Philosophy Now Forum

bus2bondi wrote:they say true pussies

walk around some

like a solitary cat

in the night

How are you getting on with the cats? L

hi L:), wonderful:). thank you for asking. i was planning on doing some more research tonight on cats. (i like dogs too:) i didn't realize i had posted the post previous to this one that just said 'so tired.' i remember that i was half falling asleep and after posting that i fell over in a deep sleep.

Got the time but have done no crime
walking back to a place of friendship
people warrior made of ice stand guard
when nature falls you will see time still
the poem has no soul or meaning here.

Kunst wide open without guideline
Broken bottle under bicycle wheel
Speak of surface where surface is
Night falls on minds of iron ore
Breaking light comes from broken beam
Is it you or is it me that is right
Taking dreams of yesteryear away with you
The guardians of old play out jostling for place
amid fractured lines of common places
dream warrior keep on dreaming amidst fractured old.

hi Pluto, in regards to your poem and some of the other things you've recently written that seem to go together, yesterday i was feeling on and off deep sensations of warmth and well i cannot describe it fully. then i ended up at the used bookstore because my son wanted something there. i wasn't planning on looking at books but i ended up looking at books and i was telling myself don't even look because whenever that happens.. well you know i was thinking to myself, 'oh no, not again well... it seems to have happened again.

i opened a book that was titled something to the effect of 'In My Own Words' and it was written i think in the thirties. i glanced at a couple of sections, and it was talking about things beyond propaganda.. the end had a section i think it was actually titled 'Foreward' and there the author asked a Russian where he thought the Russian will be going in the future after defeat, and the Russian said something like we will be spread out on land faaaaaar larger than this, sort of like covering the earth, we are a stone hidden deep in the ground, ...

things like that. (i didn't buy the book and wasn't going to share this, but then i saw today what you have written).

(if any americans are reading this, no, i am not a communist and when i open a book and type something like that it is not on purpose, only unknowingly and beyond me) (i have no idea why it happens)

America stands distant still and watching
while moving at the same time

maybe part of the rest of the world looks at it like
a giant anti-social,
what is wrong with you?
why won't you, why can't you, why don't you want to come over here and sit with us?

why are you so distant america?
so high and mighty?

why have some of your daughters flung their cars unknowingly sideways and backwards, unknowingly

like a meme? of you?

what are you?

better than us?

america, you are so much like me, i was born here and i'm just like you, a song of ours is by 'The Shore', some of the lyrics are 'You've taken the hard road, you don't love anyone, you've taken the hard road, you don't feel anymore'

England you are an island
Sea sits around your coast
There is a deep damp history going way back
In cold stone, wet wood, metal and fire
From the English mud come I up
Soil blood red, bone grown white long
Your standing in world history

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m2k6CZaF ... r_embedded#!

Sun bore down
onto grasshoppers' backs
the limping cat is nowhere to be seen
Turn the key again it feels familiar
Like I've done it a 1000 times before
Locked up house in darkness, dust settles
Slowly a Papa Smurf deflates in front of the window

lullaby

on the clamor up to the bank man shores of independence

Stabbed: (deserted, empty, sated)


Foreboding & Forgotten.
It's 2:00 AM & the streets are deserted.
Rain from an earlier downpour
makes its lonely yet soothing cascade
down into a street drain.

I walk as a zombie on vodka.
I think one foot is falling
in front of the other.
Am I who I say I am?

I know I am
as dense as air tonight.
The only sound my footfalls
on wet concrete.
They make a statement
that I am out here
guarding the sleeping
who do not know me.

It is 2:30 AM & the park is empty.
I cut across its wet grass,
my footfalls are drowned.
Now I am I,
a stalker with secrets.

Startled into pause,
he lay in a pool of blood
near the dark swing set.
The sweet land
falling up to his open eye.
All was still
except the sound of mist.

I rested at the swing
& told him my story,
how I had pretended
& never felt right about it,
how I wandered as a stranger
even to myself.
I watched him listening.
Determined.

Kneeling down
I smelled fresh blood
oozing from his wounds.
I whispered goodnight
into his ear tenderly.
He looked willingly absent.
I appreciated his honesty.

It is 4:00 AM & I walked sated.
I walked out of the park
into the band of light.
The stranger stabbed
& forgotten.

Artificial talk,
enriched emotions,
where shall I put my attention
full of holes ?

Not in the microwave,
that´s for sure.

Hypnos
cannot be reached
yet again.
He is sulky.

Profound eternity
is streaming
through the holes,
like a mountain brook
in springtime.

The cold stream
takes it with it
before a bear paw
can grab it.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

1.

takes it (= the attention full of holes) with it

The reference is a little bit far away, also in German:

Der kühle Strom reißt sie (die gelöcherte Aufmerksamkeit) mit sich,

How to improve ?
By giving a title referring to the holey attention ?

2. Profound eternity is borrowed from Nietzsche, for the time being.

3. I hesitate between brook and brooklet.
Does brooklet sound dainty to you ?

4. I imagined the holey attention to look like a pancake, like these sloppy clocks in Dalí´s painting. And an interested bear wanting to examine it, grabbing it from a stone in a stream, where it got stuck. Did you happen to get this image too ?

Brick wall film
Dead of night
A projection of dark evil
To combat the boredom you feel