Added: 1 year ago
From: SpokenVerse
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  • @SpokenVerse Pure fatalistic despair. A despair so ever in attendance that one simply surrenders to it. A suffering so profound, the conscience is numbed to avoid insanity . It is waking in the morning and seeing your clock at the head of the bed, moments before the alarm is to go off... Something could change. But you stare at it, until you are commanded by some dull tone back into your world. A world of your own mediocrity.

  • And the days are not full enough

    And the nights are not full enough

    And life slips by like a field mouse

    Not shaking the grass

    Ezra Pound

  • Liked the poem. I was raised, a good Puritan. to think that god's gift, time should not be wasted. I feel guilty when i do. So I drink. it soothes the guilt and gives me an excuse to do next to nothing :) Love your comments which are always very informative and entertaining.

    Bukowski has a poem on this subject and there is an appropriate quote in the movie the "Sheltering Sky" i will try and dig up the reference.

    Thanks

    Allan

  • It's a statement on contentment. A back and forth with one's self, trying to establish the balance between joy and discontent. In truth, we are never satisfied. It is a brilliant poem, with so many wonderful moments of language...Peggy Lee's "Is That All There Is?", "It is a feeling of sufficiency, one menaced, by the fear of some vague lack." and "In its blankness of mind, with the morning light slowly filling the room, and fragmentary memories of last night's video and phone calls.

  • i seriously love this one.

  • Just being is the most revolutionary act.

  • Totally wonderful! I think I'm addicted to your stuff.

  • Love the poem and the reading :) Time to go roll luxuriously in some cat nip...

  • nice one. Must ponder this several times to understand it. Thanks, Tom. -C

  • There is a type of lethargic pleasure that comes with being ontop and having no more to say other then you have reached there, which, is the most uninspired paradise that never truly moves from its schedule. A book once said that birds seemed to always be free, yet slaves to their seasonal pattern. If we look at it this way, the cat represents the doey eyed contentness, the person is the repetativity.

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