Odes to my coy mistress. Metaphysical poetry updated weekly. New entry

The Race

written by DLBG, published 2022-Nov-15, comment

There are so many different races in life, some short some long. You don’t know they exist until it’s finished in some cases. Some opponents are hares and some turtles. I’m neither but rather a chameleon mimicking their speed but all the while knowing what speeds and what maintenance levels gets you where.

A coach is more than a washed up athlete, their experience and know how is better than any natural talent. The base is great but refinement makes the difference. Nonetheless I’m finished here. There’s nothing here for me. A life of solitude isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Just weigh anguish against nothingness. Not much of a trade off. Keep it moving. Sometimes if you stall too long on the wrong thing you’ll miss the greatness of the simplicity of the little things.

Each element in the periodic table is important and great in its own right. However when mixed with others, it can create something more beautiful than what it was on its own. Sometimes mixtures are so catastrophic they should never go together.

The expressiveness of silence. Human abilities, so infinite and amazing. The ability to communicate without saying a single word. The explosion of nothingness and all that’s said with it. Sometimes more powerful than words. A chameleon has no identity of its own, merely mimicking your every move and trying to fit it. People like versions of themselves, they find it easier to relate. 1.0 still exists? I doubt it. It’s become muddled by all the different versions.

The quietness of nothingness seems more of a realistic choice than the quest for greatness. Oh the sting. A tear or two rolls down the face. Why does it hurt so much. It’s unrealistic. Always remember logic has no place in the game of love if you’re going to do it right. It all comes down to moves you make. You came, you saw, carved your name, leaving a permanent mark. I’m always sure I’m going to win the lottery every time I buy a ticket but I never do. Choices, choices…. Continue buying in hopes of winning or settle on never being rich. There’s no disappointment in nothing. It just is.

make a comment


written by owen, published 2022-Oct-25, comment

Waiting on the perfect time to post is just another form of procrastination.  There is no perfect time to post.  You might as well write the words down now before you forget or they get overwritten/buried into your brain.  I do not know what I have forgotten since my last post. I can feel the thoughts but they are too deep down for me to drag them up again without a long rope.  Or maybe a long nap.  In either case there is too much going on now to risk the journey back to that place.

Death has a certain finality about it.  A certain definite certainty.  When someone dies you cry and I think your brain comes to the realization that there will be no new thoughts with that person - no new connections can be formed.  So your brain goes into overdrive clotting all the open edges.  It is a moment of deep reflection.  There is nothing you can do but wait until it's done.  It's like a very slow printer.

I am getting better at taking pictures of strangers so it must be sapping the energy I usually assigned to my other skills.  I do believe in finite energy.  There is only so much you can do.  Only so much time.  The older I get the more I am aware of this time.  The more I want to avoid blindly going down paths which have already been trodden by people, knowingly or unknowingly.  Every time I turn on the pipe and water rushes out I feel blessed.  I feel connected to the greater world - the greater struggle that is life.  Its like a modern zen.  Someday you will understand.  Mechanics, physics, knowledge, wisdom, understanding and everything.

make a comment