Tag Archives: Non Omnis Moriar

Visions of Muses

 

From deep within the terrifying yet oft exhilarating infinite limits,

Limitless,

Of Escher labyrinths,

This lost and found boy;

 

A chosen light, stirred, awakened, ignited;

S C R eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee A M S upon shattered bone yards

Of rhetoric,

Meteoric echoes of a boy confined in a mans body;

Though not his own,

Not mine, not now, not ever;

I and I and I,

Beyond comprehension as

Concentric circles collide,

Like the infinite loops of the Typhon, reminiscent of oracles,

Delphic;

 

Non Omnis Moriar, Non Omnis Moriar,
Non,

Omnis,
Moriar.

 

Cerebus, as always,

Chuckles as Orthus orbits death,
“Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.””

 

Reluctantly as yet without possibility beyond the foretold,

Alpha to Omega , Beta to Theta,

Gamma and everything in between,

Immortality now, sound bytes at a time,

Selfies and facebook posts;

The rush of fools, errands, errant,

Living for the dying, despicable pawns, in a cosmic quandary,

Little boy lost,

Here;

Doing societal laundry.

Moriar,

Omnis,
Non,

Trailing backwards granted powers beyond omnipotence,

As strange fruit hangs from trees,

The hollowed out trunks of spirits subdued, blackened by soot,

While Mississippi burns and the ashes pure,

White like a forest of birch,

The touch of the divine.

 

Asphalts stained with progress and hotter than the sun,

Reveal devilish intents, malcontents and miscreants,

Pugilistic linguists portend of a cunning,

Whereby they knowingly, willingly, crazily,

Cut off their noses to spite their faces,

A pound of flesh no more nor less.

 

While Lamia plots her nine course meal,

Virgil awaits her intrigue,

Delectable feasts for the sins of the father

Are revisited on the kindred innocent,

With Harpies as footservants and wolves as maître ds’.

 

The Sirens call, serially,

Sailing me to the edges of a vile torment,

One that was created a moment before my consciousness,

Primordially secreted and passed on,

As I too have done; Realizing I am

Left in a rowboat,

Steering for the rocks,

Bubbling discontent like an effervescent pill,

Bitter,

Locked inside…

 

Then,

With a heralds cry,

Hark,

Love,

Like a resounding vision,

In words, deeds and sensational vibrations,

Draws me near,

Pulls me, all of me,

I and I and I from the gauntlet,

Embraces every atom of my being,

And in that instant I understand,

The universal discourse,

Treatise and song,

That brought me back from the edge,

Void of reason,

Want or desire,

Other than the pure radiance and resplendence,

Of an authentic life,

Lived genuinely,

Advancing,

Choosing now to actively avoid the prison of my emotional suicide,

Instead practicing abstinence from it,

By being I and I and I,

And,

Creating,

s e r e n d i p i t y,

s e r e n i t y,

Love and L I G H T!

Sender D. MacLean

 

(Inspired by a good friend who gave me the following words; serendipity effervescent labyrinth abstinence rhetoric and the song)

 

 

 

 

 

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Emotional Suicide

Emotional,

Suicides,

Continuity of contemplations,

Yesterday gone by,

Now;
Catalyst of catapulting concentricity,

Like hell,

Only opposed,

For those seeming endless hours endured,

Tattered tears of troubled tears,

Reveal Hemingway’s hidden truth,

Exposed,

My invisible doppelganger sings out;

“The world breaks everybody;

And afterward,

Some are stronger in the broken places.”
Broken places,

The caves of dialogues with Plato,

Wherein shadows portend light,

And light seems a forgotten meme,

Like a vanished childhood memory;

 

Recaptured with the taste of a candy apple or cotton candy,

Or dirt;

 

Simplicity refined,

Ill defined and unwritten,

Until now.
Emotional suicides aside,

For now,

The cave dwellers,
I and I and I,

Elect to reemerge as chosen light,

For the light we have chosen,

I and I and I,

Seek clarity, knowledge of self(ves),

Nosce Te Ipsum,

To triumphantly engage,

In the most precious journey,

Fatherhood.

Let this cry ring out,

From broken soul

now

Kintsugi,

To broken souls,

This light is not the end of the tunnel,

But the tunnel itself,

Neither pessimism nor cynicism,

Can or will alter Sender revisited,

Rejuvenated, restored and improved.

 

Let these cries be perceived,

To all those searching,

Walking the daunting paths of Dante’s design,

Feeling entombed,

Dash forward, ever onward,

Tunnel and tunnel more,

Until this universal truth becomes as real for you,

As I and I and I.

 

Words can seem empty,

Feeble and pedantic,

Yet as I climb from this cavity of interminable despondency,

I and I and I stand witness(es),

Bold and humbled,

By the fire inside,

That is the light;

Emotional Suicide be damned,

And art on,

Whatever that art may be

For therein lay your (OUR) liberation,

And utter determination,
I and I and I’s art is simple,

An authentic life;

Non Omnis Moriar.

Sender D. MacLean

 

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Shhhh I’m Now A Terrorist (Apparently)

“True moderation in the defence of political liberties is indeed a difficult thing: pretending to want fair shares for all, every man raises himself by depressing his neighbour; our anxiety to avoid oppression leads us to practice it ourselves; the injustice we repel, we visit in turn upon others, as if there were no choice except either to do it or to suffer it.” Titus Livy

Be afraid,

Be very, VERY, very afraid,

For the revolution is upon us,

Upon US and WE are the enemy.

Friends,

Be no more my friends,

Deny you know me,

Deny our experiences,

And the times we have known,

For in the exercise of OUR now non existent rights,

Global,

I am a, shhhhhhhhhh,

Whisper,

Extremist;

A terrorist.

By virtue,

Imbued by parents who clearly loved me,

I fiercely ravished books,

Thousands,

And still do today,

Of every possible design,

Exploring thoughts,

Exploring my own as result,

Analyzing, accepting and refusing,

At the behest of rationality,

Ideas that I find genuine,

And dismissing though entertaining those,

That insult,

As Whitman would suggest,

My soul,

But shhhhh,

Whisper,

I am a,

Terrorist.

“War is peace.

Freedom is slavery.

Ignorance is strength.” Orwell

Our civilization,

So called,

Has declared war,

Globally,

Against religions for oil,

Against citizens for greed,

Against myself and others like me,

For exercising our minds,

Exploring facts in evidence,

Exposing them,

Expressing and disseminating them,

And for this noble cause,

According to the bastions of governmental influence,

My thoughts,

My words,

These words,

Make me a terrorist,

An extremist,

For bearing witness against the wickedness of an evil few,

That pit us against each other,

For the perpetuation of their iniquity,

AT YOUR EXPENSE,

And for this,

I am,

A terrorist?

“As man consists of body and soul, all our possessions and pursuits partake of the nature of one or the other. Thus personal beauty and great wealth, bodily strength, and all similar things, soon pass away; the noble achievements of the intellect are immortal like the soul itself. Physical advantages, and the material gifts of fortune, begin and end; all that comes into existence, perishes; all that grows, must one day decay. But the soul, incorruptible and eternal, is the ruler of mankind; it guides and controls everything, subject itself to no control. Wherefore we can but marvel the more at the unnatural conduct of those who abandon themselves to bodily pleasures and pass their time in riotous living and idleness, neglecting their intelligence–the best and noblest element in man’s nature–and letting it become dull through lack of effort; and that, too, when the mind is capable of so many different accomplishments that can win the highest distinction.” Sallust

As an extremist,

Well read and reasonably well written,

I posit that in this temporal realm,

I have a body that will pass,

While these words,

The ideas that they present,

Represent and in some cases resent,

Live on,

Non Omnis Moriar,

Each of you are as Sallust suggests,

Abandoning yourselves to sins of the flesh,

Gluttons feeding at the trough of your own demise,

Giving freely your bodies, minds and souls,

To a hapless few that centuries ago,

Created a system in which you are owned,

From the moment of your birth,

Until the moment of the execution of your last will,

And testament,

At which point they no longer own you,

Returned, as we all will be,

To the universe,

But you don’t need to believe me,

Although, for these words, governments now claim,

I am a terrorist,

An extremist because I QUESTION everything;

As for illustration you should wonder;

Why, on all official documents,

From governments,

Birth Certificate and Passport,

Are your names ONLY in Capital LETTERS,

I AM NOT SENDER D. MACLEAN;
I am Sender D. MacLean

And as I openly rebel,

Intellectually and with these words,

I am not owned,

As slave,

For education, knowledge and understanding have set me free,

Just as easily so too could thou be,

But be forewarned,

This makes you a terrorist,

An extremist,

For you stand diametrically opposed,

To plans laid out centuries ago,

Maintained, perpetuated and mobilized,

Through the states monopoly on several powers,

None greater than the use of force,

Physically through the Corporations of Police Departments the world over,

Revenue generators,

Through the industrialized militaries,

Revenue generators,

Who despite their oaths at will violate your supposed rights,

Financially,

Through death warrants and a monetary system,

That creates something from nothing,

In perpetuity,

Enslaving you quite visibly,

Through DEBT!

“They have plundered the world, stripping naked the land in their hunger… they are driven by greed, if their enemy be rich; by ambition, if poor… They ravage, they slaughter, they seize by false pretenses, and all of this they hail as the construction of empire. And when in their wake nothing remains but a desert, they call that peace.” Tacitus
Who are THEY?

Like any paperback detective,

Follow the money,

That facts in evidence are there for you to see,

Explore, analyze and reason,

With your minds,

Who THEY are,

But believe me, you are not one of THEM,

If you’re reading this right now,

But in your names,

And with your artificial currencies they are waging wars,

Of aggression, economic and military, psychological and spiritual,

To prolong this new form of empire and imperialism,

Colonialism all but in name,

And for these realities that I so deftly make you aware,

I am now to be branded a terrorist,

An extremist,

Because I can think,

And my friends, FORMER friends now as you should move from me,

Know this,

Tacitus was right,

Just look at the last one hundred years,

Unearth the facts in evidence,

And you will see the desertification of peace,

I assure you,

But be forewarned,

This makes you an extremist,

Thinking,

Makes you a terrorist,

And by doing so you will become and remain,

An enemy of the state.
“Nescire autem quid antequam natus sis acciderit, id est semper esse puerum. (To be ignorant of what occurred before you were born is to remain always a child.)” Marcus Tullius Cicero
As an extreme terrorist,

Because I think,

May I assure you thus,

I write from no moral authority,

As a former victimizer myself,

Instead I feel compelled ethically,

To disseminate thought,

Regardless of the outcome to me,

Not by telling you facts,

For facts are like statistics,

They can and are easily perverted in the halls of power,

For whatever nefarious means,

Instead,

From an informed and well read mental library,

I unleash a furious torment,

That should unleash in you an insatiable curiosity,

To THINK,

Critically,

To read, read and read some more,

For everything you think you know,

Every story told by your governments and institutions are falsehoods,

And your ignorance, YOUR ignorance reinforces their centuries old plans,

Do not blithely accept false narratives,

Presented to you by wicked people,

Of evil design,

Who own you,

Instead rationally arrive at your own conclusions,

But again,

I forewarn you,

These actions will make you an enemy of the state,

Perverts to a system that owns you,

A system that will defile or detain you,

Destroy or indebt you,

They will assail your work, your life, your bank accounts,

Your property and will take from you every supposed liberty you have,

At will, THEIRS,

Simply for thinking,

Because in opposition to their deceitful narrative,

You are the enemy,

An extremist,

A terrorist.
“In a republican nation, whose citizens are to be led by reason and persuasion and not by force, the art of reasoning becomes of first importance” Thomas Jefferson

Where is your reason?

What do you think?

I know of their persuasion,

I was a persuader,

I know of your acceptance of it,

Physical, spiritual and mental,

And you sit there,

Intellectually naked,

Refusing to see obviously apparent realities,

Trading your freedom for comfort,

Trading your thoughts for blood money,

As THEY, of whom you are NOT,

Are laughing because their systems are achieving,

By design,

What centuries ago was set in motion,

And by not thinking critically,

QUESTIONING EVERYTHING,

You give them ever more powers,

And soon,

Of this I am sure,

We will ALL be terrorists,

Silently stalked and hunted down,

At any mention of a perverted thought,

Against the machinations of power.

“In Company with Sallust, Cicero, Tacitus and Livy, you will learn Wisdom and Virtue. You will see them represented, with all the Charms which Language and Imagination can exhibit, and Vice and Folly painted in all their Deformity and Horror.

You will ever remember that all the End of study is to make you a good Man and a useful Citizen.—This will ever be the Sum total of the Advice of your affectionate Father,

John Adams”

By nature,

In my heart and soul I believe,

In the goodness of humanity,

However, I am acutely aware,

And have actively participated in enslavement,

Of you,

Using words like links in a chain,

That you will never see,

So long as you believe talking heads,

Consume products of spilt blood,

Engorge yourself with poisons,

Rather than devouring, blessedly,

KNOWLEDGE, which is POWER,

And which when used can SET YOU FREE.
But again,

You sit idly by,

As if the television, radio, movies or Facebook,

Can inform you passively,

They are tools of mass distraction,

To keep you from informing yourselves,

To delude you, divide and conquer you,

And believe me,

You have been conquered,

But through intellectual exercise you can and should free your mind,

In so doing,

Putting yourself directly in the cross hairs,

Becoming an extremist for speaking out,

Standing up and protesting peacefully,

As you are supposedly allowed to do,

But not for long,

And thus I wonder,

Will you read, analyze, examine and explore,

Or feast at the banquet table of lies that enslave you,

For the choice is yours?

“If voting made any difference they wouldn’t let us do it.” Mark Twain

Would they lock Twain up today?

Terrorist?

For social commentary necessary to expose,

The iniquity of man?

For in a way, they already have,

Having removed the word nigger from his works,

As THEY continue to white wash history,

Just as easily as Huck a fence,

And as a victimizer,

I admit my guilt,

In my knowledge that voting makes no difference,

For people like me,

Manipulated by vice,

Can rig any vote, any where, any time,

And yet, within the current paradigm,

If you don’t vote,

Which I beseech you to do,

You relegate yourself to arm chair quarterbacks,

Uninformed and deserving of what befalls you,

The real vote, the one that counts,

Is the artificial currency in your accounts and wallets,

Vote wisely and en masse and watch how quickly the tower of Babel,

Comes crumbling down,

But remember,

This opposition, active not passive,

Will brand you,

Just as I, an extremist,

A terrorist!

“The work of an intellectual is not to form the political will of others; it is, through the analyses he does in his own domains, to bring assumptions and things taken for granted again into question, to shake habits, ways of acting and thinking, to dispel the familiarity of the accepted, to take the measure of rules and institutions and, starting from that re-problemitisation (where he plays his specific role as intellectual) to take part in the formation of a political will (where he has his role to play as citizen).” Michel Foucault

I am Sender D. MacLean,

The third of eight children,

A man,

A lover,

A reader,

A writer,

A teacher,

A warrior poet,

As a now branded by government puppets extremist and terrorist,

Please I beg of you to understand,

The assumptions made by you are dangerous,

Not to me,

But for us all,

The collective known as humanity,

Which imperils every other species on this Spaceship Earth,

The rules, institutions, histories, established order,

They are all predicated on a contrived, well executed, funded and manipulating

Series of systems that seek to make idiots of you all,

And it’s working,

QUESTION EVERYTHING,

Take power back,

Rise up, PEACEFULLY,

United,

For an idea whose time has come,

Is more powerful than all the armies in the world.

“The first duty of a man is to think for himself” Jose Marti

It is a tragedy,

That I am become terrorist and extremist,

In exercising my first duty,

To think,

But I beg of you;

What would you do?
Will you perform your first duty?

Or will you sit absentmindedly by,

Until that coming moment,

I assure you,

When under cover of darkness,

Or even in the light of day,

They come knocking at your door?

That is, unless of course, you start THINKING!

Last week,

So called leaders of the world,

Puppets in their emperors finest clothes,

Gathered in Sodom,

The heart of financial terror,

Each presenting cases on the ills affecting our world,

Christian, Jew, Muslim and Atheists all,

At the pulpit of the New World Order,

Speaking vacuously,

Inciting hatred and promoting increased war,

Up to and including, yours truly,

Sender D. MacLean,

Extremist and terrorist,

WHY?

For thinking.

Scribo Ergo Sum!

“Once the government can demand of a publisher the names of the purchasers of his publications, the free press as we know it disappears. Then the spectre of a government agent will look over the shoulder of everyone who reads. The purchase of a book or pamphlet today may result in a subpoena tomorrow. Fear of criticism goes with every person into the bookstall. The subtle, imponderable pressures of the orthodox lay hold. Some will fear to read what is unpopular, what the powers-that-be dislike. When the light of publicity may reach any student, any teacher, inquiry will be discouraged. The books and pamphlets that are critical of the administration, that preach an unpopular policy in domestic or foreign affairs, that are in disrepute in the orthodox school of thought will be suspect and subject to investigation. The press and its readers will pay a heavy price in harassment. But that will be minor in comparison with the menace of the shadow which government will cast over literature that does not follow the dominant party line. If the lady from Toledo can be required to disclose what she read yesterday and what she will read tomorrow, fear will take the place of freedom in the libraries, book stores, and homes of the land. Through the harassment of hearings, investigations, reports, and subpoenas government will hold a club over speech and over the press.”

[United States v. Rumely, 345 U.S. 41 (1953)]” William O. Douglas

Base desires,

Primal; are actively used against you,

And YOU passively accept it,

Desire and Fear,

Desire to consume,

Fear of the invisible, artificially created boogey men,

Governments the world over are now using this club,

Branding those who would think,

Like me,

Terrorist or extremist,

But I am not those things,

I am a human being,

Deeply concerned,

Imbued with a mind that thinks,

One that encourages rationality and intellectuality,

I provoke and promote NO violence,

Although I do represent intellectual violence,

Whereby thoughts can destroy these machinations;

I encourage peaceful dissolution of the systems that own you,

But it is only YOU, YOU who hold the reins of that power.

Will you use it?
“Protest beyond the law is not a departure from democracy; it is absolutely essential to it.” Howard Zinn

SDM

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Sink or Swim?

mag 233

“Pray to God, but row away from the rocks.”
Hunter S. Thompson based on Russian Proverb

The tyranny of silence is overwhelming,

Calculated deceit for mass consumption,

Consuming souls thus creating tin men,

Travelling on iron horses, whether plane, train, automobile or boat;

Advertisers queuing up to steal the innocence of youth,

Adolescence robbed as our best and brightest,

Become dim witted without consent by a constant barrage,

Children exposed to more than 40,000 commercials a year,

Not to mention product placement and subliminal messaging,

A YEAR,

Thus, manufacturing dutiful consumers for the rest of their days.

Talking heads delivering not news,

Rather obfustication,

Newstertainment,

Filling time between commercials,

Sell, sell, and sell,

This silence, deafening,

Ringing in my ears and searing my eyes,

As I watch the disambiguation of souls the world over,

Persecution, subjugation and dehumanizing effects,

Nike, McDonald’s, Chevy and Cadbury,

Concocting and reshaping the old as new,

Manufactured scarcity and obsolescence,

Lies,

There is enough on this great Spaceship Earth,

However, not so long as growth and profit are the aim.

This silence reaches into my soul as I am,

Wrenches it, attacks and dismays it,

As I can not dismiss, as Whitman suggests,

What is vile to my soul.

Contacted daily,

Voices in my head,

Converting distant thoughts into fingers that Tango,

Flicker and flit,

Alive,

Across the keyboard,

Hoping that I may alight in another, others,

The will to journey on in the face of brutal adversity,

And an overt crookedness dressed in Sunday whites,

Great White Sharks in Sheep’s clothing,

Devouring us all,

Thus,

Discovering the strength in my own atmospheres to repudiate such guile,

Positively enchanted by the desire to live,

The will to thrive,

The power to create my own meaning,

By communing through poetry and prose,

With all who care to search for their own enlightenment,

For it must be yours,

Drawn to the fire that intensely burns deep within retinas,

Words,

As the objects of my daily affirmation,

Just as powerful and real as Cogito Ergo Sum,

Scribo Ergo Sum,

At least for me,

At least for now,

While on this earthly plain of land and sea.

I wander through your conscious and subconscious,

With delicious intent,

Feeling the inherent call of the Ether,

Ripened anxiety exposing the steadfast requirements,

To move toward the light,

Guided by a glistening shadow on the sea,

To accept life as both challenge and present,

Obstacle and opportunity,

Revealed quotidian as the choices we make,

Expose when all is said and done,

The very cornerstones that define us,

Not labels,

Defines,

Are the tomes we devour as lifeblood and return to the universe.

In these poems and prose we present,

For me from the Ether, The Muses and The Sirens,

For you, I cannot say,

For each of us record who and what we are in apt words,

For posterity,

Not our own, but instead Non Omnis Moriar,

We alone,

Are the authoritative creators of dictionaries and thesaurus’,

Personal,

Profound wanderers,

Not lost,

Just curious and seeking,

Unique,

Declaring triumphantly,

That we as emerging voices,

United in poetry and prose,

Good, bad though never indifferent,

Will never stand idly by,

As the wicked wage battle for the hearts and minds,

Of those we seek to enchant with these knowledgeable lyrics.

Words of life,

Words of sweet surrender,

Of painful exuberance,

Of intentional questions that demand answers we may never find,

We are at the vanguard of a paradigm shift that commands,

We write,

Careful to educate those souls,

Those suffer the indignity of disambiguation,

So they may reclaim, rightfully,

Their lives to live fullest and free,

As thinkers,

You determine your own design,

I as Warrior Poet,

Chosen light,

Rowing away from the rocks in the absence of God,

Standing at the ready,

To wage war with the wicked,

Will you stand with me?

Sink?

Or Swim?

SDM

Written from Photo Prompt for www.magpietales.blogspot.com

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Infinite Smile of Love Accepting

From birth,

Inside each of us burns a desire,

An ever growing and rapidly expanding light,

That seeks to create bliss in others,

As a pay it forward,

Such fire that burns brighter than the suns of every solar system,

And emanates from every fibre of our being,

Initially we are dumbfounded by it,

Trying to play catch up with those grown things we see around us,

Supposed adults that act like children,

While WE children,

Seek to profess universal truths,

With giggles, glowing eyes and radiating glances,

Beaming to every corner of the cosmos,

Every planet, far and wide,

Every island, old and newly forming,

Adorning in our hearts,

A compassion that seems lacking as we get older,

But herein lay the good news,

While we must age,

We do NOT have to grow up,

Nor should we…

 

Don’t judge; embrace the difference in others,

Don’t hate; for it is merely ignorance dressed up as anger,

Don’t yell; improve your argument,

Don’t fear; we are all here for you,

Don’t hide; you are meant to stand out.

You see,

The trouble is,

My beautiful child,

Sweet, innocent, lovely and resplendent baby,

Too many adults forgot how to be children,

But not me,

And I truly hope, for you,

And for the world,

That knowing people like your awe inspiring mother,

(who know kids like me),

You hold onto all that greatness inside you,

Remembering every step, walk and then run of the way,

You were born out of a boundless,

Interminable and stunning natural truth,

LOVE REPEATS,

We are not alone in this world, or this universe,

(as yet unproven but nonetheless true)

And we can not, must not try to replace natural law,

With our arrogant human folly,

As grown ups for countless millennia have done,

You, are not an island,

Well,

You are,

But that is another matter,

For Celtic wisdom and Gaelic ancients to explain to you,

(and they will, trust me)

In their time,

This is our time,

Two kids,

One young,

The other younger,

Exploring the dynamic and rapidly evolving landscape,

Of love repeating.

My precious and beautiful love,

In your eyes I see my own soul reflected,

I see the promise of another child,

Who like me,

Will choose to remain a child,

That will burst from the pack,

Be a leader, by example,

In an extraordinary explosion equal to,

If not greater than the big bang,

(and someday you’ll understand just how much I see in you),

For every promise of our forefathers and foremothers,

The greatness of our ancestors lives within you,

You have the power,

To breathe,

To see,

To hear,

To touch,

To create,

To become who and what you want to be,

Guided by the externalities of those who love you,

And the internalities,

Of locked caverns inside of you,

That you have no need to ever explain to anyone,

You were born out of a love repeating,

Love,
Love,
L O V E,

You were born to design a manifest destiny for your own reasons,

A meaning and purpose built by your own passions,

Thus ensuring,

Love will be repeating,

And many years from now,

When I recite these words to you,

Still, as a kid, one young, the other younger,

I hope that you will remember these words,

Natural law and universal truths,

And maybe, luckily,

Cause my belief that,

Non Omnis Moriar,

When explaining to your love repeating,

Why these words were born,

Your words,

Yours alone,

(though I trust you don’t mind I have unleashed this force of love).

Precocious,

Incorrigible,

Fierce,

Preordained to ascend to prominence,

I carry the joy of your radiating spirit with me,

Now and ever more,

For the moment I laid eyes on you,

I knew,

I saw the future,

And yours is a force that no man, woman or animal may stop,

Yours is a future,

Where love repeating,

Repeating,

Repeating,

Will replace the resounding sound of armies marching,

Machines plundering,

And truly the iniquity of man,

My sweet and beautiful escape,

These words are yours,

And if I ever find myself stranded on a desert island,

I will never be ALONE,

For having seen a joy,

A destiny,

Of love repeating,

And I am humbled by your shine.

SDM

PS. Listen to Mommy and Daddy. They may not know everything but they do know a lot. Tell them the truth no matter how hard or scary it is. READ everything you can get your hands on. QUESTION EVERYTHING AND EVERYONE. BE YOURSELF.

Nosce Te Ipsum.

And know this, I am always here for you. Non Omnis Moriar.

 

 

 

 

 

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The Importance of Muse (6)

In the infinite chaos of perpetually recycled stardust,

The remnants of the big bang reveal to me secrets,

Long misunderstood,

There is an order created by the Ether,

Readily apparent to those who have vision,

Versus those who merely see,

Those who listen,

Versus those who merely hear,

For out in that dark void there exists a vibrancy,

Resonating inside the souls of poets since time immemorial,

A resplendent beauty that unlocks a passion necessary,

To adulate the treasured honour of Muse’s presence,

Your presence,

I adore you,

I love you,

Figurative and literal,

In ways you will never, could never understand,

Despite these hopeless attempts to be

Conduit for the invisible,

Muse,

Not just the royal you, so often presented,

But the perfectly imperfect package,

That stands before me at the ready,

Laying bare your soul,

That I too may do the same,

As these words require

And my literary masters demand.

As said before,

Here, time and again,

The importance of Muse can not be inconspicuous,

For she is an overstatement of all that I deign necessary,

To prevent my emotional suicide,

Loosing my gift in a series of meager attempts,

To force what is not there,

In her absence,
Your absence,
I am nothing but a fool with words,

Though when she comes,

Touching me deep with in,

Those words spill out from me,

Seductive and instructive,

More readily than I can breathe,

Effortless as her inspiration unlocks the key,

That liberates my creative flow,

Endless,

Ebb and rip,

The gravity of her presence,

The tides lead me away from my inner storm,

Toward an awaiting Nirvana,

Whereby the touch of her lips,

Is the ambrosia from which I drink,

Understanding completely the full nature of love,

One only understood by those caught in the rapture,

And endless delight,

Of that perfect phrase,

Capturing a spirit that only you can see,

Only I,

Can see,

Muse!

It so often seems,

That between those moments,

Where splendor presents itself in veiled opportunities,

That the broken shards of me,

Cut deep,

Sending me further into an abyss,

A loving idiot savant,

Where my Black Dog howls,

As I plead with the Ether,

And my Ladies of the night,

Serendipity, Destiny and Fate,

To once more grace me,

Instruct and guide me,

To that necessary ingredient,

Muse,

Which fuels these tomes,

Endless,

An expected necessity,

Cherishing what I see,

What I know,

What I am,

Words,

Wordsmith of Muse.

 

Your importance,

Is akin to a mother’s milk,

To a new born child,

A pirouette to a ballerina,

A canvas to Picasso,

And a great green light for Gatsby,

And yet tragically,

My providence,

As guided by that frenzied Ether I so adore and praise,

Finds me Daisy,

Rather than as a star cross’d lover,

And yet I persist,

I rise,

I look to the heavens,

Praising even the momentary glimpse,

Of true beauty,

Inside your soul,

Muse,

That either none have, could or can see,

But I,

Guided by nature’s call to enthused benevolence,

To touch another as they touch me,

As you touch me,

So yes, Muse,

Your importance is greater than you may ever know.
Constantly,

I find myself in a state of flux,

A perilous and hazardous precinct,

Where my greatest wish,

Becomes my greatest downfall,

Always has been,

Since as early as the Ether first blessed me,

With these heart-rending efforts,

Dancing to the elegance of these ethereal gifts,

Presented by the Ether,

In a form that could only be you,

Muse,

For even those few moments,

Where I get to bask in the sentiments,

Those I crave more than anything else,

Even if for a panicked instant,

As I contemplate the predictable disappearance,

As happens each and every time,

Just as quickly as you arrived,

The infinitely obvious precision of my life,

Abandoned,

Left with these words as evidence,

Of a true gem,

Gems,

The very real importance of Muse,

If I am to survive,

Non Omnis Moriar.

 

Muse,

You are at once my everything,

And nothing,

For I can only seize,

What the Ether permits,

And it is a fickle master,

Guiding these fingers,

As they flicker with the genius, you inspire,

To some the foundation of a delusion of grandeur,

Those that could never understand,

For at least a while,

Never quite long enough,

Making the best of it,

As I bask in the prismatic resplendence of your soul,

The radiance of your smile,

The intense secrets behind those dancing eyes,

And the subtle way that even the simple act of walking,

Can alight in me an abstract prospect,

Captured in an instant, herein,

For you,

For posterity,

For you are Muse,

And without you,

I am lost in Dante’s circles of Hell,

As Virgil laughs,

And The Lost Generation once more consoles me.

 

With an intense vanity,

I fumble like a school child,

Scribbling outside the lines,

Hoping that you might see,

That Pandora’s curiosity,

Resulted in the very box that needs to be open,

If I am to thrive,

If I am to know genuine bliss,

For that is truly what you force me to aspire,

Climbing higher and higher,

Inside a drug induced fury,

Of pheromones clashing,

Serotonin dashing,

Dopamine slashing and adrenaline rushing,

And yet,

Like Hemingway’s haunting presence in my life,

That one true sentence,

That might finally get you,

Royal or otherwise,

Muse,

To see,

To feel,

To believe,

To hold fast,

Might understand,

What even I myself can not,

Me,

If I am to thrive,

It is only Muse,

Because of you,

All I imagine,

All you are.

The importance of Muse,

Of you,

Royal and otherwise,

Creates all I am,

All I will ever be,

The dutiful secretary,

Of the Ether’s grace,

Giving me moments of significance,

That are entirely dependent,

On you,

Muse!

SDM

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Time for B.E.D.

Horace once wrote;
“Non Omnis Moriar,”
Non Omnis Moriar,
For it is true,
Not all of me shall die,
These words will live in forever,
I will live forever,
Though maybe not in this body,
I am as timeless as love itself,
Delivering daily the inner workings of my mind,
The inner dialogue of my soul,
The inter dialogue with you,
The royal you,
My success assured,
By the very striking of these keys,
Words my ever present angels,
Come to take me on chariots of fire,
To a place where love is celebrated,
With every breath,
Every movement,
Each soul permanently engaged in a timeless love,
Inter dimensional and ever expanding,
For love has within in,
A secret that we feeble minded fools on this earth,
Have yet to truly understand,
Save for a few sage like pioneers,
Those have realized the full power of love,
Its tentacles reaching far and wide,
For even as I write,
At this moment,
I am radiating love,
Can you feel it?
My love for the royal you,
Is as reliable as a Swiss watch,
Or wisdom from the Oracle at Delphi,
Nosce Te Ipsum,
Nosce,
And in that knowledge I am learning to forgive,
The royal you,
But more importantly myself,
For where the seeds of demonic self loathing exist,
Love lay tortured by imperfection,
Not all of me shall die,
And in that instant,
The realization of the beautiful,
Non Omnis Moriar,
I begin my ascent,
For cream always rises to the top.

SDM

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