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I do not 'get' ideas; ideas get me.

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Ideas For Walls

So many things in my head, Ive always had them before
No reason to be upset, theyre just ideas for walls
Now Im standing inside, outside, which is the right side
Im standing, demanding that the nightlife be called the right life
Like putting paint on my feet & walking sideways in rows
My walls could be so complete, complete with patterns of toes
Now Im standing inside, outside, which is the right side
Im standing the left side, right side, which is the right side
Now-ideas
Ideas for walls
Ideas for walls
Ideas for walls
A little m for the mirror, a double u for the wall
To make things perfectly clear, a great big h in the hall
Now Im standing inside, outside, which is the right side
Im standing, demanding that the nightlife be called the right life
Is everybody confused? (no) Im making no sense at all
You want a room with a view you need ideas for walls
Now Im standing inside, outside, which is the right side
Im standing inside, outside, outside, right side
Inside, outside, which is the right side
Now -- ideas
Ideas for walls
Ideas for walls
Ideas for walls
Ideas
Theyre just ideas for walls
Ideas for walls
Ideas for walls
Ideas for walls
Ideas for walls

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Thoughts and ideas - (Talking through my hat)

Break and husk
thoughts and ideas that,
without reason,
I smashing them like nuts
into my head – mortar with pig iron pestle.

Lay and hatch
thoughts and ideas,
and younglings,
instead of fly,
I keep them under latch
in my head – cage of neurons,
dendrites and axons.

Knead and raise
thoughts and ideas
but let me tempted,
and without reason,
instead of bake them, I play
“of thieves and bobbies”
with bullets of dough
shot from my head – automatic gun.

Pull kernels out of
thoughts and ideas
but I put not them to spring
and hundredfold harvest to bring,
I chain them necklace
that my poor mind
who walks nomad
through my head – ballad
to put it neck
in a night with moon
and than to catch
in a fairies dance
and hungry of blue
to soar in the stars.

***

Thoughts and ideas
are shrieking through my mind
as lost migratory birds
in an autumn of rains.
Thoughts and ideas
- arrow-shaped cranes with wet wings -
fall all at once
in my head – moorland
of thistle and mud.

[...] Read more

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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

[...] Read more

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The Problem of the Idea

The Philosopher:

'The Problem of the 21st century
is the problem of the Origins of the Idea.'

The Idea has driven much
of human history-
a major motivator
many taken together are
Articulators;
Ideas compose all Human Dreams.

But ask what is this Idea
and silence ensues;
ask where is it
in the human mind
and we'll get charts of its activity centers
but nothing about what it is
or where it comes from.

The Scientist:

Well, we don't have to know what a thing is
to utilize it.
We can identify behaviors and integrate
them-
harness them to purpose.

Philosopher:

Sure like the Atomic Bomb. It was built because
we could integrate various disciplines
and make things go bang
without thinking of Consequence.
technical Ideas-too have consequences.

Scientist:

So you would hold up all human progress
until the over-arching Idea comes along
before we act?

Philosopher:
Ah, but note that progress that destroys
the planet is not
progress at all
but only a blind mistake;
one I might add,
that did not have
an Idea or Clue

[...] Read more

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Soccer Under 20

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soccer teams aurora co age 11
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soccer teams for girls in atlanta
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soccer teams in argentina and chile
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soccer teams in dundee il

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Stalk Of Wheat

I went for a walk on a stalk, on a stalk of wheat
And it felt like a trillion feet
I was looking for a friend at the end, at the end of the line
And it took me till the end of time
I was all out of luck like a duck, like a duck that died
I was all out of juice like a moose, like a moose denied
I was all out of money like a bunny that's broke
I was all out of work like a jerk who's a joke
And I was out of ideas, like I is, like I is,
Like I is, like I is, I was out of ideas...of ideas
I once had a dream of a gleam, of a gleam in my eye
And I'll have it till the day I die
I had a thought bubble of trouble, of trouble and strife
And I'll have it for the rest of my life
I was all out of luck like a duck, like a duck that died
I was all out of juice like a moose, like a moose denied
I was all out of money like a bunny that's broke
I was all out of work like a jerk who's a joke
And I was out of ideas like I is, like I is,
Like I is, like I is, I was out of ideas...of ideas...of ideas...of ideas

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The Power of Ideas

The power of ideas are immeasurable
They are the hidden treasures which lies
Deep within each and everyone of us
When we take the time to mind them we will find
That they are more precious than diamonds

Ideas which may seem insignificant
Has tremendous power within them
They are the genesis the initiation the foundation
Of all invention and everything which
Is created by humankind

The power of ideas are immeasurable
They have got the power to move mountains
To overcome any obstacle and to make
The seemingly impossible possible

Ideas are the levers which moves and the axis
On which the world revolves
The power of ideas are immeasurable
The power of ideas...

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These are ideas. I could say that they just came to me, but it would be more accurate to say that I went to them. Ideas - and new connections between ideas - lead you away from commonly held perceptions of reality. Ideas lead you out here. Ideas lead you into the darkness.

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Being A Poet

I find that I can compose a poem best,
When I am out walking, or am at rest.
When I am lying in my bed at night,
I think about what I am able to write.

Or when I’m out walking, or sat on a train,
Words and ideas, all rush round my brain.
Sometimes, ideas just appear in my head,
Or may be a result of something I’ve read.

At fellow passengers, on a train, I take a look;
Some chatter away, while others read a book.
But, me, I’m sat there, quietly composing verse;
With dozens of ideas, my creative mind bursts.

If I compose lines on my way into town,
I repeat them over, until I write them down;
If they are not written down straightaway,
Around my mind, other thoughts then play.

There are many things which inspire me to write,
Such as animals, the seasons, and the sky at night.
If I try to force ideas, they just do not flow;
The poem itself, I find, just will not grow.

I like to write on a layperson’s level;
In too much information, I do not revel.
Having chosen a decent subject or idea,
I then need to get my brain in to gear.

Of a subject, I like to consider all of the aspects,
But I keep my writing simple; not too complex.
To make a poem rhyme, words I may change,
But I only use words that are within my range.

In using unfamiliar words, I can see no point;
A nice poem, tricky words, can really disjoint.
Words, within my head, I keep batting around,
Until the perfect combination, is finally found.

With poetry, I really love the creative process,
But over time, I’ve become slightly obsessed.
Sometimes I find myself talking in rhyme;
That I am a poet, this must be a sure sign.

Of my finished poems, I often feel proud;
One day, I’ll be brave and read them aloud.
Into my swirling head, ideas continue to pop;
I love writing poetry and never want to stop!

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400th Mark

Completion of 400th poem was not great feat or mark
Many new ideas flashed in mind and worked as spark
Raising voice at roof top doesn’t make it worth while
No one will share ideas or walk with you for a mile

Over year and half ago I was virtually nothing
Only vague ideas of verses to translate as something
There was hidden fear that readers may reject
Still presentation of new ideas was only object

Nature was appealing when I went round
Something new was in offing and always found
Bird’s sweet voice and cool breeze were appealing
Mind was set up on it with earnest effort for revealing

It was so difficult to go in for poetic words
Sought the strength and blessings from the lord
World at large seemed so big and enterprising
Nothing could stop me from little writing

“Go to hell” or “never dare to call again”
Funny comments with abusive words main
I detested the weapon with its sharp edge
My be I lacked enough skill or knowledge

Many offered me with their kind comments
Advised to stand fast and not to lament
How can I be ungrateful to their advices?
I had to offer gratitude and only promises

Some one commented I was killing poems
Had no teeth, wisdom and lacked rhythms
I sincerely thanked them to improve upon
To write simple poems and simply carry on

New people, thoughts with old or new readers
They were by no means less than leaders
I was novice and had to act as learners
To gain and part with is the reality for beginners

I have followed simple theme and plot
It may not be up to mark or falling short
I may try to uphold values and ideas defend
Will not stoop so below to alienate or offend

How poetry does impresses up on mind?
What type of lessons or new things we find?
Poetry, I thought is the holiest approach among all
I enjoy its fruit when sit back and recall

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How Many Ideas Have You Stole

How many have you stole,
From an idol you say that you like.
How many have you stole,
Chosen ideas to re-write!
And...
How many have you stole,
And how many of them have you sold.
With a knowing to be never told.

Just how many ideas have you stole.
From an idol you say that you like.
How many have you stole,
Chosen ideas to re-write!
And...
How many have you stole,
And how many of them have you sold.
With a knowing to be never told.

'Who knows. Who knows? '
Just how many ideas have you stole.
'Who knows. Who knows? '
Just how many ideas have you stole.
'Who knows. Who knows? '
And how many of them have you sold.
With a knowing to be never told.
Does your idol know about those?

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Social Netowrking Of Robots

end of world war
end of world war 11
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end of ww11

[...] Read more

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Books won't stay banned. They won't burn. Ideas won't go to jail. In the long run of history, the censor and the inquisitor have always lost. The only sure weapon against bad ideas is better ideas. The source of better ideas is wisdom. The surest path to wisdom is a liberal education.

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1. One

I am trying to find my poetic rhythm.
Pen my flow of thoughts.
Words running through my mind,
Ideas running through my mind.
Incoherent, Scattered and disjointed

I am trying to make words and ideas one
Create a world of words, in this world of chaos
Words running from one end
Ideas running from one end
On a path of collision

Ideas and words unite, one
One, the beginning
One, the universal beginning
One, the number of the gods
One, my first poem

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Eric Hoffer

The link between ideas and action is rarely direct. There is almost always an intermediate step in which the idea is overcome. De Tocqueville points out that it is at times when passions start to govern human affairs that ideas are most obviously translated into political action. The translation of ideas into action is usually in the hands of people least likely to follow rational motives. Hence, it is that action is often the nemesis of ideas, and sometimes of the men who formulate them. One of the marks of the truly vigorous society is the ability to dispense with passion as a midwife of action - the ability to pass directly from thought to action.

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Techno Pop

Music non stop, techno-pop
Music non stop, techno-pop
Synthetic electronic sounds
Industrial rhythms all around
Music non stop, techno-pop
Synthetic electronic sounds
Industrial rhythms all around
Music non stop, techno-pop
Music non stop, techno-pop
Synthetic electronic sounds
Industrial rhythms all around
Music non stop, techno-pop
[Spanish]
La musica ideas portara (Music will bring new ideas)
y siempre continuara (and will continue forever)
Sonido electronico (Electronic sound)
Decibel sintetico (Synthetic dB)
La musica ideas portara
y siempre continuara
Sonido electronico
Decibel sintetico
Music
Synthetic
Techno-pop
La musica ideas portara
y siempre continuara
Sonido electronico
Decibel sintetico
Music non stop,
Music non stop,
Music non stop,
Music non stop, techno-pop
Music non stop, techno-pop
Synthetic electronic sounds
Industrial rhythms all around
Es musst immer weiter gehn'
Musik konstruiere von Ideen
Music
Non stop
Techno-pop

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An Idea

An Idea can change the world, how many
things can be done from an idea, every piece
of object was an idea, sense the beginning of
time idea was the first thought created in the
mind, an idea is what surround’s every being.
But an idea is still only an idea and it can't be
felt, you cannot touch an idea or kiss it, or hold it,
ideas do not bleed or feel pain or love, an idea
cannot be seen or heard, its created in our thoughts,
but then again an idea can become real. An idea
can be what ever you which it to be, an idea can
be destructive, an idea can be brilliant, I've seen
people get killed in the name of ideas, ideas,
we walk around with a little
light bulb blinking in our thoughts, ideas.

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Anything in between

I can’t become anything even if I want to
I can’t attempt simply and pass though
It has certain norm and has to be met
Goal and priority should be decided and has to be set

Nothing materializes all of sudden
If you are sure of it then only it is done
You may get the success or fail
All your efforts may help you to sail

I know how to excel as good poet
I have revolutionary ideas but have to keep quiet
I may have strong will power to change the world order
It may some time result into disorder

How do the ideas enter into empty memory?
How do they develop into in to fine poetry?
Words after words may occupy different position
It may result then into fine composition

Can this lead into conflicting views?
Does the poet get its proper dues?
Can this land him into disarray/
Can this also take readers in to his way?

It is difficult to judge and visualize
Nobody can prejudge and lateralize
It may touch the inner core of the heart
It may land into garbage before entering mart

I have no time to think about all this things
It has to be an honest attempt at something
It may not find place today then possibly tomorrow
Some time has to be given to express the sorrow

It may have premature demise
No one can guarantee or promise
At every step it must be revised
Some new ideas to be set in and formula devised

The poets are small vanes of the society
It must pick correct mood and offer in variety
There s no use to present the which is obsolete
It has to be unique an din it self complete

The poets are not emerging in a day or two
They are subjected to litmus test and have to pass through
Not possible that it may find all the time good favor

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Mood

What can be termed as mood?
Can that be called conducive for good?
Situation may not take you out of wood
You may not even like or prefer food

It is perfect condition to emit ideas
Nothing will be heard even good pleas
Good melody may also fall to deaf ears
Perfection may take longer or even years

Mind may set in and take complete rest
Emergence of constructive but thoughts best
Some times may prove hard or acid test
Right time to strike, write and paste

Don’t attempt when nothing appeals
Thoughts may cross and ideas repeal
Allow normal function with gate closed
Gradual entry with no more ideas forced

It is like child demanding toy
Nothing will convince even if you employ
Good alternatives with submitting to demands
Even if you threaten with severe remands

Childish play with funny acts
Got to know with basic facts
Simply arranging with current scene
Facts to be reflected as never before seen

Poets are whimsical and funny
Care not for any more penny
It is simple presentation of views
May not head to any more clues

It is not magic or creating words
Simple notes and looking too forwards
It may not have head and tales
Poets are many as sea have whales

Poets may create new concept and waves
Beautiful ideas which may produce heroes and braves
It may not be drive powerful wagon
Certainly a sharp and double edged weapon

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Rubaiyat Of A Robin - After Edward Fitzgerald - Rubaiyat Of Omar Khayyam

Jest plays with rubaiyat and, four by four,
unseals for your amusement more and more
verses together thread in rosary
unreeled to bloom till tomb will curtains draw.

Repealed are value judgement and perspective
revealed through standpoint purely introspective,
darkside concealed of moon’s yin-yang shines clear
when we’re in orbit, - option more effective.

Rolled form performs rôle midwife to perception,
sprung tongue in cheek, tweaks sense of imperfection
or willingness to leach between the lines,
impeach entrenched ideas of self-[s]election.

This prose arose as stream deprived of section,
where ‘dip at will’ will still sustain inspection,
the current’s sense, at odds with current views
ignores round holes, square pegs, top-down direction.

Here there’s no fear of critics’ peer rejection,
contention treated with due circumspection
intention is to mention for retention
an overview or clue to extrospection.

Life’s curtains are a veil through which few see,
as many haste taste-waste eternity,
mixed up, ignore life fixes finite sum
to/through infinite opportunity.

Can “Truth” exist? all ask, who seek its core,
we, modest, etch our words to sketch the score,
diverse the verses which converge to link
reflections mirrored many times before.

Vast content, style, a while, united are,
aim at soul stimulation, nothing bar,
to pleasure, treasure, or discard at will
as minds outreach to other minds on par.

Meditating, we shed light on what
tomorrow’s tot may factor into ‘bot’ -
the poet’s lot, forgot, to help all think
ahead of time, enhance life for a lot

Some seek Nirvana, Faith speaks more than “how”.
Others reject Salvation’s wraith, - w[h]ine “now”.
Verifying facts? Inventing dreams?
Each furrow-burrows with a different plough.

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