fiercely non-communicable.
(Carry a firestorm in your veins.)
*Secrets, secrets are no fun
Secrets, secrets hurt someone*
The secret, untranslatable, hurts the secret-holder:
Frustration disguises isolation.
Distilled isolation is pain.
Purified pain is meaning.
(Carry a firestorm in your veins.)
*Secrets, secrets are no fun?
Secrets, secrets hurt someone?*
O, only momently!
Heart-injury transfigured is salvation.
(Carry a firestorm in your veins.)
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 2:45 PM UTC
**Intolerant feet of clay
shout out “Not Him!“
echoing, ignored
Life’s cathartic poetry
now mediates extrovert ideas
and introvert intuitions
Past’s flicker of persona masks
solicit with anima driven darker roles
remote and mysterious - not nice
Real now, not reflecting her animus
all becomes stilled and naked, to seek
that physical and spiritual soul mate
Jung’s bucket plumbs the black well
awash from hidden depths of creativity
and kindred ghost’s of spirituality
Change is loss then change - feeds
thy growth’s capacity for understanding
socket of creativity and enlightenment
Life’s tutored process of intelligence
responds elegantly to image and symbol
as a morality conducts the minds music
Babbling on to sip from the well
gains tested may then help others
Ghost glimpsed not genius or mad
spirituality and love held close**
.
May 11, 2010
May 11, 2010 at 10:04 AM UTC
The last transmission.
I've burned my oldest friend.
All of these numbers are lonely.
You say,
all of this heat is smothered.
And for me to lift and never be able.
Crawl around the back and shine your light to bring again the wake.
And there is no one digging.
There are no hills for you to sever,
Every land you raise will settle.
A camouflage stain slowly in the forest.
Starting with Jung, staying quiet with few hopes of weapons.
Feel the vague spectacle.
Beyond your scope.
The sun draws mistaken.
A lie for the evening.
This is no warmer.
This is not you leaving.
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 3:03 PM UTC
I dreamt of Freud yesterday
With his imposing air of superiority
Suffocating my need
To have a little autonomy
Libido and Thanatos
Runs past my mind in fast succession
Oedipus and Electra
Pauses the screen in motion
I dreamt of Jung today
Diving into the collective unconscious
Floating on the symbols
That is universally serendipitous
Archetypes and motifs
Flatter the culture of humanity
Anima and the persona
Sheds self unto the lights in harmony
I’ll dream of the future tomorrow
When everything’s all said and gone
The old will always be with the new
As written of past in stone
Though conflicts harbour trouble
And dreams reproduce it’s latency
Anxiousness is part of life’s bundle
So conquer it we must, positively
Nov 15, 2010
Nov 15, 2010 at 5:39 PM UTC
I am from incense
From water and candles
I am from the three prostrations
needed to enter the baai san (prayer room).
(cold, smooth, watchful tapestries)
I am from the pecan shells, the tree whose nuts
and leaves left small hills of muddy layers
I'm from ginger to contacts
From Ly to Tran
I'm from the headstrong
and the never-wrong
From mou jung! (useless)
and hou gaawi! (how obedient)
I'm from Nama Amituofo with Cha Lua
and Taking Refuge in the Gurus,
Buddha,
Dharma,
and Sangha
I’m from Sugar Land and Bellaire,
2% milk and Pork Sung sandwiches.
From Dad forcing my brother to stare at green
to fight our genetic astigmatism
to Mom making us chant mantras
with rosary beads on the way to school
In the neighborhood pool,
I pushed away floating junebugs
I am those moments—
Chalk on the cul-de-sac
Oct 9, 2021
Oct 9, 2021 at 6:07 PM UTC
What is it
within the realm of
my Self
that has the nerve
to question the divinity
of this current, fleeting moment?
Is it not the vessel of Life, itself,
that is used to navigate
these, the occluded
Seas of Death?
Could it not be
that a Mind and Body
are the very salvation
over which we so toil?
Would it not be an act of pure mercy
to have the capacity to look around
and to think, and create
while, all the time,
being pulled under
by the inevitable tide of change
we, in English, chose to call
"Death?"
That, in itself,
should inspire me to carry on
and to turn an eye
up from the ground, back from the past;
to within my self; this current moment;
and on, upward:
to the skies and, likewise,
the future.
What is it about my Mind
that so enjoys, or perhaps requires
some selfish sense of 'overlooking'
for the sake of ephemeral comfort?
Alas,
I know what word I would use,
but I dare yet not to use it;
for, t'is that a word, itself,
isn't the concept, itself;
and it's use would be to misdirect
from the nature of the experience,
and to mistranslate what I feel.
I realize the necessity
for names; for words:
we use them to facilitate communication.
I also understand their limit:
there is a great realm
beyond the transparent restraints
of our Languages.
I would identify the culprit
as either "Ego," or "Id."
But, better yet, I would argue
"both and neither."
Freud had some great ideas,
but I tend towards Jung-
I could sooner call it the Shadow,
or at least one aspect of it.
The Shadow is semi-subconscious.
It is an amalgam of fears and repression.
It can only hold so much pressure
before it erupts.
So,
I implore you
to study your Shadow.
It has great potential for change.
Failing to utilize it
is to be utilized by it.
Make it work for you
or you will work for it.
Use your Shadow
to your advantage,
or it will use you
to that of it's own.
Pick apart your Self;
put it back together.
Sometimes that's easier said than done,
but, with a proper mindset,
it'll come and leave
before you even know it.
It happens all the time.
Refuse the shackles
of thy Shadow;
break the chains
and share with the world
the fleeting feeling
of self-liberation.
That is,
if someone doesn't misinterpret what you've said;
looking through the Shadow,
everything looks darker.
Realize where you're going.
Realize what you're doing.
Heed what you feed,
external or internal.
Seek Balance.
Explore Ideas.
Gain Understanding
no matter how slow:
at all
is far better
than so many.
No one may escape these Seas;
but you can start some ripples
that will propagate ad infinitum.
Ask. Practice. Learn. Grow.
Jan 10, 2015
Jan 10, 2015 at 7:08 AM UTC
I was on a ship, a ship on the high seas;
With nobody on the deck,
Sailing through heavy, stormy waters.
Who's at the helm?
I don't know - swaying from side to side
the vessel tottered on, metal
oar-rests clanging to wheezing winds
and boisterous, surging waves.
I suddenly get a call on my mobile - how
on earth did I have network?
'I can see her', says the voice, 'an austere
lady leading the ship'. Is she
the same helmswoman who charters
universes before they come alive?
I walked downstairs, finding the parlour.
And decided I should paint,
to **** time: time, the enduring mystery.
Is this a dream? I consulted
Varo and dipped my brush in black
and splattered oil over canvas.
Dots, like sparkling stars, I see threes and
twos, and fives. Looking eerily
like loaded dice. Am I cruising through
skies? Is this my destiny loaded?
This is an allegory, says Martel. Agrees
Jung; Breton seems pleased.
Freud, though, says I'm just paranoid,
and this, my willful imagination.
I wake up, and find myself on a ship.
There's no one on the deck.
I have a mobile phone in my hand.
Miracle: there's network,
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 11:46 AM UTC
I’ve filled the emptiest spaces of myself with
the best parts of you
not breathing, warm like an homage
but sterile
remote
a gallery of looped memories
beautiful and untouchable
and convincingly bright
so that no matter where I am
my retinas are tattooed with the space you took in the world
cooking in a scratchy sweater- your electric rants about Jung
drumming jazz on the street corner for the pay of odd conversation
planting kisses in my hands because you hoped they would grow a wife
endlessly reminding me
(from wherever you are now)
that the best things in life weren’t free
and though expensive beyond measure
how graceful- I hardly noticed how much
I was willing to give
just to keep at a quiet distance
this neuronal gallery
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 1:49 PM UTC
My archetypal anima
Could dream a billion dreams
Yet none elucidate my psyche’s
Shadow self-esteem
It yearns to be made whole again
Detaching from the soma
Yet cannot mend the mandalas
That fracture its persona
From the superego servant
Of unconsciousness collective
To the individuation
Silent tyrant introspective
Still projecting as the pedagogue
The hero and the saint
But the mystic rebel overlord’s
This portrait that I paint
For I’m an evil genius author
Penning nurseries of rhymes
I am the psychopath symbology
Just read between the lines
Oct 26, 2017
Oct 26, 2017 at 3:21 PM UTC
Why do people leave me?
Why do love only give birth to be slaughtered by your hands?
I am so afraid.
You won’t listen.
You won’t tell me the words I want to hear.
I bring myself into the fires as I scream and smoke fills my lungs and the fire licks my body angrily - the same way your hands are all over me. I scream. Nightmares.
Daymares.
Reality.
I wish I didn’t end up like this all the time
I have a tortured soul, and one day, Jung and Nietzsche told me, I will too, become the torturer
But ******
I fight, and I fight it so hard
I fight so hard to not hurt others
It’s all I ever do
I fight, and
I fight but I never seem to win
I had given in, accepted my fate
Why did you have to tear down
all
I
built
?
Maybe this all I really am;
a punching bag;
dust;
pulp;
Please, one time.
Help me up before you throw me out the window.
Next time, don’t let them get so close.
Don’t let them
Them
and
me,
against the world.
I should know better.
I sink.
No metaphors.
No similes, please.
No poems. Please.
Just empty words after all.
Yes, beautiful. But
empty.
...
Take it all away.
Please.
Leave your knives,
leave your swords,
leave your guns.
Stop killing me.
Stop.
Please, stop me before I dive into the dark, freezing ocean -
there is nowhere for me in this world.
So, to sleep.
Perchance to dream…
and all of that.
Let’s be true.
I don’t really know Hamlet’s soliloquy.
But **** Shakespeare. He doesn’t know how hard it is.
Ophelia didn’t drown herself so easily - I don’t sink so easily, but I still do - and every night I dream, I go away.
Forever.
I’m not alone.
I tell lies.
Okay, so maybe I’m not okay.
But when will I ([n]ever) be?
I am born with this heritage.
With this scarred soul.
And William, Friedrich, Carl…
- well, this is just another story of loneliness and giving up.
The crazy bunch.
Maybe, this is the last straw.
Maybe, I’ll finally go crazy.
The inevitable will happen.
The lonely will be left - completely alone.
The self-destructing fool,
finally, self-destructing oneself.
It’s so difficult to climb this ladder.
…
I’ll just go down.
The water is cold.
May 29th 2014
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 10:46 AM UTC
It seems these antihistamines
Are causing reoccurring dreams
For every time I go to bed
The same old scene is in my head
Like the one where all my teeth fall out
As I sit and pluck them out of my mouth
This one causes a lot of strife
For I've had this dream my entire life
So I searched for answers everywhere
And this is what they had to share
The native said it signifies
Remorse I feel from telling lies
Which I guess would be appropriate
I tend to say things I regret
So I went to see a medium
To trace back where this all begun
We tried to get mister Jung
But as the Latin rolled off her tongue
To our surprise
Before our eyes
Stood the spirit of Sigmund Freud
Claiming I need *** to fill the void
A conversation I'd rather avoid
Needless to say we ended the spell
I gave her my paycheck and bid farewell
And as I exited out to the street
I almost hung my head in defeat
But the natives words came back to me
Bringing a sudden epiphany
It occurred to me as I was walking
I really need to just stop talking.
Perhaps I'll be a silent monk
To help me get out of this funk
But that just sounds absurd
I can figure out how this problem incurred
I don't need to see a therapist
Or invoke a psychoanalyst
I will just continue on my quest
Until I obtain some dreamless rest
I'm sure I can find the connection
By immersing in more self-reflection
So when I go to bed tonight
I'll study my dreams with all my might!!
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 4:46 PM UTC
Down the drain into the world
Let the traumas begin
In my shadow
In my fears
I am sin
Integrate me
Or disassociate me
Sanity’s at stake
Read some Freud or Carl Jung
When you wake and bake
🙏
Oct 29, 2020
Oct 29, 2020 at 6:51 AM UTC