good stuff..i really like the imagry in "mirage," and these lines: "Intention vs. compulsion? Intention guides compulsion. Intention overcomes compulsion. Compulsion becomes intention. Rinse and repeat" in regard to "disaster," i refer you to elizabeth bishop's "one art" <http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15212>
Indeed, the art of losing is not hard to master, but when you've lost it all, and everything is ruined, it is still by definition a disaster. Yet the rubble of every blasted tower is the material upon which future empires are built.
You exorcised my demons But how was I to know That the shattered vessel Could be rebuilt just so? With all those jagged edges To lacerate my hands And uncertain make the escape From your reprimands.
To make a decision From which one cannot Turn Back (I Love You. I Love You.) Is to Die. Damnation awaits. There is no salvation But to crawl And to claw To and through The base from the apex And create a()new Apex.
(Our religiosity gripped us. Were we all that fabled beast, ipsissimus?) The man in the yellow robe swore he wasn't entranced Yet to how much trouble did he go to avert his gaze From the smiling corpse on which Shiva danced? (The road to hell is paved with good intentions... You got to go through hell to get to heaven! All the while manna being dispersed before you: Hansel and Gretel's trail of breadcrumbs always Leading back to a nonexistent lost self never.) The man in the priestly garb swore he wasn't tempted But with how much care did he lock the door Before he proceeded to scar the innocent he preempted? Holier-than-thou sacred cow: Egregor and high-priced whore. Spirit poisoned with revolving debt. Pascal's wager, no fair bet. Saying sooth we look to see An apathetic reverie With conviction to forestall Experience of the coming fall. Yet in the midst of our broken bodies A strength resides, each time we rise, We rise with quivering limbs And shuddering soul, each time We rise, we rise, we rise Into the falling sky, we rise Away from the planted life And into the heaven of chance, A mighty beast of burden Annihilating the dragon's dance. The mirror image is forever backwards.
A choice between fear and love? Very touching, but no; Neither love nor fear are choices. Cultivating the ability to make a choice, So one can choose love... Focus! Hocus pocus! Alakazam! Abracadabra! Wam! Bam! Thank you, ma'am? After all, we'll have to do it with our hands.
Kitten! Actually, I very much enjoyed the movie, and I agree with Joseph's suppositions, for the most part; yet there is a fundamental misunderstanding about choosing love over fear. Development of the Will-- an aspect of human conditioning that is conspicuously ignored in modern American culture-- is necessary in order for one to be capable of making any such choice. Understanding what the Will is, that's what I believe makes the concept itself difficult for people to grasp. It's hard to qualify something we can't quantify according to empirical standards. It is so wonderful to know you're still out there, dear! Hello and meow!
Ah, then I misunderstood the piece and got caught up in the title. I like the idea of developing the will to even make a choice, especially one that propels you outside the grasp of inactivity and complacency.
A quiet moment In a sterile room, When I held her hand And she smiled Through pain. I knew We were forever, However fragile We appear; And I knew We were forever, However much We may fear The loss Of life; The coming Of strife; We are forever And our path is clear That we should care And hold each other dear.
I want to tell the world the truth about itself, but I don't know how. I want to unfold the flower of reminiscence from within the soul of timeless space, bearing it to the sun of eternal knowledge. I want to shamelessly attribute meaning to nothing in particular, and fashion spectacular rainbows of thought from triviality. I want to transform horror into wonder and wonder into sustenance for the emboldened heart. I want passion to mate precision in a wild constructive cosmic dance, a flame burning steadily in the lamp instead of through the flesh and stake. I want to wake you up with a kiss, and fall asleep in your embrace. O divine soul longing for an unconscious personal and collective: I want to be in you the self that forever becomes and never dies. I want life. I want to feel that we earn our place instead of being placed in it. I want to determine an order from chaos with a whimsical smile, to rearrange it and feel yet its essence coalesce with my own as if all forms were one realizing themselves through the variety of their movements. First I concentrated on the tip of my nose. What a strange feeling to be only the tip of a nose, but there I was, and in wonderment of ecstasy I experienced a great shuddering orgasm of light shatter my perception and realign me with an awareness of atonement, wherein the Universe and I were one being sharing the function of mutual love. It was a sneeze. Even the breath that left me was the breath I took in, and what once irritated me was through a medium vaster than my comprehension transformed into a life-giving vapor, a spirit of madness and exaltation, mountain air or the salty scent of ocean waves or the putrid stench of the grave all rolled into one great opus of giving; 'twas earth, and every living thing rejoiced, for every thing was living, united and unperturbed. Even that state of mind that perturbs itself is but a coarse aggravator of a smooth system, and like water wears through the rock it becomes shaped by the voluptuous softness of the giving void. It is true: the soft always overcomes the hard, and neither controls the other but through the dispensation of illusion. What sense organ senses itself sensing? When mirror regards mirror, which is the reflection? There are no fragments, only the (w)hole. Echoes Are our cherished memories Resonating our deepest Woes.
I felt like in "Death is Impotent Agains Life," you tried a little too hard to rhyme, it fell quite flat and seemed forced for me. But "Echoes" was beautiful. [What sense..senses itself sensing] and [When mirror regards mirror, which is the reflection?] Awesome! And "Gratitude" was a perfect follow up. What better way to acknowledge and give thanks to the universe and the voices within.
And I don't mean to discredit or downplay the moment taking place in "Death is Impotent Against Life"...
It's okay. I'm left inarticulate upon reconsidering that moment. I suppose I did the best I could do. We lose so many, it feels like so much, the me that I lose in you. Where does that time go? I don't care and I don't know, But I was there.
And that's all the poetry you need for that moment. I have so many half written poems for people and time lost. Maybe they are incomplete because we are still together in so many ways.
AL BUNDY He got drunk Jerked off to porn Then got drunk. There is no time like the present. ARE It is disgusting And it is painful How little People see you For what you are; But what's more disgusting And more painful Is how little people See themselves. Diamonds When I searched The Heart Of my self I found diamonds. The jagged edges Cut my hands. "Hell boils with laughter." -Henry Charles Bukowski, Factotum
