Tuesday, January 13, 2015

Draw me a Horizon

...and save me from perdition!
I saw the horizon,
the horizon is factor x,
the horizon is what everything encloses,
the horizon divides earth, sea and sky,
the world is unthinkable without the horizon,
the horizon is a boundary where man cannot come,
the horizon exists between the visible and the invisible,
the horizon is not inside or outside the world,
the horizon of art is factor x.

In reality there is no horizon,
I cannot get near the horizon,
I try to push the horizon further away,
all and everything appears within the horizon,
behind every horizon there is another one,
everybody has his own horizon.

The horizons are within us,
Infinity overflows all horizons.
— Dr. Hugo Heyrman, "The Art of a Horizon"


FreeThinke said...

__________ Eternal, Never New __________

The years are naught but Man's invention,
As is Time, itself.
'Tis been, since Eve, Man's mad intention
To manage Life, himself.

In Truth what is has always been,
And will last evermore. ––
A perspective few have ever seen ––
A sea without a shore.

We drift quite helplessly upon 
The surface of the waves
Charting courses, till we've gone,
Instead, on to our graves.

Though we may seem to disappear
From our loved ones' view,
There isn't anything to fear
We shall return anew.

This never ending cycle
Upon the shoreless sea
No matter what we’d like to think
Recurs eternally.

~ FreeThinke (1/1/14)

FreeThinke said...

"Heaven"—is what I cannot reach!
The Apple on the Tree—
Provided it do hopeless—hang—
That—"He aven" is—to Me!

The Color, on the Cruising Cloud—
The interdicted Land—
Behind the Hill—the House behind—
There—Paradise—is found!

Her teasing Purples—Afternoons—
The credulous—decoy—
Enamored—of the Conjuror—
That spurned us—Yesterday!

~ E.D. (1830-1886)

FreeThinke said...

______________ SONNET 19 ______________

Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws,
And make the earth devour her own sweet brood;
Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws,
And burn the long-lived phoenix in her blood;

Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleet'st,
And do whate'er thou wilt, swift-footed Time,
To the wide world and all her fading sweets;
But I forbid thee one most heinous crime:

O, carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow,
Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen;
Him in thy course untainted do allow
For beauty's pattern to succeeding men.

Yet, do thy worst, old Time: despite thy wrong,
My love shall in my verse ever live young.

~ Wm. Shakespeare

-FJ said...


-FJ said...

When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,
Thy youth's proud livery so gazed on now,
Will be a totter'd weed of small worth held:
Then being asked, where all thy beauty lies,
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days;
To say, within thine own deep sunken eyes,
Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise.
How much more praise deserv'd thy beauty's use,
If thou couldst answer 'This fair child of mine
Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse,'
Proving his beauty by succession thine!
This were to be new made when thou art old,
And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.

Wm Shakespeare, Sonnet #2

FreeThinke said...

Death is not an event in life: we do not live to experience death. If we take eternity to mean not infinite temporal duration but timelessness, then eternal life belongs to those who live in the present.

~ Ludwig Wittgenstein

Thersites said...

from wikipedia...

Jacques Lacan turned in the 1950s to Heidegger's Dasein for his characterisation of the psychoanalyst as being-for-death: (etre-pour-la-mort).[16] Similarly, he saw the analysand as searching for authentic speech, as opposed to “the subject who loses his meaning in the objectifications of discourse...[which] will give him the wherewithal to forget his own existence and his own death”.[17]

FreeThinke said...

The Ultimate Statement on the Horizon: