Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps

Z.,

With no space for action, yet again words would have to take the leap;

For some time, the thought of you has pained me,

But I’m unsure of what you might think, or what you already think, or even what I feel.  My intentions were simple, an act in itself without malice.  At least, that is what the vacuum of my thoughts tell me.

A simple question for a simple act; why was it so paralyzing to ask?   Why did, time and time again, I stare listlessly into the unknown, vision blurring with strain, instead of doing the simple task I have ordered upon myself?

The question begs the possibilities.   A myriad of images, of rejection, of trying to explain why—when I myself could not answer—of thinking the impossible.  The restlessness in my seat, the empty words exchanged, the awkward dialogue, the flattened lines of conversation…  They say this, and they say that.  I fall silent and let them to their suppositions.   I quietly let them prey to their own labyrinthine, Byzantine schemes, that they may distractedly plow a path which I and… we… I could guide you through and give myself time to think,

In either case that may be impossible now, for lo, one such ruse from Machiavelli throws me off and keeps me away… the foul snake must seek you now for his prize.  That, alas, is the law of the land; heartless souls will enrapture the maiden, and use her to no end, and pity the fool, the bard who doth nothing but sing songs of woe.

Why, in the solace of my inner turmoil, and the turbulence of my emotions, could I not have uttered those few simple words?  Not as you think it, for as I have said my mind is not my own.   Nay, it is overthrown—by the world and its follies.

You were the one soul that knew Fiammetta, and it was from there that I felt that we were somehow, kin.   Kin not in blood, nay, nay, but kin in spirit.  E’er since then ‘twere only two I thought deeply of, and with Fiammetta’s wake,  ’tis more’s the pity, ’tis more’s the need.  (Forgive me, my thoughts have failed me and all I could channel was that one word.  A paltry measure to an unfathomable chasm of emotion)

Ai! Ai!  What shadows possess my very being, gripping me in animated terror!   Dost thou know how long it has been e’er since I’ve put thought into pen?   The mockery of the critics, the cynics and woe-begotten paralyzed my hands for too long.   In either case, long have I wondered, and questioned my own heart.   It meant nothing, you see?   It was a simple act, brought on by need.

Cursed Providence!  Oh hallowed Earth!   I am stricken and left a fool anew!  For Iago he has played his hand; and played well it was.   It would seem even the simple question, the simple act is impossible now; the whole affair has become moot and academic.

In either case, had I but asked, what would you have answered?   If there was but time, or maybe chance, that I could take you to any place, without strings, attachments, preconditions or expectations, for a moment, what would you have said?   How would you have answered?

 

Wo auch immer Sie sind, ich liebe dich Gottin

 

LockeD Up

Check this out

XCKD – Locke and Demosthenes

 

Optimism

Five cents says it gets better.

 

A Picture of the Real World

Caffeine Sparks has a recent post about the nitty and gritty of the slums that she passed by;  on a side-note, I remembered seeing something similar some years ago while walking on Katipunan at late-night.   A street kid was standing over a beaten up opponent, while behind him were fellow kids watching.   Bereft of any form of education or rules, what else is there but the rule of might is right?

But Sparks gives poetry to an otherwise dark, vulgar event;  A stark portrayal that will linger on the edge of our minds for a long time.    A Kuko ng Liwanag post, a must-read.

 

A Question of Dignity

Chip Tsao’s article was insensitive, and not well-thought of.  It was a mistake, in his part.

Yet somehow, his words ring true…

 

Of Black Flies and Spoons: An Analysis of the song Ironic

Alanis does get some lines right…

 

Greetings from Woodstock: The Eraserheads Reunion Concert, 2009

They came from everywhere… from all walks of life. Youth converged on one area, as if magnetized by an irresistible force. They came, picketed, and listened to the music of their generation. In a moment that lasted for forever, they raised their hands and their voices in one simultaneous expression of their lives.

 

A few words of contemplation

The mind can only take you to the farthest reaches of its cognition; but the soul, immortal, effervescent, can ascend to the loftiest heights, from the judgment of Heaven to the deepest abyss of Hell.

The scientists claw at the deepest corners of the brain to piece out the inner workings of the world. They live in logic, the summation of knowledge that has been discovered, agreed upon by consensus, or realized up to that point. They try to envision as much of the formulae and the algorithms of the world as their brains can take. Yet at the very end, the sadness takes them, and the conclusion grips them that even the seemingly limitless horizon of reason has an end, and beyond that plateau, only faith can carry him further.

The artists have a deeper, more anguished hunger. They do not see with their eyes, or their mind; they perceive through their souls. They pour in ink or easel, in scale and notation their very hearts, and the very reflection of their selves. For they, have a more sublime exploration: one deep within. Joseph Conrad found its horror in The Heart of Darkness; Vincent van Gogh fought depression in his art and the clamoring of his spirit, till the madness overtook him; and the great genius, Wolfgang Beethoven, stricken deaf finally in old age, screamed the loudest, in the movements of his later symphonies, and the pastorals to God, till he too broke, and must have muttered, “ah God, I can go no further.”

Or “Ah, God, no more.”

 

The artist understands that there is a larger, more complex world out there, and that he is one small speck in the midst of infinitesimal celestial bodies. He sees no measure in time; in fact knows that each measure merely proves that one repeats the other, and that we are trapped in an endless cycle of shuffling through the world, trying to expand our thoughts and minds, but never truly going beyond the limits of our existence. Not even beyond a city, a province, a country, a continent. He looks finally inward, and finds both meaning and a constant emptiness in the exploration of his soul. If he is not careful he loses purpose in life, for what value does anything have, before the scale of God’s universe?

We wonder at the grand paintings of Michelangelo and the thundering of Wagner, but these are mere futile attempts of the artist to break from the prison of this mortal, tangible world, into the supernatural, the external realm where the Heavens dwell, and where the angels shine in such terrifying radiance that is beyond the limits of the largest star. And even they are mere reflections to the the irresistible, all-Powerful, existence and presence of God. Can we not see the plight of the artists, trying to fit these magnificent bodies to paper and ink, or throwing their souls through stentorian orchestra to reach these heights, only to fall so humiliatingly short?

Let these words carry through the reader, to his own musings:  picture the world from afar, and dots spiking to lines trying desperately to break through the atmosphere to space; these are the multitude of men, trying in their vain, hope-ridden hearts, to touch God.

 

Tableau

A place far away,

Mountains that stretch

To Heaven itself

Fields of endless green

The soft, crisp air,

filling your nostrils

Freezing your skin

A hue of yellow, green and white

A brief glimpse,

You cannot stay

The mountains

reach to the skies,

Where air is scant

And breath leaves you,

And the soul is taken

Watching now

from that fast-moving car

on a shaky railway train,

The mountains from far away

seem to pull you

Their majesty

Like judging gods,

before mortals in Elysium

(as those fields seemed to be)

We move, I move

but the land is endless

and suspended in time,

Untapped, untempered,

unhindered, untouched

I am locked in a prison

of this railway car

While my eyes are only solace

To touch the green and yellow

and the white

Of that place far away