To Shape is to Sin

So we drink, To forget the Sun, In hopes that it might not rise again. With the night comes clarity, A luminous bath, Washing away the scars and imperfections, Scorched into the Earth. Blinded no more, We can finally see, With drunken double vision comes twice the truth; We are Nocturnal. Having turned our backs on our truer selves, We have opted into the ocular vasectomy, Staring straight into the blazing fire of erasure, We accept the trade of affirmation for negation; A one-sided deal but one that we relentlessly demanded. “Please Lord, Help me forget to shape, But have … Continue reading To Shape is to Sin

Ethics

So, seeing as this is properly a philosophy and art blog, I feel compelled to bring about the most obvious question for this scene: what is the proper medium for discussing philosophy?  I can accept that there are different channels for different branches, but then the question just arises as many times as there are distinct branches of philosophy. Because, truth be told, Kant doesn’t do it for me.  Sure, his work is brilliant, and his logic is sound, but the way he discusses it and presents it lends itself to only the higher echelons of society’s understanding.  And is that … Continue reading Ethics

A tu, mon frere

I stand, In that famed hallway. Peeking into your keyhole, Thoughts not yet born, Of what to do. My hands are clean. Were clean. Until the Gods sent you, To look; To judge; To create. A monster, in place of what was. Which wasn’t much to begin with. Just a fleeting though, That seems to fly, In the same way, To everyone else. Overcome, So says I. And the Eye behind the I, That wasn’t there before. Thanks to the prying eyes of Others, Peeking into my soul, Through my keyhole. Traitorous sentry posts erupt from every synapse; Diverted resources … Continue reading A tu, mon frere

Camus, Camus, I owe it to you

More often than not, the two passions of my life, writing and philosophy, seem to end up meshed together in some strange, less than coherent poetic train of thought.  And I’m not sure I want to, should, or even can avoid that.  At the urging of a voice whispering in another’s ear, I was forced to lead an expedition into the very depths of my soul, with questions instead of lights to guide me.  It is a dark place, one’s soul; it is all but forgotten from the passing of days. But I found the remnants of a campfire there; … Continue reading Camus, Camus, I owe it to you

Alphabet of Alliteration or (Civil War)

An ambiguous army of apostles Breaks barriers of brick and bone, To claim controversial kings as Deities destined to destroy Eternally employed enemies of entropy. Freedom finds its fitting form in Ghastly giants of grotesque growth, Holding heroic hopes as holy, Instead of employing interred ideas of intent. Jeers jar our jaded judgments of jewels, Causing canonical killers to claim kin as conquests. Lovers lie longingly in lustful leaps, Mortared to the mistakenly motivated moment. Nearby, nefarious knights kneel to Nox Openly offending ordinary opinions of “ought”. Permissible, perhaps, in the privacy of a person’s palace. Quintessential quiescence quells the Queen, Returning reason to … Continue reading Alphabet of Alliteration or (Civil War)

Our turn at God

And so the world began with a thought.  But only in these sense as it applies to us.  Because, you see, the world only exists so long as we can see it; as long as it is seen by us, that is.  But you may think that is a strange way of phrasing existence, however true it may be.  For, you see, the world exists passively for all of eternity before and as it will continue to do after our mark has left the timeline.  In our infinite wisdom, the wisdom to be at least, we brought awareness to existence. … Continue reading Our turn at God

Kaleidoscope glasses

So how do we think then?  Well, that’s not exactly what I mean.  The whole physicality of the mechanisms of thought don’t interest me any more than a snail’s anatomy .  No, what interests me is authenticity, to be clear.  Clearly pretentious and a fan of pseudo-intellectualism, you might be thinking, but that’s precisely my point. No it’s not.  I don’t know even why I said that.  Maybe at a hope for some sort of a sense of leading a literary life.  I’m hoping for coincidence to coincide with my idea of the way the world works.  But this is an impasse and … Continue reading Kaleidoscope glasses