tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7878118827712980811.post833623168353406064..comments2023-06-27T08:13:28.544-07:00Comments on dadahell: true storySimonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01000799931205332545noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7878118827712980811.post-3848257039822467742009-02-14T19:55:00.000-08:002009-02-14T19:55:00.000-08:00DH gonna take his time with his thoughtsDH gonna t...DH gonna take his time with his thoughts<BR/>DH gonna take his time to write something else<BR/>impatience curtails the next insight<BR/>you think perhaps DH may like this:<BR/>Very often do the captains of such ships take those absent-minded young philosophers to task, upbraiding them with not feeling sufficient "interest" in the voyage; half hinting that they are so hopelessly lost to all ambition, as that in their secret souls they would rather not see whales than otherwise. But all in vain; those young Platonists have a notion that their vision is imperfect; they are short-sighted; what use, then, to strain the visual nerve? They have left their opera-glasses at home. <BR/><BR/>"Why, thou monkey," said a harpooner to one of these lads, "we've been cruising now hard upon three years and thou hast not raised a whale yet. Whales are scarcer than hens teeth whenever thou art up here." Perhaps they were, or perhaps there might have been shoals of them in the far horizon; but lulled into such an opium-like listlessness of vacant, unconscious reverie is this absent-minded youth by the cadence of waves with thoughts that at last he loses his identity; takes the mystic ocean at his feet for the visible image of that deep, blue, bottomless soul, pervading mankind and nature; and every strange, half-seen, gliding, beautiful thing that eludes him; every dimly-discovered, uprising fin of some indiscernible form, seems to him the embodiment of those elusive thoughts that only people the soul by continually flitting through it.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7878118827712980811.post-81369708848213003022009-02-05T15:30:00.000-08:002009-02-05T15:30:00.000-08:00i dont write poetry.just write brain burps. my gre...i dont write poetry.<BR/>just write brain burps. <BR/>my greatest fear is to become brain dead - sucked in to the daily grind. or am i saving up for a grande mental finale: no stalemates allowed in this big game of chess. <BR/>been in a state of non-communication<BR/>been in a state of solitude and inner thinking<BR/>been in a state of charging batteries<BR/>been in a state of wondering <BR/>the wheels turn... on and on and on and on and on.....................<BR/>............ question why<BR/>........... answer wny not<BR/>let the plans bloom and the cosmos explode.<BR/>let's us meet again - the knives have been sharpened, the skills honed. we are not part of the puppets/ muppets of this world.<BR/>don't let the boogey man get youAnonymousnoreply@blogger.com