Poet, You Fool, You Philosophy Hammer, So Cruel!
Good tidings, I am a philosophical poet who employs poetic devices, such as a polished hammer and a rusty machete that shape my future, only to explore the subjects of my philosophy.
See how fortunate you are? Good tidings, good tidings, good tidings! No, no, I am not the ridiculous spammer who wants to “converse” with you or your credit card, though I have lots to say. God forbid? No, no, my number does not start with 666, the lucky number of the Great Beast. As a matter of fact, I do not have a cell phone or a landline phone, they both sound too phony to me. I just want you to hear me out, you know.
Look, I am a poet, a mystic toying with psychoanalysis and critical theory and practice, using metaphors and metaphysics, first principles of things or the existence of God, all to highlight my vampiric existence in the total obscurity. Like, you know, I employ poetic devices, such as a polished hammer, I like it very much, and a rusty machete, I put up with it, that shape my world, my future, only to explore the fortunate subjects of my subtle philosophy, elevating them to a pure bloodbath. Kind of like getting into the freaked out limelight. Shit like that, you know.
'Poet' comes from a Greek word meaning "to make." I was born to make, I will die making. It requires a somber lot, that I read and write poetry, I do. As difficult as that, like my breathing. Possessing some linguistic intelligence, I create a world of red, different shades of red, a world in red. A rare bard, a strange orator. I know first and last hand poetry is one of the most important and time-honored forms of literature in my Uni Verse.
I preach what I do, unlike those who preach what they do not do. Should I do what I preach? Nah, not me, bra, or bro! I clean the bloody mess, rinse and repeat, I preach my own gospel. I do not have to explain to you what it means to preach what I do, not do what I preach, do I, you speak English, don´t you? Well, the whole point of philosophy is going down the rabbit hole, whatever the color of your pill, red-pilled, black-pilled, brown-pilled, shit is brown, right?
You know the drill, you heard it before, you know me, jaws crack, balls drop, drums and heads, not fricking eyes, roll! But let me tell you it is a tough lifestyle, that philosophy and its verse can be rough, you do not want to know.
It is like anchoring yourself through an ideal to the intelligible forms of the objects by juxtaposing their symbols and qualities. Yes, of course, I rely on intuition and the intersubjectivity of my senses to depict reality. My writings address truth through figurative language in questions related to the meaning of life, which is not only Substack sex and money, the nature of being, though I sometimes appear to be a natural-born killer, I kill them both, even the prospects of them. Like I had nothing else to do, you know.
I don´t know why sex and money always stick in my a little bit dangerous mind. You do not know this hemispheric civil war in peace times, glorious Left/Right battles of the most moronic mind. Ah, how I miss those heavy artillery duels, those epic Wagner versus Mozart slaughter symphonies, like the Nazi war in Ukraine were over. I wish it were all over for evil.
In the Republic, and I am not talking about the Banana Republic of Nicaragua, where I peel even poverty, Plato argues that poets have no place in an ideal state, that I spread misinformation and corrupt the youth's minds. One little detail of my wealth escapes the idiot, that I have a polished hammer and a rusty machete and do not think too much, or lightly. Disinformed Plato, I purify them, politically, Plato! But then, I am not perfect, in this enraged state, thinking deeply and seriously about life and other basic matters while getting old.
As a philosopher, an ever-learning student, though I am a pro, teaching to extremes, I seek wisdom or enlightenment crimson provides abundantly.
Quite literally, my term "philosophy", in simple words, means love of scarlet. In a broad sense, it is an activity like-minded individuals undertake when they seek to understand fundamental truths about themselves, the world in which they live, and their relationships to the world and to each other, crucifying lies. Will you ever really know how complex and complicated my double-crossed passion has become, wielding the polished hammer, wielding the rusty machete, my nailed coffin, my Draculan faith?
Yeah, yeah, yeah, I also write about theories and practices of knowledge and knowing, studying them profusely, the blood floods my bleeding soul, splashing around like the Great Flood. No worries, I stay my ark, replete with the fauna and flora of my wilderness let out. I suppose you are smarter than your phony smartphone while reading this on your smartphone. See, I told you I was allergic to high-tech because it made feel I was just a smart cookie cutter instead of a genius. You would not know that. Like principles of beauty, because aesthetics by a philosphical poet like me, with such a high-octane voltage plus my calibre can get really ugly.
But I will spare you the horrific details ending my the-hell-the horrors monologue soon, though a group discussion may provide fruitful conditions for you to explore my philosophical themes. Poetry must be seen an alternative entry into philosophical thinking. You know, I think hard, and rhyme, ah, those divine swings, does distract and interfere with the free flow of the blood. Err, I mean the free flow of my philosophical thoughts like lambs going to the slaughter. No, no, I am not your romanticized butcher, yet! You know that. O, O! Nevermind.
You notice how the damn rhyme is distracting me and interfering with my serious job. I have eventually developed one preferred form of philosophical verse when it comes to the style of my tedious writing, such as repetitive form. You would never guess, and I will consider you enlightened when you finish reading my bloodied lips as life is the blood, my VEmpire always evolving, my VEmpire revolving around, that I hail from both the Eastern and Western traditions, from the Erotic Dark tradition.
My poetry, like anybody else´s, is about imagery, passion, expression, sentiment, and so on, whereas my philosophy, like anybody else´s, is about reason, logic, argument and solutions to problems. No poetry, no problems! No philosophy, no problems! Poetry and philosophy, a legion of problems!
Having made it here, possibly exhausted, do you still doubt me, that the true philosopher or lover of wisdom, the one who loves the truth in each thing, as opposed to those who only love the things themselves, still exists and is infatuated with you, who is being swayed into appreciating his mercy and grace, though they seem brutality and disgrace?
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The Subscription Poem, Not Red, Show Love, I Hope You Get It
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Are we only shadows of eternal forms
With all hope eclipsed, the serpentine´s gift
You and I, the most rigorous thinkers of goodness beauty and truth
Behind the unfurled flag or veil of Miss Ann Trophy
Raped as age craves and pursues the loneliness of youth
Praying to stay fiery and licked with me
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We are them, damnation throughout design
Intellectual boxers, coming to understand ideas of an ailing lover
By making them fight with each other
Death is swift to swallow the desecrated grave
And even if God is not felled by dark reason
A thousand nights prevail, forlorn the season
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But sly anotenement´s eyes light a golden candle
Amidst faith renewed leaping joyous here and there
An ancient chill in me, in the libertine´s wish, a burning man
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A cruel tongue at work in my secret vaults
Cold, I am Blade, a runner, thrown into balmy revolt
You an undiluted acid reign on my broken feeble heart
The pure flood of inhumanity makes me confess
How so many atoms split under duress
I promise you we will never be apart
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Bearing sore stigmata like a martyred plague
I bleed, not only suck and let bleed on a pivotal stretch
To see if I draw pity or litanies from the Lord
So glad for the madness, bored without a catch
I trip the cobbled walks in the Vatican, Sodom, Babylon
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Dictating to Marquis De Sade, a razor´s edge to the rule
Only love can be nice, life is mean to you, oh how cruel
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And so the thick plot sickens as I furnace dreams
Both imprisoned and free, drooling over the past
Foe of sleep that turns sermons with the rabid smell
I am neither Dante nor Kraken but I am still mapping hell
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Without a whisper of shame, you must be glad for the madness
Surpassing art, I know not your name written in blood
A nymph with eyes and heart for me, I wish I could care less
Setting hate ablaze when too much is never enough
From vicious dusk to dawn, virtue´s crapuscular
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Most of my poetry and philosophy is concerned in every direct sense with God or the existence of God. I study Him, I love God through Jesus Christ, impossible to explain, much less through all the pain, though it may be hard to decipher my Satan-driven code, Satan´s is this world, every Christian knows it! I am Christian. I am obsessed with all God. I am just a sinner, maybe a big one, but nobody is perfect. I am not perfect, but you already know that. In no way is it the purpose of my saddening philosophy and poetry to attack religion, mine, yours, or anybody else´s, though I do use the polished hammer and the rusty machete you with an AR 15 or a Glock may underestimate! I defend it, defend religion to my last breath, to my last poem, to my last philosophical rant and rave, it is personal, it is unfinished business!
No worries, wink, wink, I assure you it is inconceivable to epitomize “live by the polished hammer and rusty machete, die by the polished hammer and rusty machete”. That is absolute, ladies and gentlemen, karma is a biatch!
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By the way, I´m still waxing poetic and philosophical, did you notice I started plugging my old books I have not marketed since 2011 till today, 2023? I will keep doing that. I have no other choice. I have chosen to do that because God has spoken to me, whatever that means, despite my need. They are all available for purchase exclusively on my Buymeacoffee page, in the Extras section, the only US-based platform working with Nicaraguan content creators. If you are interested and need a bulk, lol, please feel free to bargain the price, if money is an issue, tell me about it! You know, when food and medicine are scarce, and the internet bill is due, I am constantly threatened by cutoff and other ailments, it is the most perfect time to bargain. Bargain, bargain, bargain!
Like I said, I have a lot to say. Back then, I wrote three dozens books, good stuff, they said. I don´t know, you would have to judge for yourself, individually. Back when?
Some 20-30 years ago, they said Libor Soural was a cool poet and philosopher of the Unlight, of the Hammer, a strange, obscure literary figure, a pilgrim, who was just "revealing himself” having a particular voice or style, caring little about the sometimes critical, sometimes complimentful opnions of his contemporaries, which is typical of any artist of their era, no matter they are relevant or not. Art always depends on the eye of the beholder. Hey, they said I was an artist, the hell, the horrors, lol!
Yet I think “this sad, evil, and a bit horrifying, to be honest”, as one of my fans described my old literature or poignant poetry, only conveys the true essence of the human nature on a biblical scale, which pales very much, when compared, with what has been happening in the real world in the last 3-4 years. By the current, really degenerate standards, I think that writer, that poet, that philosopher, that persona should be considered something of a saint, a passionate man, qualities Jesus Christ, our Lord and only true Savior had!
That troubled dark man died, got to the feet of Christ in 2011. So let his literature serve or stand as a testament to and a testimonial of what a simple human along with all their complexities really is, a thinking greatest animal roaming the damned earth, sometimes praying, other times preying, a true horror unto itself!
I always appreciate honesty, I hate lies as much as the Devil. Libor Soural has been shockingly authentic throughout his whole life no matter the tide, no matter one likes or believes it or not, no matter what, his powerful literature, words are undisputedly power, as one huge sin is documenting it. At least me thinks ......
Also, I am very humbled and grateful to have reached 99 great free Substack subscribers, who I would love to turn into super giga great paid Buymeacoffee subscribers, I just don´t know how. Do you have any idea on the how? I will split!
So far, I have 3 super giga great paid Buymeacoffee subscribers, totaling 29 dollars minus all the fees a month. Are you blushing? Please don´t, or I will cry! I will cry anyway. Because I was just pulling your tight-fisted, woke-broke leg! I know all the ordinary people like us don´t have money. Now what?
No, really, you should subscribe on my Buymeacoffee page supporting the US economy, you know all the damn fees we all love, not because of me poor bastard in heavily sanctioned Nicaragua but because of The Subscription Poem, Not Red, Show Love, I Hope You Get It.
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Plato, you respectful idiot, you know how it goes in the Banana Republic. The socialistic capitalists sanction the capitalistic communists, the fake communists squeeze us the real revolutionaries, disabled, unemployed, without any benefits. I´m sorry, Plato, I´ve offended you after your death and you couldn´t even fight me back possibly kicking my ass. I walk it back. I´m not a coward. The idiot is me, my bad, I repent, Plato!
PS: Here´s a caveat from Mars.
The average salary for philosophy degree jobs varies depending on the industry that is pursued. A philosopher salary can range depending on the field they specialize in. Some philosophy careers may pay around $50,000 while others can exceed upwards of $100,000.
Everything will be okay in the end! If it is not okay, then it is not the end!
This is a great philosophy to keep in mind when things seem like they are going wrong, don´t you think? Oops, did I just say and mean that? Mark my words as I persevere, not so poetically, not so philosophically, though!
The tide must turn. Good tidings, good tidings, good tidings. Crimson Tide and The Hunt For Red Ocober, the movies, are on my mind.
However damned, we are blessed, God bless us all!
Poet, You Fool, You Philosophy Hammer, So Cruel!
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https://msuweb.montclair.edu/~furrg/apolitical_intellectuals.html
Powerful piece(s)!
The page is still smoking....
And Plato might should have left "it" in the Cave.
Polished Hammer! Rusty Machete!
- Being deftly used as tongs and scalpel, performing a reverse Caesarian, with the Whole Earth's history being ripped backwards through the eye of the needle- the same one that the camel and the rich man shall not pass through!
Awesome!