My second installment of Mr. Flathead<< MORE >>

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What is existence? Simply put it is a state of being versus not being. If you are reading this then you exist and what you are reading exists, what you are reading it on is exists on and on etcetera.  In regards to this, I will discuses the argument “I could be imaging all this, so nothing is really proven to exist”. The big roadblock for the argument is that it is nothing more than a philosophical angle in the first place, given the fact that we operate in the world under the given assumption that generally things are, as we perceive. However, you can expand the argument to the imagined is immaterial and there by excluding it as existing. If you believe that could have merit your are mistaken, What ever you may imagine is by doing so brought into existence because at the very least you can interact with it and since you can not interact with that which does not exist it must exist. “I think there for I am” confirms that you exist, therefore anything you imagine exists regardless as to whether it is immaterial or actual or whether you manifest it physically such and a writer or artist does or tell it to other verbally (transferring immaterial from you to immaterial within the listener) or if you just keep it to yourself . The words you read here are technically just as immaterial as your thoughts, as the internet is “virtual”, the only difference being that the internet is accessible to an unlimited number of people, where as your thoughts are only accessible to you unless in some way you take action to pass them on to others. All the preceding leads me to be confident in saying; the core of the argument that something being immaterial means it does not exist falls flat. The only angle left for the argument would be semantics and that is overtly desperate and pointless. Being that I want to keep this short, that covers the core of how I see the statement/argument (or others like it) “I could be imaging all this, so nothing is really proven to exist”, it is just seemingly clever bullshit, but bullshit non the less.

        

I don’t understand why now I get so sad, angry and want to cry when I have feelings of adore, can passion be such a cruel thought?

I though I would just recover from the deep fractures left when all these false passion were torn from me over and over again.

I have wanted to cry so many times, but I have sheltered my eyes from that rain and they remain desiccated and parched.

It’s like I fell in a hole and just kept sliding down because nothing was strong enough to hold onto and now I can’t see the light anymore.

If someone is reaching for me, I just can’t see their hand, because I closed my eyes for the fear that would rise from the sight.

I use to wait, while I did the apprehension grew larger, stronger, darker, now it’s the terror and dread that consumes my eyes.

Once I felt I was lost, now I know I am hiding from that which I believe will eat out of me the last of my open lucidity.

It’s so dark here, but who wants to illuminate the corpses of so many abandoned dreams that have died by their own hand.

It’s so cold here, I feel so numb, but it’s seems better than feeling the deep ache that a warming of forgotten wounds would bring.

I look to see the light every now and then, though the thought of actually see it inspires a deep morose of it vanishing again.

So tangled are the hopes with the trepidation, as if they are one in the same, like a glorious day waiting for a spit in the face.

I can’t speak when the flowers inspire me, to do so would turn them black and lifeless as my words turn to poisonous rain.

Who is this person in my head now, when did they come in? An uninvited guest and I can’t find a exit to throw them out of.

I try to say leave me be, but somehow I am hypnotized by the words of this usurper, the one who is telling me that I am he.

Now here I am bleeding myself of what use to warm me until I am pale, weak and no match for the demonous fears.

But who could be strong enough to hold me up and raise my sword arm so I may swing my sword against the beasts?

That there is such a person is the only hope not yet poised to a black death, a tiny little thing struggling to survive with so little to nourish it.

It is held in the last refuge of lucidity, where at least it can still live perchance to flourish and raise me from this trap.

        

Cyanidal

 

Lightless burning candle scenes, exposing suicidal dreams

With true denials ever madly, bleeding through ever gladly

 

In my ear the worthless squawk, putrid air of mindless talk

Forsaken, so called tasteful, the improvidence of the wasteful

 

Given bitter cancerous caring, as passion is without sharing

Eyes sheltered, waterless, are true when empty and pitiless

 

In blinding blackness of the sun, see the madness to be spun

Insanity’s love for crippled saneness, truths lost in its plainness

 

Weakness given to the weary, paleness of whom sees so clearly

Safe in covers they are under, given candy of worthless wonder

 

Never are, broken tears to mending, nor the solace of an ending

Left to choices of what pays, with dogged fears of forgotten days

 

Callous eyes of selfish hounds, no regard beyond their bounds

Caught in leashes veiled strictness, answers to their blind witness

 

Accolade to one who dances, with out music to false romances

Cluttering clear and open spaces, giving rise to imagined graces

 

Invisible minds sing to masses, the merry sheep with empty glasses

Not existing under foot or under way, when to stop, is to run away

 

In sunny sightlessness, bestowing fools with vacant cheerfulness

When lives are like reins to an empty bridle, truths are cyanidal.

        

Each moment is the actualization of the destiny of said moment there by proving it out as such. Another way to convey the same idea would be; what is now, is what was to be, what was, is the evidence for such. However, put in the simplest terms “what will be, will be”. I am going to try to give an understanding of what that means and how I came to that conclusion. I personally do not believe in signs from enlighten and/or divine beings, just the signs we sometimes give ourselves, consciously or subconsciously. Nor do I ...<< MORE >>