24 August 2013

Chapter 126 - The Stillness Before Time (Compendium)


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.


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The Stillness Before Time (Compendium)
© Michael J. Holshouser 2009
World Rights Reserved