Tao Te Ching 1More Like This
Existence is beyond the power of words
Terms may be used
But are none of them absolute.
In the beginning of heaven and earth there were no words,
Words came out of the womb of matter;
And whether a man dispassionately
Sees to the core of life
Sees the surface,
The core and the surface
Are essentially the same,
Words making them seem different
Only to express appearance.
If name be needed, wonder names them both:
From wonder into wonder
Words: Tao Te Ching 1, Lao Tzu, paraphrased by Witter Bynner, 1944
almcdermid wrote a series of meditations on the Tao Te Ching - his take on this text is here. The whole collection is
Three PearsThree pears on a wooden table, light and shadowMore Like This
Texture, composition, color; who cares?
A black cat looks on, curious but lazy
Pick up your brush and paint
Foggy Headlights (and Chromosomes)I don't remember if it was a wedding or a funeral, only the flowers...More Like This
seemed like millions of them
Soft, sorrowful, white flowers... roses or orchids?
I don't remember now, maybe magnolias...
You smiled a thin smile, your face pale, washed out.
If it was a wedding, I wasn't the groom.
A funeral, I wasn't the guest of honor.
I never could get things straight, somehow.
Die Ghul Show with 7MARKUS7!:icondasghul:: Welcome to my humble show, :icon7markus7:!More Like This
Do you enjoy being here?
:icon7markus7:: it's good to be here , honor to be invited .
:icondasghul:: How would you introduce yourself to our humble audience?
:icon7markus7:: I'm ( :icon7markus7: ) embodiment of enlightenment , beardet guy behind the computer is just a vessel .
He claims to be somekind of artist .
:icondasghul:: How does he do that?
:icon7markus7:: How does he claim to be an artist ?
paints pictures , posts them to internet , studiet arts in nineties .
no exhibitions and ridiculously little sales , he's a fake if you ask me
How he's a vessel to enlightenment ?
That is entirely My doing that weak willed dimwit couldn't find his way out of bathroom without Me .
:icondasghul:: So, who am I talking to RIGHT NOW?
:icon7markus7:: Now you are talking to me
That light ball is supposed to be a toll , but sometimes he takes a life of it's own ;
SleepSlip between cool sheets and into oblivionMore Like This
Sweet waves of nothing take you away
Dreams, those wonderful things
Settle softly into your consciousness
Float away on the rhythms of the night
Soft algorithms, pause, redeem, cash-in
Sift and shift, on with the night’s soul
Dark wine flowing we turn, and turn, and turn
Speak the language of darkest night
And cool-aired heights to take us away
Until tomorrow we arise,
And drink again of the day
Tang poems 2: Drinking Along with the MoonMore Like This
From a pot of wine among the flowers
I drank alone. There was no one with me--
Till, raising my cup, I asked the bright moon
To bring me my shadow and make us three.
Alas, the moon was unable to drink
And my shadow tagged me vacantly;
But still for a while I had these friends
To cheer me through the end of spring....
I sang. The moon encouraged me.
I danced. My shadow tumbled after.
As long as I knew, we were boon companions.
And then I was drunk, and we lost one another.
...Shall goodwill ever be secure?
I watch the long road of the River of Stars.
Text: Li Bai, translated by Witter Bynner and Jiang Kanghu
from the anthology 300 Tang Poems
MGA vintage white MG speeds down an empty highway. West, to California. West, into the sunset. West, into that bright and colorful land of dead dreams. The driver knows, but doesn’t care. The wind in his hair is enough for now. Once there, once he sees the Pacific, he’ll drive north up the coast into the land of rain. There’s a woman there, one he knew long ago. They’ll embrace, open a bottle of Riesling, read poetry to each other. Maybe. If she hasn’t moved on. He doesn’t think so, though; her temple is here, she wouldn’t leave it. He hopes.More Like This
Where it StandsLuminous beneath the half-wit moon, it standsMore Like This
With all the sundry junk about it, rusted, broken
Singing through the wires, delivered anxiety
Cable-wrapped, copper inside sleek black coaxial
A phone booth, black dial-up for calling God
Lazarus waits like a popped balloon for resurrection
Oil slick beneath his feet, worms abound
Singing hymns to the moon, delicately frostbitten
It stands in this place, haunted by ragged dreams
Old dreams, new dreams of Norco and morphine
Yellowed newspapers in bundles, stained canvas bags
Tall beneath cold stars and moon, never moving
A broken theater sign, the letters spell gibberish
Hundreds of old autos decaying, rubber tires slick
Stacked into columns to rot, leaving rusty wheels
This is where it stands, will stand for a hundred years