A one-sided argument


A one-sided argument

writing and images
by @d-pend


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A one-sided argument

They say I have the eye, but not the hand
for it — potential, yes, unmet demand
in argument, a shirker slinks away
from fray repelled by over-timid stay
in safety, overthink, raked over coals;
stockpile up, dress down, in mental shoals
turned depths I ruminate before the plunge
to Nephthys, I must dive; diving expunge
with pressure the depression and despair
that ornaments with shroud the inner lair
where I lay paralyzed, a prince of snow
unwilling but to sleep and not to know
the story's end, so halt the vivid plot
until I sleeping grasp what frigid wrought
my hand, led by my eye, by argument
to do and be, to move and halt descent
to apathy, to madness, and to grave
mistakes made by aloof, contrary knave.

They say I have the eye, but not the hand
for it — potential, yes, unmet demand
in argument.

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I'd like to dedicate this post to anyone who has ever argued with life: made protestations and pleas that seem to have fallen on deaf ears, made suggestions for modifications that are not, however, adopted. When we animals gain a little intelligence and project a dim ray of our seeing onto the Cosmos, we cannot wait to improve and fix the mistakes clearly made in the creation. The most unfair part of living is that no one seems to recognize our great genius; it is obvious we are far more intelligent than anyone else. Probably, it's due to stupidity on everyone else's part that we go unrecognized.

Clarity of a painful variety comes along with honest humility, which can be contrasted against indulgent self-pity and wallowing by its relatively nondramatic nature. Deflation and setback are bound to follow puffed-up swaggering to intimidate foes (and convince oneself of one's strength.) The mettle of a person is shown by their behavior when beset by adversity; power is indicated by one's withstanding of pain and refusal to succumb to suffering.
External critics do not exist and cannot matter; we endlessly argue with and criticize ourselves. This inner argument drowns out the noise of the world which pales in comparison with the chaos inside. Through projection, drama is then said to be "out there" and the world unappreciated at best, loathed at worst as the most hellish region conceivable. If our great, overwhelming intellect got us into this morass of fear and loathing, why would we rely on it to get ourselves out? Would not a radically different approach work better?

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Postscript — form notes

Form-wise, the poem above is written in iambic pentameter and utilizes near-constant enjambment to give the feel of rant. It could easily become a spoken-word piece/rap because of its rhythmic consistency. It is composed of nine rhyming couplets, with the repetition of the first and two words of the second creating an asymmetrical conclusion. It is in "rough" form, and would likely benefit from further editorial scrutiny with regards to punctuation, at the very least. It could certainly also be fleshed out more and become a lengthy piece. I enjoy posting content in this stage on blockchain, to preserve a vast number of jumping-off points to be revisited whenever synchronicity strikes.

I appreciate your readership and continued support!
Have a wonderful day, and comment a time you argued with yourself.


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