Canticle for Mentation


it is addressed thusly:
A song.
it reads:
I have been taught to forget,
Though I shall not yet remember
The mind is a blowing wind
The heart but a flashing ember
Turn and bring the wind down,
Will the flames to burn higher
Then shut out the air's breath
And make the furnace dryer
Thoughts pass and I am a lake
I am a lake cold in the sun
A reflecting pool still and dark
Across me they lightly run
Back from the depths the dead
Call them and ask them why
They will tell you a story
So never utter a single lie
Never lie and they will be true
Though you will not remember
The mind is a blowing wind
The heart but a flashing ember.


Rain Comes

it is addressed thusly:
A song.
it reads:
RAIN COMES, it is not the sound
But the suddenness of it sounding
The strangeness of air in which it is drowned
Though silence soon it is drowning
The lightness of the sky broken by drops
Crystal-bright in their dropping
A shadow of heavy air that stops
And the break of that heaviness stopping
Gray and black the glowering cloud
Bluster and boom in its clouding
To announce a doom to the gath'ring crowd
Made soon enow by its crowding
By strange device, in the west of the eve
Shows forth the sign of the evening
The liquid sun, to take its leave
Blasts rain alight in its leaving.


To Nothing


it is addressed thusly:
An ode.
it reads:
THE VOID is alive with the sound of music
some go down, others rise above
too fraught with meaning, far too quick
for the earthly mind to grasp the love
which reaches beyond nothingness
and makes new all things, nonetheless
of the terror that I now see in their eyes
When they know that nothing truly dies.


The Cathedral


it is addressed thusly:

An ode.
it reads:
An empty chair, the tall Cathedral
Who sits? Is it a game of thrones
Or just a forsaken free-for-all
Glass houses are not made of stones
But instead of vying for that seat
Reds vie to elect the bishopric
To whom their blasphemies will stick
They won’t keep his eucharist neat
No musical chairs; this is a nave!
And stonings they're having for the brave
Their faith is strong, their zeal has heat --
Their communion ends inside the grave.
a postscript is here written:
'The Cathedral' is the mocking term Mencius Moldbug gave to the system of leftism or progressivism which combines a variety of semi-incoherent and variably malicious forces and ideologies that form the 'zeitgeist' of our era. It has a secularly religious nature that defies normal classification as a 'religion' (a definition the system itself generated to protect itself - those who participated to preserve their status and livelihoods) and so we explicitly identify it as such. 

Everyone has their own term they use for this structure, depending on what part of it they most interact with, as might be suggested by the 'blind men and an elephant' metaphor. The point of the term 'the cathedral' is not so much that it is 'elephant', since what would that mean to blind men - but that, like terms describing spiritual entities who cannot be directly seen, it says something of utmost importance about the thing, a title, which is blasphemous to THEM, and clarifies their most deceptive aspect - the religious nature of the 'non-religious' structure itself.

This image is of one of the chairs of St. Peter (there are apparently several that the Pope may occupy) but it is only chosen for its appearance (and the style of the photograph) and for the fact that the Cathedral hates the Vatican (despite the fact it seems to love the most recent Pope.)


Crocodile Song


it is addressed thusly:

A song.
it reads:
A chisel line to mark the portrait
Carved with utmost skill
A perfect weapon made more perfect
In exhaustion of our will
As subtle in its execution
Though clear its style, its convolution:
To hail you must revile
They all hail the Crocodile

A beast unleashed when finished growing
Let to go afield
And made greater in its error
Though it be revealed
And shown in grotesque ugliness
And crimes it must be made confess
Only spill its bile
They all hail the Crocodile

Did someone tell those haughty drivers
Superfluous they were?
A beast they manned as though in driving
They still held the spur
A shade a shadow only riding
And while their spoils were still dividing
It ate on all the while
They all hail the Crocodile

Let them believe that bad is goodness
Let their eyes be blind
To bring about our good professor's
Single state of mind
That all men be the poorest workers
A unity of bottom lurkers
As flat as plastic tile
They all hail the Crocodile

But how we get from this debasement
To our paradise
Can be worked out by our replacement
Pulled and picked like ice
That magic step where Rome and Paris
Are bathed in justice and in fairness
Red shakespeares every mile
They all hail the Crocodile

And for some rede beyond description
With a bestial glee
We loathe these ones now ruled by envy
Before us let them flee
And though our plan made this conclusion
Created raw from our confusion
Sawtooth is our style:
They all hail the Crocodile!


Laboring Song


it is addressed thusly:
A song.
it reads:
A time of sun and raining, a moon as new as the day
The sky both blue and flying with banners of gold and gray;

A thunder time and a lightning to call the clouds from the south
The shadow of sun in its setting the calm of night from its mouth;

A time for writing and reading, a time for sitting in thought
For watching the moon as it rises, for stirring the tea in the pot;

The bleach-brown days now coming, the time of the sun in the noon
Despond makes dark in its brightness, the singer fails from his tune;

As love is desire's companion, arrives when the other is gone
Calling him yet unlooked-for, when duty had carried on;

So diligence makes its recourse, where spirit had burnt out its wick
Gave birth to a flame through weeping: a time to water the stick.
a postscript is here written:
watering the stick john the dwarf



it is addressed thusly:
An ode.
it reads:
Behold, I saw the sun of democracy
Wormwood, falling from the sky
Rising on men in perpetuity
Burning them to make them die
Poisoning the waters to punish men
Without a thought or intelligible word
Its absinthe men have first preferred
But later, with regret for it then
"Only when the country is last empty
No stone upon a stone can you see
Will hope return from its desolate end"
Behold, this is the sun of democracy.

Fifty Shades of Grey

it is addressed thusly:
An ode.
it reads:
All things are zero and one
Though not seen by the naked eye
Not witnessed in the shifting sky
Whose gradient does softly run
And run down are all things
From bumping into what is not
Through with void all things are shot
Shot through in their hammerings
Yes. all things are zero and one
Grey is not discovered, but is arranged
The black and white are not strange
No, there is naught new under the sun
But color exists; as new as the day
Among those things that still are
And all perception of near and far
And all intelligence, every wise way
Fall among the zero and one
Is and is-not, and Is and Is-not
A thought and an absence of thought
An act and an act yet undone
To do and to know is but binary
Though harrowed with images false
That they tore down from the walls
And have only imagined multiplicity
Discern before the pointed gun
That black you are and no shade of grey
Not a new thing passes beneath the day
To see color, you must see the sun --
All things are still, zero and one.
a postscript is here written:
Adage #1: "Fantasy without morality is pornography"