“Is what I am doing really worth the effort? Yes, but only if a light shines on it from above… And if the light from above is lacking, I can’t in any case be more than clever.” Wittgenstein, Culture and Value
http://www.philosophynow.org/issue59/59carey.htm
I don't think I can pray anymore
The closest I can come is when I say grace before I eat.
I sit there and think, god eating god
but my faith in god seems more solid than it has ever been
Have you ever read Spinoza?
Me neither
What the hell is postpartum depression anyway?
it has been on my mind since you first started writing about your pregnancy
I was thinking if she is depressed now
what then?
I am either crazy or autistic
I can't imagine what it is to be a woman
But I wonder:
is that what we are, a walking batch of chemicals?
Our moods:
nothing but molecular storms?
If it would cheer you up
I would tell you about the mundane miseries of my days
I seem to be waiting for something
my days roll into one another like waves on a beach.
I loose track.
Maybe I should get stoned:
That cheers me up
but then I got to keep smoking.
I wish I could say something that would help you
I don't think this means much
I been trying to write something here for you for a couple of days now
but I just can't
I been hoping a poet would come to your aid.
Please keep on writing
I may be wrong
but I think you have a gift
even your darkest words
give me hope.
How do you feel when Myla smiles at you?
I think about your love for Malik
lucky brother.
The circle will not be broken.
a picture of my mother from a long time ago
if she was alive now she would be old enough to be your great grandmother,
she married crazy mike when she was 16 on the advice of her mother.
she would bitch at her mother for ruining her life
my grandmother's excuse was she did not have a mother
her mother died in childbirth
Nothing to do with anything
except I am glad you are going to church with your mother.
The Quakers helped me through some dark times. That is as close as I have ever been to a church goer.
These days I listen to the music
"Lord help me Jesus I've wasted it so, Help me Jesus, I know what I am."
Why Me Lord
_____________________________________________________
And yet, for all his detachment, Santayana could be horrified
at any effort to supplant God’s authority in our lives with a vulgar
secular humanism; he reacted with scarcely controlled religious
passion and outraged piety to a scene he witnessed when an
Italian, a “short fat middle-aged man,” spoke to his little daughter
in a way intended to disabuse her of her Christian beliefs: “I saw
the claw of Satan strike that child’s soul and try to kill the idea of
God in it. Why should I mind that? Was the idea of God alive at
all in me? No: if you mean the traditional idea. But that was a
symbol, vague, variable, mythical, anthropomorphic; the symbol
for an overwhelming reality, a symbol that named and unified in
human speech the incalculable powers on which our destiny
depends”
...
“I can always say to myself that my atheism, like that of Spinoza, is true
piety towards the universe and denies only gods fashioned by
men in their own image, to be servants of their human interests
Santayana’s God
I pander you not.
I do believe in the the Power of Myth.
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