Walt Whitman

(American | 1819–1892)

Sometimes with one I love I fill myself with rage for fear I effuse unreturn’d love,
But now I think there is no unreturn’d love, the pay is certain one
way or another,
(I loved a certain person ardently and my love was not return’d,
Yet out of that I have written these songs.)

Will you come travel with me? Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?

What is that you express in your eyes? It seems to me more than all the print I’ve read in my life.

Walt Whitman is regarded as one of America’s most important nineteenth-century poets.

We were together. I forget the rest.

✍🏻 Seven’s heaven

Well if six is six, seven is heaven (and this monkey’s been buried by ten tonnes of his own venom).

Deepest Regret

  Janus-faced, I’d been to her
  Antithesis of what’s fair
  You, for you, I’ll endeavour.

  Journeys can be forever
  And we, we can yet get there
  You, for you, I’ll go further.

  Just let’s never say “never.”

Come, come fly with me; come, come be with me…

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
Only now do I understand that what I’d held in my hand was a flawless diamond.

✍🏻 Sun, Sand &

“Searing saudade”

Six is 6 and 6 means sex
6ting is short for “sexting”
But 6 is also for sin and the
Devil is 666, or so they do say.

He asked, “but for what purpose was the earth formed?” “To drive us mad,” she replied.

Numbers. Numerical patterns are key to all the ridged poetic forms.

e.g.,

  1. Dactylic hexameter
  2. Ghazal
  3. Ottava Rima
  4. Petrarchan sonnet
  5. Rubai
  6. Shakespearean sonnet

But forms such as “Free Verse” ain’t restrained by such straight jackets. And let’s just say poetry that’s raw emotion, that’s gone off timbre, is potentially more profound, meaningful and therapeutic than that that conforms religiously to rigid line and length conventions (ain’t the latter somehow more to do with demonstrating one’s linguistic abilities e.g., versatility with vocabulary?). But you reply (or “dear reader” as you would write it J), if you don’t conform, the ‘poem’ becomes prose. Well—mon amie—you’ve got me there; you’ve got me there.

You can rightly be impressed by a wordsmith and their rhyming and rhetorical skills &c. but what degree of meaning would one really want to sacrifice in the name of syllable count or in deference to a given meter, if a certain combination of nonconformist words far more closely expresses one’s heartfelt sentiments? Would we really wanna forsake the perfect articulation of description just to adhere to archaic convention?

But we humans are compelled it seems to seek numerical patterns and paste these onto everything around us. Numerology it’s called. We’ve created time, we’ve created numbers for every aspect within each field of the sciences, for commerce, communication and everything else too. Numbers are abstract but we ultimately are just numbers (strings of zeros and ones) we are nothing but statistics to 99.999999 per cent of all others who are alive today.

666 was a Biblical reference to the Roman ruler Emperor Nero, or possibly the Roman Empire itself. Many under Rome’s rule didn’t exactly like the way Rome ruled so, the author of the Bible’s chapter, Book of Revelations, 13:16-18, compared Nero to a beast (cryptically by way of numeric innuendo) and this beast, over the following centuries morphed into Satan (a.k.a., Lucifer the Devil 😈). We just love to demonise don’t we, we love to roast, we love to vilify, we love to scapegoat and we just love playing the ‘blame game’ do we not? And, lest we forget, Adam and Eve were created on the sixth day (Genesis 1:31).

  There’s a thing more than sex
  It’s nothing too complex
  It’s at nature’s apex
  It’s a natural reflex
  It’s nothing to perplex
  It’s love: love’s above sex


p.s.
The “4 S’s” – sun, sea, sand, and sex – is a familiar catch-phrase from the colorful world of tourism studies. See, e.g., The Economist (1997, May). “Sun, sea, sand and ?” Retrieved from, economist.com/1997/

p.p.s.
Sin
noun
An immoral act that transgresses ‘divine’ law.

Titillation
noun
The arousal of interest or excitement, (especially, but not exclusively, through sexually suggestive images or words).

✍🏻 4 Squares

i.e., ⬛️ ⬛️ ⬛️ ⬛️

Not an hour passes,

Nor even a minute,

Without thinking of you.


  I run now with my youngest son
  For fun him, for me, to get numb
  I run to escape from my brain
  God knows the futile endless strain
  Herculean I’ll be ’til slain
  There’s lung n rib pain all in vain.

  I yearn in the depths of turmoil
  For being without you is hell
  I yearn for you to want me still
  God knows I’ll strain my every will
  Herculean I’ll be until,
  The final act brings a standstill.

  I do beg you long to respond
  For you to only acknowledge
  I am begging you to react
  God knows I desire your counter
  Herculean ’til your return
  The pain is mine for your answer.

  I crave more than life a reply
  For you the stars, just to comply
  I felt guilt for what I here imply
  God knows I want this thing simply
  Herculean? Weeping deeply
  There’s ache waiting for your reply.

  For all this adversity
  Only the moon
  Relies on
  You



I am trying to find some semblance of solace from reading and this, I found interesting:

From, The Art of Caring Less
Extract from, The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck.

This need to be adored is a fundamental weakness.


The Guardian was one of my and your browser homepage tabs, you loved flowers, really you did. I think now of the fragrance by Victoria’s Secrets, “English Rose.”

🌹 🥀

The TLS, The Times Literary Supplement, is all about books; I was, you are (no doubt you’ve the biggest intelligent collection in your whole village/town; no doubt at all). New Scientist, how we did discuss evolution and the circadian clock e t c , e t c (see and see). The Spectator, oh Brexit, we did that (see) and we did do politics too (see and see).


I’ll Be a Monkey’s Uncle

To be surprised, amazed or in utter disbelief (about someone or something).

In the 19th c., Charles Darwin shared his theory of evolution from apes and, to say the least, many people did not agree with him. As a consequence, the phrase “I’ll be a monkey’s uncle” began to be used in a sarcastic way by both believers and non-believers.


And then, there’s that sand, the nights on the Arabian peninsula (Pink Panther and a red blanket), my heart shatters, bare feet on the cooling late evening sand, white sandals in hand. Mr Smokey… where in heaven or hell are you now? You were a harbinger a precursor in fact to all the world’s pleasures and all the world’s pains.

👻👅👻
👅👻👅
👻👅👻

✍🏻 3 by 3

(3+3)&(3*3)

  U 2 me
  Really R
  EvReThing/k


Can one truly be in love without being consumed by it?

Can one truly love someone without wanting to own them?

I submit to you that the answers are “no” and “no.”


Can two people be equally passionately in love with each other?

To this my provisional answer is that while snowflakes might appear the same, at the molecular level it is virtually impossible for any two to be the same; so:

“‘virtually’ but not ‘totally’ impossible.”


The line dividing sane and insane really is ever so fine:

The Tell-Tale Heart

TRUE!-nervous—very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses—not destroyed—not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How, then, am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily—how calmly I can tell you the whole story.

read it all.

Imagination vs. Science

To Helen

Helen, thy beauty is to me
Like those Nicéan barks of yore,
That gently, o’er a perfumed sea,
The weary, way-worn wanderer bore
To his own native shore.

On desperate seas long wont to roam,
Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face,
Thy Naiad airs have brought me home
To the glory that was Greece,
And the grandeur that was Rome.

Lo! in yon brilliant window-niche
How statue-like I see thee stand,
The agate lamp within thy hand!
Ah, Psyche, from the regions which
Are Holy-Land!

— Edgar Allan Poe

✍🏻 2 2 Tango

  When rift did cleave our deep intimacy
  I kept my fears at bay determinedly
  I felt time would heal us gradually
  I let it tick and tock digitally.

  Then, hours became days & my fears flared
  My moody baby’s rendered me blacklisted
  My lady lovely, has rendered me blocked
  My body became tense and tormented.

  Then, the fears did grow to be fully fledged
  The flight’s so stark and highly escalated
  The plight’s pure torture, I lie paralysed
  The light’s very low, it’s almost faded.

  But to concede defeat I cannot do;
  For you’re my 💖 and thus I must pursue.


I carry you everywhere I go


I hear you everywhere I go


I see you everywhere I go


p.s. The phrase, it takes two to tango, implies a situation in which two people are paired in an inextricably-related manner.

p.p.s. The film, Last Tango in Paris can no longer be comfortably viewed as artistic erotica, see, e.g.,:
New Yorker
Revisiting Bertolucci’s artistic ambitions and abuses in Last Tango in Paris
Richard Brody
Vox
The disturbing story behind Bertolucci’s Last Tango in Paris, explained
Anna North

Sex and Punishment
Four Thousand Years of Judging Desire
Eric Berkowitz

✍🏻 1+1=1

11:11 (mine’s made)

  My reason for Being is you
  & it’s Nothingness without you.

In love, one and one are one.

— Jean-Paul Sartre

No one is more arrogant toward women than the man who is anxious about his virility.

— Simone de Beauvoir

The phrase, “love kills” sounds like an emotional over exaggeration. It is. It is until the day your true love leaves you that is. Only then will the phrase be seen as a valid statement of fact. (It is bitterly ironic that you’ll almost certainly not know that they were and ‘are’ your true love until they’ve gone and left you.)

I’ll argue here that ‘true’ love—love of the passionate & romantic kind—can only be experienced once in a lifetime. I’ll also argue that it is almost always our own actions that result in true love being lost.

It is invariably the case that in passionate romantic relationships, we turn the person that we love into an object. This ‘object’ is not only a projection of what we think that person wants to be but also, a reaction to our own insecurities and repressed desires. We try not to, but we end up trying to control our lover. We try not to, but we end up trying to shape our lover. We adopt a different persona to be what we think they want us to be and, we try also to be who we ourselves really want to (but can never actually) be.

Simone de Beauvoir and Jean-Paul Sartre argue that these are the reasons for why truly passionate relationships almost always fail. Indeed, one of their central philosophical arguments is that we, as post-faith humans, need to come to terms with the fact that we ourselves are responsible for the consequences of our actions (e.g., the hurtful and horrible words we type and send).

Inescapably, our actions in acts of passion and love are our own. We cannot blame destiny, fate or some form of invisible hand that mysteriously controls us from above. The guilt trips, ego trips and insane irrational jealousies are of our own making. Our self-centred, short-term actions can, and often do, have long-run catastrophic consequences.

Does, as some have argued, knowledge of this agency and responsibility help us deal with our true love leaving us? I’ll say no. Indeed, knowing just how big a role our own actions played, makes the situation even more heart wrenching; the what ifs are rendered less abstract. Had we acted differently (e.g., shown more appreciation and understanding), we’d likely not have lost them in the first place.

I believe that true love can only be experienced once because all previous experiences of love pale to nothing in the aftermath of losing your true love. I believe that true love can only be experienced once because no alternative or future love can be contemplated in the everlasting aftermath of your true love leaving you.

The way true love kills us is unique for unlike other modes of death it keeps us alive to experience the depths of despair and desperation on a daily basis. We are condemned to this undying death minute by minute, endlessly and perpetually. This mode of death is all the worse for knowing that, had we acted differently, we would most probably still be hand in hand and side by side with our retrospectively realised One&Only.

From you to me
Our eyes locked. They locked for far longer than was culturally appropriate.
From me to you
These were consumed. They were consumed with the lights on and, with the lights off.

p.s. To grasp and pay heed to the logic of de Beauvoir and Sartre would be of real benefit to those who have yet to find true love.