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Intellectuals would be much more accepted now than in the '40s.

quote by Parker Stevenson
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[ Untitled]

What do you think--what do you make out of that recording?
I dont know, gloria, I just--
Some kind of singing. they sound like all kinds of people, right?
Yeah.
And then it says another child is born in india every time you call this number, right?
Yeah, right.
Does that make any sense to you?
No, it doesnt make no sense to me.
And the guy that spoke--i dont know who he is.
Yeah.
But that--it doesnt sound like no answering machine, right?
No, it aint an answering machine because theyre not saying anything, theyre just--
But what does he get--how does he make money on this? whatever hes advertising in the paper, thats the part that dont make no sense.
Oh, hes advertising this in the paper you saw it.
In the village voice, yeah. they got--thats where the kiss clinic, but they give you another number if you wanna join it. and I got intellectuals meet with other intellectuals.
Yeah.
Speak another language.
Yeah. oh.
They meet at la mai--la maisonette restaurant. they give you the price. then they give you another number to call if youre interested. this guy, all you get is this here recording, but I dont
Ow he makes money.
Yeah, yeah.
You know what Im saying? its just--they got the craziest things in that paper.
Yeah.
They come over with all--they got the craziest things. but this one here-- there must be giants, its called. and it says, call machine, and they got the phone number.
Yeah.
But what kind of money does he make? it dont make no sense. well, he dont make any money, right?
No.
But, then--then hes a nut, right? do you see--do you see any sense to that? there may be giants? that re--that recording I have on. the new one. did you hear it? I changed it. I too
The intellectuals. I put on there may be giants.
What?
Whos they may be giants?
What are you talking about?
Thats whats on my--the phone, there may be--argh, well I cant explain it. cause I dont know what it is. look in the paper, dont blame me if the guys a nut.

song performed by They Might Be Giants
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Single

He's in his 40s and never married,
Never had the pleasure of
Fathering a child or having
A long-term relationship,
Living with a woman under
The same roof, maybe he's gay
Or just plain eccentric,
Not knowing how to relate
To his social world,
But I've stopped trying to live up
To what a normal guy in his 40s
Should be like, for
So many creative people were
Often loners or unhappy in love,
Expressing their sadness through
Their art - just look at
Van Gogh or Emily Dickinson
And countless others -
So I'm not worried
What others think of my
Bachelor lifestyle,
For I enjoy my freedom
Of having to answer to nobody,
Of not being stuck in some
Marriage just because it's
Comfortable or because
Of the kids, for I've seen
Too many fatherless kids,
Too many divorces, too
Many women abused by
Their husbands, too many
Cheating partners and
Too much dishonesty,
Too many people searching
For greener pastures of
Newer relationships with
Younger or more exciting
Partners, but I don't mind
Being single, answering
To myself alone -
It is by far better than feeling
Alone with someone else,
Staying in a destructive
Relationship, pretending things
Are going well - because
When I say I love you,
I mean that I love you,
Darling, and I do not believe
In any 'soul twins', or 'one light'
Or some other 'divine union' -

[...] Read more

poem by Alexander Shaumyan
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That Which I Do Not Know

How do I know what I know?
I've accepted faith as my reward,
For understanding.
I've accepted the experience of stumbling...
And not allow defeat,
To stop an ability I have to get back on my feet!
I've accepted humiliation to assist in my self evaluation.
I've accepted criticsms of all kinds.
I've accepted heartbreak to mend any bitterness.
With a forgiveness that God will defend...
And correct misdeeds done!
How do I know what I know?
I know I did not bleed without pain!
I know I did not recover from wounds alone.
I know I don't have all the answers!
And that was the beginning...
Of knowing something I could not debate.
It is what it is.
And could not be what it is not!
How do I know what I know?
That which I do not know...
I do not!
And I will admit,
I am prepared to learn.
'That' I choose not to stop!
I am not living my life to hide from it!
Or deny what it has to offer.
I do observe some fantasizing pain.
I am not that advanced!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Futurism: This was a movement of intellectuals who wanted to replace tradition with the modern world of machinery, speed, violence, and public relations. It proves that we should be careful what intellectuals wish for, because we might get it.

quote by Brad Holland
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Intellectualism came very late to America. That's why Americans are so proud of it. I found very few real intellectuals in America. But there are so many pseudo-intellectuals.

quote by Douglas Sirk
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But the Spain which emerged around 1960, beginning with its economic miracle, created by the invasion of tourists, can no longer result in impassioned dedication on the part of its intellectuals, and even less on the part of foreign intellectuals.

quote by Juan Goytisolo
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Ode 1957: An intellectual

An intellectual is all the time showing off.

Lovers dissolve and become bewildered.

Intellectuals try not to drown,
while the whole purpose of loves
is drowning.

Intellectual invent
ways to rest, and then lie down~
in those beds.

Lovers feel ashamed
of comforting ideas.

You’ve seen a glob
of oil on water? That’s how a lover
sits with intellectuals, there, but alone
in a circle of himself.

Some intellectual
tries to give sound advice to a lover.

All he hears back is, I love you.

I love you.

Love is musk. Don’t deny it
when you smell the scent!

Love is a tree.

Lovers, the shade of the long branches.

To the intellectual mind, a child must learn
to grow up and be adult.

In the station of love,
you see old men getting younger and younger.

Shams chose to live low in the roots
for you. So now, he soars in the air
as you sublimely articulating love!

poem by Rumi
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Truth and Reality (Opinion)

Daily at the end of my "anusthaanam"-(spiritual ritual) ", I make a strong, fervent and sincere prayer to the Divinity that intellectuals and scholars in the world should be fearless and speak the truth without any inhibitions. This has been the tradition of our ancestors and speaking truth is essential for the benefit of the society and the society will be able to know the actualities and act on them.
Normally the rulers do not like the truth to be known. Also leaders of ideologies, religions, their supporters and the like also do not like the truth to be known to the ordinary people. The writers are normally and should be fearless such that the ills and evils in the society are exposed and remedial measures are taken. But what is truth?
Truth is what it is or as it is irrespective of perceptions of the individuals. Reality is what we see of truth; how much we see of truth. Reality is always dictated by our mental make-up, likes, dislikes, limitations in our ability and willingness to see, view, comprehend and accept the truth. Reality is individual's perception of the truth. Truth, most of the times, is only perceived and rarely understood or experienced. Thus reality is limited truth. Reality is either inability to be truthful or inability and limitations of the individual to see the truth unbiased. Also truth corresponds to the individual, about himself, his Self and the reality corresponds to the objective world within and without the body of the individual.
Real situations are compromised states of existence in the attempt of pursuit of the truth. We all talk about truth limited by our perception and not the truth most of the times. We have compulsions inbuilt, acquired or imagined not to accept the truth and allow truth to be spoken or spread through us. But truth is a flowing river. It may flood us but it never dries up. On the other the reality is like a stagnated lake. Our fear of repercussions taking place if we speak, accept or propagate truth, make us real and not truthful. We prefer peaceful and calm life. We call that realistic approach and adjust and compromise.
Thus, most of the times, we are not truthful. We are all limited and confined to our perceptions of truth. Truth is best revealed when understood or experienced. But we rarely get such insight. All our knowledge and information is hearsay through books, newspapers, magazines, radio and TV news channels, web sites etc, . We are all aware that these books and news items are filtered through the editors and owners of these media. Thus the perceptions of these responsible and financing individuals decide the truth content in the item. We pick up these as truth and argue or form our own perceptions. Sometimes the editorial policy of the editors or owners of these media do not allow truth as it is to reach us when they find it objectionable in that form. Thus truth is never completely known or allowed to be known and hence not completely comprehended. The fears, imaginations, illusions shape our perceptions and our comprehension of the truth. Many times it appears that no absolute truth exists or known, perceived or understood and experienced. Just as feelings and perceptions of good and bad and other qualities, truth is also relative as "truth to me", "truth to him", "truth to you", "truth to them" and a truth accepted by all is not possible and available to be expressed, accepted or spread and we all mistake our perceptions of truth as truth without understanding or experiencing the truth. But truth is like fire. It can not be hidden or held in hand.

the palm. Truth sneaks through our cautions and suppression and declares itself.

poem by Varanasi Ramabrahmam
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Groove By Groove

A gift
......... is not a gift
..................until accepted

A gift
...........of me to you
..................if accepted

A gift
...........of you to me
..................if accepted

A gift
............of we
..................when accepted

That’s love (Our Love)

July 07,2008

poem by Ben Gieske
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Pieces Now Connecting

So happy am I now to live,
To have a mind free.
And the pieces now connecting,
Did not come to fit...
To snuggle,
Perfectly for me to see.
Or feel deep.

Oh so happy am I to have a mind,
Peacefully freed.
And it didn't come to happen,
Easily accepted...
As I thought a peace of mind,
For me...
Would come to be.

I thought all troubles came to be expected.
And easily for me to accept.
I even thought my head was only made to ache.
And easily I accepted.
I thought my life was meant to fear,
And easily I accepted.
With a living in pain to gain...
To easily accept,
And...
To keep it near.

Oh so happy am I to have a mind,
Peacefully freed.
And it didn't come to happen,
Easily accepted...
As I thought a peace of mind,
Would come to be.
For me.

Yes so happy am I now to live,
To have a mind free.
And the pieces now connecting,
Did not come to fit...
To snuggle,
Perfectly for me to see.
Or feel deep.

But now...
Perfectly for me to see.
And I feel deep,
Is a peace...
Within me as it's meant,
To be.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Up and down

The accepted are rejected
And the rejected are accepted
In due course. Curse not
If you are not now accepted.
28.04.2002, Pakd

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Second Book

TIMES followed one another. Came a morn
I stood upon the brink of twenty years,
And looked before and after, as I stood
Woman and artist,–either incomplete,
Both credulous of completion. There I held
The whole creation in my little cup,
And smiled with thirsty lips before I drank,
'Good health to you and me, sweet neighbour mine
And all these peoples.'
I was glad, that day;
The June was in me, with its multitudes
Of nightingales all singing in the dark,
And rosebuds reddening where the calyx split.
I felt so young, so strong, so sure of God!
So glad, I could not choose be very wise!
And, old at twenty, was inclined to pull
My childhood backward in a childish jest
To see the face of't once more, and farewell!
In which fantastic mood I bounded forth
At early morning,–would not wait so long
As even to snatch my bonnet by the strings,
But, brushing a green trail across the lawn
With my gown in the dew, took will and way
Among the acacias of the shrubberies,
To fly my fancies in the open air
And keep my birthday, till my aunt awoke
To stop good dreams. Meanwhile I murmured on,
As honeyed bees keep humming to themselves;
'The worthiest poets have remained uncrowned
Till death has bleached their foreheads to the bone,
And so with me it must be, unless I prove
Unworthy of the grand adversity,–
And certainly I would not fail so much.
What, therefore, if I crown myself to-day
In sport, not pride, to learn the feel of it,
Before my brows be numb as Dante's own
To all the tender pricking of such leaves?
Such leaves? what leaves?'
I pulled the branches down,
To choose from.
'Not the bay! I choose no bay;
The fates deny us if we are overbold:
Nor myrtle–which means chiefly love; and love
Is something awful which one dare not touch
So early o' mornings. This verbena strains
The point of passionate fragrance; and hard by,
This guelder rose, at far too slight a beck
Of the wind, will toss about her flower-apples.
Ah–there's my choice,–that ivy on the wall,
That headlong ivy! not a leaf will grow

[...] Read more

poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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VI. Giuseppe Caponsacchi

Answer you, Sirs? Do I understand aright?
Have patience! In this sudden smoke from hell,—
So things disguise themselves,—I cannot see
My own hand held thus broad before my face
And know it again. Answer you? Then that means
Tell over twice what I, the first time, told
Six months ago: 't was here, I do believe,
Fronting you same three in this very room,
I stood and told you: yet now no one laughs,
Who then … nay, dear my lords, but laugh you did,
As good as laugh, what in a judge we style
Laughter—no levity, nothing indecorous, lords!
Only,—I think I apprehend the mood:
There was the blameless shrug, permissible smirk,
The pen's pretence at play with the pursed mouth,
The titter stifled in the hollow palm
Which rubbed the eyebrow and caressed the nose,
When I first told my tale: they meant, you know,
"The sly one, all this we are bound believe!
"Well, he can say no other than what he says.
"We have been young, too,—come, there's greater guilt!
"Let him but decently disembroil himself,
"Scramble from out the scrape nor move the mud,—
"We solid ones may risk a finger-stretch!
And now you sit as grave, stare as aghast
As if I were a phantom: now 't is—"Friend,
"Collect yourself!"—no laughing matter more—
"Counsel the Court in this extremity,
"Tell us again!"—tell that, for telling which,
I got the jocular piece of punishment,
Was sent to lounge a little in the place
Whence now of a sudden here you summon me
To take the intelligence from just—your lips!
You, Judge Tommati, who then tittered most,—
That she I helped eight months since to escape
Her husband, was retaken by the same,
Three days ago, if I have seized your sense,—
(I being disallowed to interfere,
Meddle or make in a matter none of mine,
For you and law were guardians quite enough
O' the innocent, without a pert priest's help)—
And that he has butchered her accordingly,
As she foretold and as myself believed,—
And, so foretelling and believing so,
We were punished, both of us, the merry way:
Therefore, tell once again the tale! For what?
Pompilia is only dying while I speak!
Why does the mirth hang fire and miss the smile?
My masters, there's an old book, you should con
For strange adventures, applicable yet,

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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To Play the Games

In a special place, in peace they met, they met again.
Far, far from the curse of violence, a place of peace.
Cultivated to propagate comraderie,
Through peaceful competition, garnering good will.
They came to play, from all places, to play the games.
With outstretched hand, they met,
broad warm, warm open smiles.
Renewing memories, they embraced,
light hearts, of past fond rapport.
Renewed friendships, and welcoming new friends.

Shadows of animosity, none to be found.
For the games it was, they came to play.
In contention peaceful, winter, summer,
they would play the games.
In these games, races to be run.
Feats of strength and skill performed.
Team and individual challenges.
Competition always fierce, without question.
Still winners all, losers not accepted.

With heart ‘n’ soul, all would compete.
Yet competition, ever friendly, always fair.
Without malice, losses accepted, but with grin.
Mutual admiration competitors shared.
The dedication required to attain excellence, all aware.
For all must fall, before they excelled.
Winners, runner’s up, last to complete the task.
To all, applause awarded.
With mixed emotion the norm, awards accepted.
Pride, humility, honor, apparent in all.
Respect for homelands represented, manifest,
whenever, they played the games.
Came the day, the games ceased.
Judgments rendered, awards all claimed.
Time at last to tread the homeward path.
Fond farewells, smiles ‘n’ tears mixed.
‘Til to play the games, they meet once more.

20Feb10

poem by Kurt Hearth
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Breakthrough

I wish I was speaking to influence,
The undoing of perceptions.
And commanded distribution,
Of everything new, accepted and believed.

I wish we all had invested,
Our priorities in uplifting all humanity.
To realize the true wealth we have...
Is not in the value placed on 'things'.
But who we are as human beings.

I wish I was speaking to influence,
The undoing of perceptions.
And commanded distribution,
Of everything new, accepted and believed.

I wish one day we all should awaken...
To witness pieces released from us,
That kept us in limitation debating a fate.
And with eyes opened,
There was a feeling of escape.
A breakthrough we knew we could not forsake.

I wish I was speaking to influence,
The undoing of perceptions.
And commanded distribution,
Of everything new, accepted and believed.
But then again...
I do remember,
How long it took for the deceit I sought...
To leave me...to see what it is to be clearly seen.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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My Life to Live

I've been connected!
To every aspect of my life.
I myself accepted.
Regardless of who thought that wrong,
Or right!
From birth I've known the path I walk.
And stubbornly I kept my aim.
I was prepared for rumors and the talk...
Long before my name change,
To label and brand...
The quality of my game!
Played by my command!

Oh yes!
I've been connected!
To every aspect of my life.
I myself accepted.
I've been connected!
To every aspect of my life.
I myself accepted.
Regardless of who thought that wrong,
Or right!
This is my life to live!

What is it on my resumé,
You find it difficult to believe?
Hmmm...?
And I am just getting started!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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This Is the Kind of Life

We all interpret life,
On our own terms.
What is accepted...
Rejected and neglected,
Is a process that is taught.
This 'show and tell' conditioning,
Is learned and consciously sought!

We are born to believe,
What is fed to us.
This 'feeding' is received...
And what is perceived,
We with others retrieve with like minds!
Preferring to find those of the same kind,
With like 'experiences' shared without fear!

And fear keeps us all indoctrinated to accept doubt!
Isn't that what marketing peace is about?
With the realization it will never be found...
As we rely on the production of conflict and confusion,
To always be identified!
Knowing that as well as we do.
And hoping this in our lives stays around!

We all interpret life,
On our own terms.
What is accepted...
Rejected and neglected,
Is a process that is taught.
This 'show and tell' conditioning,
Is learned and consciously sought!
And is kept alive to thrive...
In comfort zones,
Until the day we die!

Leaving those who defy these 'truths'...
Spilling their guts out in confession booths.
Or squeezing themselves to sit in pews...
As they listen to hypocrites from pulpits preach,
To leech on minds already screwed and confused!

And this is the kind of life,
We all have come to love!
Listening to teachings,
That 'demons' from hell have no wings...
Allowing to be demoralized on Sunday,
Learning more about the devil...
As we hear these 'disciples' sing!

And this is the kind of life,

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Black Hills: Sacred Tribal Land

Behold great and noble Government
Constitutional United States of America
gave the land to the tribe in perpetuity
gave back that which was already
theirs sacred tribal land of ancestors

that which was most precious birthright
which could not be bought owned sold
bestowed in ceremony upon parchment
but the white man spoke with fork tongue
broke treaty for yellow flakes of lust dirt

Treaty of Fort Laramie in 1868 confirmed
Lakota Sioux ownership of the Black Hills
to Cheyenne and Lakota these Black Hills
an island of trees in a sea of grass prairie
is axis mundi the sacred center of the world

Major General George Armstrong Custer
of 7th US Cavalry fame led an expedition
into sacred Black Hills in1874 Yellow Hair
discovered gold in French Creek gold fever
locusts thousands of miners swept into Hills

gold rush1875–1878 sparks Black Hills War
the last major Indian War on the Great Plains
Battles Powder River, Rosebud, Little Bighorn
Yellow Hair Custer 270 men killed 5 cavalry
companies were annihilated without survivors

in violation of the Treaty of Fort Laramie the
United States steals the Black Hills in 1876
after defeating the Cheyenne Lakota Arapaho
gold silver mines strike pay dirt Iron Horse comes
post Bighorn defeat army seizes horses weapons

of friendly agency Indians; January 1877 Crazy
Horse fights on at the Battle of Wolf Mountain
but shame surrenders follow two-thirds of all
Lakota; had settled at Indian agencies accepted
rations accepted subsistence life and did not fight

but the Lakota never accepted the validity of the
United States appropriation of the Black Hills and
continue to try to reclaim their property; July 1980
United States v. Sioux Nation of Indians; verdict
Supreme Stealing Court of the United States ruled

the Black Hills were illegally stolen; payment for
inconvenience caused? An offer of initial offering

[...] Read more

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Put Me First

I accepted
that you did not put me first.
But you kept
putting me last. All the time.
Last
was the last place I wanted to be.
I once wanted
to be put first. By someone. Sometime.

I accepted that you
did not put me first.
But last
was a place, that I could not, bear to be.
Last was a place,
that ones true love, cannot placed be.
Ones true love,
is someone we run to, have to see.

I accepted that you did not
put me first.
But you
did not love me enough my love.
You neglected me,
rejected me, when me you did not see.
Therefore you
are going to lose my love.

Do not
forever try my sacrifice love.
Or else
I shall die, when I say goodbye, my love.

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Friend's Suicides

A friend has commited suicide
many friends has left behind
many friends I use to hang around
but one major friend has gone

My one and only friend,
She has gone for along time
She made everyone cry
She made her friends do it
but never been listened

A friend has commited suicide
Many friends has left behind
Many friends I use to hang around
but one major friend has gone, and so am I

She left me behind
No-one didnt want her alive
she accepted death will do anything for her
she didnt believe everyone is going to be with her
she believe in suicide is the only way out

I, myself should go
many hated me for a reason
I learn what I did to learn
I will follow what I learn from them
hating is the people can think of

Friends should be loved and accepted
many suicide is for everything
but not for love and hate, it can be everything
this is why people and friends go
They accepted death is the only way out for them

poem by Hunter Kejick
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