"nosce" poems
Not
the body
or mind,
consciousness
in communication
with cosmos.
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 9:55 PM UTC
Deserted recesses of the mind
Weary of the world in kind
A vehicle for morbid things
Yearning for the light it brings
Naked before the will of man
Evading fate and all her plans
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 6:40 PM UTC
I don't know what's going on
Mostly cause you don't tell me.
Really, people don't tell me things;
And it bothers me.
In case you haven't noticed,
I like knowing things.
I can tell you how to hold yourself on stage so you have presence.
I can tell you what the third derivative of of the position of a car is, and what it means.
I can tell you how to make people want to do what you want them to.
I can make music that sounds like sadness, or anger, or unadulterated joy.
I can make you feel strong, or ashamed, or beautiful.
And you know what else I know?
All of this means jack-shit.
Because I can't help you.
Any of you.
None of you will let me.
Frankly I wouldn't know how.
But, you have a new ring,
And you have a new tattoo,
And you have a new scar,
And you have a lying problem,
And you probably have a drug problem.
I can't help.
I don't know how.
Some of will read this, some of you won't.
It doesn't really matter.
I don't think you know who are,
In both senses.
I don't know who I am either.
I doubt you do.
I mean, know me or you.
I think the first thing is,
Know thyself.
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 12:11 AM UTC