Impotent Rage

Subterranean, then surging, molten emotion

No levees of reason stand the onslaught

Of this pyroclastic flow of madness

Spitting disintegrating clouds of ash

 

 
Spewing demands, loud like magma

frenzied, incendiary, in the moment

Stonewalled by the dispassionate heart of another

Wrought in miasma of frozen deception

 
A surge of rage now, unbridled, or

impotent dregs of diminishing embers

Find succour in kindred spirits?

In the wake of psychosomatic synastry

 
Was it Pluto on the ascendant then?

Blame the demoted icy dwarf

The human condition outlasts even Ptolemy

Catharsis now and how?

Synchronicity?

Synchronicity you say?

Connective thoughts?

so now what,

do we believe in God then?

Qualifying the three hierarchies of angels?

Mapping the ways of the world in patterns,

excruciatingly spatial,

dissipative structures triggered through an inner resonance

manifesting matter,

manifesting thought,

highly ordered systems thus,

even the poet of thermodynamics himself

attests to the extraordinary complexities of life.

Who am I then, to argue with the master?

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The consequence of irreversible natural processes all around us is not merely to increase the entropy of the universe and destroy order but to also create highly ordered complex structures with extraordinary properties and create life itself. Ilya Prigogine, the poet of thermodynamics, saw this as a profound aspect of nature that thermodynamics has revealed.

Toadstools in the garden of Eden ~ cautionary limericks

 

IMG_0012

Amidst a copse of fragrant pine
Stood a bunch of toadstools fine
Rubicund like Betty Boop
Made me pause to look, to stoop,
And ponder crafting mushroom wine.

On second thoughts, might make me die.
As the brain floats on a muscimol high
This Fly agaric is potent, no?
From Siberia to, ahem,  Jericho?
So I leave them when I find them. Sigh!

Amanita muscaria you look too loud,
Spotty bling and standing proud.
I am tempted to bite
But now shake with fright.
Lest I play the harp on a cumulus cloud.

 

 

 

Cautionary limericks for Fawnces, Henners and Blankyd ~ never lick a toadstool while out in the garden,                                                                                                                                   

Love,                                                                                                                                           

Raccoonteur

The moorings of reality

Constant recurrent fluctuations
Between the moorings of reality
And illusions of projected perceptions
Belies a dissonance you say?

Even so, what of reality?
Driven that we are, to contrive it
In the material and the mental,
Amidst the warm glow of emotionality

If it were only so simple…
To invest the living breath in the time
From dividing zygote to disintegrating corpse
All the while seeking incessantly

The wellspring of happiness, the elusive purpose,
Biding time with passing pleasures,
Escaping the soul intermittently, yet still smug
In the awareness of an embodied Schadenfreude?

Busy always with intention but very deep inside
An inward howl to action, to manifest
The amalgamation of a vivisected consciousness,
To transcend, to love, to feel and to live