in israel they have a saying: whatever good, ever came from nazareth!? in england is the same: whatever good, ever came from essex?! ah, you wouldn't know... but a lot of good came from these parts... depeche mode being one of them.

an ars dialectica has never been perfect,
only abandoned -
  it was for a while the work of one man,
ant it has remained a work of, but one man,
soon the art of dialectics becme
a very cordial affair, with a third party:
a mediator.
           shame, really, to see dialectics in
a bigger pile of **** than the already
squandered pile of **** of poetry...
        man is born to unearth but a single
idea, t. jefferson and the lightbulb -
einstein and relativity -
opinions are fickle things -
   ever changing, flamboyantly chameleon-like,
sidewinders of intellect -
    ambiguity ridden -
  never truly up-kept in that they
are so politicised, that they are never truly
kept -
but beliefs?! oh, my, god,
a belief is a blind man compared to
a queen of chess in terms of opinions -
to say that there isn't a truth of opinions
is accurate,
    more than accurate: exact.
          no one actually has any opinions
to begin with,
because the only truth with regards to
an opinion is as much as possessing
a belief without a need to prove it -
to prove an opinion is to suggest that
there is no adherence to it,
                   opinions are superficial,
beliefs? beliefs are murderous.
               socrates merely scratched the surface
of the superficiality of holding
"strong" / "soft" beliefs -
     opinions are no hardened vectors
that ideas represent -
no opinion can make a man a deadly spear
who will sacrifice everything,
social interaction to fathom his focus on
making an idea an id -
thus firmly established in replicated form
of a *thing...
a mere addition to the canvas of
the human enterprise... endeavour, if you must.
ideas are fixations, opinions are
mere gossip and frivolity -
       as one might rephrase:
the frolicking of the god pan in his
****** escapades as the ***** goat,
and, nothing more!
  there is no truth in terms of opinions -
only that people change their minds,
so ****** often!
           people possess opinions as quickly
as they are allowed to change them,
and they do change them:
after all, what man has so few
                     favours to concern himself
with, as a man most opinionated?
surely the least opinionated man is
the man who seeks the least reward
from publicity, n'es pas?
                        the only dialectical endeavour
in terms of seeking truth is in
the realm of ideas,
but ideas aren't fickle, and by not being
fickle, they are rarely shared,
or allowed a dialogue -
like any genius (the third species,
between angel & demon), the idea
only allows a monologue...
      dialectics is a dialogue...
ideas are only fathomable via dedication,
a straining exercise of ambition...
if only there was a truth to opinions,
if there were, there would be no politics...
you can engross as many and regurgitate
as many opinions as you like,
ideas do not knit or breed gossip,
opinions do...
                 but there's no truth in
the ars dialectica, other than the epitaph
of socrates: all i known, is that i know nothing
                scio omni, id est scio nihil.
there is no need to debate opinions -
         since they are just as good as lies,
only that the lie never seems to change,
but an opinion always gives into a dynamic
of a gamble, a wavering roulette.

Weep not for Scio's children slain;
  Their blood, by Turkish falchions shed,
Sends not its cry to Heaven in vain
  For vengeance on the murderer's head.

Though high the warm red torrent ran
  Between the flames that lit the sky,
Yet, for each drop, an armed man
  Shall rise, to free the land, or die.

And for each corpse, that in the sea
  Was thrown, to feast the scaly herds,
A hundred of the foe shall be
  A banquet for the mountain birds.

Stern rites and sad, shall Greece ordain
  To keep that day, along her shore,
Till the last link of slavery's chain
  Is shivered, to be worn no more.

Praeludium in via ...

Vidi heri mane quando ridebam coloribus egregiis,
Eradere auro , trans tabula caeli , tentorium ...
Excelsus super omnes montes mundi mole fratres
Nimborum desertum , ubi non sit humana exsuscitatur .
Et non vidi nobili altitudo futura ...
Bonitas terribilis Vidi , *** indomitus.
Et peregrinare in ea carne existimarem Semel tamen divina ,
Nunc datum est scire , et non confundamur ab eo opus .
Ambulavitque *** Deo, quod nunc facio , et passus est ... accentus
Proditio amor et passionibus , quamvis non recipiat ecclesia ,
Divinitatis naturam , ne occulta omnia confitentur ?
Audis tu solus in universo ab duces ineptum
Ipsos victu pascuntur finguntur mendacii .
Sed ambulavit in vobis, ex ea ipsa mundi redivivi ,
Proelia ante hos annos multos, in carne nostra, amissis vate sacro .
Nos sequi vestigia veterum monumentis, ut ostensum est ;
Quia ex nihilo nati sumus , et adhuc in filiis tuis, ac spatium vivendi ,
Latebunt , quo melius in manifesto , vultus ingenio tegmina.
Ego sum primus , et consilium ... Memini tamen alta urantur
Humanis uti licet , *** aliena michi negotium.
Lorem quid ad ignorantiam et extra ,
Quia vidisti me in tenebris, in ardentem rogum meum .
Si sustinuero , praeire , ubi angeli labuntur ...
Quis autem, si non satis est dedicata piget.
Irrisorie , quoniam ego scio quod salventur , et saepe etiam ,
Post tantum est **** , et sic esset forma in re firmatam ?
Imago Dei , huc ad nos omnes in sanguine ipsius ,
A primis ad ultima, ut alpha et omega, gladius acutus .

Prologus : ( Os meum labitur )

Puer fui servus ad aras tam sacras ,
Hymnis immaculatorum : et absque iniquitate .
Quod *** ipse portabat diadema thons nudus ...
Expositum Spiritus meus, qui intellexi gravitatem.
Quis credit sanctum profanae habitu virtutum
Et illi qui in eo sunt ut carnifices ovis ad occisionem ,
Innocentes cogit induere larvis ad porcellana et operuerunt capita sua ,
Et filii eorum diriperent pueritia , vinctus catenis rudis .
Sicut teenager : ambulans in naturis hominum omnium adprobante ,
Et egressus est a me omnes, qui violatores extiterunt in coinquinatione verebatur .
Angelo fidem reperto cecidi inveni sanctitati
Nomen meum in ea , et curet abluitur dubium inveni .
Venit ad nuptias, et omnes dedi uxorem proditione ,
In solutione huius coniunctionis nostrae et sine intervallo in solitudinem imposuit ?
Traiectus mortalis caro mea reliquit me solum in sanguinem ,
Cor ejus scissum est , absque omni cultu ex ordine funem .
Angelus autem meus et leniat iras mansit dolori
Mea lux, in vigiliis, in nigrum, quod est victa ,
Admonens quia carnis mortalitate ... maxime
Angelus vult me et tremor et durum accepimus.
Et ego factus sum quam ... traumas vitae ac lacrimis
Et dimisit , in specie quae sunt post , veluti a me plagas .
Nox deinde calor intensior saunas percipimus ...
Sicut est mihi in choro , relictum est , nisi ab illo esse extensum ,
Et invicem tradent , et mortalem , ut impunita essent, sed numquam mihi ...
Non tradent ; effundam spiritum meum , et non totum .
FYLACTERIUM creare ex omni me , et oculus innocens ...
Quod amari posco sum ​​ut carbo margarita alba et nigra ;

Section I : Sacrificium Doll

Part I : ( litus sanguinem )

Ne revoces me pupa enim priscis recesserunt cavernam
Sunt inanima appetant , non realis forma in utero ;
A puero bibere rubeam ore exploratores in vastissimam taberna ...
Dum nati psallens FARRATUS agros effusi .
Vadimus ad domum Dei , in plagis , in magna pecunia debetis ...
Hoc non est ad oras Nunc cruore manant strigitu rubra de memoria , polluetur .
Nulla est enim me primus ad ignitionem gloriae ...
Quando autem mens aeterna , in omnibus placentes, causabatur laetitiam .
In stellis ibi verba quae ego volo inauditum revocare,
Quia descendi ita pridem apud venire primum ?
Sollicitus purus fabrica MYSTICUS chaos genitus antiquorum
Mitti expectant limine signa magica.
Interdictum revertatur in carminibus meis , Licinius, ut audacia ,
Quia oblitus est mei fere est: nunc originem , ut tragici.
*** filii bibere, et se abscondunt nati seorsum
*** aquæ in sanguinem, et super triticum, et arefecit fœnum, et humida !
Signum quod venturum est mutare et laboro mentem.
Facies in luna ALLUCINOR in metu torquetur , horror ...
Dumque in fauces manu stare super pectus
Inter ordines diu frumentum umbra nigro ambula
Genus servo meo animas infantium .
Aestas flavescunt, Phoebe caelesti audent .
Mea sola mcestas lupus sonitum audiri potest ,
Et *** feris leo in pontumque moueri relinquere ...
A natura mihi dolet cupio concupivit paradisus reducat .
Vidi terram terror , ut sanguis in sinu
Ater sanguis in terra , quae facit viventia ululare ...
Sicut **** habet stultitia non dicam prava vel !

Part II : ( Crucifixo et Inferorum Animas Excitat)

Nam inertis est gemere pupa altari parato, in sacrificium,
In lapidem calcarium, et in cavernam, ubi sunt wettest fingit arcus !
Un - res sunt, sed etiam *** vivit in vulneribus animae , ut in glaciem ,
In horrore frigoris fictilem , ita *** pedibus non vocavit.
Serpentipedi mucrone subrecto , remittit praecise a pupa in collo ,
Et non potest dici , quia non habet pupa voce clamare.
Puer, et egressus est a tabernam , aspectus eorum quasi a naufragii vile ...
Ut curem hominem a superioribus agentibus , corpus totum mundum.
Infra in concavis locorum asperitate visa petram
Magna voces resonare in tenebras , et vocavit nomen tacuit.
Eripuit animam trahit nauta Multo gregis
Ubi aereum reddet unicuique antiquum signum desideratum .
Et venit ad bibendum aquas illas vitae malis mederi ...
Porcellana , et liberatus a vinculis mortis obscuris sentiat frigore ;
Animas in captivitate , unde nemo mortalium loqui
Sed statim liberavit remotis perforabit clavi ...
Omnis **** , qui dicitur Golgotha ​​, olim in cruce positus .
Omnis autem mulier quoque, ad quod omnes tales sunt tormento
Et facta est , dum consummaretur sacrificium insita primum sic infirma est,
Et intantum ut nisl tot annis perpessi .
Signati post fata diu Quod murus ignis in Terra ,
Stigmatibus ferre posset ita etiam multa futura!
Quod signum erat in manu mea, ut labatur pes meus, et dimittam ...
Tamen adhuc vetera perseverare illusionibus , et non possum excitare multos .
Ego, qui iam tantum conligati Lorem ferrum quid reale,
Factaque est infinita in dolo : Ego sum ​​, et desiderio erat pax.
Nam et ego quod negas , nisi aspera ac rudia mei liberatione ;
Angelus liberavit me , et nunc inter saevus sigillum frangere conantur .

Part III : ( The Return of lux)

Qui a mortuis Surrexit , frigidior , ubi de somno , ultrices in somnis , per
Et obliti sunt intelligentiae invocatum est super sancta miserunt innoxia verba ...
Et inde apud hominem , ut maneat MYSTICUS sequuntur revertamur ,
Ea aetate in inferno commemoratione praeteritorum.
Qui suscitavit eis manum meam , et pugionem eius lumen gloriae,
Relicta meae effercio fluere sanguis subito currere libero.
Ex profundo flamma surgit millennial amisso puella puer ,
Quæ est angeli redivivam sinit luce clarius ostendit .
Et omnis qui non occaecat oculos ad intima ;
Infideles , in momento temporis ponere in obprobrium .
*** stellae ab Diua sacrorum opera voluntatis
Dum coccineum limen transeat , lucem adfert .
Momento enim omnes in caelo et in terris sunt ,
Sicut dies longus tandem inclinatus ante noctem veniat .
In tenebris , claritas multo maiorem et perfectiorem descendit ,
Eorum, qui dum in nomine meo orbata est devium.
Sicut incensum in conspectu angelorum ira animos eorum , occlusum ...
Ferrum IRRETUS texturae talis effugere nequeunt carcerem
Nam quicquid occaecat vidit lucem et scindit
Nisi quia in templis revellens mortalibus irae.
Et , postquam ipsæ fuerint fornicatæ infidelium , ut uoles, petulans ,
Et factum est in excogitando dogma , quod de ratione immemor ?
Horrendum non fides sit , tamen ita fecisse ,
Ante finem exspectent praemia petunt .
*** enim , ut est in paradisum suscipit dereliquerunt ...
Imago autem libertatis quam servitutis et negotio.
Nimia tempus extractam converterat a gladio:
****, ut spectet ad salutem in lucem , caeca lumina sua .

Antiphon alpha :
Quia hoc est ut , barbaris quoque innocentiae gentilitium mendacium vendere ...
Numquid et vos vultis emere , aut aliquam nunc forsitan putas,
Ad sciendum neque rationi consentaneum neque aetate sapientes ...
Quod si non moverent malles *** saltare!
Pleni sunt somnia noctes ; Dies mei tantum ...
Ego ad bis et quem maxime diligebam , in purpura quoque , et aprico occasus .
Ego autem haec imago non ad tangere memoriam tot ,
Qui replet in sanguinem furoris me , et frigidam desiderio finis .
Et considerandum est quod *** in ultima desperatione rerum , in cuius manu mea, equo et pilos in ore gladii ,
Nam ni ita esset, nunquam tamen inde trans familia .
Sed abusus est , ut fuit, et quidem instar caedentes sepem
An ut reliquos omnes transcendunt omnia , amice!
Ego superfui , transfiguravi ascendi in fine est ,
Multo magis quam erat, non plus quam diruere animus .
Sed tamen , quia speravi in solitudinem , ut a somno exsuscitem ancillam meam in flamma ...
Ardet , o superi, ut arbitror , usque uror dissiliunt!
De caelo et magis obscurant vestris, et tridentes, et contritio ,
Audio furorem tympana caelo antiqui gigantes hiemes.
Dii irascantur et ecce valide erutas ,
Uvasque calcantes Angeli hominis Illi autem vinariis ageretur ...
Recordatus sum in omnibus navigantibus battleship galaxies ,
In die ortus nubes inter exaestuans, quod ' vaporem ...
Depopulari Sodomam et Gomorrham, ad contumelias !
Ibi eram: et *** impiis non perire denique gemitu.
Ut illuderet mihi : et populus , quia ego bonus sum male velle ,
A Deo est, quam diu tot mala ferre cogetur .
Ego autem non sum solus , quia multa in eo et detorqueri
Deus remittit, nam adhuc sed non est intellectus ;

Section II : Hostiam de Spider

Part I : ( Rident Primus )

Caelum non egerunt pœnitentiam super ulcus nigrum est furore , et in indignatione, et in iustitia :
Et factus sum caro , quamvis intellectus non mortale .
In antro loca , quæ transivi , et dæmonia multa discurrunt ,
Et locis minus adhuc amor in search of a provocare .
In quo autem in craticiis tectoria atria mea, et thronus fuit stabilis ...
Et super collem , ubi dolorum laborum animae perit labor in mundanis ,
Transcendi vincula et consilio fidelium expectabo laudatur.
Ignis et sulphur et, semper est dextera arderent super altare ?
Ridentem cogo faciem meam : non enim veni , ut velle,
Ut in hora *** iam iuvenem, *** proposito aureum ...
Quæ pro impenso super solidum, pretium quis ,
Qui autem non cognovit , quomodo cupiam sibi solvere ...
Furor solitudinis nascitur ira nascitur ex malitia,
Qui autem contemnunt me , quia sine causa Provocantes me .
Quid est **** , impunitatem , ne quis putaret se excusat ;
Quam sapere , *** culturis tuum: mergi , in balneis , in ardentem .
Loquor de inferno, qui est infidelis nescis ?
Neque enim suis oculis effossis clavorum ...
Loquor cruciatus qui daemonia fecerunt superat .
Primus erit mihi dolor meus *** omnis fera voluntas ut ratio ...
Ut qui me conspui caro quod ambulans ,
Nescis modo larva facies mea , abscondens se.
Attendit ad illa nihil nisi insipientis solis erratur in sonis cantus
Tantum numerus ratus e fratre soror .
Sed in caelestibus quae sine causa nata est incestus est alchemical ?
Habitat in me peccatum occultum compages sǽculo.
Sit mihi vim inter gentes auditus est ABSURDUS musica ...
Spiritus meus qui regit omne simile est genitus.

Part II ( vindicta aurum )

In hortos, in quibus cupiditas sanguis rosaria semina ,
I , in manu eorum , qui esurit Quorum sitit aquam surgit !
In quaerere dilectionis affectum bestiis pavi eget
Quid faciam ut pudeat , habet me non elit .
O **** , quo impune ausu palamque vociferari ,
Quod amor sit ex me credis , et me opus manuum tuarum ,
Ut timidus , et cucurrit ad me latere turba depravari ,
In simulata excellentiam tuam , et ipse te vile animal .
Coniunctio oris linguae quasi telam laqueari
Si fieri potest araneae ; et fugiet a turpis ut octo pedes nidum ...
Et *** jam non calidus humanitatis indignum ,
Cogitans te meliorem quam reliqui descendes !
Ut vitae pretium millies , tibimetipsi .
Creaturam factus sum nocte expectant te aranea heu !
Nolite putare quia ego audirem . utrumque stridens cruris ...
Odium ductor tuus , et equi ejus , et ascensorem ejus .
Et in vestra web Video vos, Quirites immune ungues acuti ,
Ad toxicus venenum , quod oculis non potes, nisi te , octo ...
Ex quo bases Caesios sine timore, et sic primum
Ut dolores tuos comedat vos accendentes ignem caelum ;
Detur paenitentiae venia , quae dicis omnia cogit , ne superare dolores ,
Qui tibi semper, quæ videtur , non est potentia ad non noceat .
Et ascendit ulterius sapere plus pavoris tui ...
Numquam puerile ludibrium ulla facta .
Omnis domus tua dissolutae horologiorum ad socium non est ?
In desertis chaos est gaudium, ut si quod habuerunt.
Surgit in novum ordinem , nemo potest negare chaos genitus locus ,
Dum descendes perdunt, muneribus laesae.

PARS III ( Ultimo Rident)

Et sic videtur quod Angelus se et ante deam
Angelus autem nominis vocare aliquis tenuerit formarum.
Et qui in illis est , maiora sunt, ego saepe ad extraneas ,
Fingunt enim se perfectum , ignorant eorum saevitum ,
Num amor crustacea tam veteri quam in praedam , et mendicum ,
Quod minus quam tuum est , quam sumpsi eaque cibum ...
Est autem tarn coquina sicut clibanus tua vadit et ora
Ipse, ipse est extra te praemium virtutis tuae chores ,
Sicut enim res suo cuidam negotium , qui meretricem ... Lorem ipsum leve,
Putas praemium amaret , et mendicum , falli te .
Quid autem vocatis me alienum **** ... amor est malum , et hoc pudet,
Et similiter anima atque animus , quibus tandem corpus infirmare.
Vides tantum larva ... sub aspectu nisurum
Larva ut me in tenebris tenebris latet .
Circa collum tuum habebis , ut falsae aestimationis pendet a mortuis, et corona ,
Quia sterilis tibi relinquo mundum , Intenta ancillæ.
Consurgitur in excitate de reliquis abire tibi , qui sunt cognati mei
De manibus eorum procul offendant pedes vestri ?
Qui manet in coemeterio quasi mortui
Non tollere incorruptione Nimis tibi dubium .
Hue tacito lachrymis virgines flere ...
Ad mea, et robur , in quo praeda, gregibus rursum super vias hominum ,
Ad eos qui non ineptis metus mutetur ,
Aureus transmutare non magis quam plumbea nocte dies ;
Quod verum est de fine , qui scit ... Alchemist
Magistra rerum artes a me in profundum.
Ágite , quod sum aggressus creatura placet mutare ...
Ut res sunt nostrae demiurgorum lasciva oscula enim calidius ?

Omega Antiphon :
Non est autem in Utopia , non videtur quod ...
Donec ut nosmet ipsos cognoscimus prima quaerimus imaginem .
*** et in sacrificio sui ipsius , a volunt reddi obsequium ...
Qui ad reformandam et divina se , *** Leo renata agnus mitis !
Sicut in Christo, ex parte in qua invocatum est cicatrix, et vulneratus est ...
Sed simplex conversio ad dissimilis vultus nolui .
Memini dolore meo, ut acer et vehemens ...
Donee tantum possum emissus dolor servare sensu caret.
Quomodo potest aedificare paradisum non est, nisi in se mutant ;
Mutare ante mutatum esse non est in medio ; quae est in via .
Qua ad paradisum , et oportet eam, et non deficiunt,
Ne ad caelum, nisi quam nos aedificare illud infernum iniustitiis nos .
Utopia , non ruunt ad genus humanum, nisi a te, tu es qui habitavit ?
Nisi quod est extra omne malum quod in se corrumpunt ,
Manifestum enim est , nisi malum, quod mundatam ab omnibus malis moribus.
Tunc malitia faciatis abstulit senex super pluteo tom .
An non intellegat , quid est salvator ...
*** diceret quod non omne quod simplices filii ingredi
Regnum caelorum , et inde ad delectationem pertinere ...
Et quomodo potes perfrui , si tibi placet , cauillando crudelis ?
*** aurora tempore domini nituntur hominum planeta ...
Numquam imaginandi praecipiet ut discat primum voluntatis.
Non armorum vi , nec inutile mandatum ...
Sed *** modestia , et misericordia ; ergo qui ad cor suum in satietatem,
Gáudii innumerabiles et celebrationibus quae causa ?
Sed animus intendatur dolores peccatum lacus.
Ubi plausus rotundum vt quilibet sensus ?
Modernitatem iocabitur ullum definitum ornare.

Section III : sacrificium sui

Part I : ( hortos perditio )

A ziggurat sublatus est , arenosa in calidum lateres , quos coquetis in igne ...
Septem fabulae in caelum, sicut turris Babel ,
Quod in solitudinem, et in

Hair burned into beautiful submission
Face acrylically defined and chemically composed
Adornments meticulously chosen
Scent tested and approved
Smile practiced and performed
I am a porcelain doll
Sipping tea, at 6 am in the quiet of a sleepy-city apartment
Porcelain doll dainty wrists
Washing dishes, feeding cats
Folding linens, singing hymnals
Praying for peace and safety
Porcelain doll knitting sweaters
And folding paper cranes
Reading poems, setting tables
Wearing cardigans and pearls
Porcelain doll decorating cupcakes
Lighting scented candles
Watering potted plants and humming childhood lullabies
With my porcelain painted lipstick mouth


But lipstick can be dark
Eyes lined black as city alley ways
There is anger at injustice
The world outside the confines of a pastel doll house
It’s messy
It’s hard
It’s iron and concrete and coal
And I am too
Biking through the brick metropolis
Sunglasses and headphones
And anarchist literature
Evenings spent sprinting through the smog
Heartbeats synchronized to the crude drumming of the city
So hard to impress
I’m on the metro
Eyebrows structured and defined
And adorned with a calculated air of apathy
See me social justice march
Down highways with fervently entitled youths
See me armed against misogyny
Until my peers learn to better conceal it
See me smoking cigarillos
Drinking black coffee
Breathing the tainted air of the city that birthed me
And chanting manifestoes.

But my manifesto can be love
And love can conquer anger and fear
And hatred
Love can reconcile, it can erase timidity
And it can abolish resentment
Let it wash my face and take the need for vengeance from my spirit
Let it replace the thirst for power with thirst for truth.
I burn incense
And wear long skirts
Naked face and braless lazy days
Reading pacifism in the park
I walk far to find pure air to breathe
I sit and deconstruct my dichotomy
Under a wise and ancient tree
I trace myself backwards and forwards
I meditate on the paths I have traveled
I cry for the things I have seen
And for the things I have done
I contemplate transcendence
I drink wine and listen to folk music
On the terrace of my home
I bike barefoot to buy Indian takeout
And eat it in silence on the floor of an empty room

I think only of death
And resurrection
Of betrayal and redemption
Of opposites and compliments
And how to progress in knowing how divergent pieces of myself can learn to harmonize
I think about minimalism and materialism
Sentimentalism
And swords and pens
And how this race I run was rigged from the start
I think about blackberries
And the complexity of their literary and symbolic significance
I think about the number seven as I see it reoccurring in every possible sequence and equation
I think about God,
And TS Eliot
And If I dare disturb the universe
I think about porcelain dolls and ****** activists and ***** hippies
I think about war and peace and politics
About corruption and poverty and imperialism
About western ideals and conspiracy theories
And communism
I think about being radical,
And how both sides of this ideological war are defined by fear
And I think about love, as radical but defined by the absence of fear
The absolution of fear
And how I am fairly certain it is the answer
I think about the inevitability of art and war
how they create each other
how they destroy each other
inspire each other and annihilate each other
and how there is nothing that is innocent.
I think about pain and privilege
And stacked decks of cards
I think about dreams and nightmares
And prophesy.
I think about the darkness within me
Tendencies to lie and manipulate and steal
The darkness that I know could make me very great
But alone in the ashes of the world
I think of the curse of wealth and power
And I try to evaluate my motives
And the driving force of my ambition
But I don’t know.
I think about grace and all the things I don’t understand
And toil and fate and destiny
The shape of these things, their origins and culminations
And what this black box of secrets contains.
I think about so many things,
Until everything I was on the outside is gone.
My body is gone
My painted face and sculpted hair
My varnished nails and pierced ears
All my clothes and appendages and freckles are gone
My blood evaporated
My brain an invisible energy in the wind.
My home and street
And city
Are gone.
And even in such complete concentration
When it is only my essence and nothing else
And I transcend throughout my past and future
When I am spread thin
And stretched into the corners
When I fill the cracks and crevices
And melt into the pores of everything
And my spirit is awaked to a dimensionless reality
Even then,
Scio Nihil

I know nothing. .

I contemplated, but not alone,
On an ancient poet's ode,
A lover and a scribbler composed,
"Nunc scio quid est amor..." Oh?
"Now I know what true love is..." No woe,
As I reflect on a spiritual road,
I ponder on, where pomegranates grow,
As venerable Horace did compose,
A love divine, true love, and never alone.....

In a city filled to the brim
With confident philosophers
One was known to be the wisest of them all
A fact told by prophecy
You see
He walked the streets, engaging in harmless debate
In an attempt to sate their accusation with the burden of proof
So to the artists he went
Questioning the beauty and nature of their work
But try as he might, the one did not feel wise at all
Instead by comparison he found himself rather ignorant to those finer things
Then to the preacher he went
To test his mettle with the gods
And to his surprise he was yet again reprimanded
For only partially grasping the truth
Of divine fervor
Finally,
The one made one more stop
At the political heart of his great nation
So that he could engage in the rhetorical fallacy
Of power for rights sake
When alas he again fell short
Not quite stacking up to the ease of lying
Through a falsely painted facade
Giving up he then sought out the last prophet
An oracle of youth,
Beauty,
And chast
He asked
"Dear young one, the people of my city make a bold claim"
He uttered
"Claiming I am the wisest of all men alive and all those dead"
"How can that be when the knowledge I possess is an insufficiency?"
When slowly the lithe creature arose from the depths
A string of smoky whisps
Encapsulating her tiny form
Seemingly to speak from an abyss in reply
"Socrates, you are the wisest of them all"
Confused, the one was taken aback
How could that be true when apparent knowledge lacked?
"Sweet oracle,"
The philosopher did say
"If what you say is true
Then surely you must have a way
Of explaining..."
In stark retort, the smoking creature snapped
"You dare challenge the will of the Gods?!
"No," he replied coming to the conclusion
"If what you say is true and I am a king above all men
It must be thought
That if I am indeed wise,
As you claim,
It is because I know that I'm not"

"Scio me nescire"

philosophia est scio nihil, continuum timor et taedium ego: actus automaton: in excelsis hospes.

in england the ad hominem principle
is easily brushed aside,
someone might have something
interesting to say, even though
all would agree to an abhorrence
in terms of moral relativism
which is an abhorrence-in-itself,
why make anything apart from
space & time relative? people change,
get with the grooves and your
free will and your freedom to commit
mistakes...
in england the ad hominem principle
is a farce... it doesn't exist...
that's why the english can't philosophise,
they can sing, but they can't philosophise,
because instead of ad hominem
we have the principle *ad populo,
yeah, i'm an apologist of heidegger,
it took me 2 years and several other
books in between to finish his being and time,
because i believed he was onto something,
and the argument against him
on the principles of ad hominem is deflected
toward argumentation ad zeitgeist,
yet in england engaging with controversy
of the times is curbed and censored
by the principle ad populo, i.e.:
to the people.

I know nothing about death but to death
I must return my love, my gifts and life
Of my childhood spent to my ageing breath —
The nostalgia insured of peace and strife
My eyes did witnessed and my heart did bear - - -
The heat, the frost of all life's weather scene
In joys I have lived in boldness and fear
In the wildness of heart — my youthful sin.
But still of death - - - I know not her store
A gold tinted room or a blank design?
From breadth to width - - - no life's span can measure
The length or height — a straight or slant recline
That I should move in away from the world
And find rest with the devil or with God.
             — J.Emmy

i might have to revise a former weakness -
in the genre of philosophy
  (that ever most pompous word in
the english langugae that upon use
i dread another use of [it])
   i found myself unable to read this genre
of books in english...
         don't ask me why -
    i tried nietzsche, failed (to some degree),
but at the same time managed it...
  still, i find philosophy being written in
english as bland, mistaken,
         zealous and obviously:
pompous -
            in all honesty, listening to court
members at Versailles,
or the moral stiffness of the Victorians
more bearable than a word of philosophy being
recited in english...
      i know that i have a limit of
knowing two languages -
but philosophy doesn't really belong in or
with, the english language...
          it's all to: iffy, sickly sweet.
how can a nation breed philosophers,
  when its concerns are for productivity?
the genre makes perfect sense in my
nativspreschen - but to digest some of
the books i read, in english? undeniably:
unbearable.
                      the english language is a poetic
language...
   which is why shakespeare and milton
are championed, but to even imagine
an english thinker?
                       the english are too practical
to deal with nonsense -
                    i wouldn't say practical
in a germanic sense of efficient -
but practical in the sense that they are probably
the least concerned with finding
boredom: mildly entertaining.
           if i've ever seen the epitome of
procrastination and hot hair buffoonery -
it would be an englishman -
   notably in his articulation of said language -
but the american is even more amusing
in attempting his british roots -
                 notably american women who
somehow cling to a jane austen syndrome
of the: most splendid spring affair of a wedding,
my dear: trill the R and let's
start making bravado airs and fancies!
titillating my darling... simply ravishing!
some might also say: the scots are the smartest
people on these isles...
now a scottish philosopher i can cite...
david hume...
                         which brings me to:
philosophy is a bit like smoking ****...
            the later your start, the better...
a tiny sparrow sang in my ear the knowledge
that american high schools teach
philosophy classes...
                   bad i idea, as bad as a teenager smoking
***...
                     minimum entry age?
21...
                   you can't exactly read (reed)
philosophy, if you haven't read (red) -
  no open wide, and say AH....
                                      what? teeth inspection!
- if you haven't read at least one major work
of fiction, take me for example,
   dante's divine comedy, stendhals the scarlet
& black, dostoevsky's crime & punishment,
        dumas' the three musketeers,
                mickiewicz's pan tadeusz...
           point being, i've finally found someone
who actually works perfectly in english...
spinoza...
                   **** reads like spreading butter
onto a toast... smooth silky...
      and there's not even a debate of proof:
     regarding the existence of god -
i like that...
                     i can't prove or disprove -
as i can't approve or disavow -
as i also can't know for certain,  
   or uncertainly "know"
                      - not know for certain
or known for its uncertainty;
i know that i'm uncertain of the certainty
that it is so:
           i know, that i don't know,
which is a step up from knowing, nothing:
- i know, that i don't know,
- wiem, że nie wiem,
- scio, ideo scio non
- ich kennen, jener ich nicht kennen
   (and that's three S's missing,
notably the east german orthographic
aesthetic).
       nonetheless spinoza has become
the first, and probably last philosopher i will
be able to read with the ease of the english language...
i have no qualms with atheistic writing,
as long as it's sensible and takes pride in
a certain modesty that does not hinder itself
upon theological sophistry of preachers...
   or some sort of unfathomable corruption
of the mind with the argument for:
          what i can only deem as an object
that is the source of every single impromptu
imaginable -
                      not on any ethical reality of
candy for the good children,
            wicker men for the bad children...
                             beat thinking about nothing,
and is always relatable to the mere use of language...
  it's not me ascribing a personal deity,
but an impersonal one...
   it doesn't invoke a need for the lunacy
of gesticulation and prayer...
             just a sense of a lost memory,
an amnesia - a thought that glimpses something
that is almost: shy...
                                 nothing aspiring
to pomp & circumstance,
   and all to culminate upon self-flagellation;
at least spinoza's language is fluid,
                  and whenever that word is used:
it's used in a way that doesn't allow to start
imagining the offshoot of that word -
       and turn the whole affair into being blinded
by iconoclasm of a deserving narrative.
- spinoza will be the only philosopher that
i will actually read in english...
        the english were never a people of
philosophers, engineers? yes. poets? yes.
       scientists? yes.
                         they're too practical in that
they don't want to deal with
                                                   "nonsense",
they feed on real problems in the real world,
nothing is ever abstract for them,
  and never will be...
                             they feed on knowing,
and shun the opinions of their elders -
              they need to know, for themselves -
philosophy is nonsense to them -
especially since they seek a concrete god
with a scientific proof,
                     which is what obstructs them
from seeking the lesser, and therefore much more
simpler abstract chandeliers, clocks, etc.,
  basically
                   items of refined entertainment.