Wednesday, November 5, 2014

Yes, I know, I am no poet.




Ode to Sloth and Youth

Running jumping scrawling crazed bizarre demented
Doing all matter of actions amounting to nothing
All in celebration and commemoration of that most sacred of things – free action and youthful defiance.
Spending all day constructing illusory empires
Constructing sand castles emblazed to glass while the world shatters

My gospel is the gospel of elaborative bullshitting
For Philosophy is that which has worldly use only to the extent that humans possess the Reason to act upon it
And since history is nothing more than tyrannical toddlers running amuck stealing toys and kicking the family dog,
My hymn book would be the songs constructed by professional hobbyists and jack-offs
For the greatest joy in life is attained from resignation from this world and pursuing rather, to perfect one’s own

Many would say that their Kingdom is that of their believed Creator,
Some appeal to the sensual pleasures and activities of the Earth – I depart from both.
I instead construct my own Nation and Universe founded on the resources Nature has bestowed upon me.
To be a professional slacker, a laborer for my own self-contained ends ending in death is my Virtue.
For I hold it to be a great blessing to be able to do as I please for a time and pass away a moment after.

Death is our Salvation from Earthly affairs – both in the moment that it arrives and far before.
For being cognizant of death and having the intelligence to construct tools of leisure and utility,
Makes making the illusion of possibility in making a sustainable world seem frivolous
And something for always the next generation of men and women to sort out.
For the Earth passes over king and peasant alike.

And both the king and the peasant both the sage and the fool both the executioner and the hang man,
 Have made it their Holy Task that this world not last. 
And though this is a serious crime, it is paradoxically one that allows some in the acceptance of death,
Both of the individual and the species allows some some freedom,
To the extent that they are not slaves mentally, socially or economically.

Now, many will scoff at me and accost me with the crime of selfishness, or at the very-least self-centeredness,
And to this crime I have no possible verdict but guilty.
Performing good works of lasting significance requires others,
And having the mental and physical support of others require that their Reason and resolve be lasting.
So I confess a divide ‘tween those who would act virtuously and those who have the cognizance of knowing virtue.

And to the accusation that I perform a type of Nihilism in focusing on my own creative growth rather than others,
I can only control my own actions (I can’t even do that entirely well), and we are all condemned and blessed with the certiainty of death.
I wish I could remove the burden of needless sufferin for those whose existence is fundamentally wretched – but I cannot
Though I can save several starfish on the shore, not only can I not save them all,
But to strive to save them all would be to risk drowning myself once the tide makes its approach.

And for now I must say a-due
For I feel paralyzed by the arbitraryness of my decisions (including what I am writing now) and all of our lives
For (for, four, 444, forty-four – for) as Dostoevsky remarks:
Only the idiot is definite or amounts to anything.
This last line exists only to say that though I didn’t have a fifth line in this stanza (or whatever it’s called) I artificially inserted it to say, “fuck you!  I don’t need to have a fifth line if I don’t want to.  I live by my own rules.  And I’ll break them anytime its convenient for me.  That’s one of my rules.  And now I have this fifth line conforming to my own rule – saying I didn’t have to or want to. But I wanted to do that.  I really did.”
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I am jealous, I fly into rages…. And all out of boredom, gentlemen, all out of boredom; I am crushed with tedium. After all, the direct, immediate, legitimate fruit of heightened consciousness is inertia, that is, the deliberate refusal to do anything. I have mentioned this before. I repeat, and repeat emphatically.

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