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RAJ NANDY Jun 2016
Dear Poet Friends, I hope you like this slice of Early History presented
below in simple verse. Please do read the short notes at the end, before giving your comments.  Thanks, - Raj

ARCHIMEDES : THE PIONEERING
       STREAKER OF HISTORY!

There lived in the Third Century BC, in the Sicilian
town of Syracuse, then a Greek colony,
A Greek mathematician named Archimedes.
He was tasked by King Hiero of his town,
To find the purity of gold in his crown;
Suspicious of the goldsmith having mixed
some material of inferior kind,
Which the King wanted Archimedes to find!

So, Archimedes lost in thought one day,
Entered the public bath on his way!
And as his body began to get submerged,
He happened to notice perchance,
Water spilling over from the tub!
The answer suddenly flashed across his
mind,
And he jumped up leaving everything
behind,
Wearing only his birthday suit,
Running through the street of Syracuse,
Exclaiming -  “Eureka! Eureka!”
(I have found it! I have found it!)
Perhaps to become the first known streaker  
of History!
While establishing the Principles of Buoyancy!
@ (see notes)

Archimedes, son of the astronomer Pheidias,
studied at the great Alexandrian city,
Remembered even to this day for his many
pioneering works, -
In Hydrostatics, Mechanics, and Geometry.
With his ingenious mechanical discoveries,
He held the great Roman galleys of Marcellus
at bay,
For more than three years, as Plutarch the
Roman Historian says!    + (see notes)
Later one day, while lost in deep thought,
When some intricate problem of geometry
he was trying to resolve,
Refused to hear Marcellus' bidding,
To be slain by the Roman soldiers who had
come to fetch him!
O those Romans, with lesser brains and more
brawn!

And some hundred and thirty years after
his death in 75 BC,
Cicero, then the Roman Governor of Sicily,
Found the tomb of great Archimedes, near the
Agrigentine Gate, over grown with bushes and
thorns;
Where he lay buried in the scented dust of History!
                                                   - Raj Nandy, New Delhi.

NOTES:
@ Principle of Buoyancy = any floating object displaces its own
weight of fluid. So weight displaced by a crown of pure gold and
the one already made could be compared to find the truth!
+ Archimedes designed large stone throwers, & crossbows, and
also grappling hooks using large cranes to grab Roman ships and
capsize them!
Philosophy about Solstice

Scientific method:

1. Observation: He said his physical theory raises dreams and joins interracial ideas - could produce longevity and immortality with his idea of raising the world with levers and raise their strength the world to bring the earth on its axis and improving the quality of evolutionary life the geniuses who come into the world. The Elves would raise with his new meridians to build a world that links the current mythical world with realistic ancient philosophical, to bridge the gap of the dying world today.

2. Pattern:    The new world of elves help me transcend to improve today's world, to connect with the old, so I'll see needs that today could fraternize with seniority, to enhance resources and maximize them. Example: feeding more people necessary to prevent homeless people of their rights, maximize the cosmic world today with an Elf Archimedes to rule the new world and its vicissitudes.


Nights longer and more alike, not sleep or sleep, getting numbers for half days ... but no more whole, more evaporated water in the boilers of hell to recover from our inefficiencies and disabilities. 1-2-3-4- ... 4,5- 4.6 -4.7 ... I exist - I get up - I invoke the dew, and drops the recovery leftover for next winter - thus saving in my mind the fear of not extend beyond my unethical proportion of aid for subsequent actions helping future for those who need to continue or ...

3.  I managed to see that during these days reviewing the epistemological axis where Archimedes stands with optics, physics, and engineering, strikes me how maybe even if he lived, he would have invented things to save us from the worst threats. I managed to raise my faith to join science and move ideas through numbers, astrological and cosmic phenomena. Today on Hydrostatic overcome the demographic Tsunamis threaten the world about crowding industrially. We would do more immune power of the mind without reason, making sensitive PLCs and computers programmed. I've noticed that we can all be engineers; in fact, we are, what happens is that we do not dream dreams starting unfinished, but rather we always begin and where the same without it.

4.  For millions of nights exercise my way of looking at the ancient world and observe that it was still the Sun - trip with my thoughts and saw that the days were universal, to the moon was sharper - touch the sun and moon with my mathematical calculations caressing the entire universe. Inquiring as sleeps the world in my hands and my senses, to measure the physical magnitude beyond being I Archimedes - raise me to the world in my hand and reach the Nordic worlds - try to go to bed thinking he would lose the night to count stars and beams of morning light -even got the world in my hands feeling lashes mortality. The results are: with the Elf I slept counting stars in 5, 8, 3, 10 minutes (average 6.5 min), with the arithmetic in 3, 7, 11, respectively 3 minutes (average of 6 min), without at 9, 15, 14, 12 minutes achieve agencying (average 12.5 min). I am a prisoner of the proportions that occur over time. Counted nights and days pass and my mind was seeing everything together once.

5.  Therefore the phenomenon Solsticio helped me measure the nights intoxicate fatigue levitating night inspiration. Biologically alive even if Archimedes still have hopes of immunology strict life, but rather do good fighting it scientifically, but how is knowledge enemy dying in their own ignorance called fear. The more than academic Epistemology is one gram of salt to the ignorant homeless, which is all the Universal Sea to water and all the sea to move ships to those who really thought of it back and not stray it for those who use it. Elves revive the mythical millennium sick every year remembering that it is possible to heal the lost time.

The Sun gets tired and already has varicose veins, I would think that given time restores me to return to the rivers where they were born. But the sun continues to rise and this fat and cholesterol, we need ways to measure how much longer we can keep watching the Solstice like ours. Perhaps an infusion of Mandrake for poor people starting to be good ...
If Archimedes had been an Elf -  Solstice Holistic Dreams
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2015
at night you can spot him strolling the pavement,
the modern archimedes, with a bottle of bavaria beer,
using his cigarette lighter to detail the bottle cap
with one smooth use of leverage, as taught
by paul the ex-convict, the hopeful dub-step d.j.

the 19th century had its pan-slavism,
but given there’s a union between the germanic people
and slavic people while mama siberia is
left behind freezing,
outside with the big bad wolves and bears -
having exported serious existential literature
of doom and grooming gloom to scandinavia,
the balkan slavs still uncertain, rejected in favour
of the bulgars and the romanians,
i can mention the northern slavic *trans-slavism
,
not quiet trans-gender, such a linguistic surgery of the soul
requires little details like:
my point was proved about the up-turned nose in england
concerning public intellectuals... they do great cornish pastry
and music anyway, let the french do the thinking
and find joy in it -
plus reading philosophy books
in english is like pulling your teeth out, standing in a bucket of
ice cold water with someone setting fire to your hair.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2017
honestly? it was the best part of the day,
drawing those electron-migration diagrams
when conceptualising organic compounds...

       plus i like the culinary aspect of the whole enterprise...
ever sniffed esters?
            sweet *******...
          if i remember correctly: the basis for
                            the art of brewing perfumes.

but it had to happen... i was going to become
     a heretical linguist of some sort, having taken to
the organic chemistry diagrams
                              that state how electrons migrate...
well... "state"... first they tell you they're in orbit,
then they tell you they're in clouds...
                         and then... they go back to the orbit
theory with how            H H
                                        |   |
                                   H-C-C-OH
                                        |   |
                                       H  H                  (ethanol)
is broken down, or used... to make something
else... it's usually a canvas chemical...
                    you don't want the impurities of
water...
                        **** knows what breeds in that
liquid... ethanol? you know that whatever could
have bred on a microorganism level would die
off from the fire aspect of ethanol...
                    what is funny is watching this website
over the past few days...
                      are these critiques concerning
   the improvement a bit like:
                               oh no! digital eugenics!
     christ quote: seperating the sheep from the goats...
                       i'm more bothered about being
constipated and trying to figure out
                     a laxative from natural materials than
buying synthetic products...
                on this level of medical advice: i'd be
considered a quack-doctor... but then best before
yogurt mixed with milk... **** me...
             considering my bowels?
                         i'd be a 100m sprinter
                          all the way through a marathon...
    oh by the way: ʒ is covert way of indicating
                           ż - which, as you can see,
has a diacritical distinction encapsulated...
                         capital version?    Ƶ -
                 and that's rare, it's a bit like seeing a yeti
on a page... rare as ****...
                                      so i'm thinking... is this
the spot where the german (es und zed) ß came from?
              chopping off the head on the particular?
            oh look... they correlate... Ƶ and Ł -
    but that really depends on your linguistic palette -
depends what century you were born in,
                and what the vogue of a tongue invoked.
   but now for the critical part....
       several things... all at once...
               ever made a schnitzel / a schabowy?
                                            sh       ­         s ha    v
you know... when you get a pork fillet
  and you have to flatten it out with... tłuczek...
      o.k. (hand signal... index + thumb
   touching for an O... and the remainder:
         K = III... that's middle, ring and pinky fingers)
               the only transalation i have that's even
remotely accurate is                "pestle" -
but you see, to flatten a pork fillet you use something
akin to a maczuga / a culinary bludgeon -
                   then you put the flattened pork fillet
into egg goo... and then into breadcrumbs...
                               anyway...
    the archimedes bit...
                          it's the opposite of having that quote
ring true: give me a lever long enough and i'll
move the earth...
                                to really flatten a fillet of pork
you have to hold the tłuczek close to the tip
          of the metal-head...
                                i don't know why that's true...
maybe because this isn't a problem for archiemdes
to use a lever, and lift something up...
             but it's a case for hammering something
down, flattening it into a schnitzel form -
                             you need to hold the instrument
really close to the metal-head tip, rather than
    at the end of the wooden stem...
                             it's just the opposite of what's
true within archimedes...
      and yes, i know that schnitzel refers to chicken fillets...
but do know you what else?
                 when you wake up the next day
and have a nicotine hangover?
                        and you're coughing?
              it's also called: coughing up a schabowy -
                                     sssss    ha              bo'h     v  
            and by now you realise this y
                                          is not related to an i -
rather a "dried" out sound... equivalent to the metaphor
of swallowing your tongue;
                                        i.e. enter hades.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2016
there's much gesture in thinking out the nonsensical,
the un-thinkable - the un-pardonable - with sheer gusto
you tend to think out the unsolvable -
the nonsense people are afraid to
think about - the impractical -
and that's for one reason alone -
                  it doesn't create real problems...
you do not engage with real struggles
people encounter - because by doing
all the above stated... you are not the one
who says to a person: you can't do this,
and you can't to that.
                 which is why i don't understand
the English aversion toward philosophy:
say the word, and the English immediately
succumb to the notion of pedantry and
snobbism - when in fact: it's hardly that -
          perpetually philosophers entertain
themselves with invoking awe, as with ageing,
and seeing the many pitfalls of romance
and comedy and tragedy... awe becomes
very hard to find... it's simulated ignorance
in a way... for example Heidegger championing
Aristotle is a gesture intended in this direction -
and his concept of dasein is another
way to stage a coup against the world...
              it's an antithesis to what would otherwise
be regarded as activism... or more piquantly:
hedonistic activism, which primarily encompasses
staging a higher moral authority -
but never reaching for the fist making a signature
for the cause... that phrase: just empty words...
and humble pie. well... if you're a bachelor,
have this instilled aversion toward having a private
relationship with women: suitor - Kierkegaard -
well... you are bound to create pointless problems...
because... to be honest... you'd rather throw
"imaginary" problems into the metaphysical arena
than sit there... as a competent English gentleman
and speak of philosophy with about two or
three terms... reality... god... monkey...
                  or at a chessboard with a desire to provoke
a telekinetic pandemonium.. x-men apocalypse and
all that ****** imagery...
                             it's odd... but it's just so...
the English had an idyllic life,
                                      as any island dwellers might...
which is why they don't like impractical problems...
because they blabber about practical solutions,
to practical problems... that never get solved,
i.e. engrossed in more politics than anything:
the English have no ear for philosophy -
the mere word frightens them should anyone admit
to being the stated adherent: for god's sake,
the Scots are perceived as barbarians with the
deep-friend Mars bars (and pizzas) - but Hume
rang the eardrum in Kant's ear... and wallah!
a new chapter... Locke? only Darwinism,
popularised with images, as they say:
best leave these skeletons in the closet.
                             what am i working up toward?
well... it's a bit specific...
                                     first... the easiest proof
of solipsism... a crowded train... someone farts...
     guess what... the person who farted is
the only person on the train who appreciates the stink...
            hence: the theory - you like your own -
hence the abstract of the self, competing for a theory,
the self - as an optical itinerary: from head to foot,
from hand to toe - a long list of self-serving
          accomplishments in detailing all acquired
difference...                    but it's not about that...
          for all the reasons that life can become perfect...
at precisely that moment people began to
philosophise -                       and that condemnation
of reading a book on the topic in youth
rather than old age?        well... the glory of old age
is kinda slipping away...    if not now? when?
obviously you might jump the wagon too eagerly...
but at least you'll soon realise how
    a philosophy book (excluding Plato) can actually
help you in forming a dialogue -
                       i think that's what they teach primarily,
the art of dialogue... not the art of persuasive speaking
(rhetoric) - but the art of dialogue... after all...
   Plato... right? all dialogue...
                                  and they do: it only takes one book
in this literary region, i became convinced of it
after only being introduced to the subject area quiet late
in life (21)...        prior to that? fiction and poetry...
   and science... nothing else...
                              like a fish to water...
the necessary 21 years of strain having avoided the subject
(not on purpose, mind you).
                  yes, a glorification, why not?
     it's because these nonsensical problems arrive
as a reflection of a defence mechanism...
     the English don't like "too many words" or
the continental verbiage they coin as the psychiatric
phrase word salad - precisely because, sometimes,
language is not about entertaining someone with
tragic choke-jokes and songs...
          great singers, great comedians,
   great engineers... but in this field? obnoxious *****.
  the English are the first instigators of
     enshrining a quicksand pit of a person's
esteem in his ability to use and comprehend language,
primarily because they can't comprehend
the complexity of language being thus expressed
they immediately conscript against him
    this... odd... quack-wacky need to teach
the person in question refer himself to the Jane Austen
clinic of correct language parameters -
            nothing beyond! nothing foreign and
original! we need novelists who only travel in
straight lines (preferably on a Benelux plateau)
        and never dazzle with a tarantula bite of
disorientation (akin to the cut-up method)...
        and you will find that the English are primarily
concerned with making people suspicious of
   their sanity... strange... i once had a work-horse
work ethic and that became undermined,
                       then my use of language became undermined
because, as already stated: the English don't
do impractical things with their thought:
                it has to be practical...
like the Germans and time... everything has to be
efficient... or the Japanese and space (*******
cardboard sized hotel rooms)...
                             which brings me to the point of my
original intention:
                 deleuze's and guattari's searching ambition -
the anti-oedipus, or: body-without-organs...
             in turn the dark ages of Cartesian thinking (in England)
or how            mental health is somehow a lesser
   health to physical health -
                 sweat... and exocrine glands v. endocrine glands...
    <yes, telegram mode, precursor to a detailed
        explanation>
                                i'm just proposing what i dare believe
to be a thought-object, or more precisely a
             thought-***** -
                    no point looking for a shortcut with this,
      it's either the sort of verbiage compound you'll
reason with... or you'll treat it as *******...
                     as ever, whether that's investing in
a gym membership and a suitable diet...
         you won't get the ****** six-pack on your torso...
  this concept is reserved for what i find problematic
in mental ailments - which, in turn... somehow,
"miraculously" translate into physical ailments -
           but of course, amputees get the priority seats
in the eyes of every Jack and Dolly... because it's easier
that way...
                        my back-reading in psychiatry? well,
it's not exactly limited... on the plus side -
a theory is nothing more than a placebo trial -
                   you're not thinking about it being effective,
that's the default point of applying thinking where
pharmacology cures are pretty crap and its side-effects
catastrophic... and talking therapy ends up being
a monologue with a table filled by notes with single
words on them and being asked: to identify their meaning...
anyone who has experienced these practices
can also say: i'm actually conscious you're making me
feel like a ******* ******... you've just insulted my
intelligence... and i'm back to square one at kindergarten...
   have you ever watched you-tube frustrations?
well... a thought-***** has nothing to do with
    that map of the brain...
                                feeling goes here,
  seeing goes here...             a mash-up and a mess akin
   to the map of the European union...
          because some rich boy scumbag drew it
in crayon at the beginning of the 20th century means
it has to be right...
                                  but if i treat thinking as a thought-*****,
i know how the ***** works...
            a heart is a muscular pump...
  the stomach is a digestive acid swamp...
                        the esophagus is stretch-armstrong...
should i feel guilty writing about this?
          should i? touchy subject? well... you won't
find any pills around here... well, apart from the sleeping
pills... they're sacred (to me, at least, as if the bourbon,
but that's my private affair... you walk down this
route: it heals me... not necessarily you) -
  this is to simply end the whole pseudo-Cartesian dichotomy
of philosophy popularised by psychology and
psychiatry - for these two areas are bound to simply
popularise philosophy... and given that most people
don't read a book in that area... it's easier to manipulate
people in therapy with the knowledge passed down
from on high.
                                       and it's there...
the dichotomy parallelism is primarily due to the fact that
most people think of the brain with two categories:
a. when physical pain strikes it (a headache)
and b. when physical pain is absent (with what ease
    they think)...
  the problem lies in the perception of b.,
most people can conceptualise that there's something
deeper than the raw physicality of things...
i do remember times when i encountered that
ease of thinking...
                                        i experienced it...
it was there... ****, i lost it... but that provided me with
an un-inhibitory trance of a writing capacity...
   the question is... how can merely thinking be painful?
most mental health problems never ask this:
thinking is painful...
                                      isn't that what most melancholics
state, but with a more emotional language of
feelings and emotions?                  
             if the thought-***** is damaged...
then all thinking coming from this compartment of the brain
will be painful...
                               so what sort of paracetamol
do you take? it's not as easy as being prescribed
high-blood pressure pills...
                                      popping pills like that
you're only escaping a conscious moment of what
an automated ***** feels
verdant green acres covered the planet of the apes
like a petticoat junction
donning barrel of skinny dipping monkeys.

Once drought stricken vast landscape
far as the eye could see
suddenly flush with promise
of budding new shoots
and ladders for vine companions
harkened prelapsarian Edenic prominence,
when mother nature resplendent
videre licet morning glory of primeval Earth
pregnant with multitudinous color pallette
regaled bipedal forerunners

of humankind with
panoramic pristine kingdom,
where legendary tropical verdure
availed countless plant and animal species
teeming with flora and fauna
offering veritable Smörgåsbord
to plethora of herbivores and omnivores,
where expansive webbed wide world
subtly hinted, negotiated and suggested
horn and hardart of good and plenty.

Lush vegetation adrip with downpour aftermath
tempted all creatures great and small
all things wise and wonderful
to emerge from their respective hideaway
courtesy the palpable pulsation of Gaia
exuding potential power to proliferate
gifting superlatives linkedin to survival of the fittest
blessing natural advantageous propensities
to buzzfeed capital one reproductive traits
redeeming symbiotic qualities
with generations of beneficial mutations
at evolutionarily optimal junctures
though devoid of thinking beings
to witness or record phenomenal events.

Nasty short beasts proliferated
refining technique to do the wild thing
stir (fried) crazy
as concupiscent bison teen in estrus
while shuffling off to Buffalo,
(or where that city
in the United State of America
would take shape)
hashtagging where x marks the spot
made within man/woman caves
that did be hoof anthropologists
even nearly a bajillion years later.

Imagine dragons galumphing
during flintstone age
culture club wielding proto humans
impossible mission their mental acuity to gauge
of **** neanderthalensis
very intelligent and accomplished humans,
Whereby current evidence from both fossils and DNA suggests that Neanderthal and modern human lineages separated at least 500,000 years ago. Some genetic calibrations place their divergence at about 650,000 years ago,
nevertheless amongst the scattered clans
there probably lurked an anonymous sage
smart enough to induce quantum leap
did jump/kick start scattered population
with wits about them to sustain their existence.

Appearance of super duper wiseacre
invariably punctuated **** sapiens
progenitors as an unknown mover and shaker,
who helped fledgling forebears
of contemporary people
to discover trappings to weasel out
from being between a rock and a hard place
and squirrel away linens and things
for anticipated future creature comfort or necessity.

Imponderable and inscrutable poetic philosophical meanderings of mine (expounded upon while I nourished myself on a snicky snack prepared by the missus – graham ******* with Almond butter plus Rhubarb jam) found me most unexpectedly tangentially linkedin with the invaluable scientific knowledged bequeathed to civilization courtesy the greatest thinker for Grecian formula(s).

Noah (way) did Archimedes
(born c. 287 BCE, Syracuse, Sicily
[Italy]—died 212/211 BCE, Syracuse)
discover flood insurance nor prevention,
but hands down he ranked as the most famous
mathematician and inventor in ancient Greece.

He is especially important for his discovery of the relation between the surface and volume of a sphere and its circumscribing cylinder.

He is known for his formulation of a hydrostatic principle (known as Archimedes’ principle) and a device for raising water, still used, known as the Archimedes *****.

There are nine extant treatises by Archimedes in Greek.The principal results in On the Sphere and Cylinder (in two books) are that the surface area of any sphere of radius r is four times that of its greatest circle (in modern notation, S = 4πr2) and that the volume of a sphere is two-thirds that of the cylinder in which it is inscribed (leading immediately to the formula for the volume, V = 4/3πr3). Archimedes was proud enough of the latter discovery to leave instructions for his tomb to be marked with a sphere inscribed in a cylinder.

Measurement of the Circle is a fragment of a longer work in which π (pi), the ratio of the circumference to the diameter of a circle, is shown to lie between the limits of 3 10/71 and 3 1/7. Archimedes’ approach to determining π, which consists of inscribing and circumscribing regular polygons with a large number of sides, was followed by everyone until the development of infinite series expansions in India during the 15th century and in Europe during the 17th century.
Pagan Paul Jul 2018
.

What floats your boat babe,
Archimedes' Principle of Water Displacement?



© Pagan Paul (20/07/18)
.
6th in my series Even Poets ***** Up ...
.
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2016
the only greater justice
   that i could ever know,
would be to pass
from my flimsy grip
        of the world,
         into iron clutches
of a higher esteem
    than my own for what
has been written
     by my callousness.
long gone are the days
of passing into folklore,
or to pass as an erosion
of memory in common song
in celebration of
          some event that
pleases the people,
              and the state.
perhaps akin to Hölderlin
passing into a patriarchal
***** of Heidegger -
or what can be said in ancient
tongue - toward the misty
ocular eternity:
        toward a Homeric
                                third eye
of blindness: from all
the phantasmagorical ambitions
of man, having been
   exposed to the shamanic
yet still returning to
the troughs of grey and boorish
affairs of monetary leverages:
as ever - wishing upon
Archimedes' joke of a pound(£) -
settled on a gamble for
                   the grand wish of
   using a pound(£) as a lever -
to tickle Mammon into coughing
up riches.
Jonathan Witte Sep 2016
You sink in despair
but will soon float because of
the fear you displace.
Jerry Joseph Dec 2012
Who on Earth were these people
From the past, who made sense
Of a world without iPods, iPads or plumbing?
What’s up with those towering minds of yesteryear?
From where did they come and how come?
Goethe standing so tall
Voltaire you tower!
And bend over Beethoven,
I can’t reach your low five.
What grant of Gods favor gave them sight?
Awesome mighty minds of the past.
Descartes, I think so you are,
So smart that I think I am not.
Galileo you saw heaven before I had eyes.
Einstein, Da Vinci, Archimedes
You and your kind will all live forever,
Men will stand upon your shoulders
And then die.
I love to read the writing of the great minds. It makes me feel so small, so inconsequential. I try to understand, I read more books that explain what I've read. Then it dawns on me. I am inconsequential. I'm OK with that. Thanks to the human genius of the past there's really never been a better time to live....
in Syracuse

here
where the master's penetrating mind
unveiled some of her secret laws

as in revenge
the earth keeps trembling on
throughout the centuries

the winds are furious
the waves crash hard
upon the harbor rocks

Greek amphitheatre
Roman arena

the church built in
the Hellenistic shrine

the Renaissance palazzi

they all withstand
just barely
and with weakening strength
gravity's ceaseless

deconstructing

downward

pull
The original ancient Greek Syracuse on the island of Sicily, Italy.
Entropy = here: tendency of a system to descend into chaos
Hands Jan 2013
Spheres floating in the chilly dark,
white and fluffy,
vain and uncorrupted.
They act as the air
being both here and never
there;
they act as the heavens,
little shining points floating
in a sea of black.
Islands so pure
floating in a nightmare sea--
how I abhorr their isolation,
their pure and careless
floating
though I, too, am alone.
Adrift in a sea of
introspective mutterings and
the utterings of a mind entrapped,
I sail the dark and simpering seas
of the Universe.
My vessel is a snowflake,
a crystalline craft carrying me
through the synapses and
nervous connections
of the thinking brain.
How infinite is the mind,
how wondrous is the world,
an immensity unto itself and
yet so tiny and contained.
I have never seen the ruins of China,
the fallen columns of the Romans nor
the ancient halls of the Al-Hambra.
I shall never see the samurai in bloom,
arranging flowers and painting
pictures of naked women
haunting their snowflake mind.
I shall never construct the
anonymous clockwork of Archimedes
but rather be trapped in the mechanisms
of the modern machine.
Adrift,
my confusion,
my blind anger and hatred of fate and
the gravity that pulls the snowflake ever closer to the ground
is pure vanity and self illusion.
Do the archways of Troy or
the mathematics of India
make us any larger in size
when compared to the Universe?
How can a snowflake
measure infinity?
What Universes exist
within the frozen ice of a snowflake,
what wars and great romances have played out
within the crystals;
what gods have been erected,
what nations have coalesced from the ashes
within the molecules and atoms
crafted by the cold
and the senseless flow of water?
The myriad explorers,
philosophers,
inventors,
geniuses lost to the ages
have mapped out the physical
while still being blind to the
finite world around them.
They sailed the Universe's
inky oceans of unknown,
their mind's sails billowing white,
puffy and hopeful
as they drifted off the edge of the known.
How they wriggled and rolled
so miraculously through the dark,
snowflakes floating carelessly
creating the world out of necessity
and pure ingenuity.
What white specters might exist
in the libraries of old,
in the halls of Alexandria or
the melting *** of Baghdad?
Do they wish to leave me a message,
the snow that saunters down,
to build a city in my mind
and a home in my soul.
What thoughts were caught
by the ancient genius
floating carelessly
like snow falling
in the anonymous black
of night?
Like islands they stood
for the men sailing the unknown waters
to rest and read and
contemplate
for just a few moments longer.
Swallowed by the darkness,
layered on the ground,
the knowledge is lost
among the infinitely white expanse
and the all-consuming darkness
of the night.
I am lost
like a snowflake falling too fast
I am buried beneath
layers of snow.
Isaiah Johnson Nov 2014
As I let my mind wander into time, and release these binds that have me confined, I began to feel a great energy, like the sun had been compressed and put into me, and as time tic tocs and unwinds into its trail of infinity. I realize a trinity mind body soul, they burn as a whole, for the mightiest of goals. and as time unwinds it'll leave you behind. unless you get your spot in, a line of legacys never to be forgotten

Confucius, Isaac Newton, Albert Einstein, Martin Luther King Jr, George Washington, Ernesto ‘Che’ Guevara, Nelson Mendala, Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi, Steve Jobs, Stephen Hawkins, Leonardo Da Vinci, Wolfgang Amedeus Mozart, nikola tesla, Wael Ghonim, Jimi Hendrix, Joseph Stiglitz, Reed Hastings, François Rabelais, Archimedes, Sigmund Frued, Charles Darwin, Aryabhata, Bob Marley, Garrett Morgan, George Washington Carver, Aristotle, John Locke, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Plato, Galileo Galilei...and many many more...
Stand for something. Think outside the box. Evolve and express yourself. Make a difference  #STEM #LegacyToIfinity
I recite this every morning to keep me motivated and keep the big picture in mind.
K Balachandran Jun 2014
My pet cat licks my face repeatedly; it feels a bit strange
to jut my jaw forward for a feline to lick and make my face wet.
but as I sit my eyes shut, it feels unreasonably nice, then, it dawns:
she is clicking her LIKES on my real Facebook page
                                                                           the way she knows best.
Eureka! this is my tender Archimedes moment !
the naked truth, reveals itself before me like Venus
why the crazy craving, without rhyme or reason
for LIKES in Facebook and cyberspace;
                                                                          now, I understand so well.
XVIII

Cyriack, whose Grandsire on the Royal Bench
Of Brittish Themis, with no mean applause
Pronounc’t and in his volumes taught our Lawes,
Which others at their Barr so often wrench:
To day deep thoughts resolve with me to drench
In mirth, that after no repenting drawes;
Let Euclid rest and Archimedes pause,
And what the Swede intend, and what the French.
To measure life, learn thou betimes, and know
Toward solid good what leads the nearest way;
For other things mild Heav’n a time ordains,
And disapproves that care, though wise in show,
That with superfluous burden loads the day,
And when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains.
Each camera,each take and one more mistake to add to the last and the past that we dread is only two steps ahead or was that behind?
we look,do not find,the blind leading the blind,feeding on visions,leading to that collision and crash.
One more flash,one more take and one more ****** ache but the soul is intact.

Then the crew take their leave after bidding goodbye and the dread that we fear is nigh.
like 'pie in the sky' that's not there I get by on a wish and a wing,hoping that someone will bring me,
to some semblance of order that should be,
but every take, every flash,collision and crash I return to the stage where I age quite disgracefully,
fully aware that where I stand I shall fall.
A last call for the cast and the dread of the past reappears,in the circle or gods in the theatre at odds with the play,
I play on.
JL Feb 2016
I retreat into myself
Into the corridors of me
I lounge on the well worn flagstones
Gazing on the marble columns
Arranging tapestries and paintings in
A more perfect order
I stalk down old hallways and explore unnamed galleries with a
Single candle to push back the deep
Sometimes rooms are filled with old Furniture
Sometimes entirely empty
Once feeling brave I held onto
The threshold of such a room and
Stretching out I hold the candle aloft in the chasm. Nothingness, darkness complete the light puddles at my feet pitiful.
When I recall that yawning abyss the silence of
It persists.
In ballrooms I play Chopin's waltzs' for no one  in particular
Yet I take my bow and my place at the head of a table set for a score of kings
I lay on marble steps trying to guess the riddles that my echo whispers
I climb the  towers and the spires to dizzying heights and many weeks I was lost in the labyrinth of cellars of basements of tombs beneath
I have seen strange things lately: a chair upturned or
Bed unmade, quills still wet, and doors open and shut of their own volition in the inky black
I swear I have seen before
A tall figure in a hooded cloak dart
Into the shadows, and it did not seem
Altogether human

I read for years inside my library  
And have spoken at length to Shakespeare and Plato
I have seen Yggdrasil and the seven hells
And sped through time with
H.G Wells. Of death and moon, of birds and galaxies I am enamored.
Tea with Julius Ceaser, chess with Captain Hook.
Breakfast with The Buddah
Coffee with The Christ
Did you know that Captain Ahab takes His water with a squeeze of lime? No Ice. Abraham Lincoln and Mark Twain know me by my first name, I have fenced with the Gods of Olympus and of Asgard and I remain undefeated. The divine crowd my hearth and many nights have been passed here in quiet conversation, with Confucius, with Archimedes, with Epictetus, Davinci, and the brothers Grimm
I have lived ten thousand lives and Will live another ten

-Without a single thought of you-

I wander
To my garden
Gently lit by paper lanterns
The path is smooth and heady
The amber blossoms
And weathered sculptures
Make my eyelids heavy
Monuments with fists clenched beat my
Ego ******
New flowers sprout from the ivy throat
Always things are grown but never overgrowing
I steal through the hedge maze that only I know
To the secret center where no plant grows
Pavilion and pond
Where no bird sings year long
In that quiet I endeavor
To look without fear
Into the pupil of forever
Some say writing is a good outlet
Some say writting is a good inlet
Joel M Frye Mar 2015
not everyone needs
a lever and a place to stand
to move their world; some
need only a listener
to reflect their words to them.
Fitz
Fritz
Fido
Sandy
Spencer
Chaplain
Bernard
Jesse
Snoopy
Charlie
Charles
Fred
Freddy
Bones
Remmy
Ren­a
Reno
Tony
Julian
Julie
Frisco
Meghan
Addison
Robby
Buddy
Rudy
F­riedrich
Fredrick
Bernie
Rudolph
Adolf
Ferdinand
Rose
Cassie
Cassidy
Lee
Balto
Little *****
Allen
Alvin
Jake
Demi
Randy
Alex
Richard
Alexis
Kenneth
Ken­ny
Chris
Jose
Josey
Rodger
Moe
Joe
Emilio
Walt
Emily
Emma
Maddie
­Anna
Jafar
Aladin
Jasmine
Genie
******
Amber
Gracie
Ramen
Gordy
G­ordon
Jordie
James
Bucky
Huff
Manny
Sam
Samantha
Mary
Marie
Tila
­Rita
Cathy
Tammy
Mickey
Cam
Amelia
Rene
Jeb
Dan
Bagel
Tommy
Donut­
Bubbles
Blossom
Buttercup
Mark
Cody
Andy
Cristo
Andrea
Whiskers
­Mike
Bill
Billy
George
Geo
Joy
Mitch
Trigger
Tigger
Stephen
Archi­medes
Anya
Duncan
Nitro
Crash
Bub
Crystal
Egor
Bernadette
Cammy
T­immy
Antonio
Natasha
Natalia
Ivan
Abbey
Abdul
Carly
Aaron
Omega
F­inn
Nina
Debby
Tomato
Tabby
Artie
Archie
Noah
Kyle
Alfie
Alfred
Conrad
Conner
******
G­unner
Fry
Fries
*******
Constance
Connie
Frank
Fran
Candice
D­andy
Lucy
Lou
Louis
Quincy
Doogle
Dubie
Dakota
Ace
Casey
Barry
Te­rry
Trenton
Gabe
Laurie
Cornelius
Kabob
Sky
Skylar
Rufus
Louie
Ba­rton
Kimmy
Angel
Capri
Basil
Cy
Ruby
Emerald
Eleanea
Elenor
Barth­olomew
Jazz
Dreamer
Thunder
Topaz
Amethyst
Salsa
Meril
Dodo
Toto
­Eric
Barbera
Hannah
Katie
Zoey
Ben
Pinto
Squanto
Columbus
Columbo
Porgy
Bess
Clark
Savannah
Ken­dra
Marco
Leise
Toby
Trevor
Tresten
Treven
Adrienne
Caleb
Carlyn
­Ricky
Gibby
Donny
Han
Solo
Hans
Gabby
Dirk
Spot
Sebastian
Dee
Sco­oby Doo
Shaggy
Polly
Reginald
Burger
Steak Sauce
Ethan
Bradberry
Lucky
Fergie
Cheese
Boxer
Napoleon
Snowball­
Gerald
Jeremy
Benji
Gemma
Pal
Mal
Preston
Jack
Jackson
Molly
Mac­kenzie
Alexie
Alicia
Dora
Olivia
Salvador
Beast
Beauty
Oliver
Dal­e
Rim
Marley
Diego
*****
Bobby
Ralston
Zeke
Rooney
Plato
Cole
Nep­tune
Sailor
Frida
Rico
Dali
Veronica
Victor
Copeland
Swift
Riley
­Tubs
Lassie
Yo-yo
Harvey
Lemonade
Coke
Pepsi
Tanya
Camille
Token
­Laser
Beam
Seamus
Dorthy
Ian
Moby
Ekaterina Oct 2015
Tell me how,
One person can divide into
Three perfectly psychotic sentiments
While still appearing to be whole

Tell me how
Multiplying your kindness only
Creates a rift between myself and patience
And ends with nights of contemplation followed by tumultuous
Back-and-forths with imaginary numbers

For I am no mathematician

I cannot find a solution to every concrete problem
I do not bother with equations or substitutes
I only skim the symbol, rewrite questions and leave the answers hanging in the air

Tell me why,
Subtracting victims from my life
Only added a murderous sentiment
To every repeating decimal that couldn’t find its’ place

Tell me why,
The quadratic formula is emblazoned in my memory
But everyone keeps throwing opposites at me
So forgetting whether to add or to subtract becomes hazy
And the square root gets suspended until next class, so the
Four drops off the plane, two goes insane, and
Letters lose their fictitious meanings

For I am no mathematician
Archimedes is finding the constant of my triangular coffin
While Newton is rolling in his gravity
Carl Gauss is busy laughing his *** off with fundamentals in his eyes and
Descartes keeps whispering incoherent Latin, migraines sprinting towards me
As if in a race

So don’t ask me
Whether or not you should divide by zero
Or whether it requires sine, cosine, or a tangent
My logic will not tell you anything you want to hear
I am through trying to piece together this imaginary puzzle
And I’ve had enough of playing this never-ending game
Because I’ve been through two continents, and 4 different states
And I still don’t know the meaning of my name.

For I am no mathematician
The only pie charts I am fond of,
have to do with sugar and preheating an oven to 450 degrees
And with every cubic centimeter
I start thinking of cubes of cheddar cheese


For I am no mathematician
I can’t graph a simple line
I don’t understand the dimensions of the polygon shown above
And I’m tired of wasting precious time
(2010-2012) Collection
Benjamin Adams Sep 2012
Like when they found the chariot
wheels at the bottom of the
Red Sea so was I surprised
at the faint reaching of the
fig tree, clinging to life amidst
so much dust, as it reached
ever upward in an infinite dance,
unaware of its eventual wanweird fate.
But I tracked on, crunching through
the ancient dirt, scrolls strapped
upon my back, coarse leather digging
through my camel's hair robes, sandy
grit forced in the gaps of
my toes. I cracked the locusts
and devoured them, dampening their bitterness
with the sweet warming explosion of
wild honey. So with bound Pleiades
above me, I gave witness to
Jerusalem, saying "After me will come
one more powerful than I, the
thongs of whose sandals I am
not worthy to stoop down and
untie." And I took them into
the Jordan and made them new
men. As the chill waters numbed
their muscles, their hairs pricked up
like gooseflesh, the night echoing with
splashing water and murmured voices. But
slowly the people trickled away, back
to the twang of lutes, their
ladles of soups, and I was
left alone, sitting, contemplating, always waiting.
So I sent forth the ravens,
carrying my message, to meet at
the Brookhollow no matter the obstruction,
to come by wagon or camel,
no matter of rain or flood.
But they were stubborn and prideful,
and would be moved from their
couches probably by no less than
one of Archimedes' great battleship levers,
and even then with massive groaning
like the coarse wooden hulls of
those monolithic ships. Because the sweet
taste of pastries is lodged upon
their tongues, keeping them occupied with
this world instead of the next.
So here I'll stay, always waiting.
I did this for creative writing class. 6 words per line, with these mandatory things:

    5 different sounds
    3 different tastes
    4 different tactile sensations (i.e. the feel of something against the skin)
    A city outside the U.S.
    a simple machine
    a dessert
    a fabric
    a celestial body
    a communication device
    a kitchen utensil
    a specific kind of tree
    a famous body of water
    a kind of shoe
    a brief literary quotation from before 1900
    a rare or unusual garment (e.g. a cuirass)
    a specific kind of bird
    a famous scientist (besides Einstein or Stephen Hawking)
    an interesting street name from your home town
    a piece of furniture
    a form of transportation
    a rare or unusual word (find one in the dictionary)of fewer than three syllables
    an animal
    some kind of meteorological phenomenon, i.e. weather
    a landmark
    a musical instrument
As the world stands now,
Full of not what we need
Than what we need most,

Full of terrorist Arabs,
Perpetrating punctured civilization,
Of senseless Islam,
In the arsenal  state of ISIS,
Foolishly in ghastly infringement
Of the voiceless poor folks
With their solid foolery
They call the Islamic state,

At a time we need scientists,
In Einstein’s mental stature,
To open the microbes
And hopefully decimate,
Their germ of Ebola,
And her ancestors;
Aids and scrotal Cancer,

Arabs are all over Africa,
Preaching their chauvinism,
Which they call Islam, mental mire in extreme,
They grabbed and annexed North Africa,
They gave it Arabic name; The Maghreb,
Now the fountain of terrorism
And tomfoolery of religion
Devoid in dual logic
Of reason and humanity,
Converting Somali in to beehive,
Of al shabab and Al gaeda drones,
Killing the poor people,
For no reason nor emotion,

We need more Jews than Arabs in the Maghreb,
To convert Mauritania into New York,
And Somali into Moscow,
Egypt into Germany,
Tunisia into France
And Libya into Chicago,
For Africa needs Technology
And property for its people,
But not the religious sludge
In the likes of Islam, Buddhism and Christo-mania,

The world needs more Jews than Arabs,
For the sake of science,
Geo-space adventure,
Viable ideologies,
Like Marxism, reverse capitalism,
Bill Gatism and all of these stuff,
But not funny pieties of the Turban,
From peasants like Al Amin Mohammed,
The **** of Mecca before Adrenalin for Hajira,

Arabs better walk backwards,
To the days before in the antiques,
And revive Al Jebra, the glory of their past,
Make dhows and sail the world,
With Rubiyats of Omar Al Khayyam,
In their hands, burying their beards,
In the rubiyat of the wine and the ******,

The world needs more Greeks than English men,
For sake of succor from vacuum of logic,
We wallow in today,
To relish Aristotle, Plato and Socrates,
Homer and Hesiod,
For more Iliad and Odyssey,
Apology and Crito, Phaeto,
Alexander and Archimedes,
But not colonialism mongering
****** English men,
With no culture to sell,
Other than colonialism,
Infallibility of the queen,
Shakespeare’s fear of ***,
And Churchill’s mental deficiency,

We need more Russians than white Americans,
To entertain and astound the world,
With uniqueness of confidence,
And charm of moon visiting science,
With literary spark in the size of Leo Tolstoy,
Maxim Gorgi and Nikolai Gogol,
With the sweetness of cloaked dead souls,
To stune the world with political shrewdness,
In the fathom of Vladimir Putin,
Pricking capitalism from diurnal somnambulism,
We need more Germans than Italians,
For the sake of sense of reason
Positive aggressiveness,
Stern thought pattern,
Feasible ideology,
And systematic prudence,

We need more black Africans than Indians,
To carry forward the battle of civil rights,
Sports culture and heavyweight boxing,
To sire tough sires,
That can survive climate change,
But not Indians,
Opening shops all over,
Falling in love with corrupt powers,
For filthy sake of merchandizing freedom,

Wee need more Jews than Arabs,
To counter the spiral forces,
Of Chinese capitalism,
Caterwauling the world,
Into crazy whirlpool,
Of yellow civilization,
Making it thus fit,
To stop at stark truth,
That a dead Arab terrorist,
Is better than thoughts of democracy.
.
We deduct from the equations, strategies and situations and a
vacancy arises in the house of few surprises,
you apply.

don't know why I never thought before to turn the handle on each door instead of ripping hinges off the walls,
but we learn or burn from our mistakes,
for some it takes a bit more time,
two drops of lime to sting our eyes

in the corner someone cries
Eureka!
it's another
seeker hiding from the thoughts he
should have had before,
one more handle on the door
one time more and each equation ritualises
the prayers we send
and
science despises what it cannot
comprehend.
in the end it all means
exactly what attracts me to
the light that shines
the two more limes
the many times
and
times to come.
Haylin Apr 2018
It happened in Physics,
reading a Library art book under the desk,
(the lesson was Archimedes in the bath)
I turned a page and fell
for an older man, and anonymous at that,
hardly ideal –
he was four hundred and forty-five,
I was fourteen.
‘Eureka!’ streaked each thought
(I prayed no-one would hear)
and Paradise all term
was page 179
(I prayed no-one would guess).
Of course
my fingers, sticky with toffee and bliss,
failed to entice him from his century;
his cool grey stare
fastened me firmly in mine.
I got six overdues,
suspension of borrowing rights
and a D in Physics.
But had by heart what Archimedes proves.
Ten years later I married:
a European with cool grey eyes,
a moustache,
pigskin gloves.
Says Vernarth: “Khaire to my beloved beings that surround me, including my ***** that move their tails to the rhythm of my awakening. To you my dear Brother, I stayed with my ceramic asleep and I could not sip from the last harvest of ideas and its temporary forks, which came from my parapsychologies. I am delighted among these blankets that smell like cornfields that prevented me from seeing him closer when I already had them in my hands. Now I not only see beyond what my arm measures in its omega, where my own estimating what flower I have to carry and see what it will have to carry in me!

Once upon a time, seven donkeys woke up, the first one who did it went to look for bread, milk, and honey, the second played the tambourine for his master, the third sprinkled the flowers with holy water, the fourth was vernacular in the others, the fifth was in charge of carrying stones and logs in bundles to make the elbows and the masts of the beams, the sixth reconciled the morning with the sun to have a clear day, and the seventh brought the akratismós on a tray, which brought a colt on its back and in a wineskin, bringing juice from the Procoro winepress and Akratos wine, which the colt eventually moved with its leg so that it could be served. Seeing that he gave signs of awakening and opening his bleary eyes, the seven of them laughed and brayed when they saw that he could not hold himself, but when he saw one of them who had had temporary amnesia, he faced him in the sunny morning so that he would face to the wind from the coast that began to bring them figs, like an Ariston or early lunch to strengthen him on his head, more remote of all because he thought too much. The third donkey would make two tortillas from neighboring cornfields that had just been baked, these he used as plates or trays to roll the fruits, vegetables, and barley bread. Vernarth laughs along with them and hugs them again. The containers that accompanied him had the solidity to fill with a few liters of water enough to bathe, after having fiddled with the ******, which reminded him of Orion, but of the meatus that would now be used to ink the thread of the spindle, which pretended to be divine. with hemp and cotton to rub the woods that he had destined for the main timber of the façade. Then he puts on his himation and on it the fibula that protected the serum from his right shoulder. He takes some pieces of logs and lights a bonfire to cook infusions and chalks of his personal medicine, from the collection of his private demiurge, Borker. He placed his tools behind a florilegium, where he received his astragalus by means of his jumping donkeys, and sometimes they would turn around him for hours to soften his immediate floor so that he would not be bothered by the rubbing of the grass and his pectoralis would over-sensitize. But in the end, they traced with him as seven divine golden numbers, which were added one next to the other, for each birth of his mother having to use a third of the womb to shelter them, like equid specimens in their 14 months of age. gestation. As if they were pollen sacs that were the origin of the androecium of all creation in the gynoecium sector. The morphology of this analogical floral relationship alludes to the anthos or flower that matures in the expression of the animals that surrounded Vernarth, and its filaments that derived from the spindle and its promised threads that connected with the fertile connection of the donkeys, making present the cellular magnetism of father and mother for them. Almost like a sordid weight that could not be supported in his genome, it was the serum that sweetly emerged from the nectary of his shoulder, rather close to the sternum, but his burritos produced good moments of the company for him, knowing that if he ran his hands over his satin back, he also longed to ***** the bristles of his stiff hairs, which decided his species, like bristly donkeys only pending his immunity.

Saint John and Etréstles approach and they say to him:
Etréstles comments: “It is said that I must be near you, just as I was in the forests near Piacenza, or after setting sail from Sardinia or Hylates. Then arriving on the coasts of Florence, La Spezia and finally Genoa, it is said that not far from here in Messolonghi, there are books that are written for you, they are wonderful, and everyone reads it, it is called Vernarth Alexandri Magni Macedonis officer Primum "Vernarth First Commander of Alexander the Great." It is said that there is a dispute over the guarantee of your magical verses for those who write it and for those who read it, as an experience that most pleases those who transcribe it because when you stop your verses, they mention that their infantry tale has not reached them. , which is being reborn in all necropolises, such as the Koumeterium of Messolonghi. It is said that there is an extreme reason for unity in the Divine Number of Gold that extends through the seas of Troy and Athens, in the patronage of Fidas for his agora of with the disciple of Agoracritus. It is said between June 21 and 24 the Sun or Shemesh for you, it begins to move away and flushes in its suspicious perihelion, it is said that we will dance in the sacred space, and Archimedes will dance together with us with his Elves, and it is said because I say it! We will have Mother Nature knocking her down at our melted feet, full of ****** Bern olive trees and rotten grasses that announce the freedom to be united, together with all the books in the world, under her great Hellenic library that will never stop going and running after the last leaves of the apocalypse "

Saint John intervenes: "My half reason, is my whole heart, my whole heart is my extreme half, which totalizes the segments of the magic of always surviving and resurrecting in the golden number, thus its length squeezes the shortest way to go behind of the donkeys and lose their memory, if not half sheep of my reason and my heart guiding them "

Neither the Oniros duo nor the third would impede Verrnarth to embrace them, but he was in his purging, behind a severe veil, but from the ductile ectoplasm that already separated them from their ethereal physical plane, it was only possible with donkeys to pass from one dimension to another. other. Thus the arcs of the circle of the sun surpassed the rule of being contained in the supreme analogy from above and below, only the points of ab / cb went beyond the spiritual eclectic portal, to attract them to ab / ac, hinting at the midpoint of the Equidae that brayed to thank Saint John for the Apostle who could be close to him and caress his ears, which were the highest and golden point of his omega garden.
Golden Donkeys
XXI

Cyriac, whose grandsire on the royal bench
Of British Themis, with no mean applause
Pronounced and in his volumes taught our laws,
Which others at their bar so often wrench;
Today deep thoughts resolve with me to drench
In mirth, that after no repenting draws;
Let Euclid rest and Archimedes pause,
And what the Swede intends, and what the French.
To measure life learn thou betimes, and know
Toward solid good what leads the nearest way;
For other things mild Heav’n a time ordains,
And disapproves that care, though wise in show,
That with superfluous burden loads the day,
And, when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains.
Vernarth was ready at the threshold of the validity of the constellation of Orion, barely a hundred millionths as indicated by the Duoverse in his Cosmogonic amphiboly, and sensitive to physical space with the Kli vessels that he carried on his back that were in the proximity of the Loop of Bernard as the Omission nebula as the exponential hemicycle in the center of Aurion's oculus waiting for Vernarth and redistribute its molecules at 518 light-years or 440 Parsec, with the diameter that will be reflected in Patmos of more than 300 light-years condensed with the element of Hydor or water from high space over Aurion. Vernarth, united by the fragrant hand of the Mashiach, could carry it when he moved away from the Opistodomos and the remains of incandescent lagoons of supernova materials that surrounded them to accelerate the mass of the Iridescent Nimbus that Vernarth would carry, and the Mashiach as a sentinel of his Purgation. already defined whenever the simultaneous explosion of the Super Nova with Patmos becomes effective, and the Terrestrial World in impulsiveness that admonished him under the right shoulder blade in the skinny hollow of the arm that was getting rid of the oscillometer right at the original entrance of Betelgeuse, and when Vernarth remained alone in the frontal altitude chamber to take off towards the cosmogonies of Eridanus to tune into the Ptolemaic astral. The Sybilla who acted as stellar consort would be Herophile with overtones of expansion and her brilliant metric mass that would take her through Betelgeuse Orionis allied to a multifunctional instrument such as the entrance Aulos, expelling hydrogen-like an Ace in 240 harmonic scales, and sounds of light that they boomed towards the Pleiades and the Milky Way where it would be the supposed first state of paradox where Vernarth would utter: "Give me a little Gála and I will be more than Zeus". This is where he will experience the diarthrosis of his synovial joints in the process of Hyaline cartilage, allying himself with the two bones and synovium to hunt down the Trapper Aurion in advance to wake up from the feared defenseless world that he feared since everything he abandoned despite having his Purg discharged, he kept sensing that if nothing would work for a lost world. Here Vernarth would hold Alexander the Great's first childhood vision as an infant at Péla using his scapula with the force of rubbing discs at the Olympiad making the sky his Odyssey-encrusted Constellation of whips, and sullen Hellenistic being by May in the amber trunk trapezoid and in each hand a Xiphos and Dorus.

The pathologies were at the forefront with dexterous inclinations of his Kopis to the west when he throws it and the whistle of return makes him see that the meteorites reached as far as his gaze could observe the latitudes of the Tyrrhenian. He takes his bronze-brass cudgel with the corrosive breath, filing the odysseys on the concupiscent ******* of Eos, Goddess of the dawn, opening the heavens of the eager natives of Gála, by sipping raw milk from the right edge of the corner of her upper lips before the first dawns of the world, when Eos would be in grains or grasses that brandished from the bronze club that Vernarth waited for before leaving Gaia, or rather the fertile land of Patmos that officiated at him. Mega hectares appeared that threatened Enopion's revenge, disturbing his eyes that shone in Hesiod's striae by advocating for him in the Duoverse where all deities would be annulled but his psychic ramifications as stellar humans would be covered by the action of Helium gas. In this way Vernarth was already bidding farewell to Saint John the Apostle with his rounded eye set on the shine of both pupils between Mintaka, Alnitak, and the third shine of his pupils united in communion with Vernarth when arriving sideways at the pale shine of Alnilam (The Three Mariah) fourth star to follow in Orion as the brightest of the three on Vernarth's neck like a necklace of precious pearls. In this way, he climbed the steps to measure the slow brilliance of the immensity of the celestial solstice that raised him with the expedient Sun that also led him towards the twelfth lunation of the celestial vault attached to Pléyone in his bolometric oceanic matrix, which will arise between the stellar limitrophe between the Canes Mayores and Menores, and a priori in the measurement of the eye of Aurion always harassing the Pleiades. The intrigue will be reborn for the second time from the Duoverse's momentum that Vernarth will have to leave in the biosphere oscillation wasteland of Prometheus already freeing himself from life in community, and from an extreme sensitivity of major psychic connections that will flow throughout the immensity of inaccessible time. , on the atmosphere of the earth like bronzes that twist in the necks of the oxen that urinate on the endowments of the Barnard Loop, and its polyphonic magnetic exciter, on it the ***** of Orion falling on the poles as flagrant Amphibology. The Kanti Steed and the Aorion nebula to the beat of a waltz will ionize chemical portents of ions free of electrons, on the neutral molecules of Betelgeuse to propagate in the nerves of the shoulders of the bronze club ad limit of harmonious praxis, and net compromise by supplying steps to the nebula and art of the Duoverse that shows the primeval daily days as in his alchemical armband, germinating astral Lynothorax and axillary armpit that held him in his maximum club, cutting down roots of Olivo Bernar after Barnard's Loops in between of fugitive stars that go regimented in their ionized bleeding esplanade, like Stellae Novae that transfers astronomical cults in the formation and pretext of going through the darkness to sleep near his parents Poseidon and Euryale, acclaiming him near the gramineous fields to paste him with explosive clay on the portfolio of such a smiling face drunk with Ionian wine, in precedence of the disemi nar by the new and expandable Duoverso, Vernarth was already on the last steps of the stairs similar to that of Florence in the Medicea Laurenziana as well said to feel alive when going to paradise next to the Messiah who came to pick him up. But at times electrifying residues would vanish over his field of vision in small beams or flashes, which would prevent him from moving forward to the last stirrups without looking back where all the Birthright was watching him for one last time.

Sitting on the edge of Andromeda, Zefian was waiting for him to meet him in his dark chamber, since the most intimate and primordial causality of his metaphysics emerged from the bases of the reason for all things that should exist, before everything was created and that it has never had pre-eminence as it is in this case of the parasitic chamber of Zefian in the company of the Auriga, which also came to wait for him in the calash running wild as prescribed by the Duoverse in the structures of luminosity in the midst of this colossal inter-planetary chamber, between molecular agitated points that will venture through the axon of infinity longitudinally unpredictable for light-years even though it is so. The thermal outcomes of superheated remnants over the entire luminosity will speak of the catastrophe, and of the inherent emptiness in the eyes of the eternal hothouse very close to the supernovae that can only strengthen the fusion of the space disks of the Universe-Duoverse long before the explosion between Orion and Andromeda. The axes of time will be dislocated between both astral components in this dissonant chaos that will contract with Vernarth's levitation whenever he has stepped on the last step before entering the Hydor chamber in every dark portion of the Universe, making both constellations the ferrule or ring that will yield to the underbelly of Betelgeuse, dispossessing the boasts of the appropriate Commander Hetairoi of his Lynothorax to resist the ravages and turbulence of the Apokálypsis, which brought the immense loads of matter that discharged all its constant energy through the circulating nuclear power plants, and tangents that caused galaxy changes pierced by Hetairoi Aorion clods satirizing expenses for retracting the galaxies below Soldier's precept and super homeostatic mass attracted from their distance on astronomical scales of 2.5 million light-years.

The galactogenic galaxy made use of great prominences that would cover the greater proportional that is outlined in Andromeda of the strands of the Universe adjacent to the spiral that rolls on the underbelly, deferring to telescope sections, and the gravitational field to execute its nocturnal translation like the Hyperdisis Galaxy that collects the bubbling of the belt in conjunctions of minor stars making star mechanics by exaltation, and magnetic disorders creating other leading atmospheres in those detached from the cord of Andromeda, the Milky Way, and Orion. Vernarth was still holding on to the transparent hand of the Messiah while he was climbing the ascension steps to Hydor that would transport him to travel with him through the globular clusters, they will form the perfect delay in transfusing the lineage and not another, in this way the Lynothorax or bleeding pectoral de Vernarth continued to flow from this polynomial tractatum between all area subjugation guidelines, and refinement of the sagittal profile of Hyperdisis in the inter-galactic reversible staked Duoverse.

Lenticular to irregular above the nails of the trapezoid, it spread towards Aurion's right armband, sequentially making the centric radiogram hiccup, despite taking advantage of interstellar matter to self-generate its own transmission light, this made it refrain from emanating the hybridity that came out of its body by vibrating above everything that expelled from its center towards the right rectitude of Orion, thus making the multiplied speed of containing itself of both parts of the null hemisphere of its free will when verifying that it never existed, that it was only an illusion of doubtful matter that would soon Go away like gasified water on the galactic repulsions that would settle on Patmos as devotions of Skalá, and Astro-omegas that would be adhered to the Xiphos and Kopis, who were still united to their being rather in the contour of the perimeter of his soul two meters floating like invisible quantum universes. The totality of everything was inciting the fields of omega-stars that would begin to advance after becoming visible from the spur of the sword that became denser with the viscosity of the Hebrew Adom, which trickled from Orion to Hellenic lands as an Omega age for Vernarth which is conceived early when it carries Hecate's Kleidia or keys to the Omega world towards the proto-galaxies that provide ultramarine loaves, knowing that the Milky Way and Andromeda come so close in their stellar mass that they can collide in a few million light-years. The Duoverse of Hyperdisis was predicted in the visual reality of a fusion of change to interact with each other as it dismembered but re-transformed into the new theoretical core of the Duoverse as a large Black Hole embedded in the center of Patmos. In such a way all the inhabitants began to worry when phenomenal masses of warm air that began to take on the appearance of the Universe plagiarized each other generating incoming earthquakes, not affecting the Opistodomos or the Primogeniture, nor the crowd that was waiting. of all the monstrosity of monks who were grouped kneeling on the top of the Profitis, floating the shattered shaggy skein parts of the Himation. As it was dyed in the albi-color of Calígine, demonstrating the darkness of the intrinsic terror of whoever plows later to free all the succumbed who fell throughout Greece and Judah, exposing all the origins of appearance from the internal now in the converted Universe that was reimplanting itself in the helical of polarity, and bifurcating by pretexting all the reincarnations and polishing the stagnant cessation of darkness towards a luminance that could warn them and observe where their feet could move, sheltered from the monumental litter of calorimetry, and chromatics that was linked in romances trivial with the residuals of the angel shark galaxies where Aurion's progenies will deliver in candelas per square meter: LV waking is the luminance, measured in Nits or candelas per square meter (cd/m²).

• F is the luminous flux, in lumens for the Andromeda triad, the Milky Way, and Hyperdisis in conjunction with Orion. From here Vernarth will supply all of them as the one who will dwell in it in the preface of his Fables of Calígine with the following: "Ex Calígine Chaos: ex Chao et Calígine, Nox, Dies, Erebus, Aether", which transliterated means "Of Darkness: Chaos. From Chaos and Darkness: Night, Day, Erebus, and Ether", Decreeing the (Burning Darkness) before Chaos as flow F, is he also the only one who divinized this abstraction, conferring a proper meaning to the word. And then make of the normality of dwelling in the darkness that is the irrevocable opulence of the desire to maintain the radiance of all the forces that devour eternity. From the remote aces came dark families of flying Lepidoptera Ditrisios, lined up with countless other species that carried dimensional eyes that will be devoured by ocelli or giant eyes that come from the chaos of Vernarth's Caligine to appease the effects of ultraviolet rays, which started from the Nimbus Iridescent creating a layer of protection between the new dimension of the twilight of flight that was already beginning to ignite from the Aurion's scaly fingers.

• dS is the surface element considered the triad Kímolos, Rodas and Patmos. While Vernarth is distracted, he manages to dissipate the twilight of the inverted Erebus between Eleos and Ezis, personifying Clemency and Sadness, where they border the worlds that are not yet riddled with chaos or Calígine, who exalted himself over Erebos with the redemption of Eleos, who was getting ready to swallow the sadness of Ezis. Therefore Kimolos, Rhodes, and Patmos will consolidate their hegemony of unalterable lands where Eleos' piece of clemency will bring the support that makes Ezis's faceless portent, close to the hybridity of the Itheoi gods, in the Transversal Valleys of the Horcondising, with the Norns and generosity of Apollo who had given them after long stays in Hyperborea as female spirits once again as advocacy and imperishable protection of the legacy of Smintheus's travels by providing the company of Dísir, Uror, Verdandi, and Skuld as a female entity, of the past, current and future that should occur by order of Skuld. This will allow the three to unite with the Ds to merge the three as a complement of three female entities that will safeguard all climate change on future disasters in the Dodecanese.

• dΩ is the solid angle element, from Vernarth Omega and the origin of the Duoverse. From this premise, the worst of Vernarth's fears was to let go of the Messiah's hand and fall into the anger that blushes even Hetairoi Hero from Deimos, when the night reverts to the rest of the demons and the night adopts those who go perceiving in Vernarth that perhaps he was holding hands with Ares for the battle alongside his brother Etrestles, under the orders of the savagery of the metaphysical engines of panic. From this vision, Vernarth manages to open his eyes with the desire to show those who were watching him and to be able to show that he was aware of being a prisoner of his emotions and escaping from himself in the illustrious suffering of thousands of arrows, which ran around him like fleeting meteorites to the flat field of Tisiphone's revenge. The luminances became and became colors that were molecularly twinned with disparate tones that were capable of differentiating them, and at the same time nullifying the power of obscuring Vernarth's countenance to take his right hand and take the arrow to break the darkness that was lunged at him.

• θ is the angle between the diameter from Andromeda and the Milky Way (2.5 million light-years), Nemesis or Ramnusia as the retributive coercion of disobedience, being aware Vernarth became more and more of a being adopted by balance Nemesis for balance to command him to his senses before entering the field of limpidity of his soul in transit to liberate himself from all the chained who used to be happy, but sad that no one acclaimed them except Aionius Itheoi of Vernarth who translated the messages that from now on will move diametrically from Andromeda to the Milky Way, without any of these two portions being invaded only under the order of Nemesis, and Vernarth abiding by the retributive justice of The luminance that can be defined from the radiometric magnitude of the radiance without more than weighting each length of the wave by the sensitivity curve of the eye. Thus, if LV is the luminance, Lλ represents the spectral radiance and V (λ) symbolizes the sensitivity curve of Vernarth's eye in the underbelly of Betelgeuse, spilling plasma and magnetic bruises on the galaxies and Eyes of Orion.
Meanwhile, it manifested itself as a personal universe, not excluded from time and space for a metaphysical causality that will not be able to compose the mentality that is measurable in the joint senses of a Zig Zag birth from this same calígine emerging from another creature of self-observation and see the physiognomy of the anti-material and mass Universal Horcondising. From which we pre-exist to waste of science that models the system of energy and matter in causes of ancestors with which his life and ours that were propelled furtively. Gravity made great paternity in Vernarth's active Biomass, being in the Dodecanese and cosmos in the verification of curvature that makes us with the moon of its romantic astrophysical swings and exaggerated geometry of a Zigzag.

We are versatile multi-dynamic mass that expands simultaneously in the void that pauses in the Nothofagus Obliqua of Vernarth's Horcondising, and also of time2-space2 that have not been attributed to the origin of the stars that move irregularly in Zig Zag, for their immature componential that is clearly of Aramaic blue light from the Pealim of the Abba, circulating with bullets movements skimming the air of the grasses attracting the attention of the entire order of the hypnotized universe, making appear before them the duplication of the universe itself; in Duoverse, which is the recently shaken Universe and of gratitude in the distribution of nearby galaxies that are keys to the paleo kosmous already arranged in macro waves, which are percentages of the spaces of the Tri-solated energy fields, which interact with the phylogeny of the Mashiach in Gethsemane, lying now in a stagnant decomposed future, in a frozen present specific to the peri Kosmous. Its final station is to wager the Zig Zag Universe on the temporal middle Ages chrestomathies re-expanding in qualities of gregarious Sub-mythology, already settling here in Archangels to activate. The implosion of gravity has procreated worlds of visibility of magnanimous astronomical longings, in some fractions of time in Zig Zag by millions of fractioned light-years, as an irregularity that resembles the measure of everything quantifiable, being omniscience or not acquiring the hexagonal of the primogeniture of the fragment since Jerusalem goes to Bethlehem, where the Davidian prism whose Original is attributed fractal in form.

The personification of longevity was trapped by Geras, always escaping from the obfuscated universe or temperament that could be represented in humanity that relied on the antigens that served as support for the reversibility of every hero like Vernarth, who tried to glorify himself in the fullness of life in Heraklion or in the sand that was dyed red-azure when the soul of Alexander the Great would rise together with Vernarth with the Mashiach. The fractal beating line of the Mediterranean towards a vein resembling the rhinestones of King David to the Ziziphus of the Messiah simulating to be irregular symmetrical formats, to build gems in thorns of landscapes that basically subdivide into similar conical funnels, to then be randomly displaced towards its central point shared with King David's five o'clock Incorruptible crown, recursively reiterating it in each square until the eminence of the desired detail was reached in the curve that joins the landscape to Bethlehem and then to the Baptistery of the Shepherds in its hexagonal base, figuring to be the sleet in the final Crown of Rejoicing falling on the top of the roofs "Doroteo or theological gifts" in which the Mashiach's stable of Kafersuseh burst and agonized in the abstraction of the One-Dimensional Beams with foreign eyes, and own tissue eroding to mortal frowns that can be seen with their divine eyes in our own likeness, and of the planet n failed to increase the size so unknown and analytical in this peripeteia of the implosive ideology of the bubbling of the Verthian Duoverse.
The nature of the snowflakes in Bethlehem are natural fractals detailed in their nature, and in the natural infinity that here was envisioned from the new privileged world for self-similarity in speculative functions of Vertnarth, by intervals in each space of shadowy fences, bringing accelerated courier bulbs from Gethsemane in intermediates of olive trees transformed towards other humans.“Their correlation is infinite with reversible observable time, and paternal belonging to mobile gagged echoes of a space that is obstructed by Vernarth, in such a monograph and integers among the fractional integers "Finite is the curvature between the path that walks through the thickness of the Duo-Universe as an alternative of Zigzag and Duoverse energy, which is unleashed to our subconscious observable orb, and what a great beacon reflecting eye that ignores and prescribes extreme distant and focal parts of the One Dimensional Beams of Kafersuseh in Ein Karem. The Duoverse is the rehearsal Universe that the Mashiach had before coming to the Holy Land, provided by his form of Hyperdisis escorting him from Betelgeuse Orion, changes of arduous colors in gradient and Avant-Garde, for limits of perspectives and verbally of amendments of physical fields framed by an external gravitational means. The macro waves are exposed to matters not contained in the abrupt changes of the Mashiach optical selection with the One-Dimensional Beams, attracting selection crystals to atomize them in reaction disturbances, and recreation of multiform plasma saviors of Christian astronautics, examining the double of the macro waves and equation of them on the axis of the universe converted into Duoverse, already in millions of light-years, they will continue in the Duoverse, to reconvert from ectoplasm with large margins of assertiveness. Cartography is the error correction of the current universe, getting lost in the second thousandths of figures that separate us from the Universe, but all being more than time…!, remaining at the expense of the wick of the Cirio with all its electro-matter” Having already established the sub-mythology, Hestia appears after having slept a great dream, when she appeared before Vernarth in Tsambika she was seen changing size, when she was six meters away she looked tiny and when she was already two meters away from him It looked monumentally enormous, but with a versatile physiognomy, therefore it was already appreciated in the last steps with its domestic figure of a goddess that emanated light-years disserted by chimneys and its rooms. The critique of immanence that would happen, would pre-exist the perfectible plan for the Zig Zag Universe and Hyperdisis as Hyper-Hestia, bringing torn words for those who were approaching the main altar of the Vas Auric, which consisted of the great ratio of the proscenium in the Teodora vicinity of Tsambika, between Clairvoyance/Judgment for Wisdom/Meditating constant mechanisms according to the cosmological constant, leading perhaps to the beginning of a decade and third universe called the Triverse. The oscillation of all these fantasies was observed by Vernarth, but he knew that he would have to collide with this finally, already precipitated by temperatures that acted on the average of the normal range, therefore it was imminent to mutate him into the proselytizing provisional Duoverse, which moves backward between the lights vertiginous of creation. Immediately afterward, the Universe has torn apart and lost among those around him, establishing units of millions of years of compressed light from the piccolo Aulós, which Hestia carried in one of his pale hands, his prytaneion was lighting up with the flames of the heart of fire and passion of consanguineous love, "Prytaneum", paving the light in the clarity of the faith of the owners of farmhouses that were founded when they arrived in Tsambika in search of the Vas Auric, acclaiming with the omphalos stone that marked the navel of the world with defiance wandering to the island of Delos in the daily warmth of a spring afternoon in Rhodes. She is a woman with veils over her face always walking to and from her home unscathed in the house of foolish or vestal virgins, there is no Hestia, only perhaps there are some similar ones who were staying in the cold fire of her climacteric losing fertility after his father swallowed them, and then they were expelled from himself regurgitated in flaming matches from a blessed house full of indemnity, giving the Duoverse another category calculated with angles never contained vibratingly sliding between distances that discount minutes of Hestian space for such a corollary of approaching to its finitude and inaugurate the sub-finite,  which will never be a source of terminus in a disconcerting end of time not finished flush with the physical equation. “This consolidates the Duoverse in Duouniverse, expressed in figures that moderate the length of a physical state before it is consummated and restarted in a process that does not end (sub-infinite).

Vernarth was a few meters from entering the Nimbus, when suddenly his soul darkened and his panic flared..., suddenly he felt a scream from above and below he saw how everything was made of rubble. Courage blinded him, not wanting to observe what the evident end of the world and rubble intended to consume him if he said goodbye to his most beloved beings, until the lines of infinity approached those of the earthly world, intending to eliminate all traces of his family lineage. In this way, he begins to run through his hands the reflected Hydor of colors that pierced the skylight of austere words. He manages to see Calígine del Apokálypsis farther from the mist, detached from all gravitational force, only being able to see his mother among the smoke, who was coming up by a ray of light, Vernarth tries to free her from that moment of expiration but does not reach the synchrony of catastrophe in what pretended to be from the hand of Eris as the disagreement that did not allow him to put his survival weapons in order, believing that this instance would not allow him to ****** her from the goddess Eris, if he could believe that it was inevitable that his mother Luccica became a granite coat of arms, after the dark night that threatened to unravel her from her flimsy solid state, and then crumble to the ground turned into the ground that was crushed from roots that postponed it to be consumed by the gift of the light of life, and end of a light that is visible in all the roots of the earth when consumed by the infinite that vanishes in the existence of all being.

Vernarth, when a moment of clarity allows him to see his mother, tries to rescue her, realizing that his father Bernardolipo was with her, between them they would try to redeem them from the spread of Nix and Calígine, who behaved with great pain by mocking the edges of the Ether that they received Crono, they could not be victorious in arriving in time to rescue them, if from the harmony of a troubadour of the Mashiaj he observed him see if he would return with him to enter. They became visible in their parents as they contended before an avoidable awareness of this indivisible event with the aggressor words of hindrances and generations of millennials who anticipated the omega of everything in the lower part, under the feet of their parents appearing insignificant one (w) that precedes and succeeds the beginning of a beginning based on the end of a beginning a thousand times more than a threshold based on hundreds, appropriate to the metric unit of the numeral Myríaz = ten thousand, three times more than the Falangists, one thousand less than the Peltasts and three thousand fewer than the horsemen, total thirty-seven thousand fewer than the fighting forces in Gaugamela out of a total of forty-seven thousand, under the myriads of the Myriaz of Phalangists undermined by their Xiphos in the area of the right calcaneus of each faithful man under his command before facing the Achaemenides. During this period, Vernarth took extreme steps to rescue them and stop the numbing effect of all organic matter, not being able to rescue them, only granting them in the image of each one when they began to turn stone from feet to head until the fragile solidification of their eyes. when for the last time, they looked at each other only making it clear that it was a belated rescue gesture. The omega was ineffable even beyond the omicron, being Omega and Micron in the warfare primer of initiation of its cause within the prophetic in all the necropolis of lowercase omega (ω), towards an Omega that reaffirmed the raised hand in Saint John the Apostle to rewrite the Apocalypse twice, having to be the same but with the voice of Vernarth commanding the ten thousand Phalangists that made up the intergenerational gaps, more than mimicked alien ancestors. In such an effect, as is known, the Duoverse opened the skylights with its sheathed pillars and with the strings of tetrachloride of chlorine in solid angles of Ω in what was Virgo institutionum/Aurion, an entity that interfered by projections and leaks that converged in the strut of the omphalos of his heavenly father dealing in frequency and bloodless of immortality, consisting of an auxiliary being towards the planes of subconscious reprogramming and perspective. With its arms raised in each claw, a sword raised to pierce the vanishing point between the spaces that were ascribed, under the solid projection from an observer that inhibits and limits the biomass in all the aqueous filter pastes and lumens, towards the throne of the angelic guardian of Avant-guard by stereotype and sclerosis of Zeus of dissociated physicality, still being an amorphous entity with magnitudes pulverized between numerosities of Pi and Aureos, fading without area or volume.

Saint Jerome of Estridón: “Vernarth, I come from Bethlehem to help your life because I have detected the subsuming of the chains where your parents made the alliance from where your life has been erected from Sudpichi, Transversal Valleys in the temple that bears my pseudonym. The only rune that will determine that your parents can remain united, is through the action and direction that has been consecrated to me. No dead language will unsay what a dead soul cannot interpret. Our Mashiaj has entrusted me to free the languages that have conspired at night, and low luminance where Calígine has been uncomfortable seeing me knowing that it is my favorite environment, the memory of the chains want to incarnate in the stones that surround your parents, but  they are typical of a response that I will get to conclude by urging your mother and father to recognize that here they made the alliances, ordering, and reconciliation of your world that concerns us all in endless dictates to be agreed, I know very well that the point has not of allowing your atonement to have been prevented by this cosmological affront, here are the transverse Valleys in the favorite place of the Spirits lie the treaties that will move my greatest interest to re-marry your parents from the true chains of the complacent scholar, thus all the vastness that afflicts you will belong to your servant Jerome”

Vernarth replies: “At your service, his majesty, here I have been since dawn arriving at the town to meet them when they contracted their marriage. I know I shouldn't be here, rather I know that decades of inquiry had planned it that way. Of such conviction that their chains were anointed from the heights of the Kanthillana whose partiality emits the partials close to your direction? As is known, my very extensive walk through these dusty paths must recognize that the personality and nobility of its burial mounds will strengthen my presence so that everything that is incomprehensible if it is brief by making it neighbor to my reason”

Saint Jerome of Estridón: “everything has been planned like this, and as time drags on I know that your wounds burn in my epistolary like Latin and Greek voices that reluctantly direct me to your aid. Everything is beautifully comparable, and first to what should not be said..., but to do to the genre that above all it practices, the second to one of the ways with the above all that it practices "
By the reverse of the expletive to the insurmountable destiny, Vernarth takes his hands and Saint Jerome withdraws them telling him that it was not time for greater vain for the equivalence of minor desires to please him if he had not appeared before him. It shows him to celebrate him and to want to make of him the permutation of his golden polysemy or interpretation of the world's Apokálypsis by not changing his axis of change, by redirecting them to stated comfort interests. Namely; the leaders of the world in their world of annulled freedom of will to practice following as they please when interpreting the Apokálypsis only as a revelation, and not as a destiny that exalts the senses and compensation that will reconquer the consistency of the nature of the Apokálypsis that adheres to humanity as golden that will consolidate humanity fearful of its own ******* and excess of greed, just as it was just a few steps before entering the Temple of San Jerónimo in Alhué hand in hand with Vernarth already fully healed of his Lynothorax pectoral. They go to the ambo and Saint Jerome essentially takes out of his pockets chaff that was from the escape of the mass of stone that had not yet finally hardened, allowing them to generate a mystical sermon so that their parents return to the nave of the temple in person to surpass farther from the spring of awakening of the Kantillana requesting the unification of the ashes of his father Bernardolipo and Vernarth, to rescue his mother from a poor abundance, and is transposed by the metaphor of the life-giving spirit. Immediately afterward, Saint Jerome pours the chaff of his parents all over the surface, a great noise is produced, the doors and windows of the temple are suddenly closed, and his parents can be seen walking along the central row of the nave, where fiction could testify that everything was a fantasy, rather a great testament that would exhibit the union of two juxtaposed flanks prior to an invaluable crossing of smiles and flowers that fell from the upper altar on their crowns, they came holding their arms like open borders with the procedure before the harsh reality of a metaphor made real in the future of two beloved shepherds who crossed the limbo of their fingers, with the ferrule or the act of engendering rings of family procreation. The crosses of Lisbon and Saint Jerome resembled the monograph in beats of her wealthy feet that were consistent with the nubile gesture of her lips and then released with all frenzy towards the meeting of her beloved Vernarth, the three of them dancing together on the central pinnacle of the obese light that sheltered them, meaning from the testamentary Hebrew the Aleph on the way to Sudpichi after the Raphaca “Healing” ceremony until the diastole that adheres between the middle of the gap that was produced when the three confronted each other and the word “Heth” again He was bent over to take them like gigantic camels to meet his relatives and ghosts that surrounded him when observing the heights of Kanthillana at the assent of all this.

Because of all this similarity, the tribulation from Patmos was raging with very strong resistance, leaving totally clear of the conditionals of the flint or flint, which enveloped the parents, began to fade from their bodies while it was recomposed of seven elemental forms in relation to the transcription and identification of the three as a family trunk enormously of its exegetical possibilities. Tangent to the transcription, and if it is the case identification of the names that we stick to reunion and redemption of their parents, like all anthropology that was chained to the figures and characters that cordoned off the top of the temple when the three met they hugged and held hands as a sign of illustrative demonstrations of never surpassing oneself. Beginning with the compensations in the fullness of the tables, and completion of all the facts that showed that nothing of language escapes what an eye can observe; that is to say, as long as there is a speaking light, it will always be necessary to listen and then observe in the presentation of the mechanics by the lines that expressed the figures, which were increasing the number of letters that were possible to decipher; called stichometry or measurement of the lines in the texts that Saint Jerome that they were ordering to order a vade mecum or memorandum of this unbridled situation, which in any case had to simplify it whenever it is indicated for the reading of three beings that would meet in what literal of four spirits articulated in the continuum, in such a way that Vernarth added his bilocation to this symmetrical experience to meet again with the Mashiach who awaits him on the third step before entering the Iridescent Nimbus.

His parents will be the co-princes gathered on the Supichi road bound for the Horcondising, where Vernarth all Austral Winter Solstices will come to ask his parents for an audience in the Kanthillana Heights where they will summarize the exact day, that everything happened from a Thursday to a Sunday in the first hour of the most certain Saturday in which the twelve unnatural candles will be incorporated into the Duoverse from the branch of the Raedus Codex, specifically from the Antiphon that accompanies them to the compromised one, and sinuous height that was misted by the mist of snow, and vehemence that was perceived in the greatest regulars of Spílaiaus, having a ring of lights as if such were a gesture of Jerome and everything that was named in the concordance that could be confusion that slipped from the metaphysics of new space by beginning. From such a root emerges the Eta or value number and Vernarth symbolized as  N times from "8" to the entire value of the figure of 800 "w" or Omega, which will be the values of figures and numbers to predispose the alternation of the visits that will take place. to have with his precursors each Solstice, after alternating with the Elves of Archimedes, and to cross with them the manifestations that made him lighter than air, as could be expected before the imposition of everything that he imagined to sleep to the badly gestated world that had been altered, even with a remote Faith that symbolized the decisions of Saint John the Apostle by disposing of the salvages of the vestiges that had been destroyed in the physiognomy of a cause that proved more eloquent than a mere revelation that was never believed which would awaken from its very Semitic superlative. In this case, the allegory surpassed the prototype of all curly visual language that emanated from Vernarth's decision for the humanity that needed him, on the one hand, Saint Jerome already resolved, and Saint John the Apostle in the division of two events of the same story that It was melting into the complexity that would be unspeakable for two Saints in the middle of Vernarth, demonstrating that he had taken them with all the power of the force that is capable of pulling and manipulating until arriving at the darkness of the senses where all understanding and reasoning fall asleep. only allowing the silence to take them in the ellipsis recently emanated by the Nothofagus that were walking on the flaccid snow, the three went with graces of faith and satisfaction, Saint Jerome escorted them with everything healthy that made the incomparable awakening of two latitudes explode who managed to revive in invisibility, after resisting the latent verbigrace of the Apokálypsis that showed that the incomparable topic denoted the ma Greater resistance to everything destructive and Omega with the only subjection that only the verb "Love" does. They reached the icy and stinking gases similar to what Santa Rita de Casia emanated, which at the same time would be dividing breakers like those declared by the Corinthians about the Israelites when they were blinded by the radiance of Moses. The same would happen in the veil of little snow that was left behind his last steps when everything was white as a growing incident that would be attached at once to Patmos and Sudpichi, as well as Kanthillana and Olympo. He says goodbye to his parents and they carry their impulsive agreements to meet on the next Solstice together with Saint Jerome and Spilaiaus on the plateau.
Genesí of  Apokalypsis
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2016
you see it...
the Cartesian pH scale...

i think
             the acidic               concerning
       evil thoughts

and

i am
         the alkaline                 concerning
evil action...
                          sketching mezzo in Spain...

but still so much resides in people
expressing da- -denken,
no fallacy with that,
to express thinking you're there
is no fallacy, there's no wrong with that,
being there is a fake,
Heidegger spoke of plagiarism,
rightly he's a magician, a quick hand,
a droplet of Mercury -

sometimes music overpowers,
there's no music, only meaning, after all,
aren't we to decipher our encoding?

philosophy has no access to music,
it can't enter the realm of syllables, or alphabetical
units, its limit is reasoning and meaning,
it cannot perform autopsy on words,
for philosophy words are cursors, vectors,
it cannot dissect words toward syllables
and units of sound, it relies on compounds
ending with a -logy-, pristine ~arithmetic ...

the therefore sequencing
akin to 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 = 4 can be discarded,
acceptable the Newtonian causality
and the mishmash loss of vector, of Einstein's paralleling
for the parabola, or vacuum dipping...

we are concerned with therefore acting as
a multi-facet mathematical function,
with two algebraic modes of expression -
as much bewilderment entombs Newton's theories
as much bewilderment entombs a serial killer's actions...
acidic or alkali are expressions of pigmentation
or activity, yet when encompassed within
pH scaling, non-differential...

in that so many concerns enter the verb thought
(verb - activity of expressing it) that thought per se
excludes nouns to revel in pristine form...
what basis is there for nouns if not automation
rubrics that are settled for a rekindled encounter?
if thinking is an activity, it turns the animate thing
into an inanimate thing, a philosopher's stone
away from peculiar assortment -
and when god seized walking freely,
he turned into a stone, apathetically accepting
monotheistic prayers - once an animate thing,
chained into inanimate enthroning.

what is the prime category of words utilised
in thinking, should no narrative schematic be utilised?
we all know the cognitive schematic narrative,
in fear of linguistic bombardment
that provides puzzles from syllables and
eyed-encoding shapes such as mm or dentistry's
A having cut out the tongue.

but the Cartesian balance - being does not
prove thinking, and thinking does not prove being -
better that unsolved than perpetually
exhausting the argument of being via beings sacrificed
to enshrine a memory - lesser concern
for the thought that spurned others to think
a similar complication, via allowance of the leisurely
timing worth consuming -
with the former a gas chamber, with the latter
a library - there is still a scaling,
not necessarily attributing acidity or alkaline superstition...
_______________­____________________­________
                                     ­  Δ
on topic of pivots and Archimedes.
Crandall Branch Nov 2017
written with Mohamed Nasir
please check him out he is such a talented peot*

As I was young running underneath the shower
Droplets speckling my face Ike water freckles
I ran across the watery lane in the fountain of
My youth

I ran naked wet under the sprinkler's arches
Hooray! Hooray! Hooray! I shouted
Joyfully as Archimedes found truth and naked
He ran down the street of Athens
Eurica! Eurica! Eurica! He shouted

Then I heard someone call my name
And shake me up
"Get up," my mother said
"You wet your bed again," she said
I was dreaming in my wet dreams again
please leave feedback and comments below! :)
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2022
502 bad gateway bypass...
title: shattering of stone
body:
in the rubble: a mountain could
be found;
as might be suggested...
given enough time and there's plenty
of it, as there is of space...
the now known deserts of the world...
were once great mountain ranges...
the ancient Egyptians even tried
to replicate this truth by erecting pyramids...
as if implying: look! look!
there were once mountains here!
now! there's nothing but sand!
how the gods, grunted at the idea of mountains
in what is not Sahara... fickle creatures
like the creatures they created are...
who knows... perhaps there will one day
be the desert of Himalaya...


i felt it coming at me like a freight train...
i was going in for work sharp...
woke up at 6am, had a coffee and ate the prepared
bun with pickles and liver pate...
but couldn't finish it... drank a coffee and smoked
a cigarette... had a shower, pampered myself
with about 7 different pampering products...
usually i'm obviously to how i smell like...
but on the bus i could quiz myself:
who here smells like soap and who here smells
like either stale bread or a curry / eggs?
that's the 86 route for you...
it's the immigrant bus... and... funnily enough...
i'm an immigrant myself... although...
it's different when you come to foreign shores
aged 8... and thrown into the education system
rather than bypass all that jazz & enter the work
force... by immigrant status i'm a veteran of sorts...
by 7am the pains and spasms in my abdomen were
becoming excruciating... i could feel
a plug-hole of a **** building up...
      like a bear before retiring to hibernation...
i wouldn't be able to just simply, **** this plug-hole
of a **** out before or on the job...
why? because there would be more to come...
dizzying effects of focus...

i was nervous... she said she would be coming to
do a shift today... who? Jeminah...
she sent me a text telling me how anxious she was...
i figured... the best... blatant: covert question
would be... you worried the trains are not working?
oh... you can get the 86 bus... the tube might be open...
pulling a long long stick...
a lever even... something Archimedes would
use to lift a mountain off the ground...
she felt anxious... oh... because of those two storms?
Eunice - the worst for 30 years...
red weather alerts? you worried about that?
i was seriously stroking a massive bear silly...
she felt anxious for all the reasons i wanted her
to feel anxious about...
n'ah... the way to get to the venue wasn't on her mind...
neither was the weather...
she was found out... she didn't want to be in
the company of the other girls...
and because i put my foot down:
this is getting silly... i'm not going to get blamed
for your son's and her son's friendship fallout...
telling the truth...
    what a recurrent theme with me these days...
well... at least its not a soap opera style of
a multiverse of competing dramas...
there's only one... and i'm fortifying myself with
all the right answers... i need to play this out
like an opera... petty **** that can grow and grow like
that must be explored from many angles...
down the line...

she didn't show up... the other two girls involved
acted slightly funny... she must have passed on
my Pontius Pilate messages: i'm washing my hands clean
of the matter... you girls created this issue...
you sort it... those two boys are not falling out
over something their mums did...

handshakes all round... two clingers...
one ****** with a nervous tick but one guy with
cerebral palsy... well... oddly enough...
having been a recluse for almost a decade...
i have managed to surprise myself by fitting the role
of a people person... i don't know where i was storing
this confidence... self-assurance... stoic silence...
i don't feel the need to talk unless talked to...
sure... i might say an anecdote or two:
how Millwall fans at Fulham told me a joke
about a West Ham player who's fond of kicking
cats... cat lives matter...

the shift itself... West Ham are back to their usual
antics of not respecting lesser opponents...
Newcastle are on a campaign trail to survive
in the Premier League... two of their best players weren't
playing: yet they still managed to draw 1 - 1...

who do you think are going to fall?
i says: Burnley had it coming for the past two years...
yeah... Watford is a boomerang team...
one season on the Premier level...
the next on the Championship level...

seems i can have much fun with people,
whether coworkers or the actual public...
the freaks among the coworkers follow me like
dogs, while the public?

an old lady wanted me to use her camera to take
photographs with the West Ham mascots:
some bear mascot was first, then Harry the Hammer...
i had to tap Harry's shoulder when a father asked me
to call him back while he moved along the stand
so he could go back and have a photograph taken
with his kid: so heavily padded he almost didn't feel
my touch...
but he went back...
then that retired police officer that took my side
when some busy-body ***** of a: not my supervisor
kept on demanding i put on a face mask...
that infernal: secular niqqab...
the retired police officer noted: he's distraught...
**** the club: if they can think they can get away
imposing their own rules: all staff must wear ******
coverings... this busy-body even said:
i don't you not covering your nose...
so, what then? my chin is capable of breathing?!
scale of escalation... the from me to the supervisor
to the busy-body third part...
the ex-police officer used the hypothetical
argument: but i have a deaf person, friend,
sitting next to me: he needs to lip read...
how is he going to read my instructions if he can't
see my mouth...
and then... well... i wasn't bothered...
wearing these nappies always brings back
memories of my grandfather's funeral...
he was a big deal in a small-town where i was
born... a foreman in the metallurgy industry...
he knew a lot of people...
but how many showed up to his funeral?
not even the half that i'd have expected...

we kept chatting... my supervisor later came up
and asker me... so...   ?!
oh... you know, we just talked about life...
his father was a widower... living in Cornwall...
he used to get free grub from the local (pub),
but when the pandemic hit...
he lost all WILL to live...
and me says: you know how people say that
you can die from a broken heart,
i guess you can also die from being denied
WILL... we agreed... we shook hands about x3...
like a post-scriptum he asked me for my name
and i asked for his... Mark...
now living in East Sussex... but originally from
Dartford...

Mark said he had thick skin... and i told him...
your eyes are watering... i don't believe it...
looking at them feels like watching a very bountiful
aquarium... you're not going to fool me mate...
life... plus, it's not against the law to not wear
the *****... as i later said:
now you get to see who the people with OCD
and the hypochondriacs are...
yeah: it feels weird... i'm walking around without
the "*****" while my wife is still paying
servitude to outlaw rules...
but if they want to... why deny them the right...
sure sure...

but i had to use a member of the public
to infiltrate the hierarchy on the job...
he used the proper arguments... i was just thinking:
perhaps people just want to see my face...
recognise it... see ****** expressions...
after all: we've been playing a game of pretending
to be Muslim women for two years...
how about we start playing hide & seek once more?

what happened later... the curiosity of the children...
i looked at them, smiled, they smiled back...
they felt so comforted... they felt like:
well... thank god this cubist-esque freak-show is
running and hiding... little girls, little boys...

like i told Mark: but the young 'ung suffered... too...
you need to see people faces,
i might have slouched with the expression
of "****** recognition"... but expressions matter...
you sometimes have to out the tongue to the face...
you want to see someone laugh,
at ease... nowhere near the culture & the people
of Afghanistan... this might have to be the building
block of the supposed "great" restart...
seeing people's faces...
esp. when it comes to children...
they want to see faces they can trust...

but it's outright blatant...
i'm not going to make a comparison between
The Beatles "vs." The Rolling Stones...
for me it always been
Bruce Springsteen "vs." Chris Rea...
no... can't choose...
who the **** do i couple Bob Dylan with?
i'm currently sipping some whiskey while
in the company of ol' Bruce...
ah... Bob Dylan vs. Tom Waits...
        Tommy 'ol boyo...
                    live circus... going out west (live)...
Tom Petty though...

there was one expulsion... a ginger she-male...
all the fans were laughing: don't give her out...
the SIA guys were playing gorillas while
i was on my break... putting my hand on the shoulder
of the hurt party... calm... calm... you ginger ostrich...
stop pandering to the parade of:
already lost teenage hormones...
it sort of worked... i giggled... and no one
became involved... i chewed on my gum like i
like might have been found chewing on a broomstick
or a horses' mane...
i chewed so hard until my jaw hurt...

Tom Waits - going out west (live)...
now we're talking...
prior to Prince dying: you had not access to
songs like Party-man... Trust... all copyrighted
material... yeah.... but i own the best of CD...
why can't i stream it?!
oh, right... he's dead... free-for-all...
free meat for the crows...

why oh why would someone walk up to me
and ask to take a selfie with me?
yeah... this American accented dude...
i watched him through the second half...
off his nuts...
but at half time he walks up to me and asks...
can i take a selfie with you?
sure... weird...
am i famous?! or am i just ****** approachable...
all the other stewards are like bricks in
a mountain: but mountains don't have bricks...
or they're over-anxious busy bodies...
it's like people never learned their NVQ training...

safety, security, service....
the service part is the building part...
you pass off being attired in safety / security tactics...
but... service comes first...
you talk, you interact... you learn to be human...
one year of this, before i ask for being given references...
that's when i'll work toward looking toward a more
permanent employment as a chemistry
teacher... even though... scribbling this sort of *******:
i'd love to become an English teacher...
ha ha... an English teacher... even though i'm not
English...

i need the references... working with my father in
roofing... no, can, do...
they don't want familial ties in references...
one year... i'd still do these gigs on the weekend...
but one year...
you get a chance to deal with a football crowd...
you got a belt... when it might come to dealing
with a classroom of rowdy children...
like Louis XIV stated... it's the trick of the eye...
look the authoritative type...
there's nothing more to it...

then these three supporters at the front...
when they first started singing the song for the cat-lives-matter
footballer who was more into... kicking
cats than a football... how did the lyrics go?
almost Dr. Seuss...
he kicks with his right foot... he kicks with his
left foot... i pursed my lips... i tried to cover my
face with my hand... all the while trying to as
instructed: not taking sides... not showing emotions...

but their remarks came fast... i must have looked
interesting...
so where are you from?
Russia? guess again... Ukraine? nope...
Czech Republic? nope... ******! yep...
but i've been living here since the age of 8...
and i'm 35...
have a nice life: she said... one of them was
ginger... presuppositions of Irish... the beard was
pulled... oh my god, the girl looked proper, proper,
drunk...
i went on a break... i came back:
oh! he's back! you know you're the only one
without a hood on! all the other stewards...
the guy who's usually here is somewhat asleep
while prying open his phone...
where's your pancho against the rain?
oh... i gave it to a spectator... blah blah...

point being... i was actually waiting for her...
Jeminah... all the time... she didn't show up...
i've just received a text from her...
what is... drotaverini hydrochloridum?
i had to take it today...
a rubric of buzzwords...
it sells alongside suggestions akin to the morning-after
pill...

well, it will be a rubric of buzzwords...
i had to take some pills for the cramps in my stomach...
it just felt like one of those Sprintsteen,
Chris Rea, Bob Dylan, Tom Petty sort of nights:
when you feel nervous about thinking bout
a girl while simultaneously feeling nervous
about taking a ****... so you feel like taking a ****
at 7am but delay it to until 5pm... 6pm...
because the girl's easting away at your mind...
you're getting cramps in your abdomen
like you you're about to do a clown trick
with balloons turning them into theoretical poodles...
because you just love the girl:
you just love the girl...
she might be a single mother, she might think
she's a woman... but she's just a girl to you...
even though you're not her father...

oh right... the buzz... words... as someone who studied
chemistry i should know what drotaverini hydrochloridum
is... it's for the abdomen cramps...
for: i ought to have taken a ****...
but here's me stalling...
will she, will you come?
DROVATERINE....
an antispasmodic drug...
   used to enhance cervical dilation during child-birth...
i'm giving birth: to a feeling...
i think i'm in love... she's all anxious...
Bruce's: Maria's Bed... yeah... i'm on that same page
in this story...
esp. noted use in Asia and Central Europe...
i'll be lazy: i'll cite it verbatim:
it's structurally related to papaverine,
is a selective inhibitor of phosphodiesterase 4
and has no anticholinergic effects...

the way i see it... i'm giving birth to love....
i want her fat **** to sit on my face...
sorry... what?!
i'm being absolutely serious...
just looks up the article on Anticholinergics...
i don't have a womb...
but i have a heart that seems to have
sunken into the levels of the intestines...
while i get all spaghetti tangles
for brains...
i'm in love... i can't help it...
she a cougar red head... a deep red...
a mahogany red...
i can't stop thinking about her...
it's exactly impossible to live:
without having to think about her...
anxious cluck by cluck...
if she's not going to abide by failures in life
then... no... life's not worth living without her:
when she's at her pinnacle of failure...
let me pick her up...
let's pretend there's an old world
worth looking at... that there might be a world war
in the theatre... none of these proxies in
the H'American department of... up-keeping
hard-ons and kaleidoscope coyotes...
now for the text messages... why weren't you around?!

i wrote this yesterday, i went downstairs for sone grub
because i couldn't fall asleep...
my mother came down... saw me in my TOMBSTONE
mode... drunk... what? you want me to punch
myself in the face? lucky for her, lucky for me
i remained silent, because the night was silent...
she ****** off i ****** off... today i made mein vater
und mein mutter some ******
chicken broth with vermicelli...
all the usual suspects were used...
the leek, the parsley root, the carrot,
the garlic (skin on), the celery... chicken... d'uh...
although i didn't use the chicken *******...
that's going to be used for a curry...
  
and what are my other options? living alone?
paying rent to a landlord from hell?!
shame... sure... but the attic is full of clutter
and there is no basement...
plus i have a private library the deservedly might
need a proper: HEAVE! HEAVE!
50 oars...

i'm in love and not for all the right reasons...
if my youth took the route of an atypical man...
starting from 20 working my way up...
yeah... but i went mad at the age of 21...
******* invisible choir, great wind dispersing it...
psychiatry that tried to attempt its regression
tactics of implanting me with false memories...
giving me anti-psychotic drugs that fattened me up
until a nurse said:
you either loose weight... or you'll be put
on high-blood pressure tablets...
so... i bought a bicycle... lost 20kg... cycled off
into the sunset...
now... 35... years old... oh... look...
they're looking... they're actually interested...
the young girls have: "woken up"...
yeah... by now? i'm not interested...
i don't and i didn't pay much attention
to the game of genes... it's a fractional impossibility...
unless you're cloning yourself...
by the time you're a grandfather...
only a quarter of you remains...
  why bother with the argument?
        it's silly...Darwinistic unrealism has always been
a thorn in my side...
eh?                            my genes have my consciousness?
i'm... translatable to future generations?
sure... but they can't be my own...
why would i be interested in young girls...
if things worked out for me like they might have
worked out for other men...
a walking *****... and spare parts of monetary dough...
i never wanted to make money...
i took the principle left around for others to see...
between the aesthetic and the ascetic...
well... St. Francis of Assisi...
other men in my position: who have hungered and
been left out in their 20s... now in their 30s can have
their comeback...
their revenge... me? i'm trying to court
a woman 4 years older than me... with a boy
that's 11 years old...
i said: bully them into teaching your German...
you know, it's the mother tongue of English...
grammatically the two languages are very much
aligned... Fredrick... "bully" them into making
you learn Deutsche... i said BULLY i implied:
persuade... do i need to use sign language...
finally... though... a third head on the Hydra...
if i had a little Frankenstein in my possession...
i could be learning Deutsche proper with him....
a youngling like that... sponge for brains...
maybe i could teach him some of my ****** zunge...
wow... no no... that's the whole point of turning
toward art... by 35 i could have been earning
100+ £... yawn... no, truly...
playing this to-and-fro with younger girls
because i now might have status...
not much fun... to be exacting...
single mum... problems at school...
you should learn German rather than French...
he understood it splendidly...

             just you wait... i'll get him into modern German
folk music... did i buy her off with my homemade wine
and him with my own made banana loaf with hazelnuts?!
here's to me!
salute!

              - on these isles for most of my life...
35 - 8 = 27... twenty-seven ******* years!
and no chance at a pluck at the Rose...
up north she was giving it up to grooming gangs
from Pakistan... down south...
shy ******* nunnery: "all of a sudden"!
but now... ah... this... hybrid of Scotch and English
stock... i'm shuddering... i'm still getting these
cramps in my abdomen that says:
you have a womb... what?! i'm transgender?!
what the ****?!

that's why i didn't want to earn money...
well... it's not that i didn't want to...
you see what happens when you go mad aged
21... and how you figure things out...
at least now i'm not a target...
i don't have anything to offer expect for...
knowledge...
it's a blessing...
since... it's hardly what any woman wants...
women tend to want only their own advice...
they conjure this advice like witches conjure up...
perhaps the rosemary herb
goes well with lamb... but like the Turkish
broads suggested... but if you add it to beef...
oh! mein! gott! the Turkish lavash!
with that red onion & parsley roughage of
a side salad... mouth-watering stuff...
i don't really need to see the competitive hard-on
of whatever Sultan to counter the Hagia Sophia...
just that beef lavash...
and yes, you'd be wrong... English cheddar
works just as well...

but... i'm no Frank O'Hara... there's no qualm in
me about not being a painter...
why i'm not a painter translates to me as:
why am i not a painter?
i abhor colours... well... i like some more than
others... the amber and the auburn...
the greens... whiskey... autumn...
but when it comes to movies?
i prefer them to be black & white... less strain
on the eyes...
if images are moving? black & white...
sure... no one is expected to paint in black & white...
like no one is expected to write in
rainbow hieroglyphics... i can stand for an hour
beside a colour painting...
it doesn't move, i don't move...
time, the world: moves...
fair enough...
but colour-riddled movies?
a strain on the eyes...
    why am i not a painter?
                     why am i not a narrator?!
i'm clearly neither... what's the middle ground?
priest? psychiatrist? *******... poet?!
oh you have to be choking me to make me joke...
let alone laugh... but i'm not rhyming...
but there was a time and a place
when people identified this art with
a need for mathematics... measure... ticture...
rhyme... music...
like **** that's happening now: proper...

- perhaps it's not painting, i think it;s painting,
perhaps lacking in colour, perhaps lacking in contorts..
in shapes, in disguises...
what? no traffic light: goes green?
no traffic light remains red?
no middle ground for the amber?
no cyclist prepped to be the shepherd of traffic?
to leech onto a truck where he might be
visible... to orientate the roundabout congestion?
no one, ever, minded, this?!
before moi!
           oh... what shame... what utter shame...
we were supposed to help each other out...
not be these... petty demigods...
silly ******* idiots...

             i might have to reiterate my stance...
she's giving me the love-ups making me feel like a woman...
i'm getting cramps in my abdomen...
sure... i ought to have taken a **** 7 hour prior...
but i keep it in... like a bear about to hibernate:
a plug-hole ****...

- anticholinergic agent are substances that block the action of the neurotransmitter called acetylcholine (ACh) at synapses in the central and peripheral nervous system...

-  anticholinergics are divided into two categories in accordance with their specific targets in the central and peripheral nervous system and at the neuromuscular junction: antimuscarinic agents, and antinicotinic agents (ganglionic blockers, neuromuscular blockers...

she says she's anxious... i'm nervous too!
i'm getting cramps in my stomach...
i'm giving birth to love...
i want access to her son... i want to learn Deutsche
with him... is that too much to ask?
i don't have the sort of money
to access younger, fertile, girls...
i'm left with single mothers... MUFFAS...
oh... she's rounded... like the earth ought to be...

i'm still shy on one reply...

Apologies for the lateness of this message, came home and "had to", i.e. wanted to make some Silesian gnocchi with beef in a dill and a horseradish sauce... cooking for three, it takes time, then I fought up on some footie... was soaked at West Ham, but it was a good shift.... so what happened to you? Weren't you supposed to come? I found out late that the tube was working, managed to use it on the way back... so what happened? What were you anxious about? The bad weather the day before? I took a walk for a newspaper when the storms hit... it was almost fun-windy... at one point I stood rooted in one place for about 3sec being unable to move... the winds almost roared, i even stopped listening to music on my headphones as I listened to the wind whizz by and ruffle the trees... sort of like ASMR but with a loud speaker... I imagined the wind ruffling the trees like someone brushing their hair on an ASMR video... you feeling better though, yes? You doing Fulham this week?

but we're talking about a psychotic girl...
one layer of narrative against another...
she might as well conjure up
a missing 13 year old cousin
to just test you...
thar's how it works...
this reality, this ugly "thing"...
and the deviances of how much
i want to sleep with her...
there... i said it... beautiful view.
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2020
i sometimes take a walk to remind myself
that i still possess legs...
i have no curiosity
to chariot keeping up appearances:
after all...
a car does invoke
paying road tax...
and getting a yearly...
         m.o.t. check...
         driving a car implies:
you can be implored by
the police to be stopped-over
and have your driving licence
checked...
unlike... in some places...
where... the "lesser passport" /
identity card is invoked
for merely walking...
who's who...
into the petrol station...
a bottle of beer...
walking out: oh hell...
no bottle opener...
back into the petrol station
to buy a cigarette lighter...
the minor archimedes...
should i not enjoy having
legs that... can...
somehow behave autonomously?
that people want so much...
so much is to be achieved...
and then that marriage with
death: the inevitable bride...
to reach old age is somehow
the purpose these days...
to reach old age and to live
in fear...
   what a crowning achievement...
collision course with...
a "belief" in an after-life...
or the already suggested:
quest and... game over...
a car for...
driving through Upminster...
the teenager girls walking
around with teases of their
****-cheeks exposed...
and i am somehow:
"not" tempted?
    to what... execution of a narrative?
she will grow to be...
less gracious than...
an 18th century first edition...

it's one thing to walk through
a gallery of paintings...
after all: to paint is to have invested
in something...
words are cheap...
homogeneity of ink...
            baron square sold for
his elevated cubist reiteration
of the rhombus...
    
               transit art: sitting nicely
with some scrap-heap journalism...
today was: this! spectacular!
no different to the prior day!
no different to the day after!

           but the sun and earth...
the moon was slow...
there was this miraculous... buoyancy...
nonetheless...

one could breathe awe and breath
it... because... even though there
were animate objects...
in the narrative... they... couldn't
be distinguished from the inanimate
objects... they... became...
so coherently... predictable...
fail-safe mechanisms...
truly: deus ex machina...

                  one can almost tease
a solipsism when...
and how the wind brushes tree branches...
how the sea froths and imitates
yards gained wave upon wave
for the shape of reiteration...
but there's "nothing" within it...
to prove a: ex nihil continued:
ad continuum:
    
               the thesaurus god...
a peacock of synonyms...
    the hebrews have... 72 substitute nouns...
the arabs have 99 minor allahs...
and "we"... well.. we have...
the omni- litany rubric...
which... is boring as ****...
              omnipresent i.e. telepathic
is the worst read scenario...

   at least... if given birth to a telepathy of god...
one would be more... courtesan...
when dealing with madmen...
impregnated with the "imagination
of sanity sages": the priests...

it's one thing to... spew the narrative...
sober... dictum: sane...
but another of an omnipresent...
boor... of a god...
and thesaurus rex: forger of a mona lisa...

if it is such an abhorrent word...
the arabs would tell you:
                 dog... as would... slayer ***
the stooges sing-along...
        make way! for the almighty:
blah'lah!

the idea of "god" is most probably...
something...
infantile... imbecile...
               terminology: schizoid: supreme
binding glue...
       which begs the question:
it's not really a thought of...
   but the obstructive nature that...
has no... real narrative purpose...

                       we could have so much
more than... the joy of exercising one's
legs when walking...
it is... mid-june... after all...
the nights are warm...
           the solistice is upon us...
and i can... walk my choice of streets
and find... hardly a wish for
confrontation with a brute
about to cout-knuckles...
or a hard-on thrill adventure with
a *****...

          there has to come a clearer
gratification from walking...
to use ones legs has to become
a central theme from therein...
        how... i don't have to...
ask for a ghost-limb effect...
   how... the legs can write their own...
paragraph of an hour...
so that... the brain can switch off...
for all the claustrophobia
of descartes' res cogitans:
     i counter... res vanus...
         in...

                  how a certain scent...
short-circuits my memory
and i enter a walk-through cinema...
or... after a worthy hour...
i sit... perched on a windowsill
on a folded leg...
and look at my... private library...

  a walk through a gallery...
  and... that sort of session strapped
to a windowsill...
a crow healing a broken wing...
to look at all the books...
read... being stacked up...
     it's unlike... walking into a bookshop...
and this feud of the eyes and the heart...
and the mind: the argument...
of having read...
the brothers karamazov...
but not having read... moby ****...
but somehow having ingested...
a cultural relativity of moby ****
through a different medium...
so... no... not ignorant of moby ****...
but... you have read the brothers karamavoz...
but you haven't read moby ****...

and that's... "somehow" a problem...
which would be hardly a problem...
if you were a PRO-per... a PROP'ah...
MAN'S-MAN... a WOEMAN'Z-MENSCH!
let's forget that the prefix:
uber beside: taxi-daddy-for-her-16-yer-old
princess oi oi! cabby! blah blah...

you know... it's a lot different...
walking into a bookshop...
surrounded by... books you haven't read...
and... amassing a private library:
romford town library can be shamed!
although... proud...
they did own thomas mann's
dr. faustus... which i did borrow...

                         a book... on par...
with anything heidegger ever would write
in either old age or youth...
beside... it's one thing to walk into
a bookshop and be...
"circumcised" k.o. with all the books
you having read...
and those nights staging a coup...
looking at your private collection...
and what you're read... of it...
and...
              if you could ever see the size...
of the in-real-life... the size of...
philipp MALYAVIN's... peasant woman
dancing... late 1900s...

        well... it would be akin to...
standing before an altar of someone who
had a private library... of read books...
of mutilated books by reading...
books with creases like napkins...
          a private library not to boast
a fake intellect...
or to boast intellect therefore...
to "appear intelligent"...
   let's skip to... nurturing a double posit
of privacy... a cognitive labyrinth...
enough to enjoy a beer when walking
in the night...

        unlike going to a gallery and
appreciating all the paintings...
to look at... a stack of read books...
books... not worth discarding in a carboot sale...
a private library: notably...
in two tongues... and a third spare...
a stack of books read...

say... alone... the Sienkiewicz trilogy...
which is not the Tolkien trilogy...
i'm bored of people regurgitating....
as they would do... making videos...
citations of 1984 and brave new world...
yes yes... and what of... Zamyatin's we?  
subscript notes for:
pedophiles, pederasts and pedants...
or priests, prostitutes and psychiatrists...        
                  
it's one thing... to go among paintings
in a gallery... without a mirror or glass...
and the ******* of space that a gallery confines
the painting to...
or a piece of paper and some caryons like
a child might...
but... eh!
    not going anywhere...
      a private library of books read...
   stacked like cans of baked beans
in a supermarket...
hey presto! no warhol!
     a different paternity of time invoked...
i have... 3 years apart... and roughly
a month from each of these 3 years...
           confined to... roughly...
the parameters of a box that could also
be used to... stack-up radios... etc.

     yes... it has become apparent...
this life is worthy of exhausting the narrative...
after all... so many things in this world:
do not have a fixation of narrative
as their prime concern for: ex nihil...

                      i have the cameo cinema of memory...
the blank stare and buddha-blind vector
of imagination...
               and that... ever...
more realistic currency of presently:
entertained consciousness... with not much
achieved... beside...
an argument contra Freud:
            what if i haven't been afforded
the luxury of dreams? interpret what?
    a hermann rorschach?
                       herr doktor KLEKS...
    kleggs... and various other alternatives...
antithesis chiral...
                             of note:
the lesser detail of any known theoretical
confine of organic chemistry.
A hobo in Soho goes South
I knew him,

a gentle man
a road man
a man with a load on his mind man

and kind too
never knew him not to give,

'the only way to live'
he told me once,
when I was sat with him

I called him Archimedes
because
he,
though displaced,
displaced the same amount, though
faced with discontent
he was content to be.

Interestingly
he never complained about his lot,
lots complained about him,

a gentle man
gentleman Jim,

Anyway he's gone and more
will come along
until
we,
Joe Public
have had our fill and
sort the situation
move in a new direction,

don't ***** Archimedes
do something
memorable.
Dave Hardin Sep 2016
Breaker Bar

Every now and then I get the itch to lift
The simple slender breaker bar in my hands
Snap a socket on the square pivot fitting

And go hunting for a big fat frozen bolt
One that hasn’t budged in ages, rust bound
Threads that yearn to give held fast by a split

Spiral washer, tense marriage of wedge
To pent up tension for no other reason
Than to feel the sheer unbridled joy

That comes from applying Archimedes
Law of the Lever, poised to deliver
A stunning verdict proclaimed with a sharp

Dry crack that travels through my hands  
My arms to light up some forgotten
Constellation in a dark and dusty

corner of my brain, closing a circuit
That began with the simple slender
Breaker bar, bequeathed but rarely wielded

A conjure stick to summon you back to
Throw your weight around, tip the scales in my
Favor, balanced absurdly here on the business end.
Ken Pepiton Mar 2018
Who I Ever Heard Of
when I was seven ;
the same year I learned Archimedes said Eureka
for a reason,
and I was vaccinated against Polio.

My hearing of Whose has been different, sense.
This popped up in the middle of a bigger piece . It has feet.
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2015
this one is of a lesser activity, it doesn't
really involve the nine jokes of egypt
and the final "plague" / ultimate condemnation
of what ideal was reigning egypt at the time:
architectural necrophilia - the pyramids
are just that, not the modern sense of
the word, the old sense of it, in terms of architecture;
but unlike the pillar of fire ahead,
and the pillar of smoke that attracts
atheists... this aversion to the fire is also
a grecian sentiment to the near simplicity
of the hebrews when pre-socratics arose,
followed by the students of socrates and
archimedes - it's very much a testimony of zeus
and hades - lightning ahead, and thunder
behind... indeed if hades is not a person
but a realm (typical human fear exampled)
hades bellows, howls and snarls like a hungry wolf:
the lightning is representative of the sharpness
of cognition - the origin of science and
the laconic darwinism of aristotle - hidden for
so long and almost entirely discarded because
it was more interesting for man to represent man:
in all affairs orientating man to man,
rather than man to conservation projects -
not why the rhino evolved to have a horn,
but why would man evolve to cut it off...
given man sharpened flint and put it on
the end of a spear and made ivory not a weapon
the rhino deems fit... but an ornament of
a tea table leg in beijing;
the thunder? we all know who coined the
endowment if one follows him - st. peter,
paul, matthew john etc. were known as sons
of thunder... strange that they were not
known as sons of lightning... i guess dim witted
is adequate enough to provide comparison -
shouting maniacs who didn't really bother to think.
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2015
first the bench where someone left a good pair
of shoes under the bench: mountaineering shoes,
bulging tricep in lycra types... i waited as a few people
passed, some on foot some in cars, drinking a beer,
wondering if they'd spot casper the friendly ghost...
then it was this cow-patch-work
of a cat, one eyed, started playing with
me, started off while we stood still
in the middle of the street
and i kneeled... then i boxed him
down with cuddles and strokes,
exposed his weakness, so he bit me gently,
i thought of women and the way
they behave like cats... then i thought
of men and myself: ah ****, dogs...
i don't want to wear a leash - i'll walk
my own random route thank you...
when i get drunk ezra's experimentation
with the personae comes out in me,
it's me talking, with a twist of lemon zest...
so she's the one who puts a ring on the
ring-finger and a leash around the neck?
ah crap... you wouldn't believe it...
buck bukowski made an entrance in
season 6 of that television series my family,
although as a self-help guru...
god the oddities - quantum physics as
particular energy content of particular things...
which is hardly a stance to take
with universal energy of a questionably universal thing...
given that there's only one... the universe,
and in it - so many particularness s s s (solipsisms)...
in between i opened a bottle of sant miguel
with the jailed archimedes with a cigarette lighter,
sant miguel bottles are the best...
if i carried an actual bottle opener in my back
pocket i wouldn't have made the same impact
of a girl getting out of her car with cabbage and broccoli luggage,
i took a firm grip... thomp / pop...
then the shriek... she got a fright...
the executioner just scalped the bottle like a red indian,
don't worry, charles 1st is still talking to the parliamentarians,
although with a weird haircut of bleeding scalp...
so as i said, the joke...
use a cigarette lighter to open a bottle and get the pop...
open it with a bottle opener you get a tss...
so pop thomp v. tss... now i'm going to buy a drum-kit
for the joke...
she semi-detached would be her pinnacle and life-ordeal
if not simply life's ambition, i agree...
middle-class queen turned *****...
i get it... it's what makes me tick tock... tick tock...
life's too perfect to imitate your mother and marry
a dentist, have to get that teenage pregnancy out
of the way... like they say: it's downhill after that...
or up the hill with a horse climbing the hill backwards
to ease the threat of sweat and exhaustion...
so as i said... a cigarette lighter opening a beer bottle
clean with the kapsel remaining flat (
just so you could technically pour some water into
the bottle, put the cap back on and sell it as beer)
will never give you the bottle opening dent on the cap;
magic.

— The End —