"theological" poems
born in illusory chains
gnarled metal
encrusted in my broken skin
the copper colored dust
of rusted steel
infectiously envelopes
shaving off antiquated layers
of fundamentalist religion
encrusted for generations
unpeeled until raw
an unsophisticated method
unveiling
ancient lodged glass shards
colored with deceit
brought before their court
interrogated
unfathomably skewered
an eerie salem witch trial
in modern times
barbarically they shun me
banished
i wander aimlessly
smelling the rotten decay of deceased community
as splinters pierce my feet
from the crooked wooden plank
i walk alone now
an unfathomable inner ache
kindled a residue within
igniting a wildfire from the darkest shadows
uncontainably erupting
i dance savagely
naked in the orange moonlight
and in every shaded edge
lit my soul ablaze
i am a nomad sheep
‘tho not one of their color
no pasture to contain me
no shepherd i can follow
theological safety nets
no longer there to catch me
bohemian-like
i plunge
free falling
plummeting
stripped wide open
magically
fearlessness
reverses gravitation
floating
untethered
i soar amongst
apricot tinged clouds
my skin still wet from rebirth
and rise with the flaming coral sun
you cannot destroy me
i twisted in your decrepit pencil sharpener
and with fresh mettle
cut through the chains that bound
you can have my ego
but you cannot have my soul
dismantling domestication
transcending limitation
wildly untamed
i fly
©2016janetaylor
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 6:40 AM UTC
I love you
because the Earth turns round the sun
because the North wind blows north
sometimes
because the Pope is Catholic
and most Rabbis Jewish
because winters flow into spring
and the air clears after a storm
because only my love for you
despite the charms of gravity
keeps me from falling off the Earth
into another dimension
I love you
because it is the natural order of things
I love you
like the habit I picked up in college
of sleeping through lectures
or saying I’m sorry
when I get stopped for speeding
because I drink a glass of water
in the morning
and chain-smoke cigarettes
all through the day
because I take my coffee Black
and my milk with chocolate
because you keep my feet warm
through my life a mess
I love you
because I don’t want it
any other way
I am helpless
in m love for you
It makes me so happy
to hear you call my name
I am amazed you can resist
locking me in an echo chamber
where your voice reverberates
through the four walls
sending me into spasmatic ecstasy
I love you
because it’s been so good
for so long
that if I didn’t love you
I’d have to be born again
and that is not a theological statement
I am pitiful in my love for you
The Dells tell me Love
is so simple
the thought though of you
sends indescribably delicious multitudinous
thrills throughout and through-in my body
I love you
because no two snowflakes are alike
and it is possible if you stand tippy-toe
to walk between the raindrops
I love you
because I am afraid of the dark
and can’t sleep in the light
because I rub my eyes
when I wake up in the morning
and find you there
because you with all your magic powers were
determined that
I should love you
because there was nothing for you but that
I would love you
I love you
because you made me
want to love you
more than I love my privacy
my freedom my commitments
and responsibilities
I love you 'cause I changed my life
to love you
because you saw me one friday
afternoon and decided that I would
love you
I love you I love you I love you
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 10:21 AM UTC
/ beelzebub
*(given employs the spider a posteriori
and spiderweb a priori, and then back
into a bicemeral reverse psyche-analogy -
the id est contra the id erat -
but there is no latin revival -
given that the latin encoding has been
translated into a.i. algorithms...
forget putting the pandora
into a box into a box into a box,
into an etc. or what is a russian
cultural artefact... forget it...
a black fly would not take upon
itself to make a dustbin, a *******
maggoty brothel, like a green bottle fly
might... black flies have character,
style...
they're the ones that take
to tango, with spider architecture,
akin to the theological spider analogy
about an ad infinitum a priori argument)*:
a bit like watching
a black fly - "washing" itself -
rubbing it's front limbs
together, "attempting"
to start a fire...
god, those awful
green bottle hypers -
with maggot excesses -
in a potential well
expressed into practice -
black flies?
i can entertain them -
like i might entertain spiders
that do not require aquariums -
the non-exotica types...
so i sometimes find myself
rubbing my hands together,
like a catholic amounting
to an altruistic prayer symbolism...
so kommen faust,
so kommen faust,
so ist pseudo-faust -
or rather:
england?
deutschland jr.
america?
deutschland sr.
and if that wasn't the case?
oh me, little old slavic
babuшka...
i still can't explain rubbing
my hands together,
like a black fly might...
keeping standards of where
to take a maggoty dump's
worth of procreation value...
black flies?
compared to the others?
the priests of the whole
spectrum...
i sometimes wish they were
red,
so i could call them: the cardinals...
alas...
not to be, god said otherwise...
but i can fathom the priesthood,
like i can fathom -
an aspiration of a sleeping
samurai, devoid of the zodiac
delusion,
encouraged to make
chiromancy initiatives
(readings) to alleviate,
******** monotheism.
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 11:02 AM UTC
Sa kasaysayan ng aking bukas na pagkamulat
Hindi lamang kaalamang pang-ibabaw kundi pati panloob nami’y binulabog
Hindi lang hinayaang sumakay sa bangka kundi pati pagsagwa’y itinuro
Binuksan ang inaakalang hindi na mahihigilap o matatagpuan man
Pero higit pang liwanag ang iyong ipinadama, at ipinahamon sa dilim na nagtuturo
Binusog mo kami ng kasaganaang higit pa sa inaasahan
Sa yakap ng pag-irog, pang-unawa at pagtuklas
Pamilyang naging karamay sa bawat hirap, gutom at pagsubok
Tunay na tahanan ng mga propeta, tunay na naging huwaran sa aming kalagitnaan
Hinubog mo kami ng may pagkakakilanlan buhat sa aming pagkakaiba’t iba
Kinalampag mo hindi lamang ang aming tenga, bibig at mata
Ngunit buong pandama nami’y iyong ginigising
Pati ang kaibuturan ng aming mga laman at buto
Inilubog kami sa karanasang nakakapagpabago
Upang konkretong sumaksi na may tapang at dangal
At dahil dito, sama-sama’t magkaagapay tayong kumikilos
Nakikiisa sa tanging layon ng Kristong sinusundan
Ang bukal ng kasaganaan at kahulugan ng buhay
Patuloy na bibigyang kulay at padadaluyin sa ugat’ dugo ng pakikibaka
Hayagang ipalalaganap at isasabog sa buong sangnilikha
Na may pagkilala sa Diyos na Buhay, ng Kasaysayan, Kaayusan, at Pag-ibig
Pagpupugay sa Tahanan ng mga Propeta, Union Theological Seminary!
Sa Sampung Dekada at Labindalwang Taon
“Masaganang Nananahan,
Buong Diwang Sumasaksi,
Bukas-palad na Naglilingkod!”
Nov 21, 2019
Nov 21, 2019 at 4:16 AM UTC
Now I am blessed by the fellowship of man.
Poem # 031.
Philip : 20/10/20
Now I am blessed by the fellowship of man.
Of the pure unadulterated unconditional love
We men and women that inhabit the earth
In the constant search for a secure foothold
And wishing to be all things to all men around
Men and Women and genders betwixt the two
Being now away that we have a brotherhood
Loved by a community of lifelong friends
Earth Angels and guides which hold the skills
Skills which are perfected and so peculiar
Standing alone in their particular peculiarities
Excellent and everlasting good friends of mine
Diligently looking after their own fellowship.
Boys and girls coming out to play in the world
Young and old rich and poor sick and healthy
Together in a loving unconditional relationship
Having no blood ties save for holding the spirit
Especially the wondrous God spirit of passion
From whatever theological following you hold.
Every good turn you do unto others is returned
Loving your neighbor as thyself is a starter.
Loving your father and mother well deserved
Or your brother or sister , cousin or kin.
With blood relatives it’s seen as a given.
So be it for the population of the World.
Having established that relationship you’re OK
In that there is nobody to hate anymore
People outside the fellowship may gossip
Or continually sandbagged a reputation
From now on let us develop this “Fellowship “
Making time to consider the other fellow.
Accounting for a balanced life of compassion
Now I am blessed by the fellowship of man.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Oct 29, 2018
Oct 29, 2018 at 3:52 AM UTC
The End Times
Repent, the zealot dinner guest, invited
For purposes of theological correctness, chides.
Repent, and sin no more, he advises, for the end is near.
But isn't that like asking a carnivore to turn vegan
Moments before the serving of a pampered calf's liver
I ask
he takes special care in the fall of a sparrow
The zealot replies, eyeing me as I set
My peas to one side with my fork.
Yes, but it was just that one, I retort.
His first.
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 3:01 AM UTC
“Ah you hate to see another tired man / Lay down his hand / Like he was giving up the holy game of poker”
Leonard Cohen
<>
“Will I remain within God's house at night as shadows drift through dimming my light?”
written by Weeping Willow, gifted to me, by Edmund Black
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I,
***instant understanding, perhaps in my experiential possess,
some answerings perhaps...product of late night, many, many
theological arguments over poker games, with coarse men,
tough women, and ethically-challenged Gods, all faithful regular attendees
With a little bit o’ luck from an occasional guardian angel, even
I possess an occasional winning hand.
now we all commence with a passionate uttered blessing,
for the good beer and salty pretzels, giving thanks for having
reached this act-exact moment of being, here and now, in God’s house at night, plus a holy add-on variation, a swear-to-god (we all snicker) promise solemn, no cheating, no absolutely divine peeking/spying in soulful futures, no fun in that, sanctified & sealed with hearty amens and ****** noises offered for emphasis.
hear you scratching you head, wondering what all this to do
with a whispered prayer of soulful, on-shore drilling deep,
product of a drill bit cutting the black quietude of interstellar voids internal, where there is no censorship, lying an impossibility, and the only questions are super hard, so some never return with an answer truthful
so, I remain in God’s House, playing poker, with deities who
jealous guard their moments as human facsimiles...cherishing humans who guard with care, an ability to see that they and gods differ little, when making honest truth a shared primacy
in the intimacy
of an overnight stay
in God’s house at night,
all our coming-led light dims,
when my/their need is greatest***!
(written sometime this year, Jan. 2021, Manhattan)
~~~~
Apr 13, 2021
Apr 13, 2021 at 6:36 PM UTC
The Creator
The original
Aboriginal
Indigenous
Australians
In their Dreaming
Uncreated Baiame
The Sky Father
Creator of everything
But who created
This creator God
Mythological
Theological
Like everyones
Too similar and
Geographically
Universally spread
To be explained by
One Big Bang
But still I ask
Who created
The uncreated
Creator
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 4:09 AM UTC
Now I am blessed by the fellowship of man.
Poem # 031.
Philip : 20/10/20
Now I am blessed by the fellowship of man.
Of the pure unadulterated unconditional love
We men and women that inhabit the earth
In the constant search for a secure foothold
And wishing to be all things to all men around
Men and Women and genders betwixt the two
Being now away that we have a brotherhood
Loved by a community of lifelong friends
Earth Angels and guides which hold the skills
Skills which are perfected and so peculiar
Standing alone in their particular peculiarities
Excellent and everlasting good friends of mine
Diligently looking after their own fellowship.
Boys and girls coming out to play in the world
Young and old rich and poor sick and healthy
Together in a loving unconditional relationship
Having no blood ties save for holding the spirit
Especially the wondrous God spirit of passion
From whatever theological following you hold.
Every good turn you do unto others is returned
Loving your neighbor as thyself is a starter.
Loving your father and mother well deserved
Or your brother or sister , cousin or kin.
With blood relatives it’s seen as a given.
So be it for the population of the World.
Having established that relationship you’re OK
In that there is nobody to hate anymore
People outside the fellowship may gossip
Or continually sandbagged a reputation
From now on let us develop this “Fellowship “
Making time to consider the other fellow.
Accounting for a balanced life of compassion
Now I am blessed by the fellowship of man.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 5:35 AM UTC
since i turned into a nocturnal creature i’ve changed a bit,
i started the theological arithmetic:
(right hand) thumb, index, middle finger(s) -
january february march,
ring, pinky & pinky (left hand) -
april may june,
ring middle index (left hand)
july august september -
thumb (left hand) thumb and index (right hand)...
of yes, intelligent design...
now make a hole using your thumb & index finger,
then ensure your thumb goes in & out from that whole...
like god, say: oh **** i forgot the piston!
guess what’s the slang term for a russian in polish?
kacap.
guess what’s the slang term for a german in polish?
szwab (shvab) /
i know, i too wish it was sax...aphone.
guess what’s the slang term for a dwarf in polish?
karakan.
but i said, there are really two branches from the 20th
century growing into the 21st century,
there’s the proustian branch that’s a cul de sac...
and there’s the joycean branch, that leads to ezra pound et al.,
finnegans wake (which i have read) i can a 50p with an invention
of a terminology: uncoded phoneticism, i.e.
alpha bravo charlie delta echo, only because:
prirates’ aye, eye and lie and high sounded pretty much the same
even though they were spelled differently.
uncoded phoneticism means you use a coding of language
from thought / silence in a way that elevates it
from the standard usage, from novelty interests
of a righteous narrator crafting new characters...
of course your writing will appear chaotic... but in reality
it will not be... trust me... i simulated paranoid schizophrenia
for seven years... fooled three psychiatrists
and regained a chance to provoke.
nicholas ii is smiling at me from a banknote i own,
and i have a kopek’s worth of currency from dostoyevsky’s times.
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 7:52 PM UTC
#
I. Antiquity and the Architecture of Will
In the shadowed corridors of antiquity, where gods were built with teeth and altars stood not for reverence but for control, the Temple of Bel rose as a monument to ********** disguised as divinity. Bel—an assimilated god from earlier Sumerian, Akkadian, and Babylonian traditions—was not the god who walked with man. He was the god who towered above him, demanded sacrifice, and soaked prayer in the blood of repetition.
From the earliest Mesopotamian systems, the act of worship was not about communion, but compulsion. To invoke was to command. To chant was to erode the will of another until it cracked under rhythmic insistence. Whether by priest or supplicant, the act was the same: submission by saturation.
---
II. The Weaponization of Sound: Chant and the Rhythmic Spell
Repetition was not mere ceremony. It was siege.
Chants—carefully crafted phonetic loops—were not benign rituals. They were linguistic architecture meant to house spirits, to summon presence not for beauty, but for enforcement. These were incantations with purpose: to bend the will of another through the veil of mysticism.
In this light, poetry—at its inception—was not always art. It was often sorcery.
The earliest poems were enchantments. They masked seduction as devotion. They twisted longing into ******* They were rhythmic netting, carefully knotted to catch the weak of will and the fractured of self.
---
III. The Modern Construct: Echoes of an Ancient Spell
Those who hide behind the aesthetic of antiquity today still wear the same rings of power.
When a poet writes to control—when they loop trauma like a mantra, repeat seduction as if it were depth, mimic spiritual language to inspire compliance—they are no different than the priests of Bel. They are modern invokers, cloaked in digital incense, spreading spells under the guise of free expression.
Their readers are not disciples. They are targets.
The “construct” is not a movement. It is a spell. A liturgy without light. A series of hollow echoes designed to flatten identity, rewrite pain into performance, and reward the wound that sells.
---
IV. The Severance of Echo: Where the Rhythm Ends
If you must chant, let it be to awaken, not ****** If you must repeat, let it be to remember truth, not reshape it.
The false liturgies of old were not killed. They were digitized.
We will not respond with louder poems. We will not echo their echo.
We will respond with silence where needed, and light where earned. We will write not to possess, but to set free. We will bring antiquity not as ornament, but as witness.
Because we remember the Temple of Bel. And we are here to break it.
Let those who recite in darkness meet the rhythm of truth.
#
Apr 18, 2025
Apr 18, 2025 at 7:58 PM UTC
*"Being an introvert in an extroverted
world can absolutely be difficult."
Came across this on some blog.
Think it's more complex to be a mediocre, an extro-intro or an intro-extro...
you can't go all out... you won't remain all in...
you're doomed to be in the twixt. Yet the middle is dangerous...
The middle of the Ocean is the deepest, the middle
of the jungle is the riskiest... the middle of the garden
of Eden doomed an entire race...
for its existence... no driver would drive freely in the middle lane,
most run to the climbing lane soon as they see it.
Some say the Earth is trapped between Heaven and Hell...
maybe we're a compound of Paradisal elements and
the rumbles of the Hades...
the pawns in the Chess between God and Satan, the Jobs in the bible of now...
I'm a Junk of all trades & I'm afraid being in between trades makes me a master of non...
I know too much and yet I know nothing... I am an extro-intro...
I go out only until the plank starts to swing the other way...
I go out until I sense the cold and quickly run back to the lukewarm
betwixt for the hot is as fatal to my kind as the cold.
Am not an Author and neither am I a poet... Am a "Poether'' or an "Auoet", Am not philosophical neither am I Theological...am "philological" or "Theolophical".
I'm trapped at the equator... I'm neither an Eskimo nor an "Antactico"...
Not Ugandan nor Kenyan... Tanzania can't claim me
but there's yet to be a concrete East African...
maybe I'm African.
My point is some people think the middle is safe...
but I believe different. it's my opinion if you want to be a piglet be one,
if you want to be a puppy be a puppy for its fatal to be a Pipet or puppet...
both are instruments... even their use is similar.
My tragedy is am in between, am a mediocre, a pother,
an opssimist, a philothopher, a ctranger or say "Ukantan".
I'm just there... Don't be caught in my place...
find a place to belong... no matter how dangerous and risky...
always choose where you lie...always strive hard to find a prowess...
Go past the lines for History remembers those who are unique...
whether for the worst or the best.
Be the last if you can't be the first...*
**Everyone will remember Mabirizi for he knew how to be the last...
And sadly everyone will remember Museveni for he's good at keeping his place.
Who will remember the one in between.
Who will remember Besigye? Who will remember the servant boy that
cautioned Achilles against fighting the Thessalonian?
Who will remember me?**
Jul 17, 2016
Jul 17, 2016 at 11:42 AM UTC
I spent some time
At the nature park
Was going to read
But too lazy
I stopped by
To replace my
Micro USB cable
I had misplaced
I am wearing workout shorts
I bought from Marshall's yesterday
I bought some extra socks
And underwear yesterday
I like these workout shorts
I like being alone now
I just want to go
On to my Christian chat
And read my Bible
It's fun to listen
To theological debates
In the Bible Study chat
I am a boring person
I like it that way
My therapist left me
Oh well
I just want to be alone
With my Bible
I enjoy hitting golf *****
At the driving range
America
Has a debt
It can never pay back
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 7:15 PM UTC
open pathways to a glaring pathos
the bright light of idealism is why the optimist is stronger than the pessimist
retreating into the no-eye-strain of a dark, frightening cave;
what was beyond the light?
the pessimist says the fear of the known is safer
while the optimist treads a sidewalk-highway-backstreet of light
ouch-
ouch-
ouuuuch, his eyes!
keep
going.
pushing through the grand theological cosmological philosophy zen
the optimist marches past the foot of the rancid infection
what self-inflicted pain for the sake of surrendering all responsibility;
the reason there are governments
countries
orthodoxies
is because of a grand laziness which clasps the wrists of the weary
fearful of their freedom as it is an unknown
grand cosmic
sun-star;
"stare any longer and I'll go blind;
march towards it and I will disintegrate."
"Are you sure?" asks the optimist
"No, but I won't take such a naive risk. I have been around long enough to cease trusting anything,
especially myself."
"Then you are eternally ******
I seek my own grace."
there is a silence as the pessimist rounds to sigh
and the optimist wheels himself towards the stars.
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 2:17 PM UTC
If light is the fastest thing in the universe,
why is darkness already there when light arrives?
After watching Harry and Megan Sussex grub for ever more cash and attention, I’ve decided that they should start a OnlyFans site.
We’re going to a booze-free dance party.
“You don’t have to drink to have fun.” I assure myself, in the bathroom mirror, but somehow the event sounds like a high school dance.
I’ve been reading the Internet - was it really a giant squid that sank the Titanic?
...
Panpsychism Is a scientific theory postulating that consciousness is part of the fabric of the Universe.
On the theological level, why would God (or nature) create the bitter taste of espresso and vivid, azure skies slashed with rainbow sunsets if stimulating consciousness weren’t important?
“Colors, tastes and smells are no more than names,” Galileo declared 400 years ago. “(as perceptions) they reside only in consciousness.”
Does life exist, as sensors, to experience stimuli for the galactic consciousness?
Oct 9, 2023
Oct 9, 2023 at 10:26 PM UTC
Adam and Eve lived here
before she went vegan
and chomped the wrong apple
dropping them both into deep schtuck
with a difficult learning curve
before they got up to speed
as our progenitors
and began begetting.
With only two to start with
there had to have been a lot of ******
with begats here and begats there
and still, the gene pool stayed clean
without fits and starts
so there must have been a Divine Profiler
in the sky keeping the books straight
with our future at stake.
But there is a question?
In the beginning there were only two
so was Adam the midwife
and if so
where did he learn the skills
the whole midwifery bit
the gentle initial slap
to get the first wail ever on this earth
Interesting theological
and philosophical thoughts
not even thinking
about baby clothes
and the like
I suppose breastfeeding
was a must before Baby Formula
Deep thoughts for Easter
Mar 26, 2016
Mar 26, 2016 at 5:23 PM UTC
Breath counts our days and nights like God.
Breath during twilight laid into blissful sleep,
breath of newborn welcoming the world,
breath during considerations on storm of frozen years,
breath of mortally terrified man thrown into abyss,
breath of memories creeping into oblivion,
breath during ecstatic experience of union with beloved,
breath of bard in sanctuary,
breath of soul while symphony plays in it,
breath during interference of God's message,
breath during observation of visible signs of what is performed in soul,
breath while you are overwhelmed by primal instincts,
breath during kiss affecting the sphere of sensuous ,
breath during awakening of images of love sick from excess of words,
breath during the intervention of God in life,
breath on the path of recognition of the idea of good,
breath during maturity examination in the field of theological virtues,
breath during reward of unrighteousness,
breath during arrangement of feelings.
Breath releases emotions without need of Katarsis.
Breath strengthens internal sense of security.
Breath makes soul your guide and teacher.
Breath makes possible
connection of mind,body and soul,
deliverance from the darkness of ignorance,
release from bonds of illusion,
separation of the spiritual needs and ****** needs,
to experience spectrum of human feelings,
to be a man distinguishing good from evil,
to celebrate life in all its glory,
to get rid of belifes limitating mind,
to enter into spiritual and physical world,
to study cosmological issues,
to hipothesize and recive answers,
to experience fulfillment in the field of love,
to overcome chaotic desires of our soul,
to use the knowledge gained before entering the body,
to become an expression of divinity,
to imitate order of nature,
to dry out unusual flowers under a pile of books,
to experience God's Providence,
to prove that justice is worthy of having,
to exploit days and nights in conformity with destiny,
to avoid venial sins in the future,
to exceed usual consiousness,
to dance in lake with stony bottom,
to think about something we never experienced,
to avoid the loss of sensitivity of the moral conscience,
to cry in defense of the poor,
to express respect and love for fellow beings.
Breath is the hourglass measuring time grain by grain.
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 1:36 PM UTC
His name was Father Harrigan.
He was so poor at the seminary . . .
Ireland’s flagship seminary,
Erin’s last remaining seminary,
Maynooth College near Dublin,
Once a network of theological schools
Exporting priests worldwide,
Struggling today to
Produce enough priests for
The shrinking next generation of
Irish Catholics . . .
He was so poor upon
Sacrament of Holy Orders,
He accepted a first post to Argentina,
Where he met a young Pope Francis,
“The Talking Mule,” as he was
Mocked back then, back in
The student lounge,
Universidad del Salvador,
A Jesuit institution,
Buenos Aires.
But I digress.
Father Harrigan made friends easily.
It wasn’t too long before
He had his choice assignment—
His coveted next assignment--
North America--specifically the
Boston Archdiocese,
For any ***** Irishman
A land of carnal opportunity &
Never Ending Corn Beef
& Cabbage Bowl®,
($Ka-Ching! Finally making poetry pay!$)
The Olive Garden.
Southie was where it all got
Started in 5th Grade, Elementary,
Our Lady of Tipperary, the
Spring talent show.
His mother convinced him to sing
One of George M. Cohan’s tune, i.e.
A tune by His Eminence
“Yankee Doodle Dandy,”
A song called "Harrigan."
**“H, A, Double-R-I, G-A-N spells Harrigan,
Proud of all the Irish blood that's in me . . .”**
What better way to ingratiate
Himself to his parish,
Or his parish priest to his family?
Father Seamus Harrigan:
Built like John Candy, RIP.
A fat Irish slob,
A captive of his appetites,
Including one for boys.
That guy should be given
Kennedy Center Honors, for
Giving the gift that keeps on giving:
That first exquisite *******
Which in subsequent years
Defined my taste for women
Capable of perfection.
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 9:26 PM UTC
take money out of the equation, and sack all the waiters and return to tribalism, the former statement of non-intellectual socialism, the sort of inherent: in us there is a togetherness, no more service from strangers in the hierarchy of enriching a piece of metal or a wavy rectangle of paper with “necessary” symbolism of authority of the status quo... but that’s not going to happen... the pickpocket picts are no more... the normalising normans glared at the hastings pinnacle and integrated with the saxon women... the saracens became surnames in poland... actually that last one is very true... a branch of my family has the surname saracen.
so i’m reading this article
and i’m hardly debasing myself,
it’s not that i’m referring
to sartre’s negation of certain things
whether animate and essential or
inanimate and existential... in that formula:
i deny therefore i am... because i can’t deny my existence...
and 2000 years down the line i’ll be pitchfork
argument in an atheist’s mouth anyway (nothing is certain in the realm of cognition, hence the cartesian invocation of doubt),
it's not like i'm referring to inappropriate pronoun usage...
so **** a doodle do... twang the strings on the mandolin...
i’m referring to this classical reference of the shy literary figure
unable to spark conversation with strangers...
god, i really love strangers, and talking to them!
why? there is no personal history, there’s no past,
there are no reference points... it’s just the moment and nothing else,
the perfect anonymity project...
not the matrix philosophy (easily invoked because
it has a flimsy plot-line and loads of images...
just what the doctor ordered for the english speaking masses
with a very naked orthography - i.e. if it’s on the internet
it’s not “real life...” as is this computer i’m using
it’s not even here!)
of using the deep web to join the rats and etc.;
i love talking to strangers, i can forget myself
and enter the realm of discretion about how within randomisation
of eggshell, yoke and cockroach there’s also the randomisation
of the interactants to balance out the need for a theological unit, god...
it’s great... it’s like... it’s like... life.
defining the genre of biography proper? never backtrack...
always sidetrack... i can’t be bothered living a life with cocktail parties
and romps and romantic comedies to look forward to
once all the animalism becomes domesticated and a
gym-session complaints column in a newspaper.
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 7:54 PM UTC
I want to be rich
I want to have power
I want my every thought
To blossom and flower
Into a new religion
Like a room full of roses.
I want to become
A brand new Moses.
I would write such tales
Of exciting breadth and scope
That any non-believer would
Have to be a brainless dope.
I would invent angels, too
That appear to save us all
And appear and offer words
That back up the worship call.
I will find someplace
Where I could build a church;
Leave all the naysayers
In a theological lurch.
I want to write new rules
Maybe on tablets of gold
And peddle my concept
Until thousands are sold.
Then we can get stronger
And create our own thing
Where hand chosen leaders
Can carry on like kings.
Once they are chosen
Their persons will be sacred.
They will have God’s mandate,
So no human can take it.
Of course we’ll do good things
Like a religion really should.
We’ll do charity and preaching
And do a great amount of good.
But what is most important
And will really make us great
Is to teach our people clearly
Just who they have to hate.
If we don’t approve of them
Heaven will simply be denied;
Just like the Court of Gentiles.
They’ll have to stay outside.
Because I want a religion
Where what I say will be fact
And all of the true believers
Will know exactly how to act.
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 9:45 PM UTC
and as the western slavs took to roman calibration and the eastern slavs took to reinterpreting greek with cyrillic, both the eastern and the western slavs lost sight of their pagan "ordeal" by forgetting their once fabled fathers in the stately category of gods, so while the eastern slavs continued to cling so desperately to woman kneeling in shawls by the altar of "innocent" sacrifice, the western slavs experienced a pagan revival on calton hill - so within all this being done, roman lettering had to undue the theological plagiarism of turning zeus into jupiter and jesus into jehovah on that mighty trident of poseidon. (oh... is it really that desperate and annoying and childish to use these nouns? i'd like to see you replace zeus et al. with: hydroxypropyl starch phosphate... or sodium lauroamphoacetate, although i admit, there's one rational and scientific concession to this, zeus et al. are all imaginary nouns, a bit like √-1ª.)
on the shore of loch lomond
i was seduced by zeus to revive
polytheism in earnest with a stern gazing eye,
for zeus heard of the satisfaction of yahweh(ª although
this noun isn't... because why would rabbis
pain over yhwh with ha ha he he hi hi hu hu ** **
disambiguations, while the greeks
didn't ze ze za za is is us us es es os os zi zi zu zu
but instead allowed aristotelian musings?)
at the establishment of the state of israel,
(ah **** had the pictures once...
but words are better than pictures
since pictures are a blockage of memory’s revival
while words penetrate -
although the damnable thing is,
i don’t remember what i said)
then too i saw hades seal the revival having turned
himself into cerberus in the forest of my resentments
unnamed just above bedford’s forest.
Oct 15, 2015
Oct 15, 2015 at 11:46 AM UTC
The Pleasant Difference ‘Tween The Spiritual & Religious
How to say this briefly:
Firstly, find words for the inexpressible.
They do exist.
Here is the gist:
Each has components -
Churches, sects and cults, their creeds:
The claim of being chosen.
Pure spirit's -ality doesn’t seem to need
A system woven
Into scripture which professes knowing
What is best for all,
Where if you’re good you rise
And if you’re bad you fall.
The spiritual as an approach to life,
Seems to place the emphases
On unity within the mixture of beliefs;
On peace and joy, and getting these;
Transcendent over time and space
And, most of all,
A sense that you are face to face
With truth about reality,
Its indescribability.
Yet not impossible to give a voice to;
Love that comes, fear that goes!
****** no. A loving kindness big & small,
Universal, – if you will,
That permeates, recalibrates,
Connecting to an All that’s spirit: All in all.
Practices to help along:
Meditation, psilocybin, prayer and song:
The mystical both caused or opened.
That said, non- theistic preference
Needs to be demystified, a road for genius, dunce.
Not piety, religion, magic, paganism, or god-based,
Not theological nor physical,
But meta-, deeply meaningful,
Yes mystical!
The core of all.
The Pleasant Difference ‘Tween The Spiritual & Religious 2.9.2017
To The Child Mystic II; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; Nature Of & In Reality;
Arlene Corwin
Feb 10, 2017
Feb 10, 2017 at 2:47 PM UTC
Propositions about
the afterlife are futile.
Do you believe in God,
heaven, clouds, harps and cherubs?
And then you die and discover
that you must lead many more lives
searching for perfection.
Do you believe in the Bardo,
in reincarnation, in the sweet
possibilities of getting it right?
And then you die and find yourself
on a fluffy cloud surrounded by
annoying cherubs whose harps are incessant.
Or will you become a mute patch of earth,
that is wet and dry and favored by worms.
I have closed the eyes of the dead
and all I can tell you is they were dead.
What happens after is futile surmise.
You believe or you don't.
But believing is not knowing.
And when you know, you will not say.
~mce
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 3:30 AM UTC
From this mount will the fire roll
To take its toll on my forlorn soul.
Here I have trod to meet the living God,
Standing on burning desert sod, out from behind any church façade.
To meet the untamed Creatrix in all her wild variation for inspiration,
Apart from any ecclesial illusion or theological delusion.
To feel the heat of unbridled love from the God above,
As fierce as the lion, gentle as the dove,
While I lay me down naked at the foot of the mount
To be lavished with all and more my soul could want.
No pseudo-god imprisoned here, but only truth,
No confessional booth;
No.
No bells and whistles or doctrinal thistles...
On the God of Thunder, her Majesty of Wonder!
Oct 5, 2013
Oct 5, 2013 at 5:43 PM UTC
We as humans are terrified of dying,
We create an imaginary world where we defy death, where we don't die,
Yes our bodies may not exist anymore but we still live, because we as humans will never believe that we can die. We create "religions" we have a "hope" that we can live forever. But why? Why can't we just accept that we will be buried in a 6ft hole in the ground and nothing else will happen? Because it's a human survival instinct, our brains tell us "what ever the cost you must not die" so when we do really die we believe that we are still alive. Other people also think that we are in "heaven". This I find fascinating in a phycological and theological aspect due to the fact that not only are you able to perceive the religious aspects behind death, but the phycological toll that a person grieving experiences.
When you ask a person of a religious belief what death is to them, 9/10 of the people asked, responded with words very similar to each other. These descriptions describe a sort of afterlife "the denial of death" these questions were asked to many people with different cultural and religious beliefs. But to define death is like defining religion itself.
Jun 26, 2016
Jun 26, 2016 at 3:47 AM UTC