unlike the book of Enoch's proposition, i deem fallen "stars" (we all know they meteors, but religious language loves metaphors) as disgraced saints, given there's so many of them they can sometimes outnumber angels, so yeah, in reverse of religious blah i deem fallen stars are disgraced saints, rather than disgraced angels.

and upon having written the words that i had,
i felt a sharp indentation on my right hand,
as if someone was pressing a sharpened
avocado seed into it, that i knew was the thumb
of my guardian - there was a reason why
i masturbated prior to puberty aged 8,
that i might know the difference in the ways
it might be taught: circumcision and
religious obedience, and the non-circumcised
with their indolence and hedonism threshold -
or how to marry the monotheistic man
with the man of no theistic concerns -
who came later than the circumcised woman -
who in stories of a Prince f Egypt was beautified
in her agony: as passing the fruit to man -
from paranoid despots of Egypt eager to keep
a harem and let her not simply enjoy the company
of other men, but of greater peril from these despots,
that she could wield a greater satisfaction
from her own hand than his excavation of power -
never before was this story told in the crude manner
it deserved - the shame on poetry, and the subsequent
undermining of poetry! to every, EVER poet out there
readying himself for a renewed reinterpretation
of his horrid book, a word of caution: you will not
gain any other technique from this, no pun-joke,
this is metaphor versus imagery, after all imagery
deciphers metaphor, the ideogram of meaning,
thank god the Chinese were allowed to sustain their ideogram,
otherwise using these skeletons i'd never achieve
a worthy playing field, no table tennis table, no
squash cube, no tennis court, no football pitch...
given the survival of the Chinese ideogram i can climb
a tier higher from what's encrypted,
i can, thanks to the Chinese ideogram morph words
above the tier of sounds, above the tier of grammatical
categorisation that are governed by time / timing, and
enter the only realistic realm necessary, the poetic:
to treat "holy" but subsequently metaphorical texts
for a revision changing metaphor (hallucinatory images)
into imagery (the times when certain tools were
anticipated, of that said: Galileo and the telescope
and the *oculus rufus of Jupiter
it's appropriate karma and the dishonouring philosophy's
feeling of superiority that merely matches them with
Koranic scribbles that poets finally can box the other
strand of language use into oblivion...
poetry and the freedoms to suffice its continuation...
true via a real example: the "prince" of philosophers,
no other than Spinoza, polishing lenses,
as every philosopher after him, sharpening the meaning
of words, trying to eradicate Thesaurus Rex from
human existence, trying to coagulate synonyms into
a single meaning, i.e. prescribing words
of fluidity and subsequent poly-elasticity a mono-usage,
their prize lost, their dittoing of up-kept credentials,
their dittoing but lack of approximation ~******* up /
or simply buckling under the strain...
sharpening of the eye, they mistook killing off poetry
but by doing so, they encouraged Sophistry -
the art of rhetoric... poets never spoke to convince people,
they spoke to entertain people, why are these
apes running the mental life of people?! never put
your eggs in one basket... the poets were condensed into
the same cauldron as the Sophists, even though
poets preferred to speak from a page or the prior written
than from the heart of a deceiving others...
at the time of Spinoza doubt was still a considerable evil,
only when denial emerged were people finally considered
easy-zoological specimens of study: a doubtful faith
is a faith non-the-less, wavering faith, but at least
not an offshoot of denial, which only breeds bad faith
(as Sartre described) and ends up being a confession in
a *******'s bedroom by some duke of *****-nilly.
in the end, all i have to say is: the preliminary poem
always aids your sober affairs that later becoming drinking
affairs: that the Chinese ideogram resilience allowed
us to translate "holy" texts of pure metaphor into
pure imagery, and create the paradigm of desecration
justified like a Mongol in Baghdad...
where the true Golgotha is situated -
that poets aren't sophists, and that by attacking
poets, philosophers created by far the more zealous
version of criticising poetry: a Surat in the Koran
and the current flowering of unnerved sophistry in
politics: not that much a case of speaking with a persuasive
manner, but a way of speaking toward a persuasive
lie that doesn't endanger the status quo.
so what saves modern poetry from despair and dodo?
the Chinese ideogram, thanks to the Chinese ideogram
(working from the book of Genesis) i can pass an object in
the form of metaphor (apple) via jingzi / mirror
and get imagery back (*******) - only because
i am passing one skeletal object of spelled simplicity
into another object of akin spelled simplicity
via something resembling carpals-metacarpals-phalanges
(the wrist) - as the title suggests: wrist-mirror -
only thanks to the Chinese up-keeping of their ideogram
i can transform metaphors into imagery,
the fruit of knowledge into ******* -
or puns into jokes;
this is why i'd only take two books with me to the grave,
Ezra's Cantos and Russell's history of western society:
it's because of them that i get to keep
the desired momentum.