🎓 Doc Freemo 🇳🇱 @freemo@qoto.org

Hey, I'm using Mastodon for a few weeks now. Over time I got some ideas about Mastodon instances and FOSS in general. I am here because I would like to share it with the world (preferably without being limited to 500 characters) and would like to hear your feedback

#introductions

@stux We do that in the USA too, except instead of trauma teddies we shoot your dog.

@freemo
'Twas righteous! 😊

Man is a rope, tied between beast and overman--a rope over an abyss. What is great in man is that he is a bridge and not an end: what can be loved in man is that he is an overture and a going under...

I say unto you: one must still have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth to a dancing star. I say unto you: you still have chaos in yourselves.

Alas, the time is coming when man will no longer give birth to a star. Alas, the time of the most despicable man is coming, he that is no longer able to despise himself. Behold, I show you the last man.

"What is love? What is creation? What is longing? What is a star?" thus asks the last man, and blinks.

The earth has become small, and on it hops the last man, who makes everything small. His race is as ineradicable as the flea; the last man lives longest.

"We have invented happiness," say the last men, and they blink. They have left the regions where it was hard to live, for one needs warmth. One still loves one's neighbor and rubs against him, for one needs warmth...

One still works, for work is a form of entertainment. But one is careful lest the entertainment be too harrowing. One no longer becomes poor or rich: both require too much exertion. Who still wants to rule? Who obey? Both require too much exertion.

No shepherd and one herd! Everybody wants the same, everybody is the same: whoever feels different goes voluntarily into a madhouse.

"Formerly, all the world was mad," say the most refined, and they blink...

One has one's little pleasure for the day and one's little pleasure for the night: but one has a regard for health.

"We have invented happiness," say the last men, and they blink.

-- Thus spoke Zarathustra, Nietzsche

#Nietzscche #poetry #poem #philosophy #quote #Quotes

@freemo Reminds me of a poem/Parable by Kahlil Gibran.:

Upon a day Beauty and Ugliness met on the shore of a sea. And they said to one another, “Let us bathe in the sea.”

Then they disrobed and swam in the waters. And after a while Ugliness came back to shore and garmented himself with the garments of Beauty and walked away.

And Beauty too came out of the sea, and found not her raiment, and she was too shy to be naked, therefore she dressed herself with the raiment of Ugliness. And Beauty walked her way.

And to this very day men and women mistake the one for the other.

Yet some there are who have beheld the face of Beauty, and they know her notwithstanding her garments. And some there be who know the face of Ugliness, and the cloth conceals him not from their eyes.

- The Wanderer, by Kahlil Gibran

The Song of the Wondering Aengus

I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire a-flame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And someone called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done,
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.

-- W.B. Yeats

This poem really resonated with me. I think its because as a kid I would constantly dream of this magical woman who lived in my basement and when I woke up I could never find her.

#poetry #poem #literature #english

Another #poem from about 8 years ago...

http://jeffreyfreeman.me/brambled-velvet-bloody-thorns/

= Brambled velvet, bloody thorns. =

The sweetest warmth on my tongue.
A distant memory of a soft touch that never was.
The thorns are a poison, and the fruit its cure.
The sweet fruit that turns the ash in my mouth to wine,
the peaceful ignorance of my intoxication.
Numb to the destruction as I tear away the velvet fruit,
leaving a mutilated husk, its life blood dripping.
The desolate brambles now rotting in the sun.
Its life for mine, a life I never wished to take,
as if there was some other end, some perfect end.
But it was all a dream.
A haunting dream.
An eternal dream.
A dream more real than life.
A dream…

#poems #poetry

Another one of the old #poems I found lately. This one was also from 8 years ago.

http://jeffreyfreeman.me/take-my-soul-upon-your-heart/

= Take My soul =

Take my soul upon your heart;
know that I shall never part.

All the void of heaven and earth;
can not weaken my love’s worth.

Not time nor death nor land nor sea;
none of these are stronger then we.

For all my heart is fixed on you;
no wish of mine will ever undo,
the undying love I feel for two.

As I slip into the dark;
thoughts of you are in my heart.

You have been my guiding light;
and so you will remain, through eternal night.

-My love forever,
Jeff

#poem #poetry

@freemo
A little learning is a dangerous thing ;
Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring :
There shallow draughts intoxicate the brain,
And drinking largely sobers us again.
Fired at first sight with what the Muse imparts,
In fearless youth we tempt the heights of Arts ;
While from the bounded level of our mind
Short views we take, nor see the lengths behind,
But, more advanced, behold with strange surprise
New distant scenes of endless science rise !
So pleased at first the towering Alps we try,
Mount o’er the vales, and seem to tread the sky ;
The eternal snows appear already past,
And the first clouds and mountains seem the last ;
But those attained, we tremble to survey
The growing labours of the lengthened way ;
The increasing prospect tires our wandering eyes,
Hills peep o’er hills, and Alps on Alps arise !