"practical" poems
Before there was anything that mattered everything that would ever be existed , it was the essence of totality , it was without dimensional constriction or necessitated form . Optimistically speaking time had no relative realism to it’s progression because realistically nothing had happened yet . As it continued it became according to it’s innate inflections as a functionally integrable form . The questionably understandable nature of it’s conjunction was an omnipotent directive beyond necessitated action or morphological construction . The enigmatic consciousness of it’s relatively interrelated conception was spontaneous and yet it continued without elemental omniscience.
As the relative complexity of it’s interrelations evolved dimensional consistence was born. Humanly understandable laws of physical integration governed many facets of it’s conjunction yet the totality of it’s ramification was beyond humanly realistic conjecture .
The organic morphology of biological ontogeny was a conceptually reflective derivative of functional physical mechanics yet it’s diversity exceeded it’s physical complexity , understanding evolved . Relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity succeeded in a hierarchy of functionally integrable forms .
Retrospectively speaking pragmatic practicality is a humanly rational possibility . Rational logic can conceive of individually totalitarian structural forms , yet the implosive nature of their rational cohesiveness becomes a practical partiality due to the diversity of their definitive impetus .
Perhaps the essence of our being is the logical counterpart for the matrix of our subjectively conclusive social fragmentation , or perhaps we are evolutionally incapable of cumulatively rational correlation. Problematic diversity could be perfectible on an individually infinite level or contrarily perhaps ubiquitous causality is the ultimate survivor.
In any case it is beyond our subjugatively rational cohesive coercion to intercede en masse on our own behalf as an integrated unit. Our conceptual abilities have been thwarted by the unmitigatably individual nature of our extraneous conclusiveness .
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 5:15 PM UTC
Are you listening to the whispers? are you feeling scandalised?
Harbouring ***** little feelings that you wanna sanitise?
Walk through the swinging doors of a catholic franchise
Ask em for that sailors knot a black-n-white man-ties
To the pairs of prying eyes his practical rebuke
Is a marital disguise and a tactical puke
Throw the garter ‘mongst the pigeons, the voluntary victims...
Whose single minds are filled with matrimonial conviction
Paired up poets pool their miseries; the price of art
Each miserable synergy - the sum of its parts
Did he swear that he’d hold you ever dear to his heart?
To love and to cherish til your knees did part?
If she wants you like her father and you want her like your mother
What the hell are you gonna do when you’re bored of one another?
There she stands on ceremony all silk and sinew
While the vow evicted from his Adam’s apple continues
To stutter as the panic builds like stifled farts
Til it splutters its devotions on her lady parts
Her eyes sentence you to sit though your neck-hairs stand
She’s the ****** ****** written in the lines on your palm
Old scores squeeze sideways through her gritted teeth
And he takes on the debt of every promise she believed
Hide the love-bites in a polo-neck, your love life in a Rolodex
When the ***** hand of happen-stance runs its evil down your keks
Cos like the indelible digits on your bathroom mirror
Love is for life until you dress it with liquor
If she wants you like her father and you want her like your mother
What the hell are you gonna do when you’re bored of one another?
We are but experiments, seven billion shades of wrong
The clever ones stay celibate, the others pass it on
That’s an easy line to settle-on in present company
Single-riders in the peloton to pick up the debris
Mar 7, 2018
Mar 7, 2018 at 5:44 PM UTC
☾
*I wish I were the Moon
Bequeathing an enchanting night
A mystical celestial sphere
Bewitching lover’s hearts
A practical magic spell
C a s t
In a lonely hollow shell
An ardent musical echo ―
Released in an irrepressible
Impassioned moan
A twilight sigh
escaping in untamed
Blissful breath
A Sky without Moonbeams
Is like a world without song
It takes a certain darkness
To heed a Sky full of Stars alone
I wish I were Moonstruck
A fate I crave to behold
Waxing and Waning
Rising ― Changing
A distant ocean’s ebbing tide
A captivating enchantment
In the twilight beauty
Of your eyes
Dreaming of drowning
Deep within
Their deepest water’s Wild
I don't want to wake up
and become ―
More fading
Barefoot traces left behind
On some faded memory's
Deserted shore
Right now is all
There ever is ―
and
I wish I were
The Moon tonight*
Jesse Stillwater ... May 2018
May 22, 2018
May 22, 2018 at 3:28 PM UTC
A confident man feels not a need to speak
on all things with which he does not agree
Though in the proper time and place
he is not afraid to assert his way
And though his words at times cause spurn,
he will admit when they are out of turn
Fearing not the inevitable mistake,
but rather owning it too late
Caring and feeling without hesitation
and not for reciprocal adulation
Emotions are expressed appropriately;
either subtlety or rationally
As honest with others as with himself;
recognizing what he does and doesn’t do well
Claiming to know what he does know
and asks when he don’t
Pursuing tasks for their benefit and or joy
rather than status or fleeting ploys
Those latter things are often great fun,
but worry of them yields none
While in his mind there is good thinking,
he is more occupied with good acting
In order to have concerns of the ideological,
requires labors that are practical
On his confidence, he does not ponder,
as neither he or anyone wonders
of whether he truly possesses it.
We know it.
Sep 19, 2018
Sep 19, 2018 at 6:25 PM UTC
He is Capricorn
I am Aquarius
He is Mars
I am Venus
He is analytical and practical
I am intuitive whimsy emotional
He is structure and rules
I am freedom and going with the flow
He is kids house ring white picket fences
I am spur of the moment camp outs and never settling
He wants to be on a white horse
I climbed down from that tower a long time ago
Or so I thought...
Because when his hand brushes mine, a chance meeting, all that I thought I knew melted for a second and I could see a Life doing it the Capricorn way
He is Capricorn
I am Aquarius
One chance meeting made me aware we could be something serious
What will happen to our two zodiac signs?
One chance meeting
I leave it all behind
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 3:14 PM UTC
I've been practicing lucid dreaming for a while now, and I think I've almost got it down.
(If you didn't know, lucid dreaming is kind of like dreaming, but with the lights on. It's very cool.)
The way it works -- or at least, in the method I'm using -- is by first establishing a "totem." I use the jade elephant you gave me for my birthday three days before it happened.
What you do is you alter your totem in a unique way so that it really stands out to you, incase you ever come across it in your dreams; this way hopefully it will jump-shock your mind into consciousness, allowing you to take the wheel.
I wrote your initials on the back. DN.
And I know you'd probably be thinking "why would you ever waste time perfecting a skill that will never have any practical use?"
You always were the practical one. But hear me out.
When I dream, it is the only time I get to see you.
You know, you've been gone for almost a year this Tuesday, and this jade elephant is all I have left. This jade elephant, and your initials. This Jade elephant, and DN.
I miss you, man.
And I don't really know how comas work, but if you can hear me, just know that I've almost got it down.
Soon, it'll be just like the old days.
I promise.
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 11:18 AM UTC
A proud man,
Upright and unshakable
In belief and morals,
Once only I did I see him
Without a tie.
A child of Edwardian England,
The links Of his watch chain
Glinted
As they hung
With formality and elegance
From his waistcoat pocket,
Yes, even as he worked.
And work he did.
Patiently,
Brilliantly and tirelessly
With ingenuity and imagination.
A craftsman from a bygone age.
A master of his tools.
Grandfathers are soft,
Playful, bear-like in their
Gruff-whiskered familiarity.
Not Poppy.
Unwittingly aloof from his grandchildren,
We avoided the need for directly addressing him,
Unsure of where we stood.
He’d probably have secretly
Loved the informality
Of our secret nickname.
I hope he knew.
The chapel piano did for him.
Too much weight for his work-weary ticker.
Grandma gave me his pocket watch to keep,
And for a time I treasured it,
Measuring its weight
Like a smooth round pebble
In my palm.
A workman’s watch;
Practical.
A yellowing face
Behind a scratched
And hazy glass.
But accurate,
And precise.
Reliable as the man.
Detached in life,
I liked to hope that
Gazing down,
Watching,
He just might have
Laughed
In loving acknowledgement of his
Grandson’s curiosity
And foolishness
Sitting cross-legged on the carpet,
With heart-thumping nausea
Adrift in a sea of springs.
Mar 21, 2011
Mar 21, 2011 at 3:15 AM UTC
The wisdom of God has always wanted big things to come in small packages.
And like grace in unlikely places,
so is the story of a child.
In us (children), God shares His experiences with Humanity (patience, love, discipline, leadership, etc). Its a practical class.
For In our heart is the possibility of Heaven
And like us are those who live there.
We are the glory of God concealed and it is your honor to find us out.
We are the heritage from the Lord, a weapon of defense, and a great company for comfort.
The most blessings of any family is hidden in us, by God.
Like an arrow in The hands of the mighty,
the one who shoots us, as directed by God will never miss his target.
We come into your lives, you love us, we grow, we learn, and we love you back.
We are that godly seeds the great husband man searches for.
May 27, 2016
May 27, 2016 at 4:15 AM UTC
You know the type.
She's probably called something like
Isabella. Rosalie. Ginevra.
and you find her in the sort of novel where
she's outdone by someone called something like
Jane. Agnes. Lucy.
She's remembered in criticism as
Trivial. Silly. Foolish.
She's defined as Shallow. Vain. False gold.
She's analysed as the mirror, the contrast or the foil
and you're supposed to vaguely dislike her.
She'll reaffirm to the reader that the heroine,
whether she be plain or beautiful, is always, in the end,
Rational. Independent. Brave.
She reaffirms the heroine as someone who
learns and grows
while the silly girl is left looking at herself in the mirror.
The thing is sometimes I feel more like the silly girl,
the girl who needs a hand, the girl who reads books
and wants to believe the stories.
Sometimes, I'm looking in the mirror,
chest deep in my own trivial, silly little worries,
looking at the puddles not the lake, and I know.
I know I'd be one of the silly girls,
not the heroine, out there, just surviving.
I'd be one of those silly girls and I hate it - and yet
- what's so wrong with the silly girls?
What's so wrong with the girls who love themselves,
or love the wrong people or love their clothes?
What's wrong with the girls who are
brave but not rational,
independent but trivial,
selfish but practical?
What's wrong with those girls,
because I always find myself preferring
the Ginevras and the Isabellas anyway.
Jan 9, 2018
Jan 9, 2018 at 11:56 AM UTC
*
How many times we starved ourselves
dreaming something that we can’t have…
How many times we deprived ourselves
from wanting the life we wanted the most
just because we lack something or
having the practical mind that it is not for us…
Sometimes we starved ourselves to limit our flight.
Bound by rules, responsibilities, duties,
or even culture, tradition and religion…
Despite all that, we balance everything
for what’s right, what feels right
The Weighing of the Heart ---
*
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 12:09 AM UTC
Probability.
I sit here in class,
Seeing my teacher talk;
It's probably something useful
On probability.
How about the probability of my life?
Probability to do my homework;
Non because I've been called a ******** so many times, I've given up.
Probability of me getting the perfectly imperfect version of a boyfriend;
Zilch because no one appreciates a young healthy, very curvy sophomore with a DD,
Yet people who make fun of me will WISH and HOPE for my ******* in their future years
They will even get surgery just to make themselves like me,
So what is the practical probability they stop making fun of me;
Zilch!
Probability that I will be seen as more than an object to others;
******** to none because I don't make an effort anymore, not after sixth grade.
Probability I will ever feel completely good about myself as a whole;
Maybe because I have six awesome friends who don't put me down.
Probability my life will get better;
Someday but not today
My past made an irreplaceable mark on me
And my probability.
Will the percentage grow,
Along with my hopes?
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 11:40 PM UTC
Somebody is shooting at something in our town --
A dull pom, pom in the Sunday street.
Jealousy can open the blood,
It can make black roses.
Who are the shooting at?
It is you the knives are out for
At Waterloo, Waterloo, Napoleon,
The **** of Elba on your short back,
And the snow, marshaling its brilliant cutlery
Mass after mass, saying Shh!
Shh! These are chess people you play with,
Still figures of ivory.
The mud squirms with throats,
Stepping stones for French bootsoles.
The gilt and pink domes of Russia melt and float off
In the furnace of greed. Clouds, clouds.
So the swarm ***** and deserts
Seventy feet up, in a black pine tree.
It must be shot down. Pom! Pom!
So dumb it thinks bullets are thunder.
It thinks they are the voice of God
Condoning the beak, the claw, the grin of the dog
Yellow-haunched, a pack-dog,
Grinning over its bone of ivory
Like the pack, the pack, like everybody.
The bees have got so far. Seventy feet high!
Russia, Poland and Germany!
The mild hills, the same old magenta
Fields shrunk to a penny
Spun into a river, the river crossed.
The bees argue, in their black ball,
A flying hedgehog, all prickles.
The man with gray hands stands under the honeycomb
Of their dream, the hived station
Where trains, faithful to their steel arcs,
Leave and arrive, and there is no end to the country.
Pom! Pom! They fall
Dismembered, to a tod of ivy.
So much for the charioteers, the outriders, the Grand Army!
A red tatter, Napoleon!
The last badge of victory.
The swarm is knocked into a cocked straw hat.
Elba, Elba, bleb on the sea!
The white busts of marshals, admirals, generals
Worming themselves into niches.
How instructive this is!
The dumb, banded bodies
Walking the plank draped with Mother France's upholstery
Into a new mausoleum,
An ivory palace, a crotch pine.
The man with gray hands smiles --
The smile of a man of business, intensely practical.
They are not hands at all
But asbestos receptacles.
Pom! Pom! 'They would have killed me.'
Stings big as drawing pins!
It seems bees have a notion of honor,
A black intractable mind.
Napoleon is pleased, he is pleased with everything.
O Europe! O ton of honey!
7.8k
Because he was the robin, see
I built him a birdhouse made of the fingernails I chipped from every time I was forced to button up my own flannel shirt
It was quite silly and awkward-looking
So it didn't bother me when he didn't want to live there
It would take a lot of fake smiles and wooden blinds to tolerate a habitation such as the one I constructed for him
So it didn't bother me when he didn't want to live there
When he told me he was making a nest I took a paring knife from the kitchen drawer
When he told me he was making a nest I gave him 10 inches of weave to (through) the twigs
When he told me there were lots of split ends and varied shades
I wasn't too hurt because it was true
And I knew he would use twisty ties from bread bags instead
Which were much more practical than 10 inches of lover's hair
I just couldn't understand why he didn't give it back
He misplaced it, he said
How can you misplace something I had (longed) for him
Jan 3, 2013
Jan 3, 2013 at 3:12 AM UTC
Enigma entity’s ethology entelechy as it relates to clairaudience clairvoyance.
Everyone has a personal futurity fatidic or existential metaphysique.
What we need is a universally acceptable form of id conclusion.
Unfortunately we can’t even agree on the social stigmatisms of ego’s expression.
We are relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity that succeed in a hierarchy of functionally integrateable forms.
There is no functional deontology, even though its visage would seem to portend cogently fecund probity for all.
We are not ethereally sublime, we are corporeally preternatural.
Objective is individual; obligation to each other is not a mandate.
Though many might find it inherently indispensible to some it impedes success.
The depths of debauchery this debacle ensues are almost intrinsically endemic to our race.
How am I going to get there becomes more important than ‘what are we fighting for’.
So, if there’s no unity of purpose how do we decide who we are fighting for.
Will it be good for all or lead to oligarchy and subjugation, the seemingly inescapable byproduct of capitalism, the inherent decadence of socialism.
It’s times like this that make me love the constitutional fortitude of Americanism.
Theoretically I have an inalienable right, hypothetically this leads to anarchy so I’m not allowed to mess with your rights.
This is mandate.
The republic for which we stand.
Mendacious tales of unity, not merely the obstinate tenacities of I, but also the cogent fecundity in the infamous we-ness of us.
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 6:04 PM UTC
Picketed, another generation pushing for advancement in the age of reason,
Logical, radical movement
Trying for less invasive measures of medication
To take the blinders off the prejudice of non-conformity and reach the masses
A promise to ease the pain, promote healing, the overall good
Met with violence, verbal slander, from mommies and daddies afraid of a world outside their white fence,
Fearing independence, the expansion of the mind, an openness in their youth to allow radical change.
The bloated belt bent backwards, white collar replaced by hedonistic practical libertarians in pursuit of happiness for all
Sick, disgusted with the man, the one behind the podium whom allows for this animosity on a group that did everything right, legally sound
Tired of hearing the whispers across a university, the hopeful gushing’s of elated individuals bright- eyes naive
Of a system that won’t allow something this controversial into the public, afraid to lose their hold on a potential capitol
On something that should be as easy to find in a free market as Captain Crunch, Coca-Cola, and Rice Krispy Treats.
Grinding down, fluffy-green-crystal bud
Dank yellow smoke smoldering out of pipes end, seeping out of closed lips billowing out of nostrils
Dragon fire down a throat coated with a week worth of soot, and experience
Choking, coughing, laughing away the misery
The disappointment in her fellow man to refuse to even consider the validity of a proven product
Knowing that if it was anything else a miracle drug composed of fairy dust, unicorn hair and the ***** of a thousand angels; approval would have been immediate.
Whip lash.
Flick, flame, fumigating
Baking myself into a calmer state, watching with ****** off grace
Twitching with the need to take action
To control this negative reaction, to slap the of face limp **** conservatives
So consumed with themselves, blind to the pain of people who have lost hope in other forms of relief
Alternative therapy shut off by a system obsessed with its war on drugs.
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 12:13 PM UTC
I remember sitting with my legs crossed
at an empty parking lot with you.
Burning our lungs,
sharing our deepest secrets at 3am
while I rest my head
on your shoulder that cold summer night.
I sang along our favorite songs
and you wished that time stopped
so we could still be together.
But alas,
You are still too damaged.
You think too much.
You are too practical.
You are not yet ready for anything.
And I’m left confused
and angry
and frustrated
and a little bit hurt, I guess.
So here we are again,
so here we go again.
Who would have thought
that we would actually
burn even faster
than our cigarettes?
— apbq
Jul 28, 2017
Jul 28, 2017 at 7:28 AM UTC
Around the table,
Literacy discussion turned elitist...
Bemoaning some poor Johnny,
Son of a plumber who does not read
Beyond the practical need,
And has no desire to.
I stopped to check my sense of what I had just heard...
Was transported to a prairie farm;
Thought of my Father, then in his eighties
Who felt no need and no sense of loss
For not having read Shakespeare nor Kant
For missing Milton's Paradises and Hemingway,
For by-passing Black Elk Speaks and C.S. Lewis.
Every morning, he read his Bible;
Some nights he read the mail's
Motley collection of literature:
Ads and politicians and fanatics,
Demanding money and his time,
But mostly money.
"I don't have time to read!"
He'd shout when I suggested a novel.
What literature he had was in his head,
Poems memorized when he was a boy
In a two room school, or
His own lines, written as a young man,
Describing work and friends
Long distant now, but still alive
In memory.
Dad taught me how to read
In different literacies and different texts:
Nuances of sky to read the weather -
What chill or storm or drought was on its way
("Storm's coming, boys! Let's get that hay!");
Cows and calves and bulls,
(Which one was sick or well, dry or bred);
Ways to diagnose mechanical ailments
("Start with the easiest options first");
Metals, to know which welding rod applied
("Aluminum sags, and cast iron cracks");
Grain, rolled crisp between hard hands,
(a test of ripeness);
Cement, to blend the perfect mix,
("Clean gravel/sand, no dirt, not too much water!);
Conservation,
("Always keep some grain on hand" &
"Keep your fuel above half-tank").
So many literacies...
Dad, the Master Reader of them all...
No wonder he'd no time for books.
Dec 20, 2011
Dec 20, 2011 at 9:26 PM UTC
So many questions in my head about simple religions
are they something God made or just devil envisioned?
Its kind a practical but if I ask I'm demon possessed
**** let me breathe in this cult I manifest.
I'm lead to believe in something I don't understand
I ask with such command am I insane because of this.
They tell you two things opposite from each other
but share the same views like prosperity and salvation.
Telling you to not follow Islamic Ramadan,
Hinduism caste systems or anything that corrupts the mind.
To me its just nothing but simple communism
an oxymoron for morons without a way of living.
Too many days hoping for a message in a source in a enlightened force instead of letting nature take its course.
How many years am I gunna live behind shades
Even my shadow gets the most attention.
Tired of wishing for the best still the stress keeps consuming
success is up a hill a thousand miles away.
Only if I had dreams to steal just to **** time
A false grind running in circles chasing my own ***
well even a dog wouldn't chase after a ***** with a fur collar
I'm a dog barking at these strays.
No choice no vision just a broken sand clock
paused days seems to delay my own knowledge.
No oracles its rhetorical trapped inside of Matrix living a basic life
Brainwashed by circles of successors.
So many serpents biting my flesh in this Garden of Eden
Starving and bleeding constantly dreaming when I'm sleep
and when I'm sleeping I'm 2 steps behind.
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 10:32 AM UTC
Pleasure, oh pleasure sitting in silence
Among the lime trees
The silence of delight
A perfect pardon
Sitting here in silence
Among the lime trees
No hurry, no hurry
To go anywhere
While strangers offer smiles
Such perfect smiles
Sitting here in silence
Among the lime trees
Magic a specialisation
A practical specialisation
Sitting here in silence
Among the lime trees
People of all kinds
Come streaming by
Pilot people
Sitting here in silence
Among the lime trees
People passing with such power
Sitting here in silence
Among the lime trees
All power is violence
Sitting here in silence
Among the lime trees
Pleasure, oh pleasure
Sitting here in silence
Among the lime trees
No power is needed here
Sitting here in silence
Among the lime trees
Only truth and justice
Sitting here in silence
Among the lime trees
No grievous ache remains a mystery
Sitting here in silence
Among the lime trees
That purple mass made clear
Sitting here in silence
Among the lime trees
An aroma here
Sitting here in silence
Among the lime trees
An exuding stupefying aroma
Sitting here in silence
Among the lime trees
That startles the sparrows
Identical sparrows
Sitting here in silence
Among the lime trees
Other silence is unequal
Sitting here in silence
Among the lime trees
A quivering tenor of silence
Sitting here in silence
Among the lime trees
Gilded silence that flashes
Hazily across the vision
Sitting here in silence
Among the lime trees
Frenzied silence, irresistible silence
Sitting here in silence
Among the lime trees
Silence split into fragments
Sitting here in silence
Among the lime trees
Fragments that remain intact
Sitting here in silence
Among the lime trees
Silence that vanishes from sight
Sitting here in silence
Among the lime trees
A severed silence
That remains infused
Golden and deceptive
Sitting here in silence
Among the lime trees
Like split up bandits
On the run
Sitting here in silence
Among the lime trees
Who race up two
Different boulevards
Sitting here in silence
Among the lime trees
A day return silence
Always nervous and irritable
Sitting her in silence
Among the lime trees
A softening handsome
Lilac colored silence
Sitting here in silence
Among the lime trees
Regal in its resonance
Of romance
Sitting here in silence
Among the lime trees
A silence of scarlet kerchiefs
Wears a tail coat
Has black raven hair
Sitting here in silence
Among the lime trees
Trying to catch spiders
Rats, little devils and dogs
Sitting here in silence
Among the lime trees
Day breaks
Inexorably in silence
Over the poet
Sitting here in silence
Among the lime trees
The unstoppable
Silence of silence
Sitting here in silence
Among the lime trees
Such silence once started
Is unstoppable
Sitting here in silence
Among the lime trees
Such as the strange silence
One finds in snow
Sitting here in silence
Among the lime trees
Silence in a deserted shout
Sitting here in silence
Among the lime trees
Oh such silent noise
Such silent noise
Silent noise, silent
Sep 28, 2012
Sep 28, 2012 at 3:46 PM UTC
Your Style Can Not Dominate
Not Being Crude, Not Spreading Hate
I'm Just Spreading The Word, Going To Radiate
Even Without It, You'd Probably Meet Your Fate
Taking You Down Has Become My Mission
Going To Split Your Mind, Sanity Fission
And Your World In Two, Territorial Division
I'm Coming At You With Insane Precision
Not Going To Rush, Going To Be Tactical
Make Sure My Plans Are 100% Practical
Attacking Aimlessly Would Be Impractical
Give My People A Show, Theatrical
I'm Flawless, You're Flawed
When People Hear My Words, They Applaud
When They Hear yours? They Call The Firing Squad
I Don't Think Inside The Box, I Think Abroad
I'm Guessing By Now You Must Be Hurting
You Coming To Me, Asking For Some Kind Of Converting
The Topic Kills You, You're Diverting
To You. I'm Quite Alerting
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 8:51 AM UTC
Before there was anything that mattered everything that would ever be existed , it was the essence of totality , it was without dimensional constriction or necessitated form . Optimistically speaking time had no relative realism to it’s progression because realistically nothing had happened yet . As it continued it became according to it’s innate inflections as a functionally integrable form . The questionably understandable nature of it’s conjunction was an omnipotent directive beyond necessitated action or morphological construction . The enigmatic consciousness of it’s relatively interrelated conception was spontaneous and yet it continued without elemental omniscience .
As the relative complexity of it’s interrelations evolved dimensional consistence was born. Humanly understandable laws of physical integration governed many facets of it’s conjunction yet the totality of it’s ramification was beyond humanly realistic conjecture .
The organic morphology of biological ontogeny was a conceptually reflective derivative of functional physical mechanics yet it’s diversity exceeded it’s physical complexity , understanding evolved . Relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity succeeded in a hierarchy of functionally integrable forms .
Retrospectively speaking pragmatic practicality is a humanly rational possibility . Rational logic can conceive of individually totalitarian structural forms , yet the implosive nature of their rational cohesiveness becomes a practical partiality due to the diversity of their definitive impetus .
Perhaps the essence of our being is the logical counterpart for the matrix of our subjectively conclusive social fragmentation , or perhaps we are evolutionally incapable of cumulatively rational correlation . Problematic diversity could be perfectible on an individually infinite level or contrarily perhaps ubiquitous causality is the ultimate survivor .
In any case it is beyond our subjugatively rational cohesive coercion to intercede en masse on our own behalf as an integrated unit. Our conceptual abilities have been thwarted by the unmitigatably individual nature of our extraneous conclusiveness .
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 4:14 PM UTC
When my world was collapsing,
You came as a pillar,
When my dreams were fading,
You came as a light,
When my thoughts became blank,
You filled it in with color,
When my smile started dying,
You became the reason for me to rejoice,
When tears in my eyes overflowed,
You bought solace in them,
When I started feeling lonely,
You bought life back in me,
When my mood became emotional,
You made me practical,
When I missed terribly my people
You mimicked each one for me,
When darkness came near me,
You bought brightness with your presence,
When I felt it to be end of road,
You showed me new path, new goal,
When today I think of you,
So many emotions surge in my heart,
Love, Gratitude, Guide, Philosopher,
The best one though is last to come,
Coz’ I make you my dearest friend,
You have given me so much I can never repay,
But promise I make, to be always happy,
Promise I make, that I will always smile
As in my Smile lies my dearest friends Smile.
Neha srivastava
May 2, 2018
May 2, 2018 at 1:09 PM UTC
Symbol: The goat
Opposite Sign: Cancer
Meaning: The achiever
Modality: Cardinal
Element: Earth
Ruling House: The tenth
Ruling Body: Saturn
Motto: I build
Birthstone: Garnet
Color: Brown
Metal: Silver
Flower: Carnation
Fragrance: Spearmint
Lucky Day: Saturday
Numbers: 3, 4, 9
Lucky Colors: Red, Pink, Purple, Blue
Lucky Flowers: Cyclamen, Plantain lily, Fittonia
Capricorn is: persevering, patient, conventional, practical and disciplined. Capricorn can be practical, unemotional, sober, orderly, controlling and manipulative.
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 1:25 AM UTC
You really can do whatever you want, you know.
People who say that aren't just naive optimists.
However, they do leave out a very important caveat:
You really can do whatever in the world that you want...
So long as you want it MORE than anything else in the world.
Like... say you want to leave town.
Maybe you don't do it.
Maybe you sit in your office and dream about getting on a plane but you never do.
Responsibilities, money, family, friends, fear...
Excuses.
Honestly,
Excuses.
The truth that people don't like to face because it makes them uncomfortable is that if you REALLY wanted to leave town,
If you wanted that and only that,
If you wanted it more than anything else in your entire life,
You would do it.
That is the simple truth about... most impossible things.
You want it? You've got it. But you've got to be willing to give up every other thing in your entire life in pursuit of it.
You've got to know yourself well enough to know, absolutely KNOW, that this thing is what you want, what your soul craves, what your dreams revolve around.
You have got to be 100% dead SURE that what you want is what you WANT.
And if you are, if you can know that and face it and understand how selfish it might be to abandon everything else in your life for it, and if somehow it still pulls you towards it like a magnet even with all the rationality and doubt and practical thinking you can throw at it...
Then that is your purpose. Your dream. And you will have it.
That said, anyone who thinks I'm unreasonable, or silly, or naive, or wasteful for going after love...
Quite simply, I know what I want.
I know who I want.
I know what makes me happy.
And since I know it so clearly, so utterly, so inescapably, I couldn't possibly live with myself if I didn't do everything I could to have it.
And it's not an easy path, knowing what you want.
Because when the answer is no, it's no to your deepest dreams, to your heart's most aching desire.
When you have to wait, you have to wait for air to fill your lungs, you have to wait to be born.
When you lose it, you lose the sun, you lose the earth under your feet, you lose the courage to look in the mirror.
But when you have it... when you have it, you have a home.
I know what I want. I want love. I want to be happy.
I want to do what I love doing, and I want to be with who I adore.
And if I know that, and I admit that, and I put everything I can into that...
Well then,
It's not over until I breathe my last breath.
I haven't failed until I've fallen.
And I think I can live with that.
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 11:37 PM UTC