True PhilosophyTrue Philosophy11 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
Perhaps I'm just being dense, but it would seem that many deviations in the philosophical section are lacking a grounded logical path and a clear and substantial point. I've read about 10 today, trying to get a feel for the philosophical climate of DA.
The path struck by your writing is exactly what classical philosophy is about. Not the starting point, not the ending point, but the journey itself. It does not matter whether you are right or wrong, only that you have laid a path that does not readily contradict itself and seeks some sort of end.
You lay down an argument and we learn from it. It is the shape of your logic that we learn from, not your conclusion. It is the process that is important.
The majority of what I see on DA in terms of philosophy is not argument, but a string of conclusions. Minimal thinking and a shot-gun blast of unsubstantiated claims.
The most effective writing method I can recommend: focused expression of your thoughts as they come. If you write like this, y
PhilosophyWhat is philosophy? To philosophize is to not think about something, but to think upon those thoughts. You are to go beyond thinking, a thought beyond the thought. To think, you are to walk upon the ground, and observe it. To philosophize is to get upon your knees, and to DIG into the ground! You are to take your thoughts even further than your thoughts already. But I have heard that to philosophize is a gift. But why? Why cannot everyone take a deeper meaning into the thoughts and think upon thoughts? To dig into them? Is it the "strength" of the mind? For the one unable to philosophize, they are unable to dig their fingers into the ground. But then are we to say that those whom cannot philosophize weak minded? I don't think so. That's not right to say one is weak. But what is it that makes one unable to take a deeper meaning into their thoughts? Is it the mental comprehension? Can one only understand to a certain point? But does that mean philosophizers minds are to be unbound to comPhilosophy7 years ago in Open More Like This
TreesTrees3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The secret life
of elm and oak
and thin white poplars -
on a winter night,
grazing the moon
like tapers in December.
I smell earth -
peat and cedar
and the indulgent bulge
crafting the air
like a smith
lost in his work.
Chestnuts bear an offering
and the yearning pall
of pine scents the sky
till it's thick with resin.
And they gather
with boughs and limbs
bent like priests at play,
roots tight as ancient drums
to ruminate on stories,
sinewed in fragrant bark
making merry where
the green bends back
Eventthe stars are sharp and the wind has teethEvent3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
night is black as a bodybag
clanking, buzzing sounds surround
as the wind has its way with the town
dimlights from the hospital over there
cheerios in milk over here
the night ripped in two by the surgeons saw
the dreamless, the hopeless, the flawed
(sometimes the world shifts on its axis
and never settles right again)
the wind is sharp and the stars have teeth
chewing through the darkness
eating dreams, vomiting dust to the ground
the surgeon pulls his mask down
nothing more that we could do
goodnight, i've other things to tend to
bonesaw and flatline sounds surround
as the wind has its way with the town
Stone AngelsHe had tigers blood.Stone Angels3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
that called to me
like a siren's song,
while his demonic tongue
hissed 'S h i p w r e c k e d'.
We covered ourselves in ink,
danced along jailhouse walls
under street lights, the edges
of skylines, darkened alleyways
and the parking lots of churches.
We spoke in riddles gestures;
the quiet sweep of eyelashes;
cigarette smoke that lingered
long enough to shape heavens
within our irises while crows
rested on our shouldersperched
pecking, waiting for one to move.
As we were nothing more than
long-limb statues atop gravestones.
unfortunate habitI have an unfortunate habitunfortunate habit3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
of pressing my fingers to my wrist;
or the soft warm spot in my neck
between the taut tendon and the rigid hardness
of the laryngeal prominence.
I think; although I am not sure
that I do this
to feel the steady thump the blood thrum
the flow the beat the never ceasing flicker of life
It reminds me.
It reminds me that I still function
that in all these broken parts
there is something that still works
something that operates the way it should
the way textbooks say it should and white coats say it should
and that I really am here
with the flutter of my blood in my veins
And then I remember.
This rhythm, this song
played through the neck of a little girl.
the acoustics were better in those days
A little girl, just six, seven maybe?
And I say to her
my dearest little starry-eyed girl
my hopeful little self with my hopeful little bobcut
I'm sorry. I am so, so sorry.
And life flickers on through both of us.
Alzheimer'sI see tree branches in your gnarledAlzheimer's3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Your arctic lungs
On an emotion you
Can't even remember the name of
growing up.five a.m and we were strolling down the sidewalks, like mice or streelights dancing. we pretended to be special and when you looked at the sky and said, all of my dreams are of thisgrowing up.5 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
i tried to understand. when we were eight years old you pushed me, too hard, and i fell and my knees bled and i was a baby begging for someone to hold me. but you just looked at me and said, you know, you have to hurt sometimes.
you'll never grow up otherwise.
and i didn't understand and i didn't want to try to.
five years later and here we are, you in whoknowswhere chasing the sky with some guy that's going to abandon you for someone better someday, maybe today and you'll turn to me, a baby begging again, and i'll say, he's not worth it, but i won't mean it.
because you'd do the same to him if you had the chance and you've done the same to me. and the truth is we're all hypocrites, we're all liars and thieves and we're always the person we never wanted to be.
and i guess, in retrospect, i would have loved
155this is not the time or place for us to speak like this. we are sitting in your car at the walmart parking lot. it's not a mile from my house, but it's better than stopping at the dead end of my street.1553 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
we don't move for the five seconds following the moment you cut the ignition; from there, your eyes drop to the stuffed animal you won me -- a token of the high-noon days of our summer -- that oscillates between your hands.
the sun shifts from low to lower, dipping behind clouds and city silhouettes until the lights come on. the list of things i need to tell you becomes unreadable in the failing light, so you press a button and i can see again.
i wish there was a button like that for you, and for me. maybe it would be between the fingers of our opposite hands, so if the webbings of our thumbs met in embrace, you would remember the way you felt for me in the nights we spent on friends' couches, just revelling in the feel of each other's bodies
AmendsThey tell me you're dying,Amends3 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
when you're not etching poetry
Words as fragile as the surface they're written on,
not nearly as transparent, though.
Dotted between the lines like Morse-code,
concealed in true poetic verse.
If you want to meet a poet,
just fall and one will rise.
The ink flows deep within the lines,
we just have to die to find it.
I guess I forgot to stop breathing.
Yet I see your plead.
They tell me I should make amends,
only the forgiveness you seek
doesn't come from me.
That boy is long gone now,
and with him
any debt you owed.
Still if it helps ease your passing
I'll say the words.
Like writing a hot check;
it'll get you by for a minute,
but in the end
someone always comes to collect.
I forgive you.
With or Without the PostmanThe post used to be lover's code,With or Without the Postman3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
stamps and timestamps and envelopes
pale and left to be licked
sticky with lust
I've heard that
lovers used to stamp them closed
hot seal wax
Reply behind their spouses' backs
holding the paper to their breasts
and passing it, sweaty palmed,
into couriers' hands
And I'm jealous.
What I'd give
for just one
SignTwo-fingered peace on routine lipsSign4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
meant a pack and a half:
day, night, the angled light between--
first light, last light--the darkness
revealed after another haunting dream.
For years, whisps left the remnants
to extinguish (tray, sidewalk, beneath
a trekking sole), ephemeral life
that knows the yellow, brick-lined hole
of the mouth, the inhalation,
the minutes of pause. Never cause:
the slow, 8-hour degradation of a job;
new miracle, new accident: another
WIC application; the alwaysness
of death: the hugeness of big business.
It does not know that, nor the subterfuge
of time and its enatation--the depths
of a new century. Its impending ruination.
It only knows now, the solemn moments
amongst the calm of smoke, tug of a newborn
breeze. Even if just to cope, it is a signal,
arriving from each new-torn pack:
index and middle fingers juxtaposed,
a new light burning brightly in between.
Vertigo.I slip from bed to bed,Vertigo.4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
light a candle for my sins and down another drink.
Wonder, is it worth it? The lies, the guilt, the danger,
the sneaking out, sneaking in, the distance, just for a
few moments of ecstasy?
And every time I think yes. Yes.
It is not in the moments,
but the weightlessness, the soaring spirit,
(the wind whipping through your hair as you drive the road out of town and down to your sordid rendesvous)
This is what it is. This life;
it is the openness,
right from the heart,
aching and screaming out,
choking, gasping, breaking, yearning and bursting free.
It is all there is. No
future, no oil under shifting seas,
black coal in the land's heart,
sleek ships in dry docks. No
reasons, no love, no strength.
Only this - that soaring weightless screaming breathing
with every forbidden taste;
this vertigo of bliss,
swooping, drowning, burning with a hard flame. Here.
You live once.&
of telling tales and pathslittle rabbit,of telling tales and paths5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
where have you been?
pawing through some
sharpening your fangs
must you wrap
your bouncing head
your flat eyes
cradles the most
each new habit
Love-ku'dlesLovekus to cuddle to.Love-ku'dles2 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
Three little lines
Your body embracing mine
Two halves of one
Ku'ing in the evening
I think of your tiny smile
Cooing near my ear
Sky darkens from peach to plum
Inside I embrace
Blankets or your arm-
one way or another
Waking up in the morning
before a kiss
Hair can wait--
Brushing what is bare
I ku for you submitting--
one ku for a bended knee
one coo for needing
Baby, nobody ku's
the way I ku for you
MemoriaMemories are harder to recall of you, Nana.Memoria3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
We never had much time before memories
were all you knew, and the present
was just a tragedy, a fearful thing.
We ran out faster than the yarn you knitted;
all those colorful skeins, re-spun into balls,
knitting needles protruding like antennas,
eventually unable to recall a clear picture.
But if I think long enough...
I can remember when you lived with us,
your room the one I later moved into.
But I don't remember much,
except your red chair,
and that time you called my dad a bastard
as he walked by. I still smile about that.
I must get my spunk from you.
I can remember spending weekends at your apartment,
watching Wheel of Fortune, watching you knit
or crochet, and "finger knitting" alongside of you.
And I eagerly ate liver and onions when you cooked it for me,
something I learned not to like as soon as you no longer made it.
And of course, we played poker...for pennies.
I can remember racing you down the hallway,
making sure I always reach
Flying Lessons with BeethovenI pluck ghosts from your back.Flying Lessons with Beethoven3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Feather by feather I put my wings
Together, leave your hollow
You twist and turn and
Thrash and thrum, caught
In piano strings, strung
Up in scores.
I flit through melismas, lilting,
Ever lilting, through moonlit
You watch from below,
Wrenched along the piano
Rack, sprained white and black.
The Dissection of HowWhen they asked me how I could do it, I told them it was like making love.The Dissection of How3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
You start slowly, with your eyes on the skin of your beloved. You take your time. You notice if she is cream or churning butter, any layer of milk fat, really - and if she is, if she's dotted with freckles (and you almost don't want to wait to find the rest.) Or, perhaps, she's semi-translucent and you can see her tiny blue veins on close inspection. You notice that maybe she is none of these things. She may be copper, beer-glass brown, or even two minutes from melting into the night.
Her eyes. You look past the fear for now, as there is plenty of time for reveling. Take a minute. Take five. Take them both in: the huge orbs, the delicate pupils. Remember the bag of marbles you had a small child, the glistening greens and heavy blues. The browns that melded into each other like twining cats. S
PackingI pack my trunk,Packing5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
layer the fine, expensive fabrics
between sheets of crisp tissue,
feel the crackle and rustle
and the swish as my fingers sweep across soft silks.
I am Helen of Troy,
leaving my life and love to travel across the seas
on the hope of a heart.
I am every child packed off to boarding school
and missing their mother.
I am every young divorcee dragging her case into a motel room
how did I end up here?
I pack my trunk,
with all the lovely material goods of a life lived well,
of good taste and high class and fine breeding.
I pack my trunk with my hopes and dreams;
my past, my present and my future.
I pack my trunk,
and then I go into the woods,
and I burn it.
Loudspeakers In My CheekbonesLast evening I closeted myselfLoudspeakers In My Cheekbones8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
in the bathroom. I drew my arms around
and my lashes fell
like hinged boulders
to the floor.
They fastened upon a newspaper clipping that read:
Scientists Seeking Answers
To The Brains Formula For Love
It was a medium sized article
by a medium sized
I kicked it into the shower
from my porcelain throne,
and though my chin slept
comfortably on my close-by thighs
there was a rut between both eyes;
a frown. I dug holes into the tile
with my opinions
and the plastic ca ed;
We dont get headaches when our bones die
over and over
Cocktails In the HospitalI wake again and again, forgetting where I am.Cocktails In the Hospital3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The nurse comes in the morning with rispiridone,
olanzapine, fluoxetine, valium,
lithium and abilify, and I remember again
swallowing my morning meds down
with my spirits.
Love HerLove,Love Her3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
her kick against my ribs,
the sweet shrieking of her iron voice.
Love her body,
her winter skin beneath my fingertips.
Pull her close and through my green eyes lies
the ending of the world.
She breaks the silence,
death on the other end.
My ears ring with her whispers,
another man is dead again.
There is safety alone and nothing else,
that spouts then from silver lips.
A soldier's only lover,
protect me from the world.
To Be A WriterTo be a writerTo Be A Writer4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Means to have yet another excuse for bad behavior.
It means that when I sit next to you and I am wrestling the
smoke from your cigarette like a bear I want to believe
we'll end up on the floor in gritty film rolls and beer cans
and start to choke.
Because I remember how the whiskey made her eyes
shine and her her hair a swimming pool. When she took
me aside and said
"You two are going to destroy each other," with a little
Parisian smile. Expecting one day to read great mythology
that we made with bread knives we stuck in each other's
So one day I felt like being more clever than
romantic and I caught you by the shoulder
And I said,
"You know, we're going to destroy each other."
You didn't laugh but I saw you wanted to because
your mouth was like a tepid hurricane and your hands
were reaching out the window to throw a tree at me.
And you said,
"No, darling, I don't have time for that."
It was spring and all that was in your hands
was rabbit water and flowers.