and hell, and war
and all that bombardment,
a thousand chess pieces
in an intellectual's mouth
like scrambled eggs: the same
****** superstition
of needing awe -
ivory tower talk, the best
talk there is, when all limbs
drop off and the vegetables
talk: tongues on cucumbers,
tongues on cabbages, tongues
on cauliflowers - waggling about
like concerns for cars: how
many horse power thrusts?
and hell, and war
and all that bombardment -
like poetry, a bomb drops daily
coming from the ultimate war machine,
the res vanus, the empty thing,
the sponge -
because why would
a bomb or a poem be ever dropped
from the Cartesian weapon
that's kept, intact, peacefully
thinking, antonymous-synonymous
kindred of narration?
there, another bomb,
here, another day,
there, another bomb,
here another day,
ping
pong
ping pong
poetry
poesy
poetry
poesy -
and the world just turns
into black | white
and everything becoming
oh so ****** ordinary - so Tao -
or Tao works with
a billionth birth in a nation that deters
from media frenzy.
another way to say it:
how to write poetry when not listening
to music, when not listening to things
and your fingers' puncture on the keys -
overview of the news,
how to write in order to talk-over people:
you could be worse-off than being
a Heidegger apologist -
or to say: it was the binding
to the zeitgeist: the years later meant
repenting -
so from being defined
in Cartesian diagnostics as thinking,
to deconstruct that and become empty
(here too! my compass
n. Heidegger
w. Descartes
e. Kant
and s. Diogenes)
as the acronym suggests, toward the four winds!
but of course, many more influences,
but then again: who did i find commanding
and with difficulty bound...
oh i too wish i could write populist
poetry, worded: shambles! shame! outrage!
outrage! shame! shambles! a national disaster!
but here's little me, tucked away into a cosy
niche - weaving my little spiderweb -
or how
the fingers feels, after having spent 2 days
crushing 40kg of grapes to make wine,
from grapes to pulp, from grapes to pulp,
in the shed in the garden, 2 days, 40 kilograms of grapes;
i should have added a few apples to be fermented alongside.
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 8:01 PM UTC
and hell, and war
and all that bombardment,
a thousand chess pieces
in an intellectual's mouth
like scrambled eggs: the same
****** superstition
of needing awe -
ivory tower talk, the best
talk there is, when all limbs
drop off and the vegetables
talk: tongues on cucumbers,
tongues on cabbages, tongues
on cauliflowers - waggling about
like concerns for cars: how
many horse power thrusts?
and hell, and war
and all that bombardment -
like poetry, a bomb drops daily
coming from the ultimate war machine,
the res vanus, the empty thing,
the sponge -
because why would
a bomb or a poem be ever dropped
from the Cartesian weapon
that's kept, intact, peacefully
thinking, antonymous-synonymous
kindred of narration?
there, another bomb,
here, another day,
there, another bomb,
here another day,
ping
pong
ping pong
poetry
poesy
poetry
poesy -
and the world just turns
into black | white
and everything becoming
oh so ****** ordinary - so Tao -
or Tao works with
a billionth birth in a nation that deters
from media frenzy.
another way to say it:
how to write poetry when not listening
to music, when not listening to things
and your fingers' puncture on the keys -
overview of the news,
how to write in order to talk-over people:
you could be worse-off than being
a Heidegger apologist -
or to say: it was the binding
to the zeitgeist: the years later meant
repenting -
so from being defined
in Cartesian diagnostics as thinking,
to deconstruct that and become empty
(here too! my compass
n. Heidegger
w. Descartes
e. Kant
and s. Diogenes)
as the acronym suggests, toward the four winds!
but of course, many more influences,
but then again: who did i find commanding
and with difficulty bound...
oh i too wish i could write populist
poetry, worded: shambles! shame! outrage!
outrage! shame! shambles! a national disaster!
but here's little me, tucked away into a cosy
niche - weaving my little spiderweb -
or how
the fingers feels, after having spent 2 days
crushing 40kg of grapes to make wine,
from grapes to pulp, from grapes to pulp,
in the shed in the garden, 2 days, 40 kilograms of grapes;
i should have added a few apples to be fermented alongside.