Comfort isn't Wrong but Risky
Comfort isn't Wrong but Risky

Turn your heart on me,
to or away,
it stays in the same place
there in your desperate chest;
life isn't safe,
the mind is conceptless,
if I fit the mold, I'm happy;
and you, turning away and to, 
make the setting sun a certainty.
And the rising a luxury. 
This poem was written about a particular woman, not really, I mean it struck me, while engaging with her.
But I'm not a pervert.
I had something more than sex in mind.

I meet women in person, and I fall in love with them because they're very attractive. And they say I'm shallow. Women fall in love me online, because of who I am, my personality, having never seen me. I tell them they're very shallow. 

Sometimes women who rejected me, and who have gone on to get married and have kids, are consumed with anxiety and unhappiness, and want to spend some time in the loose and wacky world I offered them a decade or more ago. Though it's a great hassle, and women tend not to want to leave their husbands for me, as they love their husbands, though nothing ever happens between them anymore, and there remains something always unloveable about me, a world that relieves them of their neuroses, but scares them as they peek into the abyss of apparent psychoses I'd apparently be leading them through should they stick around more than a few hours. It's been useful for me to present my adoration to the young beauties of the world, expecting rejection, as by the time they're overthehill and desperate, they're still only in their early to mid thirties; and as with the proverb, Every virgin was a harlot once, or which ever way you want to have it, there's enough of that initial spark in them to throw sexy wiccan sabbats or dance barefoot in the rain wearing sundresses in a wheatfield like the tarty nymphs they've always been in my imagination.

My gratuitous mission is to free men from women, women from men, children from parents and vice versa, free from concepts and institutions. Free from and with. Free from the control of and free to be with as you please. Nothing changes, except all responsibility and obligation is gone, and the world is accepted and navigated with love and not stress. I maintain my Mad Max philosophy, as my work is universal, though my lifestyle and amusements are selfish and self-indulgent. I demand free people. And especially free women. My work remains gratuitous, and to pick up the serpent in the first place is each's choice.

The Sam Harris idea of no free will and the magical idea of tuning your will with that of the universe are the same idea. No Will and True Will are the same. I resist what I don't like. I allow what I don't like. You could say, that's bound to make me uncomfortable. Being uncomfortable is good. It's the only creation of the true God. Without discomfort, the world would have no meaning (or at least different from where your comfort exists. Truly or not.) Music is more important than your comfort and discomfort. 

A cartoon is a talking animal, and I'm a cartoon man in a cartoon world. Fostered by looney tunes and merry melodies. The music is the spirit. It's the thing. Whether or not it's sound.

I wanted to say this about this particular poem. First of all, because no one commented on it. Secondly, because this is what I had planned on responding to the comments on this poem with to begin with.
And mostly, because, the girl who motivated the writing of this poem, among other things and ones, doesn't really care about my existence as someone who writes things. So I feel free to write whatever about her I want. Because, first of all, she's not going to read it. And then,

cause I'm an Absolute.

And never change.
If everyone is free then who will run the trains?
I'll be there in a minute.
(04-04-2021, 03:32 PM)newsclippings Wrote:  If everyone is free then who will run the trains?

Those who freely choose to run them (for a consideration freely offered).
feedback award Non-practicing atheist
Trains get in the way, sometimes. And so do schedules. And roads. You're always free to walk through a forest, except when there's a fence around it; and even then.

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