nothing

I am nothing.
I will never be anything.
I cannot wish to be anything.
Apart from that, I have in me all the dreams of the world.

F. Pessoa

Faulkner

I believe that man will not merely endure: he will prevail. He is immortal, not because he alone among creatures has an inexhaustible voice, but because he has a soul, a spirit capable of compassion and sacrifice and endurance. The poet's, the writer's, duty is to write about these things. It is his privilege to help man endure by lifting his heart, by reminding him of the courage and honor and hope and pride and compassion and pity and sacrifice which have been the glory of his past. The poet's voice need not merely be the record of man, it can be one of the props, the pillars to help him endure and prevail.

Bootstrapping

Bootstrapping, that’s what we do
It's about the time, time for adieu!

In Progress ...

I pick up a new papper,
review afew thoughts,
and a moment of insight:
aha! That's an interesting idea!

A war torn family,
traveling for days and nights,
landing in a abandoned village;
"Seems like this land is fertile," says the dad.

The son, excited,
with a surge of hope and a vision,
although vague, replies:
"shall we explore the land tomorrow morning?"

To which the old dad replies:
"causiously,
keeping in mind the landmines
that wars often leave behind!"

viva absurdita!

If I don’t engage in absurdism once in a while then I will fall into a philosophical quagmire of nihilism which sucks me into the vagueness of the moments. So, viva absurdita!

Proposal

A few thoughts I write

On the blank sheet of intentions

Like the marks on a sandy shore

Awaiting further contemplations

To create and to annihilate

Seasons gone in worldly abstentions

Seeking a wormhole, imagination

To the universe of elation!

WE'LL SEE AGAIN

We'll see the green leaves shake,
thirsty rivers laugh,
and cherries blossom... Read More

Tomorrow we'll see
Nights thinking the night
and thousands oppressed
claim for justice

Soon we'll see
unbreakable borders fall
and those innocent in the streets freed

Very soon we'll see
victims rise up,
embracing each other
while singing melodies of hope.

We'll part then,
with a blow of fresh liberty
With certainty and strength
You and me at the same pace

We'll see again,
Tomorrow we'll see
Soon we'll see
Very soon we'll see

We'll see...

Carry on!

To give up is to wither
But, a decision has been made
To the contrary
So, I have to carry,
Carry on, Carry on!

Ordinary

Certain stories do worth writing and others don’t. Those which do are called extraordinary. In our world, ordinary events are abundant and are considered mundane, however, every ordinary event is extra ordinary from someone’s prospective.
How does an ordinary summer day look?
The schoolyard of MIT, an arc-like seating structure designed by one the world’s most accomplished landscaping designer, surrounded by tall trees who solemnly observed generations of scientists walk passing them, carrying copies of the annals of mathematics and physics. Beyond those branches and leafs, where the clouds dance in a leafy frame of summerly sky is a white sphere that emits radio frequency waves, oblivious to the significance of days.
I take a moment to key in the code KVQF-VBDJ-067T at the drpepper.com to evaluate my chances of winning a 2010 Chevy Camaro. Now, that’s an extra ordinary event! Bear with me …. “Sorry but today is an ordinary day!”

Re: hello

What do I know of you?

An image, distant, far
A song on my Guitar …

Desires, Dissolve
Broken hearts, revive

No reason I seek
No justice, no critique

It’s the way of time;

To sculpture on ice,
To decide on a pair of dice!

Back fresh to the game,
Alas! it won’t be the same!

Far away!

Oh yeah, wanted to make a note of ones (life-event driven) personality and how remote one may be from the realities of human life and the society. One reason being that to ease our pain we often seek refuge in distance caves of abstraction! One day we open our eyes and we find out we are far way from home ... far away!

The Making of Sonnets

It was nice meeting You

I wonder if it was really (I mean really) nice meeting you! Or maybe it was just an ordinary event, in which case I would not be using the term 'nice'. But, maybe it was an ordinary event and I was using the term 'nice' as a matter of social etiquette!

becoming (by firstcomet)

A dream maker, a freelance heart
That’s what I negligently thought.

Your image, shadowed, dark;
To me, a gloomy season it did remark!

Looking back, you’re far
Far in history, out of sight ...

The chasm and the divide,

and the restlessness I can't hide!

Feeling guilty, of a hubris id
That I've become, out of being,

Being impressionable, being lost,

In a world immersed in lust!

My atomic clock (by firstcomet)

My kitchen and my living room are the same. And if you're not yet impressed, in how many kitchens have you seen an atomic clock hanging next to a water tap?! Kudos to the wonders of modern physics, especial thanks to the Dollar Store!

And what's up with the water tap-atomic clock rivalry? I noticed since yesterday dripping of the water has been synchronized! And yes, the atomic clock sometimes jolts along a single dimension of that spongy continuum; especially when I'm washing dishes!

Talking about sponges and living at the expense of others, somebody got to fix that dripping!

End of why

We are going back to basics again

Questions such as: who are you?

And what is your deal, is it all real?

You hit the bottom once a while

You bounce back, or just

Re-establish yourself along the bottom

It’s a never ending struggle

And struggles can get boring after a while

Just like …

When you swim against the currents

For just about too long!

Okay, tears tears, sigh sigh …

Enough is enough, end of why!

 

A Dream Within A Dream (by Edgar Allan Poe)

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

A Clear Midnight

THIS is thy hour O Soul,
thy free flight into the wordless,
Away from books, away from art,
the day erased, the lesson done,
Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing,
pondering the themes thou lovest best.
Night, sleep, and the stars.

Walt Whitman

Confabulate

Am, am not, tick and tock, do and don’t, will and won’t, I invent, moment after moment, the I in me. What about what you see? I wonder, if you know, if you see, that I fabricated me, the will to be, a distinct entity, or just a con, the strawman’s son, willing to do, confabulate to construe, the urge to will, the will to do!

As Is

There is nothing magical here

Only occasional temporary traces

Of tango-like steps

Left on the snow white ground

Near the place where I

Occasionally lay down to

An intimate moment

And a soft music

Filling the air

with some particular magic;

Ah, Ah, facts, general, specific

do not make a big fuss about!

Sometime it’s sweet

Sometime it’s bloody

Sometime it makes sounds

Sometime it stares and smiles!

And then the next song

And then the next voice

And the breath-ins and the breath-outs

And the turn-lefts and the turn-rights ...

And then I try to follow

Those traces that intersect

And diverge before our time

Comes up, and I say:

I think it’s snowing again,

And I need to figure out

what color it is this time!

And you whisper “was that cum-

your emotional brain

or was that cum-

your logical brain?”

And then we both laugh!