Concepts are toys [Day 36]
Concepts are toys
original poetic proseHypothetically, if one wasn't actually a name or face and realized such things, there might be the constant subtle dynamic of going to extreme lengths to reinvolve oneself with the world of form. It would go jagged, smooth, jagged, smooth, with the real Self cackling at each attempt. Routine, no matter how many variations thereof one had, would remove the crinkles in the page, gradual but sure. Smooth papyrus, even in decomposition still smooth. Whitewashed torment, smooth even in anguish, faceless, fruition of nonattachment, giddy by the lack of sensation that becomes evident, until, it would be seen that everything is motionless. And yet, it lives. O Mystery! How men abhor and love thee.
Not so much that Mystery ever fades as that it would tend to betray its utter mundanity of layer upon layer. Magic would become commonplace, that is to say, invisible. For everything that is routine cancels itself out to the conscious mind by degrees. Hypothetically, the story of lives when told even in fragments contain holographically the whole.
Upon the whole's taking control (jagged, smooth, jagged) however cryptic, one would be bursting with the desire to proclaim "You Are Energy" to the facenames one sees, yet restrained by the relative meaninglessness of such an action on the physical plane in such a physical way. All negations would appear as absurd sophistries, games of the mind, including the concept of cessation. It never works to confiscate adults' playthings. Perhaps one would find that beings of light find their revelations through mirrors of darkness, and that it is best to let children act their imaginations out until time's end.
Hypothetically, one will play with toys until they become so worn and lustreless, their expressions so abraded, that they must be discarded or thrown into a box to yellow. The memory of them is cherished, contextualized, more precious than the thing itself. Essence is discovered, sensationless, full of feeling. The thing would be now thingless; the jagged would become smooth. The tale would be unraveled, yet still ripe for the telling, with a twinkle in one's eye.
Written by
@d-pend
4/11/18
.
Art by
Shichigoro756
.1 — "Toys" [cropped]
2 — "Fuusen"
3 — "Toys - 2"
.
Join the Steem Schools
Discord here: https://discord.gg/yZvYjfM
Become part of the movement!
I read the prose writer/philosopher/polemicist in this piece. The one with the most toys wins is turned on its head when we realize that these things only bring temporary comfort. And after a while none at all. We go through the motions and sooner rather than later, we realize that accumulating stuff yields little. Eventually, these synthetic things become valueless.
The feel good factor indeed is ephemeral.
ASsuming I read your piece right.
This is bordering on prose @d-pend and I like it. One problem is many toys are thrown away.
The deviant art adds such a flavour of depravity to such conceptual prose. I am going to have to revisit my box of yellowing toys to see if there is still magic in there.
Poetry and blockchain might seem like such a contradiction in terms but you bring art to the technology.
Beautifully written. And while I feel that the imagery gives definite character to your words; your words would suffice nonetheless.
yesterday night, I had a strange dream. I dreamt that all humans were puppets, each dipped in a lab jar filled with some transparent liquid and the puppets were made to move their hands and legs as per some one else's commands. strange.. Are we all just toys?
Really loved to read this one and the way you narrated it wow that's amazing
You have collected your daily Power Ups! Your posts received total upvotes worth of 7.15$.
Learn how to power up smart here!