Nebulae Bred Posted July 7, 2018 I'll start! I've got a gDocs file called "aborted blueprints" where I archived some poetry fodder and drafts during a very long episode of depression (spanning about a decade and a half). I'll dump them here. Also, the reason the theme of memes comes up so much is because I was exploring the role of memes in the evolution of psychology, at the time. I still think that they're fascinating to study. Memes and Archetypes are so similar yet their roles can vary so much. Very fascinating. Untitled: If only the world would be like us, if only fear and shame could be so easily erased. Then we would no longer have to see him. So that everything could be without his name, without the fear that anchors us with its utterance. If only we could lock away the past like the other relics we leave in our wake, so that everything about him could be forgotten. If only he could hold up the sky, if only his shadow could choke out the light. Then we could finally fight for what’s right. If only, so that we could destroy everything. If only we could stain in blood the world he built in his image, and watch the ruins decay. Then we could build towards brighter days. Brighter and equal days full of rainbows rendered in dull grays. If only the world were like us, imperfect and prone to predators and pray. If only the world could be infinite between two ends, black and white, and night and day, and immune to truth and reason and greed and agendas. If only the world weren’t what it is. If only it were not painted to us through the eyes of mortals. -- As time forks and the sun blazes the night away, On bent knees we pray to invisible days, We worship the things that can no longer be, Flock from the church of shattered dreams. I think it had something to do with depression and my counter-arguments to modern feminism from the point of view from someone who's pretty politically neutral. Up next, is Vancouver, Depressed: Vancouver; depressed Grey roads reflect a somber sky, rain drags the grief of the clouds from above, The city is in mourning, its anguish soaks me. Its scope chokes me. Grey roads vast as rivers, winding convoluted circuits through open ended cities, That seldom sees rest through the day and night, Time stands a distorted channel, Feeding on itself as the lights follow paths paved for efficiency, Inorganic and inconsequential. Above, satellites shine bright, eclipse of the starry night, we paint the heavens. This one is untitled: Virtual Ideas as vast as worlds, virtual vampires breeding, morphing, evolving a life of their own; carrying their human host to its own bloody end; a suicide by contemplation twisted by instinct, turned to greed, wearing the patchwork remains of a lie called virtue. Eclectic minds project decrypted faces for decrypted faces, cryptic noise, random generations, a trapped generation. Lions prostrate to pigs, encumbering isolation, craving depth and fearing the deep, vast dread at higher volumes, silent voices silencing voices. Parabolic apotheosis, drifting aluminum glared at through the blinking eyes of the firmament. New divinity in the realm of gods. Their faces; a projection of grayscale noise, faulty mechanisms and bisected gears grind away, preening and perfecting itself for malevolent ends. I wrote this one when I was feeling suicidal: Those memetic seeds didn’t seem to grow quite right, their roots are a nightmare to behold. A gruesome, twisted sight they sketch, such horrid creatures do they mould. the contemplating world behind those eyes, with such contempt does it hold, this putrid, pathetic, parasite who dared to see himself whole. Like a butterfly, he thought, he just needs to molt and spread his wings to stop the oncoming storm that led it so far away. But it only took a minute for him to catch a glimpse of the truth, a distorted, terrifying vista that only serves to prove, that he hadn’t just become his worst enemy, he’d started out that way. Time had led him to his current state, with a dark shade of melancholy, becoming self-hate. Logic seems to dictate that what’s happened is set in stone, actions have no returns, the consequence you must own. The rest of the document is a morbid short story that I think I'll keep buried. Gruesome. But here's an excerpt: "Oh, the quiet. Glorious silence, now flowing like a silk river through his cooling corpse. Glory like an orchestral climax, i beheld. The way the noise in his mind faded as his eyes glazed; remnants of his terror in a struggle for survival. I did it for the quiet that came after. There was no rush of the hunt, nor trophy for some game. It was for the relief that came with absolute quiet. The final relief. The neighbour’s dog was next. And that neighbour soon after. That was only the beginning. I’m not bidding for any redemption, mind you. This is more of a user’s guide than a confession. I’d seen the silence on the other side, now. And framed in that silence was the wake of the image of me, teeth bared, eyes cold, and blood spilt by both my own hands and others before me. Enough blood to drown in for lifetimes. For an all-consuming quiet, so total that my very thoughts are silenced. Where I can’t even hear myself breathe. It is not evil. It does not hate, and as its vessel I did not hate. I only served as a part of it, a cell in a vast organism. I’ve watched you, seeker. I’ve seen the look you get in your eyes as you piece together the ashes of my past in order to find out who I am. But you could never know. I hated keeping that from you. I hated that you could not understand the serenity that lies in the quiet. So I’ve decided to give you everything. After taking so much life, I’ll finally be able to know the quiet for myself. Like all things, this comes with a cost, my life for yours. A pittance. Pocket change. The loss of ephemeral chaos for the eternal order of Nothing. I want that, peace for all time and beyond time. Beautiful. See, I know what it’s like to be obsessed, seeker. We’re not as different as you think." I found writing that out to be very cathartic at the time. Anyone have anything they'd like to share? 2 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
liminal_luke Posted July 7, 2018 (edited) I often find writing cathartic. Sometimes I do Julia Cameron style "morning pages" only I type them out rather than write longhand, and I usually go over 3000 words. Just write as fast as I can think. I find it a fantastic practice, very emotionally grounding. My own writing often leans in a dark direction. I wish it wouldn`t. I think people like reading happy stuff better, or at least hopeful. It`s kind of a goal of mine to write something heartwarming. Nevertheless, I`ll share something I wrote during a more depressive period. .................................................................................................................. I feel like an overloaded Mexican mule. My backpack contains two computers and their respective chargers, two notebooks (one for throwaway jottings, the other for semi-permanent notations), and a Lee Child thriller. It`s as if I won a gameshow sweepstakes entitling me to a free shopping spree at some weird store specializing in technology and fancy stationary – all you can carry out on your back!. First world problems, right? People should be so lucky as to have my troubles. Ghetto kids don`t groan woefully as they lug home their newly purchased Playstation 4`s; socially isolated teenagers don`t kvetch about the oppressive bulkiness of their Iphones. Lest I unjustly paint myself as an ungrateful brute, I`ll point out that even the most impoverished child generally has something wonderful that I`m sadly lacking: Coca - cola. Statistically speaking, poor people drink a disproportionate share of soft drinks and eat a disproportionate share of delicious fast food: money is overrated. I`m seven days into the first phase of Paleo guru Mark Sisson`s keto reset diet, and sugar, in all it`s glorious forms, is strictly forbidden. The diet is supposed to reduce systemic inflammation thus wiping out all manner of modern maladies including – drum roll please – depression. Perhaps you can guess from the tone of this journal entry how that`s going? Honestly, I`m OK with unhappiness but can I please also be skinny? Being fat and sad at the same time seems like too much. One of my best pals recently got a mood disorder and stopped eating. He`s lost tons of weight and looks better than ever. His blood sugar numbers are nearly normal. Too bad he wants to jump off a bridge. Perhaps I`ve never really been clinically depressed, just garden-variety blue, because I`ve never lost interest in cupcakes. Seriously though, the worst part of suicidal ideation is the anticipatory guilt. Ever notice how hard people are on successful suiciders? We`re so quick to slap the dead with judgmental labels – selfish, senseless, stupid. Talk about kicking `em when they`re down. I can`t kill myself because I couldn`t handle all the mean things folks would say about me after I`m gone. As fast as people are to judge the dead, they never credit the living. Nobody evers says...Oh look, he`s still breathing...how unselfish of him. What a mensch! There`s a man who really cares about his loved ones. I might gripe a bit as I sling my weighty technology on my back, but look at it this way: I`m alive. I`ve made the heroic choice every hour of every day of my fifty something odd years on this bittersweet planet to continue the journey. Maybe I love myself, love other people, more than I think. I remember you and inhale. Edited July 7, 2018 by liminal_luke 1 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
dawei Posted July 7, 2018 I used to write a bit.. The Latin poet Catullus moved me beyond measure... till I read the metaphysical poets... and found a home... Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Nungali Posted July 7, 2018 THE WATERFALL (Ellenbourough Falls ) She stepped off oh god how could she have done that what space must your head be in to be able to do that she stepped off I imagine calm and serene not screaming and clawing and falling down, down but streaming through the layers of swirling mist to the rain forest floor below like a rainbow arching down to ground itself in the earth she stepped off beside the plunging waterfall at the top of the vast vertical rock abyss at the head of the steep deep twisting serpentine gorge right at the top of the world right at the top of her world she stepped off right at the top of her world young beautiful and healthy (they told me) the last person in the world you would ever imagine who would do such a thing I have stood on that very spot and tentatively peered over the edge into that vast vertical chasm watching the water racing down and turn to spray and felt that urge to fly myself down to the rain forest below and quivered and tried to inch back from that spot the inexorable force drawing me down to where the tops of the giant rain forest trees are bunched together like far away broccoli. Get away from there a voice shouted I turned (without falling) the old uncle emerged from the bush he took my arm pulled me from the edge and looked deep into my eyes we sat staring into each other by the swirling pool his black crystal eyes surveying my pain his dark skin wrinkled from searching my face It's the tail of the Rainbow Serpent Gunabar told me the twisted gorge is his body you have to be careful here you’ll fall right into it he talked I asked questions he looked at me through me you ask me questions questions about energies and places I'd say to you Gunabar said to me it's all about love it all comes down to love from your heart and then I heard the story for the first time not long ago a young white girl from around here stepped off the edge it's not the first time she was happy they said nice girl good job nice car why did she do it they didn't understand she left a note at the top I found that note I couldn’t find love anywhere it said the only place I could find love was here that's all it said she left that note at the top of the waterfall and stepped off my heart was shaking my eyes watering a giant ball of emotion was surfacing from some deep part inside myself I looked down the valley I turned and looked into Gunabar's eyes they were like black far away pools they were like places I have never seen the white people didn't understand I understand he told me they had a service at the top of the falls they floated flowers in the pool at the top I floated a broken branch and a broken boomerang symbols of a broken life my offering went over the edge the flowers didn’t they got stuck in a whirlpool at the top I gently pushed them over the edge with a stick I have since returned and stood in that very place high above the clouds and been drawn again to that roaring air that same place where Gunabar told me that story not at the edge beside the falls but around the side near the lookout where you can see the whole drop and I can’t help thinking what space must your head be in to be able to do that the shock of the first news is still there it probably always will be there she stepped off oh God how could she so now I sit inexorably drawn and look at the view the drop the falls and I imagine that young beautiful girl that child of nature feeling so much love but finding it nowhere else gazing out over the mountains head held high standing on the edge beside the plunging roaring drawing water and gently stepping on the air I imagine her calm and serene smiling and streaming down down the spark of her soul a streaming meteor accelerating through the air down down through the layers of swirling mist hurtling towards the far away now zooming closer broccoli forest below not screaming and falling down but plunging unstoppable totally committed into love. 2 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
liminal_luke Posted July 7, 2018 21 minutes ago, Nungali said: into love. Beautiful poem, Nungali! 2 1 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Nungali Posted July 8, 2018 ... true story that ^ . Interesting phenomena ; 'I feel like it’s pulling me': The dangerous trance of Niagara Falls When we stand in a high place, our fear circuitry may send a signal like 'Back up, you might fall.' But the signal fires so rapidly, that we misinterpret it as the 'urge to jump' https://nationalpost.com/news/the-dangerous-trance-of-niagara-falls 2 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
liminal_luke Posted July 8, 2018 (edited) OK, here`s a poem of sorts I wrote this morning, inspired by my recent practice of Primordial Qi Gong. ......................................................................................................................................................................... God Loves Me. By God I don`t mean an angry someone who makes a lot of rules and punishes people for not following them according to the specifications in some book. I mean the opposite of that. I mean that I am a part of creation. Not separate. Not separate. Not separate. Not separate. I mean that I belong. Start at zero or start at one. Start with infinite indivisible oneness. And then knock that oneness on the side of the head to create two. This is the process of creation. Spin primoridal duality -- yin and yang -- in circles. Around and around until you get five. FIRE EARTH METAL WATER WOOD Mix in a cosmic blender until you reach 10,000, until you get something that looks like you. Count backwards from 10,000 all the way back to zero. Count forwards from zero back to 10,000. This is basic math. Divine arithmetic. Dance it forward, take it back. Empty and full. Alone and not alone. This is the path the lightning travels between heaven and earth. This is the path that leads back to the certainty of God`s love. You do the hookey pookie and you turn yourself around. That`s what it`s all about. Can you stand at the far end of the creative process, on this lonely precipice of linear time, and feel the original impulse that birthed you? Edited July 8, 2018 by liminal_luke 1 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
gentlewind Posted July 9, 2018 a short poem written this morning. [ thoughts ] thoughts crashing softly, thoughts crashing violently. thoughts caressing thoughts messing thoughts blessing where do thoughts come from especially the ones you do not recognize. ? who creates the unwanted thoughts, disturbingly dark ? meditate in the vastness of the Mystery - your Mystery. thoughts crashing softly, thoughts crashing violently. thoughts caressing thoughts messing thoughts blessing. Lenny Gazbowski(c)2018 I have three Kindle books for sale via Amazon, just put my name in the Amazon search engine and spoil yourself to some excellent poetry. 1 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
gentlewind Posted June 7, 2019 a couple of short pieces. Short & Sweet(sic) the UK is a mess dark brooding mess and its all sugar free (just) ignore the aspartame it slowly rots your brain but saves on the cost of embalming fluid when your dead. Extended Sorrow death walks on its own fear feeds the onlookers sadness never fades. Thanks for dropping by https://www.amazon.co.uk/Lenny-gazbowski/e/B01MRJYHRO/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
