Tag Archives: Monkey

A Postcard From My Life

image

{No, it’s not the road I’m on!}

Please pray for me
I no longer know the road I’m on
It’s a long road
With so many bends I can’t see a mile ahead of me
It’s hard to see far ahead when life throws you the curves
Nothing is certain anymore
And then the winds blow and I see sandy mists here and there
There are shape-shifters and I can never tell reality from fantasy
There are mind-shifters and I can never tell right from wrong
I am straining through blood-and-sweat-smeared glasses
And all I see are shades of grey
Not greys of a thunderstormy cloud
The flood would be an exciting change
But greys that becloud my judgment and sense of morality
Greys that want to make me regret I have a sense of morality
Greys that want to make me throw away my sense of morality
Along with everything else I have lost on this long road
Thinking I’d be travelling light and simple
Unknowing that some complicated baggages
Contain some bare necessities
For an easier life-journey

image

Ha! There! More like it.

{This would be it!}

Pray for me on this road I’m on
I left my car a mile and week ago
There are trees here and there looking at me
They are not bothered
Are they me
Have they been called to a life like mine
Keep looking, trees
Pray for your souls
That the woodcutter may still have a son who remembers him
And so he’d never have to retake his job to earn his living
Keep looking monkeys
Called to a blissful life lounging on tree branches
Pray for your souls
May I never find a stranded and lost soul-of-a-knife
At a period I may want to have monkeysoup
I am still too far concerned about wildlife conservation
And will not harm a hair on your butts
Besides, you are my only companions
No, I do not think you beneath me
I don’t have the luxury of that complex
You can stare hard and unblinking at me all you want
So long you acknowledge
I am alone on this journey
Though we be on the same road
So long you take a minute from your busy lives
To say a prayer for me
Thank you.

Advertisements

Art Games: Spirits On Mortals

A glass of milk Français : Un verre de lait

The Imp

The Imp (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The little spirit is in his element tonight
The wine is particularly sharp at night
He is a teetotaller though
His pet-monkey is not
But the spirit loves milk
And the milk is particularly white tonight
The monkey’s eyes now red with wine
The spirit’s teeth now white with milk
And as whenever he’s drunk on milk
Inspiration barges in through his door!

He doesn’t quite write in ink or bytes
He doesn’t write on paper or screen
That’s ordinary level art
He delights in skilfully weaving romantic fantasies
Into the mind of that lonesome teenager
Those are the most gullible sorts
He enjoys craftily presenting visions
Giving the uninitiated ones “spiritual” experiences
Making them believe they just had epiphanies
He fancies softly forming dreams
Which the sleeping man is kept busy with
Yet some live their waking lives under these dreams’ shadows
He favours sparking the writer’s imagination
“Eureka! Genius!!!” The poet screams
“Pawn!” the spirit sneers
He doesn’t mind teasing the artist
Making his head burst with “ideas”
That only render him insomniac without real result

Who shall sue this mischievous being
For Writing Under the Influence (WUI)
And his only defence:
He was performing advanced level art!
In drunkenness he had forgotten
That the Creator-Spirit watched in silence
A Spirit much smarter with a stranger sense of humour
“Artistic ingenuity” the little spirit commends himself
“Predictable imp” smiles the Supreme Spirit

Now how’s that for art!

The Showdown

English: The "sigil of Lucifer", use...

Fuentes del angel caido - Fountain of the fall...

Fuentes del angel caido – Fountain of the fallen angel (Photo credit: chrisfreeland2002)

Stained glass at St John the Baptist's Anglica...

 

 

Prologue
This 6th day of the month of January in the year 2013 AD, I, the Enchanted Seer, give this prophecy:
The 31st day of April, 2013 will be the debut of the well-known spiritual leader, who actually is named Deceptor Luciferibus. He shall desire to make an appealing public appearance and win the hearts of the masses. I see him aglow in the full worship of the media as the lights pour on him and the human world watches. Then one called the Enchanted Writer shall approach him in dialogue.
——————————————————————————————-
Enchanted Writer: Sir, you daze many when you miraculously turn stones into food to feed many of your followers. Further, many have referred to your motivation and ministration sessions as soul-doping because of the euphoria of these beautiful experiences.
Dec. Luciferibus (shall smile somewhat warmly, but knowingly): Please, don’t thank me.
Enchanted Writer: Then, how is it that these people leave your grounds and still go on to lead depraved, unchanged lives? Is giving them these things proving to be all they really need for living?
Dec. Luciferibus shall smile somewhat nervously, but knowingly, and clean a bead of sweat.

Enchanted Writer: Sir, you have met with the Creator-God himself we have heard. Is this a false allegation?
Dec. Luciferibus (shall smile quite sweetly): I am afraid it is not false.
Enchanted Writer: Please, could you give me a photograph of you and the Creator-God for a keepsake? Permit me say “I am SUCH a fan!”
Dec. Luciferibus shall quickly manufacture a picture of him beside an old huge man with white heavy beard, both of them looking splendorous.
Enchanted Writer: Sir, like I said, I am such a fan. I have also a picture of myself and the Creator-God but it has nothing in common with this.
Dec. Luciferibus (shall then smile quite fearfully): Who are you?
Enchanted Writer: I am sure you know who I am, Sir, and are just teasing me. After all, you are notable for just knowing things, aren’t you?
Dec. Luciferibus shall then be visibly shaken as he pockets a damp handkerchief.

Enchanted Writer: Sir, we heard you grew up in a monastery, and having achieved the height of spiritual enlightenment, want to start a new religion enshrined in oneness.
Dec. Luciferibus shall smile artificially and eye the Writer maliciously, subtly, without saying a word.
Enchanted Writer: Sir, pardon my DIRECTNESS, but does this new religion point at all to the Jesus Christ, who died and lived again to save the lost and degenerate souls, as God?
At this stage, all the floodlights and spotlights and camera flashes shall blow out!
————————————————————————————————-
Epilogue
I, the Enchanted Seer, have written down the words of this prophecy in the Bible –Matthew 4:1-11. The choice of the people to, or not to, follow the Deceptor and the dire consequences (if they follow) are yet unknown, but I shall have died peacefully whilst eating monkeybrain sauce and my sagely bones laid to rest before then.

The Mad Poet Versus Humans -Fortitude

A young female of White-fronted Capuchi Monkey...

So the testosterone drive is noted
For making the humans more aggressive,
Just as the adrenaline rush
Makes them stronger.
Did the all-wise Creator carefully make it so?

I’ll summon my monkey colony.
We will pay a nearby human settlement a visit.
Of course, my fellows will have no idea
I am secretly happy for any chance to get at the humans.
We shall wreck their habitation.

A flying coconut here,
A crumbling wood there;
As our hands wreck their wooden houses.
(A monkey curse-word) on the occasional resistant brick houses!
Earth hath no scare like my alpha male-stare.

But, see them.
After a disaster, they come around.
They bend, and slowly re-form.
As they settle down together,
To begin re-building their lives.

They seize on hope more firmly
Than our prehensile limbs can grasp trees.
They reach out and connect,
To salvage from wrecks.
The halo of humanity!

P.S.: So, their hope-force
Is more aggressive
Than the testosterone drive,
And is stronger
Than the adrenaline surge.

Explained -The Mad Village Poet 11(End)

Jullunder: monkey drinking coca-cola

Please refer to my post @ https://ifeelshadows.wordpress.com/2012/07/16/my-idyllic-village-experience/ for a background to the story.

Original(O) :The city was becoming crowded
With the less-hairy members of my species.
Explained(E): I am at it again, pretending as an ape. As an ape, I regard human beings as my relatives. At least, science has shown that they are the next to me. One little thing science has blundered in, is saying that they are AHEAD of me in the chain. But, I am waiting patiently for when their lesser intellligence will get the better of them; and they will wipe out themselves in their violent and selfish animalistic fevers. A nuclear war dance would be a good way to send them all reeling off the stage. And I’ll have my day.
O: They laugh at my afro;
I mourn for their baldness.
E: Naturally, these deluded humans think I have more hair than I need.
(Incidentally, as a human, I actually had quite a lot of hair on my head -the typical afro style. And people never seem to say enough about it.)
Some of them have discovered their nakedness, but unfortunately can never grow back their hair no matter how much hair-growth formulae they use.
O: At least they have carved out a new niche.
I shall call them humans.
E: I have, at least, given them what they want. They always seem to be obsessed with recognition and some sense of importance in itself. They always seem to be crazy about identity(irrespective of whatever bizarre thing/belief/ideology they really stand for), worth(even when they are not useful to the next man), carving out niches and being different(even if this new niche is a self-destructive, no-good niche). This identity-thingy or title seems to be a different drug of addiction in itself, to them. They want to be KNOWN for something. Anything!
O: Now, I hope none comes back
To interrupt my solitary forest meditation;
Begging for some hair-growth formula
When they can’t keep warm by being “on heat”;
E: Humans are so ashamed of themselves that they never seem to tire of finding new ways to alter their biological make-ups. Some want to live forever and would spend their lives to purchase an anti-aging cream even if the active ingredient of that cream is monkey soup. Some want to change the basic colours of their skins.
These humans claim they are free-thinking free-will beings. Yet they have become enslaved to doing as their mind pleases.
Little wonder they can’t keep warm by being “on heat”. Little wonder they get high and dry seeking pleasures and whatever else their FREE minds desire. It’s a freaky cycle of knowledge/enlightenment – thirst – search – acquisition/”satisfaction” – realisation of further desires. They get all and they get nothing in the end. Still left cold!
I’ll probably humour them and do them a favour: in my solitary forest meditation, I’ll cook up an afrodisiac that can keep them “on heat” for as long!
O: And are desperate for some meaning,
Which is to be found only in monkey soup.
E: And, after all their search, they will realize that none of what they got made any real, lasting sense.
Maybe, they will at last come bow at my feet and I’ll teach them -the fulfilment in simplicity and realising one’s place as a creature.
O: It is midnight again-
My period of peak activity;
Ears stretched taut, hairs standing alert,
Nostrils flared, lips set,
Eyes unblinking, fingers feverishly working.
E: Just as written -my nocturnal self!
O: The mad village poet goes to sleep on his laid egg;
Hoping it would hatch by morning into the mad city poet!
E: Yeah! The eggs is hatching already. This being the last of the Mad Village Poet’s rants, The Mad City Poet is coming out of the shell soon. I can feel the baby kicking in my tommy now.
Thank you.
Epilogue(Original):
Couples hanging out on Friday night,
A transaction that comes with a “minimum wage” agreement.
Pity if either one is an economist;
Then the other will be a charitable social worker!
Epilogue(Explained): It’s Friday night, and the mating ritual of the humans reaches a climax. It needn’t be said that: even the so-called romantic love is still a two-way thing. It’s a kind of business transaction. It’s not as pure and selfless as they make it out to be.
Shame! Considering that in our ape kingdom, you needn’t be a father to the fruits of your royal oats sown! You don’t even have to give the she a banana to buy her butts!
The sad part of OUR people’s animalism!