Dec 2017
metzger von Dresden
i'm pretty sure i'm the butcher of Dresden... feuerstrum contra blitzkrieg... yes?
goof to know that
merely
speaking german
is politically
incorrect...
gut zu kennt;
thank ****
that i speak
polischen.
the retracted step*
perhaps it was always going to be
a cannibalistic fest,
the monopoly of pixel paper,
as to how, and why,
people so akin to each other in
social status, would desire climbing
over each other,
and how they would always
play the sycophnt card to seek
a redeeming closure, but never find it,
i.e. a sycophant card to
brustle up with the so-called
"gatekeepers" of a near missing
"adventure" in being socially mobilised
to climb toward a furthering,
and an ahead...
it seems i will have to work
with the space i already possess -
in the number of over three thousand
examples... to have to retract a step,
by step, by step...
and it can only be apparent,
how finicky and easily avoiding
dialectics people are
bound to succumb to,
how despising and how self-despised
they are becoming,
how authentic work
is discouraged,
shunned, manhandled and sad,
a sadness that only calls forth a crushing
hammer-head to a snail's shell...
i have no understanding of man,
for i seem to be barely a man worth
settling himself in claiming such a title...
what can you make of man,
if all but man is that which is worth
making offense at the wrong word,
wrong ettiquete,
wrong prance, stance, duty...
among these things,
why do such a memorable number seek
refuge in god,
if not simply, to escape the toll
of man...
the blackened shadow of
a bell chime, the advent of epitaphs,
and a servitude to bring no rewards for
fellow occupants,
but merely a gest without a jesture's
prank,
solemnly bleak and scattered like
one's ascriptions of love done, said...
man is no creature worth
pity, for it is man's curelty against a fellow
that distances the gods from our
affairs...
if man was truly the helpless attache
of the peak of Olympus,
he would not find the gods so un-forthcoming...
we nibble at the toes of the sincerity of
divinity,
yet we eat off the table of man
being man unto man,
and not daring to cusp the artefacts
of the original cleptomaniac Prometheus...
perhaps i wronged, but have i erred?
erred enough to only suffice to wrong,
without being wronged?
i'm no more immune to wrong as i am
not more immune in being wronged...
but then again, i guess,
it's hard to insist upon a cosmic Netwonian
ambition of causality,
there is no equilibrium to speak of these days,
there's a cause, but an unbalanced effect...
as there is an effect, but an unbalanced cause...
perhaps all is "relatively" simple
in units and numbers,
but within the major architecture of
the human experience that's language...
there's the awry angles of spite,
destitute attempts at correction,
a falling in line without
a compulsory cry for *charge!
dragged down to the depth by an achoring
weakness...
man, once more,
a failed attempt.
i'm pretty sure i'm the butcher of Dresden... feuerstrum contra blitzkrieg... yes?
goof to know that
merely
speaking german
is politically
incorrect...
gut zu kennt;
thank ****
that i speak
polischen.
the retracted step*
perhaps it was always going to be
a cannibalistic fest,
the monopoly of pixel paper,
as to how, and why,
people so akin to each other in
social status, would desire climbing
over each other,
and how they would always
play the sycophnt card to seek
a redeeming closure, but never find it,
i.e. a sycophant card to
brustle up with the so-called
"gatekeepers" of a near missing
"adventure" in being socially mobilised
to climb toward a furthering,
and an ahead...
it seems i will have to work
with the space i already possess -
in the number of over three thousand
examples... to have to retract a step,
by step, by step...
and it can only be apparent,
how finicky and easily avoiding
dialectics people are
bound to succumb to,
how despising and how self-despised
they are becoming,
how authentic work
is discouraged,
shunned, manhandled and sad,
a sadness that only calls forth a crushing
hammer-head to a snail's shell...
i have no understanding of man,
for i seem to be barely a man worth
settling himself in claiming such a title...
what can you make of man,
if all but man is that which is worth
making offense at the wrong word,
wrong ettiquete,
wrong prance, stance, duty...
among these things,
why do such a memorable number seek
refuge in god,
if not simply, to escape the toll
of man...
the blackened shadow of
a bell chime, the advent of epitaphs,
and a servitude to bring no rewards for
fellow occupants,
but merely a gest without a jesture's
prank,
solemnly bleak and scattered like
one's ascriptions of love done, said...
man is no creature worth
pity, for it is man's curelty against a fellow
that distances the gods from our
affairs...
if man was truly the helpless attache
of the peak of Olympus,
he would not find the gods so un-forthcoming...
we nibble at the toes of the sincerity of
divinity,
yet we eat off the table of man
being man unto man,
and not daring to cusp the artefacts
of the original cleptomaniac Prometheus...
perhaps i wronged, but have i erred?
erred enough to only suffice to wrong,
without being wronged?
i'm no more immune to wrong as i am
not more immune in being wronged...
but then again, i guess,
it's hard to insist upon a cosmic Netwonian
ambition of causality,
there is no equilibrium to speak of these days,
there's a cause, but an unbalanced effect...
as there is an effect, but an unbalanced cause...
perhaps all is "relatively" simple
in units and numbers,
but within the major architecture of
the human experience that's language...
there's the awry angles of spite,
destitute attempts at correction,
a falling in line without
a compulsory cry for *charge!
dragged down to the depth by an achoring
weakness...
man, once more,
a failed attempt.
