Paradox

My ability to write poetry has disappeared
vanished into the realm of the nothing beyond nothing
killing my natural inspiration
natural inclination
natural persuasion
natural passion
but I have decided to make the decision to not decide
about deciding to make the decision to not decide
The paradox of belief, pragmatism, God, and all
truly unknowables.
What do we do now?
Do we just not do?
Or do we do what we can with what we have left?
The best we can,
Forgetting the past
Preparing for the future
Living the present

Time

A poem before I go to sleep
High on life no time to peep
Into the box that futures hold
Where you go when you’re no longer old
When you’re rotting and your body’s cold
To see ahead you’ll see him reap
And all that’s left is sleep sweet sleep.

So wait and then you’ll see it come
But first enjoy your life little one
For living in the present is like a bottle of rum
That you can drink and then pull a gun
Or you can not and enjoy the sun
Just stick to it hard like your hair to gum
In here I know the truth will come

Forget the past, it'll never last
unless you remember.
The world is not worthy
and It's better this way
than it could have been.
Its a sin to think regrets just play
Cause it'll catch up to you, one day
some way.

Ironic nothing

Fighting apathy
yet believing all this can lead to is dependency
Inspiration has long since ceased
and all I can write is irony

To write is to silently utter for all time
the expression of a thought content;
relevant or not, empty writing is never empty.
Emptyness itself is full: not only of itself
but of meaning, if meaning at all can be.

But even if it cannot can't just the fact that this can be thought create its existence?
Can't nothing be if it can be thought? Can it be thought? Doesn't nothing simply describe a void in thought content? In existence? In thought? The name 'nothing' names nothing (that can (or cannot) be named). Each thing can be described, nothing cannot (the absence of thinghood?), hence it cannot be, thus it cannot be thought: we presume to be able to, attempt to think it, but all we really think is the name and not the content: we imagine what the content of the thoughtless thought may be, but it escapes imagination, it is contentless. All we can understand it as is as what it is opposed to: thinghood, being, existence. But everything else that we can think, unlike this which we only think we can think, is because, if only, we can think it into existence. Nothing eludes thinking and existence for it is precisely not existence and thus cannot be thought for thought must either think what is or create what is in the thought, which nothing can never do, become, due to the necessity of its always remaining opposed to being, its continued non-existence as non-existence, its not being what it is or isn't because it cannot be and hence cannot be itself, or it must both be and not be, the latter for in terms of existence it must not be (anything that is, that is), and the former for it must remain itself as non-existence or the latter preclusion would be violated: it must BE what it is and not what it isn't or it would no longer not be or be nothing at all.

Control

Have I said it before?
To win is to lose and vice versa.
Two people who know this respect each other immediately:
As when you wait for the other person to proceed through the door.
Or the one who likes to win is won over by the one who intentionally loses.
And then the latter has won.
But this doesn't seem to cycle, for this win is not a loss
Perhaps, unless the other sees it like this?

Just retain yourself throughout
don't let others affect what you think of yourself
Rely on yourself for your self-esteem and confidence
or losing will get to you and you will really lose, control.

I don't know

By now the fog has cleared - had a huge breakfast:
french toast and maple syrup. Applause.
Friends incessantly calling, no time to write.
But I need help and they cannot give
without wanting recompense.
Is Shakespeare right?
To give to give is friendship.
to need to lend, they never were friends
others first or others if you can?
Perhaps just don't be taken advantage of.
Generosity beyond your means
virtue or stupidity?
I do what I can to repay the favor.
Little lovers break my heart
an organ unlike the sexual
for lacking desire I lack lust
apart from for love lacking lust
I have murdered eros out of whose ashes
philia was born:
don't be taken advantage of, I reiterate
for love is easy to manipulate
quick to turn away from
love separates as it, on another level
conjoins: how does it become mutual?
Trust, respect, appreciation, admiration?
Equality of indifference, caring for and about
Concealing emotions, argument, playing the game
But fuck the game! You can never. Control shifts
submission, domination and back, in equal proportions.
But they want to be controlled and loved. Not happening.
Love requires the reciprocation of control.
Or it is one who loves the other more, as always.
Can you be satisfied, content in control?
Can you cope with the yearning, worry, paranoia
of emotional dependency in submission?
The latter is love and requires the former's yes for its yes.
Perhaps it desires a role reversal. No/yes, no.
And all the combinations.
But I believe the former can never desire forfeiting control.
Even if s/he is dissatisfied. Divorce or jouissance?
Perhaps the married share control or they wouldn't have married?
The mystery will take longer to unravel
But the truth must be decipherable, no?

Poems don't grow on trees

The alarm in the guest bedroom is ringing
loud, incessant, annoying
the lovers inside ignore the sound
the pitch screeching,
yearning to be shut off
it doesn't even like to hear itself
One loves the other who loves another
Xanexed out they sleep together
through the noise
the noise!
I want to go in and shut it off
But I don't want to disturb them
Maybe they'll throw it out the window
break the glass
ruin my life
please no
just wake up and bring it to me
I'll shut it off for you
I'm still up
and up and up!
Flying Falling Running Walking
Sitting, laying, thinking
thought - off shut clock alarm
thinking being alarm clock
ringing: shut off please
and thought off shut
and out it all goes
being still ringing
no vibration now singing
now annoying
again, thought kept alive
by the noise kept alive
by indifference, but then to thought
and shut off off shut
no more goes thought
although the ringing continues...

Another Poem

title before outset
to pointlessness
no doubt
unless...

Something arises out of the nothing of nothing
and ascends into the air compressed realm of space
that cannot be filled by anything but itself:
The only impossibility, always exceptions
to the rule, requiring truth to be both and
of opposites.
To Know is to include the in-between
and silence all further, thinking ceases
to come and...
No response.

Warning: this may induce envy or even strife but if winning at all costs is intended in whatever situation you decide deserves such a plan of action it is advisable, while those who value or even admire "intelligence" or rhetorical/persuasive ability will surely follow and praise you for having conquered what is commonly considered to be the "game of life".

Patience

And so,
another time,
another day,
The happening
will occur.
Shall I wait?
Must.

Are the good moments, when achieved, worth the bad that occupies most of our striving believing only in the good's potentiality?

We live for those few great moments scattered randomly amidst the clutter of depression in hope to be found and desperation that they are lost.

You can make them: the seeds are there wanting to be planted, fertilized, taken care of, fostered into buds.

And the harder you try, the longer you have to wait, the more rewarding the results are.