An Essay on Man – Alexander Pope excerpts

From pride, from pride, our very reas’ning springs;

Account for moral, as for nat’ral things:

Why charge we Heav’n in those, in these acquit?

In both, to reason right is to submit.


       Better for us, perhaps, it might appear,

Were there all harmony, all virtue here;

That never air or ocean felt the wind;

That never passion discompos’d the mind.

But ALL subsists by elemental strife;

And passions are the elements of life.

The gen’ral order, since the whole began,

Is kept in nature, and is kept in man.



       Cease then, nor order imperfection name:

Our proper bliss depends on what we blame.

Know thy own point: This kind, this due degree

Of blindness, weakness, Heav’n bestows on thee.

Submit.—In this, or any other sphere,

Secure to be as blest as thou canst bear:

Safe in the hand of one disposing pow’r,

Or in the natal, or the mortal hour.

All nature is but art, unknown to thee;

All chance, direction, which thou canst not see;

All discord, harmony, not understood;

All partial evil, universal good:

And, spite of pride, in erring reason’s spite,

One truth is clear, Whatever is, is right.




Know then thyself, presume not God to scan

The proper study of Mankind is Man.
Placed on this isthmus of a middle state,
A Being darkly wise, and rudely great:
With too much knowledge for the Sceptic side,
With too much weakness for the Stoic’s pride,
He hangs between; in doubt to act, or rest;
In doubt to deem himself a God, or Beast;
In doubt his mind or body to prefer;
Born but to die, and reas’ning but to err;
Alike in ignorance, his reason such,
Whether he thinks too little, or too much;
Chaos of Thought and Passion, all confus’d;
Still by himself, abus’d or disabus’d;
Created half to rise and half to fall;
Great Lord of all things, yet a prey to all,
Sole judge of truth, in endless error hurl’d;

The glory, jest and riddle of the world.

Go, wondrous creature! mount where science guides,

Go, measure earth, weigh air, and state the tides;
Instruct the planets in what orbs to run,
Correct old time, and regulate the sun;
Go, soar with Plato to th’ empyreal sphere,
To the first good, first perfect, and first fair;
Or tread the mazy round his followers trod,
And quitting sense call imitating God;
As Eastern priests in giddy circles run,
And turn their heads to imitate the sun.
Go, teach Eternal Wisdom how to rule—
Then drop into thyself, and be a fool!

Harold Norse Let Go

Let go and feel your nakedness, tits ache to be bitten and sucked
Let go with pong of armpit and crotch, let go with hole a-tingle
Let go with tongue lapping hairy cunt, lick feet, kiss ass, suck cock and balls
Let the whole body go, let love come through, let freedom ring
Let go with moans and erogenous zones, let go with heart and soul
Let go the dead meat of convention, wake up the live meat of love

Let go with senses, pull out the stops, forget false teachings and lies
Let go of inherited belief, let go of shame and blame, in brief
Let go of forbidden energies, choked back in muscle and nerves
Let go of rigid rules and roles, let go of uptight poses
Let go of your puppet self, let go and renew yourself and be free
Let go the dead meat of convention, wake up the live meat of love

Let go this moment, the hour, this day, tomorrow will be too late
Let go of guilt and frustration, let liberation and tolerance flow
Let go of phantom worries and fears, let go of hours and days and years
Let go of hate and rage and grief, let walls against ecstasy fall for relief
Let go of pride and greed, let go of missiles and might and creed
Let go the dead meat of convention, wake up the live meat of love


The Atrophy Trophy

Many feel proud of their atrophy
Do Not Know AND Do Not Care:
Math, Grammar, Science, Culture, Art, Agriculture
believing the golden trophy
they deserve
is better
than the participation ribbon
others are ashamed to acquire

Two types of people

There are basically only two types of people. The people that ask themselves “Now what?” vs. the people that ask “What for?” Tall, small, brown, white, queer, wasp, father ,daughter, midget, Chinese, Russian, or porn star, these classifications fall below these psychological query kingdoms.


In the “Now What?” camp, they tend to always want to accomplish something. Called driven by some, they tend to plan out their day trying to utilize every waking second to further their ideological or physical output. Once they do accomplish a lone feat, there is not a time to admire or contemplate or do anything other than than asking themselves “Now what can I do next”?


Contrast this to the “What for”. “Driven? Ha! What for? Am I starving or freezing to death? Then what the fuck am I doing this for?” seems to be a common mantra repeated. Although highly derided by the other group when they say “Now what did he/she/they think they would accomplish” a common non-verbal and sometimes verbal riposte emoted is “What the fuck you care for?”


The history of man details the majority of the accomplishments of the “Now What” kingdom quite fluently. Action takers, leaders, power or fame hungry, or simply maniacal lunatics, professional historians love to fill their journals and minds upon men too busy asking “Now what” to contemplate “Why should I do this again?” Always a stressful undertaking, no wonder drugs, an alternative perception of what now is happenning, seem prevalent.


Drug use in the “what for” kingdom not nearly as prevalent, but a minority do drink coffee, smoke occassional marijuana or drink a few glasses of wine because “what else am I living for?”


Relationships seem better on the “What for?” camp since cheating/lying meets the question, “What would I want to hurt you for?” while the other group asks “Now what you going to do about it?”


Some though do cross over psychological kingdoms when they ponder “What we celebrating these idiots for?” then as an epiphany they ask, “Now what else could I do?”

The Mut Philosopher

Gator April  2014


When I feel tired of being down

I walk the dog uptown

A branch or an electric pole

He must set his mark

When I bring him to the cemetary

I want him to piss on their graves

Pissed off at progeny

But he’s much too wise for those shenanigans

He just waits for me to get tired

And sit down somewhere

So he can jump jovially on top of me

The fire of love sparked into me

He’s a philosopher that mut

Lays his mark

Where fires start

Instead of where the fires burnt out