Reader to Writer
We’re done with poet as priest,
artist as intercessor,
creator as interpreter
between Mystery and ourselves.
Your robes are clothing,
you grew up down the street,
you fart, you’re one of us.
I myself have chased Eros, fled Pan,
trudged hard dark miles
to grapple with a blazing Presence
that nearly annihilated me.
Sit down, let me pour you a cup,
and let’s gossip about the gods!
Reader to Writer by Carl Bettis is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.
A follow-up, of sorts, to my last post.
Of God's Omnipotence
God, to whom everything is nothing,
can accomplish nothing. Only we,
who bump into blocks, whose strength fails,
whose will flickers, only we who know resistance can act--
the toad, the old man with the yellow umbrella,
the centipede behind the rock,
oh and a mosquito, a bacterium, a stray cat, a slug why not--
the list doesn't stop.
It's scrawled across galaxies,
the roll of creatures, of we,
who twitch and breathe and sing for mates,
who scratch and murder, build and worship and burrow, yes,
here's another endless litany:
the infinitely varied host of beings
who do, even in failing, innumerable things
throughout the universe.
But if it's nothing you need done,
God is on the job.
-- Carl Bettis
(Image: Fallen Angels by Edouard Cibot, 1833)
Can an all-powerful God change the past?
If so, would it be as if X instead of Y had happened, or the case that X had happened instead of Y?
If it's as if, and God knows the "original" past but the physical evidence and every mortal (or angelic) witness's memories tell a different story... then that's not really changing the past, it's God lying to creation.
The past can only be changed if the "original" past leaves no trace, not even in the mind of God.
But in that case... God can't know whether the past has been changed.
Ergo, God cannot be both all-powerful and all-knowing. Sort of a theological Gödel's incompleteness theorem.
At one time, I planned to become a preacher. Probably just as well I didn't.
I Forced a Bot to Read 1,000 Poems, Then Told it to Write a Poem of its Own
There is a bird and a cigarette,
and neither is in this room.
The bird is how my wife left me.
I am bad but I feel beauty.
This room is not in the poem. This poem
is not a pipe. The room takes a turn
around the room, arm in arm. And the stars
that are so long ago, grown-up eyes
cannot see them without windows
so drink. Wine bills headaches and naughty bits
and all these lists pierce me profoundly
with the loveliness of being one who loves them.
The cigarette is the grave.
The room is the grave, the bird is the grave, it is
a sparrow with feathers.
A bird that is not a chicken is a sparrow
beside the white plums.
Someone somewhere is not me
and seems like a grand idea.
They should have sad sex with me now.
-- Carl Bettis
I Forced a Bot to Read 1,000 Poems, Then Told it to Write a Poem of its Own by Carl Bettis is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.