Stanley Milgram

"My only pleasure is to sit on a curbstone and watch the sky for an occasional bird flying south for the winter. I am not used to being so very much alone, and I can think of a few sweet faces with whom I wouldn't mind sharing my pillow when the hour for sleep comes around.... I'm listless, uneasy, dissatisfied, bored and fed up. I suffer from status insecurity, incipient mononucleosis, and sexual privation. I'm the little man looking around for some totalitarian movement I can join." –Stanley Milgram

Maturation

The rain drops dissolving the ice cubes of longing

And the orange colored mangos dropping

In a sudden season of maturation!

 

Imagine!

… that the brain needs to categorize. And yet, imagination stems from the ability to break this categorization, to see things not for what one thinks they are, but for what they might be!

1) Perception->Categories->bombard with new experience

2) Fear response->stress, group-think, reframing events

3) Social intelligence-> familiarity and reputation, iconoclasts need connectors, butterflies do not change the ecosystem of the jungle ... trees do.

Ego (by firstcomet)

Just as my toast popped out
out of mind, my ego unwittingly dropped out
I bended over to pick up the junk
Just to put it back where it belonged
But then I saw two mice
Pulling it on opposite sides
So, I reached to my plate
And picked the only slice of bread
Split into half; one for Tom the other to Ed
Then, they both fled
And so I was left,
With the insipid ego instead!

foliage

The oaks, maples, birches, and black gums are all on full blaze and the squalling firemen are close by. Soon the foliage will be gone and the acetone adulterated fall rain will wash away all these dazzle of the scenic roads of this great state.

 

The force field (by firstcomet)

I thought, beyond this point
The road is barricaded, barred
No other eureka, no ecstasy
My share the stillness of a stale yore
Inculcated in the essence of now!

Captured in a force fields
Pushed to the left, then right
Prone and then Supine
Between us an empty space
Empty as the expression on my face

It’s your move I say
It’s your reaction, you may
It’s our interaction, you weigh
I nod, then wonder
Which force caused this, I ponder

Reflecting upon your face
And the certitude of your faith
And the strength in your voice
I wonder if I had any choice …

Hands to the left, hands to the right,
You wave at me good night!

Out in the open I see
The twinkling starts to be
Pulled to the left, then to right
via an incredible cosmic might

Austere but urged is the world
And thus it’s constantly twirled
Days after days,
Years after years,
Or so it appears!

David Foster Wallace - Commencement Speech at Kenyon University

David Foster Wallace - Commencement Speech at Kenyon University

The Fog

The western rationale has stripped us from our value system and has not yet provided us with a substitute that runs or can potentially grow as deep within our psych; the only exception being science which provided us with a slow and tortuous road towards our fundamental quests (unfortunate is our dependence on our only source of inspiration to pay for our grocery bills). Materialism and sensualism has been offered as alternatives, but fall short in the grand meaning-ometer scale, in addition to being a game biased to the advantage of the westerners. There still remains those moments of emotional outbursts to fill the vacuum receptacle of our souls. So, we remain nostalgic and unsatisfied with the knowledge that the roads to past is not retraceable and the road ahead is covered by an impenetrable fog.

Manchego cheese - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Manchego cheese - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia: "Manchego cheese"

A tribute to the ignored:

You ignored me in the elevator because I wasn't your destination floor.
You ignored me in the corridor because you didn't have to pass me to get to your office.
You ignored me in the supermarket because i wasn't your favorite brand.
You ignored me while riding the bus, because I wasn't your destination station.
You ignored me in your poetry, because I didn't rhyme with the rest of your lines.
You ignored me while looking out the window, because i was below your field of vision.
You'll always ignore me since I'm always available, I'm always reachable, and always there.
You ignored me just because you're never content with where you are, what you want, and that which is at your presence.
Will you stop by someday? Will you touch me sometime? Will you glimpse at me just for a moment?
I am the flower in a corner of your resident's backyard.
I'm a butterfly in larva.
I am the painting on the other side of the wall.
I am the candy ready to be unwrapped.
I am the hour that just passed you by.
I am the music of the silence,
The flavor of the tasteless,
The fragrance of the pure air,
The essential ingredient of nothingness,
The quintessential essence of the ignored!

The Dreamland (by firstcomet)!

Looking at the clock, going tick and toc … I want to start a new poem. Then I’m reminded of the absurdity of lines, verses, and rhymes. Somehow we collectively managed to reduce the complexity of human life into a series of economical and political equations wherein poetry has no place. In reality, we have become obsessed with utility and the commercial relationship of "me" with "them", and I’m no outsider to this world. Flowing smoothly in the background is the music of a forgotten yore. It’s a nostalgic theme, though. It seems like art, in general, can eternally leech off sadness and despair. The crashing of the symbols and the march of the battle filed goes contrary to the state of the modern man’s mind; depressed and sinking ever deeper into slothfulness. The curse of the modern man is repetition:

The feather pillow on the bed
Head on the pillow,
Bird in the head,
Flying to the dreamland!

The clock is ticking,
A distance light is blinking,
And I’m thinking …
Another day has gone!

And the breathe-ins
And the breathe-outs
And the roll-lefts
And the roll-rights

And before I know,
The ticking clock
and the blinking light
Are all gone!

The catamaran standing tall,
The Great Wall,
And the Niagara Fall,
I hear them call!

The caul is torn
The baby is born!
It’s Time to sail
To the land of whales!

And then the ticking clock,
And the bright light,
And the apples jam delight;
A new day has begun!

The conversationalist:

Do we ask questions to extract meaningful information from others? Not necessarily, sometimes we ask questions to smooth out social contacts by eliminating those awkward moments of silence. To what category the question “Where are you from” belongs to? What kind of information does a person’s nationality covey about him/her? What are the characteristics of a lazy conversationalist? How about the question “Tell me about your background”? It sounds more intimate and an answer to this question tends to be more informative.

 

Reflections on expectations

Our natural desire to fit in is at it's climax in college parties. You step
into an space with people engaged in various acts of socializing. You take a
few steps forward and then to the sides ... Your mind being in an
anticipatory state waiting impatietnly to come ... a familiar face, an
smile, an invite. Hands, touching hands, reaching out, touching me, touching
you ...

bonding

We're bound to bond over calamity;
Shedding light over our shared humanity

underappreciated

The image in the mirror looked me in the eye,
Then she said you're underappreciated,
Do you know why?

Incredibly cute and unsung,
I muttered, while taking a sigh!

A unifying theme

We all have our own unique personal histories, cultural heritage, and aspirations. But, when the sun sets and all the classrooms and businesses close down, its 12:01am and you're thinking just one more day has passed and it doesn't necessarily mean you're one more day closer to graduation. Pretty soon (for a typical graduate student it means in 2-3 hours) you have to go
to sleep and put the alpha man in you to rest for the next 6:00 hours (if you're lucky). In those honest and pure hours what is that one thing that can bring us all together? The plunger at your building's front-desk!

I think this says something about our essential humanity.

Sushi

Breaking away (by firstcomet)

All will is the essence of this mass,

Austere but urged, like lavas,
beneath sober mountains.

impressioned persistently,
years-after-years,

Relieved in a coming encounter,
a place of respite, far a way!

Missing

I came across this poem on some website by a person calling him/herself the emogirl and I thought it was a lovely piece! One of those poems that fills us up with a sense of solidarity, stemming from an affirmation of our very humanity, and simultaneously empties us from within ... ready to be filled up again ... or as poet Robert Hass would probably have it framed
"merely companionable".

I MISS U

as the SUN
misses sunflower during winter time........

as an icy Road
misses the warmth of summer time..........

as a Grown up
misses the time when he started singing his very first nursery rhyme.........

as a dark Night
misses the twinkling moon light...........

as a Lover
misses sleep during his long restless night........

as a wounded Knight
misses the will to win during his fight.........

as a Blind
misses the chance of seeing a dim light.............

as a Prisoner
misses the precious moments of being free...........

as a Fish
misses it's resting place in the quiet big sea..........

as an Orphan
misses the face of his affectionate mom........

as a Widow
misses the warmth of her husband's arms.......

as a lonely sick Man
misses the good company who used to ease his painful endless harms....

Splitting a moment (by firstcomet)

Thin is the glass window of my emotion
these days, I go about moments,
split into halves, the ego in full sail,
The heart, battered and frail,
The faltering wind blows,
Taking us where? who knows!