In Times of Need
Jesus, do not leave me alone in suffering. You know, Lord, how weak I am. I am an abyss of wretchedness, I am nothingness itself; So what will be so strange If You leave me alone and I fall?
I am an infant, Lord, So I cannot get along by myself. However, beyond all abandonment I trust, And in spite of my own feeling I trust, And I am being completely transformed into trust, Often in spite of what I feel.
Do not lessen any of my sufferings, Only give me strength to bear them. Do with me as You please, Lord, Only give me the grace to be able to love You, In every event and circumstance.
Lord, do not lessen my cup of bitterness, Only give me strength That I may be able to drink it all.
In my anguish I cried to the Lord, and he answered by setting me free.
The Lord is with me; I will not be afraid.
I call on the Lord in my distress, and he answers me.
The cords of death entangled me, the anguish of the grave came upon me; I was overcome by trouble and sorrow. Then I called on the name of the Lord: "O Lord, save me!"
Be at rest once more, O my soul, for the Lord has been good to you.
- --| Kyros |-- wasn't missed at 9:57 PM
Monday, January 11, 2010
ever silent are solitary flowers, fighting back tears and the settling dew
and as they succumb we smile in the most benevolent of intentions are truly joyful for the weeping
- --| Kyros |-- wasn't missed at 12:08 PM
Saturday, January 02, 2010
Ghosts of the Past
I had no idea it would be I who would take your place. And as much as I watched from afar I gave you none other than my company, While for me gave you my life.
Now my paths wind, and on my walks my soul sees your sorrows. They return to me from your restbed.
Oh, how I have forgotten.
This world, was for you too vulgar, too cruel, and you were just a child. And oh, but how it angers me still to hear your tale to tread the cold, stone path that leads to your tree.
And to know that I did nothing to stop the blade. I was silent. And now I speak, when you can no longer hear. When I can no longer find you.
And I am in regret.
Perhaps you knew, the Strong One tasked upon me the keeping of your final bed? The watering of the tree that was to guide you to the ends of your path? The day he returned home, he left me your key And its metal remains, but its markings worn And I forgot.
And I realise, this pain of yours that I feel, really is mine.
This day I shall brush the greyish marble that guards you I shall care for the tree that stands over you I shall dress your hands with garlands and your head with leaves and blow the dust off the pots surrounding you
By Deus, may I never forget again.
Be safe, my child, wherever you may be, Mao Ler
There's nothing good in this mourning Don't want to let you go
You have always liked this place It now belongs to you I need to set you free, and go on alone
The kindest heart I've found I lowered into the ground Your smile kept me alive back when the skies were still
have i learnt what must be learnt, done what must be done?
deus, may I let go
- --| Kyros |-- wasn't missed at 1:01 PM
Thursday, December 31, 2009
"Bad faith is possible only because sincerity is conscious of missing its goal inevitably, due to its very nature. I can try to apprehend myself as "not being cowardly," when I am so, only on condition that the "being cowardly" is itself "in question" at the very moment when it exists, on condition that it is itself one question, that at the very moment when I wish to apprehend it, it escapes me on all sides and annihilates itself."
Self-determination bears holes on its sides. To assert oneself as something is to doubt it so gravely the assertion takes form, and comes into conscious being, and to express this is to find a strength so overwhelming it imposes itself beyond one's self, beyond one's own. To effect change, perhaps? To overcome the very doubt which gives the expression its vigour? It is folly.
"The condition under which I can attempt an effort in bad faith is that in one sense, I am not this coward which I do not wish to be. But if I were not cowardly in the simple mode of not-being-what-one-is-not, I would be "in good faith" by declaring that I am not cowardly. Thus this inapprehensible coward is evanescent; in order for me not to be cowardly, I must in some way also be cowardly. That does not mean that I must be "a little" cowardly, in the sense that "a little" signifies "to a certain degree cowardly - and not cowardly to a certain degree." No. I must at oncce be and not be totally and in all respects a coward."
Cowardliness, like kindness and other such concepts remain what they are - concepts. Concepts which, like freedom, are in their very essence absolute. Such is how one has no ability to be "a little" of this or another. One is cowardly, or one is not cowardly. Yet this adjectival association, this being-a-characteristic trait of cowardliness and its fellow concepts hints towards such - that such being, such relation to adjectival concepts, in reality lies nowhere. Present out cowardliness, kindness, in a green box, perhaps? Still, its ability to amend or align the choices of the human consciousness is undeniable, whether in bad faith, good faith, or in true raw being. They can be links, relations, between multiple human consciousnesses. 'He is a coward, and thus I treat him like I should cowards'. [Are] we then, in this context [have we such embodied or in our being 'is], in essence, any concept at all? That the human mind may believe itself to be, in its flesh, meat, cells, and concepts, is absurd, silly. It is perhaps then, consciousness itself, which may bear, in its essence, concepts.
How should this consciousness comprehend these concepts, then? Certainly consciousness relates to these concepts in ways. Perhaps just as our selves relate to trees and pillars in ways. We sway across the mental, finally settling on a(or multiple) concept(s) upon which to feed, to grow, to determine, to become idolised. Such could then it be, a 'determined' consciousness, a 'clear' personality. That which integrates the concepts into its very essence. This notion, however, indicates that the pre-integrated consciousness in its very fact bears essence. A spontaneity, a being far beyond the outlines of the logical, conceptual realm. Perhaps it is this which Sartre seeks, to exist as a consciousness merely as itself. A freedom from the concepts of one or all.
As such, how is one completely and totally cowardly, and while being so, is not cowardly at all? What might being be, then?
Envy, envy, my vice and my fall.
Deus, allow me to free myself from my torment.
Please direct semantic horseplay or an unfreedom from preconceived notions and associations to an indulging party. Especially the arguable.
- --| Kyros |-- wasn't missed at 2:17 PM
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
My flesh burns but my bones are cold and I am written over and over and over again
perhaps it's time to blog somewhere else
misery flows like a scorching river. where went my strength? what do you wish me learn?
deus, guide me, as you have before
- --| Kyros |-- wasn't missed at 10:31 AM
Monday, December 21, 2009
That Which Was
Should my words resound empty, my smile impure That which spoken thunders across fields uncounted And grants you no peace
Know that the fields were yours- The storm, yours- The night mine, the demons, yours- Your pain, yours, and my pain, yours
Matrie, you were my highest hope My statue most solemn And my greatest unrest
Such is it thus, and I am gone
- --| Kyros |-- wasn't missed at 11:48 PM
Felix Kyros Ang Mao Ler
Banished for 17 years now
Left the Shimmering Lights Behind
Twelth, of Twelth
Suffering the curse of humanity
Lust for blood
deep.desires 1. Human Rejection
4. To Leave this Cursed Land
5. My Soul
6. My Sanity (I Got This Back)
7. Of Wisdom and Lightworks
heart.felt Lacuna Coil
last.words i still love you. i always have. i was banished from the light, to get caught in the middle. punished with insanity. death out of my grasp.
you never existed to care for me. you existed for me to care. and when i cried, nobody came. nobody alive. humanity is dead.
new humanity was recreated. and you punished me by making me part of it. i still cry. still nobody comes. nobody comes. nobody ever came.
and still i scream, torn apart in the battle in my own mind. the battle of two, the battle of three. nobody comes to help me, for i wish no human help.
what could humanity do but rip me further? locked in rotting flesh. destined to be punished. because of you. you who lies. you who never lived, and you who will never die.
all silent as the ticks of the halted hands.
i turn. i see.
the dances of grey havens, over the earth so cold
and sit, in the cries of a motherless child.