Sep 2016
i don't understand the seeking of the vantage point in poetry,
as i never did in prose, this shadowy sociably acceptable
voyeurism, this need to weave a spiderweb, and all you're
weaving is a trap that isn't yours... now seeking a vantage point
from a prosaic perspective makes sense, because you're akin
to someone working in a factory or being the lumberjack...
oddly enough the phrase: jack of all trades doesn't fit the best
description of the job entitled: chopping wood jack.
but when i see poetry i see it, people establishing the voyeurism,
the need to pretend to be spies... that's what countering spying
involves: writing fiction: writing fiction isn't about elaborating
lying... it's about solidifying it, perpetuating it... after a while
the stamina asks: how many more to come? i don't have it in me...
stop treating me like a hot-rod **** english gentleman,
i'm slouched in a room and tired, *******. but you see these
unnatural poems, where people write on purpose,
they haven't made the grade to automate voyeurism,
they're still at the stage of wanting the gift of narration,
but they can't get it up to the heights of an air balloon...
it's there for the grasping, but that would mean something
more difficult than relinquishing abstract narration,
it would involve giving up their characteristics
to make characters, and they as such have very lessened
probing mechanisms to create artefacts: they have
a generic beauty about them... no hook nose, no BFG ears.
- just like Malachi wrote to only later plagiarise Moses...
in the end it just became a plagiarism:
a cat in the box, Schrödinger is expected:
but never the bunny and the top-hat and the magician;
so you see these poems, these contemporary efforts,
and you start thinking: why all this
voyeurism intention in the background? why are they trying to
purposively stage a voyeurism? is there any decency left in man?
poets don't perform the art of voyeurism, in that they don't even
have the tact / capacity to create the actual ****** / narrator /
puppeteer... at least my attention span ascribes a care
for punctuation marks... as it turns out, the righteous
psychiatrists plagued the poets rightfully: too much emotion gave
birth to the miscarriage of a lack of decency when respectable
attire was necessary, or one's own interpretation on how
comma, dot, hyphen, semi-colon and colon
ought to be allocated timing
1mm, 1cm, 1km, 1nm 1Ly respectively?
sophism should be teaching us this prop...
sophism should be teaching us this attire, but it isn't.
as along with English slang from Latin: (verb) to grass, rat out,
alt. voyeurism: de anabaptismo grassante adhuc in multis
germaniae, poloniae, etc. variably: to spread the word / truth...
to rat on the Nazarene... preserve unholy things, and make attempts
at missionary positioning, weak knees, lacking the bendy parts
on the church floor; 21st century Russia? orthodoxy still teaches
the priest: face toward the altar, *** to the throng... keep them
dim-witted... 50% of Bangladeshis are illiterate in Dhaka...
and even if they taught them this sound-encoding, they'd
never prosper given the established powers...
they're bankers in the realm of sun and moon,
tide and mountain and the unexplained joy of
a life in urban slums that's deemed monastic by
those glorifying the mysteries of EL LE PHU THU TUTU P PI POO E -
and look where we have literacy in western society?
game shows... obscure knowledge lessons, crosswords...
anyone mention spelling tests? let me just tell you, i've found
a new way of banking, i've seen the paupers, i've
seen the riches from nought to bought to not bought to nine,
might as well let the priests take the Sunday
off from Monday to Saturday and leave us
with the dyslexic investors to mind how they
didn't plainly explain the dividends...
still, the lack of decency of poets to put on clothes
in the guise of a narrator; some say indecency, some would then
argue: abstract! abstract! cleaner manoeuvre from neither narrator
nor a character... poet: chandelier... just hanging in
the air. in the end... ars poetica (art of poetry)? ars voyeurism.
as i never did in prose, this shadowy sociably acceptable
voyeurism, this need to weave a spiderweb, and all you're
weaving is a trap that isn't yours... now seeking a vantage point
from a prosaic perspective makes sense, because you're akin
to someone working in a factory or being the lumberjack...
oddly enough the phrase: jack of all trades doesn't fit the best
description of the job entitled: chopping wood jack.
but when i see poetry i see it, people establishing the voyeurism,
the need to pretend to be spies... that's what countering spying
involves: writing fiction: writing fiction isn't about elaborating
lying... it's about solidifying it, perpetuating it... after a while
the stamina asks: how many more to come? i don't have it in me...
stop treating me like a hot-rod **** english gentleman,
i'm slouched in a room and tired, *******. but you see these
unnatural poems, where people write on purpose,
they haven't made the grade to automate voyeurism,
they're still at the stage of wanting the gift of narration,
but they can't get it up to the heights of an air balloon...
it's there for the grasping, but that would mean something
more difficult than relinquishing abstract narration,
it would involve giving up their characteristics
to make characters, and they as such have very lessened
probing mechanisms to create artefacts: they have
a generic beauty about them... no hook nose, no BFG ears.
- just like Malachi wrote to only later plagiarise Moses...
in the end it just became a plagiarism:
a cat in the box, Schrödinger is expected:
but never the bunny and the top-hat and the magician;
so you see these poems, these contemporary efforts,
and you start thinking: why all this
voyeurism intention in the background? why are they trying to
purposively stage a voyeurism? is there any decency left in man?
poets don't perform the art of voyeurism, in that they don't even
have the tact / capacity to create the actual ****** / narrator /
puppeteer... at least my attention span ascribes a care
for punctuation marks... as it turns out, the righteous
psychiatrists plagued the poets rightfully: too much emotion gave
birth to the miscarriage of a lack of decency when respectable
attire was necessary, or one's own interpretation on how
comma, dot, hyphen, semi-colon and colon
ought to be allocated timing
1mm, 1cm, 1km, 1nm 1Ly respectively?
sophism should be teaching us this prop...
sophism should be teaching us this attire, but it isn't.
as along with English slang from Latin: (verb) to grass, rat out,
alt. voyeurism: de anabaptismo grassante adhuc in multis
germaniae, poloniae, etc. variably: to spread the word / truth...
to rat on the Nazarene... preserve unholy things, and make attempts
at missionary positioning, weak knees, lacking the bendy parts
on the church floor; 21st century Russia? orthodoxy still teaches
the priest: face toward the altar, *** to the throng... keep them
dim-witted... 50% of Bangladeshis are illiterate in Dhaka...
and even if they taught them this sound-encoding, they'd
never prosper given the established powers...
they're bankers in the realm of sun and moon,
tide and mountain and the unexplained joy of
a life in urban slums that's deemed monastic by
those glorifying the mysteries of EL LE PHU THU TUTU P PI POO E -
and look where we have literacy in western society?
game shows... obscure knowledge lessons, crosswords...
anyone mention spelling tests? let me just tell you, i've found
a new way of banking, i've seen the paupers, i've
seen the riches from nought to bought to not bought to nine,
might as well let the priests take the Sunday
off from Monday to Saturday and leave us
with the dyslexic investors to mind how they
didn't plainly explain the dividends...
still, the lack of decency of poets to put on clothes
in the guise of a narrator; some say indecency, some would then
argue: abstract! abstract! cleaner manoeuvre from neither narrator
nor a character... poet: chandelier... just hanging in
the air. in the end... ars poetica (art of poetry)? ars voyeurism.
