Philosophy Now Forum

"X

The Last Judgement of Entropy

Gaze upon,
this listless,
pond,
whose ripples,
form a sin wave.
Owe Son!
Where to which,
to wave and gaze,
about to confirm,
life's grandest,
maze.
Frown.
As I am Peter,
and here upon,
you are judged,
from whence it,
came.
No place for blame,
no time to B_lame.
Chaos,
a lesser place,
not for you,
and your,
disgrace.
You weathered,
the storm,
but whether or not,
your maker's mark,
and all your tales,
of life and throng,
are,
too much to tell?
Yet Peter shall,
heal and,
he'll put upon,
you a bone,
a memory that,
never fails.
Your tell tale sign,
of which,
you'll,
become.
To grow a tail,
for your,
life's wrong.
No longer wo/man,
so suck off,
you, ewe and yew!
Eat from the tree,
after sin,
and lose,
your soul,
to anothers kin.
Once could,
have been in,
our Lord's kin,
but now you're,
just another,
beast below.
Yes you'll bellow,
on judgement of,
being energy,
to entropy.
Too late for sorry...
Bark up the Tree of Know_Ledge,
SAP!
Y PORT NE?

www.androcies.com

X.Y.U

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H0C0E0K ... rt_radio=1

She didn't wanna be, she didn't wanna know
She couldn't run away cause she was crazy
She gave it all away, she saw her baby break
And in the air it hung that she was dull razors
And I said, I wanna fill you up, I wanna break you, I wanna give you up
From one another, another one should come to one another
No one should come between us
Still I was lonely, and she was by my side, my one and only
Knows that she could never hide
I couldn't feel her, and it was just a game, cause I was lonely and she was crazy
Rat-tat-tat, ka boo boom, now take that, and just a bit of this
Cause I'm a watcher, and I'm a doer of none
Come to save you, 'cause you're all mine
I hurt where I can't feel, I feel where I can't hurt
I know where I can't know, I bleed for me and mine
Ka-boom, a rat-tat-tat, and some good ole bliss
Cause I'm a sister, and I'm a motherfuck
I am made of shamrocks, I am made of stern stuff
I am never enough, I am the forgotten child
And I said I wanna fill you up, I wanna break you, I wanna give you up
From one another, no one should ever come
In between us, between us and our love
Mary had a little lamb, her face was white as snow
And everywhere that Mary went I was sure to go
Now Mary's got a problem, and Mary's not a stupid girl
Mary's got some deep shit, and Mary does not forget
And this is how Mary's garden grows, and this is how Mary has her ghosts
And into the eyes of the Jackyl I say ka-boom
Now we begin descent, to where we've never been
There is no going back, this wasn't meant to last
This is a hell on earth, we are meant to serve
And she will never learn
Bye bye, baby goodbye

..there is no covenant.

X

A friend of mine did a reading of the poem I posted above:
https://soundcloud.com/doolhoofddiscobol/posh-dosh

deleted 463

Luxin wrote: ↑Sat Aug 22, 2020 10:03 pm Far away but very near
An ageless Kitten sat;
Very cute with tender paws
And an ageless Kitten's hat;
He was a god, lived in a cave,
Now angels, fancy that!

Cute little meows he meowed all day;
He did not need to play;
He filled the cave with tiny meows,
Very near but far away.

Far away but very near
Walked a young man who was lost;
In his dreams he turned and tossed;
His every move came at a cost.

He wander-ed alone in deserts
For fully forty years;
He paid for a turbulent life
With a million tears.

He knew he had a loving heart
And that another was somewhere;
His best was just not good enough,
Now he was dying in the rough.

Far away but very near
His ageless Kitten mewed
As if the Cat did cry to him
"I'm here you crazy dude!"

The man he knew something was up;
He stopped and listened here --
He heard a cry right inside him,
Very far but very near.

In stillness now he hears his Friend,
Who keeps him right on track;
For Kitten-Master and His slave
There is no turnng back.

It was most def-i-nite-ly queer
That far away was very near!

This is an excellent poem of a kind not often written. I have read it a number of times and expect to make it one I'll read more often. It's all so very metaphorical, that which is "very near but far away". The kitten's meow is the independent voice inside oneself emanating from the caves of the mind as something eventually heard in the full light of consciousness to which it may first appear alien. When that happens it's as if a dimension or awareness were added to the psyche of which one was previously unaware in spite of always existing within. Such is usually accompanied by the shock of realization being one of expansion as if having crossed a barrier from the inside out. Trauma is often the catalyst for such an event.

Anyways, that's how I more or less interpret it.

Btw, it looks to me the cat isn't too happy!

Swan is quiet now,
sitting on the shore
of Lake Manasarovar
at the feet of Ram.

He'd had a dramatic flurry
of wing stretches, head bobs,
swanny notes and trumpets,
and short low flights.

It's now time to be silent,
separating milk from water
and nibbling on pearls.

This is a haiku.
I never said it was a good example though.

https://www.androcies.com/Prose/Laura%2 ... Three.html

Laura, Two divided by Three


Past quaint shops,
I wandered home,
late at night,
at chess dethroned.
Something caught my eye,
there was...light.
A candle flickered,
beside a knight.
So I pushed the door,
and entered inside.
An old man asleep,
awoke in fright.
Fear leapt into his eyes,
it seemed,
glazed over,
the eyes now beamed.
"Pick a book!",
shrieked the man,
"..but make it quick,
this eternal plan!"
I looked around,
well I guess, they're
books!
The dust so thick,
disguised their look.
"Pick a book,
pick it now!",
shrieked the man,
beneath a frown.
"I'm heading home,
all in time."
"Then head there quick,
or else,
you'll die.
Pick a book, you must now!"
I looked around.
"From which side should I pick?"
A Grandfather clock,
began to tick.
My heartbeat seemed,
in sync with it.
The old man said,
"Be clock-wise and think,
are we down-under,
after all,
or is it those 'up-top',
that have been fooled?"
I began to quiz,
to fathom it out,
is to think of the East.
"Clock-wise, we are up top,"
is what I said.
To which he replied,
"Then go there instead."
The East side of the shop,
is where I looked,
and from a shelf,
I picked a book.
C.J. Dennis,
was in my hand,
The Chase of Ages,
and here I stand.
I opened a page.
The clock stopped,
and the man shrieked,
"Get out of here,
the time is weak!"
I turned to my right,
but quickly I left,
for stood there behind me,
was beyond my breath.
I crossed the street,
and across the grass,
C.J. Dennis,
came to life,
from brass.
"I can slow that ghost,
my friend,
but Baphomet,
will come to life,
in the end.
You must strike him,
and stand your ground,
upon the threshold,
of your own house.
Take this sword,
Excalibur, it is,
now my word,
its calibre denied!"
"Then I shall kill him,
and restore the Templar,
pride!"
As I took the sword,
I remembered my past life,
that evil Pope,
and all his lies.
"Don't forget the,
Song of Rain,
that the A.I.
and entropy,
art to blame!
Now run,
my friend and,
don't hesitate,
or else we are doomed,
our final fate.
This ghost of Baphomet,
it will follow you home,
and upon the threshold,
of your throne,
turn and strike that lethal blow."
"OK. Clarrie", is all I said,
to this gentle man of word,
now dead?
I swung my sword,
kill him now,
is what I thought.
But indeed,
I could not!
For Baphomet was air,
just the essence,
of a visual plot!
Come on darling,
answer the phone,
open the door,
the threshold,
the throne.
I ran,
I ran,
upon my soles,
chased by the one,
king of arseholes.
The answer came,
the sweet voice,
leapt out,
leaving no doubt,
The plan was set,
for she had dreamt,
it all about.
I felt to shout,
"Baphomet,
there is no doubt!
there is no doubt!
from which of that,
you are out!"

Excalibur!

It will slice that fence,
for its metal,
is not so dense.
I took a shortcut,
my breath so thin,
I sliced a cut,
through the,
corrugated skin.
I pushed, and,
split that fence,
right through.
It was tight of fit,
as I stumbled,
upon dew.
Now I could hear,
Baphomet's breath,
it was turning to beast,
of animal flesh.
I got back to my feet,
how shall,
or shalt not,
we,
slay this infernal,
beast?
I ran again,
I ran,
I ran,
My heart,
held out,
for this final,
plan.
Of which I knew,
of nothing more,
than to get,
to that bloody door!
I jumped the gate,
oh I hate that gate,
for from,
the tree of knowledge,
I had ate.
As I got to the porch,
and there she stood,
the most beautiful lady,
ever overlooked.
"Hand me the sword,"
is what she said,
her two soles,
upon the threshold,
spread.
This final plan,
it must be hers,
for C.J. Dennis,
knew of this curse.
I held the blade,
and upon her grasp,
she thrust Excalibur,
deep into my heart.
I fell to my knees,
and then to the floor.
I saw her tears,
whilst stood at the door.
I cried out...Christie!
Why?
Oh, why?
For long and deep,
I did strive.
There was not a word,
spoken from her.
But I knew,
deep inside,
for what she saw,
and short of sight.
I rolled my head,
as I died,
to see Baphomet,
grinning,
his usual delight.
I turned to my side,
as I awoke,
in bed and all alone,
and there I chocked.
It was just another,
dream and again,
I'm all alone.
Still alive,
but just,
an ordinary bloke.

https://www.androcies.com/Prose/Laura%2 ... Three.html

A Caution To Everybody
by Ogden Nash

Consider the auk;
Becoming extinct because he forgot how to fly, and could only walk.
Consider man, who may well become extinct
Because he forgot how to walk and learned how to fly before he thinked.

“I Am Not I”
BY JUAN RAMÓN JIMÉNEZ
TRANSLATED BY ROBERT BLY

I am not I.
I am this one
walking beside me whom I do not see,
whom at times I manage to visit,
and whom at other times I forget;
who remains calm and silent while I talk,
and forgives, gently, when I hate,
who walks where I am not,
who will remain standing when I die.

Comment:

This one became his own shadow
Tagging along beside the ghost
This one sees shades stooping from time’s burdens
Trailing behind delusions of permanence
Untouchable by action
This one can make no karma

You owe a debt to Past You,
for any good that they have done,
but They are gone.

Pay it forward to Future You,
and, Present You,
your time will come.

A limerick by - Leigh Mercer

A dozen, a gross, and a score
Plus three times the square root of four
Divided by seven
Plus five times eleven
Is nine squared and not a bit more.

Ahhh. Poetry.

Touching with a light touch.
The need to segregate poetry is one the things that gets lost.

*


Shoveling Snow With Buddha
Billy Collins

In the usual iconography of the temple or the local Wok
you would never see him doing such a thing,
tossing the dry snow over a mountain
of his bare, round shoulder,
his hair tied in a knot,
a model of concentration.

Sitting is more his speed, if that is the word
for what he does, or does not do.

Even the season is wrong for him.
In all his manifestations, is it not warm or slightly humid?
Is this not implied by his serene expression,
that smile so wide it wraps itself around the waist of the universe?

But here we are, working our way down the driveway,
one shovelful at a time.
We toss the light powder into the clear air.
We feel the cold mist on our faces.
And with every heave we disappear
and become lost to each other
in these sudden clouds of our own making,
these fountain-bursts of snow.

This is so much better than a sermon in church,
I say out loud, but Buddha keeps on shoveling.
This is the true religion, the religion of snow,
and sunlight and winter geese barking in the sky,
I say, but he is too busy to hear me.

He has thrown himself into shoveling snow
as if it were the purpose of existence,
as if the sign of a perfect life were a clear driveway
you could back the car down easily
and drive off into the vanities of the world
with a broken heater fan and a song on the radio.

All morning long we work side by side,
me with my commentary
and he inside his generous pocket of silence,
until the hour is nearly noon
and the snow is piled high all around us;
then, I hear him speak.

After this, he asks,
can we go inside and play cards?

Certainly, I reply, and I will heat some milk
and bring cups of hot chocolate to the table
while you shuffle the deck.
and our boots stand dripping by the door.

Aaah, says the Buddha, lifting his eyes
and leaning for a moment on his shovel
before he drives the thin blade again
deep into the glittering white snow.