The Bohemiaspeaks Experiment: Mapping the Essence of Human Nature

After spending around 2 years writing poetry about fictional characters from all around the world, I asked a friend who is more in touch with the geeky tech world to put together a WORD CLOUD from all the poems that featured on this blog.

As many of you know, a world cloud is generated based on the number of times a word happens to be in a given body of text. Out of 100 poems and around 25,000 words the more a word recurs the larger it would be in the cloud. So looking at the result for bohemiaspeaks in which characters from all walks of life are pouring their hearts out in poetry is sort of a mini-exercise that tries to capture the essence of human nature and emotions.

Lo and behold, the result is a beautiful portrait that I will have to hold on to for some time and think about. I will not try to make sense of the exact recurrence of words in this cloud, I do not think that we need to. But I think that we can just look at it, enjoy its randomness and beauty, and be grateful for any word inside that resonates with us.

This word cloud is the common denominator between: the sex worker in Amsterdam, the Child Worker in Hanoi, the Taxi Driver in Manhattan, the Investment Banker in Calcutta, the Plumber in Buenos Aires, the Soldier in Baghdad, the Gypsy Weaver in the south of Spain, the Pop Star in Tokyo, the Woman in a Burka in Kandahar, the Painter in Lima, the Whirling Dervish in Istanbul, the Female Activist in London, the DJ in Ibiza, the Cancer Patient, the Sailor, the Sociologist, the Pilot, the Eskimo, the Suicide Bomber, the Swahili Hunter, the Pigeon Keeper, the Scriptwriter, the Gravedigger and the list goes on and on covering 100 characters!!!

This is a visual testament that there is no difference between us all. Across races, nationalities, professions, religions, political affiliations we can still find so much words in common. Words like “love”, “life”, “together”, “dreams” and “truth”. Or words like “fear”, “pain”, “empty”, “darkness” and “burn”.

In conclusion of this experiment, I guess our lives are nothing but a word cloud in progress. It is up to us to decide which words will appear with greater weight. If we take a snapshot of our lives right now, what words would be counted most? What words would be counted most if we took a snapshot of the world? And based on this knowledge, how will we act accordingly?

A famous poet called Rumi once said: “Let your words rise, and not your voice. For it is the rain that grows flowers and not the thunder”.

Just some food for thought.

Sincerely,
The Author of Bohemiaspeaks

Eternal Gray – last testament of the junkie

Monstrous tentacles ploughing through my veins

Reaching into my deep thoughts at night

Hunting me relentlessly and without stop.

As I peer through the window sill

I catch a glimpse of light and smile,

Its been dark for quite a while

But somehow I still have not forgotten

How color looks like

Even though I now perceive the world,

In shades of gray

I guess that gray is a perfect mix

Between two ends that do not often meet

Or at least for me they don’t.

In its banality I feel at ease

Or probably rather more accustomed to

Why look for color?

When you can paint your life in gray

Why even bother to improve

When you can always use the gray

Into my veins it clenches tight

Onto my very blood cells

There is no need to fight

Soon even the color within me will disappear

And I will become one

With eternal everlasting mediocrity

International Disorder – rambling of the deranged scholar

(To be rambled very quickly)
Regardless of the debate regarding
the effectiveness of international legalization,
one cannot deny
from a descriptive point of view
that the cultural values of the renaissance
and enlightenment eras in Europe
act as the building blocks
of our modern international liberal order.

To the extent in which
the international normative environment
is contingent on the sociocultural values
of a specific form of polity
(that of Europe to be precise),
an anomaly arises
when such an international model is used
to govern diverse polities
with different understandings of social values.

One could assume
that only when an international order
that better reflects the notion
of uneven and combined development
comes into existence,
then such an anomaly can be solved.

In this respect we may conclude
that the current liberal order is anachronistic
with the logic of social evolution
and of humanity as a whole.

Bedroom Bliss – sonnet of the man in love

Combined with smiles and laughter I release
My inner anger spreads into the air

The stench of fear is overcome by peace
The calmness of an empty dragon’s lair

A smile so innocent from her lips so pure
Unclothes the pieces of my inner gloom
The more she smiles the more I feel secure
Undressing me as spring bursts into bloom

She shakes as I exchange her gentle touch
We mate and I ascend into a haze
The fire burns as we lay whole and clutch
Our passion keeps the dying flame ablaze

Forever seems to linger far away
All I ask for is another day

Thorns – dilemma of the eternally troubled

The countless thorns we try to pluck
We count and pluck and throw away
Have made another bush beneath our feet
And now the thorns we once had overcome
Are sounding bells for our own sad defeat

When plucking thorns it is a must to think
Beyond the pleasure of the pain
of plucking our own plights

What of the thorns when they’re discharged?
A harmless little lifeless thing we think
But soon enough we come to learn
That as we march towards victory
We drown in our own reckless pride

For such a future prickle pickle
Remember to go against your instinct
Don’t pluck the living hell out of yourself
Instead just treat the wounds and wait until
Those thorny bastards fall off along your way

The Graveyard – wisdom of the sad and depressed

Pestilence in our imagery controls our sight
And everything we sought to have falls short
Of what our fingertips can reach for
With impaired vision and obstructed touch
We yell out loud to rip apart the void
That engulfs our entirety but alas
Our sounds bounce of the thickness of our cage
And we end up victims of our own decree
With bleeding ears, incapable eyes and severed hands
We rest on what we used to call our home
Turned into something of our grave
Appliances and rooms just objects in the yard
And compounding our ordeal we’re left with taste and smell
The taste of misery and smell of a decaying corpse