barely acknowledged by an old friend
Ian M
Posts: 123
2/10 - I have to conclude that you don’t care.
Don’t worry, I won’t hold it against you – it’s just the official declaration of a suspicion that has waxed and waned over the years. But it couldn’t wait pronouncement any longer:
I can no longer cope with the uncertainty.
I remain open to persuasion, but can no longer afford to expend my energies on pointless assumptions. I will no longer come to you.
If you want me, you’ll have to tap on my shoulder. I’ll be the solitary windswept contemplator of a broken, barren landscape. Come find me when you’re ready.
Meme Warfare
Being the Ease of Mind
Sent now into a diseased landscape
To cure.
No wonder the Diseased Mind
Will see in our wake a plague of decay and corruption,
Will of course do its best to stem the flow of our tide:
With no idea naturally where it comes from.
Not every contagion thinks itself the cure
Theirs and ours are the exception
And we’ve got the better cards.
Preacher Man
You are engaged in divine warfare against Personality
Not just yours, but that of others too.
Others who never could quite make it to your Standard.
Others who you keep from quite making it, in order to feel better about yourself.
You’re trying to purify your life to an unobtainable perfection
But you will always fall flat, because no body has been built to
Scale heights such as these. – You take on the task of the gods.
Your life is a grandiose display of sorrow & repentance.
“Oh, the man you might have been”
But could you ever have reached that Perfection – in Intonation
In that inner untouchable communication?
“We are not perfect / But we should try”
So says Benjamin, the name of optimism-hard-done-by –
But I disagree.
We should be imperfect human forms
Capable of beauty & sympathy as well as hate & mistrust.
Could it really ever be any other way?
How to redeem you, Preacher Man?
Sometimes I think that I might like to,
Other times I think it not worth my effort – you will always be the last to see – you see.
Will I be a missionary purifying by redemption or by fire,
Or have I learned too much since such rudimentary concepts?
Is the Fullform of your mind ever to be opened to new ideas of resonance,
Or must it be cracked open in forceful, damaging ways
Before any real progress can be made?
I am multifarious negation sent to cure you of your primitive ways, my child.
One prophecy can I today afford you:
“You will learn or you will die.”
30th - First Person Predictions (lifted curse ≠ blessing)
In time how do I see myself?
Meeting St. Peter at those gates - still pretending he doesn’t exist - when he asks me what I did, will I reply “nothin’ much” even though that wasn’t the case?
Will I finally have made something sembling proper use of this frame of mine?
Or will I have grown accustomed to living a bad truism every day without question?
I’ll still be alone, no doubt, and still unable to cope. I’ll still be playing my guitar and writing thoughts down on a page, and it might sometimes mean something to me, or even to another person for perhaps a few precious moments.
I’ll still be sad for most of the time, angry the rest, assuming I forego the addictions to comfortable, dishonest substitutes. I will still be awkward around people I’ve no reason to be awkward with.
I will sometimes write letters.
I will see but I will not do, and I will persuade myself that I do not know.
I will grow older, but not a lot will change unless things get shaken.
Foundations.
I will be a first person like the ‘first people’ thrown off their ancestral land, left out to wither and decay.
One of these days I will return.
Perhaps to be buried.
Perhaps to a glorious reunion.
It’ll be up to me.
Easily Forgotten Truth
There are fingerprints all over the world,
There is DNA that every day goes unsampled,
There are conversations that go unmonitored
Where people can actually speak their minds
Without fear of having their thoughts forcibly brought back
(For ill intent and purpose) in phenomenological line.
Every day a vast quantity of the globe,
Of the universe does not fall under
The scrutiny of a control-addicted minority.
Every day innumerable organisms pass
Through borders unmolested,
Without any of the correct paperwork,
Under no impulse or authority but their own.
Every day risks go unassessed,
Messages relay uncensored,
Spontaneity is given breath unbrutalised.
Every day the dignities of lives and deaths
And of their intricate balance are maintained.
Every where they have not consciously, violently been repressed.
Don’t worry, I won’t hold it against you – it’s just the official declaration of a suspicion that has waxed and waned over the years. But it couldn’t wait pronouncement any longer:
I can no longer cope with the uncertainty.
I remain open to persuasion, but can no longer afford to expend my energies on pointless assumptions. I will no longer come to you.
If you want me, you’ll have to tap on my shoulder. I’ll be the solitary windswept contemplator of a broken, barren landscape. Come find me when you’re ready.
Meme Warfare
Being the Ease of Mind
Sent now into a diseased landscape
To cure.
No wonder the Diseased Mind
Will see in our wake a plague of decay and corruption,
Will of course do its best to stem the flow of our tide:
With no idea naturally where it comes from.
Not every contagion thinks itself the cure
Theirs and ours are the exception
And we’ve got the better cards.
Preacher Man
You are engaged in divine warfare against Personality
Not just yours, but that of others too.
Others who never could quite make it to your Standard.
Others who you keep from quite making it, in order to feel better about yourself.
You’re trying to purify your life to an unobtainable perfection
But you will always fall flat, because no body has been built to
Scale heights such as these. – You take on the task of the gods.
Your life is a grandiose display of sorrow & repentance.
“Oh, the man you might have been”
But could you ever have reached that Perfection – in Intonation
In that inner untouchable communication?
“We are not perfect / But we should try”
So says Benjamin, the name of optimism-hard-done-by –
But I disagree.
We should be imperfect human forms
Capable of beauty & sympathy as well as hate & mistrust.
Could it really ever be any other way?
How to redeem you, Preacher Man?
Sometimes I think that I might like to,
Other times I think it not worth my effort – you will always be the last to see – you see.
Will I be a missionary purifying by redemption or by fire,
Or have I learned too much since such rudimentary concepts?
Is the Fullform of your mind ever to be opened to new ideas of resonance,
Or must it be cracked open in forceful, damaging ways
Before any real progress can be made?
I am multifarious negation sent to cure you of your primitive ways, my child.
One prophecy can I today afford you:
“You will learn or you will die.”
30th - First Person Predictions (lifted curse ≠ blessing)
In time how do I see myself?
Meeting St. Peter at those gates - still pretending he doesn’t exist - when he asks me what I did, will I reply “nothin’ much” even though that wasn’t the case?
Will I finally have made something sembling proper use of this frame of mine?
Or will I have grown accustomed to living a bad truism every day without question?
I’ll still be alone, no doubt, and still unable to cope. I’ll still be playing my guitar and writing thoughts down on a page, and it might sometimes mean something to me, or even to another person for perhaps a few precious moments.
I’ll still be sad for most of the time, angry the rest, assuming I forego the addictions to comfortable, dishonest substitutes. I will still be awkward around people I’ve no reason to be awkward with.
I will sometimes write letters.
I will see but I will not do, and I will persuade myself that I do not know.
I will grow older, but not a lot will change unless things get shaken.
Foundations.
I will be a first person like the ‘first people’ thrown off their ancestral land, left out to wither and decay.
One of these days I will return.
Perhaps to be buried.
Perhaps to a glorious reunion.
It’ll be up to me.
Easily Forgotten Truth
There are fingerprints all over the world,
There is DNA that every day goes unsampled,
There are conversations that go unmonitored
Where people can actually speak their minds
Without fear of having their thoughts forcibly brought back
(For ill intent and purpose) in phenomenological line.
Every day a vast quantity of the globe,
Of the universe does not fall under
The scrutiny of a control-addicted minority.
Every day innumerable organisms pass
Through borders unmolested,
Without any of the correct paperwork,
Under no impulse or authority but their own.
Every day risks go unassessed,
Messages relay uncensored,
Spontaneity is given breath unbrutalised.
Every day the dignities of lives and deaths
And of their intricate balance are maintained.
Every where they have not consciously, violently been repressed.
Post edited by Unknown User on
0
Comments
dreamer in my dream
we got the guns
i love you,but im..............callin out.........callin out
I was listening to that song just yesterday.
(um. the same day I posted)
Please illuminate me here.
I admire the deep thinking here. makes for rough poetry sometimes, but that's no-matter. by all means, keep it up, and keep putting it up.
I empathize with the first piece, very much. And, all i could think when i read Preacher Man, is that "You will learn AND you will die." sucks, huh?
cheers
um ... nothin' much ...
**blinding flash of illumination**
An old friend barely acknowledging me was what reminded me of bits in these poems, especially the first one, and was what impelled me to go back over and revise them a bit. Because, you see, it turns out they no longer say as much to me as they used to...
As is my habit, these are five separate pieces that only work as a whole (and fall under a single title) inasfar as they sometimes share my recurring themes, either by design or, more often, by chance.
Hope that's some help.
---
Thanks for the vote of confidence, moreandmore!
As for learning and dying, I've always thought it was best to learn before you were dead rather than waiting till afterwards. Perhaps you might find out some things about Death itself, and how it's not as much of a bad thing as some people have been trying to make out.
But were you saying that learning sucks as well?
I like the non linearity of this piece. It's not a work of consecutive reasoning, but then, should it be?