Archives For Philosophy

Split

August 6, 2017 — Leave a comment
I’m flying to Florida from Britain. To live. The thought of it makes me nauseous. As though I am walking away from a great museum to visit a theme park where nothing is real and all that appears to be real is an illusion.
A place where building sand castles on the beach is a method to distract you from what is going on in the real real world. Not the illusory construct of pickpockets and shady dealers who descend on the State to take advantage of those blinded by the sun and the hype.
fullsizeoutput_4f4.jpegThis is where I am going. To live. To exist. To walk away from Britain, the greatest country in History.
Going. Fast. I’m lying to myself.
Greatest country in the world?
 
Was. And as the wheels lift off from the tarmac and we are sliding into the clouds I watch other aircraft land with people coming back from Disneyworld and other noble distractions. And the non English speaking bodies ready to take advantage of the softest Social security system in Europe. And they are welcomed even though they hate us. Just like Disneyworld. Except we give them our money. The changing face from glory to ogre and a mess that will remain.
Yes, the moms and dads and their ridiculous amount of luggage consisting of Mickey lego and Star Wars toys they could easily have bought in their local High Stores. But no, it’s special because they could feed the mouse and say hi to Minnie. With memories and less money and nobody but themselves really caring where they have been. And they can tell their co workers and families about the way they had to stand in line for Splash Mountain and how their beds weren’t properly made and no-one gives a flying fuck.
And they’ll go back the following year because they will be dragged by their ego and envy. And then one day they will be dead and gone but the Mouse will still be nibbling his cheese the little bastard and the Imagineers will have created some other spectacular ride that they will hype all over the world and at the end of the ride and the day it means absolutely nothing because it’s done.
Except for the new kids building sandcastles on Cocoa Beach as the pick pockets and shady dealers work out new ways to distract you while you are blinded by the sun and an ever growing ignorance. The pick pockets and shady dealers are the imagineers who leave the Theme Parks as holograms to sit beside you on the beach and talk directly to you through your 3D mobile phone and you are so immersed and fascinated by it all, night falls and the day is done and your money has disappeared along with the affection you should have shown your children unaware, that they are the pawns in the game that are always first to be destroyed.

Trap

April 3, 2017 — Leave a comment

Wandering between two points

With no other exit plan

Wondering if I 

Will ever see the light of day

Again

Even though

The sun is covering the earth

In sweet golden light

I am trapped between coordinates

I put in place myself

Over time.

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I try to think

Of happiness,

As a concept

Encapsulated in its own image.

And laughingly believe

I’ll be happy,

Just by bringing to mind

The thought,

 

That thinking happy thoughts

Would then follow

Without effort

And all would be well.

 

But happy thoughts only

Materialize ,

Not by concentrated effort,

But by avoiding,

All these wicked

People From hell.

 

 

 

 

Image from Beliefnet.com

Purposeless

February 27, 2017 — Leave a comment

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I woke up tired today.

Hot sweet

Expressos

In tiny white cups,

Stirred me a little.

 

But  lethargy,

And the heat,

And the crushing  humidity

 

Made me anxious,

Gave me palpitations,

Made me light headed

And confused.

 

I had no plans today

So I sat at a pavement café

Sipping expressos,

Staring at people.

 

And when the dehydration

Brought on

Panic attacks

 

I was no longer tired,

And even though

I had absolutely

Nothing to do,

 

I was terrified

And saw quick stars

And white lines

When I closed my eyes.

 

And I just cringed

At the thought

Of the nightmares

Just

Waiting.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Image from medical daily.com

 

 

 

 

No Card Needed

February 13, 2017 — 2 Comments

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My signature on a Valentine’s card

Will fade over time.

But the aching intensity

Of my love

For you,

Will never

Be destroyed

By moments.

 

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How much more can I take

From the weak, petty and jealous

Propping up their frail egos

By draining me

Of my peace

Of mind?

 

How will this end?

 

Their ego and character will sit unsteadily

On a dry faltering castle of sand

As my mind

Will become even more focused

And rid of the trivial,

Glowing like real solid gold

 

As the froth from the sliding ripples

Crawls

Towards an already

Shaky fort.

 

And the happiness

Drained from me

 

Was not enough

To save the castle

From crumbling

Back to the sea.

 

 

Doppelgänger

February 10, 2017 — Leave a comment

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Annoying neighbors, very intrusive,

Pry into my thinking process

(Whispers and rumors)

Because I stand alone.

 

I am not moved by windy whims,

Or current trends,

Or little lies

Or envy.

And don’t care if Jack

Bought a new lawn mower.

Or slept with one of his students.

 

I was born alone, 

Solitaire from dawn to dusk

But.

 

I do admit,

 

Any time the antagonism becomes

Overwhelmingly intense,

(Fortified by not knowing what I’ve done)

I step aside,

And conjure up a doppelgänger 

And hand it over.

 

I give him the racing brain,

And resentment,

The swirling fury

And anything else

I don’t need,

To get through the day,

And bid him farewell.

 

Though I must warn you, 

Bumping into this other personae

Would not be much fun for anyone.

 

 

 

Image – SPIE Digital Library

The Fisherman’s Jug

February 9, 2017 — Leave a comment

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The oak table in the corner, sturdy and solid,

Under the candelabra ,

In the farmhouse,

A cracked jug on top.

 

With other kitchen accruements

Laid out neatly

By the stove,

The plates and tankards

Strung on the wall,

It’s easy to ignore

The cracked jug.

 

Most visitors were apathetic

Regarding the unglazed vessel

That had been left

By an old fisherman.

 

Even the new tenants

And their friends

And families

Dismissed it

As aesthetically spoiling.

 

And the old fisherman

Who once lived there

Knew what it was like

To be ignored

And untouched

And unloved,

 

Saw the blemish on the jug

As a scar

That defined the jug

A perceptible imperfect mark.

 

So before he died

The old fisherman

Dropped a large pearl

Inside the jug

And left it there.

 

When he was gone,

And when people came by the farmhouse

They ignored the dirty old jug

Sitting alone;  like the old man

Would sit alone,

Not realizing that if they looked inside,

They would see the real beauty

The true value,

And their lives could have been changed

Forever.