XPost: alt.buddha.short.fat.guy, alt.philosophy.taoism, alt.philosophy.zen   
   From: wudao@wuji.net   
      
   Ned wrote:   
   >"Tang Huyen" wrote in message   
   >> On 8/29/2016 7:13 AM, Ned Ludd wrote:   
   >>   
   >>> Oh yes, the graveyards are littered with successes.   
   >>   
   >> Wrong. I have visited graveyards, and they sing   
   >> to life. You don't need to whistle when you walk   
   >> in them. It adds to your life, for free.   
   >>   
   >> One Chinese tombstone says in English: "We   
   >> love you eternity". The preposition must have   
   >> slid down the slanted eye.   
   >>   
   >> Tang Huyen   
   >>   
   >   
   >The graveyard of ideas   
   >is necessarily spacious,   
   >and never diminishes.   
   >It has many ornate headstones:   
   >Monuments to tortured logic,   
   >and testaments to twisted reason.   
   >Occasionally a mausoleum   
   >dots the landscape, some great edifice   
   >of notions, holding sway, looming   
   >over the nearby acreage.   
   >The doors are rusted, windows gray   
   >and barred, opaque to any light,   
   >without or within, darkness.   
   >Each grave is tended faithfully,   
   >for each idea has a handmaiden,   
   >dressed in white, purporting to be   
   >pure reason, yet beneath her robes   
   >so sparkling white, a festering   
   >mass of emotion endlessly seethes.   
   >She tends her little plot and mossy stone   
   >with meticulous devotion,   
   >preserving the dead remains with undimmed   
   >ferocity, faithful to her bruised heart.   
   >Semper Fidelis, motto of warriors,   
   >is her guidestone, watchword, credo.   
   >For what is reason but faith in order.   
   >In springtime the grasses grow,   
   >obscuring the decaying graves.   
   >Her heart shudders at the relentless   
   >destruction of her cherished idea,   
   >hidden beneath the swelling sea of green.   
   >She will never leave, but rather die   
   >with her dying dream, reason lost   
   >for love of one precious thing,   
   >in the endlessness of things.   
   >   
   > - Ned (from "Tissue of Lies")   
      
   Euphostrophic are the waze he knows.   
   Panastrophic is the filter used as he goes.   
   Her being as catastrophy is not a trophy.   
   Nor the flowers in her fields of night lights.   
      
   Life and death, up and down, left and right.   
   Two ends of a single line of thought break.   
   Broken again and again. Why the one side   
   is preferred. Ore the beginnings of each.   
      
   In her heart, she knows. For she is two as   
   is a reflection of her own idea in the making.   
   Why the one was, in the beginning, when.   
   Not where, nor how. In was the preposition.   
      
   Then in the end. Not at. Further. Farther.   
   Without was Wu, not having. She was.   
   Any idea she was being used. Metaphorically.   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)