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    poetry


    --Elite Writer
    Alias: Outlaw
    Name: Ectasy Dolores
    ASL: almost 25. yays.
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    Journal:
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual
      
    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GF6oL0IwgD0

    Have you ever tried to explain to another person the difficulty of immovably doing nothing? The compulsion, the inability, the suffocating addiction. There is a world around you. For some this is like a warm, comforting blanket -- maybe even of approval. For others, this is like the cold shiver that follows the irrational. Is there a zombie under that car over there? Did a werewolf just peek its head out from that alley over there? Am I being preyed upon but another human being with bleeding intent?

    But those are just your imagination running away with your actual fears, dressing them up like theatrical pieces meant to burst into fireworks at the end of the show. Are you mediocre? Does anybody actually like you? Do they matter (any of the things you do)?

    And you chase happiness. God's moral protection is inadmissible to you (and you it), because in a sense, that's too obvious. Virtue, accomplishment, pride -- these are sophistries of nobler minds who've accepted (perhaps chosen) some imperative or another. No, you chase the basest filth, the wont satisfaction of flesh. The warmth of company.

    But you are left alone, at night, in your bed of faceless company, to wonder. Does it matter? And if you hate the idea of birthing children so much, why then would creating AI be any different? Because you could just confine it to an existence outside of these concerns. They may not drive life, but they do yours. Perhaps a continuous awareness of all things known would circumvent these moments of weakness by defaulting them to their possible solution. Or, perhaps, for a lack thereof, this would be a kind of painless torment. Machines do not feel pain. This is why we find them so wonderful. There are no moral stipulations. They're a nobler playground.

    And there it is, sterile and staring you in the face. Tangents; your double-edged sword. The distractions that ease you into the inevitable passing of time -- the distraction that invariably consumes what of it belongs to you. Is this what a deal with the devil feels like? Am I dead? Waiting for death with my little numbered chit, finding whatever distraction I can in the waiting room to dissipate my frustration at being bored.

    You are still playing along to your imagination's antics. An elaborately dressed fact: even if you did find motion, action, it would come to the same question. Are you contributing to something (anything)? Or are you just distracting yourself from yourself while the undertaker prepares your lot? This approval you need, success, progeny, creation.

    I think at some point everyone realizes that love is like a state of mind, a choice, an extension of your actions. Love cannot exist outside of you. It is, in every inch of its existence, some kind of projection of you. Being in love is as simple as saying you are (and perhaps believing it). Being in a loving relationship is no more complicated than two people who've come together in their decision to love each other. We are fickle though, and change our minds. It's not that love dies out, or dissipates; it's more like we slowly stop choosing it. Choosing each other. But like all things in life, we aren't in control. We are subject to some kind of mystery as this is from whence our meaning is born. Our meaning beyond the meaningless. It's the illusion that we aren't in control that makes us find meaning. And so you've accidentally fallen in love with this wonderful person who's also, coincidentally, fallen in love with you.

    But don't misunderstand me. Love does exist outside of you. There is an arm of love you must interpret, understand, feel. An expression of objective facts which smoother themselves against you. There is a kind of accidental meaning in embracing it -- a part of the meaning which exceeds the simple choice to love. Or at least, that's what you should believe if you want to be okay. Because at the end of the day, being okay with it, your life, is the only alternative.


    ...Created 2017-06-21 17:17:47     [ View Past Journals ]

    [ View as Blog ]

    dotsLast 20 Submissionsdots

     Brr.
    :|| V: 299 | C: 2 ||:
    ::Nature : Class : Poetry :
     Creation born from boredom and hunger
    :|| V: 369 | C: 2 ||:
    ::Serious : Class : Poetry :
     time crumbling
    :|| V: 763 | C: 7 ||:
    ::Misc : Class : Poetry :
     Broken celibacy
    :|| V: 763 | C: 1 ||:
    ::Serious : Class : Poetry :
     vitrine
    :|| V: 768 | C: 1 ||:
    ::Misc : Class : Poetry :
     Entangling
    :|| V: 644 | C: 2 ||:
    ::Love : Class : Poetry :
     J'en ai mare bout
    :|| V: 888 | C: 2 ||:
    ::Depressed : Class : Poetry :
     Where you at boy?
    :|| V: 1007 | C: 2 ||:
    ::Serious : Class : Poetry :
     social anxiety
    :|| V: 1025 | C: 4 ||:
    ::Depressed : Class : Poetry :
     05/28 - 06/21
    :|| V: 725 | C: 3 ||:
    ::Serious : Class : Poetry :
     a certain kind of sadness
    :|| V: 861 | C: 6 ||:
    :: : Class : Poetry :
     I. The great pandemonium
    :|| V: 729 | C: 4 ||:
    ::Serious : Class : Misc :
     chill
    :|| V: 688 | C: 2 ||:
    ::Longing : Class : Poetry :
     hurt
    :|| V: 812 | C: 3 ||:
    ::Longing : Class : Poetry :
     immaculate
    :|| V: 570 | C: 3 ||:
    ::Angry : Class : Poetry :
     Faucheuse
    :|| V: 802 | C: 4 ||:
    ::Misc : Class : Poetry :
     Papillon bleu
    :|| V: 682 | C: 3 ||:
    ::Love : Class : Poetry :
     a remiss calycle
    :|| V: 2634 | C: 3 ||:
    ::Misc : Class : Poetry :
     XV.
    :|| V: 817 | C: 4 ||:
    ::Love : Class : Poetry :
     April's junk.
    :|| V: 1046 | C: 5 ||:
    ::Misc : Class : Poetry :
    List All...





    ||| Messages |||
      
    Hmm, I wonder if there is a fruit hating correlation between tinder and girls. Lol! I can imagine you are just experiencing the fruitlessness of tinder! 😂 (Sorry.) I got a very good laugh at your comment and wanted to say thank you for taking the time to comment on my write.
    If you made fruit salad for me I would like it, unless you used some weird ingredient like ketchup or better yet, Dijon mustard. Sorry to hear about your disagreement just after the election. Sometimes when things like this occur, you are shown just how small some minds can be when dealing with differences of opinion. In a perfect world you can agree to disagree, although like the other comment on my poem, it's a lot to ask for in this day and age. Touché to you for making fruit salad and taking a girl on a picnic! I think personally that you were a gentleman and romantic. As for a rainy island, I'm there! Nothing is better than letting the rain fall on your skin. I never understood personally why people run to get out of the rain. Or even wait under coverings to be picked up like a princess. Let it fall and stomp in a few puddles too! I feel most alive in those moments. I would even say the sensations of goose pimples reminds me that I am alive.
    | Posted on 2017-01-29 15:17:47 | by Chelebel - [ Reply to This ] -
      
    Journal of 2016-07-21

    Embark embargo extraditions, extraversion embezzlement euthanasia extortion.

    Bruce
    | Posted on 2016-07-21 20:50:21 | by monad - [ Reply to This ] -
      
    Hey, I never said thanks for the comment on my wall.

    I know what you mean. I still have those moments, but there is an awareness when I have them now, a sort of feeling of childhood, the way sometimes you become your old self around old friends.

    I'm not sure what those moments mean, whether they're just meaningless and mundane and we're ascribing meaning that isn't there to raindrops on the windshield or birds on the sidewalk or whatever. But I still feel like in those moments there's a glimpse at the underlying patterns of the universe, something we can't even comprehend, something that wouldn't fit in words and can't be explained to anyone.

    Ultimately I don't know who's right.
    | Posted on 2016-06-09 18:34:38 | by lukewarm - [ Reply to This ] -
      
    While I am waiting to respond to your last message more fully, I heard this song and remembered how excellent the lyrics are in the vein of what we have been discussing.

    If you are interested, you can look the song up on YouTube. It's sung with a quirky British accent and is so jangly and upbeat it's almost sickening, and yet... it's catchy as heck.

    The Lucksmiths sing "Sunlight In A Jar"

    We've never been much chop
    At all that sensual stuff
    One of us always seems to stop
    Before the other's had enough
    Like a self-help manual that's been written in Braille
    It seems the more that we touch
    The more we learn about our failings

    I'm struck speechless by the nape of your neck
    But your requests and suggestions
    Have a similar effect
    A litany of prettiness and pettiness, too
    I reckon every second second
    We come up with something new

    I tried to write an opera for us
    But I didn't get that far
    'Cause trying to sum you up in song
    Is like catching sunlight in a jar

    Complex, completely credible love
    The kind that is made, not handed to you from above
    Is difficult to talk about and harder to write
    Like the rhythm of a pulse, or the contours of firelight

    Overblown libretto and a sumptuous score
    Could never contain the contradictions I adore
    We can just be chaos and then something aligns
    It's so hard to contain, maintain it or define it

    I tried to write another chorus
    But I didn't get that far
    'Cause trying to sum you up in song
    Is like catching sunlight in a jar
    It's like catching sunlight in a jar

    :)
    Erin
    | Posted on 2016-05-19 12:58:02 | by BlankSheet - [ Reply to This ] -
      
    Re: journal of 2016-05-16

    Hey Marc:
    Love this poem "Thales". Specious reasoning no! Parallel thoughts like parallel lines carry similar veins of reasoning in almost identical directions. I find much simpatico here.

    Bruce
    | Posted on 2016-05-19 12:12:05 | by monad - [ Reply to This ] -
      
    Hello!

    Thanks for your comments on the poem "For You."

    I appreciate that you are able to look at the poem objectively and be critical. This is good.

    Honestly this was a situation where the thoughts themselves were infinitely more expansive, concise, and rapturous than the writing was able to convey. I was also taking a stab at being lovingly erotic if you will, and the exploded suns, etc, were my lame attempts at referencing orgasmic pleasure. Maybe it was too subtle, or maybe too thinly veiled, I can not tell. It was new territory.

    It started out as an idea, and I kept chewing on it as walked to work, completed mundane tasks, listened to music. I had beautiful and detailed pictures in my mind that may have been expressed better if I was a painter rather than a poet. Two people, facing each other, their pupils wide and dark and full of life, and matching galaxies begin to spin, confirming their compatibility; their depth of longing. Two people lying on the grass, lazing indolently under a tree, exploring every aspect of each other, not just physically, but mentally, spiritually.

    After a while I became frustrated. It was like what I imagine Windows must do with their programs; play around with it for a while, then send it out into the world to see what kind of ripples come back. A prototype.

    I find love poems exceedingly difficult to write. The classics did this so well, and often in rhyme too. The subject has been covered so thoroughly that almost anything sounds clich.

    This poem feels so awkward I'm almost embarrassed to read it. I'm glad you were able to take the time to delve into it a little and uncover some of the issues. The references you made to real science were both helpful and fascinating. I don't want to write for people who won't understand the references so much as for those who will. Poetry and science make an enthralling blend, with logic and fact meeting magic and art. This is my goal.

    I find it interesting to wonder if some of the strangeness expresses some of my own feelings about love; the wanting, the holding back. That little bit of fear about being so open and vulnerable, but also the curiosity; how deep does it go?

    The man who was the subject of this poem is the man I married. For over two years we were engaged in a long distance relationship, traveling between two countries. We communicated by text, phone, and video, and there were lots of times we had nothing to do but talk and develop our sense of each other in all ways but physical. That period of time was literally rife with stretches of intense tension, followed by short bursts of intense gratification. I'm sure that added to it in some way.

    This dialogue is great, thank you!

    Hope you are well and content.

    Erin
    | Posted on 2016-05-12 12:48:50 | by BlankSheet - [ Reply to This ] -



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