update from sparkleup
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%title Fossils
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## High school poetry notebook
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### Cleaning Woman
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'''
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I'd clean for him
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I would
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but
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Cleaning, I'd hope
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for a little
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something back.
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I told him
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I told him once
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Telling, I'd hoped
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for something
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to fill me.
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But I cleaned for him
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as he'd asked,
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my husband.
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And here I am
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and nothing's changed.
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'''
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-----
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### Free-write poem
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> This was also labeled "free ponies :) :) :)" and I only vaguely remember why.
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'''
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The eroticism of oranges
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How seductive,
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Freakshows pondering
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A murder weapon.
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Secret clementine
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Tells of a third, dense.
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The first in somnambulant arms
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Of the second, citrus fancier.
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Live as normal,
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Death by paper.
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'''
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-----
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### Ode to Turn Signals
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'''
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A steady white lights
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Stops, none goes;
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Though on blinking happy off
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Turns, informing.
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Click flashing click
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By turning on grants
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And behind, those praising
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Seeing, now know.
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So up or to down leftright
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Click, push and becomes.
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'''
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-----
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### Syntax poem
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'''
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Every time I fall,
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The ground tells me I'm in love.
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Be he the tamed?
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No, family sheep?
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Spades, four,
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And one white, domesticated,
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Was my favorite.
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He who could, he had
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Need in friends,
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Your better cream!
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Ice, you love got
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All need.
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And 'cause love is
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All low.
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And love is
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Places.
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'''
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-----
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### Dialog poem
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'''
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I love this song.
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What are you saying?
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You hate it.
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Any sense of melody is lost
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In chords
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Obscured by the weight of Tone.
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Harmony rules itself out.
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Think of the meaning, not just the music.
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The words are in Spanish.
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Does that matter?
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Spanish words in chords so thick,
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You have to peer through the fog of harmony for the light of melody.
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And on top,
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Cheap sound effects.
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I suppose I don't listen to it much.
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That's why I like it.
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I suppose you don't listen to it much.
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That's why you hate it.
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'''
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## The Four Winds
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'''
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I.
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Borne through air,
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Close my eyes.
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Wind ruffles hair
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Soul sighs,
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Heart flies;
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I’m the wind.
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I flow east:
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Over the plains,
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Over land creased.
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Current refrains,
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Cloud stains
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As I build.
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Trees bow at my
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Will
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To move drives me
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Onward
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I push through
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Mountains
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Do nothing but
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Divert
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The rain as I
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Flow.
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II.
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Borne through air -
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Rise up high -
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Driven there,
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Earth nigh,
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I sigh;
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I’m the wind.
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I flow west:
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Past the lakes,
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Water my guest;
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Thunder makes
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Noise, wakes,
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As I storm.
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Sand flies at my
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Force
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Builds as I
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Push
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Across the
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Land
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Flows beneath my
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Self
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Means nothing to
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Wind.
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III.
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Borne through air,
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Through the night
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And dawn fair.
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No fight,
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Only flight;
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I’m the wind.
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I flow south
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On the ocean,
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On delta’s mouth
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My motion
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Just notion
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As I breathe.
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Waves break as I
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Drive
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Past the thin
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Sands
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Lift themselves to my
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Body
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Waxes as I
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Press
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Through the stillness of
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Night.
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IV.
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Borne through air,
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Around the world
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And forests I tear;
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Ferns furled,
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Trees burled;
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I am the wind.
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I flow north,
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Across the ice;
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I roll forth
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Past spice –
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So nice –
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As I change.
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Men bask as I
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Warm
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Drops of rain
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Fall
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Colored leaves
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Shiver
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Because of the
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Chill
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Wind blows on
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Past.
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'''
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-----
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'''
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The undersides
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off gray
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of clouds
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drift
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while I
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on the path
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stand
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above
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where the crow flies
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me.
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Off
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with purple
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gray, I
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wandering
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ponder, should
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in a perfect
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were there such a thing
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world
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be a
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though the word is plain
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color with it's own
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to name
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as they say
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creates
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word.
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It soothes.
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'''
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-----
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## The Rise and Fall of Gods -- a fragment
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'''
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I.
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What hath man wrought!
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When faced with the question of love
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Or seeking peace with the answer thereof,
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Or faced with life peril-fraught,
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Created a god, or several, to satisfy
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Some need to fulfill or deny
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A lacking -
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A slacking
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On someone else's behalf,
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Or his own behalf -
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And on the world a question of faith brought.
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And when a man, endowed
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With the ability to make his own God,
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Does so with nary a nod,
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And finds the god shan't be cowed,
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What does he then?
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And when a group of men
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Make their God
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With nary a nod,
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And cow him easily, rightly
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To them, and find him tightly
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bound, what then, with a god bowed?
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What then, indeed, should a God,
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Now lesser than his creators, do
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When his creators move to gods new?
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Is he then still a God?
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Or is that when God dies,
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Not bloated with swarms of flies,
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But forgotten?
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Not rotten,
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Forgotten and immortal, what then?
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Does he hope to come again,
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Rising a second time, perhaps again to be God?
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One would hope that the God, being omniscient
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Would realize he was no longer, otherwise
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Might he become destructive? Likewise,
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A god, waiting patient
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Could become restless,
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Try to leave his creators breathless,
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Again,
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But then,
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Be pronounced a heretic
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By all but the hermetic
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And others of the new God ignorant.
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So hence a people divided
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Those of Whispers and those of Nanon,
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Fight to the tooth and fight to the bone,
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Until over Whispers Nanon presided;
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And when those of Nanon took
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Speech from the Whispers so as to look
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And not hear,
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They here
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Those of Whispers with
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Supposed powers of myth
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Of creation with speech's remnants provided.
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So it was before the fall of Whispers that
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Faith of most all lay in technology,
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Remnants of religion lay in astrology
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And superstitious fears like the black cat.
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Only after the fall did the faiths
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Of only the Whisperers turn to mysterious wraiths
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And gods,
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But the odds
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That one of the gods was taken more seriously
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Than the rest was small, and not mysteriously,
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The small bit of Faith quickly passed as society's scat
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Now, it's come that those of Nanon have all but forgotten
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Those of Whispers except perhaps in myth
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Maybe portrayed as consorting with
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Black cats or something equally rotten.
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But for the Whisperers, the city
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Of Nanon is very real, also denial of pity
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Of sunlight,
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For sunlight
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Is blocked by the city directly overhead
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And the Whisperers know of only shadow instead;
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Only death out from beneath the city to be gotten.
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The magic that's spoken of those
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Of the Whispers, is often made
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Out to be more, but because of their stayed
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Speech, only whispers remain in quite prose.
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So through the long stretches of time,
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The Whisperers, through long stretches of rhyme
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Can make -
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Only make -
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What they wish, with words divine,
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Benign, or malign,
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And in their creations complete trust repose.
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So begins a story, often told but never yet writ
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Of a divided people still the same
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And the rise and fall of a god played like a game.
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While not true itself, it is truth lit:
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As men continue to create and live under gods,
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What would happen if the gods, at odds,
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Warred and fell,
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Raising hell
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In the process? What would happen
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In a society misshapen
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If a wrathful god fell and no one cared a whit?
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'''
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### Notes:
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'''
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Notes from the post following this one:
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Some parallel universe or future or somesuch where empathy is/has become a major sense. Big-brother type thing ruling over citizens & magic, main character tries to break free etc etc. Futurological Congress helped inspire the dream that inspired this. Anyways, life expectancy increased, dead (god fell) takes on a new sense involving how other people perceive you with empathic sense (need a snazzy name for that. empathesia?) Story about main character as he slowly 'dies', but tries to overcome corrupt powers. Sorta cliche, oh well.
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Setting: mix between furcadia-ish (energetic.gif) and big city with no windows *shrug*
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reconciling religion and magic
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magic of Sabriel, Abhorsens servants (sorta), death still final, but with a twist, magic just a part of humans provided by god that only recently got discovered. Charter = man's constriction on his own free magic
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sound, words, and actions in religion and magic, synaesthesia, poetry and music's effect on people -> subjective/subtle magic -> subjective time, location, perception Death in Sabriel, "90 degrees from everything" in SiaSL
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(Ran)Gerig/Kerrick
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Simon
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Joshua
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Max
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Josef
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Partitions of magic, levels controlled by gov't. Magic->influence. Mana. Gov't messed w/perceptions "oblivious to the fact that if they weren't oblivious, they'd probably be screaming in pain" or empathy explosion: cares & worries turned into reality (starving children in africa makes it impossible to not clean your plate, water conservation hurts once you learn about it).
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'''
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@ -15,3 +15,4 @@ garden in winter
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* [Mental health](mental-health)
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* [Gender](gender)
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* [Misc](misc)
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* [Fossils](fossils)
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