...the classical music is playing on and in & out I'm breathing softly through both of my nostrils. It's like 3:30 a.m.
Engaged by a debate that Bill Maher's appearance on Larry King sparked on Fox & Friends with Father Jonathan in from the Vatican, I'm stirring. These words I've heard are swirling in my head like the Fine Champagne Cognac I've come accustomed to drinking in my favorite Manhattan Chair.
And that's not all that's swirling in my head. As the classical music plays on and I breath in and out of both nostrils, I have galaxies swirling around in my head = filled with purples, pinks and hot white centers = massive mass = hurling matter = bright, radiant light = always moving = always in motion = and it keeps going to the edge of what we know as time, reality, space = it keeps going beyond and my mind is journeying along...
I'm complelled "to bite" on "the hook" which came with "the line" I heard on Fox & Friends and referring to the replayed conversation of Bill Maher and Larry King in which Bill Maher says, "that no one knows what happens when you die" - (well, at least he doesn't and, therefore, since he doesn't know himself he's not going to believe anyone - and he's gonna think whoever says anything on this subject is an idiot because he wont believe anything until he has "empirical evidence" = when he's six foot under and dead). Moreover, since Bill doesn't know and everyone who has any ideas on this or any kind of "claimed experiences" are crazy, crazy idiots = there must be no God either.
OK, Bill, did you pull out a Time Magazine from when Nietzsche made the cover with his notorious statement, "God Is Dead"?!
It's late but because its like 4:00 a.m. and I don't have anything else to do but sleep, I'll bite, Old Sport.
Page 40 of a book called "In This Place: A Book of the Nineties" from 1992 that was put out by a "Vanity Press" (by me) contains a poem called "Know-one Really Knows."
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Engaged by a debate that Bill Maher's appearance on Larry King sparked on Fox & Friends with Father Jonathan in from the Vatican, I'm stirring. These words I've heard are swirling in my head like the Fine Champagne Cognac I've come accustomed to drinking in my favorite Manhattan Chair.
And that's not all that's swirling in my head. As the classical music plays on and I breath in and out of both nostrils, I have galaxies swirling around in my head = filled with purples, pinks and hot white centers = massive mass = hurling matter = bright, radiant light = always moving = always in motion = and it keeps going to the edge of what we know as time, reality, space = it keeps going beyond and my mind is journeying along...
I'm complelled "to bite" on "the hook" which came with "the line" I heard on Fox & Friends and referring to the replayed conversation of Bill Maher and Larry King in which Bill Maher says, "that no one knows what happens when you die" - (well, at least he doesn't and, therefore, since he doesn't know himself he's not going to believe anyone - and he's gonna think whoever says anything on this subject is an idiot because he wont believe anything until he has "empirical evidence" = when he's six foot under and dead). Moreover, since Bill doesn't know and everyone who has any ideas on this or any kind of "claimed experiences" are crazy, crazy idiots = there must be no God either.
OK, Bill, did you pull out a Time Magazine from when Nietzsche made the cover with his notorious statement, "God Is Dead"?!
It's late but because its like 4:00 a.m. and I don't have anything else to do but sleep, I'll bite, Old Sport.
Page 40 of a book called "In This Place: A Book of the Nineties" from 1992 that was put out by a "Vanity Press" (by me) contains a poem called "Know-one Really Knows."
"No one really knows...
So shut up!
unless you're going to entertain me
with another vivid story you made up!
Go on!
I'm waiting,
I've already heard millions since childhood."
Since then I've learned that Blind Faith is not worth anything = Well, maybe for War and in War and other activities in which you need robotic type human bodies.
But, at any rate, I have the Freedom to believe in what I see as truth, beauty and awe inspiring enough to drive me to continue living and, moreover, as Wallace Fowlie would say about his unending quest as the answer to the question, What is poetry? The solution, he believed, rested in ''the direction of an individual toward a decent life.
I am a poet.
What drives me anymore at the age of 37 is this Pure Energy of all of existence. Pure Energy. Loving, loved Pure Energy of all of existence ===
That's all I'm saying, my friend...
How pure? Beyond the purity one can describe? Here's a poet's try ---
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