technology excitement
the latest current thing
grows into objuration
after the worshiping
the way we do things, and the how,
are patterns in a dance,
that changes, as all fashions do,
with whimsy and
by chance
Tag: Social Commentary
… some believe …
there's some believe in recipes --
for life, for love, for making friends --
and so they want a step-by-step
to lead them, surely, to such ends
as motivates their soul and heart,
and so they wait, and never start.
there's some believe life's not that way:
each story different, like each day,
and that to live's to improvise
(for knowledge does not make us wise)
and that discovery's not knowing
but, it's more like bending, flowing,
inching, reaching, floor and ceiling,
earth and sky and simply
feeling
To share is human:
At the Corner of Anxiety and Disrespect
This age is one with an abundance of anxiety and a shortage of respect.
Much of our anxiety comes from having more choices available to us than humans are wired to be able to handle. Our lack of respect seems to then come from how we narrow the choices available to us through willfully ignoring (or misunderstanding) others.
The library was that first place That I could find most anything: At age eleven, eyes gone wide, At what new wonders it would bring -- We could but only take (of course) A few things out on any day; Although it seemed to hold the world, To get it piece-wise was the way That we could get it. Slowly, then, The pictures would develop, as We read, imagined, learned, and grew. Like when I wanted to hear jazz: The headphones on, one at a time, I heard the songs I read about And felt the imperfections of The medium, but had no doubt That what I heard was real, and true. Connected then to history By all the work it took to hear Those things available to me But gradually, laborious. Right now, I could hear any song That's ever been recorded, but I listen less, and not for long, For we're not limited to what We've paid for, or we can check out: The songs are all there for our ears But where to start, or where about Is overwhelming. We employ Then social markers, to denote The things we will consume instead: The same way that we think, and vote. There is an 'us', there is a 'them' -- This reasserts the borders that We long to have; and so we live An inch deep and a mile Fat
To share is human:
Our Daily Echelons
Within our daily echelons, we may Go wandering from where we really are: For though love starts in fantasy, It isn't meant to really end that way. But all this isolation has begot A whirl of nothings, dressed up as the world That people fight and die for, everyday, Not knowing that the cure contains The rot
To share is human:
A Community
We raised our hands in a forest of words, We stretched out our arms in a gesture of light; We welcomed the dirt, and the bugs, and the birds, And brought depth and width, along with the height. As time tumbled forward, community rose, And we all together were more than each one; What we lacked in drama, we had in repose, And stood not ashamed to be under the sun. The soil of recrimination is poor, And nothing can grow when we plant among blames: But much is accomplished where modesty dwells And lives in our actions, as well as our aims.
To share is human:
another online paradox
seems differing opinions can shake our confidence; and so we keep a distant gap or hide behind a fence we raise our kids in canyons, smugly, still we are afflicted with all the doubt that comes when we are simply contradicted
To share is human:
a super sunday thought
think, this sunday (if you'd like, and if one moment you might take) if just as many played as watched, the difference that it might make
To share is human:
A World of Words
When you live, solely, in a world of words, imagination loses its grounding, and truth becomes ulcerous. Words are things, but they are not the same as the things they are meant to signify; just as saying, "I will pay you back on time" doesn't mean that we will. So whatever we think we know strictly from words should come with this caution: hearsay is unreliable, as is readwrote. Truth is not a monopoly; no mortal -- or group of mortals -- has sufficient experience to own it, no matter what they tell you.
