Tag Archives: wisdom

THE MAGI-CIANS 2: SHOWDOWN

Trick or treat

Dance to the beat

Coz we got you neat

Oh you sly Herod got the heat

And now totally unsettled on your seat

(source: unknown)

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Sat on your throne feeling neat

Any wagging tongues your guards beat

You called the shots and dictated the beat

You get angry and the innocent feel the heat

You give the orders and it all becomes a bloody treat

 

Well now feel my beat

I’m gonna give it to you neat

I turn on my words like the heat

From my kitchen comes a nuclear treat

Coz I’m a righteous gangster from heaven’s seat

 

All we got in life are a treat

Handed to us all in our seat

We can’t control life’s every beat

Not to speak of our every heart’s beat

Who survives when life brings on the white heat

 

Whether we work under the heat

Or play games each lounging on his seat

Fate is a cunning illness none can fully treat

Though we alter some events at life’s complex treat

There’s much in this party that doesn’t dance to all our beat

 

So whilst on your sadistic seat

Feeling like a god so fly and neat

The magicians heard a different beat

And did not stagger at the sight of your heat

But rocked side to side at the Chef-God’s treat

 

And now Herod feel the heat under your seat

As you just got beat at your own grand treat

Coz the Chef-God’s heat cooked you neat

Giving you a treat to his version of heat

Time to feel my beat crash your seat

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Matthew 2:1-13 contains a summary of how Herod’s attempt at killing God’s son was totally foiled.

 

Narrator: “Hollup magi, I’m coming. Herod’s goose is cooked! Let’s go see those gods of the 21st century feeling like they own the universe and all of existence. We need to remind them they didn’t conceive, incubate and give birth to themselves. Now that they all grown up and making a few bucks and academic degrees, they be barking up and down the streets with doggy philosophies and belching with goaty pride!”

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IN CELEBRATION OF IGNORANCE

 

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source: angrylearnerr.com

You may choose to build an altar in my name

And sing eulogies as you get drunk all day long

Or follow my blog and all social media accounts

Secretly harbouring admiration for me

Having abandoned your own work and family

Doing these totally at your own peril

 

Coz I won’t be waking up chanting “oms” or burning incense

Reading the stars and ancient manuscripts at night

Writing long philosophies and moral codes

Or walking down the street followed by a picking of spiritual seekers

Carrying myself like someone who really knows what he is doing

And that that thing he is doing is nothing

 

What do I know of divinity

What do I know of hatred

What do I know of love

What do I know of weakness

What do I know of happiness

What do I know of knowledge

What do I know of art

What do I know of prostitution

What do I know of hunger

Maybe if you wait long enough

Burning the midnight oil in cyberspace

You might have the pleasure of being the first

To see another work of my art

To see another grand expression

Of the depth of my ignorance

Of the richness of my shallowness

Maybe you will then finally see

In that precious midnight moment

That there is really nothing new

To learn from another human

Who is just a stuttering mere mortal like you

Trying to say stale things in great ways

Sounding like he knows anything about nothing

And actually saying nothing about anything

 

And

Whilst countless shamelessly beg

At the doorstep of knowledge

Priding themselves as masters

Of art and science and law and philosophy

 

I will turn myself in bed

And continue snoring

As I dream on

Laughing in my sleep

At those who thought I had something grand to say

Things I see and hear at night

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That scene was actually lovely. Not scary as the picture seems. My nights are like that!

Do you mean to tell me you are this old and don’t know this
You have not tasted of the spicy fruit
Those top-quality clinical-grade hallucinations
Which someone like me makes money off

I see shadows and forms
I see patterns
They speak to me these people
They tell me how life will be
They teach me wisdom and experience about existence
They teach me without using punishment
They understand me
And I hear them and listen
They teach me on my own terms
They speak with soothing voices
Like that of a virgin seductress
Good blend of innocence and sultriness
They tell me of the fragile nature of life
And of how beautiful it could be
Like a perfectly delicate thing of high value
Something as delicate as these visions themselves
Visions that could easily fade
And details that couldn’t be validated
Because they change every time I attempt to recollect them
Visions so beautiful and precious
Visions that will fade when I sleep
The beauty of that short moment of insanity that will fade
After all, beauty fades
They tell me so
These voices
They tell me beauty is temporary and fluctuating
They tell me nothing lasts forever
And I trust them because I have confirmed this in reality
And for this same reason
I also believe these same wise people
When they tell me that the neurons of my brain
All defaecate semisolid gold
And so I have to explore my mind and dig for treasures
Breaking through my rock-thick skull with a dagger
I believe them when they tell me
There is a generator working in my brain
And creative sparks fly everywhere from the neural activity
And where there is no electricity
I’ll let people connect wires to my skull
I believed them because they have proven true time and again
These same voices led me through medical school
All my good ideas have come in similar way
The voices tell me I am radioactive
They tell me I am alien
And so should not allow others see how unique I am
That I can find release by hiding in plain sight
Writing things like this
Things which could easily pass for just another regular dribble of a mad mind
And how I believe these voices
I love them
These wise people
They speak to me
In that place, that time
Between being awake and being asleep
Which some don’t know of, as old as they are
And they have never had it as real and magical
As I have them, as young as I am
These beautiful moments just before sleeping

P.S. Maybe it’s just the special ones like me who have these moments.

Thoughts Of The Constipated Writer

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(Source: online)

Aha! Come now one and all
You simple-minded children of mine
Its evening time and your father is high
Come hear his constipated thoughts

 
/Intermission…
No! I am not playing on words
Yes! I am an unceremonious teetotaller
And these ain’t inane rants
Of a drunk old hungrily grunting fool/

 
Of the unwise poet who prepared a meal
In the pot of ikain* soup
Does he think artistic wisdom is to be found
In the potpourri of fascinating words and ideas

He pulls his shit together
As he enters creativity’s toilet
His eyes look ahead
Staring
Hard
Unblinking
Like an obstipated mad cow
And proceeds to desecrate the arena

He now holds his head empty of words
Relieved of the mangled mass
Now flowing out on the screen for all to eat
He can’t do any wrong
His eyes now calm and dreamy
Like he is seeing a vision

(come away in your thoughts with me for a mo, please…)-
That brief moment that happens on the best and worst of us
When we peek into the supernatural
Into something too awesome to be earthly
That brief moment of clarity
So brief we soon forget it amidst the many years we live
So clear our warped mind soon denies it
Because we are used to drinking muddy tadpole-infested waters
And have grown oddly morbidly fat feeding on poo
Grown too tough for simple truths and pleasures of life
Grown too twisted to swallow anything straight
And create something truly beautiful in return
-(and back to the silly story…)

Ah! But he is the lucky one tonight
He holds his head empty of words
He is ready to believe now
He will accept any answers now
This poet will even write mathematical formulae
And pass them for artistic inspiration
Anything would do

Just pray he doesn’t fall asleep
Before making sense of all the mess he has created
In the name of art
In the name of finding an answer to life
In the name of art.

image

(Source: online)
 
*ikain soup /i: Ikain/- a local delicacy prepared amongst the tribe of Earthdwellers consisting of Immense-Knowledge-About-Immense-Nothingness.

 
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BACKGROUND: Someone has said that it is very logical for an artist to admit to the unseen as he considers the artistic process –of birthing a genuine work of art. Sometimes I find me looking for some inspiration from the outside world around me (only to see the world has not learnt any new lessons since the last time I wrote about it). Then, I leisurely finger through the pages of my current life experiences for something that might jump at me (only to realize they are too confusing for even me to make any sense of them to readers), before I try piecing together highlights of my past for a way to coin a story (just to conclude on how stale the little interesting parts are). Then I scour my beliefs and views regarding life in general for a quick lesson (and end up reasonably agreeing with others they are too controversial –for me to spit out for anyone looking for an easy read). Soon, I am desperately clubbing through everywhere for just anything to write, because my fingers are becoming very itchy. But sometimes, without warning, I suddenly start feeling almost feverish and words I cannot quite hear start pouring through my head. That moment, I know I have to write something, anything. And I write. And the words form. This piece is a mild acknowledgement of the process of attempting to create something sensible from a mess of ideas in one’s human mind.

P.S. If you are still confused –understandably –might I suggest you regard the father, the unwise poet and the author as one and same person.

The wise oldie

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Going beyond the limits with intelligence... (source: unknown)

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But intelligence itself does have limits. Of course, I do not mean it is possible to understand women as the picture literally implies. (Source: unknown)

Aha!
    My eyes have seen it all now
I have walked up and down the earth
Sat at affluent feasts and slept in wracked ghettos
     And didn’t feel very different from a human being
I have touched the heart-melting fire of passionate love
Felt the fiery apathy only the worst criminals feel
     Yet wasn’t immune to the awe, shock or pity I got from people
I have cruised the highways and sat in dark depressive alleys
Mastered the secrets of ecstasy and protracted painful pleasure
     And believe me it’s not megalomania, dope or sex
My mind now knows all there is to know

I have enjoyed the sadistic captivating power of words
Felt the occasional disappointment of poetry and smart-tonguing
I have seen the selfishness in the heart of men
And seen how much good humanity is capable of
I have seen their fears and how they take shelter in ignorance
I have seen them dare to hope
Even though they are really helpless in and by themselves

My mind now knows so much
I also know the danger of knowledge
I know the weakness of intelligence
I have tickled the philosopher so sore he cried
I have lured the scientific mind into grey areas of uncertainty
I know just enough to make me humble
And enough to make me know
That I am only just a bit above the most of humanity
And enough to make me know
That barely 5% of readers could possibly be insightful
Or wise enough
To see flaws in my reasoning