O roses roses, the roses that i scorn,
of perilous love and bloody thorns.
Yet every metaphor, before their beauty, speechless became,
Embrace embrace, fondle i will, these deadly roses;
Every mimosa, in her radiance, cries in shame,
To death, To death, bleed i will, for her divine kisses.

Tuesday, December 26, 2006

In response.

Perhaps i used the wrong method to articulate the excruciatingly painful situation last night and thus sent out the wrong idea. My sincere apologies. I was not only frustrated over the speed at which i was writing that entry, but i was simply disheartened at how morbid and blunt my sentences during the initial -creation phase in the brainstorm of my thoughts. When they start to materialize in my brain, i could not bear but feel ashamed at the inadequacy of the language i was about to use; and honestly doubted its ability to convey the crux of my concepts and opinion accurately.

-Poetry, i agree is just like what he describes it as: "the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings recollected in tranquility". Indeed, the opinions, the emotions, the content, all of these take time to develop and then coalesce. However, in the first paragraph, at which i was most frustrated over, it was certainly not the metamorphosis of the content that made me realize how stale my language has become from the lack of use; it was the articulation of it. i already had something to say, i had something in my mind, not exactly vague at all; it was there bleeding tears and urging me to broadcast its existence to the readers. Yet i chose to discard much of these, because i felt that even the combination of a noble thought and a language that was insufficient to present it, would still only come across as nonsensical gibberish. I suppose i was not exactly honest in a way, seeing that i was only presenting the best of me into words after undergoing the bitter scrutiny of my other more rational half; but this act was certainly not unintelligent at all to me! It would certainly be a moment of folly. If i ever decide to exhibit the less competent and more primitive part of my language. I even consider it a polite gesture to display the very best of yourself albeit with the little disguise that you have on.


Perhaps i was describing promises not as promises but as something more advance, something less fabricated, something less fragile, but still very much a promise in essence. In the concept of Nietzsche's 'Ubermensch', the over-man's abilities have stretched far beyond that of man, they have overcame man, overcame themselves to get to the state of super-human. 'Ubermensch' was also interpreted as a temporary state, of this will to power that uniquely creates this -individual- effect. This process will not happen to all-, but to the few that -unknowingly- develop and satisfy the required conditions for 'Ubermensch' to occur because it is not simply a matter of choice that makes or breaks this delicate state (a higher form of a promise) but rather a subconscious fulfillment of several key conditions that play the dominant and pivotal role in realizing this "transformation". The very day you start to force yourself to knowingly -not- break a promise, perhaps you may have already gone against your own heart, and repeating these promises daily will only increase the hypnopaedic(<- lol yoko*) effects on yourself to manipulate the mind to believe what you are forcing yourself to believe. Sure enough, it may work occasionally, but as the seal wanes with time, it would finally reach a point of saturation that your heart will yet overflow with grief and revert back to the fresh status to again begin its subconscious choice again. The 'Ubermensch' and the form of a promise that i speak of, bea numerous areas of resemblance; they are almost a precise match. Hence it is -not- JUST "a routine that you unknowingly follow", because a routine that you unknowingly follow is exactly the foundations of the -super- expression of a 'promise'. When all other conditions (there can be many, true love perhaps, is one) are unknowingly satisfied, and your heart chooses willingly and subconsciously (ironic but true if you think carefully), there would then be this will to power that transforms this warped unspoken promise, into one that binds your heart to it eternally. To harp on a verbal promise, to insist on hearing sweet proclamations, is to allow yourself to be trapped in the world of idealistic norms, the promise will ever remain a simple verbal promise that you try so damn hard, but still always fail to keep.

i've lost my wings. angels or not. im fallen. and i shall weep. and i shall mourn. for the wings of passé. and yet even if i still had my curiosity gland in me, i still have every to lose, sigh.


it h-
should i a-
shes con-
 posted by Homan on Tuesday, December 26, 2006