It is done....
And the king and the master both said
all in my court shall be dead.
And the ones who died were laid in shame
And the children, never to smile again.
And the amber of the moment past,
and the king and master built a kingdom to last
On the bodies of those who had died,
on the tears of the mothers whose babies cried.
And the shame of the world was rooted,
and the minds of man were polluted
with all the unanswered prayers of the deceased,
in the faith of the cross worn by that dead priest
who said to all the children before he died,
never to leave a life to end in why?,
there is no redemption for you here-
death is the least for you to fear.
Death is blind
and so it sees
beyond what normal eyes
perceive.
Once your gone-
neither lost nor found,
we raise the stake
lower you to the ground.
Such a useless question:
what lies beyond?-
what awaits beyond
our bodies bond?
It is not meant
for either I nor you
to answer such a question,
to know its truth.
We must be patient
to know our fate,
to pass silently beyond
the other world, that waits.
Friday, January 2, 2009
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Synedoche.
For the once all of you who I once wrote about, you are no longer here. All your shadows have played out and danced passed in the flickering of my screen. I read your typed words of intrigue and I passed on your meanings to the forefront of my thoughts. It has all been kept for too long. Now, when I wander to and fro across coast to coast of this state I realize I am not a rooted theme but a paradox of unruly states. It is fine. For now when I realize that I cannot settle down I am treated with dreams of things I know I would hate. Things I would hate for myself- me, to do. I used to dream of complex situations for a future that in the end all equaled happiness. I used to realize that I couldn't own up to it because I doubted myself too much. It is a complicated thing to accept at a young age; the fact that I could not be enough. I wrote about it all, here, and I leave it all here. Finally the periphrasis doesn't count, that which this has all been. The parts that equal the whole, this. It all plays on to an end. I breath to exhale and I experience to reflect. I would walk around campus thinking that I could not be a writer because I could not live the writers life style- to be a loner and to commit myself to being that. To experience but always be out of the experience. It is fine; now. I realize it all as I sit here and by the morning I will forget everything. I started everything in an effort to be reflected upon as interesting in the eyes of so many. I used to try very hard to impress all of you. I knew and still know that I was a crutch to lean back on; you never expected me to have those experiences so you could turn to me with them. You knew. I realized and still do that I changed over night to a more introverted person which meant my exterior would become a wanderer which can so easily lead to follower. I followed. And I was fine with that. Not necessarily fine at the time but I learned to adapt. I forgot my old self until I was forced the time to reflect. I can never relate to any of you for you never experienced it. And that is true for all things: you can never fully relate to those who have not been through what you have. You can like them, appreciate them, but you cannot relate to them. You can not have the full respect for that person or deep level of understanding for the very basic fact that their experiences are different. It is not negative, it just is. And I am fine with that, now, too. I will never be able to understand my experiences. Time can leave space for manipulation of the distance between now and then. There can be what I think happened, what happened, what I would like to have happened, and the difference of it all. The more time that goes by the more hazy the truth will be. Or more revealed- the difference is hard to see.It's all a caesura, in real life that is. A caesura from what though? From these words? From all words? Or are all breaks just prolonged endings? I fear my worst self revealed and lying naked on the public floor. I cannot take a break from my fears so I sit with them, or lay with them, but they still always follow me. I pray for them to transform themselves out of my mind. I pray for them to hold no truth. Atheists- all Atheists- believe in something. I believe in that. When I leave again I hope for not perfection but a natural state with him. I have learned to expect so much of so little. I guess that is fine, right? I think my problem is, is that I am my problem. I don't know what I want but I want him to know for me. I've grown up, or settled, or just lived for a prolonged period of time. All these words have become a verisimilitude of nothing. Of space and time and how nothing can become so beautifully something. How a diary can become a book of prose and poetry words lingering. It's a truth of air.
It's an illusion, you all.
Did you see me out there, waiting? And you- you- who could have said me. Looking at how good your hands looked grasped in prayer, than at the words you speak. Oh to sea the things that over their could bring. You are my trouble. I leave again and the words fall flat to the floor- scattered. Nothing that I could try to put together could make things right. I feel an emptiness. A fester of doubt invades all feelings of the heart and breathes there forever. I am sorry. I am so sorry for who I am. All I could ever hope for is nature- whom we all blame- to invade our essences and make it all right. All natural. You and me intertwined like vines, growing and feeding off what each other says. I could drown in your presence.
If Jesus hadn't frozen out in the street could you still believe in me? When you stepped over him, on your way back from the bar, if you hadnt- would you still have faith in me? Could I have stopped you from all those horrible mistakes to bring you back to the boy I once knew? Nothing can save you this time.
And I pray.
For the once all of you who I once wrote about, you are no longer here. All your shadows have played out and danced passed in the flickering of my screen. I read your typed words of intrigue and I passed on your meanings to the forefront of my thoughts. It has all been kept for too long. Now, when I wander to and fro across coast to coast of this state I realize I am not a rooted theme but a paradox of unruly states. It is fine. For now when I realize that I cannot settle down I am treated with dreams of things I know I would hate. Things I would hate for myself- me, to do. I used to dream of complex situations for a future that in the end all equaled happiness. I used to realize that I couldn't own up to it because I doubted myself too much. It is a complicated thing to accept at a young age; the fact that I could not be enough. I wrote about it all, here, and I leave it all here. Finally the periphrasis doesn't count, that which this has all been. The parts that equal the whole, this. It all plays on to an end. I breath to exhale and I experience to reflect. I would walk around campus thinking that I could not be a writer because I could not live the writers life style- to be a loner and to commit myself to being that. To experience but always be out of the experience. It is fine; now. I realize it all as I sit here and by the morning I will forget everything. I started everything in an effort to be reflected upon as interesting in the eyes of so many. I used to try very hard to impress all of you. I knew and still know that I was a crutch to lean back on; you never expected me to have those experiences so you could turn to me with them. You knew. I realized and still do that I changed over night to a more introverted person which meant my exterior would become a wanderer which can so easily lead to follower. I followed. And I was fine with that. Not necessarily fine at the time but I learned to adapt. I forgot my old self until I was forced the time to reflect. I can never relate to any of you for you never experienced it. And that is true for all things: you can never fully relate to those who have not been through what you have. You can like them, appreciate them, but you cannot relate to them. You can not have the full respect for that person or deep level of understanding for the very basic fact that their experiences are different. It is not negative, it just is. And I am fine with that, now, too. I will never be able to understand my experiences. Time can leave space for manipulation of the distance between now and then. There can be what I think happened, what happened, what I would like to have happened, and the difference of it all. The more time that goes by the more hazy the truth will be. Or more revealed- the difference is hard to see.It's all a caesura, in real life that is. A caesura from what though? From these words? From all words? Or are all breaks just prolonged endings? I fear my worst self revealed and lying naked on the public floor. I cannot take a break from my fears so I sit with them, or lay with them, but they still always follow me. I pray for them to transform themselves out of my mind. I pray for them to hold no truth. Atheists- all Atheists- believe in something. I believe in that. When I leave again I hope for not perfection but a natural state with him. I have learned to expect so much of so little. I guess that is fine, right? I think my problem is, is that I am my problem. I don't know what I want but I want him to know for me. I've grown up, or settled, or just lived for a prolonged period of time. All these words have become a verisimilitude of nothing. Of space and time and how nothing can become so beautifully something. How a diary can become a book of prose and poetry words lingering. It's a truth of air.
It's an illusion, you all.
Did you see me out there, waiting? And you- you- who could have said me. Looking at how good your hands looked grasped in prayer, than at the words you speak. Oh to sea the things that over their could bring. You are my trouble. I leave again and the words fall flat to the floor- scattered. Nothing that I could try to put together could make things right. I feel an emptiness. A fester of doubt invades all feelings of the heart and breathes there forever. I am sorry. I am so sorry for who I am. All I could ever hope for is nature- whom we all blame- to invade our essences and make it all right. All natural. You and me intertwined like vines, growing and feeding off what each other says. I could drown in your presence.
If Jesus hadn't frozen out in the street could you still believe in me? When you stepped over him, on your way back from the bar, if you hadnt- would you still have faith in me? Could I have stopped you from all those horrible mistakes to bring you back to the boy I once knew? Nothing can save you this time.
And I pray.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
will continue, writing rather quickly
Because I did not get to finish The Islamic Tradition I want to put down the passages I underlined in case I do never get back to this book. I like to use my books; to write, underline, fold them because books are real and most of all interactive. So to memorize the essence of what I have taken so far from this book I want to copy these captions.
In addition to required beliefs and rituals, the faithful are called upon to practice virtues such as charity, humility, patience, contentment, and sincerity, as a means to reforming their moral character. The beliefs, the rites, and the moral reformation were deemed to purify the soul of man and to lead to salvation at the hour of death through entrance into Paradise. The Hells were reserved for those who lived in disbelief, impeity, and immorality.
Muhammad's mission, as both a Prophet who foretold future events and a Messenger who founded a new religion...
As we shall see later in greater detail, the Qur'an was revealed in piecemeal fashion to the Prophet over a long period of time.
That being so, revelation is, among other things, a reminder sent to those who have forgotten the true nature of the One:"We have not revealed thee ths Qur'an," Muhammad is told, "that thou shouldst be distressed, but only as a Reminder to those who fear, and as a revelation from Him who created the earth and the loftly heavens, the Compassionate, who is established on the Throne"
The One is above the world and its imperfections; it is within the world but not of it.
So Islam, in this respect, recognizes the validity of pre-Islamic revelations and recognizes other Prophets and Messengers, apart from Muhammad, also has celestial support of their missions on earth.
By rigorous mental discipline, they eliminated within themselves even the subtle shirk that is like an interior obstacle, or set of obstacles, blocking their path from towards perfect spiritual Tawhid.
The spiritual extinction of the ego is a logical consequence of Tawhid and an aspiration of the Sufis.
This is illogical; therefore the illusory ego, the human "I" has to go. In some respects Sufism is the art or science of eliminating the self or the "I" in order that the Divine Ego or Self may shine through the purified psychophysical nature of man.
With this in mind, we grasp why shirk is the cardinal sin in Islam- all others are forgiven.
In addition to required beliefs and rituals, the faithful are called upon to practice virtues such as charity, humility, patience, contentment, and sincerity, as a means to reforming their moral character. The beliefs, the rites, and the moral reformation were deemed to purify the soul of man and to lead to salvation at the hour of death through entrance into Paradise. The Hells were reserved for those who lived in disbelief, impeity, and immorality.
Muhammad's mission, as both a Prophet who foretold future events and a Messenger who founded a new religion...
As we shall see later in greater detail, the Qur'an was revealed in piecemeal fashion to the Prophet over a long period of time.
That being so, revelation is, among other things, a reminder sent to those who have forgotten the true nature of the One:"We have not revealed thee ths Qur'an," Muhammad is told, "that thou shouldst be distressed, but only as a Reminder to those who fear, and as a revelation from Him who created the earth and the loftly heavens, the Compassionate, who is established on the Throne"
The One is above the world and its imperfections; it is within the world but not of it.
So Islam, in this respect, recognizes the validity of pre-Islamic revelations and recognizes other Prophets and Messengers, apart from Muhammad, also has celestial support of their missions on earth.
By rigorous mental discipline, they eliminated within themselves even the subtle shirk that is like an interior obstacle, or set of obstacles, blocking their path from towards perfect spiritual Tawhid.
The spiritual extinction of the ego is a logical consequence of Tawhid and an aspiration of the Sufis.
This is illogical; therefore the illusory ego, the human "I" has to go. In some respects Sufism is the art or science of eliminating the self or the "I" in order that the Divine Ego or Self may shine through the purified psychophysical nature of man.
With this in mind, we grasp why shirk is the cardinal sin in Islam- all others are forgiven.
Monday, November 17, 2008
wuthering
It is all on an account of an insecurity. That makes me want to cry. For why? - Why must I speak out of self discontented woe? For I know myself so little that I try to find my reflection in others. My words are in others. My words are their words. When I say my I mean you and when I say you, do I mean you? Who am I to make such a jest? All I want, all I’ve wanted, is a fact, a known fact of who I am to be; a fact of prosperity or at least content. When the other little girls were asking for money or designer purses, I would pray for happiness because I had already experienced a place of such deep self loathing. I never thought I would live this long. And I don’t think for a period of time that my parents or the doctors did either. I never wanted to live this long. As a child I saw my life as a dead end line of fast experiences ending in a fast way. I was rushing to the end and now that I by some shame have lived passed that rush I’ve been living in neutral hoping for a force to kick me back up again. Back again- back under. I see myself more clearly now in the mirror. Remnants of the disease of mis-figure are beginning to become a more distant memory and my reflection has cleared to show me who I am. I am the same person I hated so much when this all began. I see the same things, the same measures falling just short of what I want. Just short but far enough to never make it. I will never have a healthy mind. I feel too much of whom I am to ever have moments outside myself. I have stripped myself bare of all exterior layers and lived for an extended amount of time naked. Once you have seen yourself you can never escape what you know you did. Can I ever get out of my mind? No.
I am at a point where I can feel his hand on my body and for once I know that he can be enough. That if there is any hope for me it is outside- outside of my world of words of worlds- and he is it. His honesty is piercing yet correct. His words are sometimes not enough but just what I need. He doesn’t treat me like I thought I deserved but I find myself okay. I love him more for he sees me as a person while everyone else I know has known me for sick. I can never make him understand but on some levels I don’t want him to. I just hope with any distinct amount of will of future in me that he and I last.
I am at a point where I can feel his hand on my body and for once I know that he can be enough. That if there is any hope for me it is outside- outside of my world of words of worlds- and he is it. His honesty is piercing yet correct. His words are sometimes not enough but just what I need. He doesn’t treat me like I thought I deserved but I find myself okay. I love him more for he sees me as a person while everyone else I know has known me for sick. I can never make him understand but on some levels I don’t want him to. I just hope with any distinct amount of will of future in me that he and I last.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
dare you
I do not create paradoxal words of wisdom. I can not write a self to discover a self. I can not write structure. I dont write a being as a mere breath in a plot of time. I can not recreate that way. I see shadows, shadows are my words of writing. I see breaths that represent my thoughts. I am halted by periods and graphs- pictures and symbols called grammar. I am stopped by my own limitations of skill. I am lost in a journey of finding my soul. I can not understand a day to day tick of time but I do understand how one can manipulate words to create images. Intangible images. Painters are to meant to recreate the tangible, writers are meant to write about the beyond.
We have not met in awhile. Hello my little coke doll.
Ashamed, I rise.
I was not expecting you till late.
My lips, parched petals, a rose. Pursed open by your silken touch.
I was not expecting you till late.
Only you, my little coke doll.
Don't say that.
Only you.
Don't say that.
Why?
Because I don't know who I am. Because this is not about you.
Black legs unending, wrapped around forever. Interwoven at the waist in your overabundance and my lack thereof.
You are wearing your mask.
I never took it off.
Lose yourself, do not speak.
Shy.
The rose opens, you pull out the silken string. I was choking on it. Your too good. I like your taste.
Don't speak.
Shy.
But I have to.
Close your eyes and do what you always dreamed.
I'm alone there.
There is too much space. Spider legs wrapped closer, my jaws open to clench yours.
You never took off your mask. My little coke doll. I can see through you.
I was working hard on that.
Could you grab me?
I open my eyes, your fingers are wet.
Don't speak.
My rose opens, pull out your silken string. You taste so good. Too good.
I'll lose you when the lights fade.
Don't speak.
Shy. Space weighs too heavy with time. I clench closer.
I'll lose you when the night fades.
I never took off my mask
Why?
I don't know who I am.
My little coke doll Emaciate yourself.
We have not met in awhile. Hello my little coke doll.
Ashamed, I rise.
I was not expecting you till late.
My lips, parched petals, a rose. Pursed open by your silken touch.
I was not expecting you till late.
Only you, my little coke doll.
Don't say that.
Only you.
Don't say that.
Why?
Because I don't know who I am. Because this is not about you.
Black legs unending, wrapped around forever. Interwoven at the waist in your overabundance and my lack thereof.
You are wearing your mask.
I never took it off.
Lose yourself, do not speak.
Shy.
The rose opens, you pull out the silken string. I was choking on it. Your too good. I like your taste.
Don't speak.
Shy.
But I have to.
Close your eyes and do what you always dreamed.
I'm alone there.
There is too much space. Spider legs wrapped closer, my jaws open to clench yours.
You never took off your mask. My little coke doll. I can see through you.
I was working hard on that.
Could you grab me?
I open my eyes, your fingers are wet.
Don't speak.
My rose opens, pull out your silken string. You taste so good. Too good.
I'll lose you when the lights fade.
Don't speak.
Shy. Space weighs too heavy with time. I clench closer.
I'll lose you when the night fades.
I never took off my mask
Why?
I don't know who I am.
My little coke doll Emaciate yourself.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
our fathers brought forth
I am angered, increasingly, by a lot of things within this new election. Voting. To vote or not to vote is American. We have the choice to go either way and to say not voting is un-American is ignorance to the original ideals our country was founded on. Our Founding Fathers did not want all of us to vote. To see the common people, so to speak, voting as we are now would scare them and move them to further action. White men, who could vote, only made up 1/4 of the total population of white males. Jews, Catholics, Minorities, and women were excluded also from the voting mix. We are a country founded on the beliefs of a Republican Democracy, because originally for us Democracy failed. It failed miserably. If you do not believe me simply look at the Articles of Federation. Women have only been able to vote in the last 88 years. So for anyone to say voting is your American God born right, you are wrong.
For people to vote just because they can is a waste. I would rather go with our Founding Fathers and only have a selected few vote than have a ignorant vote count towards our country. To have voted because one is Republican and the other Democrat or because Barack Obama is black and you are too, is another example of an ignorant vote. To split a ballot and then have a write in of Chuck Norris or Mickey Mouse (which gets 3,000 write ins each year) is also ignorant. I do not understand.
To not vote because you do not like either candidate and feel you must choose between the lesser of the two evils is a cop out. America is not a two party system and to say that your vote wont count if you vote for a third party is contradicting those founding ideals so many preach. You want a Democracy, you got it, now make an educated write in and vote for a third party if you do not like the Democratic or Republican candidate.
To not vote because you feel that it is man trying to substitute God is a confusion. Voting is not a replacement of God and to believe so shows insecurity. God is above all else but in all else and voting will not replace him unless you already have a doubt seeded in your mind about him.
Not voting because you do not like our government is wrong. Voting has nothing to do with the core of the problems in our government and perhaps those who think so should redirect their attention to detail.
For people to vote just because they can is a waste. I would rather go with our Founding Fathers and only have a selected few vote than have a ignorant vote count towards our country. To have voted because one is Republican and the other Democrat or because Barack Obama is black and you are too, is another example of an ignorant vote. To split a ballot and then have a write in of Chuck Norris or Mickey Mouse (which gets 3,000 write ins each year) is also ignorant. I do not understand.
To not vote because you do not like either candidate and feel you must choose between the lesser of the two evils is a cop out. America is not a two party system and to say that your vote wont count if you vote for a third party is contradicting those founding ideals so many preach. You want a Democracy, you got it, now make an educated write in and vote for a third party if you do not like the Democratic or Republican candidate.
To not vote because you feel that it is man trying to substitute God is a confusion. Voting is not a replacement of God and to believe so shows insecurity. God is above all else but in all else and voting will not replace him unless you already have a doubt seeded in your mind about him.
Not voting because you do not like our government is wrong. Voting has nothing to do with the core of the problems in our government and perhaps those who think so should redirect their attention to detail.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
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