Capital Conditions

philosophy, Poem, Poetry, thoughts

E049BB86-CFD8-4206-A907-718F5FFF5238Radicalised by pain,
sufficiently conditioned to reject
the meritocratic myths and
barely interested in conditional freedoms,
liberal bourgeoisie notions of self,
the sort of ideas that pave the good intentions to hell.
The sort of hell fashioned by the idea that our practices,
our ways of organising are anything more than ideas…
anything more than the brain children
of those who existed in a society prior
– the sort of society that they themselves once wished to redefine.

ð’Ŋ𝑜 ðŋ𝑜𝓃𝑒𝓁ð’ū𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈

Insight, philosophy, Poem, Poetry, thoughts

AD66209C-E437-401B-B097-40994F69AE94

˜”*°â€Ē.˜”*°â€Ē Written Paintings â€Ē°*”˜.â€Ē°*”˜

Insight, philosophy, Poem, Poetry, thoughts, Uncategorized

𝘛ð˜Đð˜Ķ ð˜Ģ𝘭ð˜Ķð˜Ē𝘎ð˜Ķð˜īð˜ĩ ð˜Ū𝘰ð˜Ūð˜Ķð˜Ŋð˜ĩð˜ī,
ð˜ļð˜Đð˜Ķð˜Ŋ ð˜Ī𝘰ð˜Ŋð˜Ĩ𝘊ð˜ĩ𝘊𝘰ð˜Ŋð˜ī ð˜Ēð˜ģð˜Ķ ð˜Đð˜°ð˜ąð˜Ķ𝘭ð˜Ķð˜īð˜ī
ð˜Ēð˜Ŋð˜Ĩ 𝘷ð˜ķ𝘭ð˜Ŋð˜Ķð˜ģð˜Ēð˜Ģ𝘊𝘭𝘊ð˜ĩ𝘚 𝘊ð˜ī ð˜ĩð˜Đð˜Ķ ð˜Ĩð˜Ķð˜Īð˜ģð˜Ķð˜Ķ 𝘰𝘧 ð˜ĩ𝘊ð˜Ūð˜Ķ;
ð˜ĩ𝘊ð˜Ūð˜Ķ ð˜Ēð˜Ŋð˜Ĩ ð˜ĩ𝘊ð˜Ūð˜Ķ ð˜Ēð˜Ļð˜Ē𝘊ð˜Ŋ
ð˜īð˜ĩ𝘊𝘭𝘭 ð˜ĩð˜Đð˜Ķð˜ģð˜Ķ 𝘭ð˜Ē𝘚ð˜ī ð˜Ū𝘚 ð˜ąð˜Ķð˜Ŋ.

𝘛ð˜Đð˜ģ𝘰ð˜ķð˜Ļð˜Đ ð˜Ūð˜Ķð˜Ŋð˜ĩð˜Ē𝘭 ð˜īð˜ĩ𝘰ð˜ģð˜Ūð˜ī,
ð˜Ŋ𝘰ð˜ĩð˜ļ𝘊ð˜ĩð˜Đð˜īð˜ĩð˜Ēð˜Ŋð˜Ĩ𝘊ð˜Ŋð˜Ļ ð˜ķð˜ąð˜Đð˜Ķð˜Ē𝘷ð˜Ē𝘭 – ð˜ļ𝘰ð˜ģð˜Ĩð˜ī ð˜ļð˜Ķð˜ģð˜Ķ ð˜Ķð˜ĩð˜Īð˜Đð˜Ķð˜Ĩ
𝘊ð˜Ŋð˜ĩ𝘰 𝘭𝘚ð˜ģ𝘊ð˜Īð˜Ē𝘭 ð˜ļð˜Ēð˜ģð˜ī,
ð˜ĩð˜Đð˜ģ𝘰ð˜ķð˜Ļð˜Đ ð˜Ĩ𝘊ð˜īð˜Ēð˜īð˜ĩð˜Ķð˜ģ ð˜Ŋð˜Ēð˜ģð˜ģð˜Ēð˜ĩ𝘊𝘷ð˜Ķ 𝘊ð˜ī ð˜Ģ𝘰ð˜ģð˜Ŋ ð˜Ēð˜Ŋð˜Ĩ
ð˜ĩð˜Đð˜Ķ ð˜ī𝘰ð˜ķ𝘭 ð˜ģð˜Ķ𝘭ð˜Ķð˜Ēð˜īð˜Ķð˜Ĩ ð˜ĩ𝘰 ð˜ģð˜Ēð˜Ĩ𝘊ð˜Īð˜Ē𝘭 ð˜ĩð˜Đ𝘰ð˜ķð˜Ļð˜Đð˜ĩ.

𝘞𝘰ð˜ģð˜Ĩð˜ī ð˜ąð˜Ē𝘊ð˜Ŋð˜ĩ ð˜Ķð˜ĩð˜Ķð˜ģð˜Ŋð˜Ē𝘭 ð˜ąð˜Šð˜Īð˜ĩð˜ķð˜ģð˜Ķð˜ī.
𝘗𝘊ð˜Īð˜ĩð˜ķð˜ģð˜Ķð˜ī ð˜ļð˜Đ𝘊ð˜Īð˜Đ ð˜ąð˜Ē𝘊ð˜Ŋð˜ĩ ð˜Ē ð˜ĩð˜Đ𝘰ð˜ķð˜īð˜Ēð˜Ŋð˜Ĩ ð˜ļ𝘰ð˜ģð˜Ĩð˜ī,
𝘊𝘧 ð˜ī𝘰 ð˜īð˜Ē𝘊ð˜Ĩ ð˜ļ𝘰ð˜ģð˜Ĩð˜ī ð˜Ēð˜ģð˜Ķ ð˜ĩð˜Đ𝘰ð˜ķð˜īð˜Ēð˜Ŋð˜Ĩð˜ī ð˜ļ𝘰ð˜ģð˜ĩð˜Đ.
𝘛ð˜Đð˜Ēð˜ĩ’ð˜ī ð˜ĩð˜Đð˜Ķ ð˜ąð˜Ķð˜Ŋ,
ð˜Đð˜Ķð˜ģð˜Ķ ð˜ĩ𝘰 ð˜Ūð˜Ē𝘎ð˜Ķ ð˜īð˜Ķð˜Ŋð˜īð˜Ķ 𝘰𝘧 𝘊ð˜ĩ ð˜ĩ𝘊ð˜Ūð˜Ķ ð˜Ēð˜Ŋð˜Ĩ ð˜ĩ𝘊ð˜Ūð˜Ķ ð˜Ēð˜Ļð˜Ē𝘊ð˜Ŋ.

HĖķaĖķpĖķpĖķeĖķnĖķsĖķtĖķaĖķnĖķcĖķeĖķ

Insight, philosophy, Poem, Poetry, thoughts, Uncategorized

𝘞ð˜Đð˜Ēð˜ĩ 𝘊ð˜ī ð˜Īð˜Đð˜Ēð˜Ŋð˜Īð˜Ķ?

𝘐ð˜ĩ 𝘊ð˜ī ð˜ĩð˜Đð˜Ķ ð˜Ģ𝘭ð˜Ķð˜Ŋð˜Ĩ 𝘰𝘧

ð˜ļð˜Đð˜Ēð˜ĩ 𝘊ð˜ī ð˜ąð˜­ð˜Ēð˜Ŋð˜Ŋð˜Ķð˜Ĩ

ð˜Ēð˜Ŋð˜Ĩ ð˜Đð˜Ēð˜ąð˜ąð˜Ķð˜Ŋð˜īð˜ĩð˜Ēð˜Ŋð˜Īð˜Ķ.

 

𝘊ð˜Đð˜Ēð˜Ŋð˜Īð˜Ķ 𝘊ð˜ī ð˜Ŋ𝘰ð˜ĩ 𝘎ð˜Ŋ𝘰ð˜ļ𝘊ð˜Ŋð˜Ļ

𝘚ð˜Ķð˜ĩ 𝘎ð˜Ŋ𝘰ð˜ļ𝘊ð˜Ŋð˜Ļ,

ð˜ĩð˜Đð˜Ķ 𝘷𝘰𝘊ð˜Īð˜Ķ ð˜ĩð˜Đð˜Ēð˜ĩ 𝘭ð˜Ķð˜Ēð˜Ŋð˜ī ð˜ĩ𝘰ð˜ļð˜Ēð˜ģð˜Ĩð˜ī 𝘚ð˜Ķð˜ī,

ð˜ĩð˜Đð˜Ķ ð˜Ī𝘰𝘷ð˜Ķð˜ģð˜ĩ 𝘧𝘰ð˜ģð˜Īð˜Ķð˜ī ð˜Ūð˜Ēð˜Ŋ𝘰ð˜Ķð˜ķ𝘷ð˜ģ𝘊ð˜Ŋð˜Ļ

𝘰ð˜ķð˜ģ ð˜Ĩð˜ģð˜Ķð˜Ēð˜Ūð˜ī – ð˜ĩð˜Đ𝘊ð˜ī 𝘊ð˜ī ð˜Īð˜Đð˜Ēð˜Ŋð˜Īð˜Ķ.

 

𝘊ð˜Đð˜Ēð˜Ŋð˜Īð˜Ķ 𝘊ð˜ī ð˜ĩð˜Đð˜Ķ 𝘭𝘊ð˜Ļð˜Đð˜ĩ 𝘊ð˜Ŋ ð˜ī𝘰ð˜Ūð˜Ģð˜Ķð˜ģ ð˜ī𝘊ð˜ĩð˜Ķð˜ī,

ð˜ĩð˜Đð˜Ķ ð˜ąð˜Ēð˜ĩð˜Đð˜ī ð˜ĩð˜Đð˜Ēð˜ĩ 𝘭ð˜Ē𝘚 ð˜Ēð˜Ĩð˜Ŧð˜Ēð˜Īð˜Ķð˜Ŋð˜ĩ

ð˜Ķ𝘊ð˜ĩð˜Đð˜Ķð˜ģ ð˜ī𝘊ð˜Ĩð˜Ķ,

ð˜ĩð˜ģ𝘰ð˜Ĩð˜Ĩð˜Ķð˜Ŋ ð˜ļð˜Ķ𝘭𝘭 𝘰ð˜ģ 𝘭ð˜Ķð˜īð˜ī ð˜ī𝘰,

𝘧𝘰ð˜ģ ð˜ģð˜Ķð˜Ļð˜Ēð˜ģð˜Ĩ𝘭ð˜Ķð˜īð˜ī 𝘰𝘧 ð˜ĩð˜Đð˜Ķ ð˜Ī𝘰ð˜Ŋð˜ĩð˜Ķð˜Ŋð˜ĩð˜ī,

ð˜Īð˜Đð˜Ēð˜Ŋð˜Īð˜Ķ 𝘊ð˜ī ð˜ĩð˜Đð˜Ķ ð˜ąð˜°ð˜īð˜ī𝘊ð˜Ģ𝘊𝘭𝘊ð˜ĩ𝘊ð˜Ķð˜ī, ð˜ĩð˜Đð˜Ķ ð˜°ð˜ąð˜ĩ𝘊𝘰ð˜Ŋð˜ī.

 

𝘊ð˜Đð˜Ēð˜Ŋð˜Īð˜Ķ 𝘊ð˜ī ð˜ĩð˜Đð˜Ķ ð˜ķð˜Ŋ𝘎ð˜Ŋ𝘰ð˜ļð˜Ŋ,

ð˜īð˜ĩð˜Ēð˜Ŋð˜Ĩ𝘊ð˜Ŋð˜Ļ 𝘊ð˜Ŋ ð˜Ē𝘭𝘭 𝘊ð˜ĩð˜ī ð˜Ģð˜Ķð˜Ēð˜ķð˜ĩ𝘚

ð˜Ēð˜Ŋð˜Ĩ ð˜Ļ𝘭𝘰ð˜ģ𝘚, 𝘊ð˜ĩ 𝘊ð˜ī ð˜ĩð˜Đð˜Ķ 𝘧𝘰ð˜ģð˜Ļ𝘰ð˜ĩð˜ĩð˜Ķð˜Ŋ ð˜ĩð˜Ē𝘭ð˜Ķ,

ð˜ĩð˜Đð˜Ķ ð˜ķð˜Ŋð˜ĩ𝘰𝘭ð˜Ĩ ð˜īð˜ĩ𝘰ð˜ģ𝘚.

𝘈ð˜Ŋð˜Ĩ 𝘊ð˜ĩ’ð˜ī ð˜īð˜Īð˜Ēð˜ģ𝘚 ð˜Ģð˜ķð˜ĩ ð˜Ģð˜Ķð˜Ēð˜ķð˜ĩ𝘊𝘧ð˜ķ𝘭,

ð˜Ģð˜Ķð˜Īð˜Ēð˜ķð˜īð˜Ķ ð˜ĩð˜Đð˜Ķ ð˜ĩð˜Ē𝘭ð˜Ķ 𝘊ð˜ī 𝘰ð˜ķð˜ģð˜ī,

ð˜Ē ð˜ĩð˜Ē𝘭ð˜Ķ 𝘰𝘧 ð˜Īð˜Đð˜Ēð˜Ŋð˜Īð˜Ķ… 𝘰𝘧 ð˜Đð˜Ēð˜ąð˜ąð˜Ķð˜Ŋð˜īð˜ĩð˜Ēð˜Ŋð˜Īð˜Ķ.

From the Ashes

Poetry

As peace was breached through sleepless nights, no cloud, no fall could dim your light;
ones grateful here yet needed time,
oh as dreams would have it, I needed mine.


Some thousand days of note,
our somber days a’ mote.
Where fury and fire once merged, from the ashes of pain, grew hope.
Oh as life would have it you made me grow.