My good greetings-
Some time past some advice in life for the young wound through
this forum. This courtesan and student of history, who remembers
months far better than minutes, is merry to report that she may now
give riposte in her own tongue. She happily leaves little revenges
of theological needling for another time, but this quite satisfies
her elsewise. Enjoy!
"Let man be delivered from revenge... that for me is the bridge to
the highest hope."
...yeah, yeah, yeah. Two words, Fred: "Lou Salome".
(also: "Cosima Wagner")
We believe you.
call it: 'the practical world as I see it'
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
'Deck of Cards'
Is their Emporer so obvious,
and transparent, all their lies,
that our virtue's only violence;
and despair in pale disguise?
Are you a young grey-eyed philosopher.
an Atalanta of the pen?
In search of art's emporium
among streets of artless men?
I assume you cry for better
than their layout for your life.
If you ask for independence
you will not make Mother, Wife,
slave of men, and maid of children,
born to breed and polish chains.
Else than Kinder, Kueche, and Kirche,
any price commits no pains.
I do hope you're not so stulted
to seek safety in the state
call it welfare, call it service,
call it bribes, or call it bait.
You will slowly be digested in the
belly of the beast,
if you have to sell your soul
please demand *something*, at the least.
Think your safety's in success?
You'll get a job, you'll got it made?
But each moment for next moment's
but a madness on parade.
You will strive as one possessed
to pile your possessions high.
Then at last, atop your mountain,
you will die.
While they say the crafts and industry
care a fig leaf for success;
if we mean by that, 'production',
Mr. Babbitt could care less.
He will count your craft as competent
when you put that "I" in "Team".
For the ducat of the dominant,
one demand: 'displace your dream'.
To start up in your own commerce,
set up shop, and own your own?
Well, to this, I say 'good fortune',
(if you're rich before you're grown.)
You had best preserve a family
to begin your own support.
But I don't think that's so likely where
their morals are the court.
Fly to groves of academia?
Once a monolith was made,
but I sadly think those olive groves
no longer offer shade.
You will toil in their vineyards,
your vocation turned career.
what your spirit seeks in freedom...
*"Seldom Taught or Tenured Here."*
There are alter institutions,
they keep house to left and right.
But aristocrats or democrats,
in the end the choice is slight.
For no matter their persuasion
there will keep you, party line,
any words they pay to hear
will posess as they define.
Ain't it Mister Libertarian, in his purest Liberty,
Friend, I know your statue well,
and she says, "freedom isn't free".
So you caught your corporation;
you commanded quite a price!
But we won't see you at market,
any time soon, choosing twice.
Would you spur your soul to protest?
Join the heroes?
Storm the gate?
You can climb atop the barricade,
but it won't support your weight.
When they hear you've chosen freedom,
they will never let you live;
for they own the world,
and your life is
theirs to give.
Well, we've slain our aristocracy,
and the convents, closed their doors,
and I do not doubt the justice, nor the reasons,
for those wars.
But there's little love of learning
with our oligarchs obtuse,
and in nine-to-five men liesure
harbors less and little use.
So, are you a soul of intellect?
Does your artistry cry: *time!*?
Then I fear your lines may follow
like the meter of this rhyme.
For they'll only forgive freedom,
allow art, if they've no choice,
but if you would sing their sonnets
they will have to leave you voice.
Look from Crete to San Francisco,
there has always been one place;
a last refuge for intelligence
in half this human race.
We are still so neolithic
in this nanotechnic age.
Yet the love of wisdom lives,
if it can love upon the stage.
You can doubt I own my boldness
in my flourish of attire.
But it's most who call that passion,
die, and never taste its fire.
Oh, they hollar and they hesitate,
where I am not afraid.
And yet some presume I doubt
these more than choices I have made.
To condemn my calucations,
yet exalt in enterprise.
To wear any colors asked for,
and yet call this life disguise.
I am social all in passing;
as I stand, I stand alone.
so *stand forth!*, you damned hypocrites,
with your lives you call your own.
Now, it's been a span of months
though it has seemed a swirl of years.
No, my overeducation does not quite requite all tears.
Yet, where I was blindly walking,
I am now forestanding proud,
I'll wikk this skein of starlight,
to my goddess, as my shroud.
Quite a frigid muse is history,
but I read, the truth is hard:
we have shuffled up the deck
but we have not yet changed a card.
I have cried for liberation,
I have tried to change this plan.
But we're round
and we are back where we began.