For Those Who Believe in Fate

If I had more time, I would spit on your shoes! And how you would weep and speak as if this were your truth.

–“How I’ve been disrespected! How my life has spiraled to nothing! Pity oh pity! Why does this man spit on my shoes? It is that I am rotten and therefore I shall have deserved this –but then why? Why do I deserve this heavens above!

I wake and feel sorrow.
I taste food and see maggots.
Everything I touch spoils, but only because Everything is already spoiled.

There is no changing! And so I weep. But would I end my own life –but even this I have no choice. The hand of fate has dealt –and where I receive two aces, I see only ones.

Spoil with me lover! This wretched world of mine –for punishment is all I have a taste for –and I would never see anything as truly mine.’

And to these wretched ones I say!
That I am more wretched still! Look at how I place, all the blame upon you!
No, but that can’t be right. For I have projected my want –that nothing should stay the same.

Stand still –you never are capable of grasping life, for life to you lives in rotten graves. And is it not this grave you walk over and tend to each day? But then can’t you see, that it is your sorrow that you tend to too?

Does a beggar not long for food?
Then why do you –not long for good air?
For can’t you see –that life is dead?
So why not go tend –to something alive?
What do you wish –to resurrect the dead?

But then I see your play! –You wish to resurrect yourself.
In tending to death –you seek to overcome yours!
You selfish sorrow! You pitiless pity! You would seek to drag –everyone to the grave you tend, that is your own!
You wish to stuff them there too –if only they would come closer.
But no one cares for your grave, so you wait to fall in it.

And when that day comes –I will laugh and weep too!
That you ultimately found that which you adored:
the surest fate, the most absolute, that we will all die –and your grave you tend for yourself first.

This I find a careless mistake. But tell me, would you believe in fate too?


Here I am! In all my greatness
Could you imagine –who or what I am?

The greatest man –he strides with efficacy, holds medallions in his hands.
The greatest man –relinquishes all desire, seeks to be content in himself.
The greatest man –creates castles and statues in his name.
The greatest man –leads peasants and lovers to a better day.
The greatest man –attracts all woman and men alike, who swoon at his gaze.
The greatest man –smiles aptly at the drop of a penny.
The greatest man –holds twenty tons of liquor in his belly.
The greatest man –runs into burning houses and saves all who need saving.
The greatest man –picks daisies and roses for his mother.
The greatest man –receives embraces and nods from his father.
The greatest man –loves his wife beyond all measure.
The greatest man –teaches all students to beware of folly.
The greatest man –finds beauty in all of man.
The greatest man –speaks the truth that heals burned hands.
The greatest man –provides for all, a shelter and a home.

But still the greatest man is no great man,
if when he trips, he doesn’t land!

For Francis

Our perception as humans are incapable of grasping that which is our will to will.
—What we must do.
Therefore, humans must at once accept their not-knowing to truly overcome themselves and thus know by embodiment.

The warrior fights and does not get spared.
He willingly dies — if need be, and laughs all the way inside.

First a quote:

Advice is a form of nostalgia, dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it’s worth. -Mary Schmich

This is Self, and yet, not for me.

Any and all things I say are inherently partials.
The whole only comes about from your own grasping.

The most meaningful thing I can say is don’t think about it.
Instead, ask yourself — what would I dare NOT do?
The gestalt lies in the formation of two binaries, two opposites, a paradox being reconciled.
The gestalt in relation to the Truth of Self — that which is embodiment.
Thus the only conclusion — to arrive at, that Truth of Self is necessarily to reconcile all the paradoxes of your Self.

Only you know what that is — or rather, only you can know that which it is that you must do based on what that is.
And the mind will rebel, and the heart will rebel, and the soul with rebel, and there will be no understanding or peace in the moment — but then, when is there ever?
Only after. Only ever after. Or maybe never.

But that wasn’t important to begin with.


A man sits in a prison cell by himself
holding a butter knife behind his back
he speaks to himself.

My mymoy- my!! AToday tod-ey! tody is the dayyyyy
“Quiet you fool! –You’re going let them hear. Don’t let them. Don’t let them”

A door from beyond the corridor creaks open
then slams shut –a beep sounds, it locks.
Footsteps march on the concrete, slowly
while a set of keys jingle with the footsteps.

The guard stops in front of the man’s cell
looks at him briefly up and down
then shakes his head.

The guard speaks, “You’ve been a good prisoner. So as per the law, I have to set you free today. Would you like to say anything before I open the gates?”

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My mind is not awake
I run away from shadows
these shadows call my name
and tell me that I’m little

I want to be tall
and with it comes power
but what is power but lessons
that humanity is left with no answer

I trip over a slab of concrete
and just to be sure of tripping
I walk backwards over it
and trip again

The destination is far
so I cannot see it

But just because I don’t see the stars
does it mean that they are not there?

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One day my mom came back to me in tears
I beckoned to ask what had happened
she replied that as she walked down the street, a man had lied to her
her being in need of rest and it being a hot day
aptly accepted to spend some time in the shade of this man’s boat.

Together they cruised the waters of unknown splendor
and the wind was refreshing indeed
until finally it seemed, that it was time to leave
my mother left the boat and headed home
and upon opening the door began weeping for lack of words.

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His hardened face
–a maniacal smile as his eyes roll slightly
contrasts with my youthful gaze

His criminal record
–a long list of attempted crimes of assault, disturbing the peace, and DUI
far surpasses my ding-dong-ditching and throwing-apples-at-a-car days

His frequent curses
–marked by a tinge of satire that fills the air just as quick as it leaves it
looks for no particular response, and I don’t answer.

But then he speaks
about computers, thermodynamics, internet protocols, power grids, physics, the housing market, inefficiencies found in the world, ideas, lots of ideas
–roots in the world of problems I’ve also thought.

I break the flow of his ideas
A question burns my mind
–Is he as criminal as people make him out to be?
I ask.

His frown –and he points his thoughts at me:
–Why is it that a police can punish another man
–Mark him as criminal, shoot him dead
–And still hold no responsibility over their own actions?
–Kids…kids running around the block with state owned equipment
–Attempted assault
–But it doesn’t matter what the crime is
–I’m a criminal
–And the list goes on with my attempts and my bad mouth.
He smirks.

I think I understand, I nod my head.
His face, his record, his curses.

Is that really the case?
I think to myself–
His face, his record, his curses
are the same as mine inside.