sorrowful-jester-blog - Tumblr blog

[sorrowful-jester-blog]

3 x Jackaroo Kit or $90 MyVpro Gift Cards and 3 x AP Kit or $40 MyVpro Gift Cards Giveaway

[sorrowful-jester-blog]

"Angelika"

Believe it or not I cease to care for you I do not need you anymore I solemnized all that undignified dearness Unworthily my efforts to evaluate pretence merits

I say it and I feel ashamed I find it hard to not reflect on all those moments that we spent Moments imputed to abbreviated feelings with no optative mood I was but a periphrastic particle in a voiceless offspring of a chapter in your life

Do not believe them when they tell you I have become infatuated with madness That the good goddess Clotho told me to weave a crown of thorny black roses That Lachesis tries to unravel the barbed crowns of roses and give an end to our formerly backstory. Do not believe them when they tell you to look away while they wipe the slate clean back in the days of yore.

You may be getting lost in his arms You may be feeling safe with him You may be feeling like a child when you wake up next to him But I ask you this: would he give his life for you?

Accidentally we met Accidentally we touched Accidentally we kissed Accidentally we fell in love

You know where I am and I'll be forever waiting There are some nights that tears are burning There are some nights that everything brings your image to my head But you are not here

Drunken nights, when I'm shaking away from you Drunken nights, when I'm dying without you Drunk enough to believe in crazy, romantic scenarios Drunk enough to believe we were meant to be forever

After Dark I Feel It's all the same So dull so plain I need the spark the flame To drag me out my insanity

Only you and I Face to fate A circle is my mind Come and lead me To another place To revive and heal

Some cosmic force Calls me near you Brings me to you I move only behind I seek a carese I must be reborn as a whole

[sorrowful-jester-blog]

Noir et Blanc

[sorrowful-jester-blog]

Incomplete Forever

ADDENDUM: 1+1=2 -Hypothesis the set of natural numbers. -Number 1 is part of a set containing its own self. -Number 2 is also part of a set containing its own self. -The operation of addition is a function which takes a number and give the direct following number. So 1+1=2+1=3+1=4 et cetera. -According to the aforementioned definitions the operation of 1+1=2 is defined and proved by basic acceptances. -If we define addition in another way, for example with a function that by taking values gives back itself, then 1+1=1, 2+1=2, 3+1=3, et cetera -Since this operation is defined whole surface of the set, it is consistent and according to this new convention 1+1=1 -We ascertain that (with a clause) that how much 1+1 equals depends on the conventions we've made. -I will not go into Boolean type arithmetics. This is enough to understand what I'm trying to say without complicating things. TAKE SOME TIME ALONE TO THINK OF IT. MAYBE A LOT, BUT YOU'LL SOONER OR LATER REALIZE THAT: Russel’s / Godel’s math theorems essentially proved that if we are part of this world, then we will never be able to fully comprehend everything about our world, because the world is bigger than us. We could of course learn more and more about our world though. Although if we consider that the world is a part of us, then another problem arises: we could never fully understand ourselves, since we would be discovering more and more worlds forever. In any case, we cannot understand “everything” whether we define it as the “world”, or as the “universal self”, thusly the best thing we can do to get as close as we can get to knowing ourselves would be getting to know as many people as possible.Why am I saying all these? We come from a dark abyss, we end up in a dark abyss, the in between we call LIGHT! Well, I am looking to meet some new people, and converse with them; whether be it silly talk or philosophical matters. Will you dare join me in my fortress of solitude –hidden in the shadow created by the veil woven by the likes of Edgar Allan Poe, and William Blake? It is a dark, gloomy, yet colorful place where music never seizes to play, and I, your host, am waiting with glass of wine in hand ready to tell you wondrous stories about real-life beasts, and beauties; about women dressed in red capes with wolf like sharp teeth and so on.

PS Some claim my math is bad. Well, neither the terms I've used, nor the math disagree with one of the 50 smartest men on earth. You just have to put some effort. Just because it's 1+1 does not mean what you think it may mean.

[sorrowful-jester-blog]

How does one reverse a curse from other religions and what would be the requirements for this?

A literal curse? I’m sorry, but there is no such thing. Is it a metaphorical one? If so, we could converse.

[sorrowful-jester-blog]

"The Wanderer"

Father of my dark-self The seven trumpets sounded again I have done it The seven angels lie dead For you, father, come the cursed In the wolf's lair Following the black candle's light Inside my eyes your sight Inside my mind your voice I am the Wanderer Seeking for them who belong to you Merciless slaughter On the altar of eternal darkness Throwing them in river Styx Drowning them in your Abyss Trying to please your sleeping majesty I can see peace in your eyes As I place them in a gallery From which won't escape Just to display the majestic Loss of reverence Adoration of darkness Which lies Just beyond the grave Centuries ago Beyond the desert of trials Dark waters Black swamp We engaged in an unholy war Now I'm but another dead angel Wandering Following With nails in my eyes I'm but YOUR Wanderer

[sorrowful-jester-blog]

The fool wasn't talking much. Only the others did it for him. The fool listened. He listened everyone else. Every had to say his story, his pain, his troubles. They were happy only when he was with them, not when he was with others. When he played with their children, the used to say about him that he had nothing better to do. The fool listened to every interpretation / exegesis and views / thoughts of the world. He wasn't changing though. He always was with those who needed him, even if they didn't have needs. He was the sand of the children's playground. All of the kids played with him and then left him alone only to find him the next day waiting for them. The fool loved them all and just for this reason he couldn't love anyone more than another. He was just their fool. With him they felt safety, because he was a grown up, but they also liked to make fun of him for being old. It wasn't the children's fault for being born old to protect them. Everything was his fault, children were innocent, so were their parents. He was responsible for everything in front of everyone, and for everyone in everything. Since he couldn't fit in any company / group, he was the weird guy of the company; and every company needed it's weird / strange guy. The fool took this part with intense passion, and was waiting for the nails of innocence that were always there to hurt him. For the children he was the Blue Giant, he who could never die, so that the children could torture him without exception. Of course the parent knew he was weird / strange, and they checked on him liked they used to check they children's teachers. He impinge upon society. The fool was the teacher of the kids. Or so they thought. His humanity wasn't a good example for the social kids, and they took special care so that they won't deviate / divert their ways. And while the children loved him, because they could hurt him without him saying anything. While he would heal them when they hurt if even they hurt by hitting him. It was their fool. This is the way their parents show him as well. AS LONG AS he did nothing to "hurt" the society. He spoke; he spoke about humanity, but they would forgive him because he they knew he was just a fool and a weird / strange person. They just said that everyone has his / her blemishes / defects / flaws, but who could really understand what he really and essentially was saying? Some children though who were weird and strange like him as well head was he was saying. They were not speaking much thus the parent didn't immediately take notice of the evil act that was taking place. They used to listen to the fool and understand for the first time in their lives what "LIFE" means. One day they decided to speak for the first time about the human life in society and then... society decided to atone / set free of his burdens the fool; it POISONED him. He was the first fool and his name was SOCRATES!

[sorrowful-jester-blog]

When Crows Tick On Windows

Three quite calm nights went by. Merely the silence before a new tempest arrived. All hell breaks loose on night four. The children can now hear How father is whipping their squealing mother With his leather belt while she falls to the floor. The fear and tension is rising by the day. The boy falls asleep but his sister is kept awake By having serious thoughts for the two of them to escape. Tick-tack! It's time to go! For there's a crow... Tick! Tack... Ticking on her window. She has no explanation why she has a terrible feeling That someone is going to die. Next morning they leave everything behind. They bring some clothes, water and bread. They run with fear But without hesitation and regret, Without looking back.

Darkness has fallen. Two children are afraid and lost in the night. They walk on an old road when a car appears And they're too slow to hide. Goddamn! He found them! Goddamn! He found them! Goddamn! He found them... His eyes glow like those of Satan himself! He's cursing, pounding, screaming! Throws his son into the car. Hits his little daughter so hard! Tell me the truth. I know this was you. But no more, little whore. I'll punish you like I've never done before. Goddamn! Goddamn! His eyes glow like those of Satan himself! They get beaten, locked up and mistreated. There's no place like home! There's no place like home!

And she opens her eyes after another brutal night. Weeping winds whining hopeless tones And there's no sunshine, it's still dark outside. The living room is trashed. There are bloodstains and pieces of glass everywhere. Father still passed out on the couch. Where's mother? And why is there water dripping down the stairs?

She walks up the staircase and sees her little brother Holding on to the doorpost of the bathroom, As if he had just seen a ghost. His body frozen, eyes wide open. He does not react to her voice. What's wrong? A tear rolls down his pale face. And then! The sight of their dead mother, Floating in light red water flowing from the bathtub. She had left the water faucet open, Taken an overdose of pills and slit both her wrists. No! She is dead! She is dead! Mother is dead! No! Mama, why? Mother, goodbye... Mommy, why? Oh mother, goodbye... When crows tick on windows Oh, when crows tick on windows...

[sorrowful-jester-blog]

When Crows Tick On Windows

Three quite calm nights went by.

Merely the silence before a new tempest arrived. All hell breaks loose on night four. The children can now hear How father is whipping their squealing mother With his leather belt while she falls to the floor. The fear and tension is rising by the day. The boy falls asleep but his sister is kept awake By having serious thoughts for the two of them to escape. Tick-tack! It's time to go! For there's a crow... Tick! Tack... Ticking on her window. She has no explanation why she has a terrible feeling That someone is going to die. Next morning they leave everything behind. They bring some clothes, water and bread. They run with fear But without hesitation and regret, Without looking back.

Darkness has fallen. Two children are afraid and lost in the night. They walk on an old road when a car appears And they're too slow to hide. Goddamn! He found them! Goddamn! He found them! Goddamn! He found them... His eyes glow like those of Satan himself! He's cursing, pounding, screaming! Throws his son into the car. Hits his little daughter so hard! Tell me the truth. I know this was you. But no more, little whore. I'll punish you like I've never done before. Goddamn! Goddamn! His eyes glow like those of Satan himself! They get beaten, locked up and mistreated. There's no place like home! There's no place like home!

And she opens her eyes after another brutal night. Weeping winds whining hopeless tones And there's no sunshine, it's still dark outside. The living room is trashed. There are bloodstains and pieces of glass everywhere. Father still passed out on the couch. Where's mother? And why is there water dripping down the stairs?

She walks up the staircase and sees her little brother Holding on to the doorpost of the bathroom, As if he had just seen a ghost. His body frozen, eyes wide open. He does not react to her voice. What's wrong? A tear rolls down his pale face. And then! The sight of their dead mother, Floating in light red water flowing from the bathtub. She had left the water faucet open, Taken an overdose of pills and slit both her wrists. No! She is dead! She is dead! Mother is dead! No! Mama, why? Mother, goodbye... Mommy, why? Oh mother, goodbye... When crows tick on windows Oh, when crows tick on windows...

[sorrowful-jester-blog]

Tree climbing time :P

[sorrowful-jester-blog]

Is anyone looking for a new pet? <3

Please don't go, I want you to stay I'm begging you, please, please don't leave here I don't want you to hate for all the hurt that you feel The world is just illusion trying to change you

[sorrowful-jester-blog]

Tales about beasts, beauties, and philosophers

Russel’s / Godel’s math theorems essentially proved that if we are part of this world, then we will never be able to fully comprehend everything about our world, because the world is bigger than us. We could of course learn more and more about our world though. Although if we consider that the world is a part of us, then another problem arises: we could never fully understand ourselves, since we would be discovering more and more worlds forever. In any case, we cannot understand “everything” whether we define it as the “world”, or as the “universal self”, thusly the best thing we can do to get as close as we can get to knowing ourselves would be getting to know as many people as possible. Why am I saying all these? Well, I am looking to meet some new people, and converse with them; whether be it silly talk or philosophical matters. Will you dare join me in my fortress of solitude –hidden in the shadow created by the veil woven by the likes of Edgar Allan Poe, and William Blake? It is a dark, gloomy, yet colorful place where music never seizes to play, and I, your host, am waiting with glass of wine in hand ready to tell you wondrous stories about real-life beasts, and beauties; about women dressed in red capes with wolf like sharp teeth and so on.

[sorrowful-jester-blog]

Withering Rose

A lonely rose in the cold winter slowly withering from the inside

A rose which has a name, but no one seems to remember

An outcast rose facing rejection daily, for it is of atypical color

"How peculiar" they all say, if they chance upon it, and look away

A black rose with red, blood-like, stains

A vulgar reflection of the planters soul and pains

An atypical rose filled with emotions

Nature's twisted notion of a mischievous prank

Root growing above the ground, trying, excessively, to reach man's heart

An atypical rose nourished by the surfeit of cruelty, which lurks within man's soul

Unbearable grief slowly turning into fear and hatred

Burdening compassion gradually rejected

Thorns growing sharper

An atypical menacing rose longing forbidden sensations

Finally, the day you so long desired is here, but, alas, it is a sorrowful day

The intoxicating sensation of the human touch acts as an analgesic

A pair of scissors to grant a rose's wish

Long awaited wish to end the suffering

He who carries the scissors is the only one who knows your name

He who carries the scissors is the one who planted you

Promise of eternal love broken the second that the scissor's blades touched

A typical red rose cut from its root lying in a rusty, wine filled vase

Drunk with happiness, pain feels like a small nuisance

At last, empty of distressful emotions

There is no more need for thorns

There is no more contempt

There is no more sorrow

There is nothing