Many a man lay paralyzed, unable to proceed past the brink
never contenting themselves with just being able to see
they romanticize their contemplation; they see only constellation
They have their theories,
tested historically on fools of action stumbling recklessly—off the cliff, to
stand triumphantly atop the summit of yet another local maxima &
remain fools, with ease of mind—
& the self-anointed contemplative man emerges from the shade of a tree,
loudly professing his sanctity.
The neurosis of the modern time; deaffectation—
that confines their relatedness to their projections
safe, ensnared, within the screen – knowledge of the prior,
makes them confident in their self-recognition.
those types I meet, they take out sharpened protractors,
meticulously tracing angles;
each star must pass through the line
they only see their constellations &
mistake these for the zenith.
Brilliancy, high stature, affability; they seek an Extraordinary recipe
They forget the person is not just a Thing to be assembled,
customized,
by mere perception and Promethean effort—
Extraordinary ability requires Extraordinary living
But those who seek the former recoil at the latter,
and prefer the purity of their comfort
thus becoming paralyzed.
And what good is brilliancy when it slowly suffocates,
Tears down this high stature,
& gold poison flowing relentlessly throughout my veins,
the bile of that repressed revulsion for the sake of affability
Every day a new principle betrayed
for the sake of communication.