Idle Musings of a Wandering Minstrel

"The fairest way to treat everyone, is badly."
- Me


~Tesc.

If I were to ask preference between the richness and riches hard earned, and the pleasures of pity – I have no doubt that the majority would in unison cry the former – but how many of them would secretly wish the latter? Only a fool of a man will say his labour is given to worthless causes; but he who by his own hand excels is scorned. His fellows will eye his trophies with resentment and greet him with false smiles. They will cry cheat where no foul has played, and cutthroat where no dagger drawn. Conversely; those who receive pity are beloved for their inability, their lack, and their incapacity. No man who gives to charity will say it is a worthless cause either, and so freely and without complaint will he give.

What becomes of this is a sad state; where many prefer the pleasures of pity, over the richness of well earned reward. They find that labour is not to their liking, and prefer to lay on their back and moan of ills that fail to exist, or are of their own negligent making. And, as fellows stoop to pat them on the head and offer them of their coffers, they smile a smile of smiles – to have gotten their ill wish, and now have time to plot for more.

This would be no great travesty, if those who stand to their ankles at the shore did not moan louder than those who struggle with desperation against the depths farther out. To say that all those who cry for pity do not need it is a blasphemy of the highest slander – but to say that they deserve it is an entirely different matter.

-Tesc.

Cassandra; so wicked art thou tongue-
To hiss such lies and heresy,
And expect the song resung?

What the madness here awaken,
When those lies in truth, those truth in lies;
Art for one another taken.

Tesc.

In a recent spat with a friend of mine, I addressed the issue of authority; chiefly the difference between “True Authority” and Actual Authority.

Now what is the difference, aside from fancy quotation marks? Well that is with what each of the above supposedly is empowered by. Ideally, a true authority operates under the assumption of an innate “Good”, a property that exists within the universe and is of itself a good thing for all that posses it.

So, if an authority knew what the “Good,” was, it would thereby be able to act in accord with that understanding. It would strive to preserve the good whenever possible, and eliminate threats to the overall good of that which it presided over. If one acted under the presumption that the good is good for all things, and should preserve that which has the property of being good, as well as destroy the antitheses of things lacking the good, then there would never be any qualm about action or inaction.

Thus; if the police arrest a man, it was because he was being bad or did something to damage the overall “Good” of the community,
Thus; if the military attacks a country, it was to preserve the overall “Good”, or remove something inherently bad.
AND! Since Authority knows what the “Good” is anything they did would fundamentally be right, they would never feel guilty about preserving the good, nor would they be afraid of dangers taken in the name of the “Good”, because they had good intentions.
And accordingly, if we asked them why they do what they do, they could explain it logically as such.



Well the big problem is that "authority" doesn't know what "The good," is, and substitutes it with "laws". However, laws may not contain in and of themselves, the property of "goodness,". So one might claim there is no certainty in strictly following the law.
And in fact, one might go so far as to claim that doing the above commits the Fallacy of Accident, [i.e.; Following a Rule without exception, because it is the rule]

Thus all Governments, all Police, all Militaries and all societies commit the Fallacy of Accident when they try to enforce their rules.

Ask a police officer why he arrests a man; and he says, “It’s the law,”
Ask a solider why he killed innocent civilians and he claims, “I was just following orders,”

Whereas one who understood the “Good” could explain why his actions are in accord with the good, and are therefore right; all that Actual [imperfect] authority offers, is a bland faceless law which demands observation, not understanding.

Until such a property as the “Good” is discovered and verified, all that remains are laws and those who enforce them – and with the above as reason, both the laws and those who enforce them should be observed with a critical eye. They do not warrant the unconditional faith that a True Authority is deserved, although that does not mean they have to be outright dismissed. Incomplete order is preferable to anarchy. Examine your actions and the actions of others and debate, inwardly if need be, whether or not they are soundly accomplished.

Do you think that a True Authority, which understood the “Good” could be unconditionally trusted? [Which understood the “Good” and could explain it’s actions transparently?]
Do you believe that all present Authorities are imperfect for lacking the above trait?

Tesc.

The wisest man knows nothing; for he is not stained by constructs of others or his own. Instead, he is able to view things as they really are. In that way, he claims to have learned nothing, for what he knows is apparent to all.

Tesc.

If logic is a falcon,
Then misconception is a disease -
Which clips its wings,
And strips its life of ease.

All its swiftness;
The efficiency and guile -
Are taken, and then tattered,
As is the sickness’s style.

Its song, once clear,
Becomes an awkward cry,
Barely straining notes,
That it soon forfeits to try.

Its diet reduced,
It scavenges on foul things,
Once prey concealed in cages;
Wrought of fiery rings,

If logic is a falcon,
Would you recognize it so afflicted?
Or would to dismiss it mad,
Rabid, and rightly derelicted?

Tesc.

White glacier so oddly displaced,
Glinting in the rising sun,
Two figures in pale light traced,
Titan and minute,
Amber eyes reflect devout blue;
“One for me,” says the larger,
And smiling smaller, “One for you,”

And day rose,
And dawn past,
Through long and weary,
It fell fast,

Obsidian loomed, dark and great,
Fallen sun’s golden rays unpiercing,
Two figures linger long and late,
Minute and titan,
Blue fires alight amber flame,
“So different,” says the larger,
And smiling smaller, “Quite the same,”

Tesc.

There is a distinct feeling,
A wet and warm sense of chill,
A vertigo that leaves you reeling,
That you are someplace that you oughtn’t be,
A place the paint is peeling;
And you can peek at what you shouldn’t see,

The air becomes a little colder,
And your breath has a frigid bite,
You sense a shadow on your shoulder,
Though, you dare not look,
You start slow like a boulder;
And before running like a crook,

Your foot falls and their pitter pat,
Rise into a torrent,
As are joined by many that,
Put dark meaning to this race;
Every corner that you draw,
Their pursuit takes time to trace,

Your cry for help is long and loud,
But there arises no answer,
From the passive crowd,
You push and shove and scream,
Hoping with great sickness,
That this is all a dream,

Your legs pump iron black and hot,
And the thief of fatigue,
Steals away what you have not,
Each footfall like a hammer resounds,
In your ears,
Your desperate heart pounds,

Like a snake through cornstalks weaving,
You bludgeon onward,
Lungs hard and heaving.
The chill on your shoulder,
It replaced by a steely grip;
That makes your blood run colder,

“Son,” comes the disappointed voice,
“Were you digging around back there?”
A dumb nod; is there really a choice?
“And then you went and ran away -,”
The voice sighs,
“That was a surprise for your birth day,”

Tesc.

If anything be said of me:
Let them know that,
Before freedom I were free,

I were not burdened with the ink,
The dredge and drought,
Of thoughts to think,

And in chains I worked the best,
Under whips,
More manifest,

Than merely inhibition,
That have been stopped,
By foolish indecision,

Morning rise, night to bed,
Now I wander,
Lost instead,

In ignorance there were bliss,
And it’s joys,
I sorely miss

Tesc.

I suppose people celebrate this day,
For various reasons,
That are theirs to say.
But if you are inclined to ask me,
It is a day like another other,
Granted fair and granted free,

Yet there’s a great hewing of trees,
Gift giving and hot chocolate,
To combat the brisk winter breeze,
There’s nothing special about it I can detect,
No especial reason to be generous,
Or by fireside recollect,
There’s no need to the twinkling light,
Those elaborate decorations,
That stab into the night,
There’s no compulsion to love your fellow man,
But people could,
And so they can,

It's a merely a day to make her’s or his.
And in all honesty,
That’s worthy of celebration as it is,

Tesc.

What are you?




Tesc.

What does a note sing,
That the song itself does not hold;
Is an ember itself hot,
And the fire cold?

What does a piece carry,
That the whole fails to contain,
Is there something in an insect’s flutter,
That the swarm does not sustain?


Is the triangle the sum,
Of it’s three sides -
Or is there something greater,
That therein resides?

Does a lone wolf howl,
With the vehemence of the pack –
Does a single block,
Stand with the height of the stack?


Tesc.

If ever a house is caught aflame:
Do your struggle to save that which is burning -
Or that which is not?

Tesc.

Old Whitepaw,
They say he wandered off in the snow;
Into that place where only fools go.
What he sought, he did not find
And in the end he lost his mind.

Tesc.

What belongs to no man,
By very virtue of it's name;
But that no man,
That will not attempt to claim?

Tesc.

It’s not a question of how or worth,
Or even what you have accomplished-
Since that point of birth:
For all your petty conquest,
Will by strange hands whisk away.
Rather, it is why,
That they shall ask, crying,
When comes the day,
That you are dying,


Tesc.

If your nose is dusty from books and pages,
Cloven from the ages;
Consider not everyone does well to behave,
When someone drags them out of the cave.

Tesc.

September thirteenth, and world another year older,
Ah, such things that be…
Hot winds blow the colder,
On the weeping willow tree;
Who whines and groans at every breeze.
Her pollen, like gold into the air thrust
On which travelers choke and sneeze,
Slowed for the simple sake of dust.

But where gold slows thine pace,
Silver quickens thee,
Onward, onward race!
To catch the swift tabby,
Who in an ambitious hurry
Looks back in want of chase.
Paws all a flurry;
As he darts from place to place.

He’ll sing you a lover’s song,
Plucking at the strings of his heart,
Which extend as far as strong.
He’ll conjure from canvas art,
Taming a rainbow and weaving hues,
Passion’s red, green nature’s grace,
And all the ocean’s blue -
If only you can keep with his pace!

He’s fueled by only the hottest fires,
Burns not coal, but on diamonds gnaw,
Seeking to accomplish desires,
That this world will awe,
And the silver roun’ his neck is no collar,
[Indeed, to tame such a man -
Would require a soul of such squalor!
If indeed any mortal could or can]

Though he runs, he is no fell creature;
Indeed – he is good by virtue,
Angelic and just in every feature,
[A claim rightly made by few]
With a smile broad and proud,
He soars on wide wings,
Pouncing an idle cloud,
And flying amoungst skyward things,

Aye, the world is another year older,
And its no secret that for the wear,
It’s a bit crueler, colder,
With a thousand things unjust, unfair,
Our heroes vanquished by some foul kryptonite,
Our dreams harshly pushed aside,
The sun a little darker after every night,
And purpose seeming without pride,

But having you, dear tabby,
Racing ever so often our way,
Inspires some smile in me,
And brightens the rising day,
Whether your songs, or your art,
Or simply the way your silhouette glistens -
There’s a tune that beats in your heart;
That inspires every man who listens.


Tesc -
Happy Birthday Ransom

Tom Oxendine died doing as he loved -
In the midst of teaching,
And though his hands stretch no farther;
That which he touched is still far reaching.

He once spoke to me of economics,
And I learned little, truth be told,
But he showed me a piece of proper currency -
And that was a heart of gold.

He led us through graduation,
With our green robes and white lace;
The last of him I saw,
Was a shake of the hand, and a smiling face.

-Matthew Wasilewski

I am afraid to say this thing I cannot do;
That I, in my rising power,
Will strike out and save you,

Tesc.