Oct 2017
i have them, i wake up the next day,
fiddle about with it, and realise
in an instant: i'll not honeysuckle
anything out of it -
yet another day in the sahara -
you only really experience a writer's
block once you've written a lot...
and yes, the mediocre moments
in a "career" do happen,
but as any stepping-stone moment -
******, better hop from stone
to stone, until that one perfect moment
arrives, and steals you away,
on something akin to travelling to the giza
pyramids...
mind you: it's unbelievable that only
the eiffel tower overshadowed the giza
pyramids, so many centuries later...
staggering.
that aside, it's no wonder that
poets always extend their ambition into
writing the prosaic -
the would be proselytes -
who, in most instances:
do not have the stomach to churn out
mundane narratives -
and senseless dialogues -
the problem with poetry:
the expectation to always write something
profound;
i'll never write a novel,
simply because it's not that i aim
at writing something profound every
single sentence...
it's that i cannot write the piece of meat
of mundane narrative in the medium
of the in-between of finally considering
a profound citation point...
so much of novel writing is idle
chit-chat... so much is filled with the in-between
of said effort,
not that great poetry always says
great things, but when i look at virgil,
or homer, i find that poetry was: once
upon a time - driven by a narrative...
modern poetry? a complete lack of, narrative,
then again the technicality bewilders me
to never adhere to it...
did i visit a psychiatrist for jokes?
i sure did...
i once even managed a stealthy glance
at the notes referred to a g.p.,
what did they reveal?
a) biting your nails
b) keeping eye-contact
and
c) fidgety feet, not imitating drumming...
that's it!
psychiatry is still oh so barbaric
compared to other branches of medicine...
most people do not believe in
psyche-cogito complex in that: they do not
believe in a soul, but i dare you to ask anyone
who has experienced the osmosis: trickling
of a soul into anima via psychosis...
notably those who managed
to contain the experience...
few people emerge from having
experienced psychosis without an
institutionalised backdrop of events,
even fewer make it out the quixotic windmill...
me? look at me, unscatched -
regretful? perhaps...
resentful... every chance i get i
manage to usher in a laugh...
once more, heidegger...
the talk of travel, of experiencing
the totality of the world, the - orbis totalis -
for these people so hungry to experience
the totality of this world...
i have four words for them -
the sage of königsberg...
i'm becoming a hermit of essex
by the looks of it,
my ambition to live a life like
sunday traffic, to live the life least unpredictable
is starting to sink into my bones,
to even animate them...
i don't know why people never choose
the predictable life, given that death is
an event that's inevitable -
merging two inevitabilities can create
the most random experience of events -
that said: your thinking will never be
predictably *****-likened,
it will end up as an embodiment of
the antithesis to the sisyphus toil -
unless some cerberus is watching over
poor sisyphus, the man will eventually stop
rolling the stone up the hill,
he'll eventually stop rolling it,
look at it, and become a minotaur in his own
cognitive labyrinth...
and in such a labyrinth, sure, there
are are no sphinxes, or pyramids of giza,
but beside these predictable sights,
the sisyphus-minotaur will see unseen prior to
sights of his own ingenious invention.
like heidegger said:
ordinary thinking is pulverised by
the presumption that the more "lived experiences"
a human being has, the more certainty he
has in assuring being and what he is
to "become" -
perhaps, suppose that the more you see,
and the more you "experience" the more complete
example of humanity you will become...
only to
a) have all the more regrets prior to
the relief of succumbing to death,
b) the "foreboding" of: never again...
c) the nostalgia,
d) contra nostalgia: the deepest vilest form
of emotion: the regrets of never being disposed
to fathom any said experience (cf. point a))-
e) if you don't have what you like,
like what you have...
i hardly think there's a need for a complete
human experience with all the provisions
secured...
there's only a human experience,
there never will be a complete human
experience, other than in the guise
of a spectator,
the only brimful "lived experience" is in
the guise of the being, that's a spectator...
sure, there's a fancy, a day-dream of
being a protagonist of some sort,
but as the old sayings goes,
if everyone were to take their shoes off,
and throw them into a heap,
they'd still take from the heap their own
pair: for walking with one's own problems
is always more bearable,
than experiencing the kampf of others...
ich kampf - and i love that phrasing -
it's not mine, in that it is mine:
but it's not a definite struggle - rather a
continuing venture into the very mundane
of every other yesterday, or every other tomorrow.
i've met more humanity in those who
chose the theatre of the mind,
than the theatre of the west-end...
i've met enough humanity who have
experienced less, but nonetheless live more,
than those tourists, who "experienced" more,
but nonetheless lived less...
to make oneself encrusted in the local
environment, to stand rigid & proud as
a domineering sight of a mountain...
to feel a lesser need to known
the world, and a pressure toward a need to
know oneself...
to extract the reflective notion of the otherwise
reflexive word structures:
i.e. yourself: your self,
oneself: one's self,
myself: my self...
and standing these un-noodling compounds
before the one mirror that a philosophical
narcissus could perplex his self over:
the mirror of itself -
or: die es und der selbst -
the it and the self;
das? that's like a doubled-up definite article...
i swear to god, only the germans
have more definite articles than any other
language - the poles only have two
(last time i checked), i.e. to & tamto -
which is distinguished by distance -
to is closer, while tamto is further away...
honestly, the fun really starts when
you stop synthesising language,
and begin analysing it...
but i recommend synthesising (mimic)
a language for at least 20 years,
and then spontaneously "revising" it -
never minding the idea that you might fall
into any linguistically orthodox pitfall.
p.s. ah right, the masculine / feminine brigade:
ten: direct article for he (close)
ta: the direct article for she (close)
tamten: direct article for he (far away)
tamta: the direct article for she (far away),
to: gender neutral direct article (close)
tamto: gender neutral direct article (far away);
and still the sahara of the indirect article
in german: eine schmein ein schmeine eins ein
11 elves ate a wolf in dresden -
which made up 36 observable curiosities.
fiddle about with it, and realise
in an instant: i'll not honeysuckle
anything out of it -
yet another day in the sahara -
you only really experience a writer's
block once you've written a lot...
and yes, the mediocre moments
in a "career" do happen,
but as any stepping-stone moment -
******, better hop from stone
to stone, until that one perfect moment
arrives, and steals you away,
on something akin to travelling to the giza
pyramids...
mind you: it's unbelievable that only
the eiffel tower overshadowed the giza
pyramids, so many centuries later...
staggering.
that aside, it's no wonder that
poets always extend their ambition into
writing the prosaic -
the would be proselytes -
who, in most instances:
do not have the stomach to churn out
mundane narratives -
and senseless dialogues -
the problem with poetry:
the expectation to always write something
profound;
i'll never write a novel,
simply because it's not that i aim
at writing something profound every
single sentence...
it's that i cannot write the piece of meat
of mundane narrative in the medium
of the in-between of finally considering
a profound citation point...
so much of novel writing is idle
chit-chat... so much is filled with the in-between
of said effort,
not that great poetry always says
great things, but when i look at virgil,
or homer, i find that poetry was: once
upon a time - driven by a narrative...
modern poetry? a complete lack of, narrative,
then again the technicality bewilders me
to never adhere to it...
did i visit a psychiatrist for jokes?
i sure did...
i once even managed a stealthy glance
at the notes referred to a g.p.,
what did they reveal?
a) biting your nails
b) keeping eye-contact
and
c) fidgety feet, not imitating drumming...
that's it!
psychiatry is still oh so barbaric
compared to other branches of medicine...
most people do not believe in
psyche-cogito complex in that: they do not
believe in a soul, but i dare you to ask anyone
who has experienced the osmosis: trickling
of a soul into anima via psychosis...
notably those who managed
to contain the experience...
few people emerge from having
experienced psychosis without an
institutionalised backdrop of events,
even fewer make it out the quixotic windmill...
me? look at me, unscatched -
regretful? perhaps...
resentful... every chance i get i
manage to usher in a laugh...
once more, heidegger...
the talk of travel, of experiencing
the totality of the world, the - orbis totalis -
for these people so hungry to experience
the totality of this world...
i have four words for them -
the sage of königsberg...
i'm becoming a hermit of essex
by the looks of it,
my ambition to live a life like
sunday traffic, to live the life least unpredictable
is starting to sink into my bones,
to even animate them...
i don't know why people never choose
the predictable life, given that death is
an event that's inevitable -
merging two inevitabilities can create
the most random experience of events -
that said: your thinking will never be
predictably *****-likened,
it will end up as an embodiment of
the antithesis to the sisyphus toil -
unless some cerberus is watching over
poor sisyphus, the man will eventually stop
rolling the stone up the hill,
he'll eventually stop rolling it,
look at it, and become a minotaur in his own
cognitive labyrinth...
and in such a labyrinth, sure, there
are are no sphinxes, or pyramids of giza,
but beside these predictable sights,
the sisyphus-minotaur will see unseen prior to
sights of his own ingenious invention.
like heidegger said:
ordinary thinking is pulverised by
the presumption that the more "lived experiences"
a human being has, the more certainty he
has in assuring being and what he is
to "become" -
perhaps, suppose that the more you see,
and the more you "experience" the more complete
example of humanity you will become...
only to
a) have all the more regrets prior to
the relief of succumbing to death,
b) the "foreboding" of: never again...
c) the nostalgia,
d) contra nostalgia: the deepest vilest form
of emotion: the regrets of never being disposed
to fathom any said experience (cf. point a))-
e) if you don't have what you like,
like what you have...
i hardly think there's a need for a complete
human experience with all the provisions
secured...
there's only a human experience,
there never will be a complete human
experience, other than in the guise
of a spectator,
the only brimful "lived experience" is in
the guise of the being, that's a spectator...
sure, there's a fancy, a day-dream of
being a protagonist of some sort,
but as the old sayings goes,
if everyone were to take their shoes off,
and throw them into a heap,
they'd still take from the heap their own
pair: for walking with one's own problems
is always more bearable,
than experiencing the kampf of others...
ich kampf - and i love that phrasing -
it's not mine, in that it is mine:
but it's not a definite struggle - rather a
continuing venture into the very mundane
of every other yesterday, or every other tomorrow.
i've met more humanity in those who
chose the theatre of the mind,
than the theatre of the west-end...
i've met enough humanity who have
experienced less, but nonetheless live more,
than those tourists, who "experienced" more,
but nonetheless lived less...
to make oneself encrusted in the local
environment, to stand rigid & proud as
a domineering sight of a mountain...
to feel a lesser need to known
the world, and a pressure toward a need to
know oneself...
to extract the reflective notion of the otherwise
reflexive word structures:
i.e. yourself: your self,
oneself: one's self,
myself: my self...
and standing these un-noodling compounds
before the one mirror that a philosophical
narcissus could perplex his self over:
the mirror of itself -
or: die es und der selbst -
the it and the self;
das? that's like a doubled-up definite article...
i swear to god, only the germans
have more definite articles than any other
language - the poles only have two
(last time i checked), i.e. to & tamto -
which is distinguished by distance -
to is closer, while tamto is further away...
honestly, the fun really starts when
you stop synthesising language,
and begin analysing it...
but i recommend synthesising (mimic)
a language for at least 20 years,
and then spontaneously "revising" it -
never minding the idea that you might fall
into any linguistically orthodox pitfall.
p.s. ah right, the masculine / feminine brigade:
ten: direct article for he (close)
ta: the direct article for she (close)
tamten: direct article for he (far away)
tamta: the direct article for she (far away),
to: gender neutral direct article (close)
tamto: gender neutral direct article (far away);
and still the sahara of the indirect article
in german: eine schmein ein schmeine eins ein
11 elves ate a wolf in dresden -
which made up 36 observable curiosities.
