Does it ever strike you...?

That we only refer to people as close minded when we disagree with them
That we only say people have good taste in things when we share the same interests
That we are quick to presume but never quick to change our minds
That almost all wisdom is founded in hypocrisy
That people are always so keen to tell people that they're in the wrong, but unwilling to accept that they themselves may be incorrect
That we destroy beauty by trying to understand it
That anyone who hates Christians because Christians hate others is simply perpetuating the cycle
That the same (as the above) goes for anyone who judges someone for their judgement of others
That civilization is only an excuse for our pride and desire to self-promote

Tell me your thoughts, and what you see.  Do not be so swift to judge or quick to hate.  Be flexible in all that is not essential or foundational, for what is not essential or foundational is inconsequential.

Take me there

Take me to where the tall grass grows
for miles and miles
from the dusty earth
to the tilting sky
in the blue
of a prarie
stretched out farther than my eye can see
Take me to that place
where nothing is noisy, is busy, is lazy
where the world works as a clockwork engine
up and down, round and round like a carousel
each person with a place and a pace and a job to get done
that place in which no one races the setting sun
and everything is finished by the time the ball drops
Take me far from the city
to a place where no one is concerned with just how many more stories
we can put on a high rise
we can tell to make us sound interesting
we can fit into an already jam-packed high-action movie
Take me to the place where the people still have time
to talk about life and love and why in peace
where no one is concerned with winning
or making it big
or making it anywhere
beyond making it right
and making it beautiful
and peaceful
Take me to a place where pretension doesn't reign from a gilt-golden throne
where no one wears a mask
to hide themselves from themselves
first and foremost
Take me there,
take me back
before we were civilized
before we were enculturated
into this monstrous thing
we call the modern world
this disgusting
appalling
ridiculous
daunting
painful
and wasteful
unreasonable
vicious
spiteful
uncaring
stone-cold
and cruel
thing we call advanced and improved
the modern world.

Drifting

out at sea
in a bucket
somewhere between
here and there
near and far
I sleep.
somewhere between
at peace and at ease
I am
now
drifting dangerously
much too close
I lie amidst
the place I've been
and where I am going
a bright new future
adrift
a raft
where
am I going
what shall I be
once I drift to shore
drifting
somewhere between
awake and asleep
one morning
I wrote
a poem
so beautiful
so true
defining my life
in a nutshell
but the way things go
is that you never remember
the things you realize while drifting
so much for profundity
so much for originality
we are only dreamers
adrift in the sea
of thought.

Something more to life than neo-pseudo-hipsterdom?

*bear with me, here comes some truly terrible poetry.  Don't hate me though,  after spending all morning brushing up on my rhetoric skills I was tempted to write an ode to parentheses.*

Sighing softly, in the afternoon, Helen poured herself another cuppa tea
Rearranging her face in the microwave window
there must be something more to life than this
sitting by the computer
typing out a paper
staring at the golfing green across the path
removing onions from chilled soup
with a pair of broken, faded, jaded chopsticks
there must be something more to life than this
blowing roiling steam
off a mug heated to high
reading an theatrical, esoterical, Socratical debate
why was Meno such an idiot?
and why am I such a judgemental, neo-pseudo-hipster?
there must be something more to life than this
there must be something more to life than this
I bet there is
beyond computers, paper bags, skyscrapers
on the other side of the fence
which none of us will ever reach
when we realize life isn't about what we are doing
what we call ourselves
what we think of the world
and each other
perhaps we will see
that there is something more to life than this
than us
something more to life than us, than this.

The apologetic of being

For a day

I lived

for a day

I laughed

for a day

I loved

for a day

I knew

for a day

I was

and for a day

I will be

A part of me

is crying

is dying

is loving

is leaving

is living

is giving

is smiling

is laughing

is here

is there

is now

is later

is believing

is knowing

is thinking

is dreaming

is dancing

is being

is being

is being

is being

is being

for a day 

I was

and for a day

I will be

in a world

caught up

in doing something

in being someone

I'll be

be

be

Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow

How long must I live my life like a pez dispenser?
Pouring out from inside me
All that defines me
Into the hands of those that despise me
Watching my enemies eat my entrails
Leaving me a raw, empty shell
a relic of a fast-fading fad, forgotten in a land-fill
with a stamp on my forehead proclaiming to the world what I am
MADE IN CHINA no. 30478295
I am nothing,
wasted plastic, bereft of all that made me worthwhile
I am nothing
You are nothing
We are all nothing.
We are like drops of rain falling from blue sky
onto the heads of people walking by
gone just as soon as we've arrived
with our hellos so close to our goodbyes
that they might as well have exchanged places.
We are nothing.
And we leave nothing behind,
just people, staring up into the clear and cloudless blue
asking themselves:
Now what, was the point of that?

Do you know

what it's like to have your world turned upside down?
to find yourself shooting through the sky in a blaze of crazy colours
like a rocketship with no place to go
a man with no place to be?
Do you know what it's like to fall in love with a person you can't have
and then find out that they'd fallen in love with you at some other time
and some other place
life can be cruel
but it's beautiful
is it worth it?
I don't know
Do you know what it's like to fall down hard and fast and far?
I do.
It hurts
both metaphorically and physically.
Life is full of glorious highs and painful lows
The trick: learning to take it all in stride
the good and the bad
but never the ugly
because accepting that something is ugly
is like giving up on it- saying that something is ugly
is actually saying that you are too lazy or weak to see something beautiful
life, in all of  its goodness
and in spite of its badness
is beautiful.
Life is beautiful.

You ask me why I'm smiling

I stare, open-mouthed.
But you've lived such a hard life,
I say.
why are you smiling?
And she looked at me with a smile on her face.
You ask me why I am smiling
I am smiling because I am happy.
I stare.
You ask me why I am smiling,
she says.
but you want to know why I am happy.
I am happy because I woke up today
and there were no bombs to be afraid of,
no brothers to pray for as they fight in the war,
no food to work for- it's already in the fridge.
But really I am happy because even though I've endured hardship
I know that the only duty I have is to myself.
To my happiness
and to myself.
I do not need to worry about my food
or my health
the only thing I ever need to do in life is be happy.
You ask me why I am happy
but happy is not something you are.
Happy is something you make.

I went to sleep that night with a different view of the world.

She stares at me and asks
Why are you smiling?
I smile.
You ask me why I am smiling
but you want to know why I am happy.
I met a woman once who told me that she was happy
because the only duty she had was to herself,
to her happiness.
She did not need to worry about her food
or her health
the only thing she ever needed to do in life was be happy.
She was very wise
You ask me why I am happy
but happy is not something you are.
Happy is something you make.

Contemplation

looking up at the sky as the raindrops fall
staring out the window aiming to stand tall
Who are you when no one's watching
who are you when you are free?
And does it matter to anyone who you are

Where do we go when we close our eyes?
Do we wander forever, visiting far off lands?
is there a place in the world where all forgotten things reside?
And if I find it can I bring them home again?

Do we live in our bodies, or do we live in our minds
is there a person wearing my clothes that isn't me?
Can we change to be not us and leave the real us behind
Or is the person we become the person we're meant to be?

Can there be truth in lies and colour in sounds?
How do we know if up is up and down is down?
And if I cry at night, does someone hear me when I pray?
When I'm down and lonely is someone with me through the day?

Is this real? Or is life just a mirage on water?
If I put my hand to it will it stay to feel my touch
Or will it run away from me like a tumbleweed on sand?
And if we'd pause for just a moment, maybe we could live forever
Eternal youth, that's something, wouldn't that be grand?

At the end of the day what is everything about?
Is it love, or knowledge, a hand to hold, a fist of cash?
Are there stars in the sky or is reality illusion?
And if I told you that I loved you would you run and not look back?

I can ask questions forever, but I can't expect an answer
because science is a lie and there's no fact to be found
truth is a crude concept, not one that holds any water
and you can laugh at cynicism all you like
but I don't.
because the cynics have it right.

An alert to the powers that be.

My name is May, and I do not believe in love.
That's right. I don't believe in love. It's not logical and it can't be logically explained, so I for one do not believe in love.
I know. I know. It's crazy not to believe in something that every other god-forsaken individual in this god-forsaken city on this god-forsaken planet believes in, but I am (or so it would seem that I am), one of those queer (and I mean that in the most un-gay way possible), individuals who is referred to as a non-conformist.
So deal with it.
I know. I know. I'm a bit of a self-described hippie (albeit I don't smoke pot), and hippies are supposed to believe that all you need is love so it must subsequently be simultaneously impossible to be a hippie and not believe in love. But I am and I do. Or rather, I am and I don't. Don't believe in love, that is.
Allow me to explain this by delving into the language unified universe commonly referred to as Greek.

I don't believe in altruism and I don't think God, if he exists, really bothers too much with humans in our day to day lives: therefore, I don't believe in Agape, a general affection or deeper sense of "true love," a love also described as complete, reverent and all-encompasing love. Love that is non-conditional. I don't believe it logically exists in humans, and I'm not so sure about God either.

I don't believe in loyalty. I don't think friendship is about love, I think it's about having enough in common with a person to the point that they no longer drive you insane. Loyalty is more fragile than the breeze that blows through my window- if I shut my window, it dissappears. I don't believe in Philia.

I don't know how I feel about family. I certainly appreciate them. But love has no meaning in the western world today. Love is too weak a word to describe my feelings for my family. But weak as it is, love is too strong a word to describe the feelings many have for their families. Adultery, abuse, hatred, fighting- is this your "love." No. I do not believe in Storge.

The only love of the Greeks that I come close to believing in is Eros, love of one's partner in life. But is this kind of "love" truly what it pertains to be, or is it merely the companionship of friendship intertwined with the feeling of carnal desire. I believe that it is the latter. Eros to put it simply, is naught but sexual desire combined with acceptance of the emotional identity of another individual.

To conclude exactly as I introduced, I do not believe in the existence of love. And despite the unhealthy nature many assume this alludes to, I believe myself to be in greater health than any human that deludes himself, telling himself that something which clearly does not exist, does.

To quote an acquaintance of mine: I don't write poetry, I live it.

The thing about poetry is, it has to be long enough to tell a story,
But short enough to be believable.
Nine times out of ten, a person's life isn't really story-worthy
And the tenth person's life is so unreal that if it was put onto paper, no one would ever believe it.
I think my life blurs the line between what is normal and what is surreal.
For the most part, it's so boring that I'm bored
but every so often there's a moment that can't really be translated into the language you and I speak
and even if it could
You wouldn't believe me.
But that's what I want to do with my life
I want to live my poetry
I want to live long enough to tell the world my story
But short enough for it all to be believable.
I want to tell the world about what it's like to be me.
To wake up some days and wish I hadn't
To toss and turn all night only to sleep with my eyes open all through the next day.
I want to tell you all about my random humor and the truth that lies behind it.
I want to tell you.
I want to tell you about the music I hear in the wind that blows through the trees.
I want to tell you about the colour of my mothers voice
And of the scent of the deep blue I see when I close my eyes.
I want to explain that even though it sounds as though I'm high on some wonder drug
I'm sober.
I'm just a dreamer that tried to spend too long in one of her daydreams
Who lied so much to the rest of the world that she started lying to herself
Because the rest of the world grew old long before I did
And you all left your fantasies and imaginary friends behind you
But I never did.
I'm the peter pan of this reality
My body will age with time, but my mind never will.
Perhaps it's unhealthy to be like this.
To be trapped in a cage made of rainbows and childhood memories
But perhaps it's just me trying to cope with the pain of understanding everyone else but never understanding myself.
The pain of being able to explain why a butterfly takes flight
But not being able to explain what it means to me.

Imagine:

That you are not inside the world. You are not inside a body. You are not tied down or connected to anything. You are a mind, a spirit. Nothing more.
You are floating above the earth. You see everything. People, actions, thoughts, dreams, hopes, ideas, desires. You see sin and you see justice. You see poverty, wealth and greed. You see lust and you see love.
But you're not concerned. You're objective. Removed from the situation. None of this affects you. You have no right to be angry, you have no right to be happy. You don't control the actions of the people you see, you can't even converse with them. You can't take pleasure in what they do, because none of it is due to what you have done. You are alone.
Now imagine that you are involved. You can change the outcomes, it's all under your control. Does that change how you respond? Are you angry at a woman as she takes off her rings and cheats on her husband? Or do you blame yourself for not stopping her. Maybe you did stop her, maybe the adulterous deed never took place. But that's removal of free will. Perhaps you are the one in the wrong now.
Are you?
Imagine this is your world. You can leave it alone, give it up as a lost cause. Or you can nurture it, as a mother nurtures her child. Allowing mankind to make their mistakes, always pulling them back before they destroy themselves.
Imagine, you are god.
What do you do? Are you controlling? Are you loving? Are apathetic and occasionally malevolent, toying with the humans who are within your control.
Well? What do you do? Your god now. Do something already.

Oh, you're not sure are you?
Give it a rest then. Shut up and give God some credit. Because if it was you in the big chair, you wouldn't be doing much better.
Be happy with what you are. Because you aren't capable of being anything else.

Praise and the Praiseworthy

Today I was thinking about praise and the praiseworthy. Or rather, I was failing at trying not to. Sometimes, one wants so much to be something that one is not. I myself am entirely and irremediably nervous. I want people to love me. I want people to think that I am praiseworthy. Yet somehow I can't see myself the way I want to be seen.

Sometimes we cannot believe that we deserve the praise we wish to earn, and yet we cannot quite believe that we do not deserve it. It's pretty crazy how I find myself chasing my own tail, wanting to be praiseworthy, yet not believing that I am at the same time.

But I guess life is like that. We are not afraid of our own inadequacy, instead we are afraid of our own beauty, of our talents. In the end, aren't we all sure of our own praiseworthiness? Are we only denying that we do not believe ourselves to be praiseworthy in the first place? What is modesty anyways?

Perhaps we'll never know.

If your silence says less than your words, speak. If your words say more than your silence, keep your mouth shut.

words are confusing
one moment they love you, the next they hate you
sometimes you're not sure which
but one thing is always guaranteed, the moment you think you know what you're saying; words screw everything up
everything
words are like double-edged knives
they hurt everyone involved
the people speaking them, the people hearing them, the people who hear them even though they never wanted to in the first place
words can say everything
words can say nothing
words can make you
words can break you
words
words
words
words
words
but regardless of how they make you feel, you still need them
words are essential to everything human
really
the rule of thumb when dealing with words?
If your silence says less than your words, speak. If your words say more than your silence, keep your mouth shut.

People

are like presents on Christmas day. Some of them are beautiful: all sparkly and shiny with bows on top. Sometimes when you find out more about them, they're every bit as beautiful on the inside as they are on the outside. But other times these presents can be the most disappointing, pretty wrapping doesn't necessitate a worthwhile present.
Some of the presents have boring wrapping in dull or faded colors. Yet often you find that the wrapping conceals one of the most amazing presents you could dream of receiving.
Some people like to collect others like bright, shiny packages that they will never unwrap. But what's the point of an unopened present? I like to unwrap the people around me; to remove the useless poise and outer calm. Because presents aren't about the wrapping, the giver or even the gifted; presents are about the gift itself. And what good is a gift that you don't appreciate for what it really is?

Questioning reality, not caring about the answers.

Why do so many people wish that they could fly?
Why can't people fly? (Aside from the obvious)
Why does it seem that as Science explains more of the world to us, the world becomes less interesting?
Why can't we just be blissfully ignorant?
Why do we keep looking for life on other planets, when we can't seem to take care of life on ours?
What is it that makes people do things that hurt themselves?
What is it that makes people do things that hurt others?
What is so bad about wanting to create a utopia?
Why do we fear those who are different?
Why do we hurt the people we fear?
Why do we learn things that will never be useful?
If you forget about something that was important to you only, is it still important?

The authentic post has been put on hold

so that I can say something that is momentarily important. About that. Isn't everything only momentarily important? Something can't be important forever. Things don't last that long. And when something is gone and whoever or whatever it was that found it important is gone, doesn't that mean that is isn't important anymore?
What is importance anyway?
And is the meaning of importance important?
Should it be?
...okay now, back on topic, I have to say that which is momentarily important.
I love skiing. I really really do. (This in particular is only momentarily important. Furthermore, it shall be momentarily important for a very short moment only.)
Skiing is amazing. The weather doesn't matter. The visibility could be awful, the snow could be icy and mixed with dirt, and it could be fifty below and I would still love skiing. It's that amazing. That's all.

And another thing which is momentarily important.
I don't know what I'm going to do with myself. In life, I mean. I don't know where I'm going or what I'll do for a living.
This bothers me.
At the moment I think I might become an artist. Specifically a potter. Clay is every bit as amazing as skiing. But I fear I would get bored with lack of mental stimulation.
Back to the drawing bored, I guess.

So that's the end of my mentioning things which are momentarily important.

It is time

for us to take a step back from the mirror, if only long enough for us to glimpse the damage we have done. As a society, as a nation, as a culture, we are entirely too vain. We care not for others, not for the people we love, but only for ourselves. We live our lives looking out for number one. Science tells us that the world revolves around the sun and in return we shake our heads and click our tongues, we tell science that while the world may revolve around the sun, the universe revolves around us.
We take what we want, we leave no survivors. We strip trees bare of bark and mountains bare of trees. We fish until no fish are left and we wage war until the children's cries can be heard light-years away.
We beat the weary and we steal from the poor. We take food from the hands of beggars, forcing them to watch us eat. We tell ourselves that it is all for the best. We teach our children that we are doing what is right. We lie.
Quite regularly we shake our heads at stories of murderers on the news. We sit back and relax, wearing clothes which were produced by hands much smaller than our own. We tell ourselves that we are not murderers, that we are better than those who kill. We say that we would never stoop that low. But there is blood on our clothes. Blood shed by tiny laborers, underfed and under paid. Small children who work shifts that are illegal in our countries.
But it is time for us to take a step away from our own vanity. It is time for us to take a moment to tell ourselves that we are not the best. A moment to recognize that the world does not revolve around us.
We are not gods.
We are not infallible.
We have no right to force others to do our will.
We are human just like the rest of the world.
The only difference is that the rest of the world isn't living in a fairy tale. The rest of the world knows that they are human. The rest of the world is grateful for each minute of sleep, for each morsel of food, for each gentle touch and for each chance to learn.
Why are we, who have everything, so vainly ungrateful?

Life As We Know It

is changing

and fast!

one of these days, we are all going to

fall

right

off

the

edge

of

the

world

Oh?

What's that you say?
The world doesn't have an edge?

PREPOSTEROUS!

Crazy! Loony! NUTSO! Positively senseless!

You young people.... next you'll be telling me that our world is round, like a ball.
Hmmm?
What's that?
Oh, the earth is round like a ball now, it is?
I thought so.
I'm telepathic you see.
Next, you'll be telling me that the universe doesn't revolve around our planet, and that my great, great grandfather was a monkey.

RIDICULOUS!

What are you people thinking?

I like my world. It's tangible. It's close, like the burrow of a mouse. My life is comfortable, I like things the way they are.

WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?

Who in God's name gave you the right to tell me who I should be? The right to tell me how to live my life? The right to take away my comforting, perfect reality? I'm not having it, I tell you, I'm not having any of it.