Love, Because I Promised Her

Sunrise over a body of water

Sunrise over a body of water

Love, I promised her I would write about it,
To be in Love,
But how can I — a base man,
Pretend to know of heaven’s magic,

How dare I tame such a force,
By confining to words,
This sensation that so heavy-handedly,
Overwhelms me,
Spins me ’round,
Thrusts me up,
Raises me high,
Above all that;

How otherwise, would I describe a breath,
As it enters me, unnoticed,
And delivers to me my life

Or the light as I waken,
Quietly calling forth my lucidity,
And softly guiding my progress from afar;

I do not wish to dissect Love,
To chart its elements,
To give names to its components,
And map its orbit,

I wish only to long for Love in its absence,
And bask in its warmth when it arrives.

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On Entitlements

A Royal Court in Isfahan

I often find myself unable to fall asleep at nights, and it is during these frustrating hours that my mind naturally wanders, with no outer stimulation to keep it preoccupied, into avenues and alleys that a reasonable person would rather avoid but into which I am inescapably dragged.

On these most recent occasions we have frequented an arcade graced with tapestries from civilizations past and present, undoubtedly acquired through tremendous effort and expense, for the utter rarity and value of the most antique of these canvases speaks to the determination of their curator.

And upon these great kaleidoscopes, hanging on the cold concrete walls of this brief walkway, we can see the history of man as it has been recorded for us. The artists first duty is to his patron, and so it is that from one Diary to the next we see the Master exalted in his natural glory, assuming his role as God on Earth.

However, it is not enough to paint the Lord himself. The subject must be placed, for reference, and the artist inserts him into his Lord’s sphere, so that all can see and know to which they belong. And this is the natural order.

And although  we return repeatedly with hopes of finding a new exhibit, we are disappointed to find the same history — but even more so at how quickly we walk through it all.

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The Wall

a wall 2

It was so inspiring those first few days,
I mean, everyone was out there together,
Such a large group,
And the energy was so powerful,

The wave of energy swept us all up,
We were all being carried on this tall wave,
And it moved so fast, so quickly,
And even though we all saw the wall up ahead
We were on our great wave,
And our great wave would carry us over the top.

And the wave carried us closer, and then we saw:
The wall was bigger than we thought.
And we got closer,
And the wall got bigger;
Some, frightened, turned and swam away;
We stayed, determined to jump over the wall.

We hit the wall with a strong force,
But the wall did not move.
Then there was shock, but from where did it come?
Was it shock that we had not made it over the wall,
Or shock that we had dared to believe we’d make it over?

Either way, the wave had receded,
Some saw the wall as impenetrable,
They turned to walk back that long way
But we stayed, stubborn, stuck to that wall.

And with our hands we dug into the mortar,

Loosening the seams, brick by brick,
Until our fingernails were filed down and our fingertips began to bleed.
And it took a long time, but we got very good at getting the mortar out,
And we got faster too, taking out two, three, four bricks at once.

Finally we loosened enough bricks.

And we would take long breaths in between digging,
And our breaths began to rock the wall,
At first very little,
Back and forth,
But slowly, the rocking grew longer,
Until we grew scared that the wall might fall over on us.
At that point we had to decide if it was better for the wall to fall on us,
Or if we were going to push it away from us.

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War and Peace

tank fireYou can justify your doctrine of conflict and tension anyway you choose — you can tell yourself whatever you need to feel better about yourself, to give your life meaning — tell yourself what you need to shake off the anxiety, to shake off the doubt, the neurosis — I can tell you have never asked yourself if you might be wrong, because to admit that would be to admit you have wasted your life.

You want to play the role of hero, you want others to say to you “hoorah!” You need that appreciation.

Don’t you dare come here and tell me I have to believe your lies, don’t you dare come here and feed me your bullshit.

Look around, this is a place of love — you see a fantasy, you see it as impossible, but this is my reality, it is what I choose, and I am willing to die for my reality.

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I feel that our era will be defined as a souless intermediary passage in the history of time. The age of reason climaxed at the industrial revolution, and what we inherited is the mechanization of the individual.

We have become so automated that we have forgotten how to nurture the soul. We feed our impulses, but our mental health wanes more with each passing day.

I feel that I am too easily generalizing the whole population — maybe it is only I who feels soulless — but I cannot avoid seeing the tell-tale signs in almost every other face I pass.

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What is the state of education?

There is no Reason in our lives. We do not act reasonably when we shackle ourselves with debt?

What is our education for? To serve whom?

Is it really for a better quality of life?

Our system is designed to churn out cheaters and manipulators — it is designed to push to the top those that can game the system.

Our educational system is designed to reward conformity, and that conformity includes mastering the art of unethical behavior as a means to reach an end. That is to say, there is no incentive to hold ourselves to a higher stabdard.

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What have we built?


What is the great achievement of capitalism

We eat our own waste

We poison ourselves more and more everyday

Where is the great prosperity?

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