Fisherman of luck

fisherman

 

I’m just a fisherman of words
When luck be my might
A word will bite
When the waves crash with vengeance
I’ll pull in a sentence
When the sea roars, masts are frail
I’ll reel in a whale.

-W.E.

I have a confession to make.

It’s just all luck of the bite.

Your job is to throw out the bait, that can never stop if you wish to have a meal.

The rest is up to the sea. If she feels merciful, she will grant you a taste.

When there is an abundance, she will let you feast.

I don’t own a thing.

Some of my catches have been releases of far better men and women before me who don’t need to devour their catch.

The experience is enough for them.

Learning, Knowledge, Wisdom

learning

 

Learning
Throwing your ego into the sea and watching it drown in the vastness of what
you don’t know.

Knowledge

Admitting you have the ego to drown and that the sea of vastness is there

Wisdom

Showing someone else how to do it.

-W.E.

Humility is what will commence the journey.
It will set you on fire in your love of learning, knowledge and wisdom.
A great scholar said, ‘The more I learned, the more ignorant I became’. Think about the context of this magnificent quote. Think about who said it and it’s weight.
He wasn’t ignorant by any means but this is an expression of humility and defeat. Admittance he’s a speck of nothing despite of who the public thought he was, in the vast ocean of knowledge that existed and opened up to him the more he learned.

Poets Feast

Jordaens_King_Drinks

Tonight, we feast on words.
Even though we are separated by worlds.
Your ages so tender,
So full of splendour,
Colloquially speaking,
You’re mind benders.
And mine?
Battered, beaten and bruised,
Torn, healed, re-abused,
But, I remain amused.
At the possibilities ahead,
Just like you,
Open hearted to receive,
To conceive,
To achieve.
So raise the goblets in time,
And lets drink loves wine.

-W.E.

Extreme-mist

derwish

I’m an extreme mist of the worst kind,
I’ll pose at one end of the spectrum,
In full sight,
Or a midnight blind.
I’ll fog your thoughts,
Stir the soil to be sewn,
Have you scurrying back and forth,
Rope ends of your mind.
So push me to that end,
Or to the other,
Through the thickness of it all,
Who knows what you’ll find.

Time to hijack the term back from the lazy throws and empty prattling of media musers.

Too long it has been deployed by the mass hysteria-mongering media, abused to stigmatise people.

Words are not theirs to use when they cannot appropriately contextualise them. They are ours.

The word extremist is not evil, not in the correct context or deployment.

Shakespeare is an extremist.
Beethoven is most definitely an extremist.
Einstein an extremist.
Ghandi an extremist.

Any person of worth or merit devotes themselves to an extreme beyond the norm to spring forth greatness and beauty the conformity of society cannot produce collectively in their mediocrity.

-ME

Artists are not drunk enough

intoxicated art

For me, the ability to write only comes in the stillness of the night.
Thoughts, ideas, musings and pondering pass through me during the day.

A word from him, a look from her, a thought from that person expressed through mere presence, my guard is up and I’m on alert and I take notes but I only find the reaping at night when silence prevails, my belly is empty, life forms are otherwise dead and the stillness allows it all to manifest.

Like a bashful girl summoned from behind a veil, some things deserve their own stage.

You must find that place and realise the worlds most noble sages, scholars, writers, artists, musicians and poets all revelled in solitude.

Some may need alcohol to remove these filters and inhibitions, but it will always be a mask, a psychotropic drug that keeps the demons at bay long enough for you to function. But the best of your work will only come when the body is pure, detoxified of material and of ego and ripe with a fertile soil.
-ME