Nights

spent yearning to write
having to entertain
Ages
spent desiring company
Now needing solitude
Thinking itself
is an abstract term
needed to describe
something we cannot
truly put a name to:
Nominalism, suggesting
a doubt of Reality,
the expression of
the groundless ground
in terms of language:
by separating the term
from its referent
a doubt is implied as to
the basis of the referent:
if justice is not justice
the principle of non-
contradiction is violated
due to the belief that goes
side by side: it has no basis
in Reality. But reality
cannot be reality either,
only an illusion based upon
the groundless ground.

There was another topic I wanted to write about that I just forgot but I have instead decided to labor away at creating an aesthetically pleasing floral decoration, although I would like to attain to a level of sarcasm in metaphor, it will take several years for my confidence on this matter to grow, but I can try, no more, no less:

I am not me
cliches are not cliches

a lie to insinuate the truth as the opposite of what has been said/understood/meant -
that could never be it so long as the internet never shuts off


Sarcasm truly exemplifies my belief that knowledge can only be about what something isn't, showing what something truly is by a process of elimination; or else we can know How something came to be: but is this because what something is is different now to now as it is constantly becoming? Or is it because we cannot specify the essential definitive properties of the something for they turn out to be merely appearances of more fundamental essences?

Why was I not sooner to say that both must be correct: that we can and cannot have knowledge, that something must be defined by both what it is, if that can be presumed and hence assumed by having some knowledge of what it is not for if we were to know what it certainly is not we must have some idea about what it is, and by what it is not. This is accuracy.

I could continue
but it pains me to think
I am so very tired
and (un)fortunately wired
I notice each time I blink
and the sun bringing its orange hue,

I want to write something
that will be appreciated
but irony has taken over
Inspiration's moved to Dover
this question can no longer be debated
and to bed I go till the alarm clock ring