The question of whether a computer can think is no more interesting than the question of whether a submarine can swim.
The Morning Poem Did Not Come
THE MORNING POEM DID NOT COME
The morning poem did not come-
So this is the effort of an afternoon poem,
Warm and sun- filled and relaxing and deep and waiting.
This is a poem between times more interesting than itself.
The light is so great now.
But this too is a poem of little or nothing to say
Of afternoon emptiness after morning emptiness
On a tired tired day.
Once I thought I would write poems which would make immortal
Those I love.
Now I write poems to keep myself going.
This afternoon I am extremely tired
But if this is poem
Or even if I only think it is
I can have a rest
Before I face the evening.
The Einstein Man
'Sorrow, ' she said 'sticks to me like flypaper
follows me around, covers everything I try to do,
makes me cry into my beer.'
Now that don't seem true to me from here where I sit.'
She looked at him sideways and said:
'And how would you know that, seeing as how you don't even know me? '
'A man got instincts for these things, at least some of us do.'
'Men, ' she snorted, 'got instincts and its all below the waist, all.' she said.
He continued ignoring her, And you don't have to teach a bee how to like honey.'
She smiled at him, looking him over.
'What your name honey? '
She looked at him wide eyed and said:
You can just call me honey until I know you better, stalkers and all come in here sometimes.'
'Well.' he said you just might as well call me honeybee then.' he said smiling.
'Which makes me curious.' she said', 'is what are you doing in here anyway, you don't look all beat up like the rest of these jokers. You got a story or what? '
'Yes, I do have a story' he said after looking around furtively with his best spy vs. spy look, 'and what a story it is.'
'If you add popcorn and another beer I just might listen.' she said. I'm not busy now.'
He laughed and then smiled slowly, 'I think I was right about you honey, sense of humor too, that's sexy to a man.'
'Hold your horses cowboy, this here is just conversatin' and nothing more.'
He leaned back and stoked his chin.
'As far as I can remember I never had a home, wasn't even born I think. Just woke up one day on this planet.'
'No seriously.' he said. 'Happened just like that.'
'Now that gets my attention.' she said.
'Hoped it would, ' he said. 'Truth is I am Albert Einstein.'
She spittled her beer, laughing.
'My, my, ' she said you more interesting than a stack of hundred dollars bills, I say'
He looked at her sideways, and said, 'Not joking.'
To be continued
- quotes about Albert Einstein
- quotes about beer
- quotes about literature
- quotes about humor
- quotes about dollars
- quotes about beauty
- quotes about men
- quotes about sadness
- quotes about seasons
The Night Comes On
The night comes on like a bayonet in the eye of a baby. The mirror shatters. Shards of shining try to get their act together like small Balkan countries practicing their traditional viciousness. And yes, the world is dark, brutal, treacherous and you're walking skinless through a field of nettles, your heart exposed like an igneous stone to the dead nun weeping in the acid rain. Buried alive in your own avalanche of judgment and delusion, do you hope to send down roots? Poor baby, you think I'm cruel, that when I tell you the diamond is mud, I'm trying to transplant you into some mythic crystal clarity you have not yet attained. Wrong where there is no wrong, because you're there already. Isn't it obvious your roots are in the sky; isn't it perfectly clear that everything is perfectly clear. Don't talk to me about confusion and chaos and the seven crossroads to nowhere that lie before you like a crippled starfish. I've pushed deathcarts in the morning through the back-alleys of Calcutta and evicted squatters from the satin slums of the cemetery. There is no sin or virtue in my seeing, no little coffin of concept waiting at the end of the boat-tour for a corpse.
You're not innocent; you're not corrupt. You drink the purple blood of night like everyone else and think it's a secret. You love the criminal because you think it's more sublime than intelligence, but you don't see that you're only a butterfly in the dragon's mouth; you don't understand that ritualizing heresy is not a bridge to the other side, not the crossing of any real taboo. Be absolutely certain, you're the only firefly in this man's dark vastness, but you've cranked your own ambivalence too long not to go through withdrawal into the deep assurance of the unseen light that wants to befriend you like a small green planet glowing with life. And screw the man who thinks he's a guru when he says this; burn the mask he wears to his own funeral along with the rest of his tainted marrow. Why cavil?
If the thorns think they're the crown of the rose, should the rose care, disposing of itself petal by petal, sky by sky, like the pages of an over-read book about the dangers of reading? Do you see? The wind shimmers like waves through the tall summer grass; and at night, the stars shine down on everyone alike, ignorant of their own burning legends. Deep within you, there is a hidden moon, a blind pearl, one of the lost ruby eyes of the phoenix who put himself out like a torch in the darkness of your holy waters. Why do you look outside yourself for the world you already are? Hate me if you must, but don't curse the absence of someone who loves you outside of the net. If I'm cruel, if I'm mean, if I risk the obscenity of human lovelessness to love you; don't ask me to forgive your hive of killer bees because it's so painful to get near the honey. I'm not the Titanic and you're not an ice-berg and the worst of tragedies are those that never happen. Live, if you can, beyond the billboards you call yourself; walk out into the fields of being beyond and see, truly see, what the rest of your life's been doing while you posed like a freak in a circus tent for three grams a day. Or persist in your shadows like some third generation Nazi who can't get it up enough to hate with any authority, but, likewise, is too fond of his designer straitjacket to love. What's the point of using your head for a doorstop when you're afraid to cross your own thresholds? Why lick the paper-plates for morsels of thought at a garabage-dump and call it a feast of sages? I might be stupid, I might be wrong, I might be the willing dupe of your most cherished delusion, but at least I can see you in a clear heart, your depth and beauty and agony, three flowers growing in a crevice of your well-wall. Haven't the fish already learned to walk; the birds to swim. Don't the stars drown, drunk, in you every night, and not one in the morning with a hangover? Go ahead, tattoo hell on your eyelids and pretend you're awake to the world that's hanging from the end of your nose. I love your tears when they fall; you're a steep mountain in spring, the end of an ice-age, a fountain that's learning to crawl.
But I'm not looking for your tears, and I'm almost as sorry as you that I am who I am under this gravestone in this six-storey cemetery of your fears. Do I die well or do I disappoint your witching wands when you come looking for me like a personalized parking space in the city of the dead? And don't tell me you're fragile, you're young, you're smudged across your own reflection like lipstick on a junkie's bathroom mirror. I think too much of you to believe you. Here, here's a new dagger, a clean knife, stronger metal and a more acute blade than any you've got in that soft copper arsenal of yours. I'll even provide the forge and a blacksmith and the knowledge to fashion your own. Love isn't love that doesn't offer its artery to the beloved or complains when it's being killed. O you who think the world is such a bad place, an ugly face, go ahead and try with your space-razor to separate the moonlight from the water. You want the flower and the fruit but you despise the root. You set fire to your own nerves like fuses and try to convince me it's the work of mystic terrorists. Who knows; maybe you're trying to overthrow yourself like a repressive regime and there's no place in your politics for a firing squad still loyal to the wishes of a raving queen?
- quotes about myth
- quotes about heresy
- quotes about tragedy
- quotes about terrorism
- quotes about walking
- quotes about violence
- quotes about peace
- quotes about ice
- quotes about corruption
The Physique is more powerful than the mind
the physique is more
powerful than the mind
it can help you track
down the impossible
if you can scale down
your mental attention
to its level
I think education is one of the greatest tools for most kids not only to expand their book knowledge, but their ability to experience new things - I think it opens more doors than any other experience I can think of.
mmm...How More Interesting Can This Get?
They've grown accustomed to my name.
And believe they are also,
Aware of my frame of mind.
They perceive this can be determined,
Because I might write something they dissect...
As inviting to an insight I expose and divulge.
How more interesting can this get?
I may give up a nibble and a clue with a bite.
But my present state of mind and my life now lived,
Will always be one I regard...
As absolutely private.
Howver I do love those assumptions made.
Since they are the ones that motivate and inspire.
The animal body craves grass and tuberous roots
The animal body craves grass and tuberous roots
Wakes and sleeps, under cycles of the moon
Births live offspring; they and all their ilk:
We're all mammal, by proof which we give milk.
Bodies smooth, by means of wearing clothes
Sleep in beds, whenever our eyes close
And think we're more superior than those;
Flatter self, that god our species chose.
We still live by cunning and desire
In our fear, adrenalin keeps us wired
Proved our fitness, in more ancient days;
Hard to see now, with our modern ways.
The animal body craves grass and tuberous roots
Wakes and sleeps, under cycles of the moon:
Eyes more open, than they've ever been-
But less conscious, than we were back when.
When Is When?
If my heart is the heart,
You are still loving...
Why don't you let me know?
Why is it that we both hurt so?
I feel you are there...
Wherever 'there' may be,
Enfolding you wherever you may go.
Are you holding onto the dreams,
We two together held and knew?
Although we have drifted apart...
I wish in my heart we could begin anew,
With a fresh start!
Do you too,
Wonder like I do about you?
I think of you more now than ever I did before.
Hoping to end a self inflicted pain I dealt.
Can we ever find what we found to love,
If we can then...
When is when?
Will it ever bring us together,
Before those chances for us...
Come to an end!
Like they seem to have done,
For us again.
Rereading Beauty and the Beast recounted in World
of Fairytales, struck by the sense of loss when Beast
turns into just another prince – I began to dream of a
Beast who remains such, only gruffly shows kindness
as best he can, while still beloved by faithful Beauty
Eyes shining, gone aches and pains no medicine could
take away; love the story of the eternal Beast redeemed
by love and loyalty, Beauty never cheaply recompensed
with handsome appearance; outer hideousness keeping
her inner eye sharp for spiritual beauty deep within
A grotesque animal loving her with wild devotion instead
of a refined, boring prince is much more enchanting to my
mind - phantoms are so much more interesting than the
foppish Ralphs with which life abound; but we must
not let the secret out….
“World of Fairytales” Michael Foreman, Random House,
Red Fox Edition 1994, pp.73-79
You can’t leave this town for the next six years, the magistrate had said.
Rang my house, no one there, I wanted someone to send for my dog so
I had good company in my exile; hoped my neighbour fed the cur and
didn’t put it down. I could not drive my car since I didn’t have the right
license, and could not obtain one since I didn’t had the right documents.
The car stands there rusting away when I don’t sit in it pretending to
drive, or sleep in it when I’m too tired to walk up to the sixth floor, when
the lift has broken down or used it as a toilet. A man, in facebook, said
he was in New Orleans, very well for him, but what made him tell me this,
did he try to impress me? I, who live in a town where I can see the sea,
from my window and need not live in fear of bursting levies. I’m going for
a walk, a ghost alive, on the way to the bus terminal, people move aside-
a ship ploughing the water. I’ll board a bus and see where it takes me.
The bus I took yesterday only drove around the suburbia, many houses up
for sale, but I wasn’t going to buy any of them. Can’t think of anything more
forlorn than a vacant house I hear echo of crying and distressed voice.
It is the bank’s castle now. My cottage is empty too, outside sits a dog,
waits for me to come home.
You Fill Our Hearts With Pride
The female of our species,
They're such a wonder to behold,
To be loved and cherished wisely,
They bring life to the fold.
Their loyalty and their wisdom,
Can never be denied,
When needed they'll be there for you,
A solution will be applied.
Women don't do walking away,
It's in their genes to care,
Don't ever underestimate them,
Or they'll leave you in total despair.
Contrary to what us men think,
They're more resilient than us,
They believe in solving problems,
Whereas we just make a fuss.
Women can do most anything,
They have a strong resolve,
They're up to any challenge,
It's around them we revolve.
So next time you see a woman,
See much more than a lover,
Look within that sensual beauty,
Never judge her by the cover.
They're not just wives and mothers,
But doctors and physcologists too,
They're the ultimate multi taskers,
There's nothing they can't do.
Treat them with the utmost respect,
Though with beauty they are adorned,
They can give you a terrible bite,
Hell hath no fury like a women scorned.
In a world that's dominated by men,
Well that's what women like us to think,
Remember it's from them our lives began,
Without them to the bottom we'd sink.
They truly are the ultimate being,
They're forever by our side,
Compassionate and yes they are all seeing,
‘' You Fill Our Hearts With Pride ‘'
0181 Mr and Mrs Andrews Seated In Their Estate
Beware, if you’re a portrait painter,
of being born in England. And if
you’re skilled at background –
the rolling landscape which they're
so proud to own – or painting highlights
upon a silk or satin gown…be doubly hesitant –
we ruined Holbein and we ruined Van Dyck,
with our demands to make us victorious,
happy and glorious, long to reign over others
in our stately home, later in
the auction house, in
the ‘collection’ of the recent millionaire, in
the public gallery; though while you live, Sir Portrait Painter
we'll enrol you in our club as temporary gent…
Beware - if you’re a potential patron -
of being painted by the great:
in the corners of their flattery
whose price you resent but need in greed to have,
lurks truth. You, sir, looking so judicious,
why are your lips so meanly pressed?
You, young man, aspiring to a lordly rank,
why are your eyes already lined
with wenching, gaming, debt?
Beware - if you’re an ‘art critic’ or a lecturer -
of your so ready, easy, redbrick politics
which masquerade as ‘context’ – for
there may be traps..
‘Here, ladies and gentlemen – would you
stand back a little so that everyone can see? –
are Mr Robert Andrews of Sudbury, Suffolk, and
his wife Frances, painted by that
enchanting painter Thomas Gainsborough
around 1748 to 1749… they chose
the right man for the job: here are the rolling miles
of this royal throne of kings, this
sceptred island, this jewel set
in a silver sea, this earth, this realm, this –
England – which they have the impertinence
of the nouveau riche to think they own – note,
in contrast to Gainsborough’s customary lovely touch,
how awkwardly they pose – is this the
first black cloud that presages the fall
of ancien regimes? The first comment
on social class in England’s much-delayed
Enlightenment? The socialist critic Peter Berger
says of this revealing document in paint…’
Alas for theory
about this awkward pair: the painting’s raw
because it’s not quite finished and now
over-cleaned, no mellowing brownish final varnish;
and notice the bedroom shadows under
her eyes, above the prim finishing-school mouth
that almost smiles: they’ve only married this very
month: he’s twenty-two, she’s just sixteen.
and they have had their
first lovers’ tiff: should Gainsborough
paint in the pheasant which her Bob’s just shot,
which is already outlined in her lap -
and spoil her new, so sky-blue satin dress?
They haven’t yet decided; Gainsborough’s left
the painting unfinished, while they kiss, make up, decide;
he has another appointment booked.
How much more interesting than what we know
is what, alas, we don’t.
Men are more moral than they think and far more immoral than they can imagine.
The ability to perceive or think differently is more important than the knowledge gained.
Look, there is a sort of old view about class which is a very simplistic view that we have got the working class, the middle class and the upper class, I think it is more complicated than that.
The reason that fiction is more interesting than any other form of literature, to those who really like to study people, is that in fiction the author can really tell the truth without humiliating himself.
I'd like to think that the boring lady who's talking to me now is a lot sexier and more interesting than the one who's doing NPR. You know, studious and reserved, and - I bet you're a lot of fun at a party.
I cannot think of anything more difficult than to say something which would be worthy of this impressive and, for me, memorable occasion, and of the ideals and purposes which inspired the Nobel Peace Award.
I think it's more interesting to see people who don't feel appropriately. I relate to that, because sometimes I don't feel anything at all for things I'm supposed to, and other times I feel too much. It's not always like it is in the movies.
The tea partiers are a great addition. The tea partiers have invigorated a base that has been dormant for a long period of time. We're going to have a broad array of different views in our Republican conference, and I think it might be more interesting than any I've been in in a long time.