Littermature Excerpt- Crunching Numbers, and Coming of Age.

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Crunching Numbers

Littermature: The Ugly Face of the Mind — Excerpt: Coming of Age


‘Coming of age’ What can that possible mean?

Getting older is what comes to mind, but what does that really warrant?
Age is simply determined by a number that has been assumed by man.

In this sense, age is simply the passing of time, whilst time is the creation of man itself.

So is coming of age really a phrase to determine your wisdom? Your legality? Your intellect?All of these are furthered as social constructions of man.

This phrase is simple, yet leaves me overly perplexed.

The only way this phrase becomes meaningful, is by relating time as change. Coming of age is attributable to the definitive change of an individual.

But even still, the individual is infinitely evolving as a whole. In this sense, it comes to fruition that no one ever really becomes of ‘age’.

~G. Kourtesiotis, 2013


Littermature

Littermature: The Ugly Face of the Mind– Inner Monologues of George Kourtesiotis


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Tired and Tried: Wishless Thinking.

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People and Life (B&W)
© Kalandrakas | www.jessleecuizon.com

Tired And Tried

Anytime I try to think of my wishes, I am left empty; I am tired, and tried.

I can’t remember the last REAL wish I made, I feel that I am incapable of wishing.

Even my birthday wishes are WORTHLESS, meaning, they aren’t even GENUINE.

Please, let me illustrate:

My ‘go-to’ wish the past few birthdays has been:

“I wish for health, and happiness.”

But in that, there is NO EMOTION.

I don’t wish for illness, or despair. I simply DON’T WISH, anything, at all!

Mentally, I am just going through these traditional motions, EMOTIONLESS, I don’t even care.

Am I apathetic, or merely pathetic?

Tired, and tried in pathetic apathy,

Littermature


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Loco Al Turin – A Poem for Nietzsche

Daily Prompt- Local- Nietzsche In Turin

A poem for Nietzsche


Left to my own demise after

Observing my own thoughts.

Can’t seem to stop them from

Assimilating such distorted perceptions. Perhaps my mind is

Lost with madness, as I have come across Nietzsche’s horse


With philosophical/poetic prose,

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Tranquility: What Thunder And Lightning Feel Like.

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**Damp reflections on what thunder and lightning feel like.**


Thunder & Lightning

I sit here staring through the middle of the night. That, and not much more.

The rain trickles, and pours… Then trickles… Then pours.

As it struggles to find an enduring rhythm, the subtle but unmistakable flashes of lightning that dance in the accompaniment of thunder.

What feelings wash into my being?

As my surrounding environment washes within itself, I continue to sit and stare; feeling.

It’s funny to witness playing within the boundaries of such moments.

These moments, where nothing seems certain; a complete obscurity,

A desolate experience in itself, though contrastingly relaxing.

Perhaps my yearning for solitude is being embraced in this moment,

Where nothing more but rain, dropping and spreading itself over the cold hard pavement, has been spread into existence to navigate this vast urban infrastructure.

Where is this damp moment taking me?

The outside is in, with my own inside’s out.

Cleanse this emotional obscurity, Quickly.

As I remain sedated in this state of solitary tranquility.

With Introspection,

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Transient Memories That Don’t Belong To Me.

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Well, I happened to stumble onto this ‘Transient’ challenge laid out by Andrea Badgley.

Immediately, I began to form visuals and associate images of the past, a past that is now very late.

Perhaps a pirate’s past, sailing the open seas in search of new opportunities to plunder.

Perhaps a life spent upon the helm; does the helmsman steer the ship, or does the ship steer the helmsman?

It is very interesting to ponder upon how such a destiny unfolds, as all of it does within a momentary second.

And here now, as I strike key after key without any real effort I can feel the yearning and power of such a moment, an identity of experience, through stored memories of a past that is hardly known.

And just as quickly as it surfaced, it’s gone.

A transient memory, or fantasy?

Littermature


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