Jessica Bibbee

Posts Tagged ‘release’

20130223

In graphics, rumination on 20130223 at 15:14

《humanity correct》

《humanity correct》by Jessica Bibbee

Advertisements

20110719

In aphorism, proverb on 20110719 at 10:14

The desert dweller prays for rain, but is prepared not for the storm.

The fool waits for the rains to sow his seeds.

The fool tames a beast he cannot feed.

Fantasy is the reality of the fool.

To judge another’s rationale is simply to impose one’s own motive upon another’s actions.

Climax not without the crescendo; lo, the fool is clueless, the wise is cognizant of.

Life, ’tis a puzzle.

Cast a worm, catch a fish.
[Other times, cast a worm, drown a worm.]

The fool act without understanding.
The lay do not act, understanding only of consequence.
The dilettante do not act, understanding not of impact.
The wise act with understanding of impact.

Consequence impels the fool; impact propels the wise.

Hold experience dearly, opinions loosely.

Project that which is beneficial to others;
Retain that which is worthy of possession;
Relinquish all else.

The wise balance output with input, teaching with learning, giving with receiving, apology with forgiveness.

Prudence in opinion, abundance in perception.

Share candid opinions as you would fresh onions -sparingly and with consideration.

From the valley, espy the peak.

Cash not backed by gold is but pretty paper.

20090621

In rumination on 20090621 at 10:49

[on relationships]

In every relationship, we are bound by invisible strings to the other. Some strings tug, others are lax. The longer or more intimate a relationship, perhaps the more strings there are. There are strings that we pull with purpose, and others that we pull without our knowing. Still others ,we pull in knowing, but without intention of pulling. It is this tension and laxity of invisible strings that allows us to stay connected, and feel connected. A lessening in tension is the first step towards actually leaving a person, being disconnected from a person. For it is only when all the strings are lax and there is no pulling on either side that we may lose awareness of the existence of the other person. It is in this way that we are able to busy ourselves in daily life, interacting with various people and moving from one social setting to another. Interaction is simply the orchestrating, the puppeteering of these strings, as if they were to become electrified. Strings can find themselves under tension almost instantly, as when we are surprised, and they can go lax equally as quickly, as the sudden tension of another string releases, or rather rechannels the tension that we originally feel.

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.