Saturday, March 31, 2007

Innocence

Caiphus: What is innocence?

Moralam: It is when man is ignorant of evil.

Caiphus: When a man stands trial and finds himself the target of the hurled queries and imprecations of the public how should he defend his actions?

Moralam: If he denies them and has done no wrong then he is innocent.

Caiphus: If he has done wrong, but offers righteous justification, does this make him innocent?

Moralam: Innocence is relative. It is a philosophy that extends into one's life. When you are innocent you are free of all guilt and the ramifications that come thereof. So yes.

Caiphus: What if an arbiter determines that he is guilty?

Moralam: What arbiter is worthy?

Caiphus: Who can determine their worthiness?

Moralam: Only an arbiter may appoint another: it is self-defeating.

Caiphus: Is innocence then impossible to determine?

Moralam: If you are innocent you will know, and that knowledge will free you, though a thousand arbiters scream your name into the depths.

Friday, March 30, 2007

Ghetto

I'm ghetto,
I am ghetto,
I throw my fist in parking lots,
While elderly women grow a shade paler,
And shade their eyes.

I don't follow rules,
Even rules about rules,
Do not apply to me,
No they don't.

Wind always blows a little
Colder,
Around me.
That's why I wear my pants low,
And my hat slips and slides
Over my eyes.
Greased with french fries,
Just a buck.

I am perennially prosperous,
Every year that comes and goes,
Leaves me richer,
But still ghetto.
My shirt depicting
Homer Simpson in drag,
Smoking a reefer -
Cost more than my meal.

But I don't care.
I'm ghetto.
Yes I am.

Thursday, March 29, 2007

Apologetics

Being a Christian does not mean that I am . . .

*sheltered.

*illogical.

*hypocritical.

*close-minded.

*uneducated.

*indoctrinated.

*pushy.

*perfect.

*shallow.

*right-wing.

Being a Christian has never meant that I . . .

*listen to Christian music exclusively.

*always talk about God and nothing else.

*only write, sing, or mull over God.

*enjoy going to church.

*only have Christian friends.

*enjoy listening to sermons.

*lack personality.

Finally, I think it is important to note that being a Christian does not make me any less cynical. If it bothers you to read the philosophy of a certain individual because your spiritual beliefs don't coincide with theirs, yours is the attitude that needs adjusting. Consider that fanatical opposition to close-mindedness is a form of close-mindedness; therefore, it is a self-defeating philosophy.

Wednesday, March 28, 2007

Romance

"The thing about dating is that it ends."
- Melody

Truth. The predominant problem with noncommittal romantic relationships is that they, inevitably, conclude in emotional and cognitive disappointment. For what reason other than sexual gratification would two individuals engage in a relationship based solely on the premise that their romance will probably end at some point?

I see a consistent pattern in the romantic habits of my peers. Allowing for an arbitrary number, I believe that approximately 85% of these dating relationships are entered into without presentiment or foresight. Very few of my generation are wise enough to consider the implications of such a relationship, and as a result they tend to be surprised by the conflict that arises when two incompatible personalities clash.

Is it truly so difficult to resist? Given but a moment's thought, it is frequently made clear that the obvious choice is not to date until one is at least unable to foresee any incongruence in persona. It seems painfully obvious to me that emotional maturity is the ice pick necessary to scale the mountain of sexual desire. Given the frailty of your purchase on a cliff face so rough and foreign, how can you suppose that you have truly accomplished anything without such a handhold? All that you feel that you have done may be taken away in a moment. Consider also the implications of co-dependence, which I may address at a later date.

Monday, March 26, 2007

Eyes inside
Perspective deified
When lovers with
Truth.

Control subversion in my intuition.

Beneath my heart there lies a melody.

Beneath my flies there is a heart.

Within my heart a song plays,

That allows the other love to start.

Saturday, March 24, 2007

Shadows Shift

Darkness,

Here it comes

Darkness,

A cocoon in which life gestates

Darkness,

Building blocks where
Demons assemble

Darkness,

Buildings black which
Demons resemble

Darkness,

Building blocks which
Demons assemble

Darkness,

A cocoon in which life reinstates
Life and death will correlate
When Joy and Love meet Fear and Hate

Darkness,

Here it is.

Friday, March 23, 2007

Exhaustion Smells Like Smog

Thick, billowing clouds of vehicular excretion pour into my nostrils, exemplifying the feelings that are already distorting their way through my virgin mind. My body is a factory, and it is asphyxiating the world. Even more tiring is the snow that falls all 'round me, piling up and chaining itself to my legs, keeping me tied to the earth. Silence. Dreadful silence compresses like an over-ripe fruit, squishing and squashing until I burst in one final fit of agony. So tired . . . so tired . . .

Thursday, March 22, 2007

Response to Vonnegut's Rules

1. Use the time of a total stranger in such a way that he or she will not feel the time was wasted.
Not only obvious, but redundant as well. Make your writing worth the time it takes to read . . . is there any rule that could possibly be more apparent? Obviously all good writing has purpose, and that purpose gives the reader purpose - otherwise there is no reason to read at all. Anyone who hasn't grasped this concept really doesn't deserve to write.

2. Give the reader at least one character he or she can root for.
Also give the reader at least one character that they can hate, mull over, love, reject, and mold into their own image. All writing is subjective, who the reader roots for is something that they will choose. It is the job of the writer merely to supply the raw materials, so that the reader's imagination may work with them.

3. Every character should want something, even if it is only a glass of water.
I can agree with this at least because, as was stated before, purpose within the context of the writing gives purpose to the reader.

4. Every sentence must do one of two things -- reveal character or advance the action.
Every sentence is important - indeed it is imperative that writing is approached with diction that is neither overly cautious nor frivolously extravagant; however, this does not mean that every moment of every piece of fiction must be devoted solely to character and action. Some of my favorite works, such as the Lost Years of Merlin series by T.A. Barron, have devoted significant amounts of time to description and immersion, although not by sacrificing those things which you have deemed important.

5. Start as close to the end as possible.
Yes. Conciseness owns you.

6. Be a sadist. Now matter how sweet and innocent your leading characters, make awful things happen to them -- in order that the reader may see what they are made of.
While it is true that terrible things may need to happen to make your story interesting, I have found often that it is more important to be accurate rather than presumptuous for the sake of excess drama. Always remember when you tell a story that it is set in stone, that your characters have already experienced these things, and that you are merely telling others about their troubles. My point is that no-one wants another Series of Unfortunate Events. Tragedy is great, but that isn't all that makes a story good or memorable. For fiction to truly speak to the reader it must be accurate; in this way the story becomes applicable to them.

7. Write to please just one person. If you open a window and make love to the world, so to speak, your story will get pneumonia.
Agreed.

8. Give your readers as much information as possible as soon as possible. To heck with suspense. Readers should have such complete understanding of what is going on, where and why, that they could finish the story themselves, should cockroaches eat the last few pages.
This is something that must be delicately balanced. On one hand a story that is exceedingly confusing will lose its purpose very quickly, making it uninteresting. On the other hand I am bored almost immediately with a book that fulfills every prophecy I choose to make about its contents. A better way of presenting this idea might have been to say that the writer must make the characters and scenario so completely believable and understandable that the reader will be able to foresee each of the possible ways that any given situation could turn out. Predictability yields boredom to any literary aficionado.

Wednesday, March 21, 2007

Intellectual Elite

Whether or not the clerisy of a group is encouraged to grow and prosper determines that group's success. Rich intellectuals make a great country.

So where's my paycheck?

I jest of course, it would be totally ridiculous for me to claim compensation for my thoughts. Philosophy is open to all, though there are those who fail to take part in this exercise we call "rational thinking." I wish simply that there were more who would allow themselves to be stimulated by the arts, by poetry, by music, by philosophy.

Make my day: make someone think.

Monday, March 19, 2007

Ode To Our Friendship

How do you see,
My desperate eyes?
Do your eyes pierce,
My cautious disguise?

Disguise your intentions,
With playful dissensions . . .

What makes me think,
We'd love anyway?
Our loving pretensions,
Are likely to stay.

Repeat back to me,
All that you see . . .

Have you ever thought about what it would mean,
If moments of fear were all that were between,
You and I,
You and I,
You and I,
You and I . . . ?

Sunday, March 18, 2007

Raw Imagery

Dervishes whirl devilishly through the sands
Of my salivation.

I can't forget the evening
Stars so bright they shine through
My eyelids.

Rolling through the snow
And rustling in the brush
Hearts are hushed.

Saturday, March 17, 2007

The Cackling of One-Thousand Demons

Laughter like a machine gun.

She's at it again. I don't know what she thinks is so funny, but her laughter's serrated edges slice and dice with the proficiency of an experienced chef, my body reduced to stew-sized pieces, ready to be boiled. It could drive a man to kill, that sound. The hallucinogen-induced chittering of a thousand dolphins screeches in my ear as I fold into the fetal position of eternity.

Thank God it's over.

Friday, March 16, 2007

Gothic Irony

Metal laces
Twixt shining bullet holes
Snake in and out
Like a two-headed demon
My hands
Strangle and malign
Subdued, the many mouths rest
As silence
Like snowflakes
Falls

Wednesday, March 14, 2007

Things to do before I die:

Find someone worth falling in love with.

Fall in love.

...?

Tuesday, March 13, 2007

Swimming

Dream of bubbles,
Unsettling troubles,
Coalesce into a predefined space,
While zombies beat upon your windows,
And cry out in agony.
Do you feed them?

Monday, March 12, 2007

A Good Kisser

I destroyed her!

I sacrificed the one most dear to me for the sake of tasting the forbidden fruit; furthermore, others less stealthy than I have followed my example, rendering my rebellion meaningless. I feel myself succumbing to the bloodlust. It drives me to my knees, my frothing face upturned while my body writhes in the dust of the street. Others have hidden from the evil ones that prepare to terminate me for my insolence, but I cannot move while I am overcome by this dissonant euphoria. Closer, closer they come. My movements are sluggish, my mind even slower, but I can feel the grip of the drug-like stupor beginning to release, one finger at a time. Perhaps...no, it is too late, for the enemy moves with the speed of blackened lightning, a blight upon the very air itself.

It is with great suddenness that I see four of them emerge - churning through the air like arrows they intercept my enemy, and I recognize them. They are my friends.

Who am I to deserve this favor? What have I done? I killed her, and I will never forgive myself. Even should she forgive me, I am a betrayer and a fool. The forbidden fruit was never so useful as I thought it would be...and I have lost something much greater.

Saturday, March 10, 2007

Tertiary

I love those words,
You know the ones,
That make The Man stutter,
I love to say
"Dig it, man!"
And mop my cuts while
Those slits of eyes tear gently,
Subtle anxiety becomes my tear gas,
To infect the haters.

Friday, March 09, 2007

A Metal Ode

Victimized, desensitized.
Hypocrites with ready lies.
I realize that I despise.
All these people with their questing eyes . . .

I hate to repeat myself but just so that you know,
On the road of life there's only so far to go.

Now you see what I have sown.
Standing in this field alone.
Darkness is what I have grown.
This is all that I have ever known . . .

I hate to repeat myself but just so that you know,
On the road of life there's only so far to go.

Watch as I give in to hate.
There's nothing that I can create.
That I will not re-iterate.
All my life will do is dissipate . . .

I hate to repeat myself but just so that you know,
On the road of life there's only so far to go.

So you see it will be clear.
Break the manacles of fear.
I will be your family seer.
Listen closely to the words you hear . . .

I hate to repeat myself but just so that you know,
On the road of life there's only so far to go.

We all know that what we'll be
Is more than what we've been,
But all we know is what we've
Seen.

Thursday, March 08, 2007

An Exposition on Inevitability

Recently I was asked a series of questions by a man who was as intellectually inquisitive as I. Though the questions were childish and awkwardly put, they illuminated to me a facet of life that some frequently take for granted.

I have come to believe that it is impossible to be absolutely sure about certain things. Indeed, it may be impossible to be sure of anything at all. The only thing that is sure is experience - theory has no value unless supported by experiential data. Suppose someone were to propose to you that they could add an additional one-hundred years to your lifespan. Naturally you would be curious but skeptical, unless you already knew how they planned to accomplish this feat. In this case this could be accomplished through light-speed travel and relativity, but that is not something I will go into depth about; it is more important that you see this connection between the experience (knowledge acquired prior) and the theory (knowledge speculated about). A good example of an exquisite blend of the two can be found in young children.

The main difference between children and adults is not just immaturity, it is the acceptance of the fantastic. How easy is it for us as adults to say that something is not real, simply because we have not the experience to back that something up. We know that unicorns do not exist: why? Because no-one has ever found any unicorns! Anyone skilled in logic will immediately notice that this is faulty reasoning. Therefore, although many philosophers and scientists would disagree, it is logical to be open to a great many things regardless of experience.

The problem with knowledge prior (experience) is that it frequently interferes with knowledge speculative (theory). The more we experience, the more we "know," therefore our focus tends to diverge into two extremes. In all instances we will show one of two characteristics: either we are extremely stubborn about our knowledge prior, or we will accept that there is a great deal of knowledge speculative of which we are unaware. Therefore, while part of wisdom is accepting that we know nothing, there is also the hardened "adult" side of wisdom which clings stubbornly to knowledge prior. I know not of any balance between the two, it seems to come naturally with age.

Children will accept anything and everything that they hear as fact. Obviously this has its negative aspects - children are easily fooled, indoctrinated, and led astray. However, I believe that childishness should be present in all of our thought processes; the consideration of our own wrongness regarding our knowledge prior is frequently the key to understanding knowledge speculative. Therefore, in sum:

*Consider yourself right in your own experience.
*Allow speculation to cause you to doubt, because with doubt comes enlightenment.
*Reconsider your experience always, that in your reconsideration you might become more firm in your belief.

Monday, March 05, 2007

Sweat

Dripping,
Like the very blood in your veins has seeped through your skin,

Wiping,
Vainly try to vivify the deathly drying demons,

Frothing,
Do the unexpected out of fear,

Smearing,
Still so unkempt,

Wading,
Something is pulling at my tendons so I tromp,

Hating,
The fire burns but there is no chimney,

Claustrophobia,
Everyone is upon me.

Sunday, March 04, 2007

A Letter For Maria

Dearest Maria,

I hope you'll appreciate my brutal honesty: you are arrogant for assuming that I wish to advance so quickly. Does our relationship mean so little to you that you would sacrifice it to the devils who claw for us to move forward? When we become one, though it be a magnificent spectacle, that will not be what we remember most. It will be those awkward moments where we stood side-by-side on the seashore, staring out into the sunset wondering if it would be alright to hold hands or if we should just revel in one another's presence; it will be the times when we walked through the street in the cold wind, each hoping that the other would stop making jokes and just look in our eyes again; it will be those times when we were reluctant to love that we will remember most, because that is what will make our love so much richer.

Please,
- Jonathon.

Saturday, March 03, 2007

Conciseness

His face is bowed in masked, unknown worship, casting a shadow deeper and darker than darkness ought to be. He does not move, for in movement lies light, the source of which burns with sun-like intensity. He is slow, he is inexorable, he is deified, for as he stands in the presence of the light he becomes one with it, however briefly. And so he is slow.

He does not look, but the light makes him see. His life is a museum, his sins exhibitions, scenes in a violent tour of his soul. Nothing escapes the light and nothing escapes him, though he is slow.

Resistance is impossible, though the shackles of the light grow rust like mold. His ankles, bruised and chafed, have turned to pudding on his bones, and his heart cries out with joy. He appears downtrodden only long enough to allow himself the time to consume his darkness in cannabalistic survival. He is preparing himself. He waits, that he might strike.

Into the blinding star, within the core of the fire he sinks that he might rise again, triumphantly holding the heart. His suffered knowledge is not in vain, for he has now the crushing strength to drown the light in blackness, himself overcome and destroyed.

Thursday, March 01, 2007

How We Do What We Think

Fluidity is the silver stream of cognizance,
Aptly named for its application,
It gives answers to our anger,
For what but the tears of the sea,
Can make the rain?