#theassumist

[the-assumist]

#307

Hold a metaphor, like a carrot, in front of life’s unknowns to falsely tame that which cannot be tamed, a poetry imposed on to this mortal horror. Allusions to life scraped together with dirty finger nails, lipped in spittled breath, passed down from dying hands to dying hands, from dying mouth to dying mouth. Let it decay and become a known stillness, more dead than dead in mourning.

[the-assumist]

#201

A man—who molds a world out of his perceptions and claims his world is your world—offers a solipsist conceit as a truth. 

Fear—to lose a world, a truth, the self—feeds a man’s transcendental mind which then thrusts him to the forefront of his world, his truth, his self.

No fear. No control. No consequences. No morals. No ethics. No world. No truth. No self.

[the-assumist]

#633

You and I—renditions, songs of songs, echoes, a clatter of undertones born from a singular note, an orchestra tuning in a pitch-black room maddened by a discordant light within—shuffle discomfort ignoring the song breath inhaled and exhaled,

For we embody presence like a stone sinks into sand when the ocean water recedes; yet, like roaring waves—voices with no choice of audience—sing always, presence resonates with the gift of attention.

[the-assumist]

#367

We are promised an ending...

What a gift?! To know that every moment has value.

[the-assumist]

#28

The founding—the cohesion of individuals into groups—and curating—fortifying a “universal” meaning—of truth—renames death life as individuals die off and the group lives on—is humanity’s attempt to live forever.

[the-assumist]

#4

Create identity to escape, imagine a shadow figure to clothe a sensual animal body, and make a symbol of self in order to communicate being…

 A hero rises from the ashes of a battle with a fleshy, blind demon and leaves a physical world for symbols of forever.

[the-assumist]

#57

Imagination is dangerous when mixed with reality. Too often we imagine what is good for us is good for others. We formulate theories, write manifestos, and preach our beliefs. Yet, in creating these Assumptions of Goodness, we only create a platform for power. 

[the-assumist]

#107

Look at someone, watch them as one observes a wild animal, notice strengths and weaknesses, a rise and a fall of a chest encasing powerful lungs useless without air, and see them not as they seem, not as people, not as human, but as living. Secondary, everything else.

[the-assumist]

#92

Must we passively accept it? A failure to commit to a new idea results in a submission to an old idea, a melody recognized, easy to follow. Music, the ultimate conveyor of time’s false status, an idea made to perpetuate endings, time’s destination. What end? Fear of what’s to come eases the human mind toward melodies in lieu of a silence that holds them together.   

[the-assumist]

#27

Forever, what literature offers, what it allows, continuity, language, serpent never ending, dragging words, metaphor, a stolen corpse, babel in Heaven, self-similarity, static body, dead symbol, storied.

[the-assumist]

#88

Make. Control? The lesson in the proverb is not one of surrender. Teach a man to make things that bring him happiness, and he will find self-worth in a simple hemming of a shirt and not shame because he lacks the prestige of a label.

[the-assumist]

#39

Will you tell me what Love is? You who like me look for answers in poetry. Let us wonder at these four letters that peak toward a geometric perfection, perspective materialized, like pyramids, perverted mountains of man’s creation.  

[the-assumist]

#51

Too many times you wonder what is this thing undefined which lingers. Not a ghost for it is not a remnant of some past thing. Not like the first peak of light when morning breaks for never does it break. Hair stands in anticipation. First comes a warm breath then maybe a kiss, but you must wait with eyes closed.

[the-assumist]

#76

Fear demands a need to create, an impulse to fortify one’s being, a cry for stability in a seemingly unstable world. One must produce an art of self.  

Where do I fall? Water slips off a rock to more water, a pool, a pond, to more of itself. A self? nothing. I, a drop, single too in many, formed to fall? 

[the-assumist]

#32

Things only seem like they are meant to be because at times one is not able to look past the logic that constructs the inevitability of things.

[the-assumist]

#146

A surprise I give myself is one surprise I do not appreciate because it disagrees with my assumed personality. It comes from a stranger that dwells in my unconscious. It is a cold hand on my shoulder, a damp whisper in my ear. It suggests, why not, without saying a word. It tickles my intention and argues for attention.