What if wisdom, the thing, the being imaged
in the word
Sophia,
philo sophia, in a meme re maining, to this very day,
as true a depictical actual form, as lovable
as any, though
the thousand ******* of Artemis, that image...
Ask how many Dr. Spock Pablum fed boys,
would that image have cured from
mammary ******* sensory deprivation syn
drome, trap for lost boys,
never wishing fully formed in Michael Jackson, eh?
The Peter principle,
rise to the level of one's
incompetence and **** ****
and consume enough food for all Artemisis
famishished little lies, calling
more, more, more
Narrow AI, lust response,
so artfully inspired by Eddy Bernays,
and the silver screen's seductive radio voices,
Eddy,
you know, the Madison Avenue behabiourilist,
Freud's nephew... he cited Watson, the
one before the one
with Crick. Jimenee, we have been Disnified... if
I'd known
sooner, I'd have left your cake out in the rain...
so it melts, like the wicked witch of the west, or
east, I lost my bearings
who is asking what of whom,
am I involved in evolving your synaptic gaps?
We did entangle, in a sense. You are dear reader,
in the book of life with my name in it. Not on, in.
A beautiful hawk announced herself, swooped into my per-if-ery, as if to say,
watch this. She glided with the merest twitch of the tips of her wings,
down in to the valley where a mouse had moved, unaware.
