CXXVI
Repression is the will of
those denying dissent.
Terrorism, the futile voice of the powerless.
Hunger, the inheritance of the meek.
War, the voice of the inarticulate.
* * * *
Interesting how Rome survives
Despite its crumbling walls.
* * * *
Don’t
most fashions
Seem
ridiculous down the road,
Yet
still we clamor about the walkways of illusion.
* * * *
The
point?
Don’t
you see there is none?
* * * *
The
true path to greatness is not seeking it.
* * * *
War is
the voice of the inarticulate.
* * * *
Is
there a new depth to sink to?
* * * *
Please
forgive any errors of language.
The
scribe is but an average scholar
With an
increasingly poor memory for details.
As his
mind drifts unresisting toward oblivion’s rainbow.
He is
the gristy smile born of Cheshire Cats in Wonderland’s mill.
* * * *
Sometimes
clever is just too much bother to keep up with.
* * * *
The
books and articles you imbibe
Become
facets of your character.
* * * *
Life
requires discipline,
Yet it
is not always easy
To
establish or maintain.
* * * *
They
who would control
Control
only through the meekness
Of
those who acquiesce.
* * * *
It
begins again.
Same
stage,
New set
design.
* * * *
What an
incredible thing to be alive.
What an
incredible thing it will be to die.
How will
you face its arrival in time?
* * * *
So many
uneducated to a broader, empathetic view.
* * * *
Maybe
tomorrow.
* * * *
So many
self-images.
* * * *
You are
confined by the narrowness
Of the
society into which you are born.
* * * *
This
time, too, will be looked back on
As
being full of ignorance and superstition.
History
has the pedantic luxury of 20/20 hindsight.
Rarely,
however, are such insights seen acutely enough
To
augment and clarify the confusion of the unfolding present.
Humanity
learns so little from history that it would as well be ignored.
* * * *
You’re
full of loopholes.
* * * *
Absurdity
pirouettes with mad abandon.
* * * *
Anyone
who puts themselves on public display
Becomes
an enticing target to anyone of such inclination.
Ironic
who accuses who of being the demon.
* * * *
Your
role is determined by an inclination
You
cannot easily nor rationally explain.
* * * *
Grasp
you soul through inner vision.
* * * *
Chasing
mirages again?
* * * *
Somebody
had to write all this down,
And for
some incomprehensible reason,
It
turned out to be you at the keyboard.
* * * *
What a
mystery fate.
* * * *
Is
martyrdom anything more
Than
the ultimate vanity trip?
* * * *
Will
anyone ever read
And
comprehend all written herein?
How
unlikely.
You
should have taken more walks
And
drunk more coffee.
* * * *
“Sure,”
he acknowledged to an older friend,
“The
good die young, but at least I have the satisfaction
Of
knowing I probably won’t live as long as you.”
* * * *
Why not
go out with a bang?
* * * *
Except
for random acts of procreation,
One
often wonders what so many human
Males
and females have in common.
Would
we entangle near as much
If not
for lust and its genetic
Commitment
to time?
* * * *
S/he’s
right, you know.
* * * *
You cannot
even for a moment pause your fate.
* * * *
Technology
shapes us all
Into
something nature could not.
* * * *
Break
free.
* * * *
An act
of will to become less so.
* * * *
Just a
journal of thoughts
That
endlessly come to mind.
No sure
beginning, no sure ending,
Every
sort of reflection this mind entertains.
A fine
bit of madness, the delirium of consciousness
Entangled
by all the vanity playing out the human drama.
* * * *
Enjoy
your breathing.
You
never know when
It will
be your last.
* * * *
Season
to taste.
* * * *
Pshaw.
* * * *
The
well of eternal life,
The
fount of youth, is within
Every
infinite thread
Of your
tapestry.
You are
The
immortal
In the
highest sense.
* * * *
Must be
time for it to play.
* * * *
Good
food, water and air,
A restful
night’s sleep
Are
great healers.
Take
care of that body.
* * * *
Do what
I say, not what I do.
* * * *
It’s
all changing right now.
Yowza.
* * * *
The
numbers are so ridiculously big and small,
Only a
computer could keep track of them.
Will we
ever cease our fascination
With
all our measuring?
* * * *
Our
technical capability has proved dazzling,
But the
vessel has neither navigator, map nor compass,
And we
are blowing by our own wind toward the world’s cruel edge.
* * * *
We are
all the products of light and time.
* * * *
What
poison do you drink, Socrates?
* * * *
Whose
blade do you pay attention to in a knife fight?
* * * *
Atoms
do not die.
You are
made of them.
Therefore,
you are immortal.
Do the
math.
* * * *
Are we
in the new dark ages yet?
By what
idiom shall history call it?
* * * *
What is
personality, self-imagery,
But a
deep-seated craving to survive,
To be
accepted, to belong, to be less alone.
* * * *
Eden
will prosper without us
And our
free will pretensions.
* * * *
Cockroaches
will dance upon our graves.
* * * *
Do you
know enough, yet?
* * * *
It’s a
nice abstraction to love one another,
But
some people can’t help but be assholes.
* * * *
Not
being judgmental is challenging for any gossip.
* * * *
Whoooee.
The
things some people believe.
* * * *
It
isn’t a matter of whether you desire your fate or not.
These
are the cards you drew, and any hand
Is only
as good as the context
In
which it is played.
* * * *
A
culture that envisions no future has no future.
* * * *
Every
moment you look right past your Self.
* * * *
Take
it, take it, take it all.
Don’t
want it no more.
* * * *
It
ain’t all bad, sometimes.
* * * *
Requiem
for a suicide.
* * * *
Some
operate in the power suite,
Others
at the gladiator stadium,
Still
others on the park bench.
What
difference not imagined?
* * * *
Cannot
help it.
‘Twas
destiny that this be written.
Another
forest on some shelf, to what ends unknown.
* * * *
To be,
without mythology.
* * * *
You
will find this
When
nothing else
Appeases
your quest.
* * * *
Driven
by something you barely comprehend,
You
cannot help but become what you seek.
* * * *
Arrogance
is the delusion of superiority.
* * * *
The
universe is the mind of godness.
You are
a synapse of its timeless weaving.
* * * *
Don’t
get cocky about it.
It’s
not like you really have
Anything
up on anyone else.
* * * *
It’s
all your imagination.
* * * *
Down
the halls, the laughter echoes,
“Joke’s
on you.”
* * * *
An
editorial of time and space.
Once a
reporter, always a reporter.
* * * *
You
would rather think than breathe.
* * * *
What a
ruse the catechism
Of any
given public education.
* * * *
Any
movement inspires the potential for delusion.
Only
the action of total surrender to reality is immune.
* * * *
Sit there
and either enjoy or detest your persona,
And you
will see the nature of the human panorama.
* * * *
Life
just sort of carries you along.
* * * *
What
will that last breath be like?
* * * *
What an
eerie image to realize
Someone
could have you
In their
sights right now.
* * * *
Perish
the thought that maya controls your soul.
* * * *
You are
but a synapse of consciousness,
A
witness to a three-dimensional dream,
So real
you cannot help but participate,
So
unreal you cannot help but wonder.
* * * *
Never
hesitate to possess
Whatever
it takes to survive
To the
degree you wish to.
* * * *
Don’t
you weary of being rolled over
By the
investments of this world?
* * * *
My name
is Who of Who Knows.
* * * *
What a
drag it is to be forced to learn
If you
don’t enjoy the subject
Or,
worse, the teacher.
* * * *
Youth
is wasted on so many.
* * * *
What a
bother it all is sometimes.
* * * *
What
makes you think
Anyone
wants to listen to
What’s
going on in your head?
* * * *
How
irresponsible we are.
* * * *
You
really are a soap opera addict.
* * * *
Just a
line man from the county.
* * * *
Sometimes
even the greatest Buddha
Just doesn’t
want to bother anymore.
* * * *
Entertaining,
but can’t we finally let up and get along?
* * * *
Now,
children.
* * * *
A
string of thoughts that will ever seem new.
* * * *
Most
miss the whole point.
* * * *
The
world is an academic paradise.
* * * *
You
have a fate to fulfill.
* * * *
What
will be your last ambition?
* * * *
Governments
are just big gangs
* * * *
Each
influences the other.
* * * *
Can the
minority ever more than hope to sway
The
masses to a larger more unified vision?
* * * *
How
long can you stand being alone?
* * * *
Is
human history really much more
Than
the seemingly never-ending repetition
Of the
ravenousness mayhem of assault and pillage?
It is
patterns, not history, that ceaselessly repeat themselves.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The Stillness Before Time (Compendium)
© Michael J. Holshouser 2009
World Rights Reserved