Dear Readers, concept of Time has bewildered our ancient sages, philosophers, poets, artists,  including our famous scientists and physicists even to this day. It has no doubt also impacted my    
mind in several ways! Therefore, this series about the ‘Enigma of Time In Verse’ is now being composed and posted to share my thoughts with my Poet friends on this Site. If you like it kindly re-post this poem. Thanking You, - Raj Nandy from New Delhi.
             

   THE ENIGMA OF TIME IN VERSE : PART ONE
                           BY RAJ NANDY

                 A  SHORT  INTRODUCTION

During my childhood days, time appeared to be joyful and endless.
Though my parents had observed the clock all the while,
Telling me when to rise, when to eat, play, do my homework, -
till it was my bed time.
Alas, my childhood days as cherished memories are now left behind.
With rest of the world  I am now chasing that winged arrow of Time!

Those Management Gurus say, that our twenty four hours day,
Is time enough for those who can manage time from day to day.
Yet I do find, that I am generally chasing time, not to be left behind!
Hoping that a full time job will provide, some quality time, with the desired comforts of life.
Therefore, I abide my time, hoping to have the time of my life one day, with some quality time coming my way.
But in this mad race against time, while chasing that butterfly of happiness,
I must learn to cool down and breathe, before time decides to elude me!
For with patience and perseverance, that butterfly of happiness, will alight gently on my shoulder in good time, and perhaps at
the right time!
While time is universally regarded as the fourth dimension by our physicists,
It is said to flow at different rates for different individuals as mentioned by Shakespeare the English dramatist.

          FEW  LITERARY  QUOTES  ABOUT  TIME

In ‘As You Like It’ Act 3, Shakespeare refers to ‘the swift steps’ and the ‘lazy foot’of time  in a relativistic way.
Time ‘trots’ for a young woman between her engagement and marriage when a week feels like seven years for her every day!
Time ‘ambles’ for a priest who doesn’t know Latin and a rich man without gout;
Since the priest is spared the burden of exhausting study, and the rich man is spared the burden of exhausting poverty - no doubt.
But time ‘gallops’ for a thief walking to the gallows, for even if he walks slowly, he happens to gets there too soon!
While time ‘stands still’ for lawyers on vacation, since he sleeps his holidays away!

Now moving forward to Einstein who once described his ‘Theory of Relativity’ very humorously in the following way; -
“When you sit with a nice girl for two hours you think it’s only a minute, but when you sit on a hot stove for a minute, you think it’s two hours,” he had said with a chuckle!

Getting back to Shakespeare’s ‘Macbeth’ Act One on that blasted heath,
Macbeth asks the three witches, “If you can look into the seeds of Time,
And say which grain will grow and which will not,
Speak then to me, who neither beg nor fear…”
And finally that brilliant piece of soliloquy about Time by Macbeth in Act 5:
“To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
  Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
  To the last syllable of recorded time,
  And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
  The way to dusty death….”

John Milton’s poem ‘On Time’ composed in 1930 ends with his optimistic lines:
“Fly envious Time, till thou run out thy race,
  Call on the lazy leaden-stepping hours,
  Whose speed is but the heavy Plummets pace …..
  When once our heavenly-guided soul shall clime,
  Then all this Earthly grossness quit,
  Attired with Stars, we shall forever sit
  Triumphing over Death and Chance, and thee O Time.”

Alexander Pope in his ‘Imitations of Horace’ (1738) writes:
“Years following years steal something every day,
  At last they steal us from ourselves away.”
Romantic poets have dealt with the transience of time, which got popularised by the Latin phrase ‘Carpe diem’ which tells us to ‘seize the day’;
This Latin phrase has been borrowed from the Roman lyrical poet Horace of ancient days.

Charles Dickens’ novel ‘Hard Times’ is an autobiography describing his difficult childhood days.
While the famous opening lines of his historical novel ‘A Tale of Two Cites’ take us back to 18th century London and Paris under times sway.
I quote Dickens’ memorable opening lines:
"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us ......”

We have the Nobel Laureate Tagore’s well known poetic lines on the subject of Time:
“The butterfly counts not months but moments, and has time enough.”
“Let your life lightly dance on the edges of Time like dew on the tip of leaf.”
He described the Taj Mahal as “a tear drop on the cheek of Time,” in his unique poetic style!

TS Eliot’s ‘Four Quarters’ of 1935,  include extended rumination on the nature of Time:
“Time present and time past,
  Are both perhaps present in time future.
  And time future contained in time past.
  If all time is eternally present,
  All time is unredeemable.
  What might have been is an abstraction
  Remaining a perpetual possibility,
  Only in a world of speculation….”
(Notes: This concept will become clearer in my Part Two, presently under construction.)

Next I have a quote from WH Auden’s poem ‘As I Walked Out One Evening’composed in 1937:
“But all the clocks in the city
  Began to whirr and chime:
  O let not Time deceive you.
  You cannot conquer Time.”

Subject of Time forms an important part of science fiction even to this day.
HG Well’s ‘The Time Machine’ (1895) interests both the layman and the Scientific community even today!
Finally, I would like to conclude my Part One on ‘The Enigma of Time in Verse’ with my favourite poem composed by the British poet Ralph Hodgson:
  
TIME, you old gipsy man,
  Will you not stay,
Put up your caravan
  Just for one day?
  
All things I'll give you
Will you be my guest,
Bells for your jennet
Of silver the best,
Goldsmiths shall beat you
A great golden ring,
Peacocks shall bow to you,
Little boys sing,
Oh, and sweet girls will
Festoon you with may.
Time, you old gipsy,
Why hasten away?
  
Last week in Babylon,
Last night in Rome,
Morning, and in the crush
Under Paul's dome;
Under Paul's dial
You tighten your rein—
Only a moment,
And off once again;
Off to some city
Now blind in the womb,
Off to another
Ere that's in the tomb.
  
Time, you old gipsy man,
  Will you not stay,
Put up your caravan
  Just for one day.

In Part Two I shall cover the Concepts of Time along with its Philosophical speculations.
Before moving on to Einstein’s concept of Time, and its present Scientific interpretations.
Thanks for reading patiently, from Raj Nandy of New Delhi.

the torso of stars of the constellation of scorpio is dying, it's weakening; the venomous scorpion tail still shines brightly, and the pliers are bright enough to see even with immediate light pollution: but no street lamp shines brighter than the stars, even the the distance disparity, and indeed if the last constellation of the zodiac becomes dim, i'll begin to worry.

i was given three christmas presents this year,
the third i can't immediately remember
but the first two i can:
two houses side by side,
one had twelve black bin bags and one orange
recycling bag for collection -
the other had a skip in its driveway
with a sign in the skip:
PLEASE TAKE YOUR DOG ****
FROM MY SKIP AND NEVER DUMP
IT HERE AGAIN!
ah... the third present, it's january
and i'm walking without gloves,
in converse, with a short sleeve shirt
and a hoodie and nothing else:
newspaper "dialectics" section writers
say northern england floods of recently
are not due to global warming...
i wonder how much this writer gets paid
to say the floods were caused by orangutan farts,
or the dairy factories of ukrainian methane punch
politics; i really do wonder...
i guess newtonian physics' principles
died with einstein's theories
stuck in the deep end of einstein's parabolas
of solid objects dipped into: speed of light
indeed, it gains momentum because it travels
via parabolas rather than straight lines,
hence the parabolic acceleration: up-down
up-down trigonometry linear functions of
either sine or cosine... the third trigonometric
allowance i cannot explain but it doesn't really
matter when it comes to what i'm trying to say:
relativity of immersion as a sinking into:
time relative to space means it equates at some point,
either death as a point of departure
or life as a point of constant engagement -
and as for those who say the theory is too difficult
and your interpretation of a theory in a different
medium is stupid... well... do the mathematics,
my mathematical + and = are equivalent to adjectives
and verbs (e.g.).
no, what really bothers me with this problem
of the global warming debate is the synchronised
activation of denial with doubt missing,
if it can't be doubted (cause & effect), and if
nothing is to be done about it... the only solution
is to deny it: block a punch... get a tsunami back.
it's bothersome on two levels...
english as the language of globalisation (
not exactly the old lingua franca), but rather
the encircling language, the language of constraints,
lingua amplexa / lingua stasus quo, hardly a language
of trade, a language of monotone -chromatic politics...
is very prone to bombastic expressions:
it has not philosophical narrative in the sense
of a book of philosophy - it merely ushers in
a maxim to stop any philosophical narration or dialogue.
on another level though, it's immersion in darwinism,
educational darwinism of post-colonialism is horrid,
if all that scientific positivism was the zenith of science
between the 18th and 19th centuries, the nadir
came with darwinism... because with science being
tricked to encapsulated popular imagination
the greater proportion of the populace had the easiest
of accesses to a scientific theory (aristotle kept in
the **** in the dark all this time), an with a popularised
imagining of darwinism hell broke free in the 20th
century... indeed darwinism killed off scientific positivism,
and by doing so... all noble and human ideals died
with it... came the mechanisation of society,
the death of the rural life, a detachment from nature
as man took to live above nature rather than parallel with it;
and the new zenith that's the zeitgeist of today?
humanistic negativism, humanistic negativism...
the death of the novel, the death of an interest in
philosophy in the english speaking world...
take as you like...
but when you're a sensitive drinker as i am,
and you watch the 2014 film *i origins and don't cry...
well... then i guess anaesthetics won't work
when your heart can't feel the calm good apathy
with your many stage frights concerning your
next ingenious plot-line over a little hurt or a little
scare... not courageous enough to hurt the one
that hurt you, but simply passing the hurt onto
a stranger.

p.s. YOU RENTED THE ******* SKIP!
       AND DOG **** IS NOT REALLY ASBESTOS!

has anyone said anything to the LGBT movement that,
ahem, it is also a pronoun? i can't believe people are
getting dragged into:
                a. not only being taught
a secondary vocabulary that's "political", well, let's just
say democratically fascist - but that
b. a theological argument
based solely in the pronoun category is pointless -
i know point b. isn't really big,
or relevant, and to think
that St. Thomas' gospel once rejected
by the Church came back and
reigned in so much havoc that
it could have sparked the Syrian
civil war, and in general:
well... better edit Jesus from the bible...
at first it was the imitation of
the Kippah and the Tonsure -
in between the peacock and the pig,
religion resides - how you juggle
that field is up to you...
i tend you approach it as: well, whatever.
but this is really the best to be alive,
you can laugh in the night like you'd
never imagine laughing before -
i mean - who the hell would think
it wise to attack someone who sees
grammar use and wonders: but that's
also a pronoun, the changed Freudian
that (scalpel probing utility), later
popularised as it - or the complete
objectification of unit, aliases involve:
thought, self, personality, character, etc. -
well it's catching on like a ******* virus,
this unearthed grail of the Egyptian
desert - yes, they did travel to Egypt,
and look what came back...
perfectly fits Josephus' account of things,
which is literally two sentences
including the words: Mt. of Olives insurrection
deposit - i'm literally showing the easier
way out... most people took it too literally...
the existence of demons turned allegorical
altogether, but the existence of the words
inscribed as: make the outer the inner,
and the male the female: just shows you a lack
of both grammatical knowledge, and
poetic knowledge - the literal approach throws
you into the maggot pit of bullock -
and that's how it's going to say...
people took it too literally, that's the first
wave... taken as a sign of guilt from
a colonial past - they call the Visegrad
the new goose-stepping surgeons of thought,
this idea of a free and open society
has no boots on the ground in Anglophile
society - they fake being arrogant by
being courteous - being courteous is a sublime
version of feeling one owns a moral
superiority, which one doesn't...
and can you actually imagine yourself
being dragged through the filth of a discussion
concern pronouns? learn to build up a
subconscious of pure grammar association...
the unconscious, who Jung discovered
to be a hive you can't control,
i once suggested the idea that the collective
unconscious would resemble a society
where plumbers didn't know they were plumbers,
and no one knew what they were doing,
but incorporating the individual i see
the point of finally rationalising the individual
via the collective toward the unconscious -
the great free ***** debate -
primarily though, the particular use of language
will never reach a universal use of language
that isn't fragmented into a pseudo-arithmetic
of grammar - but it would do you a greater
good to endorse and implant grammar spectacle
to see past the fluidity of casual language use,
i.e. spot the ****** debate and say: hyphen!
down the middle! it! after all, we were children
once, and we played the game: you're it!
and ensure there's laconic appropriation while
people become forceful addicts of the flesh
to provide the weight to the categorised words
due to their change, and you're all airy fairy
with just the worded explanation,
still with the required genitalia and 2 billion Chinese;
but it's true though, look how horrified
the church is... the old geezers are not getting it,
they left the Egyptian shepherd unleash hell
on both Christianity and Islam...
the revision of the kippah was the monkish
tonsure - but this bit about ***-changes?
once again, blow-bubbles-through-your-lips
by motorising them and move your index finger
up and down... hey presto! a mongolian harmonica -
i can't believe so much intelligence was wasted,
and so much incorporated, and so much lost,
over a piece of skin that wasn't even categorised
as cartilage - it's a joke, right?
well, if it ain't, why the **** am i laughing?
if you learn grammatical categorisation of words,
you learn the insulating method of using language,
if whatever is offensive, becomes inoffensive,
someone will spend a whole life arguing the
transition from she                   into                 he,
with the haircuts and other adjustments,
while you'll be there, calling it neither he or she
(the end and the original result), but call
the individual accepting the transition by
the act of transition - incorporating the past
and the future via the transition period,
it! that's the laws of grammar, grammar in
psychological terms is the subconscious:
Freud tapped into the unconscious with dreams,
i managed to censor dreaming and sleep,
hence i tapped into the subconscious by
exposing grammar as, well, yeah: subverted language:
or language submerged by universal laws -
               in context you can understand
everything i write, in content? probably not -
again the boiling point is not 100°C - it's
universals and particulars - that's the 100°C of language -
via the thesaurus you get similar d.n.a. strands
(i just hallucinated a smiling face, but not too vivid) -
i.e. via synonyms and worded cleansing of antonyms
   off the respective suggestion as zenith-conundrum
                                                                               of Socrates:
       if something is universal it's evolved or translated
   into context - the context? using the alphabet and
words... (time references to coordination aren't necessary,
   well, something has to be unanimously expressed
  even if via dyslexia) -
                    what's particular is what's rigid in terms
of evolutionary adaptation - verbiage, i know!
   inescapable! what should i do? gauge my eyes out?!
again, dittoed paraphrase, shortened self-plagiarism:
     if something is particular it's independent or non-reciprocatory
  within boundaries of context-out-of-context: content,
   which means a b c d e f g... but arranged to a self-proclaimed
deviation (let's call prefixing the self- to a word provides
    the whole mechanism of deviating non-universal
automation, mildly put: eccentricity) -
                  in summary, you ever wonder what's
related between the list of phobias such as arachnophobia
and xenophobia? apparently the term Islamophobia
was translated into Greek as: god is one, and Muhammad
is his test subject... the sum of all little fears -
         oddly enough phobias are spontaneous and are
rarely instilled, they're lightning strikes...
i see a big spider, i recoil - it's not a permanent setting -
i stand on a ladder 3 metres off the ground, sure:
acrophobia -                    i sit in a crowded tube train,
yet again: claustrophobia - but these phobias are
a sort of antidote to the maxim: the thing to fear is
fear itself... phobias are reflex reactions to being conscious,
how people managed to translate them into reflections
is beyond me... i happen to come across phobias
all the time... but in a reflexive way: a ****, a spontaneity
surrounding them... there's nothing to be reflective about...
it's not even a phobia when i tell you a similar
reaction: suburban street at night, beer, cigarette,
walking, eyes not concentrating on anything...
~suddenly two women sitting on a low cement fence
in front of their houses startles me... the immediate
reaction is a nervous shock... who the **** would
think of that as being a phobia worthy a category?
no one. which is why i don't understand
the concept of Islamophobia... it's weird...
i don't get the same nervous sudden **** of seeing
something that isn't supposed to be there
when i walk down Oxford street and see a Burqa-clad
woman... whoever invented this word,
had a really ****** time at school and transcended
all laws of etymological construction:
i.e. on basis of really claustrophobic syllable constructs,
Islam is way beyond syllables, it's a noun,
as if the suffix / affix phobia - or little fear,
no, not sigma fear, fractional fear.

I could answer your questions with a simple, off-the-cuff explanation but have ended up writing this essay: the more I thought about what you’d asked, the more the I felt it warranted a fuller explanation so I will try to explain why I call myself a Wiccan and how I come to be following the Wicca Path. And apologies in advance for the length of this!

As well as my love of Literature, I love History with a similar passion. My degree was in English and History and although I specialised in Shakespearian and post-Shakespearian literature and Modern History, I have a long held fascination with Celtic and pre-Celtic history, beliefs and spirituality. It is the mysticism of the Old Religion that seemed to attract me most and I found myself drawn particularly to the Celtic and Welsh mythology and have read extensively about it: Cornwall and Wales (mid Wales in particular) are my two favourite places in the world. I have read a lot about Celtic and pre-Celtic history, beliefs and religion over the years, both fiction and non-fiction.

Although Jewish by birth, I was brought up by my father who was a confirmed atheist so I lost out on any formal religious influence as I was growing up. Perhaps because of his views, I developed a distrust of formal, mainstream religion. That’s not to say I felt I had no spiritual beliefs at all, it’s just they were untapped and unidentified; I felt I was reaching out for something but it never took on any tangible form, rather like in a dream when you cannot see clearly the faces or forms of the inhabitants of your dreams.

By the time I got into my forties, I realised there was something seriously lacking in the spiritual side of my life. These beliefs were compounded by three events:

    * reading James Lovelock's Gaia theory [which inspired me to write one of my favourite stories, Gaia's Last, published here];
    * my discovery of Jean Auel's Earth's Children series of books , Clan of the Cave Bear, etc. which go into extraordinary detail of Cro-Magnon peoples' belief in nature spirits, worship of The Mother and Shamanism;
    * a sudden change in my circumstances that forced me to re-evaluate every aspect of my life and my existence.

It was at this time I began to research the Old Religion: paganism, nature-worship, whatever you want to call it, and this led me to discover Wicca.

The more I read about it, the more I realised it fitted in with my current state of mind and outlook on life. Maybe there is a sense of escapism inasmuch as the roots of Wicca look backward to a simpler time and as I was having difficulty coping with the complexities of the changed circumstances in my life at the time. Wicca seemed to offer exactly the spiritual needs I was lacking.

That is not to say that Wicca is old-fashioned and out of date. Rather the contrary in fact. Whilst its roots acknowledge the Old Religion, Wicca is relatively modern having been developed by a guy called Gerald Gardner who published a book called Witchcraft Today in the 1940s I believe which re-established in the public eye the old pagan beliefs that have been around since the dawn of man. These beliefs never really disappeared even through the worst of the atrocities perpetrated against followers of the Old Religion [The Burning Times ]. (And just to make an important point about the title of the book and Wicca in general, Witchcraft in the pagan and Wicca context is NOT Black Magic or Satanism as the tabloid press or mainstream religion would have you believe; it could not be further from them. It is simply an acknowledgement of the existence of natural forces that can be used or channelled by those who choose to learn these ancient skills).

I have seen Wicca [and other forms of Paganism] referred to as Green Magic and that seems the perfect definition; it is immensely comforting to work so closely with the natural world and to feel such a part of it.

So for me, Wicca is an ideal spiritual antidote for the impossibly fast-paced, self-serving lifestyles we all seem to be caught up in these days, often through no choice of our own. It is as valid a belief system as any other practised throughout the world and is nothing like the forms of Wicca popularised in the media with TV shows like Charmed and its ilk!

Wicca is it is not something to be taken on lightly - Wicca practices should be treated with the same reverence as those in any other belief system. It requires study, practice and dedication.’

I have to confess to have been lacking in all three since I originally wrote this so have vowed to myself to rectify these shortcomings. I feel excited about my rekindled sense of spirituality and more at peace with myself for making this decision.

Go in Love & Light!

there's much gesture in thinking out the nonsensical,
the un-thinkable - the un-pardonable - with sheer gusto
you tend to think out the unsolvable -
the nonsense people are afraid to
think about - the impractical -
and that's for one reason alone -
                  it doesn't create real problems...
you do not engage with real struggles
people encounter - because by doing
all the above stated... you are not the one
who says to a person: you can't do this,
and you can't to that.
                 which is why i don't understand
the English aversion toward philosophy:
say the word, and the English immediately
succumb to the notion of pedantry and
snobbism - when in fact: it's hardly that -
          perpetually philosophers entertain
themselves with invoking awe, as with ageing,
and seeing the many pitfalls of romance
and comedy and tragedy... awe becomes
very hard to find... it's simulated ignorance
in a way... for example Heidegger championing
Aristotle is a gesture intended in this direction -
and his concept of dasein is another
way to stage a coup against the world...
              it's an antithesis to what would otherwise
be regarded as activism... or more piquantly:
hedonistic activism, which primarily encompasses
staging a higher moral authority -
but never reaching for the fist making a signature
for the cause... that phrase: just empty words...
and humble pie. well... if you're a bachelor,
have this instilled aversion toward having a private
relationship with women: suitor - Kierkegaard -
well... you are bound to create pointless problems...
because... to be honest... you'd rather throw
"imaginary" problems into the metaphysical arena
than sit there... as a competent English gentleman
and speak of philosophy with about two or
three terms... reality... god... monkey...
                  or at a chessboard with a desire to provoke
a telekinetic pandemonium.. x-men apocalypse and
all that ****** imagery...
                             it's odd... but it's just so...
the English had an idyllic life,
                                      as any island dwellers might...
which is why they don't like impractical problems...
because they blabber about practical solutions,
to practical problems... that never get solved,
i.e. engrossed in more politics than anything:
the English have no ear for philosophy -
the mere word frightens them should anyone admit
to being the stated adherent: for god's sake,
the Scots are perceived as barbarians with the
deep-friend Mars bars (and pizzas) - but Hume
rang the eardrum in Kant's ear... and wallah!
a new chapter... Locke? only Darwinism,
popularised with images, as they say:
best leave these skeletons in the closet.
                             what am i working up toward?
well... it's a bit specific...
                                     first... the easiest proof
of solipsism... a crowded train... someone farts...
     guess what... the person who farted is
the only person on the train who appreciates the stink...
            hence: the theory - you like your own -
hence the abstract of the self, competing for a theory,
the self - as an optical itinerary: from head to foot,
from hand to toe - a long list of self-serving
          accomplishments in detailing all acquired
difference...                    but it's not about that...
          for all the reasons that life can become perfect...
at precisely that moment people began to
philosophise -                       and that condemnation
of reading a book on the topic in youth
rather than old age?        well... the glory of old age
is kinda slipping away...    if not now? when?
obviously you might jump the wagon too eagerly...
but at least you'll soon realise how
    a philosophy book (excluding Plato) can actually
help you in forming a dialogue -
                       i think that's what they teach primarily,
the art of dialogue... not the art of persuasive speaking
(rhetoric) - but the art of dialogue... after all...
   Plato... right? all dialogue...
                                  and they do: it only takes one book
in this literary region, i became convinced of it
after only being introduced to the subject area quiet late
in life (21)...        prior to that? fiction and poetry...
   and science... nothing else...
                              like a fish to water...
the necessary 21 years of strain having avoided the subject
(not on purpose, mind you).
                  yes, a glorification, why not?
     it's because these nonsensical problems arrive
as a reflection of a defence mechanism...
     the English don't like "too many words" or
the continental verbiage they coin as the psychiatric
phrase word salad - precisely because, sometimes,
language is not about entertaining someone with
tragic choke-jokes and songs...
          great singers, great comedians,
   great engineers... but in this field? obnoxious *****.
  the English are the first instigators of
     enshrining a quicksand pit of a person's
esteem in his ability to use and comprehend language,
primarily because they can't comprehend
the complexity of language being thus expressed
they immediately conscript against him
    this... odd... quack-wacky need to teach
the person in question refer himself to the Jane Austen
clinic of correct language parameters -
            nothing beyond! nothing foreign and
original! we need novelists who only travel in
straight lines (preferably on a Benelux plateau)
        and never dazzle with a tarantula bite of
disorientation (akin to the cut-up method)...
        and you will find that the English are primarily
concerned with making people suspicious of
   their sanity... strange... i once had a work-horse
work ethic and that became undermined,
                       then my use of language became undermined
because, as already stated: the English don't
do impractical things with their thought:
                it has to be practical...
like the Germans and time... everything has to be
efficient... or the Japanese and space (*******
cardboard sized hotel rooms)...
                             which brings me to the point of my
original intention:
                 deleuze's and guattari's searching ambition -
the anti-oedipus, or: body-without-organs...
             in turn the dark ages of Cartesian thinking (in England)
or how            mental health is somehow a lesser
   health to physical health -
                 sweat... and exocrine glands v. endocrine glands...
    <yes, telegram mode, precursor to a detailed
        explanation>
                                i'm just proposing what i dare believe
to be a thought-object, or more precisely a
             thought-***** -
                    no point looking for a shortcut with this,
      it's either the sort of verbiage compound you'll
reason with... or you'll treat it as *******...
                     as ever, whether that's investing in
a gym membership and a suitable diet...
         you won't get the ****** six-pack on your torso...
  this concept is reserved for what i find problematic
in mental ailments - which, in turn... somehow,
"miraculously" translate into physical ailments -
           but of course, amputees get the priority seats
in the eyes of every Jack and Dolly... because it's easier
that way...
                        my back-reading in psychiatry? well,
it's not exactly limited... on the plus side -
a theory is nothing more than a placebo trial -
                   you're not thinking about it being effective,
that's the default point of applying thinking where
pharmacology cures are pretty crap and its side-effects
catastrophic... and talking therapy ends up being
a monologue with a table filled by notes with single
words on them and being asked: to identify their meaning...
anyone who has experienced these practices
can also say: i'm actually conscious you're making me
feel like a ******* ******... you've just insulted my
intelligence... and i'm back to square one at kindergarten...
   have you ever watched you-tube frustrations?
well... a thought-***** has nothing to do with
    that map of the brain...
                                feeling goes here,
  seeing goes here...             a mash-up and a mess akin
   to the map of the European union...
          because some rich boy scumbag drew it
in crayon at the beginning of the 20th century means
it has to be right...
                                  but if i treat thinking as a thought-*****,
i know how the ***** works...
            a heart is a muscular pump...
  the stomach is a digestive acid swamp...
                        the esophagus is stretch-armstrong...
should i feel guilty writing about this?
          should i? touchy subject? well... you won't
find any pills around here... well, apart from the sleeping
pills... they're sacred (to me, at least, as if the bourbon,
but that's my private affair... you walk down this
route: it heals me... not necessarily you) -
  this is to simply end the whole pseudo-Cartesian dichotomy
of philosophy popularised by psychology and
psychiatry - for these two areas are bound to simply
popularise philosophy... and given that most people
don't read a book in that area... it's easier to manipulate
people in therapy with the knowledge passed down
from on high.
                                       and it's there...
the dichotomy parallelism is primarily due to the fact that
most people think of the brain with two categories:
a. when physical pain strikes it (a headache)
and b. when physical pain is absent (with what ease
    they think)...
  the problem lies in the perception of b.,
most people can conceptualise that there's something
deeper than the raw physicality of things...
i do remember times when i encountered that
ease of thinking...
                                        i experienced it...
it was there... ****, i lost it... but that provided me with
an un-inhibitory trance of a writing capacity...
   the question is... how can merely thinking be painful?
most mental health problems never ask this:
thinking is painful...
                                      isn't that what most melancholics
state, but with a more emotional language of
feelings and emotions?                  
             if the thought-***** is damaged...
then all thinking coming from this compartment of the brain
will be painful...
                               so what sort of paracetamol
do you take? it's not as easy as being prescribed
high-blood pressure pills...
                                      popping pills like that
you're only escaping a conscious moment of what
an automated ***** feels

Although not an official list of most searched beauty queries, these trends were searched way more in 2015 than they were last year. You might be tardy to the party, but finally figuring out these makeup and skincare hacks will take next year's selfies to a whole new level — at least until 2016 when these trends are ditched. Till then, get your contour and strobe fixations worked out while it's still in style.

-How to contour

An old trick in any makeup artist's arsenal, contouring steadily gained attention in 2014 before exploding this year. Nowadays high-end and low-end contouring kits are widespread, with both cream and powder options popular for slimming faces. To contour, take a matte brown shade darker than your natural skin colour and buff it into the hollows of your cheekbones. Then blend until it matches seamlessly with your skin, creating a natural-looking shadow. To make the effect more dramatic, use a shade lighter than your skin colour on the high points of your face. You'll look clownish for a hot second, but the effects can be dramatically glam or subtle improvements.

-And how to strobe

Contouring's luminous cousin, strobing, took highlighting to the next level. Instead of creating shadows with contours, strobing illuminates the parts of the face where light hits. You'll want to apply a highlighting product to the centre of the forehead, the bridge of your nose, your Cupid's bow, and above your cheekbones.

-How to beard balm

Mane maintenance went below the chin in 2015, with artisanal ****** hair products going through a boom. Among them was beard balm, a pomade made of nourishing conditioners for making face fuzz soft and silky.

-How to put box braids into a bun

Long-lasting and low-maintenance, box braids are a style that always looks good — especially piled high into a bun. To get a top-knot bun, tie hair into a ponytail, twist around, and then tuck loose braids in. Bobby pins will be your best friend for this.

-How to wear matte lips

Popularised by the Kardashians, the matte **** lip made a comeback in 2015. To mattify any lip, apply a light dusting of face power to your lips (but not so much that your lips dry out). Or buy a matte lipstick, which come at luxe and drugstore prices.

-How to do the Kylie Jenner Lip Challenge

This digital dare inspired by the youngest of the Kardashian/Jenner clan had those aspiring for fuller lips ******* on shot glasses. Suction created by the cups cause a temporary swelling reminiscent of Jenner's pout. However, it might not be a good idea to jump on this long-gone bandwagon now — the challenge inflicted swelling, bruises, and drew controversy that Jenner herself spoke out against.

read more:http://www.marieaustralia.com

www.marieaustralia.com/plus-size-formal-dresses

and yes, very much a niche concern, my laptop broke down
   and i'm forced into the box room, albeit not ramped
out with Nabokov's Switzerland lodging:
at a hotel in the Alps catching butterflies and Lolitas -
i've finally matured in my likings -
but let me tell you, it has been painful
adjusting to the upright sitting:
lost the slouch and the quickie
crow-on-a-windowsill with a whiskey
sharpshooter and then a tornado cascade
into the lesser concept of a blank page and that famous
nothing of philosophers... i love the lesser critique
of Heidegger, my grandfather bought me
a 25 volume worths of interest,
and Heidegger stood out foremost,
primarily because of a peculiar surname,
i later learned that he was the German
that would eventually make Wordsworth
pointless in picking up the lyre,
with so many books i had to realise that
i needed a partner akin to walking through
Dante's epic,
              i could have chosen Ovid, but esp.
Horace, but i didn't choose Virgil or Homer,
a blood German peasant... but also
a pheasant, which means auburn peacock...
oh sure, you get familial ties with people
of the world, people who made either their
forenames or surnames akin to the nouns
as familiar as stars chairs and smoked ham rumps...
perfectly akin to everyday familiarity of use...
i wasn't worn in Warsaw or Krakow -
if i were, i probably wouldn't have left the natives,
but living on the outskirts of that great capital
doesn't necessarily impress:
in all honest edict contraction: i feel debased
travelling into London (central), ***** and ******
out my mind...
       i guess this means two more years rereading
Heidegger's being and time
                               after purchasing his ponderings ii - vi
from the years 1931 - 1938;
yes, my family was directly affected by **** Germany,
not in concentration camps, on the frontline,
so why would i be sopping over a **** familiar
in the realm of philosophy?
       a. public intellectuals don't exist in England,
    English doesn't like philosophy,
         proof
                  ?    b. Shakespeare - peer in on shaking
a pear and
                      the dancing of a retired circus bear dancing.
     c. that's Pythagoras, we leave him in the Pascal gambit.
i just think it's a shame that i have this massive
democracy in my room, and i'll end up with something
akin to a Quran -
                              again, why Heidegger?
i don't know, it could have been that Czech Kundera -
     or Kafka, it could have been Seneca,
              but all these writers are city dwellers,
Heidegger was a quasi-villager pseudo-city-dweller,
i find foxes and deer and dead badgers in my little
promenade escapades, also Satanist black masses
with the framework of in excelsior satanis! -
and lightning that strikes but no thunder is heard...
less for the sons of thunder: the 12 hot-air balloons,
it's very much Germanic in Japan with
feng shui or otherwise known in the peninsula as qi
     kee.
                      then there's the **** of the haiku
by the west and me answering: let's make ensō -
smoothed out narratives, ecstatic variation from
     thinking and away from moral decisiveness
in that activity of perpetuated choice-making -
                how clearly thinking extends into narration
rather than the Cartesian
                 precipitation of thought into being -
nope: from thinking into narration
          juiced-up enclosure of "zoological" tightening
with ensō: beefy haikus.
          but what i really find problematic?
the interpretation of Heidegger's concept of dasein
as coupled with ecstasis.... our ex-stasis...
                  with da meaning there
               you can pretend to be "happy" about protests
across the world, and wars and other turbulent
activity...
                   what i am proposing is what Nietzsche
prompted with sum ergo cogito,
         in that the real ecstasis is concerned with being
allocated to a here, and therefore a hesein -
the interpretation posits the ecstasis there
when Heidegger originally posits concern there,
     or as he encodes: "concern"
                       meaning the dittoing puts him in a safety
of the here, it's the ecstasis of not being there,
but here in the present as the ecstasis, and there
     of some abstract venture as being beyond his command
of attributed dynamism of being involved,
for he's not involved. give me an hour and i'll be
in the countryside: we have that weighty countryside mentality,
farmers talking ******* when stacking hay
and laughing with the grammar Nazis when
    people go to the gym but teach their brains
the flab that the brains actually are: primarily spongy fat -
     apart from typos, it's the case
                                           (it is the case that)
   i don't (do not)
                               much concern myself from English
slang of piano (Joanna)
           and the outright **** (Pakistani),
               cos there was no sine                  when people
overacted toward the tan of me swallowing vowels and
replacing them with shortcuts to prop'ah Cockney,
oi oi, ******, bruv! brush up! this bus to school is
mingy with the throng!
                          who ordered the sardines?
        Stendhal is still the love of my life... i can write
enough complexities with Heidegger, but my love
resides with Stendhal... who would have thought
that a film adaptation would make me eager to read the book
(the scarlet & the noir)? Peter Jackson knew, as did J. R. R.
but it comes from the musings,
          once i do the Kantian critique a one over
the missing yawn and what's actually the most underestimated
arithmetics of wording rather than number circus
         or replicas of taxman rubrics:
after enough chemistry, favouring the organic and
later becoming endowed with a palette for Indian cuisine
well: philosophy books are the worded versions
of mathematics in terms of jumping the burning wheels
of 1 + 11 = 12        and          i contemplate
                                            but what's the = and the 12?
it's so ****** open, i could have invited a hundred thieves
to porose a car-boot sale at my house.
but all this, which might seem like self-love,
    it's not about that...the French intellectualise
and have them public because they talk beautifully -
                  the English?
they sing...
                               the Germans are morose and silent...
        the Spanish are simply the onomatopoeias of *******
and the Italians are seen and heard licking their fingers
after enough basil is added to tomatoes...
   i'm still banging on about the apathetic interpretation
of dasein, rather than the ecstatic version popularised
by the scholars...
                                 the version that reads:
if a tree falls in a forest and there's no one to hear it fall,
does it make a sound? that's my interpretation of
dasein / being there / being "there"....
                          a.                          b.
                       concretely            in abstract,
we already know that the abstract of being is nonbeing
or that things are abstracts of nothings with identifiers
of being used, without actually being touched:
i can say that i see a chair without actually having
to sit on it.
                    i was thinking simpler though -
olly murs' heart skips a beat and someone of the major
tracks by one direction...
             when i reference myself to these tracks
i'm being ecstatic, in the dimension of hesein,
                  like da, shortened purposively from the
authentic hier / here in german....
              why am i ecstatic in the here?
   because i don't have to be concerned in the realm of da /
there, where my opinion "might" matter...
                   but really doesn't...
                             which is why i don't understand
this interpretation of dasein meaning ecstasis -
                           or ex status quo....
                                               as already suggested -
our moral obligation toward language is to provoke
a Minotaur to become an architect of our venture in
using language, away from the market place...
into forests, into depths that have no justification
for being imagined, or as such diagnosed as ever being
there and established to planning permission and norms
of established caricatures and cleanly undertaken
shallowing and hollowing out from them being furthered.
i should be sad having trodden such a path
for myself, but i feel a kinship with this German,
come on, what consolidated the Kantian
dichotomy of a priori and a posteriori as in
   or must not philosophy a fortiori poeticize beings?
should not be conversed with from a wholly
anti-intellectual dynamism suggesting a personal
historic aversion of what's otherwise ethnically ******
without suspicion in terms of cultural tact?
again: nothing - which is higher and deeper than nonbeing(s)
(i ensure the ambiguity of the plural, if only
due to the fact that nothing is
    kindred of a definite article - the -
                          and ensures a translation as nonbeing,
while nothing in a quality as in nothingness
            kindred of an indefinite article - a -
         and ensures a translation as nonbeings, the plural,
ambiguity and throng -
   perfect offshoot that's already known as a-
           and -the         with a missing -ism).
yes, language ought to resemble something less
instructional, certainly less capital / monetary,
and more of a preservation of ambiguity and subsequently
myth... or what otherwise concern themselves with
in the hustle and bustle of a public life: integrity,
                                ulterior of the personal sphere of interests:
the person per se;
       and the apéritif (a'per-teeth)?
                 for lack of diacritical insurance, the English
are constantly in need of a tongue-map for waggling it
prop'ah:
                    the Chelsea y'ah
or the Cockney wa'er                - t t t.
                mind you, that's related to the trilling of the R
(originally intended as a trill) and subsequently lost
in the Germanic ethnic cauldron: hark the French and
cipher the English curling the tongue making the R curled
rather than trill - my idiosyncratic fascination aged 8.
  i thought i ought to end this with a thought about
what's a universal maxim in psychiatry
  in England in terms of a standard prognosis:
patient A has lost touch with reality...
      that's the prognosis, the diagnosis: dialectics of Gnostic
teachings? anyway, that's the standard,
that a person has lost touch with reality... what a great swindle!
     y

He has given a luxurious twist to the dying art of weaving and popularised the use of Khadi. Award-winning textile designer Gaurang Shah is more than happy that the Indian fashion industry has welcomed handlooms. “As a textile designer, I would like to say the Indian fashion industry has embraced handlooms with lot of admiration and helped revive our ancient traditions of weaving art, like the jamdani weaves, that we use in creating our fashion pieces,” Shah told IANS.

“It also reinforced its unparalleled beauty around the world,” he added. The designer says that one must acknowledge the passion and intense amount of production hours every weaver at the looms puts to bring out timeless pieces of handlooms.

“The fashion industry did contribute to bring them back into vogue in recent years,” he said. Shah showcased his latest collection of 40 garments titled Muslin at Lakme’s Fashion Week Summer/Resort 2017. His anthology for the gala was inspired by romance of nature.

Giving details about his range, he said: “Our collection incorporates weaves and techniques from West Bengal, Andhra Pradesh, Uttar Pradesh, Madhya Pradesh and Rajasthan. The amazing all-in-whites collections integrate gorgeous Mughal motifs and geometric patterns on Khadi, chikankari embroidery and Parsi gara.”

The designer’s collection involved 50 weavers working relentlessly for over six months. Shah, whose handloom creation made its way to the 69th Cannes Film Festival when Deepshikha Deshmukh, producer of Aishwarya Rai Bachchan starrer “Sarbjit”, stepped out in an ensemble featuring Paithani and Kanjeevaram details, says that handlooms are a glorious heritage of India and it is important to preserve and help the artists’ community grow.

“I would like to add that a few years ago this beautiful art was fading away. Thanks to persistent effort and motivation from label like ours, followed by the efforts of our Prime Minister Narendra Modi, that pushed Indian handlooms to higher level of acceptance,” he said.

Shah began his journey in the textile world with just two weavers and today the label works with 700 weavers, and the number is still growing.

“The biggest contribution we as a designer can make is to keep our artisans motivated and also help them gain confidence that it is a highly profitable profession,” said the designer, who has styled the stars like Vidya Balan, Sonam Kapoor and Kirron Kher.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-adelaide | www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses

how sensible it all seems, how crew-cut and with enough
anaesthetic to k.o. an elephant - outside the laboratories
the populists in whatever guise march on - as with any
congregation, atheists also muster up enough social muscle:
they too have their bouncers and other
gob-smackers with knuckle dusters -
as long as science is popularised it pushes
the boundaries of insensible chasms elsewhere -
                             but with so futile popularisation:
shortages in respective sectors: mandatory,
or as suggested: no longer rich bachelors and
         private laboratories - a science of regurgitation -
once they burned heretics, now the subtle
        championing of mingy sedatives - and since
Joan of Arc's heart no longer aspires to passion
and its all consuming fire, it turns into a wet
piece of coal - reining in the crowds of pop culture
zombies - said before, said again - but how
dislodged the feelings not ranging into absurdity
or at least nibbling on the zest of Dionysus;
but how things changed from that year, 2006,
everyone is asking, the poncy pope with glamorous
attire, the stiff-necked scientists - the pendulum
of guilt swinging in both directions - half of
the 20th century prescribed a fear magnanimously:
oddly enough - as implying: we forgive your
puny religious swooning and answering with
the easiest answers possible... here's a bomb -
so who are the sacred ones? they too are human -
the magazine dissected into:
a. what is reality? (can we be sure that the world
  we experience is not just a figment of our
    imagination) by roger penrose
     b. do we have free will? (the more we find
out about the brain works, the less room there
  seems to be for personal choice or responsibility)
     by patricia churchland
c. what is life? (if we encounter alien life,
chances are we wouldn't recognise it - not even
if it was here on earth) by robert hazen
d. is the universe deterministic?
   (however you look at it, the answer seems to be "maybe")
       by vlatko vedral
   e. what is consciousness? ("my soul is a hidden
    orchestra... all i hear is the music" - fernando pessoa)
            by paul brooks
f. will we ever have a theory of everything?
    (2000 years of rational inquiry may be approaching
  their crowning glory. just one more push could
   be enough...)
                            by michio kaku
   g. what happens after you die? (we have all
  wondered if there is an afterlife, but only a few are brave -
or foolish - enough to try and find out)
                                by mary roach
  h. what comes after **** sapiens?
  (all species are fated either to die out or to evolve
  into something else. all except humans, that is)
                   by james hughes -
so there we have it - the respective pillars of science,
whereby science replaces core beliefs into
core questions - to not hold firm, but to constantly
sway - the 8 founding questions - no more,
  no less - but how many people can perpetually sway?
   the supposed 8 universals, i.e. that every human
  being might, might not, will or will not ask -
     and for these 8 universals, exponential functions
of particulars: because that's how it's supposed
to be: chaotically democratic -
thus everyone knows the objectivity standard:
at its core is awe, outside the core pathology and
apathy - or let us say: passions and indifference -
then subdivisions of (+) and (-), and in general:
   however it is you feel: compensated or left starving.
in 2006, they congregated at a round table and
spoke god-this, god-that - no minority report,
  cold evidence never went down with women (or
so i'm told), three questions, question 1:
                 should science do away with religion?
oddly enough R. Dawkins said:
               "no doubt there are many people who do need
religion, and far be it from me to pull the rug from
under their feet." - we know that the bestseller
              the god delusion came out shortly after.
a physicist (S. Weinberg) similarly (c me la ri lee):
   "science can't provide a sense of magic about the world,
or a community of fellow-believers. there's a
religious mentality that yearns for that."
  L. Krauss: the success of science does not encompass
the entirety of human intellectual experience.
on and on this goes - i guess they have to debate for
the sake of debate - as i am sure everyone is aware:
   a debate can overpower the point of prayer -
confessions? i treat it more like poetry - but in saying
that... where is the medical profession in all of this?
we have astronomers, ecologists, biologists,
physicists, astrophysicists, planetary scientists,
cosmologists, philosophers... what's the odd one out?
it's a bit suspicious that this magazine does not
cite any chemists... and that's ****** obvious...
they're the ones making pacts with the devil -
whether Goethe's or Marlowe's Faust -
then at least to the more obscure rendition
of Pan Twardowski (Herr Tvardovsky) -
         but how odd it already is that chemists haven't
joined ranks with other scientists in their little
Friday night debating club meetings - seriously?
are those boffins serious about all of this?
            or as one said it:
i came from learning to write CO for carbon monoxide,
   and FeO for ferric oxide - or drawing electron migration
  diagrams when two compounds interact (a nice
playground of symbols) and went my way into
   some form of linguistics - primarily working on
          the tetragrammaton - i have no major interest
beyond this definition: would i debate the most
difficult metaphysical assumption of the omni-variations
in terms of ascribing the variations to a being?
i'd stumble in the metaphysical world on omnipresence,
meaning i would be a pantheist - meaning god
    would be anything and everything from the moon,
a mouse, an ant colony, my **** and what not -
            the all-in-one: for one thing, that's already much
too hellish to comprehend, let alone make comedy from.
but they haven't told you about the painkilling
saliva that beats morphine - catherine rougeo:
proceedings of the national academy of sciences,
vol. 103, p. 17979) - the compound's name? opiorphin,
or the scourge of Afghanistan. they also didn't
tell you about Saracen sabres - their scimitars contained
carbon nanotubes - forged from Indian steel
called wootz - 17th century examples studied by
P. Paufler (Dresden) found the carbon nanotubes
and even nanowires (nature, vol. 444, p. 286) -
or is this becoming to look very much like traffic
on London's M25 during rush-hour? it certainly is,
as was intended -
                   1950s: age of optimism -
influenza wave from the east, the indestructible transistor,
   television without wires, baby computer the size of
  a piano, rubber windshields, genetic chemistry,
atomic aircraft, the neutrino, sputnik 1, strontium-90
(radioactive ash)  used by manufacturers of woven
and knitted fabrics to overcome fog markings,
the coleopter, polypropylene (the remnants of German
word-compounding revealed in chemistry, and
only in chemistry, elsewhere compounding is
replaced by hyphenation, i.e. hyphenating),
                  and so on and so forth until present day -
passing through Sir, Julian, Huxley, who reinvented
****** with "positive" eugenics - oh sure, it was still
alive and kicking - quark hunters draw a blank -
             i could reference all else that was involved
in making the last 60 years - beyond that people are
call it ancient history - or are Virgil and as Horace,
and as Ovid did - turned their back to the world,
         into their poplar groves and jasmine filled gardens,
and said: ta'oh!           ta'oh!                 Tao!
  but not until then, before embarking i'm already
dreading to embark with something to add, to even
voice this -                                     but i guess i might:
  as ever, the freedom of speech is never as grand a
                                      luxury as the freedom to think.

it's so middle-class it almost deceives the idea
of a functioning economic model,
if this woman gets to write this for
rent and grocery money, i'd rather stick
it out on bread-and-butter puddings in india
mid the squalor, as honest as there is
or there isn't a god -
she's basically trapped with a hamster ontology
of the treadmill -
she's discussing "emoji" (ditto regarding
correct pronunciation), i.e.
emo- -gee                              or
                        the emotional Jinn -
or the emotive genie - Aladdin somewhere -
i mean emoji and jive? **** don't pair up!
the journalist is clever in dismembering feminism,
girls get *****, X to patriarchy,
but we need to sort out...
this emo jive **** is worse than caveman material...
i'll take an oath on it: i can't run 100 metres in
under 10 seconds...
my bone density is lighter than what the general
practitioner prescribed the africans
at the paraolympic games -
**** swam like the partially limbless -
the medal ceremony was taking place
but still the ivory and sclera at midnight visible
swam, and swam...
throw a ******* rhino or a horse in there
and it'll beat the cheetah... moor boor! moor boor!
b'oh! if this is the prime concern of
feminism i'd be abhorred by the excuse of
expression per se... come on! emotional jive
instead emotional gee? what's this, an Oliver Twist
sub-plot revision?
i'm surprised women are buying into
feminism at this stage,
she's a womb and she's a house,
he's a vector and he's the return -
take her from nesting and he does not care
for being nested, he's out in the open,
when all these girls turn to what Darwinism taught them,
after all Darwinism is feminism's only compatriot,
take the spider nursery on the back of the mother,
the polar bear single mother abandoned by
the male raising her dues,
the politicised Islamic harem of monkeys
serving as argument for both origin and no origins
(you can't be as noble as the swans
overnight caring for the practice of
widowing, unless it be as quick
as black widow's or mantis' -
after all Darwinism taught us to not thieve
but to borrow, and look where borrowing left us) -
feminism only emerged because of Darwinism
being popularised, it was perfect because of its
overt use of images and a lack of salon literature of
aristocratic ladies listening eagerly while
Balzac farted into a page and the supper was made
and served by the house-staff -
never mind the sheikhs and their Lamborghini collections;
i'm careful of the spine and the half-horse-power
of my legs than the shiny wheelchairs.

ancient tongues were constructed on the basis of pure verbs... hence the spirit of tragedy reigning over them, taking them seriously... but modern tongues were constructed on the basis of pure nouns... hence the spirit of comedy reigning over them, taking them spontaneously: too many comedians... to few poets... too many comedians... too few poets... better find the Judases among your so called "feminists" than among us men... after all, there is something to be fathomed, an equilibrium, natural, rather than polarised by scientific guarantee... and never again was something as beautiful as a coliseum ever constructed as it was, in order to provide an aesthetic of decay of proof: that some thing were done in order to be remembered, rather than be popularised: duo sabbati finis quatro papilio non gloria... how eloquent our number of nouns, and yet our lead-caste frames, iron, solid, stiff... no Cleopatra would ever have cared to live beyond puberty in this "democratic" age... i don't know why i'm dragging myself through this through of *******, i would have drank with Mark Anthony sooner than i'd yawn as a greatly criticised movie worth 2 hours of my life that i'd had to see... all the better... two hours hid from the Spartan gymnasium that no one ever seemed to appreciate, given that there was no clarifying dogma.*

there be no truth to a rhymed saying suggesting a repeat,
for the love of god i'd try to replete
such love and such beauty to be repeated,
but there is none,
the arch triumphant that once greeted
us is no more, and never will be revised,
however much we wish to plagiarise,
look away from my heart....
look elsewhere, among Dante's pines...
among the hellish whirlwinds... look elsewhere,
i beseech you; for i am so blinded by
hate that i might as well we writing this to
my mother as i might to my  lover...
and my lover as my foremost spy of under-minded
heart... t trust the simple act of
arithmetic in the beating boom boom... boom boom...
for the womb of my unwise tread i'd return
to the haunted dynamic to joke in Irish...
had i only spoken Gaelic - and not the northern
grit of kindred Berlin...
then i too would entomb my mother in such
misery... but i dare not! Ave Eva...
yours in Pompeii, hushed a riddling of your disgrace,
once more reminded before the execution commence,
by no more begging, the riches of all of man prescribed
unto you... to squander, with all the illusions
of placebos begged for later in old age never asked for;
how strange then, to have made one life
so many, when that one life wanted to be one
among many... and to have churned a false sense of
retribution, giving more beauty to this world that ought
be given, with the already given....
as if encrypted to say originality once,
yet plagiarism twice... what life could have been
that your life is... and mine isn't, crescendo Abel...
to say: the able son is no more, so thus the canned hopes
of the once gifted abilities, so that i might be born,
away from Golgotha, away from the billionth credo.

As the last of the living die

Important now, than ever, to remember their story

To head their warning.

When tomorrow veers its head



And we mistake a put down

To a popularised form of politic

Let’s not forget their warning.

Let’s not forget mankind’s ability

To watch idly by - even contribute -

To what the victors later call atrocities

Only when they see victory



So let’s not let victory be the hand

That shows today’s atrocities.

Don’t be idle.

See, speak, hear - let evil wash over you

So that you see it for what it’s worth.



Head the warnings of the last of the living

Before they die.

an aging symptom
of the mediocre.

- assorted justifications of happenstance -

three bottles of 8.2% strength of cider... nothing...
it's understandable that high % beers are
reserved for alcoholics and taste bad...
but... when it comes to cider... at 8.2% it's like:
not drinking wine...

quick change of pace: 35cl of whiskey...
ooh... an itch that needs to be typed
and words have to be conjured from nothing...
listening to Button Poetry stand-up
poetry readings, cringing...
where's my straitjacket where is my Hannibal
Lecter mask... i need to bite on some bones...
bones of an over-baked chicken...
**** out the marrow... pretend to say hello
while clucking and clocking in a morning
with... with no more intention than
the intention already arrived at by a cockerel...

probably the first fun football match i was willing
to watch in a long time...
the magic sometimes happens...
Tottenham up 0 - 2 against Manchester City...
just me and dad watching the football...
last few minutes in the first half...
that's Tottenham two nil up...
then... the second half happened...
2 - 2 within the space of 45min + 10min...
and then... a solo show from the Algerian
Mahrez... sometimes it's fun watching a game
of football when one player has a carpe diem
stamina and the rest of the team
is... gripped by a passer-by mentality...
i'm having this passer-by mentality...

unlike the death-and-hollow-pangs of anguish
when existentialism was born, notably with Kierkegaard,
perhaps even Kafka...
i'm becoming more and more at home
within the confines of my alienation...
i realised that i started reading
Dickens' Pickwick Papers and didn't finish it...
gladly revisited: since the original was serialised
so even if abandoned: an easily returned to script...
i still remember some details...
Dostoyevsky's the Idiot... also started... not finished...
well... better heel myself in the ***
to get a move on...
not to mention Heidegger's black notebook
ponderings VII through to XI...
                  
     ****... another... Spinoza's Theological-Political
Treatise... in English...
that's the truly accessible Spinoza...
i wouldn't recommend reading Spinoza's
ethics in a ******... it doesn't really matter
it's a language i was born with...

   in English the form of words
that end with -ing...
    thinking, counting, running...
cycling, demanding...
similarity of tongues but with a different form...
beginning with dość: enough...
szczer-ość (truthfulness),
                   ladodn-ość - gentleness...

or like all the Croat surnames ending so:
   Puli-šić
                            well... this plentiful little life...
this little life of a nobody who bit his pride and sort
of figured out that people with little authority
have this self-aggrandizing monstrosity
of the Quasimodo complex...

so i have this friend living all the way in Hawaii,
London - Hawaii...
i told her that i'd love to be homeless on an island
with great fun aura of complimenting
me sleeping in the cannon of gushing warm
air... she sent me some compliments from
that land: way far away...
dried pineapple, macadamia nut shells...
i bet there are not oaks on that island:
one islander to another islander...
a year passed and we know each other's addresses...
we're not bullshitting or scamming...
now we made a date of it
by phoning each other...
tremors... i'm getting a stage-fright since she
already knows what i look like
and how flimsy i can be when it comes to
****** encounters... sure... even i too could
own that dog of commitment because
*** has become a sort of Apéritif -
bragging rights of women liberated with the maimed
men chained: i feel sorry for
those circumcised buggers who don't know
the feeling of ******* with *******...
and lasting longer during *******
having the ******* constricting the blood flow:
to hello, bishop's head purple...

but it's like that scene from Dancing in the Rain
with the face mismatching the voice...
what if my voice isn't rhapsody prone, RHASPIC...
not hung-over, not manly, gritty enough...
warped self-itemizations borrowed from youth...

or the currency of shame inducement
borrowed from all those proud specimens
of degrading parenthood as a parasitic
inhibition process of achieving full potential
living alone, alone self-praise!
while in some random Hindu household
we're talking less individuality and more:
get with the times, grandma is aching
and father is moralising...
can't bring a boyfriend home...
oh yawn and yawn some more...
maybe if i glued my eyes to feeding the expression
of language into the fabric of a paragraph
i might be a more serious and seriously undertaken
sort of person than all this empty voiding space
of the cascade of poo-tried...
maybe...

then again: life ought to be about making it easier
to struggle less with all the demands,
expectations, even those born from the grandiosity
of being served to align oneself by
being morphed by the grandiosity of the seas
and the mountains, this little atom called man...
make life all that can be bearable and
unconditionally civil...
learning the first lesson and the last lesson
in life: wisdom is born from dialogue...
while knowledge is a vector of agitating oneself
to speak with oneself...
wisdom is a dialogue
while knowledge is a monologue...

so much for spewing quotes, rotas of maxim
but never adhering to them...
sentimentally sort of adjusting
the frail thinking to a frailer mind...
and hardly any soul to drink from a fountain
at the bottom of the drip drip drip...

language apparently conjures itself up
spontaneously whenever feeling: no intentions
no purpose... instead: all that's in-between
of struggling to meet demands...

i'm tired i'm lazy... but i'll still find the pillow
my head will rest on in the thick-glue-of-night...
because i'm lazily so...
i was supposed to go to the gym with
my lesbian coworker...
she met someone... as lesbians do...
she woke up in her bed... lovin' it i replied...
well...
who doesn't want to be loved...
when surrounded by men who confuse a woman
for a man... while you're there dribbling her
assurances telling her: Pixie haircuts...
butch? the butcher who?
piercings, tattoos, Mohawk undercut hair...
rings... butch-rings... six-pack...
who doesn't want to be loved?
i don't... i like the idea of utility beside the neediness
of being love...
i like to think of interacting with fellow man
like a door is requiring a door-****
and a key and a keyhole to lock, to stash,
in a safety of the back-of-the-mind...

              love has become ridiculously simple to me...
but my god, i miss the youthful idealism
of what love was once...
Stendhal and the Crimson and the Black...
origins: always ******* French...
that was fun then and not so much now...
love is like owning a cat... or two cats...
i can ignore i can be ignored
and all this ignoring, mutually sacrificial...
leaves the cat and the owner with
a sense: but you'll be there when i meow
asking for the "manna from heaven"?
you'll be there when you let me go outside
but then i return and want to be let back in
into the warmth because it's cold outside...
and i'll plough the imploring meow in my defence
of you: taking care of me...
love, therefore? so much so much less about
pretending, parroting...
cinema dates, dates in the restaurant...
i just need love to resemble:
i need a shadow come noon
and i'm hardly moving, hardly moving like
a ticking clock...
i want love to be readily available: a readily available
duty of anti-conferencing demands
and... all the bliss of nothing that is to be ever met
for a hope of precursor expectations...
explanations...
something freely given like...
drowning if one is incapable to swim...
or falling with all the flamboyance of gravity...
falling to one's death like first flight seagull chick
or... hardly flapping...
freefalling like a sack of potatoes...

better still: i could do all the housework and work
on the side...
all the nitty-gritty *******...
but... i have found... it's almost impossible
for women to savour the own self-serving gratitude
of performing the feminine-exfoliation
of character building... less controversial
and somehow... appeasing, appeasing...
i have a pair of ******* between my legs...
i don't need a pair in my throat
heaving the grandiosity of constipating Plato
against a brick-wall...

cycling with a heaving, always remembering to
breathe through the nose,
sometime gasping for air skin
to a goldfish figuring out the bubble of BOB
tongue tickling: lapping and history via
only the etymological sourcing of events
completely idle within the confines
of the canvas of Darwinism...
overdoing measurements
               confining a kilometre into the "size"
of a centimetre...

cycling much better than having ***...
esp. when the brothel dynamic changes...
jealous women are: jealous women...
they keep you endeared to have more ***
without it being ***: ***...
one pleasured woman is at least
two angry women who are:
"oddly" not compatible with you...
because ever-knowing already spoke to them:
it's just impossible to relate to please
everyone...

life and traffic... custard bulging like so:
regurgitation: like foam of freezing
and hot-air ballooning...
     exploding lungs in details of cubism:
written about rather than painted...
violins crushed... sounds akin to the harmony
of representing the concept of music:
squared... crushed... never to be heard...
just knock-knock on an imaginary door...
a door a house that was formerly only a cave...
  
               even language: this flimsy kite serving
the ever flimsy atom of ego that's
extending and exploring the horizon of
who we let go: to live their life as any living creature
might... self-absorbed, self-serving,
self-gratifying... autobiographical-who?
most probably either me, or you; the towed two of
towering halving shadows
with fully-exploding faces of smiles: fakes;
cornflakes crisp... mud-holes and that
endless fascination with bears...
hibernating mammals...
what use and purpose of hammers...
pyramids... the bears sleep through the worst
ordeal of the seasons...
so much for music and so much for art...
flimsy compensations... ****** reparations...

blocked tube... if one there was a Marx writing
a history of man... by now we know
that Darwin is the new Marx...
with Marx the communist
and Darwin the capitalist...
                  i hardly think animals
ventured to apply the intermediate
medium of money in relating X to Z... via Y...
parents, busy... so? the existence of the nanny...
animals have no concept of the third party: helpful...
at least parasites are two-dimensional...

Darwin is like Marx... unavoidably true...
but truth: this sort of truth: Nietzsche's aversion to Darwinism
plain-sight...
no sight of liberation...
it's just a mundaneness of Atlas passing
the globe to the little man and: the ants fared better...
ants and Solomon fared better...

to me Darwinism is like Marxism...
escaping Darwinism is not aided by journalism,
tabloid press... or fictive escapism...
or science per se...
    Darwinism has become an impasse
unlike the possibility of filtering the flaws of Marxism
through... **** sapiens and ogling
into the warped-hole kaleidoscope-****
of the **** similis of ape...
mammalian borrowing ontologies of fellow
mammals and further extending the borrowing,
stealing from other categories of animals:
the Mantis Woman... **** me...
at least Marxism allowed a group-think
being together and the common good is...
and the commonality of evil is...
and we can overcome said X to accomplish
yet to be discovered Y...
but with Darwinism the new Marxism this
atomised man... this grammatical baron
this mammal of lent traits of other mammals...
the crown... atop the decapitated head
of king Charles II...

i wasn't a fan of Marxists writing history...
i'm also not a fan of Darwinists writing the history
of the world...
that's Darwinism outside the scope
of the actual science, what's being popularised...
who want to wake up in the safeguard
of an Agrarian Society?
   while giving into the impulses of hunter and gather
sexed up shamanism...
easily liberated: so much for forward thinking...
so much for planning...
i love being "bored" with a book...
i love being bored cycling...
i love to not love having ***...

                    such advancements and yet so little
to show for it...
   because... spaghetti-feet tangling married
to shoe-laces...
               life without advertisements...
because... you only end up buying what you need
and not what other people demand you to buy
for them to buy in return...
       i abhor Darwinism as much as Marxism
in the realm of history...
it's soul crushing... it's soul-denying...
  Darwinism and Marxism are like-for-like...
to admire the natural world and feel jealous:
the clowns of the mammalian hierarchy,
the bears... sleep through winter... we? get goosebumps
from the cold...

and just because Darwinism originated in the English language?
no wonder it's being kept like that historical artifact
of the the crucified man... being:
hmm... and the wisdom of man is purest
by being so insolent as to have to be crucified?
said wisdom seems, therefore, borrowed... not his...
given the account of Matthias ben Josephus...
i was sold a ******* lie...
praise to Islam for having a pair of *******...
i wouldn't even dream of concerning myself
with dictating the replication of my DNA as thumb,
rule, to preserve... what?! only i thought what i thought...
does it matter whether i spit or ******* or
take a **** or... have eggs in three ways:
scrambled, poached or fried?!
does it?!

   the useful idiocy of women and the preservation
of non-intended demands outside the confines
of the natural world...
at one point the pyramids of Giza
yet another pin-point the Hagia Sophia of Constantinople...
me scribbling so little with such adamant
desire to shackle myself to fervours of
earthquakes... even if disappointing
and never to accomplish a widespread focus
of influencing others...
i'll die... with a welcomingly arrived at
THE END... and i will have no son or daughter
to grieve for me... or... list a litany of forgiving(s) -
because i failed... at least i failed on my own.

Celebrating birth anniversary
Not at all necessary
Marking a beginning
For one with no beginning

Limiting the limitless
Hence also endless
Conquering the Clock
Relevance never out of stock

Road to immortality
Brought about by multifaceted personality
The present stands testimony
To eternal popularity

Popularised martial arts
Using movies as a canvas
Super heroic deeds a marvel
Marvel heroes wear his shell

Found answers from within
For Questions about the creation
Complete knowledge of himself
Knew the difference between him and the self

Kept it simple
Led by example
Lived by a principle
Reached every pinnacle

Every quote and philosophy
Useful to everybody
Helps in living life
For which he tirelessly strived

Child Actor Champion dancer
Stunt coordinator Producer
Movie Actor Screenplay writer
Director Teacher

Martial artist and philosopher
Fittest and Quickest ever
God for the underdog
Resides in every one's heart

Came for a purpose
Did not digress
Accomplished every goal
Became part of every Soul

Never born never died
Can never be defined
Wherever one has a  void
He plays that role to make it devoid

Harped in simplicity
Pray for a hard life the irony
Bruce plus Lee equals easy
He's sorted it out follow his path simply

Known to kids
Before they are six
How and Why the question
Answer lies within The Dragon