"seance" poems
*you got a fast car
i want a ticket to anywhere
maybe we can make a deal
maybe together
we can get somewhere
anyplace is better
starting from zero
got nothing to lose
maybe we'll make somethin
me myself i got nothin to prove*
i've been wondering
when it stops
people say it stops
when you want it to
but how do i tell that
to my dreams
when all i can think about
is running up to kiss you
in the parking lot of anywhere
it makes me wanna drink
and say everything
like sometimes i think about
what it would've been like
if i had let you go
when i
was still strong enough to do it
like i never knew hell
had such a pretty voice
like i tried to make it all day
without saying
"wish you were here"
like lately i've been going back
to all the places we've been
to see what it's like without you
it is the worst game
of hide & seek
every time i close my eyes
to count
you just go home
i seem to only wear my seat belt
on days you call
on days you're all never been better
and i just wanna tell you
how much I hate window shopping
and daylight goodbyes
you just sit there
when you could say anything
you could tell me
you noticed i started drinking again
you could even make it up
you could say you miss me, too
you could say
you missed me so much
that the other day
you accidentally bought
two coffees instead of one
you could tell me
how you've been
without me
that you sleep so much better
these days
without having to worry
you can say what you have
to just don't say leaving
was like shooting fish in a barrel
cause i swear i'm nostalgic
for things i pretended were real
and i swear
i don't want a seance
until there's something
worth bringing back
take me back
to all the places i tried to love you
back to a time
where i knew my name
without you having to say it
*you got a fast car
is it fast enough
so we can fly away
you gotta make a decision
leave tonight
or live & this way*
Jun 14, 2015
Jun 14, 2015 at 11:15 AM UTC
while september cicadas
were singing my neighbors to sleep
i was up walking holes in my shoes
over love once lost
so many poems ago
that the only thing i remember
about the house at 38th & bluestone
is that it reeked of alcohol and is
as i'm sure of it
still saturated in perfume
and abandoned laughter
but that's not the point
give me a minute
what i'm trying to say
is i always thought god
enjoyed watching things leave me
it makes me wonder
what was on his mind
that night in september
when i stooped to cough
or tie my shoelaces
i no longer remember why
but i recall their trajectory
the way gravity cradled my hands
and brought them crashing back to earth like a 747
they landed inches away
from a scrap of crumpled loose leaf
folded in half like the smiles
of my relatives on a holiday truce
you see, lately i've been looking for scars in the newspaper
i find myself checking the obituary
for my former selves since the day i found your suicide letter
maybe that's why i can never explain my obsession with history
maybe archeology is just a funeral
in reverse
maybe hell is just rewinding home movies
or watching confetti
turn back into photographs
i never told anyone
the reason the doors to the gun cabinet in my family's house are locked not because they are afraid
i will take my life
but because sometimes
i sing them birthday songs
on the day you died
it makes me think
of how rooms only echo
when they are empty
*you know
i never echoed until you died*
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 2:56 AM UTC
A musical trance seance under control by the hand of a shadow
A "Du hast" to a "Loco" To a "beautiful people"
A fraction of symphony, Sent by the gods of rock
Spiderweb rooms an corridor covered with the entrance to darkness set in place with danger light's, Strobe lights, an a fog machine set on auto
A haunted feel to a shack left cold an abandoned.
Equipped with superior beings and extended solo's of 6 string guitar's along with drum's and distorted bass guitar, setting the rhythm for our soul's,Feeding threw 4 large kickers.
This shadow was me
Venom
Decorated in crow face paint, Along with black attire to match my attitude
People came and went and came again
Supporting my and there craving for sublime sound
But one, the one, my goddess, my angel of death came to my dwelling, she came with a message
To indulge in my love
But also to give me a message of misery
To break me free of this chaotic world i was fixed in, with a bite to my fingertip the purified pressure was on
She wore the same colors as I
Only more dragged inline's
More pain, More beauty than she could see
I stared into her crystal corroded bloodshot eyes
I seen deep within herself
I saw pain, I saw hate for her fire, I saw hate from others
I had seen everything and nothing
I arose from my slumber to meet her in the darkness or mothers sleep
To give mother a great vision, a great dream and it was this
My angel of death, Meeting face to face, Eye to misery, Cure to disease, Beauty to ugly.
The words rolled off her tongue like the greatest embrace to a lover
Her words were sweet and seductive
Sprinkled with tears of a suicidal mind and a scarred wrist.
Then in a perfect moment are perfect tender love met with crying eyes and black lipstick.
Within that moment i ingested her misery
I took it and gave her what she deserved
Beauty
After the release of this lover's choice
We met vision and from there i seen the truth
I could never release her from this insanity
Only pamper or even embrace it
This timeless motion of misery will never stop ticking in my heart
Not till it expires!
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 10:33 AM UTC
Classy child performing his seance,
grasping whatever he can.
Not like he craves anything.
He prefers non eyes.
I call him, It.
Crazy and belligerent.
It deems to make so some changes..
Just tentacles spilling all around.
No worry.
Another sip took,
another note noted
It slips and slides and ends....
At some point.
Nevermind,
It was idiotic to begin with.
I shouldn't ever have even started..
But composure pushes me otherwise.
Poking it's eyes.
It's been a while.
Do you even see where you're going?
Not the drinkers,
only the clown..
Only the mime..
It
May 19, 2018
May 19, 2018 at 3:32 AM UTC
I seek in Prayer that you would Forgive
This Uttering Whisper cense your Penance
By the Cross and Wheel for this Dharma, live
My own Locked Fortress that Demon's Seance
Mindful do the Scriptures from Heaven remind
That once a Duty to my Sister's Lord
Invoke this Baptist; To Salvation find
The Enfavoured Trust to your Bandaged Word
Then by your God's Hopeful Mercy relay
My added Petition you both be well
Across the White March Doves mirror that Day
You and his hand - Magnificent we tell.
Such was his Title. And Excelled at that
Knowing your Wound heals, I tip-off my Hat.
Mar 15, 2013
Mar 15, 2013 at 5:21 AM UTC
She came into my life
a karmic explosion
over a pristine
midnight blue
upstate New York
lake,
its breath
damp and warm
and sweet.
Gasping,
labored efforts
expelled a preganant breath,
a prelude to
life.
Blackflies engaged in rutualistic seance.
Lethagic mosquitos emerged
from the evening's sweet mist.
But then raged into frantic spirals,
squealing out futile messages.
Timid pines,
guardians of the ancient site,
loosed their rigid stance,
Prickly spines shivered to the ground.
Anxiously, they awaited rumors
that would quell the fetal dread
that flowed through veins,
invading their bliss.
A bulky mass stirred from somnolent state
in that mud-lined basin,
releasing brown ribbons of agitation,
and inciting a ravenous hunger.
Friendly galaxies,
former guides in his dream state,
abandoned his cause,
flickering a vague adieu.
Having cradled him for so long,
the slick muddy floor now sent him flailing to and fro,
an ungainly dance,
embarassing to watch.
Where once he thrived,
he now gasped for air.
Sep 10, 2012
Sep 10, 2012 at 12:10 AM UTC
Rustle in the leaves,
tussle with the vines,
afoot in the tree of life,
the gutsy snake coiling,
Raddled and rattled with mans sin,
Divulgence to the loner who cherished the fruit,
in the dusky orange red skies which brought in the adhen
and from the tolling bells in the distant church ,
While the snake lolloped in the stark blue skies,
Manipulating this oppo for the abyss.
The wandering seam of the night,moon,
With flickering light forbade the seance on the seemlessly never ending night,
Pity the snake for another morn would rise
For it will have to go to the *** ,no the pit.
The ***** and cuckoo within cooee , chanted and coerced another morn out !
Following the sun like the grail, the people lounged in to the waters of the ganges.
While broods of hurted children huddled in hate,
hurling stones at the traitor.
Hauling the renegade into the throngs,
Hunnish hands assaulted him until he swooned in to the motherlands lap,
Hue and cry of the avengers brought in the tripper,
Heavy loads hugged on to his shoulders,
In poise words he spoke,
''for every creation has its flaws,
And when we batter on the withered soul,
It leaves the barren man dry again,
To ward off evil is like blowing into the forges of Vulcan,
And only when tests and temptations are burnt in the bonfires of joy,
will man be moulded into a joyous being''
Hissing whisphers from the crowd spoke,
Heresy of the tripper is the hold,
Hasten yourself and bring our brother medication,
Hunt down the snake will we,
For this vagabond has spoken in verses,
Only to be filed in the trippers travelogue.
Hushed up as the snake in the pit.
May 20, 2012
May 20, 2012 at 1:19 AM UTC
You and I are going to settle this score
Now that you've abandoned your special snowflake campaign
And overcome your Stockholm Syndrome
A dynasty has been created
The snowball's chance begins to take effect
The short order cook has taken a tall order
A citrus feast for a ship of marauders
To prevent scurvy
The maitre d' disarmed them at the door
And allowed them to infiltrate the dining hall
The captain sat and twiddled his thumbs while his crew cut loose
The first mate drank fire water and shot it out of his nose
The quarter master ordered some fiddlesticks served on door glass
The boatswain ordered the insemination of a cow so he could eat the cow and all of its offspring
It was his first day eating meat again
He remembered his vegan salad days
The carpenter and ****** constructed a shrine of after dinner mints
And conducted a seance to talk to their old crew mate, Black eyed Ollie
He squandered his life searching the sea for a doctor to restore his sight
They planned to revive him and allow his spirit to possess one of them
And sure enough Black eyed Ollie entered the seaman's body and they took turns controlling the fleshy vessel
Black eyed Ollie got every day of the week that ended in "Y" and the seaman got the rest
The filching crew of blighters finished their meal and went on their way
They left quite a tip
"Actions speak louder than words and money talks too
Yet talk is cheap
But time is money
So every burning second counts
Then let's freeze time
Take action and buy all the talk at whole sale price
And sell it at retail price"
So pay up man, I told you working here would be interesting
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 4:56 PM UTC
Piacular restitution suffering joyously
The fallen order of Lilith;
Sunsets secrets scribed defying
Laws pneumatic
A shamanistic seance peacefully
Rousing the foundation of our belief,
Dawns dreaming the fantasy of a seer-
Palpitating asystolic within my chest
The severed hand of God; twilights truth
A stone tablet descrying
My impetuous insubordination
Breathing light upon a black lily
My souls flayed flesh tear stained white
Descending into Hades
Unfathomable regions of despair
As I watch them kneel beside my bed
As if I am prey for those who pray for me
Walking through Persephones garden.
ELEETE J MUIR.
Jan 13, 2012
Jan 13, 2012 at 9:50 AM UTC
Brings her orchestra
fixed to pitched agate
Her unwinding demolition
is in the saying
Her hunting grounds
break over seance bells
On oak and violin
floods
The unanswered
arrows
The advent
Her scherzo opens
Wolves balance
in the driving
Dec 9, 2011
Dec 9, 2011 at 5:41 AM UTC
it will just end up
being a tale of a drunk looking into a metre
as if it was a kaleidoscope mile
in an l.s.d. fuelled centimetre seance,
conjuring the dead, esp. sergei with his kijé,
and thinking about turning the zoo inside out,
with the birds as fish in the great aerorium
of the missing stars to cook up a fluster with broken beaks
nudging achilles to kneel using his heels.
i mean i’d cage those parrots to seal their colour
into stamps and dutiful ink of borrowed bureaucracy,
but i’d stink of oysters doing so and very little else.
so why did they decide upon petting fish in an aquarium
and said that birds were simply caged chickens easing out
an omelette? if i was keeping goldfish in aquariums
i’d be keeping budgies in aeroriums.
don’t tell me, the glass eases the process for disney's
talking blue fish? no wonder, a caged animal
is reminiscent of a caged man, but put man behind glass
and there's little chance of a narcissist conjured;
hence the necessity of slicing iron of the ribcage innuendo
within the framework of a niqab to peer through
on that whitewashed backdrop some call a canvased sigh of beginning.
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 9:00 AM UTC
Remember when you were a kid, Tiger?
days when I bit tighter, yet a lot lighter
jammed to the angels, on all nighters
yet we would never see anything ? then
Be on all four corners at once she said
hanging up on me -turning onto sixth
as if my head didn't know which way
was up , in the first place, call from an
unknown number asking for Marcus
Peoterroro ,yelling I say you ***** *****
calling me every **** night, right at the
click dial tone I'm still screaming more
shake down silhouette in a silkink stop
the car barely missing the sellout love of
my night life, like you barely missing me
"i didn't even have to circle the block babe"
"i didn't even put on my better nightshade"
perfect plethora of a serpentine in her ******
hell to hand baskets in a switchblade seance
speaking directly to the man who killed my
fiance, and then dropped the dagger on my
doormat **cheer up you ******* doormat**
i feel as if she slapped me, mourning nothing
but the format of the masterpiece, ****** her
in the back, at least, felt no hair nor thigh
nor sympathy or wasted time, nor gluttony
raging sun of the twin, and moon of the son
of killing me slowly like nails on chalkboard
it running down our spine sinning jealously
doomed to be a rot, mother ******* sell out piece
while they sell their selves for *** i do it for press
release me in my sad abortion of what i can't believe
counting down the days until my day job comes and
rescues me from my celibate leave , maybe
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 2:05 PM UTC
As long as I'm breathing
I'm a heathen
Beatin anybody that's seeing
My demon inside
It strives
Keeps me alive
I'm fine
My mind
It starts to decompose
And i suppose i should know
If my heart is cold
But unfortunately
I've broken all my bones
And the pain that I'm feeling
Is why I'm ******
And the percs in my system
Is why I'm slowed
I look at your neck
And open my knife
But the voice in my head says
Wait for tonight
Because I can't wait to see the blood drip from the slice
But my fingers tremble from the hate that burns in my eyes
I lose all control
And I take my pistol
Who ill **** i don't know
Carve your face with a chisel
If you want to **** my demon
Grab your crystals
Cuz you'll need a seance to crave my need to feed
Cuz the gun on my waist
Needs to make you bleed
Not because your evil
But because your a human being
If your breathing
You deserve my beating
Because as a whole
When it comes to the human race hate is all I'm seeing
I could have been an angel
But I lost my wings
Strictly over small innocent little things
But because of them i became evil all over
And I'll be murdering the innocent until hell freezes over
I'm the devil's disciple
The devil's child
And I'll be attacking with my fire for a while
Because the only thing that leaves my mouth is bile
And the only emotions left in my body are vile
I'm a hollowed out man that's been filled with hate
And murdering the innocent is not up for debate
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 10:44 PM UTC
i believe that there lives a counterpart
of me in Spain and in France -
equally critical - not me per se,
but two individuals to compensate
my efforts in England,
Eastern European, hell-bent
to overtax the happy meal and frozen foods
for "the busy lives of 21st century love-e-dub-e's;
a seance of unification might be far away
mind you;
they say they cite the Bible as if it
were an Encyclopaedia -
you reared the African as subhuman,
you think, that other European nations
will succumb to the African systematisation
necessary for integration?
you actually think i'll abandon my
mother tongue to engross myself
in your filthy history and sing god save our queen
like a kindergarten sing-along readying
myself for Oompa-Loompas?
oh i'm sure that's just due to your genetic
makeshift tents on the steppes of Mongolia;
any news from Mongolia? none.
any news from Kazakhstan? none;
except irony... or the great Tao principle:
forget the world and let the world forget you;
i'm not too eager on the Heidegger octopus either
having to be in the world and care for it -
or at least tax my existence with a concern for it.
but of course it's like an inbreeding principle:
little Britain meets the Empire,
Darth Asthmatic... coo khhh... coo khhh...
H vocalised is the best painting
of ancient static in televisions,
motivational ashes lost with digitalisation,
the kaleidoscope of flies and 8-eye spiders
hacking the flight with spider-web geometrics...
prolong the first two letters of the word Khan...
and i'm sure you'll genealogically stress
the origin of Pakistan as being in Mongolia.
Jun 8, 2016
Jun 8, 2016 at 7:40 PM UTC
Cloudless confusion blows through the dead mind's sky
All eyes envying the ever nearing end of time.
This constantly reccuring thread.
This secret sentence meant to reinvent this magic.
It is a morbid mirage.
Murdered marriage
A massacre, unmentionable.
Mesmerizing sobriety,
Majestically marauding science.
Mindless moon born madness.
Inner sinner-inner sanctum.
Sheltering some malevolent Mysterium.
This thoughtless thirst for sanctity.
The shapeless shadow wisps which whisper.
Shock of spewing blood against a backdrop of white.
A keenly edged knife ********** grins into milky skin stretched tight.
The shifty sorrow of quick fading light
Deep down dig of fright
Straining: fighting with the last vestiges vanquished
The swallow of sentience, this last candle scarcely alight.
Burial romance.
This slow turned page.
Slow revelation of cumulative age.
Empty vessel volition withering onstage.
Don't weep this ****** burned
This solace we've earned
Good sense long past spurned.
Sadistic disaster our honey and sugar.
Outlined by the end
The smile of evil men.
Sad string stung, star struck spirit spun.
The voice of Us long undone.
Screaming chorus Kingdom come.
Seance chorus all wanting some.
This cracked Kingdom collapses
Each moment which passes
One last squandered synapse and then all falls quiet... at long last.
My lunar goddess
Lunatic
******
Murderess that got it
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 8:51 AM UTC
You smile as my iris go wide,
watching me stir wake to the realization
you are once again by my side.
In another life I would've jumped out of bed.
But in this one I am paralyzed;
I'd rather lay here with you instead.
Its not often we find ourselves lost to time
like this.
A soft caress, a kiss.
Your head nestled on my chest.
You close your eyes
slipping-it seems-back into deep rest.
I like moments like this best.
Its the greed in me that ponders how to
prolong this state of superposition.
Not really asleep nor awake.
The world hasn't claimed stake over us yet.
With dejected protest,
my mortal form rejects the cold logic
that this scene- like a dream,
no beginning or end, only lasts
a few seconds more.
You yawn and I gleam how this will all change.
I feel the heat of an asteroid erasing
my world of the dinosaur.
You tease as you stretch,
something about how loud I snore.
In our sunday morning jest I see
infinite solutions,
stitched together, like the seam work
of your favorite duvet.
(With all these diverging paths,
how can I only pick one way?)
I know what's coming next,
can hear what you will soon say.
It's reverberating in my ears already
as you ponder the problem of wasting away
on this lovely,
summer day.
Your form is obscured from my vision.
A silhouette deciding between jeans or a dress.
Fighting with your hair, proclaiming it a mess.
The whole of you obscured by the wall partition.
You blow a frustrated raspberry which
makes me smirk.
Mutter under your breath,"I guess this will work."
I hear you ruminate in the restroom,
pairing accessories with a flowery blouse and a pencil skirt.
All the while humming a tune from a song
we both know.
Its time now.
Time to let that sliver of a scene we shared earlier go.
I can feel warmth through our window.
that moment I loved has grown into something new,
and I'm left with the dissatisfaction-no,
that is a childish reaction:
even though that scene is gone I know I tried.
Fully dressed in the doorway she chimes,
"what would you like to do today?"
I cover my head.
Playfully hide in the shelter of our
satin white sheets.
Shaking my head from left to right.
A seance with the ghost of where she used to be.
I can't decide.
-
Apr 22, 2025
Apr 22, 2025 at 1:34 AM UTC
Sit, sneak a look at what’s left of nothing,
a tree alone, a blur of nimbus and fire above no one,
a diminished frequency of fury.
Sketch my black coat.
Two bucks at the Goodwill, it confides in the dead,
celebrates mother with a seance.
Ah, do you hear that?
The coffeemaker is the Atlantic. It wants to wear hues,
to be a limbless body in someone’s dream,
gestures with white light,
and never sleeps as it studies the moon.
Let’s not talk about that anymore.
It feels like spiders in my ear canal,
yesterday does.
Stay a little longer. But don’t look at me.
Look at yourself in the mirror,
and I will grin back at you—ah, feel that?
That’s what it’s like to wake up as Mark Landis.
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 4:54 PM UTC
You sounded just like someone
I've spent the last 5 years burying
I wondered how I could have
Risen the dead yet again
My very posture a seance
Welcoming the past
Like the welcome mat
The ghosts pass over
On their way in
I never opened the door
I swear
I guess I just left it unlocked
I begged you to leave me alone
But the exorcist said
It's so impolite to ask the ghost to leave
If you're the reason their dead in the first place.
Jun 16, 2023
Jun 16, 2023 at 11:47 PM UTC
So obsessed
She is
changed
Her Closet
Turn-on
Lover
Something
submerged____
Never full lips
sheath
dresses
Walk-in confesses
Vanderpump Rules
Just take one
ticket you mules
Being tagged
Pants Golden pocket
Price reduced
One chosen
Deep every breath
we take in
Miss Marilyn
Road some like it hot
More to hustle
(Monroe)
Curves and wiggles
Spiky heels
Named Doe
The Skid Roe
Never make a deal
The sheik riding hood
**** lower than hell
backs
Too unveil him
Who should?
The warm sun camels
closet smells slender
Cigarettes
Never cracks
That whodunit
Walk-in
Only low backs
Sherlocked dress
Mystique to guess?
Monique
He spilled
Sinnamon latte
Exotic Tiger print
Whispers Walk-in
Hints?
Love magnetized
late
The caramel
sensuous sips
A girl best
friend
Not one
ring or
love note
Valentine email
Dressed in closet
But it wasn't mine?
Stacks of
dresses
A+ Yes, never a no___
I believe
I will find
your vote
Coziness Closets of
many
alterations
Altered her vision
Designer maniacs
Never ticks
**** hens and clocks
Guys under the weather
The Umbrella ladies
Eating chocolate
Being bombed
Mr. Drakes
All latex
Younger
man
Plastic
double
agents
Of Botox
Oh! Dear
Mommy
Closet case!
Can you spell
spellbound
The green envy
dress
Near her
wallflower
the wax museum
of witches
Breaking some
britches
Broomsticks
Fly Robin Fly closet
Oh! Why
So subtle the Seance
Copies in her Palace
Something rearranged
her closet
Humanity switch
Her designer
hangers
underground
She became
the closed
closet mute
Shabby chic
out of lines
Never bling
I am going
to wash
that man
out of
Ponytail
I wonder
Why? whipped
hair
My big
walk-in
closet
You're invited
The girls live in
her shoes don't
judge a closet
With all her books
Tied to his ankle
Whip cream-color
Come over
You stepped
accidentally
into her dirt
French
tulip skirt
Her walk-in closet
she calls them
on skype lips up
The Closet
always shuts up
May 9, 2018
May 9, 2018 at 10:57 AM UTC
I had a seance
with the night sky
the other day
and I felt my
soul exorcised
by the muses
as they quenched
my thirst
with sweet sinful
nocturnal juices
that diluted
my inhibitions
Aug 31, 2017
Aug 31, 2017 at 4:08 AM UTC
A girl flicked a lighter next to me,
she flicked it on
as the whole room pulsed
and I felt strange
because her skin was on mine,
and Stephen rolled
on stage.
The cloud in the room
was thick and it was
a fog of Marlboros, Virginia Slims,
Menthols, Menthol Lights, Kools,
and all other sorts of ghosts.
Stephen made fire with his hands,
flailed like a marionette
and let the spirits loose.
He blew a baritone:
"I feel like we can really get close to each other,
in this tiny room."
Demons
can rise
and make fire;
can rise and make your belly feel
like hell
and molasses:
black and sweet.
Demons
can rise together
and make love
in a tiny room
that crackles.
Feb 8, 2012
Feb 8, 2012 at 12:55 AM UTC
Sing to the corduroy boy. He dances to joy and his toy a Jack Daniels on the rocks enjoy my corduroy boy.Afraid of self purpose and essence rings splendour ,damage goods in unlimited supply.Ping pong silence to vain seance and silence crawls through the void.A distant reminder of habit sings to the corduroy boy.Handsome and Head over heel on return to burn and sins frozen touch to a fragile altar,laugh ,cry my corduroy boy there seems nowhere to hide from the pretty last request of beating hearts under arrest and abandoned.
Dec 19, 2012
Dec 19, 2012 at 3:54 PM UTC
the proof of the soul is evident with a continuation of the Einstein particle, from theory into practice - the proof is short-lived, the indestructible attache of man lingers on, his the soul, democratically a medium of revision and certainty - improved instruments of investigation, the purity of reasoning later meddling with the senses of other's being given certainty: σ (total) - ¼ = σ (¾, i.e. remnant and electron cloud symbiosis of partaking in Gemini simultaneous coordination) - the thunder and lightning, a 747 and the delay vacuum cleaner "echo" - on a less grander scale plumber's apprenticeships - perhaps less grand, but therefore all the more necessary, zenith of self-worth, rather than god-worth, audacity on the dance-floor and no prim-cut hopes kneeling in a church for added fancy to desire clemency.
i do believe the Hindu polytheistic theory of reincarnation exists -
but in no way related to the resurrection of σ -
a totality of a person - whatever given characteristics in total,
i mean replicating mannerisms
as a form of adaptability will only make
a clone a clone on paper (in theory),
but the original experienced whatever
environment was to be experienced -
to have a true clone would also mean
replicating the environment,
and that's impossible - in science as in
nature we're susceptible to ungovernable
forces - a tornado uproots a mid-western
house and juggles it about like a boxer -
a tsunami and the sun with its 5,000 starving
Sudanese children - whatever -
but reincarnation does exist in a different
psychological medium, in the id - the shortened
version / unit of ideas - it it it or that that that -
ideas are resurrected or reincarnated (passed on)
all the time - i can understand a Hindu
in only this reality - not in the reality of an
entirety of the individual and the environment
for the individual's individuation -
an idea can be resurrected - there's always
continuity in philosophy, whereas history sees
disconnected events due to it's prime tool as a hope
for averting them (hindsight), philosophy in historical
terms is always a seance of connectivity - lubrication,
evolution, adding to, saving up, discharge, mid-life crisis.
i can't understand the Hindu concept of reincarnation
when it comes to people - each adapted and each
an ongoing process - ideas can be reincarnated -
by egos? not really.
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 8:19 PM UTC