Poem - Reality
As the music plays - in the background,
not really listening: what does really
really mean? Recreation
again, half-
thoughts, questions: no will to attempt
an answer. It would evade me,
asymptotically:
I would think it were flawless only to
annihilate it.
Ok, so, as opposed to appearance or
semblance: a Ding-an-sich, contingency,
the truth having followed a joke lie,
which is what it really is: what it is
opposed to.
There is no really, only belief
that there is an ultimate reality
to existence: and when we
think something is really the case
we are easily shown or proven otherwise:
the belief is a mirage in the abyss,
and we are thirsty only to throw
sand into our faces.
A joke lie
played on humanity by the non-God
of truth.
Really can question the
validity of another's statement,
demanding affirmation, which shouldn't
persuade
one into hence believing the said,
but does, although responding
sarcastically -
no not really - should do the trick.
To believe is to escape the Nihilism
that spurs on the pessimism that
ruins our lives:
one reason alone:
not to believe is still to believe,
in that there is no reality:
necessary illusions,
But we (really) cannot escape after
knowing this - we will always doubt
our belief or never fully believe
because we know that what seems to be
the truth, reality, could very well
be a lie, appearance.
Am I in control of myself?
Or does something possess me?
I'd like to claim
that life itself possesses us,
that we can only escape it in death.
Our desire to possess objects and others
stems from our desire to release ourself
from our being possessed by life.
But perhaps there is no me to be possessed.
Then who is this? Perhaps others.
Then they must be others and everyone
must be others: there must be A self,
at least, for anyone to be others.
Or everyone must be no one...
Imagination gone Broke
cos inspiration left
home, starving and
scantily clad; irony
stole everything we
had, and I need
inspiration's help
to do something about
irony - its a
vicious circle
and I'm trapped.
But when or if
I ever finish irony
I'd lose thought, right?
not really listening: what does really
really mean? Recreation
again, half-
thoughts, questions: no will to attempt
an answer. It would evade me,
asymptotically:
I would think it were flawless only to
annihilate it.
Ok, so, as opposed to appearance or
semblance: a Ding-an-sich, contingency,
the truth having followed a joke lie,
which is what it really is: what it is
opposed to.
There is no really, only belief
that there is an ultimate reality
to existence: and when we
think something is really the case
we are easily shown or proven otherwise:
the belief is a mirage in the abyss,
and we are thirsty only to throw
sand into our faces.
A joke lie
played on humanity by the non-God
of truth.
Really can question the
validity of another's statement,
demanding affirmation, which shouldn't
persuade
one into hence believing the said,
but does, although responding
sarcastically -
no not really - should do the trick.
To believe is to escape the Nihilism
that spurs on the pessimism that
ruins our lives:
one reason alone:
not to believe is still to believe,
in that there is no reality:
necessary illusions,
But we (really) cannot escape after
knowing this - we will always doubt
our belief or never fully believe
because we know that what seems to be
the truth, reality, could very well
be a lie, appearance.
Am I in control of myself?
Or does something possess me?
I'd like to claim
that life itself possesses us,
that we can only escape it in death.
Our desire to possess objects and others
stems from our desire to release ourself
from our being possessed by life.
But perhaps there is no me to be possessed.
Then who is this? Perhaps others.
Then they must be others and everyone
must be others: there must be A self,
at least, for anyone to be others.
Or everyone must be no one...
Imagination gone Broke
cos inspiration left
home, starving and
scantily clad; irony
stole everything we
had, and I need
inspiration's help
to do something about
irony - its a
vicious circle
and I'm trapped.
But when or if
I ever finish irony
I'd lose thought, right?
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