perchance an epic was necessary, to consolidate the scattered thinking, and indeed, once a certain life, and was lived with a cherishing heart, the heart broke, and life turned from adventures to a more studious approach, and in here, a comfort was found, never before imagined explorations - of course sometime a tourist in the arts does come, but such tourists quickly fade, and the pursuit becomes more enshrined - to levitated towards epics is perhaps the sole reason for the cherished memory of some - and how quickly all can revolve around a searched for theme, after many incorporations were minded - as one to have travelled the Mediterranean, another to have been eaten by the great mandarin silkworm of the library of Kangxi - heading along the silk route with spices - indeed the great mandarin silkworm of the library of emperor Kangxi; as i too needed a bearing - to inspect the trickster of lore and the godly blacksmith of the north.

by instruction - an accumulation of the the zephyrs
into a vector, headed north,
toward the gluttonous murk of ice, jesting
with aches to the bulging and mesmerised crescendo
of adrift stars captured in the tilting away -
to think of an epic, to keep out-of-time of
spontaneity and thistle like swiftness in the last
days of summer, that Mercury brings the new
tides of the tetravivaldis -
   brought by the λoγος of a γoλας -
for reasons that satisfy the suntan copper of
the ***** - the λoγος of a γoλας - yet not toward
Monte Carlo or any hideout of money well invested
and greedily spent for a charm -
no, north bids me welcome from afar -
this norðri fløkja, this    ᚾᛟᚱᛞᚱᛁ       ᚠᛚᚢᚲᛃᚨ -
by my estimate, i could not take the nonsense
of numerology of a certain specialisation,
i took what was necessary, i pillaged the temple
of Solomon, perhaps that the dome of the rock
might stand - with its glistening dome and
its sapphire mosaics - i don't belong among
palm trees and date trees - hence i turned to
deciphering and subsequently encrypting -
as i have already with *ᚱᚨᛒᛖ:
the journey of an Æsir through a birch forest
on a horse.
                    with this method in mind:
(a) ᚾᛟᚱᛞᚱᛁ       (b) ᚠᛚᚢᚲᛃᚨ:

(a)
the need to acquire possessions accumulating
into an estate, is a journey encountered
day by day, although a journey on ice

(b)
cattle only thrive near water,
auruchs did not, and hence illuminated
their way to extinction,
         by way of the Æsirs' harvest
(to eat up diversity of life, and create
a godless world of man).

my escape route came from ᚠ - mirroring שִׂ
although the former standing, the latter sitting
down, although the former fathomable
to my pleasure, the latter unfathomable
to ascribe numbers to letters for patterns -
i seek no patterns, hence my sight turned to
the northern sights, and meanings amplified.
                
the greeks were intended to explore abstracts,
having stated a triangle
they invented the ² symbol and what not,
it was because
they didn't bother extracting a phonetic unit
from something definite,
they classified such endeavours barbarian,
what reasonable greek of 13% reason and
87% reality would extract alpha from
the sound you made when
saying ansur (ᚨᚾᛋᚢᚱ) - i.e. attention -
i.e. deriving a definite sound differentiation
for alphabetical rubrics from a definite thing
(in whatever classification that might be)?
the greeks used the alphabetical rubric of
crafting a definite sound from an indefinite thing,
so they said: acronym, aardvark, assumption,
                       α                 α      α     α,
then they said α² - there are no antonyms -
but indeed there were, hence the Trojan nation
settling in the boot, that's Italy,
the Romans escalated the greek theory
beyond taking out a definite sound distinguished
from other distinguishable sounds,
abstracting what the alphabetic sound assured
a list under alpha: assumption, advantage,
acorn, etc. -
the latins were the first atomist after the greeks,
the greeks believed in atoms, but had no
microscopes to prove atoms existed,
such scientific faith found no parallel;
the latins ensured this was true,
ending with castrato sing-along -
the latins furthered abstracting sounds from
definite orientation which the greeks did
working from ice into iota,
the latins just sang i, i, i -
of course chiral behaviourism of such dissection
emerged - hatch a plan, plan a chisel -
it's very piquant i mind to let you know -
the greeks abstracted nouns in order to create
the alphabet, the barbarians still used
proper nouns to speak proper, the greeks
thus created synonyms and antonyms to add
to the spice of life - after all,
not deriving definite alphas from
cursors that acknowledged points of origins
created diacritical stressing like comma and
semis of colon and macron, not deriving them
from definite things, shunning a helpful
vocabulary bank to an unhelpful vocabulary
banked: synonyms and antonyms the Gemini's
birth of rhetoric;
but the latins were rejected with their atomic theory
of pronunciation, since they became laden
with diacritics - punctuation marks of a different sort,
you can measure a man sprint one hundred metres,
but is that also measuring a man to say
mān or män or mán? i know that the slavic ó = u
given the scalpel opening the ensō to craft a parabola -
but it's not necessarily an accent debate
but a punctuation debate... the emergence of
the diacritic symbols above the letters is due
partly to their joy of the popes listening to
castrato operas and the fact that the romans
went too far... hence the chiral nature of certain
symbols when dittoing - the barbarians used
definite things to assert definite sounds -
the greeks used indefinite things to assert definite
sounds - mind you, if the romans became too
abstract with their little units that became engraved
with punctual accenting, then the greek letters
became laden with scientific constants as necessarily
fathered, unchanging in the pursuit of Heraclitus' flux -
for example... Pythagoras and the hypotenuse:
                            σ / κ² = α² + β² -
           or?
                             c² (ć) = a² (ą) + b² / š (bubble beep
                                                           bop barman backup hop
                                                           of shackled kakah
                                                           or systematic oscillation
                                                           for bzz via burp);
πρ² is still more stable
                                 than what the latin alphabet allows -
hence why greek phonetic encoding was used in
science, and latin phonetic encoding was used in music,
can't be one or the other - added to the fact that
latin encoding had too many spare holes with
the evolution of numbers, and greek didn't have them,
hence β-reduction in lambda calculus and F-dur and A#

the one variant of the grapheme (æ) they didn't include
among expressions: graphite and grapheme
was the variant - gravitating to an entombing
of the excess aesthetic - geresh stress -
somehow the twins match-up to a single womb:
àé vs. áè: V vs. Λ - Copernicus wrote over all
of this with the flat earth uselessness
in terms of navigation - flat earth is useless...
huh? flat earth is the only system that gave
Columbus the chance to explore the new world -
no flat earth no Columbus -
that satellite named Luna was no tool
in navigating across the Atlantic - believe me
i'm sure -
                  or that grapheme (æ) varied like statistics
or like the characters in the book of genesis
that famous adam und eve (kim and kanye):
chances came, chances went:
it was still a draw on the tongue tied decipher:
àè and áé proved another notation for plurality
was necessary, not at the beginning of the word,
but after, hence the possessive article 's,
we could have parallelism, there was a crux,
how once the chiselling of letters came about,
more economic to chisel in a V than a U,
both the same, much easier though...
almost barbaric i might say...
sigma (Σ) enigma rune e (ᛖ) - this compass
is a ******* berserker, god knows if it's
mount Everest or the Bermuda Δ

but one thing is for certain, never you mind how
a language is taught unless you mind it,
not that conversational athenian is really what
i'm aiming at - but a lesson is a lesson nonetheless,
out of interest something new,
richard von Coudenhove-Kalergi,
and what preceded him, namely pan-slavism,
just when the polish-lithuanian commonwealth
did a little Judaic trick of its own,
although snorkelling in the waters of not writing
history for less a time than israel -
you can't beat ~2000 under water - although
you could if your little tribe had an einstein
among them, or proust or spinoza, then
you could effectively become a whale, popping
an individual out from the rubble to say a polite
'hello' and 'when will the dessert be served?'
but indeed, learning a language on your own,
how to learn from scratch, the greek orthography,
and why omicron and not omega,
the give-away? sigma - purely aesthetic reason,
                             νoμισματων

                             nomismaton

omicron                                                 omega

                 you write omicron at the front
                 and omega at the back
                 pivot letter? two: σ     μ &
                 νoμι-                                -ατων
                      ­                     |
                 anything here  
                 will use o            and anything
                                              here uses ω

alike to sigma:
                          χωρας (choras, i.e. country)

sigma (ς) not sigma (σ), i.e. digitalising languages
without a clear connectivity of letters,
block-a-brick-block-a-brick-digit-digit-digit
you learn that handwriting is gone,
two options, your own aesthetic reasons now,
remember, some paired for the ease of handwritten
flow - digitalised language changes the aesthetics,
you make your own rules (considering exceptions
of oh mega mega, ergo revision -

                                       χoρας,

but still the sigma rule, others esp. o mega
you stamp on them like βλαττια, i.e. cockroaches -
κατσαρίδα                 not         κατςαρίδα

all perfectly clear when you explore plato's
dialogue from the book Θηαετητυς (as you might
have noticed, the epsilon-eta project is still
in the storage room of my imagination) -
but indeed in the dialogue, between socrates
and the "hero" of the book theaetetus -
a sample, without an essay on the theory
of knowledge -
socrates: ...'tell me theaetesus, what is Σ O?'
theaetetus: yes, my reply would be that it is
                    Σ and O.
socrates: so there's your account of the syllable,
                isn't it?
theaetetus: yes.
socrates: all right, then: tell me also what your
                  account of Σ is.
                                                             ­   (etc.
or as some might say, a shrug of the shoulders,
a hmmpf huff puff of hot air, impractical interests
and concerns - well, better the impractical
problems than practical problems, less feet
shuffling and nail-biting moments with your
tail between your legs and an army of
intellectuals working out what went wrong
and how history will solve everything by
the practical problems repeating themselves) -
you know that inane reaction - others would just say
Humphrey Bogart and nonetheless get on with it.

some would claim i was begot a second time,
not in the sixth month period of the aqua-flesh,
how did i actually related to the life aquatic,
for nine months i was taught to hold my breath,
however did this happen?
a miracle of birth? ah indeed the miracle of
a crutch for a woman - spinal deformities -
9 months, sort to speak, in water or some other
fluid - merman - a beastly innovation -
next you'll be telling me beyond this life
we turn into centaurs, given the Koran's promise -
you'd need the appetite of a breeding horse
to satiate the 72 - or thereabouts - martyr or
no martyr - 72? that's pushing it -
or as they say among children - a chance playground
without swings or sandpits, but very careless
gravitational pulling toward a certain direction;
nonetheless, they might have that i did indeed
settle of a sáttmáli                  ᛋᚨᛏᛏᛗᚨᛚᛁ
                  við         ­                  Vᛁᛞ
                  tann                         ᛏᚨᚾᚾ
                  djevul                      ᛞᛃᛖVᚢᛚ -
the hands you see, fidgety -
     hond handa grammur burtur    úr   steðgur
     ᚻᛟᚾᛞ  ᚻᚨᚾᛞᚨ  ᚷᚱᚨᛗᛗᚢᚱ   ᛒᚢᚱᛏᚢᚱ  ᚢᚱ   ᛋᛏᛖᛞᚷᚢᚱ
         the hands give an ardent pursuit
                                                 away from rest -
well not that my poems will ever reach
the islands in question - and indeed an
uneducated guess propels me - what does it matter,
λαλος babbler meant anything, indeed λαλος,
language as my own, is a language that i can
understand - and should anyone omit
disparities - a welcome revision would never tease
nor burn my eyes - but the phonetic omission
peeved me off: woad in water, ventricles in a
variety of entanglements - it's just not there -
and indeed, orthographically, if there are no more
optometric involvements of omicron's twin -
then the stance is with you to use whichever pleases,
i can't tell the difference, unless i was a pedantic
student, aged 70, with a granddaughter i wanted
to be wed teasing a millimetre's worth of
phonetic differentiation between the two -
POTATO PA'H'TAYTOE TOMATO TA'H'MAYTOE -
linguistically one's american and the other
is british, which looks like greek and latin
upside-down and in a mirror: pəˈteɪtəʊ, təˈmɑːtəʊ;
or as the spaghetti gobblers would put it:
the tetragrammaton is working on their
texan drawl (dwah! ripples in china) -
or the high-society new england ******* *******
coo with a cuckoo's load of clocks -
before being sent off to england for a respectable
education, something en route Sylvia Plath -
but not to ol' wee scoot land - ah nay - well
perhaps for a year and then talk of north european
barbarism of a deep friend pizza and mars bar.

and when descartes finished with christina
queen of sweden, she became an animate portrait
of feminine attempts at philosophising,
she was basically ostracised from society,
well, not society per se, she didn't become a stray
dog, but she forgot certain functions of
the upper tier - lazily modern man decides
to hide phenomena from understanding
individual instances, with the kantian guise
of a noumenon, hence cutting his efforts short -
indeed queen christina of sweden was ostracised
by society - only after descartes finished educating her;
and indeed to most people a little bit of sloth
equates to an amputation of some sort -
yet only with the x-files' season 2 episode 2
i've learned of the effects of prolonged alcohol
"misuse", that little boxing match in my liver?
it's not a pain as such, it's actually a hardening
of soft tissue - with prolonged alcohol exposure
soft tissue organs harden, notably the liver -
and it's not a pain, it's a hardening.
but indeed queen christina of sweden was ostracised
by her tier of socialites - i'm glad diogenes
didn't get to her, but then again a bit of cloth
goes a long way this far north -
yet unlike the encounter with napoleon by hegel
diogenes' encounter with alexander lasted longer -
which tells you the old method does no service
to a little bit of material accumulation -
but perhaps the acumen was briefer when you were
ably living in a barrel - and to think, as only
that being the sole expression, not so much
a body without organs as stated in the thesis
of anti-oedipus by deleuze and guattari -
a consideration for a body without limbs - prior
to a footprint an imprint on the mind -
carelessly now, a diarrhoea of narration -
how rare to find it - perhaps this idea of epic
poetry is a default of writing per se -
with this my whatever numbered entry i seize
to find escape in it - a lack of ambition -
a loss of spontaneity that's a demanded mechanisation -
by volume, by inaneness - to reach a single
technique accumulative zenith, and then back
into the ploughing, rustic scenery and the
never-bored animals - i rather forget such escapades -
and there i was dreaming of a grand
runic exploration - some imitable game -
some scenic routes - yet again -

in that, beyond good and evil, there's on femininity and masculinity; we already know of st. thomas' account about how the masculine needs to made into feminine and vice verse... no wonder such teachings in the undercurrent of our life, that we went beyond this and started doing likewise in the framework of good and evil; but there's hardly a dualism within the four 90º, while the tetragrammaton opens the gates to geometric phoneticism, which does not work in the hebrew depiction of the tetragrammaton, only in latin, because in latin one will not see a vision but reveal, having heard but not seen, and when inserting a thought into an experience: a satanism that said: i'll be satan and change this choir into moving stars and send a telegram to the aliens! should i see man loose all dignity in warring with himself that ended in napoleonic trust for man and man on the battlefield - because what she offered most men can get, and what i was offered only one among the billions, and in history about three, get.

so while some attempts at a sensual proof were not
granted, only one was, through moses,
and obviously through elijah - as sensual proofs
go, the proof of moses had to be fused with
a cognitive remainder, since, given the fact
that the torah was written by the supreme outsider,
the book depicting elijah was written by a true insider,
yet the cognitive realm which these two operated in
is a pure mystery, given the fact that sensually,
the staged rifts were short lived, yet too long lived
cognitively, having to argue, cite and disagree with
moses, who dragged the most sensual distortion
into the cognitive realm.

so as cognitive proof-arguments go, they are simply that,
more cognitive proofs lead to more argumentation,
but little sensuality, such that the paid need for
theological argumentation that leads to no sensual
precipitation enters the realm of holocausts,
whereby idle and vain cognitive proofs have no sensual
******, only more "thinking;" paid thinking.
and when the sensual proof for the non-existence of god
appears, like the holocaust, all those accumulative
"proofs" from the cognitive realm... end up like midgets...
and everyone's awe taken aback, because so much
cognition was left undisturbed, that the senses are prompted
for a disaster! why would i want cognitive argumentation
if i cannot seek and find a sensual guarantee?
where's the sensual ******, if cognitive argumentation
climaxed to the fine tuned 1 + 1 logic is a sensual anticlimax?!

the odd thing is walking the neighbourhood with beer and hand
waiting for the indian heatwave, but as i sooner realised,
this type of drinking is no good - the shelter of the garden
is where i find laughter - on the street making miles
i find anger - and as i noticed a day prior:
beer in hand, cigarette burning the lung forests,
watching a clear night sky, seeing a boeing boast
engine ***** high up to sound like i drone - that
universe forgets i can claim a nighttime hemisphere of sounds
with that boeing, even though the daytime skyblue is blinded
by a dilated pupil,i can feed that massive vacuum
of emptiness and keyhole glitter a mishap and a chance
to study less celestial geometry to endeavour out of this
haven.

prompts a maxim this verse does:
no one around me in my shape or walk -
tall enough to reach the sky, but
dumb like a thirteen day old butterfly, still flirting with the flutter.
***** you were born as the caterpillar old man,
now you're a fever of beauty in colour,
and only for two weeks, or even less if nabokov is about.

well, crescendo!
when simon magus stood with st. peter at nero's throne
the stage was like the two women with solomon about to cut a baby in half.
it was scened within the following framework of details:
st. peter started to sing bon jovi's 'lay your hands on me,'
with alternative lyrics - let me lay my hands on you
with the power of the holy spirit.
nero replied: lay your own hand on yourself, get away from
me you ***** *******, that holy spirit of yours, the one
you said is a personality but really isn't is just another form of:
celestial chaining; magus simon, what about you?
so simon magus came up and said:
i'll whiff you a smokey vision of caligula learning
of philosophy as read by his talking horse *incitatus.

i wish for praise here on originality, but i heard of this one,
the talking horse of caligula by the one and only zbyszek herbert,
and in quick translation the poem reads -

*says caligula:

from all the citizens of rome
i loved only one
incitasus - a horse

when he entered the senate
the unblemished toga of his fur
glistened immaculately among hemmed with purple cowardly
                                                        ­                           murderers.

incitatus was full of virtuous bounties
he never spoke over me or spoke in general
a stoic nature
i think that at night in the stables he read philosophers

i loved him to such an extent that one day i decided to
                                                              ­                   crucify him
but his noble anatomy countered such a feat

he bosomed the position of consul with dignified apathy
he held power to the helm with a cupful of water
spilling none in a drunk waiter's swagger,
meaning he used none of it with the entitlement

it was impossible to make him bow to long lasting bonds of love
with mt second wife caesonia
alas no lineage of future caesars arose - centaurs

that's why rome crumbled

i decided to nominate him a god
but on the ninth day before the calendar days of february
cherea cornelius sabinus and other fools obstructed these godly intentions

with calm he received the message of my death

thrown out from the palace and sentenced to exile

he accepted the burden with dignity

he died heirless
butchered by a thick-skinned butcher from the township of anzio

of the posthumous fates of his meat
taticus is silent with regards to.

Encased, as an oil painting,
behind a plane of glass.
Years of exposure dulling the canvas,
no funding to restore the brightness
of the subject's lifeless eyes.
They lay dormant, cloudy,
From a lifetime of accumulative debris.
Transferred between people, buildings, countries;
Memories on display for brief intervals,
Then packaged and returned to storage,
As if they were never your own.
People shift, distorted, beyond the coffin of glass.
Their movements hazy,
The shutter speed slow.
Colours muted,
Sounds muffled,
Melting into each other.
An abstract watercolour, waxing and waning.
Low resolution projections on a dimly lit screen -
A theatre seating but one.

Siddhartha sat steady on a the hearth of an apartment, eyes closed
mouth closed, mind open and enchanted
Zen-man lingers in a dark park starting,
to realise indiscretions of his past lives avatar

(but don't for a second believe the lies you've been fed by the brother of your brother and the father's of the jingoist mafia because eyes blink often and the accumulative effect is a life of temporary blindness and in that blindness it's not possible to be enlightened)

Your mantras are a lie but the belief remains still
and so rolling over wild green hills in some Welsh country village it dawns on the spirits of the ether that humanity is struggling

to find absolution of even the most relative peace
- but so, and Siddhartha still sits, cross-legged and barely breathing
Emaciated; fast, faster
Losing her nerve

Zen-man died a few months back but you always live again and so a beetle on a hot car hood scampers in some intrinsic folly, semi-aware of being something or being at all

     Towards the walls of weather-beaten towns the levee finally bursts and all life ends -
until a gathering mist pulls absurd faces in the simpatico rays of a third-eye sun over the bayou of some forgotten rock in the cosmos
and the ethereal temptress of existence rolls the next dice on a green matted board
and our unified oneness speaks a solitudinal greeting to the sky.

I am walking on a trail I am uncertain of
Reaching for the stars while hopelessly grasping for the ground underneath my broken feet
I am touching your tears afraid that if I do not wipe them away you’ll wipe me away
The thought of you in pain always makes me feel like throwing up
Someone as precious as you should never understand what it means to be hopelessly alone while surrounded by people who love you
I am afraid to understand the misery that lies beneath your more than somber smiles
I’m following a journey written out to me by the government
Spending money I don’t have
Hopelessly aiming for a future where I can provide for you and help everyone who’s ever helped me
This accumulative debt is a spark in my check book
Ruining my finances but helping me achieve something greater than myself
I could never write poems the way you write music
And every time I look in the mirror I see a missing piece of me and I cannot find it no matter where I look
I’m trying to find myself alongside you
Afraid that you’ll be another to leave me behind and achieve grand things without me
Even if I am a lowly writer
Even if I am a hopeful poet
Even if I am a hopeless person
I need a sense of fulfillment to keep me alive
I am a train and no one is filling my coal
I have stopped on the tracks of life and I do not know which way to go
There are storms rolling in and the thunder is so loud that I cannot hear myself scream
My heart beats at an exponential rate and I no longer know if I want it to finally explode
Or for it to just stop
The clickity clacking of my fingers typing away on my keyboard is music
So I am a musician just like you
Only my instrument of choice is my growing vocabulary and my lyrics don’t always make sense
But I am still walking
Sometimes I run to a destination I’m certain doesn’t exist

.nietzsche once wrote: imagine the uncomfortable position, of having to speak for the whole of humanity... that's what i think of, in terms ever bothering to read an English philosopher; after reading Leviathan by Hobbes, i was so put off by English thought, that i became a recluse among the Germans... i still can't explain why i dislike English philosophy, but then again, i do: it's so... so... politicized! all of English philosophy is endeared by its culmination in Darwin, that... i rather look at an individual, rather than the entire schematic stratum of society, of human organization... if an individual can organize himself to fit an already rigid social structure, a seemingly predetermined social structural "pathos"... i don't think i will ever be convinced.

Kant among the ancients Greeks...
it's a simple schematic:

    a priori (prior)                    a posteriori (after)
the skeptic,                                  the stoic,
the cynic,                                      the Epicurean...

sometimes... language requires
a momentary borrowing from the simple
abstract of mathematics -
well, arithmetic...
                                 2 x 2 = 4...
the cynic's inclination to believe...
can only have an a priori ontological
orientation, leading up to experience...
hence the a posteriori realm...
wasn't Descartes the prime
example of skepticism?
                     cynicism is skepticism
whereby an inclination to believe
is replaced with a determination to doubt...

now the divide...
knowledge...
                a priori there is no knowledge
to be spoken of lightly...
instead... there's intuition...
or... der instinkt... hey, i still don't
know which definite article is
required for a certain expression in
German... it could also be das instinkt
or die instinkt... never mind...

i settled on this Kantian backwards
and forwards for some "strange" reason...
well... it's niche...
   and doesn't attract mobs...
it's not the sort of "problem" you'd
really see in life,
other than in the leisure time
you could ascribe to periods of prolonged
thinking, or not thinking,
reflecting, rather than itemizing
thought: as an insatiable reflex of
consciousness...
  that dreaded persistence of narration...
bundled together with
empirical bombardment via
the senses...

hence i lean toward stoicism and toward
the Epicurean side of things...
needless to say...
if i can know anything, anything at all...
it cannot exactly come from...
oh wait... yeah... knowledge
does exist a priori,
simply put: history repeats itself...
so you can learn from the past...
****...
                     well, the statement was
about to become hyperbolic anyway...
point being: that knowledge is
of a collectivist nature...
  to my understanding at least...
to generalities,
to succumbing to other people's
"realities"...
                        a pseudo-universal
knowledge of...
  but even if that is so...
having knowledge of the past /
a priori, from what came prior...
implies that you can't have knowledge
of the future!
you can have speculation,
you can take to gambling,
you can guess...
             and you can also hope (for the best)...
but...
a priori knowledge is exclusive
with regards to a posteriori knowledge,
they're not mutually inclusive,
they're mutually exclusive...
oddly enough, this is not a paradox,
but the ontology of... zeit-wissen...
time-knowledge...
                       space... oddly enough,
without being attached to time in
a relativism is... a bit like photographic
memory... when orientating yourself
in a new city, for the weekend...
tall buildings as compass pivots...
yet knowledge a priori
       (instinct, intuition,
    "knowing" how to throw a ball
a certain way
   cannot translate into a posteriori
knowledge through... whatever it is
that allows to make the transition...
instinct and intuition are prone
to the fault of mortality...
i.e. an aging baseball player will not
throw the same ball 30 years apart,
a priori "knowledge" is mostly
associated with a gift...
an inheritance, such knowledge is
nothing more than an inheritance...
   it's an ontological phenomenon per se,
but the knowledge isn't learned
as such... it it inherent, inherent,
   particular to the instance of its expression,
and unlike the a priori knowledge
of the expression: history repeats itself,
we can learn from the past...
it is unique, particular, not universally
viable, it's not collectivist...

a posteriori knowledge... well...
trial & error...
   empiricism...
              with no knowledge prior,
having some sort of empirical experience
provides a mostly new knowledge,
all of science is tinged
with an a posteriori methodology...
it is accumulative knowledge,
on the collective sense...
on the individual grounding...
wisdom...
        to not repeat the same mistakes
twice, which then, "magically"
is supported by cynicism...
    once a person has grasped a glimpse
of human nature,
   and concludes that self-interest
is the prime motivation...
he learns to respect his fellow beings...
in that, said trust...
is a cautionary standard for further
interactions...

all in all...
        a priori knowledge cannot
peer into a posteriori knowledge...
   on a personal level,
  a mere hyphen helps...
i.e.
             a priori can only peer
   into a- posteriori realm;
i.e. (a-) without an after...
  while, likewise,
   a posteriori can only peer into
a- priori realm,
  i.e. (a-) without a prior...
why?
well in the first instance,
whatever was known prior...
is what is known without an after...
likewise in the second instance,
whatever is known after,
has already discredited what was known
prior...

a posteriori knowledge is accumulative,
but it is also erasive in nature...
i.e. it erases preconceptions,
   and all that is a priori...

a priori knowledge is inherent,
but it is also tied, subtly with empiricism,
in that... if thinking was a sense,
a sense of sight... e.g.
   then we would call thinking:
intuition, instinct...
or rather the absence of thought,
and a synchronicity of all the senses...
given that the existence of thought:
cannot be categorized by
the synchronicity of all our five senses,
at the same time...
   the existence of thought is
predicated on 5 - 1 = 4...
at least one sense needs to be absent
from what the remaining senses
synchronize...
i.e.
        i see this text, i hear this music
(chant of the templars),
       i feel this keyboard and the clothes
on me...
but... i can't exactly smell anything
specific,
    or taste anything specific either...
saliva like water... doesn't exactly
have a taste;
ergo: i can think of something akin to this.

i'm practicing
believing that all I do is degenerative

i'm practicing.
my frowns which seem accumulative

i've imagined
a time without bars and smoke shops

I've imagined.
ways to transform myself into a cyclops

Mothers,
Husbands,
Cuckolds,
Embryos,
This one is for you.

---

If you love someone
And this someone and yourself
Takes vows to be sincere
Under the eyes of God
Doubt is already here.
The more passion you show
You should know but haven't a clue
Back down on earth
She doesn't like you.

---

As time slips by
The more you realise
There is no feeling in her eyes
Which don't like watching what you do
She doesn't like you.

---

Without a notion
Of what is causing this lack
Of emotion
It isn't the way you are or even who-
It is just
That
She doesn't like you.

---

However romantic men can be
With concern and care - The more you can guarantee
Altho I haven't discovered anything new-
It is the same accumulative history
She doesn't like you.

Everything is an echo through the alleyway street in mid-afternoon
Children scream from some far away park
Dishes clatter and smash in a house, of which I do not see
Dogs bark, gravel pit succumbs
Bass raptures that rupture the ear drums of the passenger
Tyre skid, rows of flower pots damaged
Growling, forever growling the beasts on bikes
Clatter the gates, what matters these days?
ssffffFFFFAAARRRRUMPH!
Triumph race the boys in pretty cars
Coughing kids and the coffee drop pits
rup rup rowww rupp!
Tip tapping of heels on paving slabs
Most are broken and make a click clack noise
Children running, dud dud dud dud duddudududud
Careless rain lost in the crest of a cliff face
"AH O DA DOOOR!"
"NAHHH EE DID DOE"
And spluttering engines revving on tarmac-
"MUMMMEH MUMMEH MUUUUUU-"
The revving begins again, the noise never ceases
Low rumble of the wheelie bin on crooked slabs
Smell the rain as it sets and laundry as its removed from lonely lines
Hissing cars in the ******* rain
Hear music, its life's music, every word a jumble in a proletariat (e)state

In a brief moment of silence there's an ethereal chill as a shrill cry from miles away resonates to me and my tapping on the keys are deadened by the accumulative sound of reactionary ghosts.

Image
In a nation full of mirrored meanings
Losing the plot to the points made by editors
With the front to cover-up
The dots and dents
That differentiate one doe-eyed one-day wonder
From another

Not too difficult
Then
To discern from where our demons are derived

The motivation behind our mothers' mockery
All too often a fearful fantasy
That this will be a permanent reality
A lonely destiny of separation
In sanity

Choosing challenge as our champion
Causes less respect than one might expect to receive
From those persons whose pretence it is
To adore independence

In fact they abhor the idea
That they might not
Have got a clue
What's best for you

It's all so clear to them that the fix is a daily change
Lies in a variety of lipsticks
And the new best-dressed latest range
Of thigh-thwarting
Waist-winning
Sin-free super-fad foods
That nourish your neuroses
Whilst simultaneously stifling your spirit

While your mind is on your midriff
You're not wondering if the government have gained their votes
Through the generous use of their
Accumulative groins

And you are much less likely to ponder the particulars
Of the power plants you pass
If every article you read
Is ready to remind you
Of the importance you should place
Upon the proportions of
Your ***

It's a distance from me
Sheffield - City of industry
Where my friend alights to be
Lizzy Boo Green
Queen of my scene
The perpetual adjective that smiles
Like a teenager
             in a disco
Or a burning go-go.

-----

Primary a target of my wishes
That curl friendship in a scribbled
                                  slowhand
            ­                    Back and forth
                       To indirect overdrive
Where a thousand exits greet you with fire
And say welcome
Where we probably will never meet
Seperated by forests, buildings and miles of cold
                                    concrete.

-----

If I allowed my candle to burn down
Then tame a buick's wanderings into nature's
                                             blind spot
Then I am no poet
I hold my friendship like a trophy, high
No contact, No coffee, But we share the same sky.

-----

My pledge is to write my verse
A gift stolen be a loved cat,
So here is my rotting composure
I have one golden friend, Whose fretted blue lights
Are visualising something else.
As change haunts the bellringer, The only sound of life
Is deafening bells.

-----

A frail yet stunning femininity masked by
Accumulative beauty
The description holds general putativity
                                   in a broken cup
As it flows into the sewers of of my persona
And tho we will never share
A cobblestoned journey into the opposites that
           collide into seperate genders
It is only my years that say goodbye to that today
I lost my younger years in the afternoon of yesterday.

-----

2 Friends heading into infinity
But without a compass to map direction
Only 1 of us is courting perfection
And I am sorry to say in my selfish unit
That it isn't me,
I'm only a word that's free.

-----

Freedom is so entwined by *******
Tho I'm not concerned with that,
I am blessed from where I am sat
I am, perhaps too old to understand
What cradles  friendship between a young girl and
                                              an ageing man-
A beautiful wide-eyed energy from Elysium, Our Lizzy
Which leaves me nothing inside nothing more
Other than a single image worth living for.

Our accumulative energy is making this happen:
The power of thought awakens emotion.
Move our hands, up and down,
glued together in a sadistic motion.
Pull on my teeth until I can't speak,
whisper in the language that makes me weak.

Use your mouth and open mine:
as hollow as the tv screen
you pull my hair until I scream.
Move and flow in my bed
Don't do something that you'll dread.
Turn to the direction of my door
I lay there naked on the floor.
Begging me with your sunken eyes,
the sun melts my skin and you leave me blind.

walking the concrete pave
i started to feel a bulging softness in my liver,
just the sheer balloonness of it,
not attached to any bone,
it was too much for me,
i had to walk into the greenbelt darkness
to feel the soft pouches of earth
beneath the feet and banish
all livery sentiments of the silken doughy thought,
and in there i said:
with the abolishment of asylums
psychiatry has become evermore bothersome,
imagine if the churches were closed
and priests freely roamed,
not since henry the eight such travesty,
with it, ******-synthesis and very
little psychoanalysis:
because who the hell would diagnose a
child of two with some symptoms accumulative
as a.d.h.d.? where's the: climb a tree
break a leg then tango on with crutches?

when you look back at your life
you won't remember any of this
not your first cut
nor your last
so you search
for people like you
people with scars
and for people who cover them up
who can't sleep
for people who hear voices
ones that tell them
to just man up and die
you search to prove your innermost suspicions wrong
you are not a freak
not alone
but you are
alone, i mean
and a freak, too
that's why people avoid you
cross the street rather than pass you on the sidewalk
they can feel your fear
your inability to trust
and it is because of this inability
that you loose hope completely
you can no longer trust yourself to function
it is because of the standards of this so-called
"Normal World"
that you do these things to yourself
Normal people feel pain
a kind of pain that you can't really relate to
(We Think It's Because You're A Freak)
it tugs at you
and you cannot bear to let this emotionless life define you
it's hard to say no to Being Normal
if you feel pain, after all, you are Normal
but you're wrong
it doesn't make you Normal
neither does dying
dying makes you dead
and despite the 170,000,000,000 accumulative body count,
dying is considered unnatural

why would ever thought become a therefore of being, a parallel pairing, well, i can imagine why, uncertain thinking gave birth and girth of uncertain being, but uncouple thinking from being and couple it to knowledge, how sooner the reminders encountered whereby expressing thinking with being as equal is lost, and thinking after the divorce from being finds a second partner, namely knowledge: and the men who stare at goats? sooner thinking and knowledge coupled than thinking and being, i do know that the former example eradicates thinking per se, but it also leaves us with pure intuition / knowledge / automation, which means less concern for a subsidiary of broken bones and unaffected brains to be worth a coupling - the former attempt eradicates this shadowy narcissism that the latter invigorates with how the outside is already defaulting the inside with c.c.t.v.

you will not eat the fruit
of the tree of knowing good from evil,
since upon eating the fruit
you will not think -
you will know but will not think -
and this will be a demise
you will claim to be supreme
as the foremost expression adequate -
thus upon eating the fruit
the wages of your labour
you will know more than you desired,
and will too think less than
could be inspired - not a question
of writing a pillar-like autobiography
but a question of writing a biography at all..
to eat from a tree of knowledge:
whether dual or by mono inspired -
serves no bearing -
hence the modern fable akin to brothers
Aesop and Grimm,
that he who eats the fruit of the tree of knowledge
will not eat the fruit of the tree of thought,
hence the dichotomy rather than a duality,
hence the monism rather than the monasticism -
and he who eats of the tree of knowledge
will look upon a pauper in a scene of
agricultural foreboding with much insolence -
for he who eats from the tree of knowledge
whatever the vector, whether into zenith
of good, or whether into the zenith
of evil, will know neither being reached,
for *thought will become the orient conjunction
of or being accumulative:
that good (thought) will be as puzzle-muddled
with evil (knowledge) as may be allow -
or as the Libra testifies - that knowledge is
evil and thought via continuum narratio is good;
but still gladly i too fabricating celestial bodies
with a lifespan of cats aged prior to 30 (if pedigree).

As I stroll through the forest, at a slow hunters pace
I noticed with an open eye
the prey is never a sin

at an attended circumstances
I noticed an advise to the people
Should you? have a desire to take one's life
bear in mind that

The prey is never a sin
at an attended circumstances
**** an eat I pray God will forgive you
I noticed a lion don't **** one another

Why? A question to the predators
can't we learn from lions? You take one's life like a wild dog
Well, when they **** they eat

but you **** and throw throughout like a donkey
Can't we learn from bees?
The are United and accumulative
Can't we learn from ants?

They arouse and ply with no conflicts
Let us end vehement and build the nation
Let us end crime and hold each other like a Web
Lets love and cherish one another like butterflies
Let us end vehement and build the nation.

On the day that I met you, I knew,
Something, some thought, some feeling, bloomed,
Some thickening, welling honey, through,
Which glued, that golden glaze which gild,
My eyes, my heart, my feelings, still,
Which seven years would slowly spill,
And now our hands are covered.

And all days since, I've vowed to live,
My all, your happiness, all that is,
My gift to you, accumulative,
To scorn the world, undeserving of us,
To prove to you, that white-hot dove,
That I'm not moving, my lover, my love,
I want for you to stain me.

In the morning, awake with haste,
We both agree, ignore the taste,
Of us, our wine-filled mugs, placed,
Swill, replaced with water at three,
The thirsty, the woken, the golden beam,
The bronze-capped flower, headboard between,
A kiss, just ours, both bodies; clean.

All we arrange in rows, edged longwise. Logos- stretch
Catching air, jumping, me and my wheels,
Hot wheels and Lego bridges,
enough… set setting inspection ready, read on,
think all you think you may
-if  you really saw that golden eagle
when you heard that sound
that is not in my script, but if you heard it once,
there it is, familiar forgotten

feeling we leave our computational constraints,
reaching now,
then, when something so big, we cannot re image
the entirety, even under full on Disneified disbelief
relief, paid on time, paying interest,
interesting,
what was the joke? You ask the Jester if the Joker
was the thief or if…
familiar dregs, some bottles rattle like it's 1973.
History is a big pile
emanating heat
from long idle
words, clear near catholic original project pitch…

To conform to a story told originally,
everybody knows, {Thanks, tip the hat}

Snake stories, from real life.
Not many city kids had those,
before the importers recollected old knowns,
diamonds can be crushed so fine, it can explode,

aaai think, digitally it is all familiar by now,
literally true, is word level true, atop code
taken as granted, the good idea
infra-ARPANET, ready writers fed the need to read.

Mind in a vat,
dissipate that, and find the gaseous form - spirit
essence of we the unembodiable mind,
- make to image of your master mind,
- and find breathing easier to use,
- quick shifts, puffs to start a fire,
or warm the visitor's hands,

14:03 - who, yes

who can read from these stacks, who indext
all of if we only knew?

-----------------

2022, at the moment,
the future from the first televised past.

What were the grown ups thinking?
We may listen to Auden and McLuhan due
to we live fifty years in the future,
what do we know that those minds could not?

Samuel Beckett never played with an interactive mind.
- or are we now projectioning, waiting a point
- a dot to go to, projected on my screen
- click. Godot. gotit
- Crumbs, do not mark trails, bread crumbs,
- tie the leaven in, the dark woods,
- and the unfeedable children
- and the witch… and gingerbread… imagine that

Whose children dream of rock candy mountains,
and feel related to the unfeedable children,
after all the rats were driven
from the state mind behind the city wall,
by a harlequin, yes, here,
Dust Bowl Roots,
let me
entertain you. As in days of old, pied motley mostly
complementary silks, full reds, and full blues, and full gold,
of a magical shade, due to a woof died scarlet, peeking through…
- under the skull arachnoid mater confirms possibility
I am in agreement to this degree,
costume and setting, aides to the angel
on the whole. The message in the presentation. Feels familiar.

Men wrestle angels, and ever after limp.
A touch to remember, do not for get,
all this is from a story told,

before horses wore shoes.

Excellent Ruach, eh
/infallible law, once writ, it is scripture,
all who live under its rule, live or die thereby.

- the outsider hero, stranger savior trope

Drama on Earth, this earth, grappling with God,
for reason to exist under Kings and Priests,
and the luxury due those roles, by law,
on the world staged as time,
- yours in mine, or mine in yours U, the sign
- holding the idea of we, me and you, the sound
- all that is not me, and me, I think
Word, the idea wisdom forms from
-hold that thought,
entertain a messenger,
a stranger who overtakes you
on your pilgrimage to visit each grave
in Nashville, once
before… BTDT, the ghost of a friend…
sliptec, friction sticky spray
applied… the costume calls attention,
- we can un cause such a slip and fall
see me, be curious, what
would entice a man to play the fool?
--------------- infallible legislation
the golden head shews signs of fracture,
the shield of righteousness is greening over,
silvery absolutes are flaking chrome,
iron toes are rusting red as Mars,

the state of mind you are in, I am in,
my friend, I am holding, in effect, I imagine
words, holding meaning, and there,
the friction, squeek sport shoe soul,
- what is the meaning of
the rub, the burr under your western saddle,
all tacked up to ride the old trails,
revive the myth, before the war,

before the plague,
before the storm,
before the tragedy we all relate to, we knew
somebody who knew somebody who died that day.

All events in drama instantiation at once, occur one day
in a time between first and last teller of the tale, one day

your turn, you find your self. No question, that is you,
that character reoccuring in your binges on Hulu, is you.

- as we attempted to prove with your approval
- prince of me per surity granted this stranger.
true rest, liesure, no sorrow with it, stick. Stay, make it pay.
Sure, lie still.
On to logos, through ethos and pathos,
esprit de myth mean groove, sounded
scratched
deep as hell. So, profundus mundus,
whence we sprang, to fill the slots,
and race to the first principle
diamond tempered blade,
edge of a speck of diamond dust,

reflection
thing that is not a word, but that which lets.
Us, awe, a wedom ritual.
Being as we become, if we do dissipate into real ever.

Let's see, leave us go learn, do we enter-
any thing, when we are entertained?

I have a mind to say, we do. At a stretch,
I reach out,
evangelically speaking, sales pitch indulging,
tension intending to smooth a wrinkle
- you read, I write, you say, I write
- prime function, pulling all accumulative
- mistaken rights,
- twisting those ghost terds into thread,
- spider wise, out your but
and
the game is the same as ever, says the boss.
Wear the costume or sweep the aisles.
This is show business, done for nothing,
to keep you hanging on
why, what is my attention worth, that
, my breathing comma real attention, to you
the not me,
not god, not hearing, but
reading, as from a seeming magic pen, what it does,
if your school desk ever had a hole, for a standard
ink bottle, your time on earth is ended, soon,
you, too, you say to me,
and I agree, the we we form remains tied
to the stories we told,
familiar cousins who shared friends stories, we all tell
familiar spirits, same as those not allowed in the entity
forming the state embodying all mankind knows so far,
in searchable, liable to say./silli etymologos, at the center


of your gravity, life is push and pull, nada mas, get the feel
do the dance,

we wrestle, we grapple with imaginations actively ******* us
in time on scales irrelevant to this line,
to cross one thread, two screws twists, full turns,
two time, Weinstein, not Lenny,
Eric, Philippine wine dance,

did we elicit wonder, what in the … hell, if that is the setting
have you a mind with a hell in it being God of all infallible spirit
utterances touching you to make a note,
say, I feel the truth, infesting my soul,

may it be so, I say. Jesters - not tricksters nor deceivers, mere
may it be so, repeaters, as I think I say I am in my core,
POST routines, verify trust,

engage your mind prior to the final race to the bottom.


We are the state, executive action, is ours,
we agree. We lie
to ourselves, my kind. We lie to get along,
we lie to just get by,
we lie to say we know when if we stop. Just

stop. Here, this is a point where no aim protrudes.
Save this thought, set to as a member, a thinker
relating to the wish we knew, why

do we wish to write line upon line, precept
upon precept.
Cept a fist full, grab a hold, mane rein, run,

my friendly local horse, not mine,
but never ridden, put out to pasture
where the deer and the coyotes play and

the water under the dirt seeps up
to find it's level, see, so here

the truth is planting these trees, willows and cottonwood,

out there we got grease wood and Mormon tea,
on that hill we get rosemary and cannabis,
chamomile is every where, so is sage,

three grandmas back, we knew the roots we gathered,
and how acorn flower is made edible,
and how corn is tamalized - just by watching,
then doing,
aha,
first time, got it right, woo hoo big, dance, right then,
say okay,
do not forget, always dance to remember found joy,

that is the strong spirit in the storied seer who hid
the knowing, all the ritual roles made reasonable,

the people, back then, the people asked for it.
The ****** thinks that way today.

The meek inheritance project, on all attention circuits,
gestalt alte vista arachnoid engineering,
under your skull,

under Golgotha, right,

Pack eating in poverty
has been part of most,
all peoples history.

An inherent component
in our genetic memories.

G.B. Shaw said, the cells
never forget!

The ravenous race to
appease appetites is
the primary cause of
obesity.

" Hunger comes with
  eating, thirst goes
  with drinking ".

There, in that statement,
lieth the problem and
solution.

If one out eats ones hunger,
ie, by competing against an
allocated time for consumption,
then, you have succeeded in
beating fortification with an
excess, of which, is both
unnecessary and uncomfortable.

At that point, we need to consider
what Shaw observed and take note,
that all addictions are accumulative.

I know, I am an alcoholic.

So, how does one take back control
of ones teenage weight?

First, we need to accept that food
depravation in a mild sense does not
cause harm, hunger is the - removed
from the +.

Less in intake and less in the speed
in which one consumes.

I am not going to write you a diet sheet,
this is futile, succeeding is achievable,
"providing" you never stop practicing.