There used to be a time when Man
Would set aside his trivial vexations
Would find relief from his monetary pursuits
Would slide off the corporate treadmill of docs and sheets
To lay his tired head on my lap of contemplation.
Free to ruminate about the wonders of the world
The possibilities that existence has to offer
The moments that made him bawl with laughter
The moments that made him appreciate being
And free to ponder why those occasions affected him so.
And in so doing, unlocking the blueprints
To his elusive, shifting, complex nature
The million minute neuronic cogs and gears in his brain
And how they sculpt, mold and foster what we call personality.
Pick up any dime-a-dozen self-help book
Go to any swindling sadhus or conniving conmen of Christ
From the two dollar tarot reader to the two thousand dollar image consultant
The advice drops largely the same
Know thyself.
But how can you know thyself if you have
Never spent time with yourself in silence?
Never gone backpacking with only your backpack for company?
Never applied to yourself the critical filters with which you happily judge others?
For it is only when you step back
That you see the forest for the trees
That you see what is and what should be
That you see what you are and what you want to be.
Money is my bête noire
A little bit for sustenance, sure
A little bit more for pursuing me, even better
But every extra penny earned is another free second sacrificed
And the ticks have a nasty habit of slipping you by until it's too late.
And is it not weird that in the prime of life
We spend five hundred minutes of sunshine in a capitalistic cage?
And when we are withered, wizened and wasted
We reward ourselves with the leisure our young selves were denied?
So make a lengthy voyage alone
Pass some time with your own cerebellum
Understand it as you would your best pal.
For sometimes solitude is its own reward.
For sometimes leisure is worth its weight in gold.
Would set aside his trivial vexations
Would find relief from his monetary pursuits
Would slide off the corporate treadmill of docs and sheets
To lay his tired head on my lap of contemplation.
Free to ruminate about the wonders of the world
The possibilities that existence has to offer
The moments that made him bawl with laughter
The moments that made him appreciate being
And free to ponder why those occasions affected him so.
And in so doing, unlocking the blueprints
To his elusive, shifting, complex nature
The million minute neuronic cogs and gears in his brain
And how they sculpt, mold and foster what we call personality.
Pick up any dime-a-dozen self-help book
Go to any swindling sadhus or conniving conmen of Christ
From the two dollar tarot reader to the two thousand dollar image consultant
The advice drops largely the same
Know thyself.
But how can you know thyself if you have
Never spent time with yourself in silence?
Never gone backpacking with only your backpack for company?
Never applied to yourself the critical filters with which you happily judge others?
For it is only when you step back
That you see the forest for the trees
That you see what is and what should be
That you see what you are and what you want to be.
Money is my bête noire
A little bit for sustenance, sure
A little bit more for pursuing me, even better
But every extra penny earned is another free second sacrificed
And the ticks have a nasty habit of slipping you by until it's too late.
And is it not weird that in the prime of life
We spend five hundred minutes of sunshine in a capitalistic cage?
And when we are withered, wizened and wasted
We reward ourselves with the leisure our young selves were denied?
So make a lengthy voyage alone
Pass some time with your own cerebellum
Understand it as you would your best pal.
For sometimes solitude is its own reward.
For sometimes leisure is worth its weight in gold.
