Jessica Bibbee

Posts Tagged ‘mortal’

20160731

In aphorism, bon mot, proverb on 20160731 at 23:55

The moment you decide that you deserve better is the moment that you know better—and already in this moment, you are better off.

The fool wears chains to the tune of gold—grounded in insecurity, weighted by vanity, and convinced they are better off decorated than liberated.

As if the limits of mortality were not damning enough, the fool boasts of his own. 

If a fool looks for dirt in the cleanest of waters, he is sure to succeed—if only in finding his reflection.

The fool dismisses a dozen opportunities before asking for a second chance.

Regret is the currency of the fool and the agency of the wise.

Waking up is hard to do, but it’s the only way to welcome in a new day.

What is the difference between mail and email? a LETTER

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20131009

In poetry, rumination on 20131009 at 21:03

《the way》
dear little one,
the world is yours.
the world was yours
even before you belonged
to it.
it was, is, and will be
your redemption as often
as it will be your nemesis.
do not be afraid, for fear
will not carry your burdens
nor will it shelter you
from the elements.
have hope as much as will
allow triumph
over the ills of present,
but none so much that
you deceive yourself
of the realities of the future
or the consequences of the past.
days of sorrow will weave
a tight knit alongside joy,
neither with warning
nor with limitation.
you shall persist because
you know of nothing else,
not only because you will it.
for as a mortal, possibility
is as finite only as is time.
what tomorrow will bring you,
yesterday has already taken
away, with a fluidity that
surprises with subtlety.
you will love and hurt,
feel pain and transfer pain.
you will always forgive
because the alternative
is no alternative.
fairness and justice
will oft be at odds
with one another and for you.
you will not always deserve
your destiny, but you will
decide not to deny it.
for tonight, the sun sets low,
but tomorrow, high,
high shall the sun rise up.
oh, little one, until tomorrow,
good night.

20120516

In aphorism, proverb, rumination on 20120516 at 23:59

Without an outrage, a wrong is not a scandal.

Impatience is the supernatural disappointment of mortal expectations.

Rome wasn’t built in a day, but Earth… was?

Who imagine forgiveness, realize peace. Who imagine revenge, realize war.

Imagine a society that accepts its responsibility to support each person as equally as it expects each person to respect its rule. Imagine if just one person supported a single other person, regardless of their imperfect past, embracing them for who they have the potential to be. Imagine a society that can forgive each other, that we may realize a future together.

To become independent is to be freed.

Independence is a form of freedom. Dependence is a form of captivity.

The independent must collaborate, the dependent must delegate.

The guilty act defensively, the guiltless need not act -they are defenseless.

Who is without guilt is without need for defense.

The fool argue a truth with a falsity.

Calling a piece of shit “a piece of shit” is not to be negative, it is to acknowledge truth, to refuse judgment.

To compliment where an insult is due is to refuse the truth.

Who deny the truth fool themselves.

Being me is the greatest challenge I could ever face -when I do that, everything else is a cinch. When I don’t, everything is a task.

The greatest deception, the greatest revelation -is of the self.

20120222

In aphorism, proverb on 20120222 at 23:05

Think inside the box.
Think outside the box.
Think without the box.
Whether or not there is a box,
Think.

If creativity is a gift divined, innovation is but the labor of mortals.

20091107

In aphorism, idiom, proverb, rumination on 20091107 at 14:30

[on BELIEF and ACTION]

It is possible to know one’s beliefs by looking at their actions, but it is impossible to know one’s actions simply by looking at one’s beliefs.

For belief is different than action, and rare is the person who acts according to his or her professed belief.

Humans are mortal, by definition, and know for certain very little about things immortal.

Hypothesis and superstitions, often termed belief, aim to simplify what is supernatural, i.e., what is not of this earth.

One’s beliefs cannot change reality, they cannot explain the past or define the future. At most, a belief may shape the present, and only our actions can agree with our beliefs.

If our actions do not match our beliefs, then it is only the present that we disgrace in the name of the future.

A belief which does not match our actions is but another’s, whose existence is never real enough to call our own. In this light, it is only possible to say that actions exist and beliefs are as only as real as said actions.

The action which differs from belief must relinquish any ties to that belief, for they are separate, they are an ‘other’ unto each other.

A fool professes a belief and guides not his actions to follow. The wise guide their own actions accordingly, and in doing so, set forth a belief which no soul can dispute, as it is backed with action.

20081027

In aphorism, poetry, proverb, tale on 20081027 at 18:43

The assassin creates a martyr where before stood merely a mortal.

War in the name of peace is to starve in the the name of nutrition.

Defense that strikes offense has reunited with lost kin.

《until the night》
Where by day Johnny went, where by day Johnny trusted;
always once or more, be it twice or even thrice.
Until the day was done, the night had barely come
and Johnny trusted not ’til morn.

20060131

In poetry on 20060131 at 23:10

《the sex of poets》

The sex of poets emanates –
flowing as without edges,
contagious as without knowing;
words play
back and forth –
a rhythm, ever changing,
follows whereby one leads
until the pull of the next.
One moment
as without definition,
nor clearly sided with neighbors –
rolling one to the next.
Beckoned without call,
it is from a distance that
one sees deep into the heart
where life seems both
to stop and start, again –
without pause and
with the haste of lovers
kept at bay, unwilled.
The words sear clear,
sharp and pure.
They exist alone,
and yet are fed
by the hunger of ideas
yet tossed,
yet exposed –
as if the virgin ever lived
within the eyes of the soul;
forever waiting,
forever with hunger –
fresh as the moment to follow.

The sex of poets lingers
past the setting sun
into the morning dew,
where one knows not for sure
if the climax be truer
at the final release of
thoughts never felt, – or
perhaps at the time
of response; the
lover’s words, a compliment,
meshing with, as if one.
Almost beyond a reality,
the words live on
to dance without end,
to breed a careful song –
as if in tales of lore,
existence never certain.
Fleeting, though strong;
Skirting, though present –
The moment speaks not
of tangible truths
that speak of tomorrows,
but rather the window
rarely looked into –
it is there
it is waiting,
but cannot be taken with you,
nor fed to the mortal –
only to continue
in the souls of lovers –
perhaps truer than
the love of lovers itself.

The sex of poets preys
upon the passion saved
over years and decades
desires of the flesh
never satisfy the wound
of ages past
of pains neglected
merely masking in mum
the yearning ever mounting
to release with a single
sound
The silence is broken,
fears relinquished;
the rebirth of hopes
fills the air –
thick with the essence of now
and hint of next,
never to be sure.
The bliss lies within,
ever longing.
Separate worlds entwined –
an affair of the id
within…
Never lucid to the searching,
but in control.
When no longer logic bids you
surrender, at last call
with bursting souls;
hungrier still, the eve –
power of the word
has finally come, the time.