Betsy Calabaza

Who’s greater, the Sun or I?

In terms of force, the winner is known

But ask the Sun to disobey a law, it cannot

Ask the Sun to say no, it cannot

The Sun follows laws and for it it is great

I can choose not, and for that I…

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It is not logic that references itself, it is us, its children

Logic made us reference it, or reverence it

Why can’t we choose nonsense? Why not reject the word and live wordless?

In solitude, and quiet

Anywhere two souls gather, logic will present itself

A necessary awareness stemming from my own contingent awareness

Autonomy being able to move contingency like we move choose to move our eyes across a page or choose to look away

We read on, willingly, the other’s soul

A necessary awareness of an abyss contained in an Other

Two contingencies existing in nonsense willingly choose logic to deduce necessity

Did logic make us narcissistic by making itself necessary?

Is logic selfless?

Does logic lack identity?

Does logic lack transitions?

Is logic eternal?

Listen not to me, listen to the Logos.

Amen

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Babel Towered

Taking wide steps, walking through numerous cultures in one stride

From afar, there were no differences

Patterns and trends that reflected only one race

No ethnicity, religion

No individualized destinations made unique from old myths

All one chaos forming a passage

Each step glided over millions of people

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The unending sky used as a reference point for infinity

Knowing that, while the ground below was infinite,

The ground could not be seen without drawing memory

Memories full of wrinkles and politics, shame and pride

Memories full of duties and expectations

The sky, kept clean of bloodshed,

Stood for…

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At the beginning there was consummated love

A gargle of fluids and intention

From the order, came distinction

From the mayhem, formed a body

The light came forth and shone

Stumbling and crawling

Some weak dough on stilts

From experience, a soft body

Impressionable but full of memory

A stage of development until it met its cousins

In the land of the hard bodies

The hard bodies that can’t forget

All the impressions

Experience made

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Thoughts that belong to all

Fenced by an ego that thinks it knows better

Thought becomes property and all are stolen from

We all defend the thieves and give them crowns

We lampoon the fools for not knowing

Knowing only belongs to a few

Meditate and find peace but not through my property

From a dark cavern, shrouded questions appear

Tormenting every soul in its wake

Every soul offers a response but not all responses bring reward

Riches accosting the god of greed as a ghost wearing a sheet

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Betsy Calabaza

Betsy Calabaza

blooms — crazy rants masked as abstract experimental philosophy. s/o CS Peirce