• Philosophy


    What is even, when you don't have a clue, for fifty fricking years about what matters most to you? An oath was broken; another made more strong (another minor irritation). Gaia, the selfish maiden (who lives off the wills of the strong) has been repaired again and armageddon's been put off, replaced by something simpler, like some megatonnage rock tossed blissfully among the titans who frolic up above, waiting for a brother (taking time not to miss) an op of 100 centuries, the reconciliation 'tween the fish and the walker, begging for an end to this ( not him, but them); you know of those of which I think, lost relatives, neither quick nor pink, but in the mode of an existence (not quite here nor there) impinging upon wee mortals (as if they really care), too brought up to be raised, too happy with their pictures to think an even thought (let them eat their lovely images, pollution or so pure) that even there progeny find little else to fear, God willing these will be replaced by those, when we to them return, obscure you say (perhaps) but keep in mind, between the lines, there is not much to fear, only God's wrath, which you extol is already an easy thing, computed and demystified, unraveled and explained a tool to be used like some manual (not only purloined, but waylaid) a poor substitute for arrogantly claiming, oh so much, we eat while the little ones, God's children (added to the ranks of seraphim, cherubim and principals) in the game of life you know, explained with only 'we try harder'. hey nothing new here, its all been said before, I'm not anything worthy of even you minor whores, don't think time; enjoy, eat stuff, love stuff, make more and store, shelve it, warehouse it, stack it in great piles, burn it, throw it, stomp it, who cares? Your old ones are a bother, be young (you'll find a way) poisons give you pleasure, lick your lips as gobbets drip from the bones of friendships lost...Too wonderful to imagine? You've got a few years left at least to play like little gods, go ahead while you may (its important that you do) Mammon and bawl amid the drool of Gates closed and opened, accepting but a few, buy it, don't deny it, so wonderful it is, you must get it, its so tempting and delicious, tantalizing, ennervating, compelling and full of allure, hey why not, you're only here today; the futures incomprehensible and the more you have the prettier you are, the more handsome, why it just adds and adds, compiling rapidly, bankruptcy no more, why not own one another: be my bitch for a day, a month, a year - hey why not forever, all we must do is say it or will it, you know there is nothing to stop it (yeah right).
    You're so caught up in the act of being caught and loving every moment of it ( distractions tasty and pure) you might even find delicacies prepared by death himself, you know he is only faking it, you can buy him with a minor chit. God is only added to the list of Bullfinches I've heard man say, we are in a playground, the most lovely in all time, others drown, dehydrate, explode, and bleed by quarts; to have the wondrous wonders we take for nothing every day - its our right, Right?, we were born here, we get to stay. Damn them and their envy, their bellies are distasteful, why am I even looking their way, when another channel is available? The poor have nothing in circulars, that catch your attention so strong, it is hard to find a book for them, hey could they ever be so wrong?

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    Teia commented on "Rant"


    I might be dumb but I don't get it!

    When power leads man towards arrogance, poetry reminds him of his limitations. When power narrows the area of man's concern, poetry reminds him of the richness and diversity of existence. When power corrupts, poetry cleanses.

    John F. Kennedy (1917-1963) Thirty-fifth President of the USA

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