April 18, 2014
poem
the obvious end
death
and the mystery of it.
love is a chemical thing,
there is only mystery for the uninformed.
but
still I love
and soon will die;
the poetry of death is inexhaustible.
the poetry of flowers and birds is equally inexhaustible.
and when it rains everyone writes poetry about the rains.
but
we still think of a rising sun
a setting sun
in ignorance that it is the earth
that rotates on an invisible axis.
that we are always in motion,
balancing with the flat of out feet,
sometimes on our knees.
– Hoc Scripsi
November 26, 2013
meaninglessness
Written in response to being told only life has meaning through Jesus Christ:
Each of us, in life, affects another being and usually a large set of beings – beings we know personally and beings we do not know at all – through direct action we have this effect and through indirect action we have an even greater one. Our names may not live on forever but our actions will. So, to say that my life is meaningless because I think this life is it, or I don’t believe in an afterlife or a god, most likely is going to be meaningless to me because you simply aren’t paying attention to anything other than your personal world view.
Imaginary beings need not apply.
the platitudes of willful resemblance 