Immortality is really desirable, I guess. In terms of images, anyway.
quote by Damien Hirst
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Images
I think images are worth repeating
Images repeated from a painting
Images taken from a painting
From a photo worth re-seeing
I love images worth repeating
Project them upon the ceiling
Multiply them with silk screening
See them with a different feeling
Images, oh, images
Images, oh, images
Some say images have no feeling
I think theres a deeper meaning
Mechanical precision or so its seeming
Instigates a cooler feeling
I love multiplicity of screenings
Things born anew display new meanings
I think images are worth repeating
And repeating and repeating
Images, oh, images
Images, images
Im no urban idiot savant
Spewing paint without any order
Im no sphinx, no mystery enigma
What I paint is very ordinary
I dont think Im old or modern
I dont think I think Im thinking
It doesnt matter what Im thinking
Its the images that are worth repeating
And repeating, oh, images
Images
If youre looking for a deeper meaning
Im as deep as this high ceiling
If you think technique is meaning
You might find me very simple
You might think that images boring
Cars and cans and chairs and flowers
You might find me personally boring
Hammer, sickle, mao tse tong
Mao tse tong
Ooohhh, images, images
Images
I think that it bears repeating
The images upon the ceiling
I love images worth repeating
And repeating and repeating
Images, images
Oh, images, oh, images
song performed by Lou Reed
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Kahlo-Christ Conjunctions - Sacrificed Flesh, Broken Bread, Emmaus Vision
[The curious or, better, interested reader may view the images alluded to in this essay at this website: http: //falconwarren.blogspot.com/2011/01/kahlo-christ- conjunctions-sacrificed.html]
Kahlo Strophes
As with love, also the bellows.
Calavera*, the Future stands
hand to mouth, fingers to forehead
unfolding before still instatic shapes.
Hold desperately to frames before
these quaking perceptions.
She could not stop there,
had to flare out, dry paint,
and the dryer flesh peel down
to bone, a sexless esqueleto**,
skull no longer mustached,
a calavera, nothing more,
curved calcium reliant forever
upon canvas, what is congealed
there to fan and burn,
a 'cauda pavonis'***.
- the author, from the text below
*Skull
**Skeleton
***Peacock's Tail (an image in alchemy) .
'Poetry such as this attempts not just a new syntax of the word. Its revolution is aimed at the syntax of the mind itself. Its structuring of experience is purposive, not dreamlike. We are dealing with a self-induced, or naturally or mysteriously come by, creative state from which two of the most fundamental human activities diverge, the aesthetic and the mystic act. The creative matrix is the same in both, and it is that state of being that is most peculiarly and characteristically human, as the resulting aesthetic and mystic experience is the purist form of human act. There is a great deal of overlapping, today especially, when art is all the religion most people have and when they demand of it experiences that few people of the past demanded of religion....A visionary poem is not a vision. The religious experience is necessitated and ultimate.' - Kenneth Rexroth, World Outside the Window, the Selected Essays of Kenneth Rexroth, pg.255-256
Rexroth's words are pertinent to the images used in this essay, Kahlo's painting above is visionary, Grunewald's are religious, and several photos are both, and all are 'aimed at the syntax of the mind itself.. Its restructuring of experience is purposive, not dreamlike.' The images included in this essay, which is more a prose poem than regular prose, are meant to convey equally or more, at least as as much as, the words in their incantatory formations which may induce entrance into 'imaginal' spaces where word and image meet in a practical magic, inspire a felt understanding and perhaps gain a view or actual entrance into what ecstatic poet, Rainer Maria Rilke, calls 'the Greater Relation.'
I've decided to publish this piece-in-progress as it unwinds in spirals 'aimed at the syntax of the mind itself...its restructuring of experience' with the understanding that it may later appear in greatly altered form. In a real sense this writing writes itself; I try to heed, copy, then hone to the bone what might be wanting to be sung, for what is below, and often what I write, is more akin to music, a vocal/verbal lilt beyond a particular solid tilt of view of a world absolute, static logos.
Heraclitus noted thousands of years ago, 'All is flux.'
To this I would only add, and perhaps this is what all of my writing amounts to,
'All is reflux.'
Selah. WF
NYC,1/31/11
[...] Read more
poem by Warren Falcon
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Soccer Under 20
soccer teams close to pa
soccer teams cartoons
soccer teams england
soccer teams aurora co age 11
soccer teams for ren jacksonville fl
soccer teams for girls in atlanta
soccer teams for ren
soccer teams aurora co
soccer teams fo age 11
soccer teams from europe
soccer teams for toddlers
soccer teams from spain
soccer teams girls massachusetts
soccer teams in alberta
soccer teams for women in massachusetts
soccer teams for women n massachusetts
soccer teams for the facup 2007
soccer teams for toddlers in california
soccer teams from colombia and argentina
soccer teams for winfield
soccer teams games in sarasota florida
soccer teams hotels brescia
soccer teams for s in delaware
soccer teams in allen texas
soccer teams for undder 14s girls
soccer teams in 1987 varsity
soccer teams from mexico
soccer teams for s
soccer teams for youth in newark
soccer teams in clifton new jersey
soccer teams in chaicago
soccer teams in brazil
soccer teams in around chicago
soccer teams in cocoa
soccer teams in central america
soccer teams in chamblee georgia
soccer teams in chula vista
soccer teams in carrollton tx
soccer teams in canada
soccer teams in central valley
soccer teams in charlotte nc
soccer teams in athens greece
soccer teams in charlotte
soccer teams in chile
soccer teams in argintina
soccer teams in arizona
soccer teams in argentina and chile
soccer teams in argentina
soccer teams in concord mass
soccer teams in dundee il
[...] Read more
poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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Images Presented
The image that's presented,
Determines how impressive...
Those pretentious rush to protect.
And the image that's presented,
Has less to do with intellect.
Or competence and its effect,
Upon those expecting...
Much more than an image projected to accept.
Images old have molded.
Although repeatedly they have been sold!
Those images presented,
Represent times gone.
Those images presented,
Have been rusted so long.
Those images presented,
Do not feed!
Those images presented,
No one needs now!
Those images presented represent a decadence.
And they represent with evidence pretentions that are meant.
Those images presented do not feed.
Those images presented no one needs,
Now.
Those images presented represent a decadence.
And they represent with evidence pretentions that are meant.
Those images presented do not feed.
Those images presented no one needs,
Now.
Those images presented,
Represent times gone.
Those images presented,
Have been rusted so long.
Those images presented do not feed.
Those images presented no one needs,
Now.
Those images presented represent a decadence.
And they represent with evidence pretentions that are meant.
Images old have molded.
Although repeatedly they have been sold!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Book IV - Part 02 - Existence And Character Of The Images
But since I've taught already of what sort
The seeds of all things are, and how distinct
In divers forms they flit of own accord,
Stirred with a motion everlasting on,
And in what mode things be from them create,
And since I've taught what the mind's nature is,
And of what things 'tis with the body knit
And thrives in strength, and by what mode uptorn
That mind returns to its primordials,
Now will I undertake an argument-
One for these matters of supreme concern-
That there exist those somewhats which we call
The images of things: these, like to films
Scaled off the utmost outside of the things,
Flit hither and thither through the atmosphere,
And the same terrify our intellects,
Coming upon us waking or in sleep,
When oft we peer at wonderful strange shapes
And images of people lorn of light,
Which oft have horribly roused us when we lay
In slumber- that haply nevermore may we
Suppose that souls get loose from Acheron,
Or shades go floating in among the living,
Or aught of us is left behind at death,
When body and mind, destroyed together, each
Back to its own primordials goes away.
And thus I say that effigies of things,
And tenuous shapes from off the things are sent,
From off the utmost outside of the things,
Which are like films or may be named a rind,
Because the image bears like look and form
With whatso body has shed it fluttering forth-
A fact thou mayst, however dull thy wits,
Well learn from this: mainly, because we see
Even 'mongst visible objects many be
That send forth bodies, loosely some diffused-
Like smoke from oaken logs and heat from fires-
And some more interwoven and condensed-
As when the locusts in the summertime
Put off their glossy tunics, or when calves
At birth drop membranes from their body's surface,
Or when, again, the slippery serpent doffs
Its vestments 'mongst the thorns- for oft we see
The breres augmented with their flying spoils:
Since such takes place, 'tis likewise certain too
That tenuous images from things are sent,
From off the utmost outside of the things.
For why those kinds should drop and part from things,
Rather than others tenuous and thin,
[...] Read more
poem by Lucretius
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Miss The Lights
(intro) walking tall, full of tedious charm,
The smoothest (? ? ? ) in (? ? ? )
The mission boys all cross their palms
Dont you know who I am
I guess you miss the lights? huh!
I guess you miss the fame
I guess you miss everybody
Hanging onto your name
Little caesar is prince of the city
? ? ?
In this town theres no pity
This man stands alone
I guess you miss the lights - ha!
I guess you miss the fame
I guess you miss everybody
Hanging onto your name
Sometimes when youre all alone
And the blue turns to gray
Better get down on those pinky knees,
And you start to pray
I guess you miss the lights - ha!
I guess you miss the fame
I guess you miss everybody
Kiss-kissing your name
(instrumental)
A glimmering ? , a twilight star
And so much love for show,
A returning wave from the gallery bar
And share the afterglow
I guess you miss the lights
I guess you miss the fame
I guess you miss everybody
Hanging onto your name
Ha!
I guess you miss the lights
I guess you miss the fame, haha!
I guess you miss everybody
Hanging onto your name
(fade out music and chorus)
I guess you miss the lights
I guess you miss everybody
Kiss-kissing your name
song performed by Ufo
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Those' Images Made
People love to treasure those images made.
Those images created to help them escape,
From depictions of reality.
And the way the displaying of it is portrayed.
People love to treasure those images made.
People love to treasure those images made.
The ones flowered to sugar without a bitter taste.
Those images glammed up to spotlight,
On a public stage.
But behind the scenes indignities can be mean.
Yet...
People love to treasure those images made.
And their minds are affixed to them to defend...
Every blemish that is openly seen.
Since people who love their images made...
Have not been conditioned on reality to feast.
People love to treasure those images made.
Those images created to help them escape,
From depictions of reality.
And the way the displaying of it is portrayed.
People love to treasure those images made,
With an excusing of detrimental flaws and pain shown.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Book IV - Part 03 - The Senses And Mental Pictures
Bodies that strike the eyes, awaking sight.
From certain things flow odours evermore,
As cold from rivers, heat from sun, and spray
From waves of ocean, eater-out of walls
Around the coasts. Nor ever cease to flit
The varied voices, sounds athrough the air.
Then too there comes into the mouth at times
The wet of a salt taste, when by the sea
We roam about; and so, whene'er we watch
The wormword being mixed, its bitter stings.
To such degree from all things is each thing
Borne streamingly along, and sent about
To every region round; and Nature grants
Nor rest nor respite of the onward flow,
Since 'tis incessantly we feeling have,
And all the time are suffered to descry
And smell all things at hand, and hear them sound.
Besides, since shape examined by our hands
Within the dark is known to be the same
As that by eyes perceived within the light
And lustrous day, both touch and sight must be
By one like cause aroused. So, if we test
A square and get its stimulus on us
Within the dark, within the light what square
Can fall upon our sight, except a square
That images the things? Wherefore it seems
The source of seeing is in images,
Nor without these can anything be viewed.
Now these same films I name are borne about
And tossed and scattered into regions all.
But since we do perceive alone through eyes,
It follows hence that whitherso we turn
Our sight, all things do strike against it there
With form and hue. And just how far from us
Each thing may be away, the image yields
To us the power to see and chance to tell:
For when 'tis sent, at once it shoves ahead
And drives along the air that's in the space
Betwixt it and our eyes. And thus this air
All glides athrough our eyeballs, and, as 'twere,
Brushes athrough our pupils and thuswise
Passes across. Therefore it comes we see
How far from us each thing may be away,
And the more air there be that's driven before,
And too the longer be the brushing breeze
Against our eyes, the farther off removed
Each thing is seen to be: forsooth, this work
With mightily swift order all goes on,
So that upon one instant we may see
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poem by Lucretius
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I Guess I Do It
Why do I do those things that I do?
I guess I do it,
For suspense and the danger.
Trying to give romance a chance.
And playing that love game again.
I guess I do it,
For suspense and the danger.
You want to see the preacher together?
Can we wait until the 38th of May.
And decide then when to announce,
That perfect day.
I guess I do it,
For suspense and the danger.
I guess I do it,
For the chance of romance.
I guess I do it,
For suspense and the danger.
I guess I do it,
For the chance of romance.
Why do I do those things that I do?
I guess I do it,
For suspense and the danger.
Trying to give romance a chance.
And playing that love game again.
I guess I do it,
For suspense and the danger.
I guess I do it,
For the chance of romance.
I guess I do it,
For suspense and the danger.
I guess I do it,
For the chance of romance.
I guess I do it,
For the chance of romance.
I guess I do it,
For the chance of romance.
I guess I do it,
For the chance of romance.
I guess I do it,
For suspense and the danger.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Suddenly Images Change
Too many now bending under heat,
Like drying crops.
Without a drop...
Of reviving fresh water.
Others would rather ignore their pleas,
And let them rot.
Like the weeding,
Of their wicked disorder!
Suddenly images change.
Those now in pain,
Are the ones...
Who chose to inflict it.
Suddenly they all seem insane.
Those who disdained,
Are now the ones...
Mentally conflicted.
Too many now bending under heat,
Like drying crops.
Without a drop...
Of reviving fresh water.
Others would rather ignore their pleas,
And let them rot.
Like the weeding,
Of their wicked disorder!
Suddenly images change.
Those now in pain,
Are the ones...
Who chose to inflict it.
Suddenly they all seem insane.
Those who disdained,
Are now the ones...
Mentally conflicted.
Suddenly images change.
Like drying crops.
Without a drop...
Of reviving fresh water.
Suddenly they all seem insane.
Those who disdained...
Are now the ones,
Out-of-order.
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I Dont Wanna Know
Well you followed me this far
Did you find out whats inside
Can you tell me what Im doing
Is it something I should hide
I dont know for sure
I dont wanna find out what I left there for
Im not scared and Im not lonely
Saving all my money or my breath
Im not looking for an answer
Or anyone to second guess no
You told me all your secrets
And I filled you up with lies
Now Im living honestly
Because I said goodbye
I cant go home anymore
I dont wanna find out what I left there for
Im not scared and Im not lonely
Saving all my money or my breath
Im not looking for an answer
Im not asking anyone to second guess
I was losing all my senses
I was losing all control
It was getting so offensive
Now you want me back for more
And I just wont go
If you think you know the answers
Youve got a lot of gall
Cause it gives you satisfaction
Knowing nothing at all
I dont care anymore
And I dont wanna find out what I left there for
What I left there for
Im not scared and Im not lonely
Saving all my money or my breath
Im not looking for an answer
Im not asking anyone to take a second guess no
Im not scared and Im not lonely
Saving all my money or my breath yeah
Im not looking for an answer
Im not asking anyone to take a second guess no
Take a second guess yeah
Take a second guess yeah
(hey)
Take a second guess yeah
(hey)
Take a second guess yeah
Take a second guess
(I cant talk to you)
Take a second guess
(yeah, yeah I know)
[...] Read more
song performed by Indigo Girls
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Borrowed Time
(olivia newton-john)
I saw the light but it was too late, too late
I wanted to fight but it was too great, too great to fight it
Guess Im loving on borrowed time
Didnt know that you could not be mine
Im the fool I guess
Im the fool I guess
I started to cry but I was cried out, cried out
Cause you opened my eyes but with the light out
I couldnt see it
Guess Im loving on borrowed time
Didnt know that you could not be mine
Im the fool I guess
Im the fool I guess
I begged you to leave her but it was too late, too late
Cause though you have deceived her
You knew that shed wait
Shed wait forever
Guess Im loving on borrowed time
Didnt know that you could not be mine
Im the fool I guess
Im the fool I guess
Guess Im loving on borrowed time
Didnt know that you could not be mine
Im the fool I guess
Im the fool I guess
Oh baby, Im the fool I guess
Oh now, Im the fool I guess
song performed by Olivia Newton-John
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A Map Of Culture
Culture
Contents
What is Culture?
The Importance of Culture
Culture Varies
Culture is Critical
The Sociobiology Debate
Values, Norms, and Social Control
Signs and Symbols
Language
Terms and Definitions
Approaches to the Study of Culture
Are We Prisoners of Our Culture?
What is Culture?
I prefer the definition used by Ian Robertson: 'all the shared products of society: material and nonmaterial' (Our text defines it in somewhat more ponderous terms- 'The totality of learned, socially transmitted behavior. It includes ideas, values, and customs (as well as the sailboats, comic books, and birth control devices) of groups of people' (p.32) .
Back to Contents
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poem by Nyein Way
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World Falls
Im coming home with a stone
Strapped onto my back
Im coming home with a burning hope
Turning all my blues to black
Im looking for a sacred hand
To carve into my stone
A ghost of comfort
Angels breath
To keep this life inside my chest
This world falls on me
Hopes of immortality
Everywhere I turn
All the beauty just keeps shaking me
Now I woke up in the middle of a dream
Scared the world was too much for me
Sejarez said, dont let go
Just plant the seeds and watch them grow
Ive slept in rainy canyon lands
Cold drenched to my skin
I always wake to find a face
To calm these troubled lands
Ah this world falls on me
With dreams of immortality
Everywhere I turn
All the beauty just keeps shaking me
Now Im running
To the end of the earth
And Im swimming
To the edge of the sea
And Im laughing
Im under a starry sky
This world was meant for me
Dont bury me
Carry me
I wish I was a nomad
An indian or a saint
The edge of death would disappear
Leave me nothing left to taint
I wish I was a nomad
An indian or a saint
Give me walking shoes
Feathered arms
And a key to heavens gate
Ah this world falls on me
Dreams of immortality
Everywhere I turn
All the beauty just keeps shaking me
Im running
(this world falls on me)
To the end of the earth
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song performed by Indigo Girls
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In Broken Images
He is quick, thinking in clear images;
I am slow, thinking in broken images.
He becomes dull, trusting to his clear images;
I become sharp, mistrusting my broken images.
Trusting his images, he assumes their relevance;
Mistrusting my images, I question their relevance.
Assuming their relevance, he assumes the fact;
Questioning their relevance, I question the fact.
When the fact fails him, he questions his senses;
When the fact fails me, I approve my senses.
He continues quick and dull in his clear images;
I continue slow and sharp in my broken images.
He in a new confusion of his understanding;
I in a new understanding of my confusion.
poem by Robert Graves
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The Anger Behind The Swing Of This Axe
With every swing of this well worn axe.
I'm thinking of you.
The anger burns right through.
Images flash across my brain.
It's like I'm watching the most hated reruns on television.
And no matter what I do they just keep playing.
I wish I never meant you.
I wish for something sweet instead of something so bitter.
I've been told the taste will fade.
Well I'm still waiting.
With every swing of this well worn axe.
I'm thinking of you.
The anger burns right through.
Images flash across my brain.
It's like I'm watching the most hated reruns on television.
And no matter what I do they just keep playing.
I wish I never meant you.
I wish for something sweet instead of something so bitter.
I've been told the taste will fade.
Well I'm still waiting..
I did everything right and it still went so wrong.
Perfection in the moment and now its gone.
If I only knew what I know now.
I would have ran for the hills.
Never looked back.
Like a ghost completely disappeared.
Across the hemisphere.
Above the highest atmosphere.
Mind you they are limitation I grant you.
But still I don't think it's that far of an exaggeration.
With every swing of this well worn axe.
I'm thinking of you.
The anger burns right through.
Images flash across my brain.
It's like I'm watching the most hated reruns on television.
And no matter what I do they just keep playing.
I wish I never meant you.
I wish for something sweet instead of something so bitter.
I've been told the taste will fade.
Well I'm still waiting.
With every swing of this well worn axe.
I'm thinking of you.
The anger burns right through.
[...] Read more
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Essay on Psychiatrists
I. Invocation
It‘s crazy to think one could describe them—
Calling on reason, fantasy, memory, eves and ears—
As though they were all alike any more
Than sweeps, opticians, poets or masseurs.
Moreover, they are for more than one reason
Difficult to speak of seriously and freely,
And I have never (even this is difficult to say
Plainly, without foolishness or irony)
Consulted one for professional help, though it happens
Many or most of my friends have—and that,
Perhaps, is why it seems urgent to try to speak
Sensibly about them, about the psychiatrists.
II. Some Terms
“Shrink” is a misnomer. The religious
Analogy is all wrong, too, and the old,
Half-forgotten jokes about Viennese accents
And beards hardly apply to the good-looking woman
In boots and a knit dress, or the man
Seen buying the Sunday Times in mutton-chop
Whiskers and expensive running shoes.
In a way I suspect that even the terms “doctor”
And “therapist” are misnomers; the patient
Is not necessarily “sick.” And one assumes
That no small part of the psychiatrist’s
Role is just that: to point out misnomers.
III. Proposition
These are the first citizens of contingency.
Far from the doctrinaire past of the old ones,
They think in their prudent meditations
Not about ecstasy (the soul leaving the body)
Nor enthusiasm (the god entering one’s person)
Nor even about sanity (which means
Health, an impossible perfection)
But ponder instead relative truth and the warm
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poem by Robert Pinsky
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Next Lifetime
[1] - Now what am I supposed to do
When I want you in my world
How can I want you for myself
When I'm already someone's girl? [2 times]
First time that I saw you boy
It was a warm and sunny day
All I know is I wanted you
I really hoped you looked my way
When you smiled at me
So warm and sweet
I could not stay
You make me feel like a lilting girl
What do you do to me
[Repeat 1 (2 times)]
I guess I'll see you next lifetime
No hard feelings
I guess I'll see you next lifetime
I'm gonna be there
You're imaging
Feels so damn good to me
It picks me up don't wanna come down
You got me spinning all around
Yeah
You need to know
I've got that somebody
You're beautiful
But it ain't that type of party
[Repeat 1 (2 times)]
Well I guess I'll see you next lifetime
Baby we'll be butterflies
I guess I'll see you next lifetime
That sounds so divine
I guess I'll see you next lifetime
I guess I will now
I guess I'll see you next lifetime
Wait
Wait a little while
See it ain't nothing wrong with dreaming
Boy don't get me wrong
Cause every time (every time) I see you (every single time)
I know just how strong (every single time)
That my love is for my baby
But emotions just don't lie
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song performed by Erykah Badu from Baduizm
Added by Lucian Velea
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I Guess You Get Used To Somebody
(tom shapiro, steve bogard)
I thought I felt you touch my cheek this morning
But I mustve been dreaming
And in the middle of the night without a warning
I thought I heard you breathing
Me and my so-called independence
Ive got this loneliness thats so relentless
I guess you get used to somebody
Kinda like having them around
I guess you get used to the way they make you happy
Bring you up when youre feeling down
I never dreamed when I was letting you go that
I would wake up and miss you this much
I guess you get used to somebody, I guess you get used to being loved
I kinda miss those rambling conversations
Where wed talk about nothing
The way you always made me laugh at my frustrations
Baby that was something
I shouldve been careful what I wished for
cause Ive got my freedom and so much more
I guess you get used to somebody
Kinda like having them around
I guess you get used to the way they make you happy
Bring you up when youre feeling down
I never dreamed when I was letting you go that
I would wake up and miss you this much
I guess you get used to somebody, I guess you get used to being loved
I never dreamed when I was letting you go that
I would wake up and miss you this much
I guess you get used to somebody
I guess you get used to being loved
I guess you get used to somebody
I guess you get used to being loved
song performed by Tim McGraw
Added by Lucian Velea
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Guess (should i ever give the girl i love this., ,)
Guess....
Just guess.. they're 3 words thats it, not too hard
really just 3 words my dear
you have to figure them out right here
allow me to get close....close...
closer to you before i am taken by comatose,
let me lean in and whisper my 3 words to you
the 3 words i hope you know them too
one guess and one guess only, as i
tickle and tease you, galvanize your imagination so far as to fly
can you share my joy?
maybe you will share my joy after you guess, this isn't a decoy
I'm not running, I'm honest allow me to caress
you and fondle with your hair but guess
just 3 words,3 magic ones, last hint...closer..magic... heres the spell
it changes you and me to us, now you should know quite well
guess those magic words as i lean in close.... just three...magic..three...
as you stand here right next to me
come I'll whisper them to you
but first just guess and I will guess your next words too
3 magic words, , , , closer just three to change my story
this will fill those lines and change my life as i tickle you
and tease you, , ,3 words guess i ask you answer in four
let me caress you let me be close.... guess the words
Guess
poem by David Knox
Added by Poetry Lover
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