Callous audacity hides a.deep cave or

The other way around , practice popularity and you shall see the way to it’s innermost venom, and it shall be your downfall.

A popularist will always return to his inauthentic subservience, a position of lesser grace, trying to negate that feature blindly, but without merit.
Singulaity of intentions, to capture one man’s attire is the sport of those who have hermetically sealed all possibility, and proclaim themselves winner s of all contests, beyond any sense .
Demagogues come an go, what’s a term but a preview of those coming after?
Whatever, gyrations do not possess great degrees of finesse or, intelligent design, they are merely reactive, barking , wired up dolls , wound up, and readily and potentially exploding into a vast field of synchronous redundant possibilities. Vainglory, poppy, and overbought crash of sweet tulip, do not hedge , focus , and maybe will find.

Anynomous sanity, so de-classe, it can steal your soul if you let it, to read, wrote benevolent , artsy penmanship u think you can hide?

Such loss as these, anyone can readily let pass.

The Harvard Classics. 1909–14. LIV Of Vain-glory IT was prettily devised of Æsop, The fly sat upon the axle-tree of the chariot wheel, and said, What a dust do I raise! So are there some vain persons, that whatsoever goeth alone or moveth upon greater means, if they have never so little hand in it, they think it is they that carry it. They that are glorious must needs be factious; for all bravery stands upon comparisons. They must needs be violent, to make good their own vaunts. Neither can they be secret, and therefore not effectual; but according to the French proverb, Beaucoup de bruit, peu de fruit; Much bruit, little fruit. Yet certainly there is use of this quality in civil affairs. Where there is an opinion and fame to be created either of virtue or greatness, these men are good trumpeters. Again, as Titus Livius noteth in the case of Antiochus and the Ætolians, There are sometimes great effects of cross lies; as if a man that negotiates between two princes, to draw them to join in a war against the third, doth extol the forces of either of them above measure, the one to the other: and sometimes he that deals between man and man raiseth his own credit with both, by pretending greater interest that he hath in either. And in these and the like kinds, it often falls out that somewhat is produced of nothing; for lies are sufficient to breed opinion, and opinion brings on substance. In militar commanders and soldiers, vain-glory is an essential point; for as iron sharpens iron, so by glory 1 one courage sharpeneth another. In cases of great enterprise upon charge and adventure, 2 a composition of glorious natures doth put life into business; and those that are of solid and sober natures have more of the ballast than of the sail. In fame of learning, the flight will be slow without some feathers of ostentation. Qui de contemnenda gloria libros scribunt, nomen, suum inscribunt [They that write books on the worthlessness of glory, take care to put their names on the title page]. Socrates, Aristotle, Galen, were men full of ostentation. Certainly vain-glory helpeth to perpetuate a man’s memory; and virtue was never so beholding to human nature, as it received his due at the second hand. Neither had the fame of Cicero, Seneca, Plinius Secundus, borne her age so well, if it had not been joined with some vanity in themselves; like unto varnish, that makes ceilings not only shine but last. But all this while, when I speak of vain-glory, I mean not of that property that Tacitus doth attribute to Mucianus; Omnium quæ dixerat feceratque arte quadam ostentator [A man that had a kind of art of setting forth to advantage all that he had said or done]: for that proceeds not of vanity, but of natural magnanimity and discretion; and in some persons is not only comely, but gracious. For excusations, cessions, modesty itself well governed, are but arts of ostentation. And amongst those arts there is none better than that which Plinius Secundus speaketh of, which is to be liberal of praise and commendation to others, in that wherein a man’s self hath any perfection. For saith Pliny very wittily, In commending another you do yourself right; for he that you commend is either superior to you in that you commend, or inferior. If he be inferior, if he be to be commended, you much more; if he be superior, if he be not to be commended, you much less. Glorious men are the scorn of wise men, the admiration of fools, the idols of parasites, and the slaves of their own vaunts.

Of what sort of callous audacity to observe, asks the monster of hearts, that he has not one of his own, and so seeks it in others. Weakness finds strength, while strength finds it’s weakness. Together again in the end.

the difference lies in the acting in the play, and the play in acting.
There goes some of the sail blown out if/of the mantra of/if the behaviorist.to hold up.

Isn’t it all a stage? The wind hasn’t changed it’s direction, No one sails straight into it. Tack, slow and steady. In and out, as with breathing.

deep cave, what other option did you present.

The very opposite, that of it’s inside, but parabolic exclusion from it’s volume, it’s content, whereas the cave the dank contents are dried of the blazing sun, the loss is revealed as a purification from filth, and of the voiding of the ego, the loss of the selfs’ negation

It is the expulsion from the cave of naivety and the idiom of the loss of innoscence.

God transpires from within, and shows his growth through the highest creation. It lives others through it’s self and not for it’s own.
God lives the culmination of all other possible incarnations, creations of all that ever measured in the immoryal chalice, that.becomes eternally manifest in the immeasurable present.
God is an idea that can not die, because HE is always being born .

It experienced it’self in the bottomless layers of the dome of the blue upside down oceans of joy.

Eternity is the smile of wonder on a child’s face beginning again, a spiritual journey out of the cavities which define and interpret through the senses, picking up the eaves and particles which have always redifine I(it)'s S(self) through the forces bearing in and out of the present incasement -embodiment of the soul.

It is totally a feeling of sense, not of any kind of understand ing.
The rrvrtdal from the cave has a mysterious aspect, a Divinity of Absolute assurance.

Sorry I guess I missed that or didn’t anticipate it from the manner in which it was presented.

Call it something, anything, but god. That’s just a mind mess all the way around. I get what you’re saying, just not the “what”, you ascribe it to.

The whole of our language with it’s who’s, what’s, where’s, and when’s, just can’t be folded around the sense of being you allude to.

I hate fill in the blank word games. Name a word that has eight letters and ends in _____dal.
I’m sorry but your fat finger typing and lack of proof reading what you submit makes it real hard to grok your meaning at times.

I mean why the period between a and d and why no punctuation like … at the end to help us slow thinkers out.

Most all the edits I perform on a post are the result of… shit I didn’t read what I wrote very well, or write what I thought very well and it is more likely both took place.

I just can’t help but chuckle that the creation would be a lot easier to understand if the creation proof read what had been created, before hitting the submit button.

“The very opposite”

Now opposite as it is understood in terms of how it still sustains apprehension. Most still live as if before the positivist attributed, or, tried, to reduce a phenomenology toward the unsustainability of simulated understanding.that is, the can’t transcend from dualism.
The separation for them is ‘real’. They, and I and You are very reluctant to live in bad faith.
The closest they can express it is by feelings, such as thinking in cliches such as ’ opposites attract’ . they still harbor personal magnetism, mesmerism, and they understandably can not gather the fortitude, or, whatever to go beyond energy transfers.
They negate a) that doesn’t confirm to their apprehensive sense of alienation.

The alien may be microcosmic and. energy and the absolute void becomes anathema.

Mowk, I hope my musing are not perceived as if it was over the top, because to my mind it also comes from a place I don’t recognize as a place that I know.

To Your other critique. , I can ascribe it to the shallow difference between logic and language can occur as a.consequence of writing with occasional typos, my bad.

I appreciate your contributions a great deal. And no, you’re talkin’ at a level I can most often get my nose too.

But them fat fingers, and what is left behind that stands for a coherent thought after you hit the submit button, sets me back a ways. The problem, it is too me, is much larger then it appears to you.

Sometimes, as a result, a whole paragraph goes right out the window. Tough, when that frames the context on which your next thought depends.

I think the above is important. But You are on point.
And since May be as me, as pertaining to You, to most. In about an hour. My ignition went out, so it will take me that long.appearances, I will make a new attempt.

Give me a keyboard and ten fingers to use… any time. If my thinking process were as limiting as a phone’s touch screen, I’d have never gotten past 1rst grade. On a phone I’d be like…

c u l8er.

I don’t have large hands but my thumbs cross the space of three keys. I wouldn’t participate on a forum if that were my only interface.

Ok.

So it is with slow deliberation I go.

As earlier suggest.

Given. That.

The difference between potential and actual(not necessarily real), is mostly consistent with artistic merit, an indifference to the Muse, who is still harbored in the deepest cave.

The potential difference is like Ives’unanswered question, not like a Kierkegaard squeamish of a sickness unto death, but a real power of the need to transcend the ideal.
If the ideal is not traversed, overcome, then it will block the hug her layers of consciousness to manifest.
Art for it’s own sake will be always divided between the subject and the object/ objective, to traverse that distinction.

That is why s truly enlightened person once said, 'don’t worry, the object of a particular piece is not my creation, but also yours, or whoever wishes to transpire in it.

But questioing the difference, is like removing the seventh veil of actuality and the potential difference will be canceled out.

Nothing left, to the imagination, that is robbed by the actuality.

The model will always by a model, living as a model example, in a boring certain reality, enjoyed merely in retrospect. The objective will cut the model from the image, the imagination will diffuse into a subliminal repetition, again with reference to Kierkegaard, a repetition which can only be rid of by appeal to the highest symbol, by desperation of the unbearable lightness of pain: God.
The gilded middle ages were present in the mystery of spiritual anguish,
the beauty evolving from the common beast.
Potential and real abstraction are merely reminiscent of the question, do you see a half filled glass, or, one that is half empty.

Way out? Of course there is, the image has to prevail over it’s constitution, but without covering it. They must blend somewhere in the psyche, and set down some manner of foundation upon something can be built.

Enlightened dadaism. Neo-Dada artists adhered to Marcel Duchamp’s premise that works of art (objects) are intermediaries in a process that the artist begins and the viewer completes.
Seeing is forgetting the name of the thing one sees. To set aside the “object”, is to see “it”.
The light, the hand, the shadow, are not separate.

Or to burn it, where there remains not even the remote possibility of recreating it objectively.

Good one!

Signed: Johnny Rotten

I think you may have mistaken the context. Did Duchamp ever critique the result of the viewers completion? How did you expect someone who has studied art to respond. I haven’t thought of Dada as an art movement in a long time, but the moment you conjoined the two, Dadaism jumped to mind.

Signed: Johnny Rotten?

Meno, or Orbie sure.

To burn an effigy is all the material object is. That is why you can’t See IT until you forget its name. But like you stated IT is reborn in every moment. Fire can’t destroy IT.

I am speaking from a faith in IT as an atheist. IT doesn’t require an objective name. I recognize IT as IS. And IT doesn’t solve my problems. A printer or otherwise. What else is left but dIy. I am missing a heart, IT finds that for me, but, i, still, have to, See IT.

Mowk,

Perhaps, but then dada
has been diluted to irrelevance, and although the manyform artifacts have been constructed in various contexts, so as to give abstract expressionism a putative meaning, the object has been lost as focii. The relative meaning depends on the installation.
Duchamp 's not having doubt in the unity and balance between the expression and it’s reception, however, the definition of the object to relational status within which such interphase manifests, lost it’s original intention. No one can see through the object as a an objective, intensional work, it shows more light through socially lit up trajectories of relevance.

Social realism gains momentum, while the absurd becomes fixated in early manifested urgency between two horrendous wars of psychic hemorrhage.

The modern and the postmodern generation has been blinded by a neuroasthenic filling of senses. There is no absurdity that can popularly defeat the extreme quantification of the expression. It lost its mystical conflict, it has become what it has been presented as such, it is what it is.

But what then, is it, really?

But then, dada lives for ever, and the world is still deaf and dumb and absurd as ever!.

The Muses should inspire us again. That is what I meant, and it is Sadr they do no longer do.!

Maybe this us the missed context you mentioned-

Is it the Muses fault no one is paying attention? Troughs full of water. And all the horses stand in the way of anyone who wishes to drink.

Sad in an understatement.

Because they were led there, yet they have to make up their minds to drink.
No wonder it was whipped on occasion.

They had blinders on, and thought themselves irrational, or worse, for self flagellation, says lag n er to pitche r

Nowdays any Muse would redact from self exposure.

Said in overstatement.

ERATO was one of the nine Mousai (Muses), the goddesses of music, song and dance. In the Classical era, when the Mousai were assigned specific literary and artistic spheres, Erato was named Muse of erotic poetry and mime, and represented with a lyre. Her name means “lovely” or “beloved” from the Greek word eratos.

FAMILY OF ERATO
PARENTS
ZEUS & MNEMOSYNE (Hesiod Theogony 75, Apollodorus 1.13, Diodorus Siculus 4.7.1, Orphic Hymn 76)

OFFSPRING
KLEOPHEME (by Malos) (Isyllus Hymn to Asclepius)

CLASSICAL LITERATURE QUOTES
Hesiod, Theogony 75 ff (trans. Evelyn-White) (Greek epic C8th or C7th B.C.) :
“The Mousai (Muses) sang who dwell on Olympos, nine daughters begotten by great Zeus, Kleio (Clio) and Euterpe, Thaleia (Thalia), Melpomene and Terpsikhore (Terpsichore), and Erato and Polymnia (Polyhymnia) and Ourania (Urania) and Kalliope (Calliope).”

Isyllus, Hymn to Asclepius (trans. Frazer, Vol. Apollodorus) (Greek poet C4th or 3rd B.C.) :
“Father Zeus bestowed the hand of the Mousa (Muse) Erato on Malos [eponymous lord of Malea] in holy matrimony (hosioisi gamois.) The pair had a daughter Kleophema (Cleophema), who married Phlegyas, a native of Epidauros (Epidaurus); and Phlegyas had by her a daughter Aigle (Aegle), otherwise known as Koronis (Coronis), whom Phoibos (Phoebus) [Apollon] of the golden bow beheld in the house of her grandfather Malos, and falling in love he got by her a child, Asklepios (Asclepius).”
[N.B. This hymn was engraved on a limestone tablet unearthed at the shrine of Asklepios in Epidauros. According to the inscription the poet consulted the Delphic Oracle for approval before publishing this genealogy of the god Asklepios.]

Plato, Phaedrus 259 (trans. Fowler) (Greek philosopher C4th B.C.) :
“When they [the grasshoppers] die they go and inform the Mousai (Muses) in heaven who honours them on earth. They win the love of Terpsikhore (Terpsichore) for the dancers by their report of them; of Erato for the lovers.”

Pseudo-Apollodorus, Bibliotheca 1. 13 (trans. Aldrich) (Greek mythographer C2nd A.D.) :
“Mnemosyne [bore to Zeus] the Mousai (Muses), the eldest of whom was Kalliope (Calliope), followed by Kleio (Clio), Melpomene, Euterpe, Erato, Terpsikhore (Terpsichore), Ourania (Urania), Thaleia (Thalia), and Polymnia.”

Apollonius Rhodius, Argonautica 3. 1 ff (trans. Rieu) (Greek epic C3rd B.C.) :
“[The poet invokes the Muse Erato as he begins the tale of the love of Jason and Medea :] Come, Erato, come lovely Mousa (Muse), stand by me and take up the tale. How did Medea’s passion help Iason (Jason) to bring back the fleece to Iolkos (Iolcus).”

Strabo, Geography 8. 30. 20 (trans. Jones) (Greek geographer C1st B.C. to C1st A.D.) :
“And further, the poem entitled Rhadine–of which Stesikhoros (Stesichorus) [poet C7th-6th B.C.] is reputed to be the author–, which begins, ‘Come, thou clear-voiced Mousa (Muse), Erato, begin thy song, voicing to the tune of thy lovely lyre the strain of the children of Samos.’”

Diodorus Siculus, Library of History 4. 7. 1 (trans. Oldfather) (Greek historian C1st B.C.) :
“Hesiod even gives their [the Mousai’s (Muses’)] names when he writes : ‘Kleio, Euterpe, and Thaleia, Melpomene, Terpsikhore and Erato, and Polymnia, Ourania, Kalliope too, of them all the most comely.’
To each of the Mousai (Muses) men assign her special aptitude for one of the branches of the liberal arts, such as poetry, song, pantomimic dancing, the round dance with music, the study of the stars, and the other liberal arts . . . For the name of each Mousa (Muse), they say, men have found a reason appropriate to her: . . . Erato, because she makes those who are instructed by her men who are desired and worthy to be loved.”

Orphic Hymn 76 to the Muses (trans. Taylor) (Greek hymns C3rd B.C. to 2nd A.D.) :
“Daughters of Mnemosyne and Zeus . . . Kleio (Clio), and Erato who charms the sight, with thee, Euterpe, ministering delight : Thalia flourishing, Polymnia famed, Melpomene from skill in music named : Terpsikhore (Terpsichore), Ourania (Urania) heavenly bright.”

Ovid, Fasti 4. 190 ff (trans.Boyle) (Roman poetry C1st B.C. to C1st A.D.) :
“I [the poet] have much to ask [of Rhea] ‘Give me, goddess, someone to interview.’ Cybele saw her erudite granddaughters [the Mousai (Muses)] and made them help . . . So Erato–Cytherea’s [Aphrodite’s] month [April] fell to her, since she is named from tender love.”

Propertius, Elegies 3. 3 (trans. Goold) (Roman elegy C1st B.C.) :
“The nine Maidens, each allotted her own realm, busy their tender hands on their separate gifts : . . . another [Erato] with both hands plaits wreaths of roses [i.e. the flower of love].”

ANCIENT GREEK & ROMAN ART
Thumbnail Portraits of the Nine Muses
Z20.2 Portraits of the Nine Muses
Greco-Roman Cos Floor Mosaic A.D.

Thumbnail Portraits of the Nine Muses
Z20.3 Portraits of the Nine Muses
Greco-Roman Trier Mosaic C3rd A.D.

Thumbnail Symbols of the Nine Muses
Z20.4 Symbols of the Nine Muses
Greek Elis Floor Mosaic C1st

.
Theoi Project © Copyright 2000 - 2017 Aaron J. Atsma, Netherlands & New Zealand

Make it a tripysh:

Poetry by empty pool
Remanded by neighbor used to be so nice
To empty pool
Emty pool says he, that was before,
Empty pool we can No luxuriate cause mosquitoes
The muses have you though
Now when in delirium the coming of winter but still topically accented by
An orange liquor in water

Still,

Still goes the wicked night
This house may
Be gone as in the wind

The pool empty, the eggs hatch not.

Others above please trim sycamore the view is gone

The yet another by shady pool and he meant shady in the prejoritive.

Unaccustomed, like the sweet thang who pressing on my breast’s inclave,
Into unending pressure of pain and guilt,

What of
Can’t say
Can’t say
Really can’t

My darling elentine hush hush dear

Another place and time down the street further down,

Much

Much much further there is a speck of a tiny soul in feel responsible,

While he says he died for me so cutting, though we could morning stroll on Einstein’s beach, merely leaving me with a trifle, maybe just stuffing this chicken to absolve by delineation,
Search me, the muse is but a poem
A place in an oasis of a country

Turning epic

How could he surmised the efforts of programmed reticence turned blatant liability, as to suggest ominous decolletage of a purposeful gating (dam(n)ing of surveying rhythms.

The surge prevented blutntlyby force, the rutm without it’s emission so practiced by the faultless oratorio of seminal expression.

No none of that. The pool guy comes over says don’t refill without fixing the pump or getting a new one, but they will return next time.

The trees bowing into the pool of desire, they now their leaves combining, and agelessly vampiric, they reflect much, everything, like drowning in their antimony.

The willow, gently weeps, as reflect the nuance of mystical pine of the sacred heart.

Oh, muse let me not, your leave be of my own sorrowful deliverance.

Once that tyke had been witnessed by a single owl, for a day or more, his predecessors soul to expire and to inhale again it’s velvet green vapor of desire. For informed now he may be a harbinger of souls.

To Mowk
Who still goes Dada from gaga.

youtu.be/VJDJs9dumZI

I get some sense Meno_ that you are unhappy with me on some grounds. A little poking I feel from your remarks aboard.