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Once, poets were magicians.
posted on 11/06/2009 2:20 AM by eldras

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"Once, poets were magicians. Poets were strong, stronger than warriors or kings — stronger than old hapless gods. And they will be strong once again."
— Greg Bear

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Re: Once, poets were magicians.
posted on 11/06/2009 3:48 AM by gawell

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Paradox of Moral Complaint

Golden Rule: whoever has the gold makes the rules.

Gossips, criminals and terrorists
Make complaints
Without bothering to excuse themselves.
Complainers assume they have a moral claim
Based upon principles, that they do not follow
Themselves.
The complainers: gossips, criminals, terrorists,
And their possible supporters don't believe in
Standards of privacy, justice, fairness, innocence,
And the sanctity of life.
If people can't complain, they cease to have moral protection.

"A mortal, born of woman, few of days and full of trouble comes up like
A flower and withers, flees like a shadow and does not last." - Job

While a debt is canceled by payment,
Happiness does not cancel out suffering.
One horror, perhaps a few, make a
Person capable of wishing that he or she
Had never been born, even though his or her
Life has otherwise been good.

What I don't know continues to hurt
not enough
no not yet
Life has been good enough
except I don't count everything
as being separate
and there is Death, if only that were all
and there is suffering, if by ignoring it, it too died,
it would be a good thing to do,
but ignoring it, doesn't.
it's usually the selfish acts that both relieve
and cause to suffer. one must be so brave,
so ignorant of personal suffering, to face it,
and bite it, flush it out in light, bear the brunt of counter-acts.
when on that battlefield, no one escapes, unscathed.
where the selfless stand in stony silence, only their scars
breath out an ounce of freedom's release, that's when
to suffer, is to have it, finally end.



~gold a precious metal, sometimes found at great expense of time and labor, or come upon as a favor of looking without expectation of ever using it to rule with.

what is there, after everything is taken apart, then put back together,
only it is put back differently, what once was, is always lost, it's just that
the new so resembles the old we act like old friends and pretend we know each other,
all the way to the end.

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Poetry
posted on 11/06/2009 7:06 PM by Atreju

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Your thoughts are the poetry of the Universe.

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Re: Poetry
posted on 11/07/2009 2:58 AM by REDquist

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Your thoughts, or the Royal you? Man, me or Mankind?

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Re: Poetry
posted on 11/07/2009 5:42 AM by Atreju

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All of those ;)

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Re: Poetry
posted on 11/07/2009 6:15 AM by eldras

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'the windrush met me as i fell in love
and weighted the eye of the morning,
the snowflake shivered and & bled on the bush
while blue the light was prouring.'

I destroyed my poems and writiongs when i saw the future after reading Kuzweil.

I knew it was doomed and could be made to order by programs.

But to be a poet is the bravest thing i have seen and many die in the attempt.

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