Philosophy – “Why Anger becomes the Reaction to Prejudice” – 12/24/2020

“To tell one race that they’re the only sufferer from prejudice, is always equivalent to saying upon someone that they should feel alone in their suffering.”

– Modern Romanticism

How would anger not be the trigger to an immense feeling of loneliness, especially one so encouraged, upon a specific race? Is not the cure to prejudice to not feel the anger, though to weep against the shoulder of one so understanding?

Anger is the feeling that rises from loneliness. It strikes out against the world. People are angry not because of prejudice, though because of the loneliness that suffering brings when it is not unified. Anger is felt upon realizing one can only understand their own suffering, when it is not the case. Rage poisons the individual, as such a person will not, in their loneliness, release their pain through a cleansing session of weeping.

How cruel can some idiotic celebrity, politician, or activist be to say upon a race that they are the only target to prejudice? Why not then be the ones to say upon a widow that she should suffer in the dark? Why not say to a despondent and alone orphan that no one should help them? If such is the mindset we obey, then we are lost.

Quote – “The Third Reason to Cry: Out of Love” – 8/18/2020

“It is out of love that we weep not solely for misery, not solely for joy. These are tears that do not stain us, nor are they ones that we can easily forget. They are tears to merely remind us. Of what? Of what we are, truly at the center of ourselves. Loving ones. We build a shelter full of memories, constructing a heart out of gold. We say we are weak, that we are strong, in that residence of a heart. For as we stand like bronze, our tears come as silver, while our hearts are resplendent in gold that never wilts so long as we are structured, so long as we can break.”

– Modern Romanticism

Philosophy – “Why a Perception is Never through the Individual’s Eyes” – 8/6/2020

“No perception can be, without the necessity to share it. Loneliness remains as a human’s greatest torment, in the realization that we have no one to speak to, about what we’ve seen. For what use is there for a library, if there is no readers? There’d be no books, if the author had no second person to read it.”

– Modern Romanticism

Were there to only one person upon this Earth, there could not be something possible like a “perception”. What they’d see, as the lone human upon Earth, would be everything. They’d not be able to share what they have seen.

However, were there to be two humans upon Earth, they’d be able to look at each other, and tell each other a perception.

This means that no one person can have a perception, as the individual. No alone individual has a perception. A perception is only ever possible, when a human can view something that is not merely themselves seeing it.

As an example, if a hundred people were gathered in a movie theater to view a film, then each person would see the same thing, though interpret it differently. It is in this sense that their interpretation is a deception. For that deception makes up not what the film has displayed.

A camera can perceive. What we share through a camera, is always a deception. That means that the camera acts as a device of perception, though never truth. We attempt to outlaw the gun, though never do we wish to outlaw the camera, despite the harm it has caused upon the mind. The mind is tricked. The mind is tormented by thoughts of confusion. The mind, when confused, causes the body to be a slave for it. It is uncontrolled, as any slave is rebellious, or has the heart for it. The psychopath is only ever bred from confusion and neglect.

In the individual’s eyes, there is no interpretation or perception. Though, when there are two individuals in a room, the only thing that takes place of what is seen, is offered interpretations/perceptions. For in what they see, being the perception, and in what they think about, being the interpretation, is not left alone in one’s mind. As in, the person who believes that, on their own, they perceive, forgets that such thoughts inevitably must be shared. For on their own, they’d not perceive, though remain as the sole individual in knowledge of all truth.

A Note from a Writer – “Feeling Emotionally Numb” – 5/12/2020

There was once a time when the poetry I wrote possessed much feeling. Now when I write them, the feelings only bleed out, rather than erupt like a geyser. I rarely feel the “chills” I usually get when listening to my favorite songs, nor do I cry like I used to. I enjoyed weeping when on a sad memory. Strange as that sounds, it made me feel alive.

Now when I play a sad song, I feel this automatic burning in my stomach, and a tingling in my back. I can only determine that as frustration/anxiety for not feeling what I want.

Now then, I can attribute this “emotional numbness” to recent trauma in my life. Recent trauma, that involved the beloved I once had attempting suicide numerous times, after we broke off. I tried to lay the blame on myself, though it would not work. I could not feel such guilt. Was it my fault, because I was broken, too? I threw anger in any direction close to me, and it was hurled at her.

Now my emotions don’t even come, because of that. I write poetry with thought, not feeling. They feel mass produced, not inspired.

I have no idea what to do, to cure this. Maybe it just takes time to settle whatever my brain is dealing with, on its own.

It’s interesting that when I say this, I still write at least 5 poems per day. I believe that to be based on the level of persistence I had acquired during my relationship with the woman I loved. Persistence… or stubbornness, as some of that has turned into delusion. I am empathic towards much. I see problems everywhere. Though, rarely do I turn to myself to see whatever is wrong with me. This is when I want to.

All that I did for that woman I had loved, the state I saved her from, the years it took to nurture her to a better condition, the hope and strength I gave to her… it is something she personally feels is unmatched in terms of offering back. All I wanted was her hand in marriage.

All I wanted was an eternal love, an eternal union. It is why I speak so highly of such things. I am the kind of man who takes the words “disgrace” and “disloyalty” as seriously as God would know about the word “love”. And yet, I have disgraced myself in terms of not knowing who I really was. By the end, I turned from the strongest man alive to the weakest man alive, in under a second. There was a selfishness brewing beneath everything I loved about her.

I believe I am still loyal to much, that I hold these principles deeply to heart. What made me break off from the woman I loved, is not something I could have controlled. No one could, because it was an illness, or a condition, that science has not developed a cure for, yet.

My love for her braved the criminal world, braved endless thoughts of leaving this world with my body hanging from a rope, braved every misery one could think of.

Still, I care so deeply about her, wanting so much to heal from this wretched pain, that I know nothing else.

A Quote – “When we Love” – Romance – 2/7/2020

“When we love, we realize there is more to the world than simply ourselves. For if all we knew to repair was ourselves, we may as well live alone on some deserted island, never seeing any other reflection besides our own. In the glassy waters of the ocean, we will peer into them on that island, and see no other reflection besides our own. What essence of ‘familiarity’ is that? As an effort for humanity’s sake, we see ourselves in others. As a greater effort, we see from others that there are greater reflections than merely our own. Are we to say that we can only know ourselves, or that it is a wrong to be like another? We are like another, whether we like the idea or not, because pain, to be soothed by love, always matches with another’s desire to have that pain soothed by the warm love.”

Poem – “Our Arms Heavy with the Years” – Romantic Poetry – 1/29/2020

What world
Ever wielded, aside from the one stained in black?
Longing is our token, to betterment,
Away from the association of togetherness.

Like love, mistaken for a parasite,
Like loss, perceived to be foremost
In line.

A coming mile
Is not what we walk.
It only holds us to reap a new darkness
That is the one behind.

In arms, delicate and un-moving.
We are glass pieces, cutting flesh along the bone.
We are two mirrors, shattered against the other,
And no reflection is here, to comprehend what we once had.

Our eyes,
Our cries,
Our tears,
Our sighs,
Our love is no more, upon meadows now burned beneath the blue
Of a sky no longer comprehending the why.
Because, even God sees us, and He, too, weeps.

Poem – “Of a Light, Sorely Screaming” – Romance – 10/26/2019

Love all, when I call,
You, to the furthest cliffs,
And say, that you will stay,
To speak true words, of no dismay.
People seem, and also scream,
To force cues,
To force signs,
To places full of danger,
Will you be the one, to fulfill,
The only one, who has become still?

Your beauty is where I mark unknowns,
To a center I say is full of danger,
To places where kisses run rampant,
Upon walls and over edges.

You gracefully speak,
While I pitifully weep.
Music runs like magma from our throats,
Beneath the Earth where the dead still rot.
I am merely the man with loathsome keepsakes,
And futile memories,
That I always leave away
In a puddle of Bacchus.

You have beauty to which I reach for,
To see with the most open of eyes.
Though, it enters my arms with greatest pain,
And wallows there among my frozen corpse.

Maggots crawl, while sorrow walls,
Love swallows the coldest pill,
To quell aches from the sickness that quakes.

But, to me, there is nothing to see,
But the flavor of what I now know,
A place of emptiness to which I wait,
For my love to enter what I wish to sate.

Poem – “Starlit Isolation” – Romance – 10/24/2019

Beloved, to describe what is before me,
Would perhaps offer me,
What to me, craves the plenty
The multiple aspects to your beauty.
And as I sit before you, and before my gaze,
Towards your marvelous captivity,
You show to moon and star,
A gaze full of idle awakening
To what thumps a rhythm in your golden heart,
Broken away, are those fragments you’ve held dear,
Held close, now, are traces of incredible fear.

Where will you wander under these many streams,
Of tulip petals and bluish tears
That swim a current down to your wronged heart?