Members
☩ ☩ ☩
www.connecthook.net
buffalo NY
I am a retired NYS administrative Law Judge. I have one child and three grandchildren. We live in Buffalo NY.
Poems
Michael R Burch May 2020
Sandy Hook Poems
Michael R Burch
May 2020
Sandy Hook Call to Love
by Michael R. Burch
Our hearts are broken today
for our children's small bodies lie broken;
let us gather them up, as we may,
that the truth of our Love may be spoken;
then, when we have put them away
to nevermore dream, or be woken,
let us think of the living, and pray
for true Love, not some miserable token,
to command us, for strength to obey.
The first line in the poem above came from President Obama’s speech in which he wiped away tears as he discussed the Sandy Hook killings.
###
For a Sandy Hook Child, with Butterflies
by Michael R. Burch
Where does the butterfly go
when lightning rails, when thunder howls,
when hailstones scream while winter scowls
and nights compound dark frosts with snow?
Where does the butterfly go?
Where does the rose hide its bloom
when night descends oblique and chill
beyond the capacity of moonlight to fill?
When the only relief's a banked fire's glow,
where does the butterfly go?
And where shall the spirit flee
when life is harsh, too harsh to face,
and hope is lost without a trace?
Oh, when the light of life runs low,
where does the butterfly go?
###
Sandy Hook Call to Action
by Michael R. Burch
We see their tiny coffins
and our hearts break,
so we ask the NRA―
"Did you make a mistake?"
And we vow to save the next child
for sweet love's sake,
but also to protect ourselves
from enduring such heartache.
###
I dedicate my poems to the victims ― may they rest in peace ― and I urge all Americans to act now, before the next massacre. If we don't, our loved ones will remain continually at risk:
Epitaph for a Sandy Hook Child
by Michael R. Burch
I lived as best I could, and then I died.
Be careful where you step: the grave is wide.
###
This poem is for mothers who lost children at Sandy Hook, and in other similar tragedies ...
Childless
by Michael R. Burch
How can she bear her grief?
Mightier than Atlas, she shoulders the weight
Of one fallen star.
###
Shooting Gallery
by Michael R. Burch
If we live by the rule of the gun
what can a small child do,
but run?
###
Sixteen of the students who died at Sandy Hook were six years old; the other four students were seven. I wrote the poem below for another child gunned down by a madman. While we cannot legislate sanity, we can be sane enough to legislate away the "right" of serial killers to purchase assault weapons so easily. We can defend many small victims from such carnage, if "we the people" have the wisdom and the will to defend them.
Child of 9-11
by Michael R. Burch
a poem for Christina-Taylor Green, who was born
on September 11, 2001 and died at the age of nine,
shot to death ...
Child of 9-11, beloved,
I bring this lily, lay it down
here at your feet, and eiderdown,
and all soft things, for your gentle spirit.
I bring this psalm ― I hope you hear it.
Much love I bring ― I lay it down
here by your form, which is not you,
but what you left this shell-shocked world
to help us learn what we must do
to save another child like you.
Child of 9-11, I know
you are not here, but watch, afar
from distant stars, where angels rue
the brutal things some mortals do.
I also watch; I also rue.
And so I make this pledge and vow:
though I may weep, I will not rest
nor will my pen fail heaven's test
till guns and wars and hate are banned
from every shore, from every land.
Child of 9-11, I grieve
your tender life, cut short ... bereaved,
what can I do, but pledge my life
to saving lives like yours? Belief
in your sweet worth has led me here ...
I give my all: my pen, this tear,
this lily and this eiderdown,
and all soft things my heart can bear;
I bear them to your final bier,
and leave them with my promise, here.
###
US or Them?
by Michael R. Burch
The NRA wants money in the till,
thus Adam Lanza had a license to ****.
Our government’s the serial killer’s shill
and will be, unless WE express OUR will
and vote to save our children from Boot Hill.
###
This haiku below makes me think of the students and teachers of Sandy Hook, who were trapped in a war zone:
War
stood at the end of the hall
in the long shadows
―original haiku by Watanabe Hakusen, translation by Michael R. Burch
###
Piercing the Shell
by Michael R. Burch
If we strip away all the accouterments of war,
perhaps we'll discover what the heart is for.
It seems to me that the NRA has declared a war ― an open season ― on our children, by insisting that assault weapons must be available to every Tom, **** and ***** Harry. But what will we, the people, say and do?
###
Something
by Michael R. Burch
Something inescapable is lost―
lost like a pale vapor curling up into shafts of moonlight,
vanishing in a gust of wind toward an expanse of stars
immeasurable and void.
Something uncapturable is gone―
gone with the spent leaves and illuminations of autumn,
scattered into a haze with the faint rustle of parched grass
and remembrance.
Something unforgettable is past―
blown from a glimmer into nothingness, or less,
and finality has swept into a corner where it lies
in dust and cobwebs and silence.
###
Frail Envelope of Flesh
by Michael R. Burch
Frail envelope of flesh,
lying cold on the surgeon’s table
with anguished eyes
like your mother’s eyes
and a heartbeat weak, unstable ...
Frail crucible of dust,
brief flower come to this―
your tiny hand
in your mother’s hand
for a last bewildered kiss ...
Brief mayfly of a child,
to live six artless years!
Now your mother’s lips
seal up your lips
from the Deluge of her tears ...
###
Here are tribute poems for exceptional children who should be alive today:
Emilie Parker,
the horror grows starker
as we see your sweet image
and cringe at the carnage;
but dear, how you mesmerize
with those vivid blue eyes
and death cannot sever
our hearts from you, ever.
###
Dylan Hockley,
a blue-eyed "gorgeous boy,"
was super beyond
death's power to destroy.
###
Jack Pinto,
who idolized the New York Jets' Victor Cruz,
is now Cruz's hero
and neither can lose.
###
Grace Audrey McDonnell,
our "beautiful, sweet little girl,"
wherever you are now,
there's a far brighter world.
###
Avielle Richman
had a "spirit that drew people in"
(and an infinitely knowing
and cheeky grin!).
###
Noah Pozner,
"extremely bright"―
your mind and your smile
both exuded light.
###
Jessica Rekos,
a "creative, beautiful little girl"
who loved horses,
are you now riding Pegasus
down heaven's courses?
###
Benjamin Wheeler,
"an irrepressibly bright and spirited boy"
had brown, soulful eyes
and a spirit no killer can destroy.
###
Ana Marquez-Greene,
as sweet a child as we've seen,
you "beat us all to paradise."
Was it because you were so very nice?
###
Charlotte Bacon,
our love for you is unshaken;
as you "lit up all rooms" down here
you now illuminate heaven, dear.
###
Daniel Barden, his family's light,
once brightened this earth, and now brightens heaven―
not a bad trick for a boy who's just seven!
###
Olivia Engel,
angel,
your only possible crime (I've been told)
was "being a wiggly, smiley six-year-old!"
###
Allison Wyatt,
so shy, so sweet, so caring,
loved to garden with her mother.
Six pink candles, then an eternity of sharing.
###
Catherine Violet Hubbard
when you were here
the cupboard
of life
was never bare,
but full of light
and your electric hair!
###
Josephine Gay
had just turned seven;
now she will always be
"a lovely part of heaven."
###
Caroline Previdi,
"sweet, precious little angel,"
we fondly remember
your infectious smile.
###
Chase Kowalski, age seven
seems awfully early for heaven;
but since there was never a better child ...
perhaps the angels called, beguiled?
###
Jesse Lewis, so full of life,
you could fill a room with bright laughter;
I'm sure you're entertaining angels now
and brightening the Hereafter!
###
James Mattioli,
exceptional swimmer,
without your bright presence
the world seems much dimmer.
###
Madeleine Hsu,
what we know of you
is so limited, but we love you too.
May your loved ones keep your memory secure
and your memory give them the strength to endure.
###
Here is a memorial poem for the school's lovely, valiant principal who, according to accounts, ran to defend her young charges the minute she heard shots being fired, lunging at the shooter in an attempt to disarm him:
Dawn Hochsprung,
each child's courageous friend―
you defended them all till the unthinkable end;
so let your kindness and valor be sung.
###
Rachel Davino protected her charges
from the killer's barrages;
like her loyal friend,
she was loyal to the end.
###
Anne Marie Murphy,
fun-loving, hard worker;
you defended your charges―
no coward, no shirker.
###
Lauren Gabrielle Rousseau,
who loved to teach, and who loved children so,
we're glad you achieved your dream
that final year, and how lovely you seem!
###
When Mary heard shots being fired, she could have run away to save her own life, but she joined principal Dawn Hochsprung by leaping to her feet and running to protect the students she loved so much.
Mary Sherlach, who courageously ran
without thought for her life to the aid of the children,
taught not just them, but also us,
love's surplus.
###
Everyone loved Miss Victoria Soto;
she was every student's friend.
And when a killer threatened her charges,
she defended them to the end.
Keywords/Tags: Sandy Hook, school, shooting, massacre, students, children, teachers, gun control
by Michael R. Burch
Our hearts are broken today
for our children's small bodies lie broken;
let us gather them up, as we may,
that the truth of our Love may be spoken;
then, when we have put them away
to nevermore dream, or be woken,
let us think of the living, and pray
for true Love, not some miserable token,
to command us, for strength to obey.
The first line in the poem above came from President Obama’s speech in which he wiped away tears as he discussed the Sandy Hook killings.
###
For a Sandy Hook Child, with Butterflies
by Michael R. Burch
Where does the butterfly go
when lightning rails, when thunder howls,
when hailstones scream while winter scowls
and nights compound dark frosts with snow?
Where does the butterfly go?
Where does the rose hide its bloom
when night descends oblique and chill
beyond the capacity of moonlight to fill?
When the only relief's a banked fire's glow,
where does the butterfly go?
And where shall the spirit flee
when life is harsh, too harsh to face,
and hope is lost without a trace?
Oh, when the light of life runs low,
where does the butterfly go?
###
Sandy Hook Call to Action
by Michael R. Burch
We see their tiny coffins
and our hearts break,
so we ask the NRA―
"Did you make a mistake?"
And we vow to save the next child
for sweet love's sake,
but also to protect ourselves
from enduring such heartache.
###
I dedicate my poems to the victims ― may they rest in peace ― and I urge all Americans to act now, before the next massacre. If we don't, our loved ones will remain continually at risk:
Epitaph for a Sandy Hook Child
by Michael R. Burch
I lived as best I could, and then I died.
Be careful where you step: the grave is wide.
###
This poem is for mothers who lost children at Sandy Hook, and in other similar tragedies ...
Childless
by Michael R. Burch
How can she bear her grief?
Mightier than Atlas, she shoulders the weight
Of one fallen star.
###
Shooting Gallery
by Michael R. Burch
If we live by the rule of the gun
what can a small child do,
but run?
###
Sixteen of the students who died at Sandy Hook were six years old; the other four students were seven. I wrote the poem below for another child gunned down by a madman. While we cannot legislate sanity, we can be sane enough to legislate away the "right" of serial killers to purchase assault weapons so easily. We can defend many small victims from such carnage, if "we the people" have the wisdom and the will to defend them.
Child of 9-11
by Michael R. Burch
a poem for Christina-Taylor Green, who was born
on September 11, 2001 and died at the age of nine,
shot to death ...
Child of 9-11, beloved,
I bring this lily, lay it down
here at your feet, and eiderdown,
and all soft things, for your gentle spirit.
I bring this psalm ― I hope you hear it.
Much love I bring ― I lay it down
here by your form, which is not you,
but what you left this shell-shocked world
to help us learn what we must do
to save another child like you.
Child of 9-11, I know
you are not here, but watch, afar
from distant stars, where angels rue
the brutal things some mortals do.
I also watch; I also rue.
And so I make this pledge and vow:
though I may weep, I will not rest
nor will my pen fail heaven's test
till guns and wars and hate are banned
from every shore, from every land.
Child of 9-11, I grieve
your tender life, cut short ... bereaved,
what can I do, but pledge my life
to saving lives like yours? Belief
in your sweet worth has led me here ...
I give my all: my pen, this tear,
this lily and this eiderdown,
and all soft things my heart can bear;
I bear them to your final bier,
and leave them with my promise, here.
###
US or Them?
by Michael R. Burch
The NRA wants money in the till,
thus Adam Lanza had a license to ****.
Our government’s the serial killer’s shill
and will be, unless WE express OUR will
and vote to save our children from Boot Hill.
###
This haiku below makes me think of the students and teachers of Sandy Hook, who were trapped in a war zone:
War
stood at the end of the hall
in the long shadows
―original haiku by Watanabe Hakusen, translation by Michael R. Burch
###
Piercing the Shell
by Michael R. Burch
If we strip away all the accouterments of war,
perhaps we'll discover what the heart is for.
It seems to me that the NRA has declared a war ― an open season ― on our children, by insisting that assault weapons must be available to every Tom, **** and ***** Harry. But what will we, the people, say and do?
###
Something
by Michael R. Burch
Something inescapable is lost―
lost like a pale vapor curling up into shafts of moonlight,
vanishing in a gust of wind toward an expanse of stars
immeasurable and void.
Something uncapturable is gone―
gone with the spent leaves and illuminations of autumn,
scattered into a haze with the faint rustle of parched grass
and remembrance.
Something unforgettable is past―
blown from a glimmer into nothingness, or less,
and finality has swept into a corner where it lies
in dust and cobwebs and silence.
###
Frail Envelope of Flesh
by Michael R. Burch
Frail envelope of flesh,
lying cold on the surgeon’s table
with anguished eyes
like your mother’s eyes
and a heartbeat weak, unstable ...
Frail crucible of dust,
brief flower come to this―
your tiny hand
in your mother’s hand
for a last bewildered kiss ...
Brief mayfly of a child,
to live six artless years!
Now your mother’s lips
seal up your lips
from the Deluge of her tears ...
###
Here are tribute poems for exceptional children who should be alive today:
Emilie Parker,
the horror grows starker
as we see your sweet image
and cringe at the carnage;
but dear, how you mesmerize
with those vivid blue eyes
and death cannot sever
our hearts from you, ever.
###
Dylan Hockley,
a blue-eyed "gorgeous boy,"
was super beyond
death's power to destroy.
###
Jack Pinto,
who idolized the New York Jets' Victor Cruz,
is now Cruz's hero
and neither can lose.
###
Grace Audrey McDonnell,
our "beautiful, sweet little girl,"
wherever you are now,
there's a far brighter world.
###
Avielle Richman
had a "spirit that drew people in"
(and an infinitely knowing
and cheeky grin!).
###
Noah Pozner,
"extremely bright"―
your mind and your smile
both exuded light.
###
Jessica Rekos,
a "creative, beautiful little girl"
who loved horses,
are you now riding Pegasus
down heaven's courses?
###
Benjamin Wheeler,
"an irrepressibly bright and spirited boy"
had brown, soulful eyes
and a spirit no killer can destroy.
###
Ana Marquez-Greene,
as sweet a child as we've seen,
you "beat us all to paradise."
Was it because you were so very nice?
###
Charlotte Bacon,
our love for you is unshaken;
as you "lit up all rooms" down here
you now illuminate heaven, dear.
###
Daniel Barden, his family's light,
once brightened this earth, and now brightens heaven―
not a bad trick for a boy who's just seven!
###
Olivia Engel,
angel,
your only possible crime (I've been told)
was "being a wiggly, smiley six-year-old!"
###
Allison Wyatt,
so shy, so sweet, so caring,
loved to garden with her mother.
Six pink candles, then an eternity of sharing.
###
Catherine Violet Hubbard
when you were here
the cupboard
of life
was never bare,
but full of light
and your electric hair!
###
Josephine Gay
had just turned seven;
now she will always be
"a lovely part of heaven."
###
Caroline Previdi,
"sweet, precious little angel,"
we fondly remember
your infectious smile.
###
Chase Kowalski, age seven
seems awfully early for heaven;
but since there was never a better child ...
perhaps the angels called, beguiled?
###
Jesse Lewis, so full of life,
you could fill a room with bright laughter;
I'm sure you're entertaining angels now
and brightening the Hereafter!
###
James Mattioli,
exceptional swimmer,
without your bright presence
the world seems much dimmer.
###
Madeleine Hsu,
what we know of you
is so limited, but we love you too.
May your loved ones keep your memory secure
and your memory give them the strength to endure.
###
Here is a memorial poem for the school's lovely, valiant principal who, according to accounts, ran to defend her young charges the minute she heard shots being fired, lunging at the shooter in an attempt to disarm him:
Dawn Hochsprung,
each child's courageous friend―
you defended them all till the unthinkable end;
so let your kindness and valor be sung.
###
Rachel Davino protected her charges
from the killer's barrages;
like her loyal friend,
she was loyal to the end.
###
Anne Marie Murphy,
fun-loving, hard worker;
you defended your charges―
no coward, no shirker.
###
Lauren Gabrielle Rousseau,
who loved to teach, and who loved children so,
we're glad you achieved your dream
that final year, and how lovely you seem!
###
When Mary heard shots being fired, she could have run away to save her own life, but she joined principal Dawn Hochsprung by leaping to her feet and running to protect the students she loved so much.
Mary Sherlach, who courageously ran
without thought for her life to the aid of the children,
taught not just them, but also us,
love's surplus.
###
Everyone loved Miss Victoria Soto;
she was every student's friend.
And when a killer threatened her charges,
she defended them to the end.
Keywords/Tags: Sandy Hook, school, shooting, massacre, students, children, teachers, gun control
Carl Halling
Jul 2020
Time travel, baby,
Set me free,
Time travel got a hook in me,
Time travel, baby,
Set me free,
Time travel got a hook in me,
In disguise as a young man in the city,
But the bright young life
No longer belongs to me,
I ain’t no London dude,
I'm just a carbon copy,
Doing some travelling,
Time travel, baby
Set me free,
Time travel got a hook in me,
Time travel, baby,
Set me free,
Time travel got a hook in me,
Seeing places that I knew in ’77,
When I was young
And in love with London town,
Please don’t ask me
Where those fleeting years have flown to,
They’ve just gone travelling,
Time travel, baby,
Set me free,
Time travel got a hook in me,
Time travel, baby,
Set me free,
Time travel got a hook in me,
In disguise as a young man in the city,
But the bright young life
No longer belongs to me,
I’m a visitor
From a distant generation
Doing some travelling,
Time travel, baby,
Set me free,
Time travel got a hook in me,
Time travel, baby,
Set me free,
Time travel got a hook in me.
Set me free,
Time travel got a hook in me,
Time travel, baby,
Set me free,
Time travel got a hook in me,
In disguise as a young man in the city,
But the bright young life
No longer belongs to me,
I ain’t no London dude,
I'm just a carbon copy,
Doing some travelling,
Time travel, baby
Set me free,
Time travel got a hook in me,
Time travel, baby,
Set me free,
Time travel got a hook in me,
Seeing places that I knew in ’77,
When I was young
And in love with London town,
Please don’t ask me
Where those fleeting years have flown to,
They’ve just gone travelling,
Time travel, baby,
Set me free,
Time travel got a hook in me,
Time travel, baby,
Set me free,
Time travel got a hook in me,
In disguise as a young man in the city,
But the bright young life
No longer belongs to me,
I’m a visitor
From a distant generation
Doing some travelling,
Time travel, baby,
Set me free,
Time travel got a hook in me,
Time travel, baby,
Set me free,
Time travel got a hook in me.
Completed 21 July 2020, with minor edits (22-24 July), but based on a song written ca. 1999.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
tolerating Islam
Mateuš Conrad
Aug 2018
. 'as for those poets, only the perverse follow them. do you not see that they go too far in every direction and say things, which they cannot do?' (ash-shu'ara / the poets 26:224-226).
call them what you like,
the Huguenots,
for all i care...
you always side with
the "heretics"...
given that, "said" heretics
retain some cultural value
relativism of other cultures,
namely in the form of
depiction -
since why would, "the word"
be deemed holy,
****-naked,
rather than donning
a bikini of "iconoclasm"...
when words... are at
the meat-market of copyright -
what with © coca cola?
sunni islam would have
never allowed sufism...
but Farsi does...
and will continue...
since no Iranian will bow
before an Arab within the schematics
of history...
Sunni Islam, it's Wahhabi sentimentality...
so why persist in signing
the Adhan?
why not speak in a honing like
drone sentiment of plain speech?
i thought all music was banned?
the current Adhan is a form
of music... isn't it? BAN IT!
you never side with these Sunni
muslims, exploiting Bangladeshi labor,
you side with the heretics of Iran...
these *******, i can at least respect...
no fast cars, convenient ongoing
cultural insurrections -
Sufism...
Afghan women's poetry,
and all that much closer to Hindu mysticism...
yeah... "islamophobia":
but only against Sunni Islam...
but Shia Islam?
no problem...
i could stomach these peoples
like i could stomach the in-between
of the Turkish variant -
no ideology - simply, pure, power throttle...
i could make a great Janissary -
with a Turkish barber...
for a great trim of hair and beard...
i'd cast a shadow on some
obscure chocolatier of Brussels
who thinks himself a politician...
but there are certain aspect of Islam
i am willing to tolerate...
what happened to the son in law
of Muhammad, namely, Ali...
was raw ******* kicking...
promises, promises...
no promises...
Shia Islam, as an European,
i can tolerate, Turkish Islam, i can tolerate...
Turkey is incrementally shy
of being treated at the 2nd variant of Iran...
at least with Iran, we share a history
via the insurrection into the ancient
texts through Greece...
come to think of it...
whenever i listen to
matta's song echo babylon...
i start feeding myself goosebumps,
reminding myself
of Cyrus... Nebuchadnezzar...
and the dim-wit that was
Belshazzar...
always siding with the heretics...
if not on economic groundwork,
then at least motivating,
rather than monetizing an idea...
and the Shia muslims are...
one way or another...
unlike the gluttons of Dubai...
the barbie dolls of postage stamp
"proof" of progress,
in size, and worth...
Sunni Islam would have
never allowed poetics to remain
a viable form of expression -
the Persian tradition that is,
far beyond the western concern
for a comment section...
Shia Islam allows patronage
of the arts, notably poetry,
without concern for monetary
funding, it, at least, doesn't prohibit it...
given the pride of the Persians...
Sunnis and their continual quest
for finding water...
sure... poetry is pointless within
such restrictions of
existential concerns...
but... given the current, civilized
establishment?
sky-scrapers in *******
sand dunes?
the qu'ran should have
forbidden the architectural ambitions
equivalent to the tower of babel
being erected, in environments,
that could never sustain said projects...
and who originally spewed the term
islamophobia?
Sunni Islam...
i never liked this strand of belief...
i hate the Sunnis like
a Shia partisan...
p.s. it's called patriotism is America...
but nationalism in Europe...
you sure that's not a synonym?
Europeans can't be patriotic,
and Americans are never nationalistic?
...
well: how could i ever convert to islam,
i do enjoy the adhan from time to time,
"sorry", but i do...
i can't help it:
if i'm a sucker for pop songs,
i'm also a sucker for the adhan...
crusader songs, templar songs become
stuffy after a while...
and last time i checked:
there were the northern crusades
against the baltic people:
notably prussians, lithuanians...
with that cushion of: mediating the
escalation of war by the polacks...
coming from the east:
last time i checked the mongols
didn't reach leipzig...
buffer zone people...
and what of the ottoman onsalught
of vienna 1529: the ****** winged hussars
won the charge...
so, coming back to heidegger... aphorism 26
ponderings IX... how am i to not be
the historical animal?
perhaps in german, in germany
i might become a non-historical animal,
to begin: anew, but with a terrible
past to hide, to negate...
i could do that: if i were a german,
speaking german, in germany...
but i'm in england:
i might have some roots in
Silesia, but it's "hard" to not be a historical
animal, an "animal" with a sense of time,
i.e. a future a past a present...
esp. under the english conditions
of: the biological animal momentum narrative,
like a tsunami, like an earthquake...
ripples throughout...
i can't move forward with
the english championing darwinism every
single ******* step of the way...
why can't they hide darwin like the polacks
hid copernicus...
given the motto: copernicus -
who moved the earth, and stopped the sun...
why wouldn't i escape into history
if the current biological reality is:
(a) a yawn... the cruel nature of per se?
the courting of pigeons on a t.v. antenna...
pigeons get rejected all the time,
lesson learned, he bows and bows,
coos... expands his tail feathers upon
the bow then folds them... she flies away...
repeat...
(b) i can't escape being a historical
animal in the way that what the current
facts are being repeated have encountered
a whiff of Chernobyll...
history is inclided to answer reality...
biology? not so much... not from what i've
seen and heard...
truly a schizophrenics disney dream:
to walk among the newly insane feeling
like the only sane among them...
beau-ti-ful!
well... given the current criteria
of being bilingual as being synonymous
with being a schizophrenic...
magic!
now the crescendo...aphorism 24
ponderings X:
the word designates, the word signifies,
the word says, the word is (heidegger)...
i found that you can only write
"philosophy" with a neat, fixed vocab. regime,
clarity of boundaries...
quadratic events in vocab.:
i.e. the reflexive: yourself, himself, itself etc.
and the reflective: your, self....
his, self...
it, and the self...
ergo? atheistic scissors,
the two articles, indefinite and definite
a / the "self"...
i'm not playing "identity politics",
when i say that only two peoples ever managed
to sack Moscau... the mongols and the polacks
with the help of lithuanians,
"identity politics" only happens in
post-colonial society, akin to the english,
i'll speak the english,
but i will not be a cucked indian of
the former raj: i will eat the fish & chips,
i will eat the sunday roast,
i will eat the english breakfast with great
delight...
but i will not do what these former
colonial masters expect of me:
integrate at the expense of making my
mutterzunge into hubris!
stubborness contra pride...
hard to tell the difference...
and why do i like heidegger so much?
i'm not into the ad homine arguments...
my grandfather, was, a communist party member...
so?
i like heidegger... because he appreciates
poetics, i like that poets can share the same
values as philosophers,
thanks to heidegger: we have been requested
back into the republic...
if plato and islam didn't like us, hanging around,
some offshoot german thinker / promenade
enthusiast like used enough to,
i suppose: ban the theatre puppeteers...
i am not playing identity politics...
biological reality is not enough...
but archeological reality?
can you really advance to counter?
i was born near:
Krzemionki Opatowskie, a Neolithic and
early Bronze Age complex of flint mines
for the extraction of Upper Jurassic (Oxfordian)
banded flints...
personally? i don't believe in
the African genesis conundrum...
i believe "my" people originated from
the Indian sub-continent,
as, associated with the complex:
Indo-European categorization of language;
i'm still to see an African phonetic
encoding system, beside the hieroglyphics...
i, was, born, there! i'm not a displaced
post-colonial debacle between former master
and former slave...
i have: roots... i'm not ******* up to the fish & chips
brigade with a friday night's worth of curry...
i cook my own curry,
and by god: it is the food of the gods...
i'll give the blue indians that counter...
but sure as **** not the worth of mead
or whiskey...
if they only tolerated themselves,
sure, learn the english language,
but know this much:
english is the modern lingua franca...
it's the language of economics,
forget the natives, too ignorant to learn
either deutsche or française:
island-folk...
what else, what other attitude?
even the russians are like:
that land of the weirdos? the idiosyncratics?
yes, we know that land...
the only "thing" that shelters the english
are the h'americans, the south africans,
the australians etc.,
sure as **** the scots aren't sheltering them...
and, mind you?
if the i.r.a. really wanted to plant
a bomb?
a real bomb? they'd revert from speaking
any english to begin with... resorting
to revising their usage of gàidhlig:
ga-id-hlig... gaelic...
like the welsh, stubborn people, proud people,
retaining their Çymraeg...
celt: said kelt...
the glaswegian football team?
Çeltic... not: keltic...
borrowed from the greek: sigma (ς: cedilla to ****)...
wow! all the particulars in the english tongue!
guess it would take an ausländer to spot them!
U-21 european championships,
england versus romania:
a magnificent match...
the youngsters playing better football
than the oldies in their mid to late / early 30s...
i'm trying to tolerate Islam,
it's not in my nature...
hell... i enjoyed visiting a turkish barber
shop, i still have an unflinching opinion that,
the turks are the best barbers in the world...
but...
this quote, is going to **** you:
same aphorism / pondering (24 / X) -
*** fight videos - count dankula...
you know what i'd love to do to these little
snarky *****?
the french revolution isn't enough...
n'ah, them hanging, is not enough....
ever heard of the butchers' hook?
it's also callled close-up fishing...
imitation hang-man...
you insert a fishing hook...
and you let the sweeney todd ****** dangle...
on a hook, rather than a noose...
lords of salem come your way?
i'd rather the snarky teen hanging off
a fisherman's hook than dangle
like some lynched ******...
beside the suffocation,
i'd like them with a fisherman's hook entombed
in their hard palette...
i don't want them hanging...
what am i? a sadist?
i want them on the fisherman's hook!
when suffocating without a broken spine absorbed
by the neck isn't enough!
fisherman's hook gallows is a
masterpiece... of suffering...
most certain...
when cheap comedy is being towed...
making fun of bums, or homeless people...
the current society is so welcome
to bypass all the "adventures" of Loki...
but akin to the lords of Salem...
burn!? such a limitated imagination!
ah... right... digressing...
the reflexive / reflective quadratic...
language - only if speech has acquired
the highest univocity of the word does it
become strong (enough) for the hidden
play of its essential multivocity
(as withdrawn from all "logic"),
of which poets and thinkers alone
are capable, in their own respective modes
and their own directions of sovreignty.
we do live in a time of a lost sense
of dialectic, since we do not live in a time
of etertaining dialogue,
perfectly sensible opinions,
that's all we have...
if one of these snarky *******
came up to me...
they'd get a chance to experience a rubric
of 4, knuckles...
what's 189 centimeters in empirical?
6ft2... oh!
see where imagination takes you?
and here i was: thinking i was without it!
butcher's hangman...
oh, not so easy...
fame by no association to fame...
just the tears of parents who raised their children
to be nothing more than rugrats...
annoying gnat like bothersomes;
and nothing quiet special to be associated
with weimar berlin...
just, these,
h'american mall onlookers
with pwetty-guy-for-a-white-fly-mentality,
as borrowed from californian
1990s punk;
re-used ****** losers.
mad-hatter's fraction: 10/6....
0.666...
well: to the given extent:
1.666666(7)....
1, 0, /6,
no number is divisible by 0,
every number, divisible by 1:
is the same number...
mad hatter's 10/6...
re-used ****** losers...
i like that phrase...
7 for every 6, 7 for every 6...
until the 0. fraction comes
a 1.: exponential serf of 0...
0 being the multiplier...
i really am growing a beard to less
don it, but rather to experience
a relief from patience...
war robots?
the first non n.p.c. game...
i like that, very much...
and when i did:
you know my first experience of
love at first sight?
the younger sister of my then girlfriend...
****** up ****...
love at first sight is a terrible phenomenon...
i was nearing 18, she was barely 13...
i was dating her older sister...
but it was love at first sight,
the trouble with: love at first sight:
it doesn't lie...
it tries to lie...
but it can't lie...
paedophilia? a bit... untouched bodies
though... bodies of people who were
never supposed to touch...
i once said to a fwend:
well wouldn't it be ****** up if i touched
her?
she's a muse, which doesn't translate
into vacating her as a busy body
worth of a touch, does it?
if only my old friend samuel said
otherwise:
sylvester "contra" tweety:
my first girlfriend...
but her sister?
i was nearing 18, she was about 13...
love at first sight...
untouched, cradled, unscathed...
and so she remained...
until she did what every girl would
have done...thank god she remained
a figment of my imagination...
rammstein: rosernrot...
i have seen love at first...
such a load of ******* that it had to be
the younger sister of a girl i was dating...
and the **** that i had to be 18 and see
was just beginning her teenage transition...
the world unfair i grant
the most justifications... as being
the (just - unnecessary adjective) arbiter...
love at first sight becomes a forbidden love...
love at first sight was always a forbidden
love...
and the sort of "love" that achieves
a perspctive of change that doesn't
translate into old age...
love at first sight is soon translated
into a love of affairs closely associated
with middle-age disenfranchised
state of affairs...
i.e. to love again...
how else to feel relief from
having lost both one's inhibitions
as well as one's ambitions?!
in the conundrum of the mortal
"question" of the continuum being
preserved?
call them what you like,
the Huguenots,
for all i care...
you always side with
the "heretics"...
given that, "said" heretics
retain some cultural value
relativism of other cultures,
namely in the form of
depiction -
since why would, "the word"
be deemed holy,
****-naked,
rather than donning
a bikini of "iconoclasm"...
when words... are at
the meat-market of copyright -
what with © coca cola?
sunni islam would have
never allowed sufism...
but Farsi does...
and will continue...
since no Iranian will bow
before an Arab within the schematics
of history...
Sunni Islam, it's Wahhabi sentimentality...
so why persist in signing
the Adhan?
why not speak in a honing like
drone sentiment of plain speech?
i thought all music was banned?
the current Adhan is a form
of music... isn't it? BAN IT!
you never side with these Sunni
muslims, exploiting Bangladeshi labor,
you side with the heretics of Iran...
these *******, i can at least respect...
no fast cars, convenient ongoing
cultural insurrections -
Sufism...
Afghan women's poetry,
and all that much closer to Hindu mysticism...
yeah... "islamophobia":
but only against Sunni Islam...
but Shia Islam?
no problem...
i could stomach these peoples
like i could stomach the in-between
of the Turkish variant -
no ideology - simply, pure, power throttle...
i could make a great Janissary -
with a Turkish barber...
for a great trim of hair and beard...
i'd cast a shadow on some
obscure chocolatier of Brussels
who thinks himself a politician...
but there are certain aspect of Islam
i am willing to tolerate...
what happened to the son in law
of Muhammad, namely, Ali...
was raw ******* kicking...
promises, promises...
no promises...
Shia Islam, as an European,
i can tolerate, Turkish Islam, i can tolerate...
Turkey is incrementally shy
of being treated at the 2nd variant of Iran...
at least with Iran, we share a history
via the insurrection into the ancient
texts through Greece...
come to think of it...
whenever i listen to
matta's song echo babylon...
i start feeding myself goosebumps,
reminding myself
of Cyrus... Nebuchadnezzar...
and the dim-wit that was
Belshazzar...
always siding with the heretics...
if not on economic groundwork,
then at least motivating,
rather than monetizing an idea...
and the Shia muslims are...
one way or another...
unlike the gluttons of Dubai...
the barbie dolls of postage stamp
"proof" of progress,
in size, and worth...
Sunni Islam would have
never allowed poetics to remain
a viable form of expression -
the Persian tradition that is,
far beyond the western concern
for a comment section...
Shia Islam allows patronage
of the arts, notably poetry,
without concern for monetary
funding, it, at least, doesn't prohibit it...
given the pride of the Persians...
Sunnis and their continual quest
for finding water...
sure... poetry is pointless within
such restrictions of
existential concerns...
but... given the current, civilized
establishment?
sky-scrapers in *******
sand dunes?
the qu'ran should have
forbidden the architectural ambitions
equivalent to the tower of babel
being erected, in environments,
that could never sustain said projects...
and who originally spewed the term
islamophobia?
Sunni Islam...
i never liked this strand of belief...
i hate the Sunnis like
a Shia partisan...
p.s. it's called patriotism is America...
but nationalism in Europe...
you sure that's not a synonym?
Europeans can't be patriotic,
and Americans are never nationalistic?
...
well: how could i ever convert to islam,
i do enjoy the adhan from time to time,
"sorry", but i do...
i can't help it:
if i'm a sucker for pop songs,
i'm also a sucker for the adhan...
crusader songs, templar songs become
stuffy after a while...
and last time i checked:
there were the northern crusades
against the baltic people:
notably prussians, lithuanians...
with that cushion of: mediating the
escalation of war by the polacks...
coming from the east:
last time i checked the mongols
didn't reach leipzig...
buffer zone people...
and what of the ottoman onsalught
of vienna 1529: the ****** winged hussars
won the charge...
so, coming back to heidegger... aphorism 26
ponderings IX... how am i to not be
the historical animal?
perhaps in german, in germany
i might become a non-historical animal,
to begin: anew, but with a terrible
past to hide, to negate...
i could do that: if i were a german,
speaking german, in germany...
but i'm in england:
i might have some roots in
Silesia, but it's "hard" to not be a historical
animal, an "animal" with a sense of time,
i.e. a future a past a present...
esp. under the english conditions
of: the biological animal momentum narrative,
like a tsunami, like an earthquake...
ripples throughout...
i can't move forward with
the english championing darwinism every
single ******* step of the way...
why can't they hide darwin like the polacks
hid copernicus...
given the motto: copernicus -
who moved the earth, and stopped the sun...
why wouldn't i escape into history
if the current biological reality is:
(a) a yawn... the cruel nature of per se?
the courting of pigeons on a t.v. antenna...
pigeons get rejected all the time,
lesson learned, he bows and bows,
coos... expands his tail feathers upon
the bow then folds them... she flies away...
repeat...
(b) i can't escape being a historical
animal in the way that what the current
facts are being repeated have encountered
a whiff of Chernobyll...
history is inclided to answer reality...
biology? not so much... not from what i've
seen and heard...
truly a schizophrenics disney dream:
to walk among the newly insane feeling
like the only sane among them...
beau-ti-ful!
well... given the current criteria
of being bilingual as being synonymous
with being a schizophrenic...
magic!
now the crescendo...aphorism 24
ponderings X:
the word designates, the word signifies,
the word says, the word is (heidegger)...
i found that you can only write
"philosophy" with a neat, fixed vocab. regime,
clarity of boundaries...
quadratic events in vocab.:
i.e. the reflexive: yourself, himself, itself etc.
and the reflective: your, self....
his, self...
it, and the self...
ergo? atheistic scissors,
the two articles, indefinite and definite
a / the "self"...
i'm not playing "identity politics",
when i say that only two peoples ever managed
to sack Moscau... the mongols and the polacks
with the help of lithuanians,
"identity politics" only happens in
post-colonial society, akin to the english,
i'll speak the english,
but i will not be a cucked indian of
the former raj: i will eat the fish & chips,
i will eat the sunday roast,
i will eat the english breakfast with great
delight...
but i will not do what these former
colonial masters expect of me:
integrate at the expense of making my
mutterzunge into hubris!
stubborness contra pride...
hard to tell the difference...
and why do i like heidegger so much?
i'm not into the ad homine arguments...
my grandfather, was, a communist party member...
so?
i like heidegger... because he appreciates
poetics, i like that poets can share the same
values as philosophers,
thanks to heidegger: we have been requested
back into the republic...
if plato and islam didn't like us, hanging around,
some offshoot german thinker / promenade
enthusiast like used enough to,
i suppose: ban the theatre puppeteers...
i am not playing identity politics...
biological reality is not enough...
but archeological reality?
can you really advance to counter?
i was born near:
Krzemionki Opatowskie, a Neolithic and
early Bronze Age complex of flint mines
for the extraction of Upper Jurassic (Oxfordian)
banded flints...
personally? i don't believe in
the African genesis conundrum...
i believe "my" people originated from
the Indian sub-continent,
as, associated with the complex:
Indo-European categorization of language;
i'm still to see an African phonetic
encoding system, beside the hieroglyphics...
i, was, born, there! i'm not a displaced
post-colonial debacle between former master
and former slave...
i have: roots... i'm not ******* up to the fish & chips
brigade with a friday night's worth of curry...
i cook my own curry,
and by god: it is the food of the gods...
i'll give the blue indians that counter...
but sure as **** not the worth of mead
or whiskey...
if they only tolerated themselves,
sure, learn the english language,
but know this much:
english is the modern lingua franca...
it's the language of economics,
forget the natives, too ignorant to learn
either deutsche or française:
island-folk...
what else, what other attitude?
even the russians are like:
that land of the weirdos? the idiosyncratics?
yes, we know that land...
the only "thing" that shelters the english
are the h'americans, the south africans,
the australians etc.,
sure as **** the scots aren't sheltering them...
and, mind you?
if the i.r.a. really wanted to plant
a bomb?
a real bomb? they'd revert from speaking
any english to begin with... resorting
to revising their usage of gàidhlig:
ga-id-hlig... gaelic...
like the welsh, stubborn people, proud people,
retaining their Çymraeg...
celt: said kelt...
the glaswegian football team?
Çeltic... not: keltic...
borrowed from the greek: sigma (ς: cedilla to ****)...
wow! all the particulars in the english tongue!
guess it would take an ausländer to spot them!
U-21 european championships,
england versus romania:
a magnificent match...
the youngsters playing better football
than the oldies in their mid to late / early 30s...
i'm trying to tolerate Islam,
it's not in my nature...
hell... i enjoyed visiting a turkish barber
shop, i still have an unflinching opinion that,
the turks are the best barbers in the world...
but...
this quote, is going to **** you:
same aphorism / pondering (24 / X) -
*** fight videos - count dankula...
you know what i'd love to do to these little
snarky *****?
the french revolution isn't enough...
n'ah, them hanging, is not enough....
ever heard of the butchers' hook?
it's also callled close-up fishing...
imitation hang-man...
you insert a fishing hook...
and you let the sweeney todd ****** dangle...
on a hook, rather than a noose...
lords of salem come your way?
i'd rather the snarky teen hanging off
a fisherman's hook than dangle
like some lynched ******...
beside the suffocation,
i'd like them with a fisherman's hook entombed
in their hard palette...
i don't want them hanging...
what am i? a sadist?
i want them on the fisherman's hook!
when suffocating without a broken spine absorbed
by the neck isn't enough!
fisherman's hook gallows is a
masterpiece... of suffering...
most certain...
when cheap comedy is being towed...
making fun of bums, or homeless people...
the current society is so welcome
to bypass all the "adventures" of Loki...
but akin to the lords of Salem...
burn!? such a limitated imagination!
ah... right... digressing...
the reflexive / reflective quadratic...
language - only if speech has acquired
the highest univocity of the word does it
become strong (enough) for the hidden
play of its essential multivocity
(as withdrawn from all "logic"),
of which poets and thinkers alone
are capable, in their own respective modes
and their own directions of sovreignty.
we do live in a time of a lost sense
of dialectic, since we do not live in a time
of etertaining dialogue,
perfectly sensible opinions,
that's all we have...
if one of these snarky *******
came up to me...
they'd get a chance to experience a rubric
of 4, knuckles...
what's 189 centimeters in empirical?
6ft2... oh!
see where imagination takes you?
and here i was: thinking i was without it!
butcher's hangman...
oh, not so easy...
fame by no association to fame...
just the tears of parents who raised their children
to be nothing more than rugrats...
annoying gnat like bothersomes;
and nothing quiet special to be associated
with weimar berlin...
just, these,
h'american mall onlookers
with pwetty-guy-for-a-white-fly-mentality,
as borrowed from californian
1990s punk;
re-used ****** losers.
mad-hatter's fraction: 10/6....
0.666...
well: to the given extent:
1.666666(7)....
1, 0, /6,
no number is divisible by 0,
every number, divisible by 1:
is the same number...
mad hatter's 10/6...
re-used ****** losers...
i like that phrase...
7 for every 6, 7 for every 6...
until the 0. fraction comes
a 1.: exponential serf of 0...
0 being the multiplier...
i really am growing a beard to less
don it, but rather to experience
a relief from patience...
war robots?
the first non n.p.c. game...
i like that, very much...
and when i did:
you know my first experience of
love at first sight?
the younger sister of my then girlfriend...
****** up ****...
love at first sight is a terrible phenomenon...
i was nearing 18, she was barely 13...
i was dating her older sister...
but it was love at first sight,
the trouble with: love at first sight:
it doesn't lie...
it tries to lie...
but it can't lie...
paedophilia? a bit... untouched bodies
though... bodies of people who were
never supposed to touch...
i once said to a fwend:
well wouldn't it be ****** up if i touched
her?
she's a muse, which doesn't translate
into vacating her as a busy body
worth of a touch, does it?
if only my old friend samuel said
otherwise:
sylvester "contra" tweety:
my first girlfriend...
but her sister?
i was nearing 18, she was about 13...
love at first sight...
untouched, cradled, unscathed...
and so she remained...
until she did what every girl would
have done...thank god she remained
a figment of my imagination...
rammstein: rosernrot...
i have seen love at first...
such a load of ******* that it had to be
the younger sister of a girl i was dating...
and the **** that i had to be 18 and see
was just beginning her teenage transition...
the world unfair i grant
the most justifications... as being
the (just - unnecessary adjective) arbiter...
love at first sight becomes a forbidden love...
love at first sight was always a forbidden
love...
and the sort of "love" that achieves
a perspctive of change that doesn't
translate into old age...
love at first sight is soon translated
into a love of affairs closely associated
with middle-age disenfranchised
state of affairs...
i.e. to love again...
how else to feel relief from
having lost both one's inhibitions
as well as one's ambitions?!
in the conundrum of the mortal
"question" of the continuum being
preserved?