Jessica Bibbee

Posts Tagged ‘next’

20120513

In aphorism, proverb on 20120513 at 23:57

bystander:
noun; one who stands by [something], and thus condones [something], even supports [something].

A foolish argument is grounded in a foundation of desperation.

The fool praise the light, but live by the darkness.

The only way to fight evil is to not join it, not contribute to it.

The fool trust not those without intention to convert, confusing conversion for conviction.

The fool ask ‘How to conquer those who threaten us?’, not facing the reality of their contribution.

Who is without a weapon is feared only by the fool.

Defenseless, the fool become defensive.

Defense, by any other name, is offense.

Where some fool are critical, other fool are insecure.

Where two side against one, is strength only but numbers, is weakness only but elsewhere.

The fool seek not to hear, with a defense of listening.

The fool have ears, but do not hear; have eyes, but do not see; have hearts, but do not feel.

Resolution led by a moderator is not a resolution of two.

The fool don’t the best they can, the wise do the best they can’t.

Seize wisdom from the depths, net ignorance from the shallows.

The fool adjudge assumptions, the wise consider intentions.

Criticism that negates compliments exposes false compliments; criticism that complements compliments  reveals true compliments.

Forever to be trusted, are the fool and their fallacy.

Sooner an apology to be forgiven than the innocent to be spared.

The fool hear with ears that deceive.

Where fault lies, a defense is readied. Where understanding lies, an offense is unnecessary.

Do plumbers have pipe dreams?

Sooner a parent to side with the other than with truth.

Wisdom is not without extent.

Perspective and understanding are but two sides of a multi-dimensional reality.

Concern falls as criticism to fool ears.

The fool have a defense for every criticism, an offense for every defense, a criticism for every offense.

Who is fool enough to fight logic with illogic, falls victim to his own weapon.

What time does not heal, memory must forgive.

No one judges more or less than the next -some admit it, others deny it.

A poor defense is as good as no defense.

The fool fail to fathom the color beyond text, black and white.

Advertisements

20120509

In aphorism, proverb, question on 20120509 at 23:58

A fish out of water is the first to evolve.

I’d rather that you are loyal to the truth, than to me. For I will change, and you may not change with me. But if I am loyal to the truth, and also are you loyal, then always will I find your loyalty near.

A half truth is a whole falsity.

There is a war between the ego and the superego that started before time itself.

If you cannot do it right, is doing it wrong better than delaying doing it or simply not doing it?

Only in the midst of hardship, does our true character.

The fool fail to see the light -lo, they are blind even to the darkness that envelops them.

Light is born in the darkness, though it is not of the darkness.

One minute, the fool in darkness; the next minute, the wise enlightened.

The fool are not below wisdom, the wise are not above foolery.

20110526

In aphorism, proverb on 20110526 at 13:42

The next step is always right in front of you.

20101227

In tale on 20101227 at 15:33

《Flawed in the Eye of a Bumptious Camel》

In a land where the sun shone without reprieve, there once was a Camel so proud, that he would spit at the sight of another animal. For in his eyes, the others -they were all flawed.

A Little Bird, ever observant, came to rest on the head of the Camel. “Who are you spitting at today, dear Camel?”

The bumptious Camel responded with a huff, “Ha! Who does that Elephant think she is?” With a spit in the Elephant’s direction, he continued. “What a silly nose, it nearly hangs on the ground!”

The Little Bird smirked with wisdom unknown to the Camel, and responded, “Dear Camel, that long silly nose of the Elephant is quite a useful tool, don’t you see? She gathers water like a hose. And when no water there is, like a trumpet, she bellows!”

The bumptious Camel hesitated in concession but for a moment, turning next to the Lion. “Look at that scruff! Can’t a Lion tame his own mane?” And the Camel spit.

The Little Bird with a smirk, followed, “Dear Camel, that mangy mane not only makes it look kingly above all the other animals, but can you fancy it with a bob cut?”

The bumptious Camel could not disagree and chuckled at the thought of a better-groomed Lion.

But he quickly straightened his face and forced another spit, saying, “But what about the Giraffe? Such a long, gangling neck –what is a head doing so far from its feet?”

The Little Bird explained, “Dear Camel, when the rains visit no more, and food is scarce –only the Giraffe can reach those yet green leaves, so high up in the sky.”

Once more, the Camel scrambled to save the last of his all-knowing pride, and said, “The Rhino –what can be said of that sore-looking horn, smack in the middle of its mug!”

But the Little Bird was no shorter of words than she was of wisdom. “Dear Camel, that unsightly adornment of a horn might be nothing to look at, but it serves her well when intruders threaten with presence.”

Conceding at last, the Camel asked the Little Bird, “And what about you? What is your forte that feigns a flaw?”

The Little Bird asked, “Who me?” and with tilted head, paused in thought before responding, “Why… these scrawny legs of mine, I suppose. They aren’t much to look at, either -are they!”

The Camel timorously chuckled in agreement.

“But, when I fly…” the Little Bird expounded, “… ’tis as if I fly without the weight of any legs, -free to soar where’er the wind dares me!”

And with these words, the Little Bird set out for a spin, spreading her wings and tucking those scrawny legs right out of sight. This talent pleased the Camel, causing him to look down at his own not-so-scrawny legs.

But before the Camel could sputter a word, the Little Bird interjected, “Oh Camel, your legs are just fine, strong as the quadruped that you are! Your forte feigning flaw is not your knock knees, but only what you yourself cannot see.”

The Little Bird landed once again on the Camel’s forehead, this time facing backwards, her own tail dangling just in view of the Camel’s eyes.

At this, the Camel was instantly flummoxed, but equally intrigued.

With eyebrows now disheveled, he goaded the Little Bird, “Alright, Legs. Enough with empty accusations; Enlighten me, if you think you may!”

The Little Bird peered backwards over the Camel and said, “Have you ever wondered why you cannot roll around and scratch your back on the grasses of these barren plains, like the other quadrupeds?”

The Camel was dumbstruck, for the Little Bird had spoken the truth –though he had never paused to reason why.

“Look at this back of yours, Camel. It’s got a big bump on it, like you’ve been stuffed with a pillow!” The Little Bird bounced up and down on the noticeable bump.

The Camel spit in denial, then dropped his jaw with waning disbelief. He craned his neck to the side in search, as he realized that he’d never ever even seen this so-called bump. And he found his neck to be just long enough to catch a glimpse of what was indeed a most un-smooth bump. The Camel’s eyebrows settled into a heap of newfound shame.

The Little Bird flew up to this bump and said, “Dear Camel –this bump of a hump of yours, this flaw –is your forte.”

The Camel perked up a bit with hope enough to relieve his mounting shame. “Do enlighten me, Little Bird!”

“This hump of yours explains why you alone can brave the desert sands, without hint of oasis, for days on end. This bulky bump of a hump is but a reservoir, with water enough to endure time itself in light of the blazing sun!”

And this time, the Camel smiled a –no longer bumptious– smile and said, “Hey, Legs- so wise are you! Now, I see… the only flaw of mine, was in the sight of my eyes!”

20091005

In aphorism, proverb on 20091005 at 23:56

We may learn from a book, but we live only from experience.

Everyday has the same potential as the last -and the next.

A fool exports willingly of his ways, but imports not of the wise.

The righteous flag of colonialism needs not the wind to blow.

20090311

In aphorism, proverb on 20090311 at 12:11

Patience will get you nowhere, without the next step.

Nationalistic sentiments are a last and desperate attempt to assign self-worth in the vain name of patriotiotism.

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.