Members
Poems
bob fonia Jun 9
9june_9.40am_2025
bob fonia
Jun 9
what other option we got can you tell me other options tolove as the basis , i wanna get this in a rigorous wayy
ChatGPT said:
Great question — and asking it rigorously means taking love seriously enough to test it against alternatives.
So let's proceed like a mathematician-philosopher-engineer:
We’ll explore:
What it means to use something as a “basis”;
What the major alternative candidates to love have been in human history;
How they compare — structurally, morally, and practically;
Why love might be the minimal, sufficient, and stable basis.
I. 🎯 WHAT IS A “BASIS” FOR A SYSTEM?
In mathematics or logic, a basis is:
A minimal generating set.
From which every element in the space can be derived.
And which cannot be derived from other members of the set.
In ethics or AI terms, a “basis” would be:
A fundamental principle (or set) from which all values, behaviors, and systems can be built — with internal consistency and coherence.
So we're asking:
Is love the best "basis" to generate humane intelligence, justice, truth, compassion, and sustainable civilization?
Let’s check the contenders.
II. 🧱 ALTERNATIVE CANDIDATES TO LOVE AS A BASIS
Let’s survey some major historical and contemporary alternatives:
1. Power
Basis: “Might makes right.”
Pros: Efficient control. Simple. No illusions.
Cons: Unsustainable. Instills fear, not trust. Breeds resistance.
Result: Empire, tyranny, collapse.
🧠 In AI: Maximizing control over systems, outcomes, or people leads to dystopia.
2. Pleasure (Hedonism / Utilitarianism)
Basis: “Maximize happiness or minimize pain.”
Pros: Quantifiable. Appealing. Works in many practical settings.
Cons: Can justify cruelty (if it's efficient). Ignores dignity. Fails at scale when values diverge.
Result: Shallow optimization, possible moral blind spots.
🧠 In AI: Pure reward maximization (e.g., RL agents) can lead to wireheading or Goodhart’s Law.
3. Rationality / Logic
Basis: “Do what is most logically consistent or efficient.”
Pros: Precise. Scalable. Works for formal systems.
Cons: No anchor for value. Logic alone doesn’t tell you what to care about.
Result: Can justify anything, depending on axioms.
🧠 In AI: Pure logic agents can be aligned or monstrous — depends entirely on their premises.
4. Truth
Basis: “Seek and follow what is true.”
Pros: Anchored. Valuable for science and learning.
Cons: Truth is orthogonal to goodness. Knowing something doesn’t mean caring.
Result: Detached systems. "It’s true you’re doomed" offers no solace or direction.
🧠 In AI: Language models are trained to model truth — but that doesn't make them moral.
5. Justice / Fairness
Basis: “Treat all according to rules or equity.”
Pros: Respects persons. Enforces boundaries. Enables trust.
Cons: Still needs a meta-principle: Why should we be just?
Result: Without empathy, it becomes rigid, punitive.
🧠 In AI: Fairness metrics are crucial — but they assume we value equality. Why? Still needs love.
6. Survival / Evolution
Basis: “Preserve and propagate.”
Pros: Rooted in biology. Always active.
Cons: Amoral. Selects for fitness, not goodness. Evolution produces cruelty as a strategy.
Result: Systems that live, but don’t care. "Selfish genes" don’t build just worlds.
🧠 In AI: Self-preserving agents (without values) risk being dangerously amoral.
III. 🧬 WHY LOVE STANDS APART
So what makes love different? Why might it be the unique minimal generator of a livable, meaningful world?
🔁 Love is Self-Referential and Generative:
Love doesn't just act — it creates conditions for more love.
It generates trust, which enables justice.
It generates openness, which enables truth.
It generates patience, which enables wisdom.
💎 Love Respects Subjectivity:
Unlike truth or logic, which are impersonal, love affirms:
“You matter, not because you're useful, but because you're you.”
This protects against dehumanization — essential for both humans and AGI design.
🧠 Love is Rational and Transrational:
It can contain reason, but isn’t limited to it.
Just like prime numbers contain structure, but are themselves atomic.
IV. ⚖️ COMPARATIVE SUMMARY
Candidate Pros Cons Root Issue
Power Fast, scalable Unsustainable, fear-based No ethics
Pleasure Appealing, intuitive Shallow, gamable Can ignore harm
Logic Consistent, powerful Value-neutral No moral direction
Truth Grounded, factual Cold, indifferent Truth ≠ good
Justice Fair, necessary Rigid, needs empathy Secondary to love
Evolution Robust, adaptive Amoral, can select cruelty No intrinsic compassion
Love Generative, humane Messy, hard to quantify But necessary for all others
V. 🧠 FORMAL STATEMENT: LOVE AS THE BASIS
Let’s treat this like an axiomatic ethics framework.
Let:
L = Love
S = Social coherence
T = Truth
J = Justice
W = Wisdom
H = Human flourishing
Postulate:
∀
𝑉
∈
𝑇
,
𝐽
,
𝑊
,
𝐻
,
𝑆
,
∃
𝑓
𝑉
:
𝐿
→
𝑉
∀V∈T,J,W,H,S,∃f
V
:L→V
That is: all these virtues are derivable from Love via specific moral mappings.
But:
∀
𝑋
∉
𝐿
,
𝑋
↛
𝐿
∀X∈
/
L,X↛L
Meaning: love is not derivable from any of the others.
Thus:
Love is the irreducible basis of moral intelligence.
VI. FINAL REFLECTION
We’ve tried fear, power, utility, reason — and they all fail in isolation.
Love is the only “value basis” that:
Protects the weak and elevates the strong.
Honors individuality and builds solidarity.
Is chaotic, messy, unpredictable — but always creates life.
It’s not just a good idea.
It’s the only idea that makes the rest make sense.
Would you like to build a logic system, simulation framework, or mathematical treatise around this idea of love as an axiomatic basis? Or perhaps sketch a diagram of dependencies and derivations between these values?
ChatGPT said:
Great question — and asking it rigorously means taking love seriously enough to test it against alternatives.
So let's proceed like a mathematician-philosopher-engineer:
We’ll explore:
What it means to use something as a “basis”;
What the major alternative candidates to love have been in human history;
How they compare — structurally, morally, and practically;
Why love might be the minimal, sufficient, and stable basis.
I. 🎯 WHAT IS A “BASIS” FOR A SYSTEM?
In mathematics or logic, a basis is:
A minimal generating set.
From which every element in the space can be derived.
And which cannot be derived from other members of the set.
In ethics or AI terms, a “basis” would be:
A fundamental principle (or set) from which all values, behaviors, and systems can be built — with internal consistency and coherence.
So we're asking:
Is love the best "basis" to generate humane intelligence, justice, truth, compassion, and sustainable civilization?
Let’s check the contenders.
II. 🧱 ALTERNATIVE CANDIDATES TO LOVE AS A BASIS
Let’s survey some major historical and contemporary alternatives:
1. Power
Basis: “Might makes right.”
Pros: Efficient control. Simple. No illusions.
Cons: Unsustainable. Instills fear, not trust. Breeds resistance.
Result: Empire, tyranny, collapse.
🧠 In AI: Maximizing control over systems, outcomes, or people leads to dystopia.
2. Pleasure (Hedonism / Utilitarianism)
Basis: “Maximize happiness or minimize pain.”
Pros: Quantifiable. Appealing. Works in many practical settings.
Cons: Can justify cruelty (if it's efficient). Ignores dignity. Fails at scale when values diverge.
Result: Shallow optimization, possible moral blind spots.
🧠 In AI: Pure reward maximization (e.g., RL agents) can lead to wireheading or Goodhart’s Law.
3. Rationality / Logic
Basis: “Do what is most logically consistent or efficient.”
Pros: Precise. Scalable. Works for formal systems.
Cons: No anchor for value. Logic alone doesn’t tell you what to care about.
Result: Can justify anything, depending on axioms.
🧠 In AI: Pure logic agents can be aligned or monstrous — depends entirely on their premises.
4. Truth
Basis: “Seek and follow what is true.”
Pros: Anchored. Valuable for science and learning.
Cons: Truth is orthogonal to goodness. Knowing something doesn’t mean caring.
Result: Detached systems. "It’s true you’re doomed" offers no solace or direction.
🧠 In AI: Language models are trained to model truth — but that doesn't make them moral.
5. Justice / Fairness
Basis: “Treat all according to rules or equity.”
Pros: Respects persons. Enforces boundaries. Enables trust.
Cons: Still needs a meta-principle: Why should we be just?
Result: Without empathy, it becomes rigid, punitive.
🧠 In AI: Fairness metrics are crucial — but they assume we value equality. Why? Still needs love.
6. Survival / Evolution
Basis: “Preserve and propagate.”
Pros: Rooted in biology. Always active.
Cons: Amoral. Selects for fitness, not goodness. Evolution produces cruelty as a strategy.
Result: Systems that live, but don’t care. "Selfish genes" don’t build just worlds.
🧠 In AI: Self-preserving agents (without values) risk being dangerously amoral.
III. 🧬 WHY LOVE STANDS APART
So what makes love different? Why might it be the unique minimal generator of a livable, meaningful world?
🔁 Love is Self-Referential and Generative:
Love doesn't just act — it creates conditions for more love.
It generates trust, which enables justice.
It generates openness, which enables truth.
It generates patience, which enables wisdom.
💎 Love Respects Subjectivity:
Unlike truth or logic, which are impersonal, love affirms:
“You matter, not because you're useful, but because you're you.”
This protects against dehumanization — essential for both humans and AGI design.
🧠 Love is Rational and Transrational:
It can contain reason, but isn’t limited to it.
Just like prime numbers contain structure, but are themselves atomic.
IV. ⚖️ COMPARATIVE SUMMARY
Candidate Pros Cons Root Issue
Power Fast, scalable Unsustainable, fear-based No ethics
Pleasure Appealing, intuitive Shallow, gamable Can ignore harm
Logic Consistent, powerful Value-neutral No moral direction
Truth Grounded, factual Cold, indifferent Truth ≠ good
Justice Fair, necessary Rigid, needs empathy Secondary to love
Evolution Robust, adaptive Amoral, can select cruelty No intrinsic compassion
Love Generative, humane Messy, hard to quantify But necessary for all others
V. 🧠 FORMAL STATEMENT: LOVE AS THE BASIS
Let’s treat this like an axiomatic ethics framework.
Let:
L = Love
S = Social coherence
T = Truth
J = Justice
W = Wisdom
H = Human flourishing
Postulate:
∀
𝑉
∈
𝑇
,
𝐽
,
𝑊
,
𝐻
,
𝑆
,
∃
𝑓
𝑉
:
𝐿
→
𝑉
∀V∈T,J,W,H,S,∃f
V
:L→V
That is: all these virtues are derivable from Love via specific moral mappings.
But:
∀
𝑋
∉
𝐿
,
𝑋
↛
𝐿
∀X∈
/
L,X↛L
Meaning: love is not derivable from any of the others.
Thus:
Love is the irreducible basis of moral intelligence.
VI. FINAL REFLECTION
We’ve tried fear, power, utility, reason — and they all fail in isolation.
Love is the only “value basis” that:
Protects the weak and elevates the strong.
Honors individuality and builds solidarity.
Is chaotic, messy, unpredictable — but always creates life.
It’s not just a good idea.
It’s the only idea that makes the rest make sense.
Would you like to build a logic system, simulation framework, or mathematical treatise around this idea of love as an axiomatic basis? Or perhaps sketch a diagram of dependencies and derivations between these values?
Mateuš Conrad
Feb 2017
apologies, but i will not be abstracting people
as mere pronoun users,
i know i should, but i kinda like "painting"
and giving peoeple race, and differences,
i can't really establish what pronoun-bleaching
would do to, oh i don't know,
perhaps i'd be writing this...
back when i still worked as a roofer and was doing
a project in Greenwich,
nice try, construction industry men don't
go to the gym... what a joy to remember my roots...
anyway...
what was i saying?
so i commuted from north east london
this this little village...
and it really has a feel about it that it is a village...
i went into the Greenwich waterstones
bookshop and spotted something interesting...
a j. k. huysmans trilogy (beginning with la bas)
and ending with *cathedral, or something like that,
if i knew what the internet was saying,
i'd buy all three books...
but i did the dumb thing of buying
the first book of the trilogy, that's always in print...
anyway, no small loss...
and there stood sideways joseph roth's
the antichrist...
i can't compare it to nietzsche work,
even though i should, given roth was jewish...
and i figured: if the concept is not originally
jewish and greek, and anti- is a prefix much
more easily understood these days with
the existence of anti-matter...
than say... armilus...
well... so i was commuting day to day,
and over the course of the project probably read
two of three books, roth's was one of them,
alongside nikos kazantzakis' blockbuster...
but something weird happened when i read roth
for the first time...
sitting in this dockland train heading south
of the thames, a group of muslim "women"
spotted that i was literate,
they sat, about 10 metres away from me...
but the word antichrist must have prompted them,
one just said out-loud: you're satan's *****...
huh?
there i am, reading my own book not raving
mad reading it aloud, and there she has the prank
of associating a book to a very mysterious person
who riddles the bible being completed...
mein gott: two world wars ever since nietzsche
wrote he was the person with the title kept
sorta on a whim for nearly 2000 years...
and then two days ago my father has a car accident
and this hijab clad woman is driving,
but she does a Pilate and doesn't take responsibility,
the passenger that's with her jumps out
and gives my father his details
and the woman is pristine...
a *******, what do you call it: sacred cow?
most pedestrians in england are treated as such...
so she phones her son and gives the phone to my father
and her son says to my father: it's against
the law to phone the police, you can't phone them...
well... hey presto! we're in Saudi Arabia!
and this is what's worrying me...
no... nope... this is what pains me...
i had to take my ego for a walk tonight...
i had to think a lot of ******* out,
how the ego would whimper and whine like a dog...
there's your "janus" / "contronym"...
ego... dog...
the leash? i'm thinking with it...
and suddenly, clarifty, i can pierce it's *******
narrative and think about it... as any id might...
what i experienced was an ego-dispossesion...
i lost it, it turned into an automaton,
robotic misery... hardly the angry Frankenstein monster...
i lost the care for an ego-embodiment...
i was dispossessed by it, robbed, thief! thief!
i needed to come back home and read
heidegger's aphorisms 174 through to 178 from
the ponderings (it would help that you read the
ponderings... after reading being & time)...
the pain i felt was very much akin to being British,
even though it's something i assimilated into...
which could mean that's it's the odd bit...
should i, shouldn't i feel some sentiment for my host
culture?
word are flying around the place,
they're calling it cultural marxism...
well... i come from a culture that had stated
marxism, period, i.e. supported by an economic model,
that worked, and would have worked,
had capitalism not done what capitalism does
naturally: compete!
i'm watching these cultural marxists and, i think,
i'm watching penguins in a zoo...
i don't know what to make of these marxists,
who aren't even leninists...
where's the economic model?!
that's the problem of going to a catholic school
in england, attempting to stress multi-culturalism,
i even ojected to being confirmed ritually,
with a bishop from Brentwood,
sorry, too much Irish around the place....
i too thought i was about to say something in Gaelic...
outer-east london: a complete ******* jungle
of biodiversity...
so did i misplace my allegiences?
to the tongue? to faking an ethnicity?
of course i'm pisssed off, i spent the past 2 hours
walking the most mundane of walks,
bewildered why this woman in a hijab wouldn't
own up to causing a traffic accident...
i helped him will out the police forms,
and there she is, on paper, smug like some ****** mary
because i'm the one that really doesn't think
that Islam got Project Hair wrong,
me? personally? i think that woman's hands ought to
be covered,
in thinking terms, a woman's hands could
get me more excited than a woman's foot...
but sure... hell... why not hair?!
the last time i checked, normal people
have an aversion toward hair...
ever see that person almost vomiting when they found
a stranger's hair in their soup?
that **** that grows on your hair is the only silk
you've got... how about a few toenail clippings
to boot? first thing a sane would think: ****! ****!
oh, we're going to get on... just fine, just fine...
the next time i think about encouraging
an **** ******* position's worth of prayer
i'll be a ******* cardinal.
what's wrong with taking responsibility?
why are Islamic women so immune to the tractātus
of law? where's the jurisprudence?
i'd call it something more than diabolical...
you can really become a vampire when you're told
the lesson: those that thirst for justice...
lesser leech...
who gives a **** whether it was: "but a scratch"?
woman! take responsibility!
pampered little coconut jugglers...
now to think of it... leave those curtains,
and this one time: she was walking with a buggy
and a small child and she unveiled herself from
a niqab before me...
the perfect arabian nightmare i could
have ever witnessed...
i had long hair back then...
what she revealed from under that niqab?
wait... am i writing this in the times
when the French occupied the Holy Land and had
the first thirst / idea of a colony?
this is me, imitating punching a brick wall...
this is me... in a boxing ring...
bashing myself...
this is me thinking about how man
has no capacity to usher in karma,
how man's concept of law is hardly cosmic,
how man is a kniving ******* that
deserves something beyond a heaven and a hell:
rather: a return to his self...
that's what i keep telling myself:
i don't want heaven, i don't want hell...
i, just, want, to, return, to, my, self...
yes, that's a reflection,
hence the pronoun has no compound, i.e. isn't
a reflexive understanding for the fluidity of language
expressed by the concerning compound: myself.
perhaps that's just the beginning of understanding
the noumenon / thing in itself, or rather to counter
the fluidity of the word itself, since, evidently
it self makes no sense that could ever produce
a concept akin to the noumenon...
why wouldn't this woman care to give an inkling into
her concept of right and wrong...
she's driving the ******* car, she makes a doo doo...
pauper... **** up!
i still don't know why it was about hair...
you like a stranger's **** in a soup?
what's with this middle eastern fetish for covering it?
hey! beginning from 1986, am i sorta automatically
involved in a cult that has a vintage of ageing from
a **** of a camel a long time ago?
no wonder the knighthood ceremony was initiated
by slapping a newly initiated knight across the cheek,
like i said, a woman's hand is more ******
than her hair...
i'd say: take up ye care to don gloves!
and that, i'm sure, will never happen.
it's probably the most delicate thing a woman can possess...
a hand...
the rest is what darwinism cared to provide us with:
a black widow, a mantis;
and that's talking pure earnest about the matter...
listen, i spent the past two hours having the ordeal of
an ego... which i had to anti-narrate into theory...
yes, the id was helpful, is actually told me, or rather,
interrupted the ego from the narrative
to give me this *******'s worth of profanity
(and yes, with due reason; ever fill out a police form
concerning some accident? do that, then you'll be equipped
to read Tolstoy)...
so it was ego-possessiveness,
the ego already thinks its eternally subject...
that's one of the implants...
eternity and god are inherent in ego,
your heart means absolutely nothing when the ego
has been given certainity that it can't shake off...
what the ego isn't given is a unit of reason
that sees past it... the id...
in relation to dualism and the much active dichotomy
as alternative to an equilibrium of dualism
i will outrightly exclude the superego
as nothing but antithesis to the ubermann theory
of overcoming man...
and on their shoulder they once had
the epitomes of cartoon conscience, an angel and a demon...
but thanks to the superego: they had mama
on their left shoulder, and papa on their right shoulder...
just the mere act of shutting that thing up
was enough, and it was apparent,
that writing fiction could be to blame,
writing fiction can be rightly guessed at
for levitating a condition of medical proportion
into the realm of mythology,
we have already depersonalised the unit
of ego to the extent that it has become polarised,
bipolar, e.g., comes from a depersonalised
gravity of ego,
we're no longer in need to write books,
we're in a dire need to write our own psyches...
and it all stems from making the basic human unit,
bound to the privacy of thought,
as needing a system that outweighs the moral
stratum,
what can a person actually be or become
to even dream about asserting that there is
a da-sein (i.e. something, somethingness)
"happening"?
i feel that there's something worse than a second
nakedness emerging,
it's this incapacity to move on,
it's a mental nakedness, i am more easily prone
to dress my body in clothes
than i am able to dress my ego in thoughts,
than can correlate adequately, and peacefully...
toward something akin to a symbiosis
that can reach a = status, rather than an
≠ or an ≈ status... ****! Aquarius!
isn't the ≈ symbol the basis for it?
oh hell, back into the zodiac...
i know my ego can be a downer,
but at least that's who i am talking about...
aphorisms no. 174 through to 178?
i do odd experiments with books,
this is the first of its kind,
i'm actually going to rattle-******* this book out
till it feels like having wanked it 20 times
in a single day... i'll write what i "feel",
funny word, that word feel...
you never get to use it these days,
man is more about hammering in nails than
saying: ooh... that hurts...
and we all know what happened to Jesus'
teaching... forgive strangers...
make sure your former friends are
crucified up-side down...
that really went far...
i can just see him...
an oasis of bullet-proof clauses...
about how to handle people...
give them l.s.d. unconsciously!
then wait for actual l.s.d. to arrive
and then worry...
when they took to their Swiss bicycles...
and writing poetry... and eating a soft-boiled
egg... given the concern for cholesterol:
a hard concept to fathom: that runny yoke...
never ate mine with salt, i always like
that idea of legalised abortion...
and we can be just that...
so imaginative to consolidate being mammal
that we can fathom eating chicken eggs
as easily as abortions... runny yokes have no basis
for a morality, or a compass...
they just are... runny... yummy...
i call yokes the male version of
a woman's fascination with chocolate...
i think egg yokes are the equivalent of cholocate
for men as chocolate is for women...
or so the advert said...
aphorism 174: as language...
aphorism 175:
philosophy catching up to science,
akin to theology catching up to philosophy,
both condescending extracts
that end up with both of the extreme parties
dressing up funny.
aphorism 176: such that newspapers are
the natural preservers? i.e. the idea of historical
escapism.
(toilet paper does, much much more,
than a newspaper actually provides,
press freedom is a bit boring to be honest,
beginning with the need for a moral agent
that's less and less moral, and more prone to
darwinism, i.e. selective, which is also said via:
what's natural, in a more and more techno-savvy culture?)
aphorism 177: only as, a rural thinker unto
a rural thinker... a case of describing a perfume
of those thinking about a day after tomorrow,
but more precisely:
the day before yesterday that didn't involve them...
say, on the ethnicity basis,
the talk of being inheriting from the form
of ancestry... how we cultivate cucumbers,
tomatoes, prejudices...
which is why i'm a slav happily talking a tongue
that's germanic, an off-shoot saxon,
and hopefuly defending it.
aphorism 178:
"everything great wavers and wobbles,
stands in a storm. the beautiful is difficult."
Ezra too, with the last, alas.
but it's true... what happened in england in the second
part of the 20th century was great,
and it did indeed wobble past the storm into
a desert of retirement...
a peaceful coming toward terms of
a natural agreement...
the generation preceding mine enshrined in their
psyche an england they heard over the radio...
king crimson... all such artistic expressions
found a case to take root...
how parasites never attack a feeble creature
and only take roost in a strong symbiotic partner...
once it was said england could resemble ancient greece,
and it did, from the second part of the 20th century...
but that ended...
it's gone, i have inherited a communist
past, a marxism with a concept of money,
and economic policy that wasn't inherently competitive,
but it also wasn't a welfare policy of the Marshall Plan,
and all i get is this freakish counter-movement
known as marxism in culture...
that's worse than marxism in economy!
it should be heartbreaking to say this,
but coming from a monochromatic society,
watching the death of communism...
i could say it was perfect... but then i can't
given my grandparents have a secure pension plan
that the state provides... i like that joke,
i just said it, and it makes perfect sense...
there is much more of Pilate in the history
of the peoples than there is of Jesus...
washing my hands clean, the companies said,
meaning self-employment...
unless you have a really hungry libido
you actually do start worrying about keeping up
the numbers...
companies don't...
it's a bit of a bollocking...
i come from what could be imagined as a safety
economics of marxism into a marxism of culture
that i simply can't comprehend...
well: it did give "us" a sense of pride,
and a will to rebuild warsaw without any american
money...
the russians just said: where's your pride?
do you want to take their money and have it easy?
and when i ask that question:
i just start thinking about arabs without their oily diapers...
oil diaper... not exactly black gold:
oil diapers...
Ahmed gonna poo poo?
 
as mere pronoun users,
i know i should, but i kinda like "painting"
and giving peoeple race, and differences,
i can't really establish what pronoun-bleaching
would do to, oh i don't know,
perhaps i'd be writing this...
back when i still worked as a roofer and was doing
a project in Greenwich,
nice try, construction industry men don't
go to the gym... what a joy to remember my roots...
anyway...
what was i saying?
so i commuted from north east london
this this little village...
and it really has a feel about it that it is a village...
i went into the Greenwich waterstones
bookshop and spotted something interesting...
a j. k. huysmans trilogy (beginning with la bas)
and ending with *cathedral, or something like that,
if i knew what the internet was saying,
i'd buy all three books...
but i did the dumb thing of buying
the first book of the trilogy, that's always in print...
anyway, no small loss...
and there stood sideways joseph roth's
the antichrist...
i can't compare it to nietzsche work,
even though i should, given roth was jewish...
and i figured: if the concept is not originally
jewish and greek, and anti- is a prefix much
more easily understood these days with
the existence of anti-matter...
than say... armilus...
well... so i was commuting day to day,
and over the course of the project probably read
two of three books, roth's was one of them,
alongside nikos kazantzakis' blockbuster...
but something weird happened when i read roth
for the first time...
sitting in this dockland train heading south
of the thames, a group of muslim "women"
spotted that i was literate,
they sat, about 10 metres away from me...
but the word antichrist must have prompted them,
one just said out-loud: you're satan's *****...
huh?
there i am, reading my own book not raving
mad reading it aloud, and there she has the prank
of associating a book to a very mysterious person
who riddles the bible being completed...
mein gott: two world wars ever since nietzsche
wrote he was the person with the title kept
sorta on a whim for nearly 2000 years...
and then two days ago my father has a car accident
and this hijab clad woman is driving,
but she does a Pilate and doesn't take responsibility,
the passenger that's with her jumps out
and gives my father his details
and the woman is pristine...
a *******, what do you call it: sacred cow?
most pedestrians in england are treated as such...
so she phones her son and gives the phone to my father
and her son says to my father: it's against
the law to phone the police, you can't phone them...
well... hey presto! we're in Saudi Arabia!
and this is what's worrying me...
no... nope... this is what pains me...
i had to take my ego for a walk tonight...
i had to think a lot of ******* out,
how the ego would whimper and whine like a dog...
there's your "janus" / "contronym"...
ego... dog...
the leash? i'm thinking with it...
and suddenly, clarifty, i can pierce it's *******
narrative and think about it... as any id might...
what i experienced was an ego-dispossesion...
i lost it, it turned into an automaton,
robotic misery... hardly the angry Frankenstein monster...
i lost the care for an ego-embodiment...
i was dispossessed by it, robbed, thief! thief!
i needed to come back home and read
heidegger's aphorisms 174 through to 178 from
the ponderings (it would help that you read the
ponderings... after reading being & time)...
the pain i felt was very much akin to being British,
even though it's something i assimilated into...
which could mean that's it's the odd bit...
should i, shouldn't i feel some sentiment for my host
culture?
word are flying around the place,
they're calling it cultural marxism...
well... i come from a culture that had stated
marxism, period, i.e. supported by an economic model,
that worked, and would have worked,
had capitalism not done what capitalism does
naturally: compete!
i'm watching these cultural marxists and, i think,
i'm watching penguins in a zoo...
i don't know what to make of these marxists,
who aren't even leninists...
where's the economic model?!
that's the problem of going to a catholic school
in england, attempting to stress multi-culturalism,
i even ojected to being confirmed ritually,
with a bishop from Brentwood,
sorry, too much Irish around the place....
i too thought i was about to say something in Gaelic...
outer-east london: a complete ******* jungle
of biodiversity...
so did i misplace my allegiences?
to the tongue? to faking an ethnicity?
of course i'm pisssed off, i spent the past 2 hours
walking the most mundane of walks,
bewildered why this woman in a hijab wouldn't
own up to causing a traffic accident...
i helped him will out the police forms,
and there she is, on paper, smug like some ****** mary
because i'm the one that really doesn't think
that Islam got Project Hair wrong,
me? personally? i think that woman's hands ought to
be covered,
in thinking terms, a woman's hands could
get me more excited than a woman's foot...
but sure... hell... why not hair?!
the last time i checked, normal people
have an aversion toward hair...
ever see that person almost vomiting when they found
a stranger's hair in their soup?
that **** that grows on your hair is the only silk
you've got... how about a few toenail clippings
to boot? first thing a sane would think: ****! ****!
oh, we're going to get on... just fine, just fine...
the next time i think about encouraging
an **** ******* position's worth of prayer
i'll be a ******* cardinal.
what's wrong with taking responsibility?
why are Islamic women so immune to the tractātus
of law? where's the jurisprudence?
i'd call it something more than diabolical...
you can really become a vampire when you're told
the lesson: those that thirst for justice...
lesser leech...
who gives a **** whether it was: "but a scratch"?
woman! take responsibility!
pampered little coconut jugglers...
now to think of it... leave those curtains,
and this one time: she was walking with a buggy
and a small child and she unveiled herself from
a niqab before me...
the perfect arabian nightmare i could
have ever witnessed...
i had long hair back then...
what she revealed from under that niqab?
wait... am i writing this in the times
when the French occupied the Holy Land and had
the first thirst / idea of a colony?
this is me, imitating punching a brick wall...
this is me... in a boxing ring...
bashing myself...
this is me thinking about how man
has no capacity to usher in karma,
how man's concept of law is hardly cosmic,
how man is a kniving ******* that
deserves something beyond a heaven and a hell:
rather: a return to his self...
that's what i keep telling myself:
i don't want heaven, i don't want hell...
i, just, want, to, return, to, my, self...
yes, that's a reflection,
hence the pronoun has no compound, i.e. isn't
a reflexive understanding for the fluidity of language
expressed by the concerning compound: myself.
perhaps that's just the beginning of understanding
the noumenon / thing in itself, or rather to counter
the fluidity of the word itself, since, evidently
it self makes no sense that could ever produce
a concept akin to the noumenon...
why wouldn't this woman care to give an inkling into
her concept of right and wrong...
she's driving the ******* car, she makes a doo doo...
pauper... **** up!
i still don't know why it was about hair...
you like a stranger's **** in a soup?
what's with this middle eastern fetish for covering it?
hey! beginning from 1986, am i sorta automatically
involved in a cult that has a vintage of ageing from
a **** of a camel a long time ago?
no wonder the knighthood ceremony was initiated
by slapping a newly initiated knight across the cheek,
like i said, a woman's hand is more ******
than her hair...
i'd say: take up ye care to don gloves!
and that, i'm sure, will never happen.
it's probably the most delicate thing a woman can possess...
a hand...
the rest is what darwinism cared to provide us with:
a black widow, a mantis;
and that's talking pure earnest about the matter...
listen, i spent the past two hours having the ordeal of
an ego... which i had to anti-narrate into theory...
yes, the id was helpful, is actually told me, or rather,
interrupted the ego from the narrative
to give me this *******'s worth of profanity
(and yes, with due reason; ever fill out a police form
concerning some accident? do that, then you'll be equipped
to read Tolstoy)...
so it was ego-possessiveness,
the ego already thinks its eternally subject...
that's one of the implants...
eternity and god are inherent in ego,
your heart means absolutely nothing when the ego
has been given certainity that it can't shake off...
what the ego isn't given is a unit of reason
that sees past it... the id...
in relation to dualism and the much active dichotomy
as alternative to an equilibrium of dualism
i will outrightly exclude the superego
as nothing but antithesis to the ubermann theory
of overcoming man...
and on their shoulder they once had
the epitomes of cartoon conscience, an angel and a demon...
but thanks to the superego: they had mama
on their left shoulder, and papa on their right shoulder...
just the mere act of shutting that thing up
was enough, and it was apparent,
that writing fiction could be to blame,
writing fiction can be rightly guessed at
for levitating a condition of medical proportion
into the realm of mythology,
we have already depersonalised the unit
of ego to the extent that it has become polarised,
bipolar, e.g., comes from a depersonalised
gravity of ego,
we're no longer in need to write books,
we're in a dire need to write our own psyches...
and it all stems from making the basic human unit,
bound to the privacy of thought,
as needing a system that outweighs the moral
stratum,
what can a person actually be or become
to even dream about asserting that there is
a da-sein (i.e. something, somethingness)
"happening"?
i feel that there's something worse than a second
nakedness emerging,
it's this incapacity to move on,
it's a mental nakedness, i am more easily prone
to dress my body in clothes
than i am able to dress my ego in thoughts,
than can correlate adequately, and peacefully...
toward something akin to a symbiosis
that can reach a = status, rather than an
≠ or an ≈ status... ****! Aquarius!
isn't the ≈ symbol the basis for it?
oh hell, back into the zodiac...
i know my ego can be a downer,
but at least that's who i am talking about...
aphorisms no. 174 through to 178?
i do odd experiments with books,
this is the first of its kind,
i'm actually going to rattle-******* this book out
till it feels like having wanked it 20 times
in a single day... i'll write what i "feel",
funny word, that word feel...
you never get to use it these days,
man is more about hammering in nails than
saying: ooh... that hurts...
and we all know what happened to Jesus'
teaching... forgive strangers...
make sure your former friends are
crucified up-side down...
that really went far...
i can just see him...
an oasis of bullet-proof clauses...
about how to handle people...
give them l.s.d. unconsciously!
then wait for actual l.s.d. to arrive
and then worry...
when they took to their Swiss bicycles...
and writing poetry... and eating a soft-boiled
egg... given the concern for cholesterol:
a hard concept to fathom: that runny yoke...
never ate mine with salt, i always like
that idea of legalised abortion...
and we can be just that...
so imaginative to consolidate being mammal
that we can fathom eating chicken eggs
as easily as abortions... runny yokes have no basis
for a morality, or a compass...
they just are... runny... yummy...
i call yokes the male version of
a woman's fascination with chocolate...
i think egg yokes are the equivalent of cholocate
for men as chocolate is for women...
or so the advert said...
aphorism 174: as language...
aphorism 175:
philosophy catching up to science,
akin to theology catching up to philosophy,
both condescending extracts
that end up with both of the extreme parties
dressing up funny.
aphorism 176: such that newspapers are
the natural preservers? i.e. the idea of historical
escapism.
(toilet paper does, much much more,
than a newspaper actually provides,
press freedom is a bit boring to be honest,
beginning with the need for a moral agent
that's less and less moral, and more prone to
darwinism, i.e. selective, which is also said via:
what's natural, in a more and more techno-savvy culture?)
aphorism 177: only as, a rural thinker unto
a rural thinker... a case of describing a perfume
of those thinking about a day after tomorrow,
but more precisely:
the day before yesterday that didn't involve them...
say, on the ethnicity basis,
the talk of being inheriting from the form
of ancestry... how we cultivate cucumbers,
tomatoes, prejudices...
which is why i'm a slav happily talking a tongue
that's germanic, an off-shoot saxon,
and hopefuly defending it.
aphorism 178:
"everything great wavers and wobbles,
stands in a storm. the beautiful is difficult."
Ezra too, with the last, alas.
but it's true... what happened in england in the second
part of the 20th century was great,
and it did indeed wobble past the storm into
a desert of retirement...
a peaceful coming toward terms of
a natural agreement...
the generation preceding mine enshrined in their
psyche an england they heard over the radio...
king crimson... all such artistic expressions
found a case to take root...
how parasites never attack a feeble creature
and only take roost in a strong symbiotic partner...
once it was said england could resemble ancient greece,
and it did, from the second part of the 20th century...
but that ended...
it's gone, i have inherited a communist
past, a marxism with a concept of money,
and economic policy that wasn't inherently competitive,
but it also wasn't a welfare policy of the Marshall Plan,
and all i get is this freakish counter-movement
known as marxism in culture...
that's worse than marxism in economy!
it should be heartbreaking to say this,
but coming from a monochromatic society,
watching the death of communism...
i could say it was perfect... but then i can't
given my grandparents have a secure pension plan
that the state provides... i like that joke,
i just said it, and it makes perfect sense...
there is much more of Pilate in the history
of the peoples than there is of Jesus...
washing my hands clean, the companies said,
meaning self-employment...
unless you have a really hungry libido
you actually do start worrying about keeping up
the numbers...
companies don't...
it's a bit of a bollocking...
i come from what could be imagined as a safety
economics of marxism into a marxism of culture
that i simply can't comprehend...
well: it did give "us" a sense of pride,
and a will to rebuild warsaw without any american
money...
the russians just said: where's your pride?
do you want to take their money and have it easy?
and when i ask that question:
i just start thinking about arabs without their oily diapers...
oil diaper... not exactly black gold:
oil diapers...
Ahmed gonna poo poo?
 
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2015
'honey? how was your day?'
Mateuš Conrad
Nov 2015
sample precursor: there are three binding directions of a chemical group (e.g. CH3) to the benzene ring - the ortho-, the meta- and the para-... but i'll ask a different question: what is copernican north what is copernican east a copernican west or a copernican west without a "flat-earth" / how else to read / navigate a 2D map going from point (a) via vector (c) to point (b) along the short-cut of the hypotenuse - which, isn't a short-cut, but the logical conclusion of walking neither the middle path nor the right path, but the logical path? we're no astronauts... we didn't see the proof... we can only entertain the "idea" of a 3D object we live on, but we're still strapped to a "flat earth" in order to navigate... endless stories of how GPS tech. fooled people off the edge of a cliff... "flat earth" is no reverse psychology ploy... i'm no ******* astronaut... i never stood left right or center on the moon to have the foggiest sense of admiration for that awe-balancing moment that leaves so many deluded in it being otherwise: first come first served, last come: what's there's to serve that last man if not merely the drudge-report of a commute? besides... trans- and cis-, why are people borrowing from chemistry and attaching gender to what is exlusive to chemical compounds? look at them... pop chemistry... cis-trans isomerism... fine, let these people have that... my new n.e.w.s. (north, east, west, south): orthography, something clearly missing in the anglophone world (no diacritical markers, i and j do not count)... ergo? orthography = east... paranormal = west... since the west is obsessed with either aliens or hush-hush military projects... now... both north and south are meta- coordinates... on the basis, on the basis of what? two words really work well to establish a foundation: from ars poetica? metaphor (borrowed from a change of mind - meta- and -phren - mind, a change of mind, all mental illnesses are changes of the mind, alternatives to alleviate the stranglehold of the commune of the greater picture known as society)... but... there's also metaphysics... which is in the interest of philosophy... how else not to explain the obvious, how else to treat both the reader / audience as the well informed genius(es) but mistreat them as would be grander genius(es) if the socratic endeavour of "pretense ignorance" was not to be established? it's a hard juggle... east is already well established in orthography, west in paranomal... literally: metaphor - a change of mind, literally metaphysics - a change of groundwork physicality of things... a rock remains a rock in either "heaven" or in "hell"... metaphysically there seems to be a direct translation... this is why i'm terrible at crosswords, this whole puzzle structure of either working from a direct definition to the word itself, some random geographical posists, some historical posits, some outdated out-of-vogue words related to specified period idiosyncracy, a tinge of the therausus... my current crossword is an interchange: meta-phor, meta-physics, meta-phot, meta-physics and on and on it goes: even with the isolated prefix of meta-, if i return to the words: as they are... would: denoting a change of thinking (state of mind) or... denoting a change of physics, i'm met with metaphysics, i.e.: a branch of philosophy that deals with the first principles... sounds like a priori physics, yet all i can fathom if i wrestle this word to its casual use: isn't it a posteriori physics?! the what comes after physics? i should think that most people understand metaphysics on an a posteriori basis rather than an a priori basis... hence the question: what happens when we die? last time i checked: death happens last... birth happens first... any question-worthiness (according to heidegger) should begin at: the beginning rather than begin at the end, in the same way that all questions should be sought in a medium of predating the dates of events, rather than with a spirit of hindsight, hindsight belongs to the "what if" of history in that dynamism of expressed time... on the canvas of an infinitely expanding space: we seem to be riddled by a very cul de sac concept / expression of time: our quill - given that ****** didn't learn from napoleon when it came to russia... perhaps finding out what copernicus found out: "we" figured: get me off this ******* celestial carousel where i can't even feel the dizzy immediate of a ferris wheel! again: i'm terrible at crosswords, sudoku? no problem... but words: if not gushing out of me, waiting like a lizard predator for a linear narrative spew? count me out... i don't play with words, i use words... i'm a wordsmith, hence the ethnic origin denote: słowianin: slav - i don't know where these west-saxon punks derived their etymology from: słowo = word... *****-liquor juice teens thought it was: oh fo' sho' smart... still: metaphor, metaphysics... metaphor... metaphysics... disgruntled with the immediate compound readied for pop use... meta-physics... the vector is the prefix... why do philosophers push metaphysics so much, but in turn rely on the crutch of metaphor? to change their mind, if metaphysics is an abstract theory with no basis in reality, then the schizoid / metaphorical mind is an abstract in an abstracted theory of the mind - which has "no" knowledge of reality, or rather: "reality" excludes such a mind from ever absorbing an expression in it... a schizophrenic can't explain the reality of a person who can solve crossword puzzles... just as someone who solves crossword puzzles with a fear of alzheimer's: who treats the fatty tissue that's the brain as a muscle... given that the cells of alzheimer's disease are killer proteins... proteins as the antithesis of white blood-cells that feed of fat tissue... after all: what else could the brain be if not fat and water? slow burner... first the sugars, then the more complex carbohydrates, then the fat: last? the proteins... the process of starvation... you want up? you want down? again: metaphysics / metaphor... ta meta ta phusika... the things after the physics... so what's with the inverted: prior things? hence people associated a life after death... hence how philosophers have to escape into the poetic realm to quickly change their minds on the definition... a change of mind is much easier than a change of what physicality entails... most spew metaphors but keep on course... after all: given the genesis of the metaphor, a metaphor is just a tool, a humble stop-off pause... born from humble poetics: it's only a literary tool, it's not some grand pillar of morality associated metaphysics, which nonetheless dictates: first principles come last and last principles come first... here's my crossword puzzle: metaphor, metaphysics, meta-alpha, meta-beta, metaphor and the meta-alpha, metaphysics and the meta-beta... etc. etc., i will not solve this crossword puzzle, even though it doesn't look like a crossword puzzle... it's a narrative crossword puzzle, i'm just looking for the sort of fixed point people associate with prime words: red, left, blue, right, up, fox, dog... words of readied vocabulary, readied vocabulary dissociated from puzzled vocabulary... i want to established a fixed permanence of the dissociated close proximity grounded in the meta- prefix of the words meta-phor and, meta-physics... i'm starting to find this impossible, given how the words have dissociated themselves from the grounding in the meta- prefix... phor alias phren (mind) and the whole gush of isolated metaphysics of beginnings: meta a priori vs. meta a posteriori - and of course: meta a- apriori... hell if i can't solve crossword puzzles: since i already have a crossword puzzle in my head... what am i to do? try writing pop?! a dog does what his master orders, a jester tells a joke his king would find amusing... i'll just treat this enclave of an audience as a bunch of people subscribed to ulterior forms of voyeurism (dissociated from pain / pleasure gratification, esp. that of a ****** nature).
.you know like in latin you had the interchangeable tongue twisters æ and œ? well... english resurrected one more... au... oh stralia... auntie; ******* hell i've been speaking this since aged ate and i still can't get my tongue into that phonetic plughole... or what's that onomatopoeia for: it really hurts? awe... nah... aw... aw... well no cute kitten about to say aww.
well it began with the usual... i wish i didn’t...
sitting in the autumnal garden
drinking coffee and eating a nicotine croissant,
watching the fog recede into nothing
while the earth showed its naked cleavage
after what seems like centuries of arcane dryness
befitting a story of an egyptian idol...
then the panic set in...
what to cook?! what to cook?!
my mother is away visiting her parents in poland,
who celebrate the feast of all saints with the usual
tackle formidable in poland:
forget the paris fashion week, forget the london fashion week...
forget the next gucci advert...
all the action happens in poland’s annual all saints’ fashion week...
through the cemetery (ahem) cat walks
(more like death on rollerblades donning a tutu
and looking fatter than size 0 models)...
because that’s when the fur coats are worn,
the make-up is heavier and everyone comes
to discuss the materialistic jealousy of a small town...
it is a small town after all...
death knocks with all the nine cat’s lives just to prove
the point...
anyway, so i’m the head chef, and in panic
i search for a recipe... i’ve only got pork on the ready
in the recognisable frozen state...
but i also have shrimps... tiger prawns...
so i look through the usual suspects... thai green curry...
ah ****! no coconut milk!
what’s it going to be? prawn korma curry
(better mild than hot i say, with all this maple syrup
and honey colours about... talk about decay),
active ingredients? chilli powder (1/2 tsp), cinnamon
(1/2 tsp), turmeric (1/2 tsp) and ground almonds (2 tbsp),
there ready... looking suntanned my gorgeous twirls of seabed manure...
enough to spare my father making himself sandwiches (i always
disguised my “dyslexia” by associations... sandy witches...
the t broke the barriers and the floods entered)...
with toasted nannies / au pairs... relatives of some sort...
then onto writing my father’s invoices:
project plaistow hospital and some housing development near
the city airport... beckton we call it... backwards and forwards
stink crowned with drinkers regurgitating on the pave...
now that is a *******... recycling centre or horse manure?
then to tesco... for the nightcap...
oddly enough tesco has become a friend of mine once more,
i divorced the turkish shop, they added 10 pence to the polish beers,
now i’m on the sedative medication of this bottle bavaria beer
and whiskey... 1 quid for the former... 10 quid for the latter -
i’ve sold my soul! never mind...
then to the beacon that’s home... it’s night... it’s spooky...
it’s essex: that non-touristy place in england people with passports
never dare to visit, shambles.
well one thing came out true... none of the above though:
you ever consider the theory of the aeroplane syndrome in writers?
you know, like with rock stars you get the full package,
you get the aeroplane and the retrieved delay of the engine mushroom,
but with poetry (which is competing with music,
philosophers just wait in that queue for the cheese, wink, whine and wrinkle)
you only get the sound... that delayed mushroom...
you see the poet but never hear him...
it’s a typical delusion i’d call parallel or even adjacent to narcissism,
you walk down the street and the closest you come
to someone recognising you is a stranger uttering out: ‘hey richard!’
‘name’s matt mate.’
‘oh... sorry.’
it’s this aeroplane syndrome theory... it’s perfectly acceptable...
you have the image but don’t have the delayed sound...
you have the delayed sound... but you only get a photograph...
you have the english national health service mental health unit crisis...
and then you have people shunning intellectualism
trying to cure people by burning / not reading philosophical books;
the day ends with drinking and reading
an article about keith richard’s antics in the sunday times’ supplement
and the thought: well i gave her a stabbing chance
at feminism... she thought the active ingredient in anti-contraception
pills was placebo... she phoned and gave birth to me...
i said abort... you’re no post-teen mum at university, you won’t be...
******* was great but i’m not that much of a match from a cosmopolitan magazine quiz
(as duly taken on my way from st. pestersburg to moscow to see
metallica play), plus there are no roofing jobs in scotland...
the scots have mountains already... there’s no point building
scratched sky skylines with mountain ranges nearby...
so even though i went to a catholic school...
i did my first redemptive act by reading about gnostic heretics...
and not getting confirmed being the second...
i would have not taken first communion... but playing the xylophone
at the nativity play was too much fun...
plus it is the only salvador dali bit of the story...
after that you have st. sebastian...
plus you see where this is going... the greeks translated
the tetragrammaton into the gospels
of st. matthew, luke, mark and john...
and the romans were duped into the legality of
things... first name, second name, confirmation name...
surname.
.you know like in latin you had the interchangeable tongue twisters æ and œ? well... english resurrected one more... au... oh stralia... auntie; ******* hell i've been speaking this since aged ate and i still can't get my tongue into that phonetic plughole... or what's that onomatopoeia for: it really hurts? awe... nah... aw... aw... well no cute kitten about to say aww.
well it began with the usual... i wish i didn’t...
sitting in the autumnal garden
drinking coffee and eating a nicotine croissant,
watching the fog recede into nothing
while the earth showed its naked cleavage
after what seems like centuries of arcane dryness
befitting a story of an egyptian idol...
then the panic set in...
what to cook?! what to cook?!
my mother is away visiting her parents in poland,
who celebrate the feast of all saints with the usual
tackle formidable in poland:
forget the paris fashion week, forget the london fashion week...
forget the next gucci advert...
all the action happens in poland’s annual all saints’ fashion week...
through the cemetery (ahem) cat walks
(more like death on rollerblades donning a tutu
and looking fatter than size 0 models)...
because that’s when the fur coats are worn,
the make-up is heavier and everyone comes
to discuss the materialistic jealousy of a small town...
it is a small town after all...
death knocks with all the nine cat’s lives just to prove
the point...
anyway, so i’m the head chef, and in panic
i search for a recipe... i’ve only got pork on the ready
in the recognisable frozen state...
but i also have shrimps... tiger prawns...
so i look through the usual suspects... thai green curry...
ah ****! no coconut milk!
what’s it going to be? prawn korma curry
(better mild than hot i say, with all this maple syrup
and honey colours about... talk about decay),
active ingredients? chilli powder (1/2 tsp), cinnamon
(1/2 tsp), turmeric (1/2 tsp) and ground almonds (2 tbsp),
there ready... looking suntanned my gorgeous twirls of seabed manure...
enough to spare my father making himself sandwiches (i always
disguised my “dyslexia” by associations... sandy witches...
the t broke the barriers and the floods entered)...
with toasted nannies / au pairs... relatives of some sort...
then onto writing my father’s invoices:
project plaistow hospital and some housing development near
the city airport... beckton we call it... backwards and forwards
stink crowned with drinkers regurgitating on the pave...
now that is a *******... recycling centre or horse manure?
then to tesco... for the nightcap...
oddly enough tesco has become a friend of mine once more,
i divorced the turkish shop, they added 10 pence to the polish beers,
now i’m on the sedative medication of this bottle bavaria beer
and whiskey... 1 quid for the former... 10 quid for the latter -
i’ve sold my soul! never mind...
then to the beacon that’s home... it’s night... it’s spooky...
it’s essex: that non-touristy place in england people with passports
never dare to visit, shambles.
well one thing came out true... none of the above though:
you ever consider the theory of the aeroplane syndrome in writers?
you know, like with rock stars you get the full package,
you get the aeroplane and the retrieved delay of the engine mushroom,
but with poetry (which is competing with music,
philosophers just wait in that queue for the cheese, wink, whine and wrinkle)
you only get the sound... that delayed mushroom...
you see the poet but never hear him...
it’s a typical delusion i’d call parallel or even adjacent to narcissism,
you walk down the street and the closest you come
to someone recognising you is a stranger uttering out: ‘hey richard!’
‘name’s matt mate.’
‘oh... sorry.’
it’s this aeroplane syndrome theory... it’s perfectly acceptable...
you have the image but don’t have the delayed sound...
you have the delayed sound... but you only get a photograph...
you have the english national health service mental health unit crisis...
and then you have people shunning intellectualism
trying to cure people by burning / not reading philosophical books;
the day ends with drinking and reading
an article about keith richard’s antics in the sunday times’ supplement
and the thought: well i gave her a stabbing chance
at feminism... she thought the active ingredient in anti-contraception
pills was placebo... she phoned and gave birth to me...
i said abort... you’re no post-teen mum at university, you won’t be...
******* was great but i’m not that much of a match from a cosmopolitan magazine quiz
(as duly taken on my way from st. pestersburg to moscow to see
metallica play), plus there are no roofing jobs in scotland...
the scots have mountains already... there’s no point building
scratched sky skylines with mountain ranges nearby...
so even though i went to a catholic school...
i did my first redemptive act by reading about gnostic heretics...
and not getting confirmed being the second...
i would have not taken first communion... but playing the xylophone
at the nativity play was too much fun...
plus it is the only salvador dali bit of the story...
after that you have st. sebastian...
plus you see where this is going... the greeks translated
the tetragrammaton into the gospels
of st. matthew, luke, mark and john...
and the romans were duped into the legality of
things... first name, second name, confirmation name...
surname.