The Floor Above

I could not say what floor it was —
because I did not know
what floor I lived on —
only that it was the floor above
where silence seemed to dwell —
unless it was because I could not hear
what was there
because of the noise of others
who lived with me.

It did not have a pretty or a friendly face —
instead the faces where I lived
were filled with images of things
I feared —
and a television against a wall —
the chatter of petty minds and petty faces 
the constant hum and drum behind the wall —
which I ignored —
for it was nothing more than noise to me.

But it had a telephone —
which reached another world —
the world of those I loved —
those no longer here
but whose messages I could hear.
They were both beautiful and tragic
and reminded me of the life they lived.
Love erased in a single moment
haunted eternally by the voice of those they loved —
recorded on a telephone.

They pretended to be happy
their voices filled with enthusiasm 
hopeful the ancient ones they had loved 
would reappear
found and loved again 
but not without a hint of uncertainty —
that kind of hope. 
Nonetheless it was persuasive 
and so, I plastered them to my body —
like a shield —
and traversed
the landscape of what I feared.

The Man in Green

In a land by the sea between the living and the dead —
I saw a familiar man —but could not be sure who he was —
The sun traveled inside and poured from his face 
as he approached with a friendly gait —
a handsome man —
but whose beauty was secondary to the jacket he wore —  
a shade of green, not too dark, not too bright —
the length shorter than is customary for a man
reached the edge of the spine.
I marvelled how different it was from anything I had seen —
and knew its touch was something I could not leave behind —
The man in green — who was otherwise modestly dressed —
took pride in the craftsmanship of this vessel of his —
and opened the door to an inner world —
where major keys lay bare inside  —
and saw it was not finished yet. 

What is a Writer?

What is a writer, if nothing more than a pair of eyes, absorbing information from the environment, experiencing it, processing it, and finally expressing those perceptions through language? There are exceptions, of course, at least in theory. Educated claims, made by persons devoted to understanding a riddle, plucked and gleaned from limited resources, but which without all the pieces of the puzzle, despite dedication, are the valleys and peaks of scholarly visions. But this is the nature of curiosity and passion — a relentless pursuit for answers, the truth. These attempts are by no means futile or insignificant, but help construct a semi-coherent picture of what may have been. The intention to distinguish fact from myth is a noble pursuit.

And so, the subject which has rightfully fascinated investigators since antiquity, a trend which will likely continue indefinitely, is Homer, the greatest epic poet of all time. Linguistic variations of his epic poems suggest that Homer may have not authored both The Iliad and The Odyssey. But then again, investigators can only place his birth between a span of time, centuries apart. Just think of that. Not decades but centuries. Now that is what I would call a huge mystery. And one must not forget that these works were based on an oral tradition, so once again, there are more questions than answers. Homer was also presumably blind. Really? That’s an incredible claim. Perhaps he suffered from an eye disease later in life. Science has proven that eye diseases prevail in later life. And so, the verdict is out on that one, and for good reason, for it leads to a simple but significant question: How could a poet perceive what he expressed without the use of his eyes? My guess is that Milton would throw that theory into the trash.

Images of Language and Incongruity Floating In My Head While Moaning and Groaning About WordPress

This is gonna be short. 

  • And that’s because – Fucking WordPress!!!  What is wrong with you guys. New version is just dandy when it grants you a visit otherwise you’re back doing the old shit again, typing each tag without spellcheck – OMG!  What a chore…

And now you’ve fucked up the most important page!  The super duper versions paper, which we compose on, and you’ve totally destroyed the basic formatting, where you have no idea how many times you have to hit return before you get that extra space you want in there, between paragraphs!
So, as demonstrated above, I can easily use bullet formatting or numeric, but I am no longer able to slide into paragraphs, and it is so fucking annoying!

What kind of Brains are developing these, these – I don’t even know what to call them!
(Personally I think they’re all missing a few screws.)

All very nice, of course, affable, but totally daffy when it comes to basic organizational thinking and, and what? Visualization system is inoperable?

URGENT:  

The Eyes of an Aesthete Wanted

On the other hand, if this is an example of how someone who may have Schizophrenia, for example, works, well, that’s another subject altogether. 

But why do we still need two versions of the Statistics?  Neither is much improved. So make a decision

Throw one in the trash, already!
Seeing the actual word italicized, however, is a whole lot better than than seeing words buried under HTML script. 

So that is an improvement. 
Congratulations, WordPress!

Bravo.
(Sorry. 

That just wouldn’t stay in any longer.)

Ever since I did the update, I’ve been wanting to put this down on paper, but something else always managed to shove it below the pile, where it finally said …
No more of this!
I will no longer be a wallflower!

                     THE END

Where is my FUCKING pen!!! (Mini-crisis) And more definitions of LOVE.

I’m still building this one.
So far, it looks like this.

IMG_2676.JPG

The Bipolarians

Could not remember, so I just asked a friend if I had told him about The Bipolarians.
I first discovered them living among us about a year ago. It was after a legal hearing for a Bipolarian. Three of us posed for a snapshot selfie, which is what I later used to introduce our world to The Bipolarians, by posting it on Facebook.
Their fathers are big on Education; theirs mothers, Art. This creates an unusual mix of chemicals. We’re not exactly sure what those chemicals are yet. But we sure would like to get our hands on the formula, wouldn’t we?
Then we can produce enhanced Bipolarians right here on Earth!
Wouldn’t that be exciting?
Anyway they are highly revered on their planet.
Unlike here.
Where the planet loves them. And Nature adores them for their spontaneity. –
But those from their own species do not.