i usually write a signature into a sudoku... namely? the last two slots remain validly filled by the greek letters: γ (gamma) & χ (tchaikovsky)... you can't imagine why i have to do this, but the aesthetic of sudoku presupposes that: well, to be honest, these puzzles look mightily ugly when not immersed in some sort of idiosyncratic culmination: after all... venus est in spectator oculus... take me to a football match? i won't chant, i won't shout, i won't choose sides... i'll be sitting silent... completely mesmerißed!
i.
i never look for "inspiration" with regards
to verse: and certainly not
poetic orthodoxy of minding technique:
but that magic of emotional
confiscation from both hate
and attachment (akin to love) -
turned into a labour - that's both a labour
of love & of hate -
hate refined: an uttering not up to
my standard of "perfection".
ii.
is there such a thing as the idea behind
emotional "i.q."?
i know, it too think it's absurd...
but it becomes less and less absurd
as i unravel the idea...
oh i starting to get a tickling
at the tips of my fingers...
and an itch on my tongue...
i'm not interested whether
intelligence can be quantified...
that's a bit boring...
i'd rather spend the next considering
whether i can count from nought
to a century, and not lose count (d'uh:
loozzz... ******* left out the ß distinction:
scharf s... s)
but i think there are emotional
qualifiers for what is otherwise a brain-dead
scale of investigation...
we know it: the idiots' safety
in numbers!
does it require investigation?
every time i ever did an i.q. test
i turned out a complete idiot...
but every time i do a sudoku...
well: turns out i'm a pretty inventive
*******...
so... from what abstract coordinate
point of (0, 0, 0) are we talking about
the genesis of quantifying intelligence?
doesn't emtion come in play?
well... i can't do crosswords:
obviously, my mind is focused on a different
type of "crossword" - once such as this.
i swear... there is claim to the myth
of attributing as much idea behind *i.q.
to the brain (fatty sponge)
as there is to the heart...
why wouldn't there be?
but the heart doesn't speak about numbers
as solidifiers of intelligence,
by number alone...
it speaks about words, as solidifiers of
intelligence, but the standard of emotional
connectivity of a haiku...
personally? i think that western
writing standard should abolish entertaining
the notion of being able to write
haiku...
god they're terrible...
pretty much all of them...
we're ramblers!
we're not the ones sitting by a lake,
asking for a single drop of rain to
fall, and illuminate the stillness of this
watery grave, rather than the tap-dancing
deluge of torrential storm... just one drop of
rain... otherwise?
well **** me: i start ******* into the lake
and turn into a hill-side;
but isn't emotional "i.q." something akin
to being emotionally lizard-like,
i.e. thick skinned?
i'm sure that if you're unable
to (or at least contain)
being offended by something talking:
you have a very fleshy wholesome, warm
concept of being emotionally intact
and non-reactionary... a bit like
sebastian schaw (x-men, d'uh) -
it's not what you put into me...
it's what i get out of it to show you...
let's face it: the chinese ascribe some sort
of nobility to the rat... if it's in the zodiac...
out comes the nobility of aquariusl.
iii.
all it takes is solving a # (sudoku) -
to open the floodgates for words to come
and entertain my eyes
and the schrödinger box -
with my ego turning into a cat -
as i finally drift from the very
masculine calculation of orientating
space within time and time within space
(space-time hyphen fission into fussion) -
of coordinating my walk down a street,
minding the traffic, while drinking a beer
and having a cigarette.