Tag: Deception

Poem – “To Guard your Beauty” – Romance – 1/7/2020

I have shared a kiss, with loneliness,
And have shared wine, with death, itself.
I have felt music play upon my lips
During when I was lost, in love’s abyss.

I guarded what cannot die,
And, I guarded what should not have decayed
To be spread among the four winds,
Before the times arrives.

My love was a vanishing current,
And this, I realize
Had been the thing to die,
Because, your beauty was merely meant to lie.

To lie, to stay the same,
To never change.
Deception, for you, was never an offense,
Because, I had wanted to protect, in all my defense.

Philosophy – “A Critique on the Existence of Journalism” – Dialogue – 9/22/2019

Q: What strikes your pity to be so prominent?

A: It is because whenever I see a person aiming to engage in Journalism, I see no more than the smile of insanity or excitement. Logic is never in the equation of Journalism, nor in its existence, and femininity has merely encompassed it, like a spread of peanut butter on a slice of bread.

Q: What makes you intolerant towards Journalism?

A: Journalism resonates upon its sole ingredient: excitement. The thrill of the chase after the truth, is much different than a spread of directions, a spread of paths, as this relates more to the lie. A lie is complex, as are emotions, and each emotion is a different path. The source of the confusion comes from simply witnessing these emotions in their drama. Unless someone has the idea of writing of lost cats or children with sore legs after kicking a ball, there will be the crudeness of engaging in the lie, itself.

Q: What is the lie, itself?

A: The definition of a lie is simple complexity. A complexity that creates numerous paths, this is a lie. A deception, that is easily convincing, marks the essence of the emotion. Journalism strikes me as the only weapon that employs this. The usage of emotions, and never the consolation towards them. The witnessing of tears or fear, for the sake of the camera, makes it a reality, despite both the emotions and the presence of a camera making the scene an unreality. The viewer had not been there, though viewed the deception through a lens, and it all becomes a mere “perception”.

Q: What do you make of perceptions?

A: It is the one-sided story, the essence of the debate, the source of division, as each “perception” created from a sight upon a television screen, creates the feeling of loneliness, separation, and anxiety. Each viewer of a screen has been deceived, and now they are the victims from which deception creates puppets. Each string, that is, from the puppet master, marks each separate path towards an emotion. A puppet is only a representation of a lifeless corpse, without the strings. With the strings, the puppet is seen to be wild. It moves, though is still lifeless and without a soul.

Q: And back to Journalism?

A: In utilizing the ingredient of excitement, truth is always ignored. Truth is never discovered in this scenario. A Journalist will be so intent in “rushing within the rush”, so to speak, that they will never make an attempt to look for truth. They rush, lost in the crowd of both spectators and those who perceive, that they remain concealed. Most of them are rushed on caffeine, creating a further “fast-paced” attitude, marking them as the perfect vessel to be the perfect puppet. The wild one, is like a corpse reanimated.

Q: What more of Journalism?

A: A complexity is merely an emotion, and each emotion creates deception. Each person conflicted with a “mental illness” is lied to, whether by Psychiatrists, or by their own thoughts. A simple cure, such as a pill, is still alike the simple cure, that is suicide. The remedy is never to become a robot, though to use logic to uplift those deep in their emotions. It is because, whether it be depression or simple fear, there is calmness that reveals itself as more daunting than the fear, itself.

Poem – “To Walk upon Death” – Romance

Face our turmoil,
And rend the world apart!
See where we have felt the stinging pain,
The toil to what has been called love.

Never love and only the survival bought from danger,
I am a man of guilt who is asked to be strong.
I am a man of pain who is asked to be painless.
I am a man of shame who is asked to show himself.

The love from a woman has made a mark,
I show weakness, and it’s seen to be dark.
We both, as lovers, walk upon death
In each’s arms, in failure and desertion.

What am I but the man called misery?
I am not uncertain about the want,
Though, uncertain about the gain,
To what I want, to what will spell paradise.

Oh, my love, walk upon death,
There is no Heaven in this Hell.
There is barely a life to say is a treasure,
I’ve become numb against my sorrow.

And from death, and in life,
All has become black and white.
Strange minutes resort to unbidden strife.
As I seek to make you my wife.

Life, in all its stalking upon death’s ground,
Do we stand upon someone’s grave,
On the street, where we wave
To taxis and workers in their frenzy?

Face me, dear one, and see my pain,
See how it soaks me down,
See how the future faces the West,
And the past falls to the East,
Backwards in confusion harmonic,
In what I am destined to be.