Animal's House of Muse

Vibes to Feed the Hasty Soul with the States of All that Matters

Dearest Hermie

So often do loss and absence
Define our downbeats
That to measure any moment as significant
Is to say nothing at all
Is to allow memory to bring sense
To a head unable to wrap itself
Around time no more or less alive
Than the spirit which continues
As its name is written in honor
My loyal friend,
I’ll carry you always
In the deepest recesses of my heart
For all my days to come
You’ll always be my home

Amen.

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Stratified and Satisfied: A Mapping

Lain bare,
Flying by the seat of one’s pants
Proves perplexing
Yet very much real
The friction of the clouds
Steamrolling me forward
My largest organ
Alive in a cold shower
I haven’t felt this fresh
In a long, long while
I’ll manage till my Fall
Then dress myself accordingly
I’ll know what to adorn
Once I land,
Assured and committed
For now, my insides
Are misted drops of purpose
Collecting a formation
To which I am blind
As the great air, surrounding
Is thin and suspended
My essence having promised
To touch ground as soon
As it rains from excess
I’ll breath in the play of apperception
And exhale a context,
Wild and free
Come fly with me
Let your maxims be personal
And the whole world you’ll see
You’ll see
You’ll see

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We’ve Started a New Campaign!

Sup readership?! My nonprofit, The Lawn Chair Philosophy Foundation, started a new GoFundMe campaign to help raise money for our 501c3 application fees, office fees, bank fees – and for our first library package! We will donate a philosophy library to a Bethesda Project location yet to be determined!

Please donate today!

https://www.gofundme.com/let039s-get-philly-philosophical

Just Some Food for Thought

Eww.
Is this thing still mooing?
Please, send it back.

 

 

 

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Of Ways, of Modes, of Transcendental Logic

Mere words associated with abstract things,
Far removed from anything of substance
Struck the most tender spot in my heart
And tears welled to the precipice
Of undignified sobs, right in the middle
Of a crowded coffee shop
You must have touched my most mundane studies
Animating logic theories past
As what I once thought lost forever
Sprang to life, as full as your physical presence
Once was
To what extent are you here?
Does it even make sense to ask such a question?
What once was real
Will always be so
And shall forever shape, even if from tacit recesses
The form of phenomenal space
These tears, hardly secret are sent not from sadness
No, no
Beauty, here, holds firm sway
For certain, indubitably
Pure essences are felt in this world

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Parlor Patty Picked a Piper Peddling Principled Pockets

When evidence takes precedence
The imagination soars
Above the clouds
Beyond the moon
Towards phantasy galore
The eyes behold
Around first space
The truth of what’s in store

But what unfolds
Is fallen gold
Spun fast as
Laws let go

Concluding last
What’s known as fact
Mere memory implores
As tacit rings
Upon the strings
Our image sits adorn’d
A misted gift
An Ancient myth
A sin we could afford
Pure essence shines
Tall tales sublime
A message oft’ ignored

And thus we read what’s written
And thus we know what’s true
And thus we think our thoughts run green
Though frankly wisdom’s bored

Oh Lord . . . smh

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Walking on Water, Sinking in Air

Where must I find my grounds if what I believe to be the floor
Is constantly moving?
This way, that way, every which way except here
That’s where you’ll find my feet –
Dancing and tapping and cramping
To the rhythms of uncertainty
Upon no real demarcated plane
Mediated between disorder and sky
I must recollect my moves in retrospect
Piddly perception my only guide.
Why, Lord, why?

The unstructured womb of existence reveals no steps
If you continue to ask
Just melt into space through time . . .

My only reply
Jeeze Louise
With all of these stops and rests
I might as well be wicked
 

 
 

 

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Transparent-Headed

My mind is scattered
Patterned about my room
As dust caking each surface
Swipe your finger
On the bookshelf
Possess my subject
Wash your hands of me
My labor ceases to be
Recollect my person
In the drain pipe
Dreaming of thoughts well composed
The remains of my anonymity
Mere scuzzy film
Easing waste along its merry way
How I see myself
Furnishing the movements
Of a silent world
Devoid of ends and direction

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The Soft Breath of Life

What speaks to me in the gentle breeze
As I sit in my truck reflecting upon financial ruin
By a shade-giving dumpster in the bank parking lot?
“With the windows down,”
It whispers,
“You won’t be as sweaty
And the boiled eggs you packed as a lunch
Won’t spoil so fast,”
It has my full attention
“Despite the smell
With that little inch of comfort
You’ll stretch your patience into a mile
As far as the breeze will take you
As far as you need to go
Spirit Child”
My attention is full of shit.

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Through the Now Invisaligned Crooked Teeth of Fables

One night, while traversing both the heights of pure rage and deafening depths of despair, shamelessly flailing for want of cosmic attention, a voice most consoling issues in a tone, bright and clear, “Hush, child. Hush, child. Your answers lie near. See, over yonder – where once stood your idle sit but mere crumbles of visages, past. Your father lied . . . of fate, unjustified. And so you killed him. Don’t you remember? No longer will his worldview overshadow the truth which you have seen for yourself in full. Certainly, you now know of your true identity. And it is now through your perfected word that the lungs of nature and history shall find principled breath. Are you ready?” Yes! You cry. Yes! “ . . . But are you sure?”

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