Tuesday, March 18, 2008

Joy to the world

"On being made for happy"
Soundtrack: Ludo et Remi - "Complicité" - some french instrumental music that I stole from a fellow fangirl, and so; much thanks to her! I luvs fanmixes! By Scaramouche, the Po(t)et, a(nother) little piece of poem - which became of little else than basic thought, in addition to a strikingly impulsive desire to form something related and relevant and...consequent therefrom. With rereference, of course, to former easter-greeting post; as seen further below. Very inspired by (also below-mentioned) Steven Moffat, who've stated with customary widsom that "sad is happy for deep people" - which is one of these incredibly quotes you just have to write down and memorixe. And thus, I let myself be swept away with allusion and impression and other, random impulses; although not always so deliberarely. It's hard to determine, sometimes, where it all comes from. This, for instance, was a pure spur of the moment. One of there matters of inspiration I dicovered afterwards, more or less, and thus had to credit through the addition of a post-script. Which then developed into a note of introduction. Oh, the siliness that is confusing myself with own tiredness - I end up where I started without knowing it. Yet I do love a good deal of unaware passion properly exposed, in ways of poetry and meta-inclined themes revealing themselves through a reflection of selfsame style. The despair of acquiring happiness even more accurately depicted through despairing verse reaching for same essence of being happy. And, moreover, I hold a great deal of passion for the natural happiness - which is what one should aspire to, not the forced-on kind, but also for "Doctor Who" - which follows as both consequence and cause. I lean on my sources, as they tend to lead on for me, and in the end derive from my writings. Here's one on enjoying joy itself - and, by the way, ignore the Blogger-created paragraphs; instead, follow the logic rhyme and flow. Ignore the lines...for they are of a much lesser significance...I draw them in the sand, and they elope from me, yet all their incorporated words remain:

we are the happy individuals, we seek but pleasure
we run for our livelihood, not our lives, and we are great
at doing what we must do best, for we shall call it joy
when we explore the joyous feelings that we longed for
and nowhere save from heaven, we are placed within an area
where we are liberated from the obligations that were cause
to obstacles; and now allow ourselves to shun the former
ever so frustrating particles made up fence and barred us in
but we are happy now, and happier the men shall ever be
as we return to the intrinsic kinds of all our needs
in shape of deeds - in categories solely created by our hands
we make our happiness ourselves; emerging therefrom
in another state, as though we have delivered just the same
as how we were, and what we then become - which is
a crowd of happy individuals, now, if nothing seems too made
of force, or falsified, if we are truly there within this shell
enveloping our joy and emphasizing it to this its very core
and hiding all the other bits from us, as if to shelter, we are free
we are in a safer prison of our own and proper happiness,
we see but nothing else, and nor must we then try to notice
how much is set aside; as we do part from most, apart from what we share
for we shall live, intently, and absorb as we're engulfed and pleased
with utmost pleasure; and may we call it by its realistic names
for we are brought to confirmation, and hence to salvation,
shunned, and set aside, were taken from another manger
than one whose walls were made of multitude, for currently
we name ourselves the happy people and we crave but what we seek
demand what we shall get; and settle not with anything beside
we're running this our livelihood, determined to do great
acquire what we're certain we have earned and rightfully deserved
yet we shall live more wantingly when we face sore existence,
such as we're clever; know the different matters by the straight avoidance
in terms of dealing with conviction, only, and a self-constructed fact
of desperately longing for a further progress , never futile,
and indeed a much more natural development towards the truth
that came to be without intention, without making, in a flash
resembling somewhat undisclosed and purified in disposition - once
in which we could be happy people yearning for the item pleasure;
making nothing of it, but the very fortune that we seek

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