Wednesday, December 24, 2008

Baby Please Come Home

Saturday, December 20, 2008

Local Boy In The Photograph



And we were lit by kerosene
And we were lit by acetylene
And we walked under neon skies
You know it made me wonder why
Why all the frequencies combine
And form a cleaner, brighter light
And we filled our florescent sails
It led to sodium-scarred wailing weeks

Canvey Island

Do you know a place where no cars go?

Thursday, December 18, 2008

No Cars Go

There is a fundamental conflict between idealism and social solidarity. Both portray to be singular and exclusive, and there does not seem to be a way for them to coexist together. In the definitive sense, both elements crash in a fierce ferocity. On does not lead to the other. Idealism seeks to expound the idea that it is not part of this world, while social solidarity yearns to unite people for a common purpose in this world. In a sense, social solidarity leads on to conformity, which might be an idealist's Iago.

The problem with an idealist is that he has too vast a number of constructs in his head, each a waiting time bomb, ready to explode at the pressure of a crack. There is an idealist's world, and then there is the manifest and physical world. Another problem arises here. A main pillar of idealism is hope. But it ends there. Therefore, even his constructed world is not possible by worldly standards, or for the matter of fact, his own. However, the idealist cannot realise this, because of who he is. Complimentarily, it is curious enough that ignorance might be idealism's partner.

Allow me to shed some light on the constructs of an idealist. This is how a realist would tell the following events. At the start of my academic year, I had to go for my medical check-up. I went to a doctor's office at the end of the hallway, which I had found hard to find. During the check-up, he asked me many questions not relating to my body or my health. When the examination was over, he held me back by talking about life. Conversely, this is how I saw it. After the initial tests, I was waiting to go for the doctor's medical check-up. There was a girl in front of me in the queue, but for some reason, my number flashed first. It was flashing a room I could not see in my immediately surroundings, and I had to walk quite a distance down the hallway to finally find a small room at the end of a long corridor. Upon entering, the doctor apologised for the location of the room. He asked me about my life, no, he asked me about life. At the end, he gave me what possibly was the single most valuable thing I had learned all semester - Do not ever lose your idealism.

Thus, to me, on that day, I went into a doctor's office that never existed, talked to a man that was probably God or some form of heavenly divine intervention who gave me words that were golden, and which from that instance I hung on to for dear life. The office has probably disappeared now. Of course, you might call me a functionalist, or even in delusion, but I am sorry to disappoint you by saying that I do not care, simply because of an affirmation of who I am. Now, I wonder if you can say the same thing.

Idealism is the same way I saw Talleyrand live again, 150 years after his death. He was fighting for dear France, pursuing determinedly for legitimacy and urging the coalition not to fear victory. Moderation was his sword, humility was his shield. I heard him speak, and I shivered in fear, trembled in awe, shouted in triumph, and cried at his departure. Through me, he lived again, at least for a while.

Thus, one might be able to experience what goes through the idealist's construct. He does not want to be part of this world, simply because he is not part of this world. His words might be childish and ignorant, but at these times of propounding his theories and visions, he is in bliss, and the world holds no place of weight. On the other hand, he will frequently fall from his flights of fancy, because chains will bind him no matter how high he flies. It is a fundamental realism which the idealist has to grapple with at some point. Realism is the arrow that pierced Achilles. But being a true idealist, he would be able to fly again, through careful maneuver which only the individual would know how to.

Therefore, by a natural conclusion, idealism will probably not lead to social integration, and consequently, group solidarity. Again, by this equation, the idealist is rejected from the world. Thus, we might see that the exclusion is a two-way propulsion, and not singularly from the idealist alone. He is ostracised and ridiculed by people who cannot understand, or choose not to understand.

It is the idealist in me that believes people should accept me for my genuine whole-self, and not expect a mask or a facade at every curtain opening. They should accept me, and not conform to group views and pressures which otherwise might blossom something beautiful. It is the idealist in me that believes I am going to know who my true love is through the lyrics of the song. One immediately see what precarious lines I thread upon. One wrong step, or one step, might destroy me. It is the idealist in me that believes in enlightened monarchic militarism, that Rebecca is real and around me all the time, in Lavinia and Lucia, in Amelia and Peyton, in the Ancient Mariner, in Iago, in the Woman in Black, in Wentworth's letter to Anne, in Trafalgar, in Bastongue, in Normandy, in Leizpig, in reliving battles of old and feeling the tearing up of my skin from the battle scars, in black, and in white, and in love.

It is the idealist in me that believes that there will be at least one person who has read the entire post to this word.

Monday, December 08, 2008

Rapid Hope Loss

The Graveyard took care of Nobody.
I know a place that will take care of me.

Tuesday, December 02, 2008

Poison

Please marry me.