Night swept, my soul slipp'd,
Wander weary into fantasy
Day wept, the solar scripts
Unwrote themselves, sandalless
In the burning glory of my dreams.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
What a terrible Holiday...
As if the intellectual class needed anymore distractions, here is a holiday, a celebration of art, music, and culture which annually gathers, cult-like around this fantastical priestcraft of Eros and Cupid. What a waste of the Muses! Erotic love is an opiate, and brotherly love a facade. The only true love is a feeling you are born with- the result of the Fates' concil and random proceses. The poet loves poetry not because he is a poet, he is a poet because he loves poetry.
Indeed, poetry and similar, high arts, are the only loves an intellectual can wish to own. For filial love and erotic, heterosexual, love are both altruistic natures, a backwards vestige of muddled evolutionary processes. Self-preservation is biologically the measure of success, and thus celebrated love is a stumbling block.
I speak not, understandably, of the higher "loves" of language, drama, music, and visual art. These are vertical loves, superceding the human mind and connecting it with something greater.
Of course, if a woman is in love with a man, we cannot blame her, for she does not posses the intellectual faculties to love above her plane of vision. Likewise with countrymen, farmers, and fishermen- their lot is decided, and it would be foolery to convince such a people that their human, and thus futile, attempts at fraternal and familial bonding are backwards. It is better to understand that in the long run, these kinds of our species will contribute ultimately to the refining of the human gene collective.
I expect a hiatus approaches my genius. beware of stagnation, but let the tea cool!
Love,
Indeed, poetry and similar, high arts, are the only loves an intellectual can wish to own. For filial love and erotic, heterosexual, love are both altruistic natures, a backwards vestige of muddled evolutionary processes. Self-preservation is biologically the measure of success, and thus celebrated love is a stumbling block.
I speak not, understandably, of the higher "loves" of language, drama, music, and visual art. These are vertical loves, superceding the human mind and connecting it with something greater.
Of course, if a woman is in love with a man, we cannot blame her, for she does not posses the intellectual faculties to love above her plane of vision. Likewise with countrymen, farmers, and fishermen- their lot is decided, and it would be foolery to convince such a people that their human, and thus futile, attempts at fraternal and familial bonding are backwards. It is better to understand that in the long run, these kinds of our species will contribute ultimately to the refining of the human gene collective.
I expect a hiatus approaches my genius. beware of stagnation, but let the tea cool!
Love,
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Eagle
Soaring swiftly The eagle flies
To his prey The meat to pry
From bone He dive-bombs his bold
Way down to drag His doomed prey away
To a nest where Airies are waiting
To feed on fresh meat Found for them
To his prey The meat to pry
From bone He dive-bombs his bold
Way down to drag His doomed prey away
To a nest where Airies are waiting
To feed on fresh meat Found for them
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
A Strange Plant That Grows
It is a strange plant that grows
On our eves in this season
With its roots in our rooftops
And, defying all reason,
With its top pointing down
And its base in the sky
Providing a wonder to all passers-by
On our eves in this season
With its roots in our rooftops
And, defying all reason,
With its top pointing down
And its base in the sky
Providing a wonder to all passers-by
Sonnet in Response to Areopagitica, in Two Parts
I
The law will try to keep you safe from guise
It says in Areopagitica,
For Greece had broke paternal ties-
Free speech from Macedon to Ithaca!
The censure’s pen, the authorship complains:
‘Pedantic variorum which will kill
The lusty truth that innocence disdains
And schoolmaster what’s left of authors’ will’
How now! Is truth such cheese it needs to age?
(If Milton met John Keats who said all truth
Be beauty yet all beauty truth, I gauge
He liked his women long in tooth, not youth)
Free speech is for the people’s lost defense
Not for protection from our innocence
II
The law will try to keep you safe fromguise
It says in Areopagitica,
For Greece had broke paternal ties-
Free speech from Macedon to Ithaca!
The censure’s pen the authorship complains:
Pedantic variorum which will kill
The lusty truth that innocence disdains
And schoolmaster what’s left of authors’ will
How now! Is truth such cheese it needs to age?
(If Milton met John Keats who said all truth
Be beauty yet all beautytruth, I gauge
He liked his women long in tooth, not youth)
Free speech regains the people’s lost defense
Not for protection from our innocence?
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Sonnet I
When beauty fades and power wanes
And majesty falls bemoaning
Its worthless state and cursed chains
Its fall to Adam owning,
What prevaileth then? The immortal pen
Could write anon and ever
But when tempest come and come again
Would it prove a vain endeavor?
But I say now, with err' unwrit
Not all the works of man endure
The scanderona scripts did not outwit
The flames that consume all impure
But notions of truth, though body burned
Know no time, their form to ashes but returned.
And majesty falls bemoaning
Its worthless state and cursed chains
Its fall to Adam owning,
What prevaileth then? The immortal pen
Could write anon and ever
But when tempest come and come again
Would it prove a vain endeavor?
But I say now, with err' unwrit
Not all the works of man endure
The scanderona scripts did not outwit
The flames that consume all impure
But notions of truth, though body burned
Know no time, their form to ashes but returned.
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