Jul 24, 2004
the empty road (on the folly of imaginations) w/o the Faith
this slothful beast that churns within
That can't for His sake TRY and swim
For the multitude He hears the cries
woe is me: the naked soldier dies.
And bumble bees fly
To nowhere sky
This sentence .. can I bear?
The one that feels so there.
The one that wants to cry.
The one that says goodbye.
Hopeless are dreams
The ones that cannot be.
The ones that have no life;
the ones with all the strife ...
this slothful beast that churns within
That can't for His sake TRY and swim
For the multitude He hears the cries
woe is me: the naked soldier dies.
And bumble bees fly
To nowhere sky
This sentence .. can I bear?
The one that feels so there.
The one that wants to cry.
The one that says goodbye.
Hopeless are dreams
The ones that cannot be.
The ones that have no life;
the ones with all the strife ...
Jul 21, 2004
the following is an exercise:
This is the song of myself, redux. For who but the muses of the past can we turn? Who? Who? Let me sing the only song WORTH singing. I need not your judgement (of which there is so much of).
Who doesn't but loath themself so, to hate his neighbor even still? Who has but one ounce of compassion in them worthy of being forgiven? Not me. Not any. Not any idol. Oh the beauty which utters in the speed of dimensions that haven't the need to ever please the unpleasable. There is no turning from the utter realness that is this: I love, so I am.
The opinions, the banter. Please ignore the cause. The hardship, the pain. I am spent to spending. I am alive for nothing. I am forever within so that without can not be. Do not forget there is no proof.
There is no proof that anything IS. What is so is not so. What isn't is not isn't. But still beyond your JUDGEMENT is this. Beyond my judgement of your judgement is this. Is the utter relief.
Beauty. See the beauty of myself. Of all that I can only know. This is the song of myself, redux, that has no motivation besides the motivation of motivation.
Who doesn't loathe. Who doesn't seek to impress. Who isn't BLINDED BY THE DUPER. He who controls nothing but illusion. Illusion which even the cunning must fear. Stop. Remember the Lord of hosts who is the only source of peace to your intellect which will attempt, ATTEMPT to rebuke the unpenetrable. Not here. Not now. But soon.
This is the song of myself. The literate cannot deny.
Heed the sunset and the mountain and the placid truth GIVEN freely to no one who is worthy. Heed the gentle patience the ONE offers. He who shouldn't but deny all. Would not you deny one who denies you? But forget that. We all know that sadness of knowing. Yes, just make do. Make do.
This is the song of myself. Whereas I am the golden highlight of eternal mirth and the joy that I know can never be known without knowing thyself.
What a fool am I to care, to attempt the unattemptable. But I am fool enough to try. I am fool enough to stand within myself here and now.
cont. later
This is the song of myself, redux. For who but the muses of the past can we turn? Who? Who? Let me sing the only song WORTH singing. I need not your judgement (of which there is so much of).
Who doesn't but loath themself so, to hate his neighbor even still? Who has but one ounce of compassion in them worthy of being forgiven? Not me. Not any. Not any idol. Oh the beauty which utters in the speed of dimensions that haven't the need to ever please the unpleasable. There is no turning from the utter realness that is this: I love, so I am.
The opinions, the banter. Please ignore the cause. The hardship, the pain. I am spent to spending. I am alive for nothing. I am forever within so that without can not be. Do not forget there is no proof.
There is no proof that anything IS. What is so is not so. What isn't is not isn't. But still beyond your JUDGEMENT is this. Beyond my judgement of your judgement is this. Is the utter relief.
Beauty. See the beauty of myself. Of all that I can only know. This is the song of myself, redux, that has no motivation besides the motivation of motivation.
Who doesn't loathe. Who doesn't seek to impress. Who isn't BLINDED BY THE DUPER. He who controls nothing but illusion. Illusion which even the cunning must fear. Stop. Remember the Lord of hosts who is the only source of peace to your intellect which will attempt, ATTEMPT to rebuke the unpenetrable. Not here. Not now. But soon.
This is the song of myself. The literate cannot deny.
Heed the sunset and the mountain and the placid truth GIVEN freely to no one who is worthy. Heed the gentle patience the ONE offers. He who shouldn't but deny all. Would not you deny one who denies you? But forget that. We all know that sadness of knowing. Yes, just make do. Make do.
This is the song of myself. Whereas I am the golden highlight of eternal mirth and the joy that I know can never be known without knowing thyself.
What a fool am I to care, to attempt the unattemptable. But I am fool enough to try. I am fool enough to stand within myself here and now.
cont. later
Jul 14, 2004
could it be
that I
that you
that me
that we
that he
that she
that thee
my god your more than self to me
to know this world
fade away
to see the river as the source
of water for my natural course
to know the bird who
sings to we
who nurtures
follows
incorporates thee
to know the ancients as myself
to know the freedom of forgone truth
for humor
and sanity
and friendship
and morality
i sit i ponder him
who sat and pondered all
and marvel at his
stance to fall
to be without the sin of man
to be without and understand.
that I
that you
that me
that we
that he
that she
that thee
my god your more than self to me
to know this world
fade away
to see the river as the source
of water for my natural course
to know the bird who
sings to we
who nurtures
follows
incorporates thee
to know the ancients as myself
to know the freedom of forgone truth
for humor
and sanity
and friendship
and morality
i sit i ponder him
who sat and pondered all
and marvel at his
stance to fall
to be without the sin of man
to be without and understand.
