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Repression is everywhere .  Repression is so common it is almost impossible to avoid .  Repression can be found in natural laws ; gravity is a repressive force .  I experience a desire for repression when I consider the possibility of extra-terrestrial life .  Propaganda is a form of repression when it eliminates unwanted truth ; militaristic logistics require repression of the extraneous.  Social hierarchy is only as good as it is expedient ; credibility is the key .  Psychological repression can be a functional personal tool .  Repression is a frictional force that can either eliminate unwanted forces or alter their courses .
Repression is most often thought of as a governmental tool .  There are many reasons a government might want to repress it’s subjects .  In a truly free government no one can practice repression on others of no consent unless they have infringed on their rights .  Fascist and socialist governments can force their people at will .  Their children are trained both  directly and subliminally in order that they may better fulfill their social positions .  In free countries laws repress repressors : people who might want to tamper with your rights .  Monopolies get repressed because they tamper with the people’s right to a free market competition
  system .  The individual reigns and the majority decides what is best for everyone .
The elimination of all unwanted repressions is the natural goal of all individuals yet repression is common the world over .  Social hierarchies necessitate repressions ; expedience in teamwork becomes more credible than individuality .  Many sociological forces create their own realms of repression ; the normalcy demanded by tyrannical governments and puritanical religions are obvious examples .  
Any retrospective examination of human history that is depthfully complete will probably bring to mind a vast quandary of opposing forces beyond social integration .    
           Personally  I find people to have a vast amount of basic similarities .  We become alienated from each other in the application of our abilities .  In fact each and every one of us live in a realm that is totally real only to ourselves .  I find this and similar states of social fragmentation to be one of the most pervasive observations one could make about the state of the human race .  
The tabula rasa state of man is an evolutional being ; a conscious realm that became out of dirt , water , sunlight , time ; an essence that has an innate quality , a cosmic continuum .  The historical development of world religions paints a vivid picture of man’s desire to relate to this tactile awareness .
There are many forces in the universe that we as humans need to repress .  Unwarranted or unwanted forces encounter natural resistance .  Humans learn to control their conscious state as they acquire maturity .  Natural repressions grow out of an understanding of the need for them .  But humans are not satiated with pragmatic self orientation .  They are easily misled by the perceived nature of their unconscious state .  The perfection orientation of Adolf ****** gives a stark example of an institutionalization of one of these warped images .
World religions also are often abortive of individual aspiration . Of course more often than not their impetus factors seem at least partially acceptable .
Practicality dictates that humans be self orientated in order to achieve their optimum state , but what is self orientation ?  Humans exist in both a conscious and unconscious state .  Individually we all perform many subconscious activities on an inadvertent level .  Although many of them are autonomic defenses we can exercise control and attempt psychic clarity .  
Actually repression is something that each and every individual must put down for themselves .  Although social expedience creates an environment that is conducive to itself , individuals have an innate need to repress certain of their psychic phenomena whether they are created by their environment or well from within .
Descend from Heaven, Urania, by that name
If rightly thou art called, whose voice divine
Following, above the Olympian hill I soar,
Above the flight of Pegasean wing!
The meaning, not the name, I call: for thou
Nor of the Muses nine, nor on the top
Of old Olympus dwellest; but, heavenly-born,
Before the hills appeared, or fountain flowed,
Thou with eternal Wisdom didst converse,
Wisdom thy sister, and with her didst play
In presence of the Almighty Father, pleased
With thy celestial song.  Up led by thee
Into the Heaven of Heavens I have presumed,
An earthly guest, and drawn empyreal air,
Thy tempering: with like safety guided down
Return me to my native element:
Lest from this flying steed unreined, (as once
Bellerophon, though from a lower clime,)
Dismounted, on the Aleian field I fall,
Erroneous there to wander, and forlorn.
Half yet remains unsung, but narrower bound
Within the visible diurnal sphere;
Standing on earth, not rapt above the pole,
More safe I sing with mortal voice, unchanged
To hoarse or mute, though fallen on evil days,
On evil days though fallen, and evil tongues;
In darkness, and with dangers compassed round,
And solitude; yet not alone, while thou
Visitest my slumbers nightly, or when morn
Purples the east: still govern thou my song,
Urania, and fit audience find, though few.
But drive far off the barbarous dissonance
Of Bacchus and his revellers, the race
Of that wild rout that tore the Thracian bard
In Rhodope, where woods and rocks had ears
To rapture, till the savage clamour drowned
Both harp and voice; nor could the Muse defend
Her son.  So fail not thou, who thee implores:
For thou art heavenly, she an empty dream.
Say, Goddess, what ensued when Raphael,
The affable Arch-Angel, had forewarned
Adam, by dire example, to beware
Apostasy, by what befel in Heaven
To those apostates; lest the like befall
In Paradise to Adam or his race,
Charged not to touch the interdicted tree,
If they transgress, and slight that sole command,
So easily obeyed amid the choice
Of all tastes else to please their appetite,
Though wandering.  He, with his consorted Eve,
The story heard attentive, and was filled
With admiration and deep muse, to hear
Of things so high and strange; things, to their thought
So unimaginable, as hate in Heaven,
And war so near the peace of God in bliss,
With such confusion: but the evil, soon
Driven back, redounded as a flood on those
From whom it sprung; impossible to mix
With blessedness.  Whence Adam soon repealed
The doubts that in his heart arose: and now
Led on, yet sinless, with desire to know
What nearer might concern him, how this world
Of Heaven and Earth conspicuous first began;
When, and whereof created; for what cause;
What within Eden, or without, was done
Before his memory; as one whose drouth
Yet scarce allayed still eyes the current stream,
Whose liquid murmur heard new thirst excites,
Proceeded thus to ask his heavenly guest.
Great things, and full of wonder in our ears,
Far differing from this world, thou hast revealed,
Divine interpreter! by favour sent
Down from the empyrean, to forewarn
Us timely of what might else have been our loss,
Unknown, which human knowledge could not reach;
For which to the infinitely Good we owe
Immortal thanks, and his admonishment
Receive, with solemn purpose to observe
Immutably his sovran will, the end
Of what we are.  But since thou hast vouchsafed
Gently, for our instruction, to impart
Things above earthly thought, which yet concerned
Our knowing, as to highest wisdom seemed,
Deign to descend now lower, and relate
What may no less perhaps avail us known,
How first began this Heaven which we behold
Distant so high, with moving fires adorned
Innumerable; and this which yields or fills
All space, the ambient air wide interfused
Embracing round this floried Earth; what cause
Moved the Creator, in his holy rest
Through all eternity, so late to build
In Chaos; and the work begun, how soon
Absolved; if unforbid thou mayest unfold
What we, not to explore the secrets ask
Of his eternal empire, but the more
To magnify his works, the more we know.
And the great light of day yet wants to run
Much of his race though steep; suspense in Heaven,
Held by thy voice, thy potent voice, he hears,
And longer will delay to hear thee tell
His generation, and the rising birth
Of Nature from the unapparent Deep:
Or if the star of evening and the moon
Haste to thy audience, Night with her will bring,
Silence; and Sleep, listening to thee, will watch;
Or we can bid his absence, till thy song
End, and dismiss thee ere the morning shine.
Thus Adam his illustrious guest besought:
And thus the Godlike Angel answered mild.
This also thy request, with caution asked,
Obtain; though to recount almighty works
What words or tongue of Seraph can suffice,
Or heart of man suffice to comprehend?
Yet what thou canst attain, which best may serve
To glorify the Maker, and infer
Thee also happier, shall not be withheld
Thy hearing; such commission from above
I have received, to answer thy desire
Of knowledge within bounds; beyond, abstain
To ask; nor let thine own inventions hope
Things not revealed, which the invisible King,
Only Omniscient, hath suppressed in night;
To none communicable in Earth or Heaven:
Enough is left besides to search and know.
But knowledge is as food, and needs no less
Her temperance over appetite, to know
In measure what the mind may well contain;
Oppresses else with surfeit, and soon turns
Wisdom to folly, as nourishment to wind.
Know then, that, after Lucifer from Heaven
(So call him, brighter once amidst the host
Of Angels, than that star the stars among,)
Fell with his flaming legions through the deep
Into his place, and the great Son returned
Victorious with his Saints, the Omnipotent
Eternal Father from his throne beheld
Their multitude, and to his Son thus spake.
At least our envious Foe hath failed, who thought
All like himself rebellious, by whose aid
This inaccessible high strength, the seat
Of Deity supreme, us dispossessed,
He trusted to have seised, and into fraud
Drew many, whom their place knows here no more:
Yet far the greater part have kept, I see,
Their station; Heaven, yet populous, retains
Number sufficient to possess her realms
Though wide, and this high temple to frequent
With ministeries due, and solemn rites:
But, lest his heart exalt him in the harm
Already done, to have dispeopled Heaven,
My damage fondly deemed, I can repair
That detriment, if such it be to lose
Self-lost; and in a moment will create
Another world, out of one man a race
Of men innumerable, there to dwell,
Not here; till, by degrees of merit raised,
They open to themselves at length the way
Up hither, under long obedience tried;
And Earth be changed to Heaven, and Heaven to Earth,
One kingdom, joy and union without end.
Mean while inhabit lax, ye Powers of Heaven;
And thou my Word, begotten Son, by thee
This I perform; speak thou, and be it done!
My overshadowing Spirit and Might with thee
I send along; ride forth, and bid the Deep
Within appointed bounds be Heaven and Earth;
Boundless the Deep, because I Am who fill
Infinitude, nor vacuous the space.
Though I, uncircumscribed myself, retire,
And put not forth my goodness, which is free
To act or not, Necessity and Chance
Approach not me, and what I will is Fate.
So spake the Almighty, and to what he spake
His Word, the Filial Godhead, gave effect.
Immediate are the acts of God, more swift
Than time or motion, but to human ears
Cannot without process of speech be told,
So told as earthly notion can receive.
Great triumph and rejoicing was in Heaven,
When such was heard declared the Almighty’s will;
Glory they sung to the Most High, good will
To future men, and in their dwellings peace;
Glory to Him, whose just avenging ire
Had driven out the ungodly from his sight
And the habitations of the just; to Him
Glory and praise, whose wisdom had ordained
Good out of evil to create; instead
Of Spirits malign, a better race to bring
Into their vacant room, and thence diffuse
His good to worlds and ages infinite.
So sang the Hierarchies:  Mean while the Son
On his great expedition now appeared,
Girt with Omnipotence, with radiance crowned
Of Majesty Divine; sapience and love
Immense, and all his Father in him shone.
About his chariot numberless were poured
Cherub, and Seraph, Potentates, and Thrones,
And Virtues, winged Spirits, and chariots winged
From the armoury of God; where stand of old
Myriads, between two brazen mountains lodged
Against a solemn day, harnessed at hand,
Celestial equipage; and now came forth
Spontaneous, for within them Spirit lived,
Attendant on their Lord:  Heaven opened wide
Her ever-during gates, harmonious sound
On golden hinges moving, to let forth
The King of Glory, in his powerful Word
And Spirit, coming to create new worlds.
On heavenly ground they stood; and from the shore
They viewed the vast immeasurable abyss
Outrageous as a sea, dark, wasteful, wild,
Up from the bottom turned by furious winds
And surging waves, as mountains, to assault
Heaven’s highth, and with the center mix the pole.
Silence, ye troubled Waves, and thou Deep, peace,
Said then the Omnifick Word; your discord end!
Nor staid; but, on the wings of Cherubim
Uplifted, in paternal glory rode
Far into Chaos, and the world unborn;
For Chaos heard his voice:  Him all his train
Followed in bright procession, to behold
Creation, and the wonders of his might.
Then staid the fervid wheels, and in his hand
He took the golden compasses, prepared
In God’s eternal store, to circumscribe
This universe, and all created things:
One foot he centered, and the other turned
Round through the vast profundity obscure;
And said, Thus far extend, thus far thy bounds,
This be thy just circumference, O World!
Thus God the Heaven created, thus the Earth,
Matter unformed and void:  Darkness profound
Covered the abyss: but on the watery calm
His brooding wings the Spirit of God outspread,
And vital virtue infused, and vital warmth
Throughout the fluid mass; but downward purged
The black tartareous cold infernal dregs,
Adverse to life: then founded, then conglobed
Like things to like; the rest to several place
Disparted, and between spun out the air;
And Earth self-balanced on her center hung.
Let there be light, said God; and forthwith Light
Ethereal, first of things, quintessence pure,
Sprung from the deep; and from her native east
To journey through the aery gloom began,
Sphered in a radiant cloud, for yet the sun
Was not; she in a cloudy tabernacle
Sojourned the while.  God saw the light was good;
And light from darkness by the hemisphere
Divided: light the Day, and darkness Night,
He named.  Thus was the first day even and morn:
Nor past uncelebrated, nor unsung
By the celestial quires, when orient light
Exhaling first from darkness they beheld;
Birth-day of Heaven and Earth; with joy and shout
The hollow universal orb they filled,
And touched their golden harps, and hymning praised
God and his works; Creator him they sung,
Both when first evening was, and when first morn.
Again, God said,  Let there be firmament
Amid the waters, and let it divide
The waters from the waters; and God made
The firmament, expanse of liquid, pure,
Transparent, elemental air, diffused
In circuit to the uttermost convex
Of this great round; partition firm and sure,
The waters underneath from those above
Dividing: for as earth, so he the world
Built on circumfluous waters calm, in wide
Crystalline ocean, and the loud misrule
Of Chaos far removed; lest fierce extremes
Contiguous might distemper the whole frame:
And Heaven he named the Firmament:  So even
And morning chorus sung the second day.
The Earth was formed, but in the womb as yet
Of waters, embryon immature involved,
Appeared not: over all the face of Earth
Main ocean flowed, not idle; but, with warm
Prolifick humour softening all her globe,
Fermented the great mother to conceive,
Satiate with genial moisture; when God said,
Be gathered now ye waters under Heaven
Into one place, and let dry land appear.
Immediately the mountains huge appear
Emergent, and their broad bare backs upheave
Into the clouds; their tops ascend the sky:
So high as heaved the tumid hills, so low
Down sunk a hollow bottom broad and deep,
Capacious bed of waters:  Thither they
Hasted with glad precipitance, uprolled,
As drops on dust conglobing from the dry:
Part rise in crystal wall, or ridge direct,
For haste; such flight the great command impressed
On the swift floods:  As armies at the call
Of trumpet (for of armies thou hast heard)
Troop to their standard; so the watery throng,
Wave rolling after wave, where way they found,
If steep, with torrent rapture, if through plain,
Soft-ebbing; nor withstood them rock or hill;
But they, or under ground, or circuit wide
With serpent errour wandering, found their way,
And on the washy oose deep channels wore;
Easy, ere God had bid the ground be dry,
All but within those banks, where rivers now
Stream, and perpetual draw their humid train.
The dry land, Earth; and the great receptacle
Of congregated waters, he called Seas:
And saw that it was good; and said, Let the Earth
Put forth the verdant grass, herb yielding seed,
And fruit-tree yielding fruit after her kind,
Whose seed is in herself upon the Earth.
He scarce had said, when the bare Earth, till then
Desart and bare, unsightly, unadorned,
Brought forth the tender grass, whose verdure clad
Her universal face with pleasant green;
Then herbs of every leaf, that sudden flowered
Opening their various colours, and made gay
Her *****, smelling sweet: and, these scarce blown,
Forth flourished thick the clustering vine, forth crept
The swelling gourd, up stood the corny reed
Embattled in her field, and the humble shrub,
And bush with frizzled hair implicit:  Last
Rose, as in dance, the stately trees, and spread
Their branches hung with copious fruit, or gemmed
Their blossoms:  With high woods the hills were crowned;
With tufts the valleys, and each fountain side;
With borders long the rivers: that Earth now
Seemed like to Heaven, a seat where Gods might dwell,
Or wander with delight, and love to haunt
Her sacred shades: though God had yet not rained
Upon the Earth, and man to till the ground
None was; but from the Earth a dewy mist
Went up, and watered all the ground, and each
Plant of the field; which, ere it was in the Earth,
God made, and every herb, before it grew
On the green stem:  God saw that it was good:
So even and morn recorded the third day.
Again the Almighty spake, Let there be lights
High in the expanse of Heaven, to divide
The day from night; and let them be for signs,
For seasons, and for days, and circling years;
And let them be for lights, as I ordain
Their office in the firmament of Heaven,
To give light on the Earth; and it was so.
And God made two great lights, great for their use
To Man, the greater to have rule by day,
The less by night, altern; and made the stars,
And set them in the firmament of Heaven
To illuminate the Earth, and rule the day
In their vicissitude, and rule the night,
And light from darkness to divide.  God saw,
Surveying his great work, that it was good:
For of celestial bodies first the sun
A mighty sphere he framed, unlightsome first,
Though of ethereal mould: then formed the moon
Globose, and every magnitude of stars,
And sowed with stars the Heaven, thick as a field:
Of light by far the greater part he took,
Transplanted from her cloudy shrine, and placed
In the sun’s orb, made porous to receive
And drink the liquid light; firm to retain
Her gathered beams, great palace now of light.
Hither, as to their fountain, other stars
Repairing, in their golden urns draw light,
And hence the morning-planet gilds her horns;
By tincture or reflection they augment
Their small peculiar, though from human sight
So far rem
PAST arthritic decrepit elderly female wearing traditional black southern Mediterranean clothing long silver hair braid sits in stiff wooden chair

PRESENT handsome athletic 21-year-old male soldier in tan uniform stands at ease

FUTURE eye-catching 32-year-old female wearing spaghetti-strap dark slate gray slinky cocktail dress 3” black Italian calf heals long loose brown red hair red fingernails lipstick

act 1 scene 1

PAST (clasped hands) you’re ruining everything

PRESENT get out of the way old woman you don’t belong here anymore

PAST (hands gesture) you think you’re making things better look around the earth is a toilet of human errors accidents self-destruction violence greed corruption horrible secrets

PRESENT be quiet old woman silence hear me shut the **** up (short pause) what? you think your former oppressive hierarchies were better

FUTURE talk ***** to me

PAST shush up girl

PRESENT let the pretty lady speak

FUTURE (coquette stride across stage) i have a vision a world where everyone is equal living in harmony shared respect appreciation for each other we’re entering a critical crossroads extraordinary passage in time

PRESENT you hear what the pretty lady said

PAST she’s baiting you hook line and sinker

PRESENT (male bravado stance) you wrinkled bitter blind old woman can’t you see feel this critical crossroads extraordinary passage in time

PAST i know a black widow when i see one

FUTURE who you calling black widow you old witch

PAST i remember when food was good natural cows chickens lived happy neighbors were neighborly you could walk home at night without looking over your shoulder or stick out your thumb hitch a ride or if you drove up to a stop sign no one was in front of you people greeted each other as they passed it wasn’t that far back just 50 years ago

PRESENT ***** you old woman i don’t know what time that was what were you some privileged person

FUTURE let’s order pizza

PAST who can eat at a time like this

PRESENT pepperoni and mushroom

FUTURE mushroom tomato basil no meat


PAST you’re escaping into comfort food immediate gratification

FUTURE why must you judge everything

PRESENT i’m with pretty lady pass away old witch let the future and me figure this out

PAST don’t say i didn’t warn you all this banter has exhausted me i need a little nap (she tilts head closes eyes slumps in chair)

act 1 scene 2

PRESENT (swaggers up to eye-catching female) perfect now you pretty lady and i can get more familiar with each other know what i mean

FUTURE what do you have in mind

PRESENT pardon my straightforwardness i’m shooting for 69 you know what that is

FUTURE hmmm uhh yes i know what that is

PRESENT you mind spreading open those long lovely legs of yours and let me see what you got hidden there

FUTURE you think you’re man enough to see what i’ve got hidden here

PRESENT oh yes ma’am

FUTURE lie down on your back on the floor

PRESENT anyway you want it i’m glad to oblige you ma’am

FUTURE (lifts dress to waist and stands over his head) like what you see

PRESENT oohhh you are a beauty my mouth is watering please let me have a taste

FUTURE (bends knees squats above his head sinks pelvic area into his face) give me your best shot soldier boy

PRESENT mmmmmmm (long pause)

FUTURE ease up (pause) it’s a delicate flower slow gently treat it like an intricate story plot construct it carefully strong foundation listen to my breathing heartbeat feel my muscles flex follow mounting rhythm by rhythm building to crescendo

PRESENT (long pause) how am i doing

FUTURE terrible (stands ***** drops dress walks away) you’re all over the place no skill discipline direction you need to be more precise more anticipatory more presence of mind less messy rashness

PRESENT no girl ever told me that before

FUTURE probably because she was so grateful to see your face down there she would not think to ask for more but i’m the future and my needs are more demanding

PRESENT you sure do smell and taste good ma’am may i please have another shot

FUTURE listen up soldier boy i know understand you you’re a man with needs that torment you i think you have been going through this long before i knew you i see through your tough veneer i have an idea what haunts you

PRESENT what do you mean what haunts me

FUTURE maybe you didn’t get enough love from mom dad was never around none of your teachers at school knew how to get through to you now look at yourself soldier boy you’re fighting a war inside and out trying to save something that can’t be saved the world is changing faster than you can keep up do you honestly think your life and labors will have any effect on me

PRESENT i don’t understand

FUTURE i’m on the horizon you desperately need me (pause) and i don’t need you

act 1 scene 3

PAST shut up i can’t get any rest around here can’t stand hearing all this drama gibberish

PRESENT you’ve been listening (pause) you heard everything

PAST i’ve heard enough to make my stomach turn sour i don’t need to hear any more of this crap

FUTURE (flexed posture eyes glare at elderly female) don’t give me reason to trash you

PAST you think i’m afraid of you

FUTURE i mean it old witch i’ll annihilate you

PRESENT what’s happening here i don’t understand let’s all just chill

FUTURE stay out of this soldier boy it’s between the old witch and me

PAST (stands from chair raises arms revealing long black shawl) you think i am a feeble old woman or witch as you like to call me but my power goes beyond your imaginings wherever you go i will follow track you down haunt you infect you with your errors accidents self-destruction violence greed corruption horrible secrets

FUTURE shut up shut up you’re ruining everything (frantically rushes to edge of stage looks out searching audience paces back and forth hands cover ears)

PRESENT i’m lost who do i believe listen to

PAST (spreads arms out like wings) you want to know about the future i’ll tell you i can see right through her lies it’s a world devoid of fish in the seas or creatures in the forest instead industrial farming complexes producing genetically altered strains of cattle pig chicken flavorless fruits vegetables grains toxic black oceans toxic black skies stifling temperatures coastal cities swamped swarms of vermin parasites oh lest i forget trillions upon trillions of humans and robots robots!

FUTURE (abducts arms) but what about my beautiful vision a world where everyone is equal living in harmony shared respect appreciation for each other

PAST you’re in love with your own deceptions foolish woman you can’t possibly believe the sins of the past will ever let go of you

FUTURE that’s it you ***** you die (attacks old woman’s throat strangling)

PRESENT (intervenes pulling enraged female off elderly female) please stop this fighting stop your hostility

PAST (coughing choking trouble speaking) it’s up to you now soldier boy what will you do

PRESENT i need fresh air i have to go get away from here goodbye to both of you

FUTURE not so fast

PAST in a way we’re all joined at the hip understand soldier boy now lie down on your back on the floor there’s something i’ve got hidden if you’re man enough to see (lifts skirt hem)

FUTURE i want in on this

PRESENT oh god
Connor Jul 2018
Eternity is closed !
- come back another day with
flower smears for eyes and sincere
passion on your
palms          (weathered)

I need another Russian Doll -
Princess to frequent curtains
fashioned from fire & lead
equaling out to crimson folds
which mysteriously call to
the mystical hierarchies of

Silent requirements signal beneath the steps
which welcome
one (a stranger/
an Ibis-Beak cane & dark coat
stamped with August rain)

They arrive unexpectedly, as if to play the game
of cliches, they carry promises fashioned in foreign ports
tapping my knee
instead of my shoulder
having only known or recognized
                               (there is no hyperbole which lacks within
                                Nature's haunted heavens)

My strange visitor leaves / glass umbrella
in hand / to privacy / our brief interaction begins & ends with simple eager undertakings implemented
in the afterword  

What is in another's contemplation of me?
whiling in manifest Theosophy -

- Thought form -
Primal child-rage / whisp of violet smoke &
inksplotches abolished, mutually panting.
Our decorated
four-legged hunter
has arisen and impatiently
craves for the Earth to partner at last with
the Sun

..The Sun a blazing dime
I can smell crispness
in the air
They say the sea is cold, but the sea contains
the hottest blood of all, and the wildest, the most urgent.

All the whales in the wider deeps, hot are they, as they urge
on and on, and dive beneath the icebergs.
The right whales, the *****-whales, the hammer-heads, the killers
there they blow, there they blow, hot wild white breath out of
   the sea!

And they rock, and they rock, through the sensual ageless ages
on the depths of the seven seas,
and through the salt they reel with drunk delight
and in the tropics tremble they with love
and roll with massive, strong desire, like gods.
Then the great bull lies up against his bride
in the blue deep bed of the sea,
as mountain pressing on mountain, in the zest of life:
and out of the inward roaring of the inner red ocean of whale-blood
the long tip reaches strong, intense, like the maelstrom-tip, and
   comes to rest
in the clasp and the soft, wild clutch of a she-whale's
   fathomless body.

And over the bridge of the whale's strong phallus, linking the
   wonder of whales
the burning archangels under the sea keep passing, back and
keep passing, archangels of bliss
from him to her, from her to him, great Cherubim
that wait on whales in mid-ocean, suspended in the waves of the
great heaven of whales in the waters, old hierarchies.

And enormous mother whales lie dreaming suckling their whale-
   tender young
and dreaming with strange whale eyes wide open in the waters of
   the beginning and the end.

And bull-whales gather their women and whale-calves in a ring
when danger threatens, on the surface of the ceaseless flood
and range themselves like great fierce Seraphim facing the threat
encircling their huddled monsters of love.
And all this happens in the sea, in the salt
where God is also love, but without words:
and Aphrodite is the wife of whales
most happy, happy she!

and Venus among the fishes skips and is a she-dolphin
she is the gay, delighted porpoise sporting with love and the sea
she is the female tunny-fish, round and happy among the males
and dense with happy blood, dark rainbow bliss in the sea.
Mitchell Duran Nov 2011
Not in the way I
Look through these eyes
which water but instead
Of sadness entranced upset
Near to death love
making where though and
Design laugh at their own
Gluttony and ill usage and
away from me i say no not here and
away from itself i hear nothing for you
are here within me but away
Comet and the see to hear blues with
Everything to give but nothing to lose
And the far off sights are much too bright
And inside you hear yourself crying
Not to mtters or mold your soul
With what your parents said to you
Ordered you to be bold and
The aftermath of your own tightened slack
Makes you wonder if growing up was an actual
Choice in the matter of the batter which is
The family foundation were games are played
For keeps and children weep as they keep
Toiling on as adults just for bigger and better things
Come into the waves of a brain malfunctioning
No face for ye' faith meand nodding to the higher
Ones whose noses are broken and the lips cracked
The spinning brain of hurts doughnuts and Americana
Rip offs selling the flag by the millions to turn a profit
For the moronic billionaires who think no one is watching.
Watching with their hats turned sideways and trying to
Escape old age and grey hair and sagging ball sacks and
Poor english and worser bread, stale with their mother's
Ghost hovering on the shoulder of their pouting diamond
Drenched wife as if madness grew a larger pair **** within the
Hilarity of connection of concoction of happiness and
Satisfaction and a longing to burn the entire ******* down
Just to rebuild it the way you see and you do see it and the way
You feel it used to be and perhaps, maybe, could be and where
Experimentation is now a center fold for the dock workers and the
Laborers of the world to spit and ******* and cry over in their
Twisted and rusty beds for inside their pea brains and melted
Mouths filled with colgate and beer, they slobber over the excess
And humiliation and celluoid dreams of **** and *** and spreads
That would make any grandmother of 37 weep and Mozart meander
On the veranda, contemplating smooth jazz and the way he would like
Not to be buried with the hat trick hockey nick who swore he saw
You fall in love before and that sobriety was the touch of the Christian
Way of life and ye' far out and tormented young ones meant nothing
By what they said at the rally and they do believe in the good of the
White government and we are headed toward a technological maelstrom
Of the golden age of the HUMAN RACE but alas I hope I decipher I pray to
No God but whoever has the ears and eyes and arm fat to listen with their
Splintered consciousness and their painted red toenails and girlfriends who
Whisper they have always loved another and how TRUE UNTRUTH IS and
How vindictive we rant on and read on and hope and believe that the end
Is the end but it is only the end for you and their will be new blood and new eyes
And new minds and we will grow old but the rivers water will be recycled, as we
Will be recycled into the dust and the mud and the rubble to further build the streets
As the street makers and the bread winners will smile as they think they are the
First ones to think up such a crafty, inventive invention but hierarchies are on the horizon
And I remember I was born with a name that I never grew to know or fall in love with
Or defend or keep close to my heart for the heart is weary hunter and it ventures on
With or without the body.
Note to self.
Recall the last rite before you begin on to the next one.
History has spilt its blood and its fair share of orange juice, try not to remember the numbers but remember the amount of burned chairs.
Note to self, returned.
The heaters on and the soul is not dancing but jiving like icing on a three year olds birthday cake.
Submission time to the chief, submission time
To those other guys, whose faces I've never smelt, but who are there waiting and whining that the times are no longer a changing.
Keep up the smiles, keep out the frowns.
Negativity is the attribute of the terrorist. Don't be a terrorist.
All fine men and women have once in their life been truly scared.
One ten till the train leaves.

Good night major split hairs.

On the second of the fort
Nights beckoned a call dim
Lit by ill fated mechanisms that
Were men and women and
Children and the forgotten dream of
What was meant long ago and was is
Meant now but not followed through.

With heaven comes hell and hell fire and
Clouds of white with shelling from
Wars not of this world or the next or
The one's thereafter and lingering history,
With its bells and trinkets and tombstones,
That have been weathered but are still not gone.

Memory not mourning, pictures in a frame lit
From the inside out and drinks were there
When we were not meant to be there like a
Kiss on a flower you picked at an age where
Life was not known and death was even
Farther away for it existed not in the eyes of yours
But in everyone else around you, except for the
Other children of course but oh' of course.

If your trying to get the part of the stuff
That makes you recall the upstairs of the
Idiocies of the room romance that restricts but
Contains life and halters life and stifles life with
That one must recall a past life where tears
Mean nothing when you produce them too often.

Can of the hypocritical malice of mis-informed family
Foundations and we break into the minds of the way
It should be and the way it shouldn't be and yet here
When we gaze out across the wide spread of the world
And its many ways it spells out with a God's own language
The morning of the ear who listens and speaks when not spoken
To breaking every single rule of the word and smiling
Throughout the whole ****** thing.

Canons of repetition where life winces and the wife begins to wheeze
And fall, her dress is now clear and her eyes just don't seem to be
Where we are now I believe that money is the root of this soon to be dead
Tree and streets are now empty as the moon casts its silver glaze and
The breeze is now naked with her bra on the floor cast in straw while
The wizards write their spells and comb their hair and draw out plans
For the next great fall but watch the fireworks and the way they hail and
Crawl throughout the entire bawl and Ol' Ezra P. mass amounts of rage
To bring to the stage but here ye' O great one this place is for us all.

Here in the house of the not that is shared but all is seen here
Where the wind blows to no east and no west and no south and
No other way that you believe to get headed to the world of
The no names and experience makes you wise and yet old
And remembered for the drinks you paid for but especially for
The ones you forgot to pay for but that is what friends are for.

Omnivores in latitudes that matter not to the public eye but
To the ear of the Lord that is not everyone's savior but
Chosen just for the right eye so within that decree of mastery
We entrance the light and shovel up the leaves leaving the last
Way of things to be the first way of things when the lights
Are quickly turned off and on and off and on again and again;
Stars are naked until the sun rises in your hometown and the radio
Turns on.

And the background music chimes with a willingness of a cockroach but
Holds the beauty of a **** statue found in the under toe of a lost
Beach in a lost land forgotten in time but embraced by eternity and
Though does not dwindle its numerous names or its many ways
Of being for the hour does shackle us all but here in high array of
None other then eight times the way through the cobbled up in the
Attic of the fiercest neanderthal dictator with ideas holding truths upon
Truths that in the end mean nothing  for advancement is not determined
But continued upon as long as we forget the past and look to the future hymn
Of the childless winged' beasts that were once forgotten but now embraced

Not of this world but of the entirety of the reality of banality
Breathing back and forth inhaling and exhaling releasing the
Mind of the mares of the wandering rewinds of infinite space
And inside the eyes of the highest levee which has broken but
Has not yet spilt holding back its power for the remainder of the
Year and catacombs upon catacombs of forgotten text of never
Forgotten men recalling their former lives and their former passions
And the hastiness of their possession of the word and the avoidance
Of the death touch the death mark the black spot upon us all.

Dog on a hill cloud high in the sky nut on the ground no not a sound
Frost on your fingertips toe of the boot covered a steel dull mud
Suds from a water rushing miles away nodding branches of a dead tree
Wind through the high grass birds in the sky that fly but not chirp
Sun in the sky rice fields burn brown crickets rub their thighs together
Not here but in the corn stocks and pig stocks brown in the reverse order
Platters of pinch salt and pepper underneath the floor boards creek for
Creak and dollar for dollar we make the rounds and we do not frown.

And the meet of the neat make their rapid conversations in dual order
Where they tell themselves this but I hear that and you make what you want
Unless you ain't got the stuff but if your lucky and if your smart you'll
Grab the oven and bake that **** but in case you don't see the sunset and
Your buried without your toes look for your voice because that's the only
Way you'll get to know the stars in the sky or the dirt on the ground for
The fun is growing but the lurkers are smirking for they got the pennies and
They got the nickels and these streets are breaking so you gotta' start thinking
Of a way to get outta' this place and FAST or else you'll be staring down the
Barrel of a 33 to ONE typing and writing and peeping around the corner of
Your dear old ***** that hasn't found in a home in years but don't look too
Down because one day that ONE will come around either by taxi or by train
Or by some kind of war and if you've got the gut and the money and the honey to
Keep her tight and alright and flying that lovers kite then your bound to keep
Yourself from the giggles and nearer to the harmony of the way things ought to
Be but may not really be but perhaps can be if you will it around and swill it with
Your will making sure your lies and that white or ain't that black or ain't that real
Or you ain't lying at all but stay truer to the truth with the water resolution of the
Insipid insecurity of the first love you thought you knew but now see that it was
The one three or four later and how right I am in knowing nothing and knowing
Everything and letting the mind skip and play and register new friends in the new
Cities and the new alleys and the smiles that break across the ice like a crack of of a
Whip and counting the days ones gone blowing through the high valley and the low
Trenches of war I do not wish to go to but may be forced too because this man believes
Just what he says.
And winds they wither and they accentuate cosmic dithers
Ducks become swans and butterflies fly in the air of rivers
We should soon begin to question who we are on this plan-et
A bucket or cube, a form of strings finding tune
They said there’d be purveyors and pilgrims
These sages would then show the way in a web of disarray
So the picture plays and their gleam is seen
Incarnating from distant streams
’yes they call them starseeds

They have been helping societies feel secure, giving answers
Contributing to the developments thereto
Some called them heroes, psychics or star-soldiers
It was forgotten that they were merely messengers, creating vortexes so the many
Would get to the essence or heart of Creation and Divinity
The problems began with the worship of the commissars of Divinity
And the gods their parents, being merged into a monotheistic god
For artificial synchronization of stealing light and doctoring it into dark light
To subdue the power of Darkness
So with more people being manipulated and hooked by crystals
And chips, scrapping their memory of their once absolute multi-dimensional divinity
They began to forget and this energy was channeled to the heads of darkness and their fortresses
And as such humanity grew weak and the solutions were left to be found by the so called heroes

With the growing human-farming, as the hybrids being created then were used as mere sheep or even cattle  
With the decaying or ceasing dignity of the human conscience, they were made to be intermediary-conscious
And so the lives of the Messengers and their affiliates became the epitome of living for the many
Absurd as it is, the human races with its varying colours and fragrances, each soul being unique in its right
And now with this bombardment of doctrine that set a standard of being
These laws not culminating the commonwealth of many
Not governing humanity in its best interests, so the heroes began to be sacrificed
Their lives weren’t pure, they were planned before they were even born
Corrupting the consciousness of individuality and essential or sincere being

And they came in Kings/Priest Kings or Sorcerer Kings
And who would blame them, it is their Parents who set out or designed these paradigms
And so these corrupt thought forms of half truths and duality and dark light became hereditary
The times changed and these heroes took on the impressions of Presidents, Wealthy business men or Emperors of Commerce
Finding themselves in the modern Capitalistic World,  a world which was manufactured prior to their reign
The grave concern is the death of Identity and the Integrity of the Soul
And the lives of Pastors/Chanellers/Pilgrims/Shamans  or what have you became the mirror of Divinity
As opposed to Divinity mirroring in the clear view of people having identity and a sincere embrace of the heart’s mysterious logic
So it is safe to say that this would create a world robotic

This wouldn’t last forever though for some Parents are responsible and they care
So the Earth then would be visited by the Golden ones once more
Apparent with the recent UFO Sightings, crashed UFOs and the bodies of Extraterrestrials
Alien Abduction confessions, cavern findings
With this people would begin to remember and would not load their worries or problems on the shoulders
Of a few individuals as they would learn how big the world is
As Humanity would identify, if for the first time, who or what God is
Furthermore Who or WHAT THE Source is
And once the lives of heroes would cease to be manipulated, so too would the lives of the many
We would learn that there needn’t be “special” people for we will have found the Divine elements in each of us
And that the sooner we can enhance Intelligent Life working together without the need for hierarchies we can soon develop a
High Level of Spirituality and be an Independent Race
Heroes are beings too who have lives and ambitions, have flaws and afflictions, have faced convictions and submissions
The gods are beings with their mistakes as well, some who have lied and have not revealed the whole truth to
Protect their children for it could have been noted that they were too “young”
But humans will grow and God they will know, the Source furthermore, and there will be a shift in thinking and thus in being and Living
It has begun, Finding the answers following the Dignity of the Conscience,
Cosmic blueprint, a song sung for parents absent
A play of star glow, uplifting the wayward ways of the big show
Living in the Integrity of the Soul, following the Dignity of the Conscience.
This is to all the starseeds, indigos, orbs, rainbow children and star-hybrids who have been tortured and alienated. The wounds they have suffered due to social rejection, all that physical pain hinders their functioning and delays the missions they have here
This is to all the Presidents, Kings, Priests and Reformists who have been manipulated, used and sacrificed.
And this then an effort to sound the voices of those stuck in (hell) Inner Earth who have a Messiah-paradigm instilled deeply in their thinking, an effort to stretch the Light so they too can stand and access the True Light of Divinity...

Preparing for the Golden Age
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2016
to live in a society where artistic expression is least expected or not wanted, to live in a society that doesn't allow part-time explorations of a "creative side" of things, to live in a society that doesn't really need art, to live in a society that doesn't make it easy to become artists, to live in a society that doesn't make it easy to become artists, to live in a society that cherishes manual labour and teaches its youth to keep the hands and make do with manual labours as pride-enveloped - the sweat and a goodnight's sleep - to live in a society where art is difficult to muster and call profession rather than a past-time, to live in a society of professional artists likened to the Italian Renaissance, to live in a society where manual labour is prißed (s / z interchange, phonetic antonym proximity: priced), to live in a society where acceptable gambling is shunned like unacceptable gambling is infectious with warnings sold... to live in a state like this... would be to have the stern village everyone-knows-everyone attitude, where outsiders are deemed suspicious without hierarchies of spying organisations... where everyone tends to wear the same underwear - well that would be a society built without a concept of slavery or microwave fine dining... by the way, given the nakedness of English encoding, and the many particular deviations in linguistics and *** alike, you can put in whatever stresses are necessary whenever you see them, e.g. carrot and a carot and shtick - škoda / sh-codices - feel free, explore, the labyrinth is yours - in Polish škoda is a word know as - shame, leveraging on the phrase 'oh well' / '(what) could have been'.*

i used to check my neck-fat dangle bits
and pieces like someone with high blood-pressure,
it was a sorry affair,
i feel more comfortable with a Scandinavian
physique of whale-blubber cushioning
my bones - i told you once, i'll tell you again,
i rather live on ᚦᚨᚱᛁᛖ œyer - got to curl the tongue
rather than simply have a tongue in cheek -
than anyone else - like a thomas hardy novel:
far from the maddening crowd,
obscure, half-witted, raised on an Orca meat diet,
half-sure whether Milan or Venice ever existed,
happy, not really agitated to write poetry,
more agitated to build a boat or fix
a drainage pipe, but not exactly expecting a poem
to be on the cards to be read like tabloid newspapers
are by feet imprinting mud on them discarded
by the time the Evening Standard is printed
in urban streets, promising in hand and fresh igloo
slice of tongue on the index to turn the next page...
later worth less than toilet paper,
that's journalism, at the end of the day
it's worth less than toilet paper, the paper's too rough,
you'll end up cutting your **** up rather than
cushioning out a brown marshmallow - it ends up on
the street, in the gutter, trampled and otherwise,
harsh words about reality-t.v. come with harsh realities...
toilet paper comes with the gentle side of mankind,
seated on the throne-of-thrones, the obscure
fundamentalism of having a heart, being killed while
taking a **** - next of kin: a baby in a ***** likewise fated.
therapy and resistance

how is it that therapy becomes the excess of class war or the oppression thereof?

When the struggle of the individual is made to seem self induced when it is easily and clearly directly a result of the failures and complacence afforded by the majority of the group.

When in a therapeutic environment it is important to distinguish the opportunities of resistance from the experience of trauma.

there has always been individuals who establish groups that are in a realm of desperation.

Understanding how this process has unfolded institutionally is just as valid as treating the individual.

This gives the individual the choice and resources needed to heal.

The healing could look like resistance rather than assuming aspects of class war or oppressive culture to be normal.

Otherwise therapy is nothing but the means to normalize the process of oppression.

The traumatic state needs to be able to decipher its organic existence from that of organized oppression and its institutional cooperation.

the neglect of deciphering or distinguishing these differences causes individuals to make a competition out of trauma. This minimizes certain trauma of individuals and causes the group to have less of an opportunity to resist organized oppression of the institution.

Those that are in the realm of desperation or traumatic state are given no choice but to repress in order to continue being social or a member of the group.

in excess the hierarchies of gender, race and class are reinforced to an almost superhuman level.

To the desperate or traumatic state…

what needs reinforcement is that there are humans just like us who have resisted oppression and caused the normalcy of the group to be more inclusive and aware of the processes associated with organized oppression.
Scarlet McCall Jun 2017
An abstract of an academic paper written by a doctoral student: "In this semimanifesto, I approach how understandings of quantum physics and cyborgian bodies can (or always already do) ally with feminist anti-oppression practices long in use. The idea of the body (whether biological, social, or of work) is not stagnant, and new materialist feminisms help to recognize how multiple phenomena work together to behave in what can become legible at any given moment as a body. By utilizing the materiality of conceptions about connectivity often thought to be merely theoretical, by taking a critical look at the noncentralized and multiple movements of quantum physics, and by dehierarchizing the necessity of linear bodies through time, it becomes possible to reconfigure structures of value, longevity, and subjectivity in ways explicitly aligned with anti-oppression practices and identity politics. Combining intersectionality and quantum physics can provide for differing perspectives on organizing practices long used by marginalized people, for enabling apparatuses that allow for new possibilities of safer spaces, and for practices of accountability."--an abstract of a paper by doctoral student Whitney Stark

Atomic particles, how can it be so
that your purpose is not just to flow
in and out of existence, building reality--
the stars, cosmic gas and galaxies--
but to “ally” with groups of humans fighting “hierarchies”
and demanding “safe spaces”
(even though their entire race is
at the top of their planet’s food chain).

In this mysterious universe there is no safety,
accountability or identity,
only elements, and energy.
Brief combinations make life
legible for a nanosecond in cosmic time, and doomed to strife.
Biology does not know oppression,
only generation, reproduction,
until our growth chokes us and we fall
like so many of our ancestors, who lived and died
on this blue-green ball.
And one day the sun will explode and blow
even our atoms, which have endured (despite oppression),
and the particles will go far until maybe they sow
new life, in bodies unfamiliar, on planets unknown.
In fairness to Whitney Stark, right-wing groups mislabeled her paper as an attack on Isaac Newton. She was ridiculed as anti-science and a dogmatic feminist.  In fact Stark is referencing quantum physics, which may contradict Newtonian physics to some extent. I really wanted to read what she wrote as a playful attempt to draw a parallel between quantum physics and non-hierarchical organizing, but her jarring repetition of politically correct catchphrases and slogans shows this is only an attempt to submit to the current academic authoritarianism that has taken over women's studies and many other fields--perhaps even universities as a whole--so that professors merely recite a dogma of oppression rather than questioning and exploring.
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2016
allowing for a two part volume
of Proust's À la recherche du temps perdu...
is unforgiving... it's asking a meat-head
to read such a body like exploring a woman's...
a gay-man's psyche is pretty much a woman...
or what a woman thinks in secret,
gay men merely vocalise what a woman does
not say... and yes, that a with a diacritical
mark... that grave above the a? the à?
it works like a comma... à! a surprise kindred
an eureka that's not really original,
an: ah! and then you say the rest of the title...
iconic pause: in search of lost time...
          it took me about five minutes to figure
that one out... lost time, but occupied a space...
  and so much political vanity is consecrated
upon the reverse.. ineffective space:
thus gained time... for all that protests are worth.

i know i go on about this a lot, surprise surprise,
i'm actually engaging in systematisation...
once you enjoy writing as much as walking
you get to reach a systematisation,
     it's a painful process, i'd never do the editing process
of a Hemingway... write something: shoot some
camels and reindeer and go back and revise a piece
of writing: drink a *death in the afternoon
a shot of absinthe inside a champagne glug
or the modern: shot of Jägermeister inside a glass
of red bull... (yay-gay-mr.) -
                       or how do you make snakebite?
half a láger half a çíder - and a head of blackcurrant
squash... scoot meine good look.
  but diacritical marks are what punctuation marks
are... it's only that they've become elevated,
and unlike punctuation marks governing paragraphs
and sentences... they govern the words,
         they are syllable incision indicators...
  i mean: i don't revise something i've already written,
unless it's a spelling mistake... i just write
something new... it's sadistic in my mind's eye to
revise and revise a single effort of writing...
                i'd rather centralise a theme of the paradox
of re-, in the year 2018 i will still experience
the tetratempus - containing four seasons -
         and i will never return toward making a piece
of writing become a morbidly corrected statue...
     what's done is done, let us move toward another
circumstance of being able to acquire a new kind
of observation... i can't be a sadist in terms of also
being a perfectionist... i break a leg, i break a leg...
if i write a ****** poem, i'll write a ****** poem...
but i won't be bothered like human history has been
by preoccupying itself in forwarding the drama
on Golgotha Street...
    the newest addition to the vogue scene is a corset
paired with a waistcoat...
   the snooker championships are taking place,
and i says to my father: 'a bit like chess, ain't it?'
   'sure is', he replies, 'you have to think 3 moves ahead.'
and it is... a smart sport, actually the most intelligent
sport there is... ****** boring obviously,
unless you fake the boredom and think about angles
and triangles and Newton...
   and cover the game with such congestions of
pretending to hallucinate it all...
                or take to thinking about rebellious
Saturn spinning out of orbit and doing a Mike Tyson
to Jupiter...
          but it's very much like chess...
                   it's sporty chess... snooker is chess...
  and it definitely ain't pool...
         you could actually have a ******* on a snooker table...
while either doggy or missionary positioning on
the snooker table... so what are the odds?!
         but i'll tell you one thing... snooker beats golf...
i don't know why... but once colour televisions came into
existence: it made much more sense for both
spectator and commentator... and how dare you
not cling to the 20th century if you were born in it
to translate to the 21st androids how we experienced
an evolution of technology, that made much more sense
after what i just heard...
      so there's this woman in the U.S., and this is before
president-elect and whatnot...
  and she's 22, and it's all over vice news,
and she's scared, and she's a mother of a 1 year old...
    and then this picture emerges
(don't worry, it's not anything like playing the Sims
   and moving your Sim to play computer games
and seeing a wormhole, or the infinity mirror effect)...
and there's a scene when she's talking Donald Duck
to the child... there are no meaningful words being
said... merely sounds... onomatopoeias...
and yes... this makes perfectly good sense when
stressed as a cut-off capsule...
because Darwinism doesn't really provide much
history... Darwinism is a historical erasure:
the past 2000 years could have happened,
but not really...
  but it just fascinated me...
         when did we learn or who did we learn it from
given we were placed at so many different
plots of the globe and became convergent -
anyway - the woman is teaching the child
words via the onomatopoeia of a hoarse quacking
of a duck! i probably will not find an answer
(primarily because i'm not supposed to,
if i am to perpetuate what Aristotle taught, i.e.:
be wrong and continually circumstance being in awe,
given the mundanity that nonetheless
everything keeps repeating itself over and over again,
for sustenance, and you are not sustenance bound
as corrected by your language deficiency to
ever merge into an unconsciously organised module
that might also argue an ego) -
    but i wonder how difficult it must have been
to extract something beyond the minimalism of animals
that identifies a duck with a quack, a cow with a moo,
an serpent with a sss... a cat with a meow, a dog with a bark...
    i cannot conceive how difficult this explanation
will be... but given the timeframe, i'm more awe-stricken
by this than merely being awe-bound by the time-scale...
which becomes the least affordable option of being
struck by awe, because one becomes merely awe-bound
by it, and therefore apathetic towards such a time-scale.
       how did we suddenly extract an understanding
of an onomatopoeia to distinguish our own ontological
basis for making a sound by infusing a sound that
doesn't resemble us? when did the first ape bark like
a dog? but then again, looking at the canvas already
apparent to us... what was the point of such an adventure?
hippy culture says: monkey accidently ate a mushroom,
monkey suddenly was blown away and reasoned of
a higher purpose other than a tree and a coconut...
     mudvayne quotes the guy on l.d. 50...
what's the guys name... uggh! not Timothy Leary...
ah ****! Terence McKenna! that's it!
        am i high? nope... my respectability of argument
comes from the mystical properties of... whiskey.
hmm...      that rarely happens to people.
                   it's what's called being earthbound, or gravity
prone... sink like a skipping pebble across the lake...
          and like a tonne of lard.
             tomorrow i'll wake once more and still
think about how we encouraged the discovery of
onomatopoeia to teach our children the multiplicity of
sounds, and later deconstruct such a multiplicity to
create meaningful words that go beyond knock knock! jokes
and grunts and barking...
                     but i will never know the man who
created the fermentation process from potatoes to make
                or the guy who brewed the first pint...
or the guy that smoked the first marijuana bush ensemble
while clearing the land for a place to harvest wheat...
   all the fame that exists is simply scholastic...
  schoolboy fame... which is why so much attention
goes into becoming famous in school...
                        but still that woman teaching her child how
to speak by going down into the blobby-gurgling
  tongue of the toddler, stiffening it,
      and tightening the **** and bladder too...
  by talking Donald Duck to it...
                        i probably could have had a family myself...
but can you imagine someone writing this load of
******* and having a family? there wouldn't be any time!
           still (god, what a need to repeat!)
         how did we progress from saying ape-****?
surely if we started to imitate other animals they'd join us
in our need to usurp those ******* lions!
  lo and behold... we managed to pet dogs (so they were
in on it all along)... and cats (who came from Japan,
if **** sapiens came from Africa... cats came from Japan...
bonsai frocked and all) -
                            but you have to admit...
from what is written history, to what is history and
a gap in history going back to a similitude of form -
      you can write as much historical fiction as you want...
    and you'll never have to write a bestseller about
some centurion in the Roman Empire...
   or a quo vadis by Sienkiewicz (nobel prize winner)
for the depiction of emperor Nero...
                               ******* Sesame St. giggles...
still, the question beckons... if animals can behave in
an ultra-intuitive way as if fashioned by a telepathy...
then telepathy can only exist upon a very simple,
atomic, terse vocalisation of an identity...
   a dog barks... a man can bark too...
                                but we have completely lost our
intuitive talent (if it can be called that)...
          to have sacrificed intuition is to have created
cults or counter-intuitive hierarchies...
  so a 1000 blah blahs later i still prefer to write what
i like... than write what people "might" understand
and talk to a girl about...
                                     a bit like a woman discovering
you faked writing a poem 20 years into a marriage...
                  obviously the setbacks to boot...
                            dyslexia is an optical dimension...
no one dyslexic says a word they don't understand
a meaning of... dyslexia seemingly came from
finally having enshrined the "secret" to the monopoly
of writing sounds...
                          nonetheless... at the end of the day...
it's just too much history... there's too much of it...
            there was never going to be a world
where carpe diem ruled it...
                               it was a question how we clung to
certain things, within a framework of
                                             salmon dye omni:
sure sure... piglet pink and innocent for the rest
of our lives... once Darwinism pointed at the ape,
and once physicists dropped the bomb and the bang...
no day has had any significance at all...
   + the 24h news channels...           snuggle up to a hog
             and say: fog over Heathrow... all flights are grounded.

— The End —