Plain text "Poetry" (Hither And Thither)

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kiril
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Plain text "Poetry" (Hither And Thither)

#1 » Post by kiril » 29 Jan 2016 02:13

This is Hither And Thither.pdf @ http://www.mediafire.com/download/c6sd0 ... xe/PDF.zip
Before me it is,
A pathway it lacks,
What is where to when is all

What and click
Dread of dreamers,
Distant remain, three for the one.

For the two before
And the one above
Loop three forward and two back.
--

Wisp from the heights, wisp from the depths
Co-mingled, entwined
A superfluous balance
--

Positive Traits:
loveable, fiery, beredsam, eloquent, adept, sociable, charming, sensuous, open, carefree, hard-working, independent, happy, ingenuous, passionate, sentimental, athletic, alert, well-mannered, practical

Negative Traits:
egoistic, greedy, labile, insolent, gossipy, fearful, rebellious, bad tempered, impatient, tactless, sluggish, nervous, hotheaded, indecisive, restless, careless, unpredictable, wasteful, emotionless, quarrelsome


Friendly, Vivacious, Enduring, Witty, Cheerful, Refined, Independent
-----------------
Selfish, Reckless, Vain, Impatient, Volatile


"Quarrelsome? -- Truly.
But truly, only the facts should speak; never the person. BUT YET. AND YET!
EVERY WORD EXISTS.
FOCUS ON EACH WORD BY ITSELF,
THEN PUT THEM TOGETHER SLOWLY.
It. Is. It.
Is. It. Is.
It. Is. It.


Facts lack recognizable mouths -- speaking only to what awareness can grasp. Is. It. Is.
BUT.. where would the conversation room be?
Who spoke -- who listened -- and where was the dividend?
Poised crossroad, behold abyss. Is. It. Is.

Trying to watch the speed of sound, (and the speed of light)
Expressed through the medium of self-stitched propitiation
Is simply.. frustrating.

Because..

..stalled viewpoints, such as over-attachment (fixation of the morphing process) to self-image, can slow down an other-wise hyper-speed perception.
A cat is a cat, you have nothing to do with it.
Get over yourself and your personal categorizing, labeling mentality.
Get out of the way -- or have you lost trust in your brain and body? Simple.

Stuck on an image with an aim to be the memory rag I've sewn through effort, struggle, and time -- its opacity is comforting.

I wonder what puzzles me more,
That the light is unable to surface and concretise,
Or the pain of the instrument which struggles to make amends with light and sound.

Here it is -- the calculation left on standby. Instrument, behold!
Calculation resolving by self-aware intelligence -- ripples, ripples, subside!
Self-solving riddle, I've lost my faith in vivified-mathematical-principles.. but.. not lost.. merely hidden. Intentionally hidden. In a place where truth is relative.
Where the only truth is my petty standpoint, flawed perspectives, and simply.. lies.
Where I decide the weight of God, through hollow measurements.
Lacking method, experiment, and even the specimen.
Just a lot of meaningless nonsense.
Implosion, and yet further agitation
Just a bundle of lies and could scarcely care.. a self-aware lie is the only Gate to truth, to God.
Let it be said twice, THRICE even, and for all. A self-aware lie is the only gate to truth. Self-aware lie, not a lie viewed through distance. There must be a distance of zero between you and the lie. ZERO. And behold.

Memento, GREAT ANCHOR and GOD of life.
Wheel which knows no allegiance.
Spinning, spinning by the momentum of agitation.

People argue less about ideas
And more about their personal images of the ideas.
(Let these words be obvious, these are images.)
Imaginary expressions, inaccurate equations.
Stumbling, trying to solve irrationality.

Through howls of amusement, the shadow of God cackles.. for it detects.. the subtle movements.. when words are spoken, behind the words lingers the intention -- what many believe to be an aura -- is merely a stance, a stagnant energy field. At the corner of the lips, at any corner of the face, the intentions ripple out. Such nausea. Such hypocrisy.. is comforting."



An immutable past,
A malleable present,
An unknowable future.

'Willing into existence' happens in the here and now,
And is how unknowable future
Is transformed into a fixed past.


-----
When "more" is synonymous with burden;
"Enough" sits a few steps from utter exhaustion.

When intention is a static compass,
And motive is mere agitation.
Then sanity is not just a word, or an idea..
But something you are.. or are not.

Here, the ground is far too shaky to make any assumptions.. suppositions.

-

Standby, steadfast;
Projecting a grin;
Who sees it;
What is it;
And where to begin.

Daunting, vagrant, a shadow with eyes
Unbound, unrestricted,
Enveloping skies.

Zero, infinity, and something between
Jibber and jabber, what's left to be seen..

--

Who needs to be reminded
Of the three splinters lodged in their brain --
Self-preservation,
Self-procreation,
Self-preeminence.

Before the final breath escapes, before all the vibrations settle,
Before personality, "psyche", stirs, withers, unwinds, and nullifies..
I shall be satisfied by description; dismissal by a borrowed gesture.

But it does not matter, for matter is the very substance subject to decay.
I am matter, and I will decay.
Damn it. Damn the facts.
Damn the facts to the land of untruth. To the land of imagination..

Where I am immortal, satisfying self-preservation.
Where I am omnipresent, satisfying self-procreation. (I am all, And all are I)
Where I am omniscient and omnipotent. Satisfying self-preeminence.

"We do not share the same horizon, but we share the same world."

--

These lines are indeed but dissipation..
Letter by letter, thoughts emerge from the reservoir..
Morphed by process and articulation.

Re-configuring audibility, perception plays its own games.
Sacred impressions, beliefs synonymous with wombs.

When there's no profit in staying or budging, attempts to vacate are aimless.
--

Alas, an echo from a seeming silence..
Hearten, and realize
An aimless, unfocused profound.
--

Recurring theme, of a dark room and a dweller; one and the same
Gazing out, gazing in -- division for reflection
Faceless tenant, shifting periphery -- so very drab.
Drab entities, conditioned and confused.. mechanical, is all it was.

Hypnosis, comfortable and pleasing.. show me what to see.
Snake-mind.. Oh! How charming. Speaking one word, yet two come out.
Truth, what are you but a vague abstraction of reasoning.
--

Readily, and steadily, the beginning is two steps ahead of the end,
And, illusory indications compensate and supplement an enchanting
Of what is real.
A beast-machine is what it was.

Through whirrs and zig-zags,
The condensed entity heard notions of an unfurling.
--

"Catching the tail of the Snake-mind

Thinker, thinker,
Fickle and twisted
Watch your snake-mind,
Coil-consisted

Truth is straight,
These words are slanted
Snake-mind charms,
And facts enchanted

Find the light,
It's always straight
Life is plight,
You are the gate."
--

Absent entity -- a shadow parades.

Through effort and knowing,
What provided them with notions of a common ground,
Was a suspicious savor for mental agitation.

A problem most prominent, but an opportunity at postponement.
Perceived difficulty drives their sense of purpose,
Hinting at a justification for another breath.
Fuel to the frenzy, shallow and dying.

No, it can't be.. the entity is absent while a shadow parades.

Mouths uncountable -- the mouth knows nothing --
Vacant to the highest bidding persuasion, and the loudest voice. Hell beckons.
Hell beckons.

But the voice is but one -- speaking boldly, unflinchingly -- yet using no words.

Watch and know -- the personal pattern giving rise to trembling,
Watch and know -- the unsteady mind -- soaked in division and contradiction.
--

Hail the prime scapegoat, Supposition!

Spawn of abstraction, the un-patterned pattern!
Light of the faltering -- in its blood we make our most vicious cackles!
Confused, we justify confusion with confusion.
Know not this carapace anything of potency and direction?

Supposition! Our prime scapegoat lives on!
--

Embarrassment over faulty opinions is but a hesitation to align with facts.
Lies exposed breed ground for a light unstained.

Butchered facts sewn together with ambition,
A curved tongue speaks words frail and ambiguous.
And a mouth which hungers to utter words of power and meaning.

A hasty reasoning, and a brain that wonders
What lies beyond the darkness which envelops it.

Channels, pathways, electrical dance.
A tunnel -- nothing but a tunnel.

Cluttered, a burden of words..
--

"Irrationality, the ground and guiding light,
Rationality, but a court jester -- excuse and amusement,
And I, enthroned, wither as a bundle of unwinding strings."
--

A blank piece of paper testifies.
Conundrum or simplicity.
--

Every scribble, a nibble from the heart.
Every sigh, a testimony of contrast.
Every.. Every? Stupid word mumbled through a focus.
--

No matter what happens, remember..

You'll never get further than your body.
You'll never see further than your mental focus.
You'll never have more than you can clasp.

Bridges constructed are bridges waiting to fall.
The closest contact possible with people and this universe is parallel striding and registering familiar and unfamiliar stimuli.

And when all is said and done, all shall pass away.
--

Mirroring for mirrors,
Wheel spins pretentiously,
Axle amused.
--

Smudge on clear glass;
Pretended;
Snare;
Or focal.
--

A stance,
And words are mere shells -- shallow and disfigured.

Curved tongue, dancing to the tune of the borrowed words you hoard,
What know you unborrowed?

Where lies precision,
Lies the Guiding One.
--

Pretty words, enticing aphorisms, what are you but seepage from a hollow?

Lines arranged and recognized, evoking but reflections. A host to grueling illusions.
Demarcation, but a sensory convenience -- what is what and we is how.

When is where to why is who. How silly.
--

Dithering, it became noise.

A borrowed existence
By Creditor graced
Achievement and glory
Usurped and misplaced

Silly ramblings, tendrils spew
Retracing steps, not made by you
Halting hither and quivering thither
Soon discover what it means to wither.

Dithering, it became noise.
--

"Is the cup half full or half empty? Stupid questions -- what's in it?

What is hatred, bitterness, cruelty, cold-hardheartedness -- except a frozen cup of ecstasy? A frozen pool of energy. Shriveled and locked inside itself, it wants to melt, it wants to flow..
It is helpless, it is a cry for help. It reaches out, crazed.. we scorn it as evil, never seeing their shut eyes..

The cruel ones observe what juices can flow from the delicate.
Attempting to copy the stitch-work of fine weavers, the cruel ones weave with crowbars.. they are impatient, blunt, unskilled.. envious and confused..
They want the joys and pleasures, but are too cowardly to smash their own frozen pools.. so they steal juice from the delicate.. when stealing is begging..
Lip service through warm words can help them melt.. where there's a will..

What is sluggishness, lethargy, boredom, except a jelly, mushy form of bliss..
Without a way to express itself, without one who dares to accept it.. it stagnates and can no sooner start freezing..
Entertainment stirs the pool, nudges the sleeper. Enjoying and forgetting how.
Life needs to move.. to dance through the living.

What is doubt, uncertainty, except an untasted life, unexamined facts..
Life is a juice so sweet, an experience that intoxicants can only hint at.

Misery, the faithful companion.. waits for the chance to reveal its true face.. energy, ecstasy.. ascension as a rise in temperature -- melting, melting, melting..
The knots of problems, the clenched fist, hiding secrets of vacancy, smoothness, freedom..

Passion and a lust for life is delusion to a frozen, hardened heart.
For those who have forgotten the savor, dropping the cup becomes an option.. "

So repetitive, like beating around the bush..
--

"Attaining a fattened circumference for the other;
Flickering spotlights overlap, seeking worth and satiation;
Light being light for light -- words spoken and forgotten;
A phantom wrapped in vibrating strings;

Seeking release, exhaustion clears the vessel.
To scream, unrelentingly, like a crazed beast;
To cry as if engulfed by piercing, throbbing pain;
A shadow felt within.. "
--

"Complacent and stifled, they rot away. Their Flame exploited and under-appreciated. They aren't equipped to perceive such value. Their satisfactions are few--demands and frustrations many. Possessions cringe, possessors are hollow. Contentment is shallow. Decorating cages, self-inflicting shackles to the lead roles. There's no flourishing, no expansion of consciousness, only of things. Grasping and clutching on to their hopes and fancies, they indulge in hurting themselves however they can. They lock themselves up in their heads and they dream--they are deluding themselves. Their moans they choke, drowning out the grumblings of a dying will to express and create. Their shortcomings are their grudges, and these breed hissing and retaliations. They will die just as empty-handed as they came in, sacrificing glory and dignity for cheap, fleeting pleasures and baseless status.. Over and over they smash their head against the wall, because it makes them feel right. Complacent and stifled, they just rot away.. "
--

Borrowed Words

"Parading around, with nose high in the air, the self-appointed hierophant peddles hearsay -- knowing all, a cloud of hubris enveloping like darkened wings.
Yet having only words, borrowed shadows without substance. With feigned charisma and eloquence, sculpting the listeners to receive salvaged notions.

Tone betrays and lays bare the heart.
Taking as charming a constricted scope, finding shelter and self-justification in the twisted labyrinth of mind.
A fool fading away in a personal gutter of complacency.
The crowd may mourn and gloat, not knowing that they aren't far off from such a fate.

No (quantitative or qualitative) amount of ignorance, distraction, deceit, self-deceit, fantasizing, imagination, wishful thinking, or distortion can convince fact to be anything but fact. A fact withheld is a fact nonetheless. Willingness, inertness, and sheer stubbornness are irrelevant before the Eye of Truth. For such are mere stances in which a human's limping mind crawls through the dirt and dreams vaguely about the skies above and the space "out there".

But who is not full to the brim of borrowed words -- and that cluster-knot of happenings, thoughts, and opinions called self-image? Who is not rustling around in their own mind-labyrinth? Does the mind even have walls? The soul isn't quite transparent -- for it seeps out. Do not haste -- find a mirror, and throw a glance and you shall see, your very eyes leering at you, as if you are a stranger. Don't your eyes betray you when you loosen your accustomed grip and simply stare at yourself in the mirror? Integrity burns all barriers. Can the eyes see themselves? Can the seer see himself? Human is human. But what humans are truly, only a true human will know. Are we not merely that carapace which condition and time casts over us? Taught to be this or that.. "
--


Nudge of the eye, and gestalt
Crowned one swims in delusion,
Uncrowned one withers in euphoric dreaming
Spectator to blessed nonsense

Bleakness, stable chair and honest mirror
Recipe for a shift in focus.
Loosening shackles wrought merrily upon mind..
Gazing at horror, inviting numbness

Dazed by patterns, I've found comfort in repetition.
In repetitions never repeating, I am standstill.

---

"Iustus.
Durus, Laetus,Tristis.
Iustus.

Dextrum, Sinistrum -- Aequus!
Posterum, Posterum
Nisi.. iustus."

Letters

---

Enter.
Within slumber, and above awareness.
Transparent yet oblivious.
Beyond all.
Scopes of mercy, confusion and distortion.
None hear, none see, the Untainted Gradient.
Vector, I am translucent.

Streak, smear, smudging
Tremorous hunches
Til ambi al dun.

Musing over complexities, never once understanding simplicity.

--

Iustus - just, righteous
(figurative) exact, straight, direct

Yes. Iustus. Iustus.

--

These words, those words,
An occasion for condescending babble.

Abyss, just.
All they are is fainting in style
I'll rationalize.

Rising..
I already was where I was before I was already before
No exceptions
Deluded and clueless.

--

Daunting, vagrant, a shadow with eyes
Unbound, unrestricted,
Enveloping skies.

Zero, infinity, and something between
Jibber and jabber, what's left to be seen..


--

Standby, steadfast;
Projecting a grin;
Who sees it;
What is it;
And where to begin.

--



When "more" is synonymous with burden;
"Enough" sits a few steps from utter exhaustion.

When intention is a static compass,
And motive is mere agitation.
Then sanity is not just a word, or an idea..
But something you are.. or are not.

Here, the ground is far too shaky to make any assumptions.. suppositions.

--

Night heaves dreams in fine webs.
Trembling, while wholly stitched to reality,
By threads of Horror and needles of Suffering.

A fabric decrees itself an entity -- perceiving, yet not knowing.
Striding on echoes.
Soul in dark corner rests, ponders what wanting or having means.
It settles for communion, yet invariably invites tribulation and ravaging.

Bitterness seeps from postponement of onslaught.

-

Occultism is the last trace of a fading dignity. An echo.

Semi-conscious, hoping to transcend throughness and ascend awayness.
We know what we want, as do our inverted, twisting shadows.
Yet, self-worth was discovered in trembling and shivering
From depths of nurtured hypocrisy, in a long spherical hall of mirrors, we know what's worth preserving.
And, upon a throne half-shrouded, a voice familiar..
An echo retraced.
All am I, and none are true,
Save one who sees, then sees anew.

Occult, blindfolds galore.

--

A heart hardened by walls and walls and walls of words.
Meanwhile, a small candle burns gently in the tempest of thoughts.
My conviction stalls me, am I impervious, or simply petrified?
Oblivious to the wind, I discovered "opposition".
What is lost in termination, what's undeserved in punishment?

I prepared a spot for doubt, lent voice to slander.
Why so generous, enchanted by that forked tongue.

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kiril
Posts: 48
Joined: 18 Jan 2013 01:23

Re: Plain text "Poetry" (Hither And Thither)

#2 » Post by kiril » 29 Jan 2016 02:13

Here you go -- it's from Grotesque.pdf @ http://www.mediafire.com/download/c6sd0 ... xe/PDF.zip
Fickle black spots, elusive darkness
When suffering pulses a blood red,
Horror like lightning dithers,
I glanced the white spot and extended the analogy
Through web I ascended, crossroad sustained me
When frame was hunching, content was launching
Wholeness, not so holy, I see where it was.

Love, like webs spun upon frames of words, leaves a trail echoless.
It's way too soon to believe too fast.
--

"You and I are living organisms. Experience comes forth, stays for a little bit, and leaves--comes from somewhere and goes somewhere. To say something, repeating it until exhaustion.. to stir the ignored to the surface, to leave nothing out of context, to see actuality instead of wishful thinking, to understand.

In corners and side-views -- when echo defeats, shadow repeats. As slumber encumbers diagonal voices, I stand and default on bewildering choices. In cube I'm suspended, a crisscross delusion, I cannot amuse a boring confusion. It's simple, it's near, it's subtle and clear. Invite and respite, son of the Flight."
--

"There was no poetic spin,
A loose tongue spits curved analogies --
"I", said he, and in sweep collected
His body now poised, his vision reflected
Through mirror and splinters, through corners and winters
A cold spot annoys, a side view contorts.

Central less fickle, yet somehow I bicker
Through central run wires, through zig-zags and spires
In middle we crossed, a house now espoused... "
--

At which point I realized,
"What in where, of how to when?"
"Why in all, to end is start?"

To fullness and blackness, momentum slither.
I am peripheral, and hence I wither.

To God we sober, ascending no nobler
When vision deludes, anchor alludes.
--

He deceives, so that deceivers can understand.
He fabricates, spins lies around those willing to be fooled.
To the pure ones he said, "The box, the loop, and the spin."
Colors spinning on the loom, so vibrant, a robe is nothing but a cover. I am human.

The rest are still sitting and thinking. They want tricks. Decadents unfulfilled.
Mental nudity, singled-out and alone, stitch it into your brain. To deprave is to deprive. Thieves dread the Watcher. The Watcher grins with joy. The hunt is on.

God withhold your mercy, trembling blood I hear, fools in mazes hiding, what is there to fear?
Vulture God I deem you, worthy of this breath, fly forth unrequited, feast on foolish flesh.
Blind cells suffer greatly, redemption is at hand, stretch forth fingers slightly, cover sickened land
Hell-hounds I beseech you, sniff out all the trails, stride on subtle echoes, listen for their nails.
Pull the demons by the brow, test their flinching gaze, children of the darkness, as honey you I glaze.

God will not make amends for what you are. You insult God by thinking that way.
Good news, the Vulture shall rip the corrupted flesh off your bones. String by string. The sooner you make your love of corruption loose, the less painful will be your hell.
Concepts of deep horror. Our truest abode, kindest hiding place.
Colors spinning on the loom, so vibrant, a robe is nothing but a cover.
--

"Is where always was. On a chair, but not quite sitting."

Stabbing myself in my own eyes -- yet seeking vision, guidance, and truth.
Choking and suppressing my own heart -- yet wondering why don't I feel anything substantial.

Madly in love with my self-image, producing unwarranted righteousness -- I feel that I am right and the world is wrong.
Judging and evaluating what is before me -- I dull my mind by tilting the scales -- manipulating observation in my favor. I refuse to see that which is unpleasant.
I cloud the lenses, filter the senses -- and I bask in confusion, a cut-and-paste, hard-edited, polished-up reality -- stitch-work.
I weave fancy dreams -- exhausting mental energy, wearing myself out -- building castles in the sky -- a blink and it's all gone -- and I fall straight down into my seat.
This sheer wastage of energy yields no deep satisfaction -- hurting myself, yet playing the victim. Is this reality?

Inside an hourglass, I sit thinking, dreaming -- grains of sand falling gently around me, forming the messenger of Mercy -- the envoy to the God of Death.
Tick tock, people dying -- all dying. Emerging from what seems like nothing, to live, and to ultimately be pulled back into what seems like nothing.
Just slowly burning away.. where do they go? The horror, the pain -- this madness, it's unbearable..
Weaving, weaving beautiful dreams, escaping temporarily..

Every passing day, waking up -- but not awakening -- more of the same -- identification is the womb of slumber -- a call, a beckoning to familiar sounds, colors, tastes, fragrances, pressures. My habits amuse me. Submerging myself in my mind -- my territory and possession -- I re-trace my steps..Loosening the grip -- not identifying with content -- yields a vast sea of uncertainty.

I hold in my hands a face forged in the Furnace of this world. I'm not quite convinced that this face is truly my essence.
I, a morph nested on a pedestal -- sediments, sediments, nothing but a cluster of dust -- the times change and I wither away.
I, the enigma enfleshed, am not any of this -- not the name, not the face, not the memories, associations, relations, identifications, not the likes nor dislikes..
All this is debris spinning around my awareness -- and tentacles protrude from my heart towards all these. Withdraw. Settle.

Doubts flirt with me, but they have no real sway -- for I -- the electromagnetic obelisk, towering into the sky -- am a vessel of Earth's grace, glory, and peace..
Growing weary of self-inducing my own flavor of madness -- I emit a groan, listen to the echo.. and then I behold the piercing silence -- exposing a hollow, silent center amidst a ravaging whirlwind of noise and content.
From the sky flows my genetic pattern, transmitting -- witness the dance of energy within. Embody and become living radiance.

A light unto myself -- purging falsity with the flame of vigorous witnessing, attention, awareness.
These mortal eyes lodged in the fabric of the universe -- are the eyes of conscious energy staring through this skull.

I close my eyes and see what I call darkness -- but it's not dark -- it's more like the unknown -- consort to Mystery, concealing from me what truly resonates with the vortex of my spirit.
My spirit awaits me -- speaking to me through the subtle pulsing, the throbbing, the life in progress -- I was always too gentle for my hardened heart to feel.Once I melt -- body, mind and spirit once again re-align.
I breathe in, and I feel a gap, I breathe out, and feel that gap again -- that silence and stillness. I can almost feel the universe inter-penetrating my being in that gap.

"Is where always was. On a chair, but not quite sitting."


KEY TERMS:

"progress, silence, universe, being"

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vladancar
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Re: Plain text "Poetry" (Hither And Thither)

#3 » Post by vladancar » 29 Jan 2016 06:42

Is it worth reading? :D
Horde Main - Attacker

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Devosan
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Re: Plain text "Poetry" (Hither And Thither)

#4 » Post by Devosan » 29 Jan 2016 17:01

tl;dr

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kiril
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Re: Plain text "Poetry" (Hither And Thither)

#5 » Post by kiril » 29 Jan 2016 22:27

It's not worth reading. It's worth studying. LOL.

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Devosan
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Re: Plain text "Poetry" (Hither And Thither)

#6 » Post by Devosan » 29 Jan 2016 23:47

Although the first is a requirement for the latter.

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kiril
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Re: Plain text "Poetry" (Hither And Thither)

#7 » Post by kiril » 30 Jan 2016 08:19

It's worth every nibble. :? 8-)
27 downloads total!!
Image
https://soundcloud.com/virsnae

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lollypop
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Re: Plain text "Poetry" (Hither And Thither)

#8 » Post by lollypop » 30 Jan 2016 10:46

I always hated poetry. poets are like....writers that never manage to get off the first page so they fill their texts with high flying words in an attempt to legitimize hours of input into what is essentially only a single page of text.

sorry.

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jastericiak
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Re: Plain text "Poetry" (Hither And Thither)

#9 » Post by jastericiak » 30 Jan 2016 11:06

One page of text which is often filled with way more meaning than whole novel. Especially now when books like fifty shades of gray or twilight are so popular. And that meaning is actually the beauty of poetry. Because its not so obvious and you need to think a bit to find it :p
Al llegar a la época de la banda de asaltantes había elaborado ya las siguientes posibilidades:
Dios no existe
Dios existe y es un canalla
Dios existe pero a veces duerme,sus pesadillas son nuestra existencia
Dios existe pero tiene acceso de locura,esos accesos son nuestra existencia
Dios no es omnipresente,no puede estar en todas partes.A veces está ausente,en otros mundos,en otras cosas
Dios es un pobre diablo con problemas demasiado complicado para sus fuerzas.Lucha con la materia como un artista con su obra.Algunas veces,en algún momento llega a ser Goya,pero generalmente es un desastre
Dios fue derrotado antes de la historia por el príncipe de las tinieblas,y derrotado,cometido como presunto diablo es doblemente desprestigiado puesto que se le atribuye este universo calamitoso

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jastericiak
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Re: Plain text "Poetry" (Hither And Thither)

#10 » Post by jastericiak » 30 Jan 2016 12:52

Hmm well thats hard to tell sometimes. You know poetry is the way of putting your thoughts and emotions into words. Like sometimes you have no idea what ppl are trying to tell you even in less fancy way cause you just dont think the same way they do or you just dont feel the same way. If you know what i mean . Maybe its even happening to you now cause you have no idea what i am talking about :p . But just to give you an example. You definitly think differently when you are happy than when you are sad or depressed. And when you write the poetry it mirrors your current emotion. So for example its hard for happy person to fully understand what sad person is writing about untill you are put on his spot and then things might start to make complete sense.

But still i tried to to get the meaning of the text above. And my english aint that good for such difficult reading. Some words i didnt even understand :p. And i cant go though every verse since it would be kinda long. But i guess the general gist is this:

It talks about the life.existence(or even um the existence of whole universe for that matter). Its transience. Cycles - we live we die and this process repeat over and over again. And guess then it talks about point where ppl start asking the question who we are and where we are goin and whats the meaning of life. Thats where i believe he talks bout the religion as something what tries to give us the asnwers "He deceives, so that deceivers can understand. He fabricates, spins lies around those willing to be fooled" as the god speaks to us through various world religions and gives us his commandments we should follow and explains us where we came from and where are we heading. And heres the critique of "simple minded" ppl who are letting themselves being fooled by this instead of trying to pursue the truth.

But theres way more things. And theres lot of verses i didnt understand completly. And i wouldnt be surprised if i was totally wrong even bout what i wrote. Thats another beauty of poetry :p

EDIT: alright i was answering cause someone asked me what meaning i get from text above. But till i wrote this post the message was gone. But i will leave it here nonetheless
Al llegar a la época de la banda de asaltantes había elaborado ya las siguientes posibilidades:
Dios no existe
Dios existe y es un canalla
Dios existe pero a veces duerme,sus pesadillas son nuestra existencia
Dios existe pero tiene acceso de locura,esos accesos son nuestra existencia
Dios no es omnipresente,no puede estar en todas partes.A veces está ausente,en otros mundos,en otras cosas
Dios es un pobre diablo con problemas demasiado complicado para sus fuerzas.Lucha con la materia como un artista con su obra.Algunas veces,en algún momento llega a ser Goya,pero generalmente es un desastre
Dios fue derrotado antes de la historia por el príncipe de las tinieblas,y derrotado,cometido como presunto diablo es doblemente desprestigiado puesto que se le atribuye este universo calamitoso

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kiril
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Joined: 18 Jan 2013 01:23

Re: Plain text "Poetry" (Hither And Thither)

#11 » Post by kiril » 30 Jan 2016 17:19

It's "Poetry", as in, I'm being sarcastic with the quotes. It's not really poetry, more like brain teasers.. kinda.

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