Waking Giants

If it must start, then may it start quickly.  Pay attention and think.

Cool winter breeze pushing through the fog makes a stirring in it that eyes can clearly see.  As if the clouds themselves would twist into words and speak. [pause] But it is not so.  The clouds do not speak for they cannot speak.  They only billow and surge with the tug and pull of the wind.  YES, there is the true master.  Silent in itself, alone it is invisible, and yet IT, it is the action that stirs the mind in these murky hours.  Half dawn, half dusk – somewhere in between – the rogue shadows of life all pale against this backdrop.

Is it in becoming that we are who we are?  Or, are we more like the clouds?  Are we driven by that thing inside us, unmanaged and reckless – not the impulse, for that too is known – the “I.”  what am I that all my thinking contorts itself around this concept till mangled and ill-recognized those that know me(whatever that means) don’t recognize who I am.

Broken mirror pieces remaining attached to the nearly shattered mirror.  The cause of the break – unknown – nevertheless, the fragments still hang onto the frame, almost desperately.  The glue is old that keeps them bound in place.  Perhaps the owner should have though to refurnish it, but that is not the case.  So, broken, the mirror stands attached to the desk of which it is a part. 

Have you looked into the mirror and wondered what it is you really see? Science says the eyes record the world upside down.  Somewhere in the mind the correction is made, but why?  If we see upside down before it is processed, then are we not all working out our existence in a world that sees things right side up when it is not so?

Rough clump of rock and dirt seen falling to the ground appears common.  It is uneven.  The left side has accumulated more dirt than the right.  It appears to consist of various parts of earth.  The size is not large enough to hurt an adult human if it were to strike one.

It is in the discourse that we decide to lose or fight for meaning.  What we don’t seem to appreciate is that by so doing we are defining reality.  The dirt is still dirt, whether in French, English, Chinese, etc.  The dirt can only be dirt, though it may have different meanings to each, and connotations may differ, it is still dirt.  What I understand of that and what you understand of that not only may be, but more likely are, two different things.  The point is NOT that language is therefore consistently differed.  The point is, do we need to reconcile that difference or can we get by with our disparate understandings relatively well; furthermore, if we cannot get past our disparate understandings, then we make conversation and attempt to transmit meaning till we are reconciled.  It is a process of defining reality, and honestly, for as ground breaking as we think it is, it’s not new. 

Inactions due diligence

For those who had the misfortune of reading it, I thought that this was a sub-par poem.  I would have kept it up as an example of such were it not so long, but that is not the case and so it is gone.

swampmen

Some wade through the indifference

Like a rattlesnake passing through the desert-

Too much used to the heat-

Too much accustomed to apathy.

Subdued by the muck of everyday living

Like the theory of deconstructionism-

Where everything is nothing-

Where nothing is everything.

“Oh Atlas, how do you carry the weight of it all?

And, do you still think of it as a curse, or is it an opportunity?

When will you let fall the globe,

And watch it descend into the dark void?”

They tear it from the strongest of men

Like the cutting knife that separates meat from fat-

The excess is cut off and the tough are refined-

But they lose all their flavor when cooked.

Suppressed by the men of the swamp

The great are brought to live in huts-

Their ideas are lost in empty heads-

And the echo of their fall is like the bucket clanging down the well

The cord is cut the bucket free, its work is done and it may do as it pleases

Yet freedom severs the link to usefulness, the tightly woven fibers of industry,

And in its liberation it discovers it is useless just as it hits the wall,

and awaits to collide with the mud, where water used to be.

Ode al Mar

My English professor thought it would be a good idea to experiment a little with some of the things we are learning about in class.  We are studying Middle English Lyrics, or as some call them "medieval lyrics."  I was really intrigued by the idea of the meshing of two languages so i thought i would give it a try myself.  It took more work than I thought it would, but it also came out better than i expected.

Ode al Mar

El mar viene y va for many

But not like any, me detiene

Asombrando at it I let go

And feel the flow de no estar solo

I miss the sea y éste a mi

"I am lonely," me dice, “sin ti

Mi Corazón is so far and gone

Por camión will you hurry on?”

So I reply, “ya vengo,” I’ll fly

Y cuando allí I’ll let out a sigh

Off to mi amor forevermore

To leave the shore never needing more