"phaneron" poems
***Our world is a union of millions of thoughts,
And reality constitutes only a negligible part of its beauty.
What our minds perceive is only a phaneron,
And that constitutes only a negligible part of reality.***
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 2:14 PM UTC
Ego headspace, mindset phaneron life perception sight
the assumptions you operate under to simply get by
or focus on a series of tasks that seem to take
the majority of our lives. building always a beat
of building something without looking or even knowing or
being thoughtful about the thing you are building towards
out of fear of it's massive complexity and incomprehensibility
all of the unknown about it.
Death impudence pointlessness despair terror humility absolute antithesis contradistinction
nihilism gives transparency to the structure
Ephemeral and the mad passion to
work against those things
make the march wobbly to show it's deluded nature
show clear forceful severing ending sounds during counterpoint
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 4:22 AM UTC
Orion
Part III
The staircase has fallen between them,
And longings for love were dispersed.
But only one force lay against them;
The Phaneron, Man was diverse.
The souls of the elders were thought of as weak,
The mountains became flat as land.
Our spirits believed to have conjured an owner,
The thieves falling out of the plan.
The makers are meeting atop the clocktower;
Without hands.
My mind is their plan.
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 11:24 PM UTC
I'm caught in an
Egocentric predicament
What's outside
my phaneron
Solipsism
Or is it real
How should I know
How should I know
How should I know
I can believe
It's synapses sparking
Creating memory
And I'm only
The moments I've seen
Are you real
Or just a dream?
Apr 3, 2016
Apr 3, 2016 at 2:20 AM UTC
Reduced to a single point
Within and without I know,
I am but one single speck.
I feel it now in my mind;
My thinking soul.
Not in conventional terms but,
Let my thinking heart guide thee
In understanding me.
Nothing forms
Like air let loose.
We drift, as infinitismal nothings,
Following from within like a painter's brush into reality-
Our own canvas are we.
Superceded by phantoms of ghosts
Ethereal blurs take their geometry,
Exist within A euclidity.
We weave ourselves in the hairs of our god's
Nebulous strands dreaming outwards from the thinking hearts,
The hearts that make us but we form-
This integration of it into nothing
Of nothing... to something.
Spontaneously alive
Digital sparks that programmed their own world's
Existing within limits self imposed.
We perceive from internals to externals
But accepting truths built falsely
They hold, like all Straw houses crumbling and shrinking,
Till they fade inwards, collapsing into reality the painters brush falters.
It cannot go on, it cannot paint finer than its hairs, only grander, out, bigger, falser.
Our eternity is merely a fraction of our own
It extends infinitely we cannot go...
With it.
Within these truths I find myself
With these fundamentals I paint myself into the world
With these dreamlike strands of hair I weave myself.
Into the fabric of your mind, you are part of this now!
You always were, and never will be.
Jan 23, 2018
Jan 23, 2018 at 11:59 AM UTC