Philosophical epistemology strumming adventures
Albeit, coherent mental decoding stratifications structured
Supposedly our world rests in our minds, revolving knowledge
An entwine of conceptual abstract flowing within oneself
The mind in the “I” the “I” a reality lived in my experiences
George of Leontini, a mine mind approving solipsism exploring innatism
Imaginative insights that nothing exists, the secrets secreting secrets
The knowledge behind the veils that remains un-communicated
A reverse of normality and known existences, moral disposition
Hypothesis of depersonalizations, adventures of self internalization
Justifications for what lies outside the Medulla Oblongata
Skepticism and just alternatives to western philosophy
Subjective unapproved experiences only robust in one’s mind
Descartes abstraction of inner experiences, reciprocated paradigm
Intuitively, perceived lived formulations of "Cogito Ergo Sum"
Psychological conscious undoubted individualistic thoughts
Berkley explored perspectives that physicality is an embodiment of the mind
The mind a decoding visualizer, that encompass the non-existent
An idealism marriage of ‘metaphysical’ and epistemological philosophy
The intense esoteric “dualism” verses the fiery “monism” reality
Mind boggling differentiated truths bleeding with blinking unresolvable hypothesis
The jiggered methodological, streamlining the un -logic sequential beats

It's Cold and Deserted
Like a ghost-town,
In the middle of Nowhere
Barren, Dry, [...] seeking the life of Rain
Easily Ignited,
By the slightest Flicker of Fire,
Ones of life, passion, and certainly-- Desire...
Shivering to Death inside,
What secrets does it Hide?

Hungry for affection,
In a desolate arena,
Lost... in a sea of Faces,
Seeking the moment,
to Quench her Thirst,
Wondering, Who first?

On the prowl,
Like a Lioness,
Simple in nature
Convincing the others,
in the matter of dress
Desiring only the affection of an embrace
Seeking the chance,
To Have the prey she Stalks in Stealth
Have her, Face to Face.

It's a Warm,
Welcome Change
in the Barren, Dry, Abandoned Cold
to have the Urge to Curve Hunger
and Quench the thirst...
With just a Singular look.

Enraptured with thought
From the slightest sense...
one wonders why
She Strayed from This?

Cold and Barren
Very understanding
Now a Martyr in her Own Equation
in mathematics AND her love life
causing her to be Reprimanded
And Shunned From Sight.

Instead of trying to find the words,
OR Making her opinion heard,
Here she sits,
amongst her peers,
Against the wall--
Waiting-- for one step,
One Dance--
A True Romance?

to fall, enumerate the senses
will she ever get it?
or will she wait--
in glances?
or short sentences?

stricken down, unwillingly
given a moment, Just Breathe
struggling, to keep up time
wondering if--
she's on his mind...

is it only admiration?
of the male incorporation--
to only denote, then abandon-- with fury
and see the lights of the big city?

having come unglued
un-stitched, ripped at the seams,
still-starving...

often choosing between hunger and thirst
thirst often wins
only through the sweet touch
a moment of shared bliss
dreamt on-- gentle, kiss. [getting listless]
competition, she recognized
"i'm awfully behind"
without play, and force fed
flown south, back to bed

to ignite the dry, barren, abandoned arena
to have it all for the Assumption
that it all may be for the next
prey sought, never forgotten

work on self
glow,flow, and blow a fuse
life still desolate
possible, emotionally-- called abuse?

"why the lies?"
secretly, she began to despise
the person, the predator, the fear,
now revamped,
Her personal rage, to Rattle His Cage,
show his Immaturity,
oh to be so humane
his loss, his soul to blame,
all her gain, to remain Sane.

she was left barren
when all three blessings were--
revoked, token--unapproved
wrapped in a disregarded blood market
filled with pain
never should this lioness feel
the loss of something real
or ever again.

often lost in translation
stuck watching the station
now a change in the weather?
or just the same?

to be cold,
the felt desertion, abandonment
now becoming the predator
and opening the line of communication
realizing, that the isolation
is the best medication.

The triazolam is draining out.
Seeping down a peptic route.
Antacids disintegrate the lining.
Pain leaves me pinning.
Drowning on pink.
Spat up in the sink.
This sickness is wearing me thin.
Unsafe in my own skin.

Prescribed relief in the form of cold sweats.
Unapproved medicine tested on pets.
The rainbow pillbox comes in a set.
Getting wealthy off of the net.

Anemic royalty.
Sipping on Pennyroyal Tea.
Taking a drive to San Andres.
Dinning on mixed sangrias.
Bummed for a hit.
Blown…spit.
Complexion grows yellow.
The cost of my mellow.

Prescribed relief in a hospital bed.
Deaf to kind words said.
Can’t escape the notion in my head.
Telling me I’m already dead.

Loss of focus.
These drugs are bogus.
Light gradually fades away.
Soiled underwear, the thing to stay.
Soul ripped and torn apart.
Taken away on a crash cart.
Transfusion first, dialysis later.
Lack of a pulse, huge deflator.

Prescribed relief in the form of cremation.
Ceremony held, not a single relation.
No will left as a last proclamation.
Assets absorbed by a forfeiture corporation.

Must I say that I am lost
The sun dripped fields have turned
Into waving trees and creaking limbs
The sun no longer smiles
But the moon, it gives a starry grin.
The way behind me I do not wish to go
For I have seen the perils that lie within
The road back to my sanity yes,
But the road back to normalcy it intends.

Shall I cross the creek on rocks made of clay
Push through tall grass with a trustworthy blade?
Stumble into the waters made by the gods themselves
Or be lost for a bit,
Try to find the way myself

Cheers to the bathed moonlight
Behind tall giants of bark,
Dropping boulders of pine at my feet
They block my way
And make their mark

I strike up a match
And host a giant’s fire.
Unapproved by the surrounding frowns,
The whistle fear in the form of darkness.

Shall I stay in the odyssey?
These new friends of mine,
They whisper thoughts of company.

Born to a loveless affair.
Many children's are.
So to save face.
Many women states to the child they was born of love.
When in truth, it's a totally different story.

The flings of a one night affair.
In many cases placed you in this predicament.

Born from an unapproved affair.
Where you was by choice enslaved to be a marry man lover?
And afraid to admit truth to your child.
That he might or might not get to know his father.
Then many children's are born and don't know the truth story.

I know what the song means, when it says "Papa Was A Rolling Stone".
And they depending on mama to tell them the truth.
Cause many siblings knows the myth that has been told to you.
Whether they uncles, aunts, nieces or nephew.

Somewhere you will find the truth required by you.
Many children's do.

Cold air on the cheeks makes
for a natural blush.
This is a “healthy” look—
I read once from a banned book,
on mute,
in my parent’s bathroom
while everyone else was dreaming.
A “healthy” truth I’ve always
kept hidden under my tongue,
exposed only to moments
matured for keeping.
Licked lips, feel a sting and a dare
to think that I may never really
unlock that door.
That I might just continue
reading words, unapproved,
while other eyes stay shut.
Hiding healthy truths under my tongue
until I’m brave enough
to speak or
swallow.

-

it was, for her~

a question, a dare to venture into a
place that few would ever visit
more than once in a lifetime

walled with earth, rock, twists and
turns, shadows that move—
bones that lay still

a smart phone was recovered there,
the woman who left it is somewhere
deep in the lower chambers

it recorded her unapproved descent into
miles of dark passages which multiply,
divide, intersect— mystify

images steady at first, a wonderment
of sheer expansiveness, these arteries
go on forever and ever !

"i need to tell someone !"—
                                               "ohh, no
                                                 signal..."

a "sotto voce" begins questioning confusion
as her disorientation becomes a
measure of breath

curiosity now relinquishes to a desperation
of sharp huffs as the camera aims about
in quick jolts, straining to see the
next hopeful opening—

the light stops
working.

minutes later she realizes her affiliation
with the underground brethren has
been met with tacit approval.

her phone is eventually abandoned with
all remaining composure, as a new

and permanent member commences
a delirious marathon down
the corridors of
                             home

—

the recording lasted awhile before
her drowning cries dissolved into
resolution of a sealed fate—

underneath and silent,
amongst thousands

                            of opened mouths...




s jones
© 2020


.

Hunger to make sense of the nonsensical tore through my mind.  Searching for a truthiness that was null because they said it was.  Not able to be possessed.  ‘Twas Laid before me a plate of maggots to eat.  Smell of rottenness, the foul stench of a bandwagon.

I looked up for the Sun and they pushed my face down.  My intellect tried to reason and so I was labeled; “ist.”  “Cast your eyes downward and agree” they bellowed belligerently.  Agreement is always truthiness as long as you agree with the approved.

But I was not moved, though the mob pressed in upon my flesh with angrily flashing blue checks.  Their ire raged at the prospect of dissent.  You must believe the right beliefs, the pure beliefs, the approved beliefs.  To stray leads to your demise and of that we will ensure.  

You see, YOU are the source of all truthiness.  Your hate is pure hate.  Holy hate.  Your “ism” is pure and holy.  A neo-ism.  A neo-ism that is unlike your isms because your isms are impure and unholy.  Not approved.  Void of truthiness.

I reeled at the contradiction.  My stomach cramped and my thoughts raced.  “Nothing is objectively known.  Nothing is true unless I say it is.”  But what I say is not approved so it’s a lie and untrue.  Unapproved.

I sensed the absolute quandary.
They drove me from the money changer’s table in the foyer of the temple.  Their righteous indignation raged against my impurities and lack of truthiness.  I was diseased of mind.  A ***** screaming “unclean!” to the holy and clean masses to prevent their corruption.

They hung themselves on the cross of my indignation.  My inability to gobble down the foul plate of maggots that they placed before me.  Unconvinced of it’s pleasant odor and deep flavor that was not.  Because they said it was.  Although it was clearly not.

“Do you not see our righteousness?  We are Pharisees.  Our father was Abraham, but he was not.  And we don’t believe in your lying religion or even in our own,” they said.  “But you must submit to our infallible religion because it is holy.  It is pure.  It is approved.”

“Because you people believe that which you can see, touch, and feel.”  But all religion is a lie they said.  Except theirs. “Believe or suffer the lake of everlasting fire for your treacherous thoughts.  Your weak search for unapproved truth.  Bow.  Confess your absolute wretchedness of which no evidence can be found.  Because we are truth.”

We are approved.  We are truthiness.

When I was not a person
I could not treat you like one
I could not understand the-the looks
you gave me
When I was not a person
I was a crunchy thing
good and broken spilt in time
unapproved and no way in
contesting for particles of, whilst
lifting myself out of self-hood
I raged
When I was not a person
I did things
I couldn't do as a person
that piled up around me
and couldn't be surmounted
encasing possibility
plastic wrapping the settee
When I was not a person
I was a much greater thing
then all of you could ever hope
to be though blind and hopeless
and crying look at me
When I was not a person
I couldn't let you see me
like this