After years of wandering in the woods
I came up with this brilliant plan.
A foolproof logic that consistently would
stand up to the most inquisitive man.
The true nature of things is unknowable
and my life had indeed been wasted.
So I devised something showable
with lies within it nested.
A slight untruth that would protect
a saintly, wise recluse.
As long as one doesn’t deeply inspect
it’s certainly not abuse.
I lie for myself, to justify
a miserable, failed persistence.
I lie knowing it doesn’t signify
anything beyond my own existence.
My words won’t stand the test of time:
before long their faults discovered.
Then someone new may begin to mine
the depths of Truth left uncovered.
The most tragic outcome I can think
is of my words enduring long.
Of people trusting an old dry ink
and a convoluted, meaningless song.
But the chances of that are slim and low
for the future’s always smarter.
The coming generations of tomorrow
must go far, and even farther.
So I think I’m safe with my little lie
though my profession it will taint.
The world won’t devolve and have to survive
on the tales of an accidental saint.
Continue reading “Accidental Saint”
Our identities belong permanently to the conceptual world. They can’t be seen, heard, smelled, touched or tasted. They’re merely ideas. And everything else — at the start — belongs to the sensual world, the world outside us.
Gradually we reach beyond ourselves.
We encounter the sight, smell, touch, taste and sound of our own bodies.
And of the world around us.
And we discover that objects of the physical world can also cross over —
— and possess identities of their own.
Or, as our extensions —
— begin to glow —
— with the life —
— we lend to them.
Understanding Comics: The Invisible Art by Scott McCloud
Continue reading “Conceptual vs Perceptual”
I am biased. About many things. I have preferences, opinions, perspectives, notions, lenses, view-points and point-of-views. I think most of us, if not all, are biased in one way or another, but I do not speak for most of us here. I only speak for myself. And I am biased.
Am I proud of my biases? Am I ashamed of them? Neither. They are just like my hands and feet: a part of me that I spend very little time thinking about. They’re just there. Just as there is physical pain when I hurt my hands or feet, there is mental anguish when I dent my biases. Just as my hands and feet are slowly changing as I grow older, so are my biases. Continue reading “Biases and Arguments”