Nietz
sche:
the warrior with the heart of a girl. According
to Will Durant,
odd intel-informs
this POV of the channel, deep 'neath this stream,
slow Sunday morning flow into a pond to wait, awhile, yet and we
shall see geni-us grow kind
of a blob of peace, a scab to dam the loss,
"the life is in the blood"
"your brother's blood cries out... how long?"
Study war for fifty years, learn one lesson last.
abso unique ununununun I suffer
this to be so, now,
how else might this be if may were your word,
now,
whodat? eh, we bein' odd, now, are we
even?
Only you would know, but
only if I allow.
You must shine for me to see your light.
Mightn't I reflect the glow,
whereby you see, through words to the mean
ing ing ing
first the thing, then the name,
knowing the name is not samesame
knowing first the
thinked thing, then the
name
by which you may know what I mean,
after
a period of complete ion depletion
batter batter batter upery upery up
and the magic pen flows once more,
once
more, past the sluggish mediocrity settled
into
quiet peacefully beyond the maddened crowd.
--- The mad Nietzsche, gone to Dionysus,
--- left a dangerous, laborious trail to peace and quiet,
--- "Lisbeth, why do you cry, are we not happy"
I suppose I have attained such a state, at a far lower cost than poor Fred.
Happy Sundays are expected, these days. Live long, and prosper.
