language is liquid;
meaning meanders.
in the long-run,
meanings are meaningless,
untethered and adrift
in an ocean of possibility.
[political words' meanings
don't drift, but tumble with
whiplash violence through
a desert of the possible.
But, predictably, the first variation
of a political word is the exact
opposite of its original meaning.]
Be my god
and I'll be yours,
and we can make
each other miracles.
Are we Makers?
Yes. We are!
And damn good ones at that.
We can turn a planet
into plastic trinkets.
We can use every last morsel
to make stuff:
bright & shiny
or
loud & colorful.
We can even make ideas:
good or bad,
true or false,
but always 100% believable.
We're the ones who invented Evil.
Yes, that whole toxic notion
is brought to you by us.
And Left-Wing & Right-Wing...
It used to be just a bunch of people
trying their best to understand
and to get by.
But we built mental / conceptual corrals,
corrals good enough that we
could no longer recognize each other
as part of the same species.
We are Makers.
on a maple leaf, a jewelwing stands - still. it'd blend, if not so blue.
a dog day ends, pine needles silhouetted against orange sky.
cool blue skies, & dry grass on the hillside -- seashore in Autumn
footprints in stone -- outside the temple; how do Buddhists step so hard?
How is being hit by a hard word different from being hit by a brick or a bat? To burn, the spark of a hard word must find some kindling inside the recipient, elsewise it can't ignite. If someone points at me and screams: "YOU ARE SUBPAR AT ALGEBRA!" I remain unwounded. [I'd like to say that it doesn't burn simply because it's true, but the truth or falsity of hard words is -- perhaps sadly -- not a major ignition factor. The kindling is a thing that sits inside one -- something that makes one care, probably a complex mélange of factors. The truth of hard words? That is an outside factor.] Even if I were to discover that, to the person who issued the insult, there is no greater disparagement than to cast aspersions upon a person's middle school-level mathematics competency, I would remain unwounded. If I were to feel any sort of way about uncovering that knowledge, it would be to feel sort of bad for the person who issued the taunt. Now, how to burnproof one's soul, that is the question?
imposing clouds seem to hover over the palace, but then one sees the drift, and they are drifting nearer.
There was a psychiatrist named Jung who thought the Unconscious was far-flung -- like Sandman's "The Dreaming" that you've seen on streaming: farfetched and fictional -- with heroes, unsung.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 