But Freud could not vouch
For one lying on his couch
It’s God, our mind’s He unlocks
To wrestle with this paradox
This ambivalence
For the world fixes stints
For lungs that need air
For a heart needs repair
This is what we’re left with
No life, just a death kiss
At atheistic insistence
And with ambivalent resistance
There’s prejudicial conjecture
There’s personal conjecture
But no absolute or objective truth
You don’t need to be a sleuth
With subjectivity solicited
Two intellectual sins committed
Arbitrariness and inconsistency
Condition critical insistency
Circumspectly we point this out
Without a doubt, we don’t flout
Compare two worldviews
(as atheist’s hit the snooze)
We share the Gospel with the hostel
With no subterfuge or solipsism
No false religion’s systems or schisms
The 2nd Coming will be the loudest day
The trumpet sounds, the saintly strain
Will w/Jesus comeback with no foray
The final stop for the Gospel train
Some think that the initial spark was certainly God given
If you accept the concept of free will I'll give you that
Some blink and think that all man's gain is surely striven
I think and therefore I am among the ones who know no one can know
For sure and so I choose to go in thought somewhere I know
I must rely on what I see for what I state in fact and don't react
To what I can't relate to anything outside my mind as mine alone
When inner dialog is represented as a matter then, of course
Discourse recourse will be dismissed as lacking any standing
The audience is left with less demanding understanding
Handing tending of the fire to the arsonists for hire
With ready fire as their aim midst claims to have a plan
Cogito, ergo sum
The allegory of the cave
The quest for fire
Infancy, then solipsism,
Then altruism,
Then egalitarianism,
Then death... to this life
Reaching first
Then out, then in
We first reach for the only one we've known
Then for the ones we recognize
Then beyond ourselves
For... what?
What awaits us, beyond what we know?
What comforts us, beyond what we see?
Why do we think there's anything beyond what we can touch?
The seed of this inquisition must have been planted
But by... what?
I think, therefore
I must believe there's something...
Beyond what I can see
If the quest of this unrest leads us to somewhere else
Then we must see and finally be... somewhere outside our self
Tongue touched,
a diaphanous zephyr of ephemeral desire,
rustles the parchment of our sepulchral scripture,
where our connubial covenant is inscribed,
in the cryptographic ledger of the damned,
and the whispers of the ancients,
echo through the labyrinthine corridors,
of the underworld.
Your lips,
a vermilion velvet of hyperemic passion,
anoint our union with the haematoid blood of Elysium,
consecrating our entwined destinies,
within the cryptic cenotaph of the heart,
where the lethiferous weights of existence,
hang precariously in the balance.
Together,
we waltz,
hand in hand,
through the tenebrous tapestry of Chronos,
our love an ephemeral eclipse of solipsism.
In this eternal,
ephemeral dance,
we are the cryptic ciphers of the nocturnal,
our love a funeral pyre that illuminates the desolate,
luminous landscape of the Chthonic River of Styx.
I OPENED A DOOR
IN THE UNIVERSE ,
THAT DOESN'T EXIST ,
AND NEVER EXISTED.
I FOUND MYSELF STANDING ,
IN THE OCTAGON ,
OF THE IMAGINATION.
UNDERSTANDING THAT
IMAGINATION IS ESSENTIAL ,
TO UNLEASHING OUR TRUE
POTENTIAL , I UNLEASHED
MY CURIOSITY OF IMAGINATION
IN EVERY DIRECTION.
IN SEARCH OF WISDOM
AND KNOWLEDGE.
UNDERSTANDING
I AM NOT THE FATHER
OF SOLIPSISM.
I AM NOT THE CENTER
OF THE UNIVERSE NOR AM I
THE CREATOR.
IF THE ABILITY TO THINK
IS A MENTAL ABILITY ,
THE INABILITY TO THINK
BECOMES A MENTAL DISABILITY.
IF IMAGINATION IS THE SIMPLEST
FORM OF THINKING ,
THE INABILITY TO IMAGINE
MAKING A DECISION
WITHOUT THINKING FIRST ,
IS NO DIFFERENT
THAN THE INABILITY TO THINK.
CONFORMITY IS NOT
THINKING FOR YOURSELF.
IT'S ALLOWING OTHERS
TO THINK FOR YOU.
AS IF YOU DO NOT HAVE
THE ABILITY TO THINK
FOR YOURSELF.
SO THE REAL DIFFERENCE
BETWEEN THE SO CALLED
HAVES AND THE HAVE NOTS ,
GOES BEYOND THE
BARRICADES OF IMAGINATION
WHEN YOU THINK ABOUT IT.
BEWARE THE IMAGINATION
DISGUISED AS FANTASY
LIVING A LIFE OF VISUALIZATION
IN A REALITY THAT DOES NOT
EXIST.
Michael E. Harris
03222022
Solipsism
Appears as
An expansive
Thought of "me"
The separate me..
Saying:
Me is all
Is everything..
Some spiritual paths
Seem to find this
Solipsism trap...
i.....
don't know.....
man oh man.....
why does it ake.....
friggin crappolla now a mistake.....
nuthin aches it all just takes.....
nuthin so that means talk about whatever!?.....
anything from something to nothing and that is.....
all that's left on the how to do page.....
so now it's time to creatively shut down the memory.....
andt....
fly by.....
instinct of words.....
sounds and spellings played.....
to think and feel a.....
music called poetry of times being.....
something that is legibly of conscious perceptions....
that is not solipsism but a deeper view.....
in which a being of self constants means relativity.....
shapes the world not solipsistic composers not learning by ear......
stan sand (piled : )
Dear inconnu
If I must be enthralled by something
I saw it to be you
I'm enmeshed in the prism
your song of solipsism
I need your protein
I want your feist
I crave your grand cru
what shall I do
It's stress I guess
supernatural king
with your burning ring
your canvas occurs
in my nightly pictures
a rock replaced my soul
which you now control
I gawk into your pupils
and it captured my will
I lay in the perfume of your memory
dear Inconnu, where is your key?
Sirens sounded secretly securing source. Strait sacks swooshed scamps scaling sensitive sentries (simply spayed seals) surveying surrounding staked spy sotted sham semicircular slipshod shelter. Snappy, Snippy, Snoopy suited Skyhawks surprisingly swooped somnambulant senseless scriveners. Sargent Salemander slipped shiny shimmering shellacked Sheppards Shutterfly sidearms sized simulated small skyscraper slinky, soapy, spooky squarely summoned, sentenced, sacrificed see swarthy Samsonite satraps Section SpecialOps.
Sometime soon savior snuck stealthily stealing sinful schleppers. sundown syzygy saw serendipitous, surreptitious, surreptitious segue-way shuttled safely Scottish shoals. Stigmatization stayed steady. Supplication statements swatted. Sole survivor swiftly spun self shaming sesquipedalian soliloquy. Sea side serenade soon spewed solipsism saving Slim Shady.
Sayonara seminal surfer swirling scarily sans sinister serpentine silent space.
Down in my depths the old adage is true,
the more to life I've come to see
the less answers have pertained to me.
The world as will, and interpretation.
Though Marx spelled truth through change.
Truth contained in the roots of 'self' dry
in the public eye. Solipsism is such a form
that it will rise and crumble in this heat.
Digging into cracked pathways
for shadow and dirt.
Interpreting these stones progresses with
disdain for those who walk along them.
Thus the positive project denies itself affirmation;
a furtive pygmy kernel—
the totem of a days work.
Does it ever scare you that what you know is all you know?
there's always something to be learned, knowledge has no plateau,
rather than love, money, or fame, give me truth, henry david thoreau,
i'll never know everything, but i'm going to try even so,
how would you feel if everything you've been taught was incorrect?
does object create subject, or subject create object?
let me give you some time for that to sink in and reflect,
alright, times up, lets inspect,
language, numbers, and symbols were all created by someone like you and me,
they are all simply tools to help us discern reality,
but as soon as you label something it creates a dichotomy,
because true essence transcends any vocabulary,
all that's for certain are natural laws like gravity,
you better get used to the thinner air of uncertainty,
welcome to the high country of the mind,
where absolute truth is next to impossible to find,
if none of this makes sense, read about solipsism,
yourself is all you'll ever know, man, this mind is a prison
MUST I CALL YOU.....AGAIN?
Must I call you again, onlooker at my hurt,
Talking by the window, an inscape of wrecked
Solitude, impugned bad manners, and the curt
Commerce of refusal. Your blameless, decked
Hand of fate. Capitulation, a trade or pain
Of being alone. What mannered smile can lift
My woebegone future for the pull of rain
Making the shards of bright light shift
Away from wonderment, green-begetting magic?
An empowerment of the seeing eye inwards,
Making whole my patchwork, your solipsism so tragic,
In a smitten whorl of entire fate dragged skin-wards,
Renting with ache this sojourning material,
Glimpsing the light eternal, ethereal.
by Rosemarie Rowley
Published in IN MEMORY OF HER (2008)
Unclimbed Stairways
by Odin Roark
At the base of the stairs
He lay on his back
Upon his chest
He propped his hero
Peering up through GI Joe’s
Stand-your-ground stance
All seemed climbable
Just like in the movies
But he knew
Summit of the stairs
Was the attic
That frigid place
Lures of the forbidden
With air suffocating its captivity
Like his mother warned
Such was the explanation
Penned studiously by the doctor
Connecting the dots
Of thirty years subsequent
The strategy of solipsism
Where more forbidden climbs
Ensnared him with madness
And a padded enclosure
The doctor thought he had control
But the man/boy knew
In front of him
Just a mother in a cheap suit
Warning
Always warning
Was Van Gogh warned?
Was David Foster Wallace warned?
Is the next Hoffman going to be warned?
Check your stairways
To the bathroom
Safe
To your bedroom
Probably safe
To the attic of adult life
Oh my
Caution
Or
Instinct
Here we go
Shuffling this scope of limited perceptions; their visions..
Crossing her celestial, scintilating skies; deep inside tubular
Chimes lifting amid the breeze to these, tranquil orisons ? Subliminally
Marked emotions rising in state; bay windows dismissing chains; silvertone's rustic tides
Receding, from time's shores before my eyes; portent clarities bearing a Spirits wings
To fly beyound their breakwater whirlpools, vortex designs ? Breathtaking
Inversions encapulating this heart as solipsism flees and the eclipse of but once
Paradoxic's moon, now utters her revelations touchstone moments ? Beckoning myself
Aneath certitudes apex in parallel's reasons; these, realms about love's cloistered heavens
Wherein beauty does, so reside ? Tubular chimes lifting amid the breeze; subliminally marked
Emotions afore bay windows and her silvertones, scintilating skies; bearing, wings to fly....
Beyound His colour splashed canvas of pastels, immortal stardust ? A twenty-first century love song.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Shuffling this scope of limited perceptions their visions
Crossing the celestials scintilating skies; deep inside tubular
Chimes lifting in the breeze to these tranquil orisons
Subliminally marked emotions rising in state; bay windows dismissing chains....
Silvertones rustic tides, receding from the shores before my eyes
Portent clarities bearing a Spirits wings to fly ~
Beyond the breakwater whirlpools vortex designs!?
Breathtaking inversions encapulating this heart as solipsism flees
And the eclipse of the once paradoxic moon now utters her
Revelations touchstone moments....
Beckoning myself aneath certitudes apex of parallel reasons these
Realms amid the cloistered heavens wherein, beauty does so reside ~
Tubular chimes lifting in the breeze, subliminally marked emotions afore
Bay windows in silvertones scintilating skies; bearing, wings to fly beyond
The colour splashed canvas of pastels immortal, stardust....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
.."?A 21st Century, 'Love Song!'"..
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