Broke artis and this here not my day job...Poor Marvin...and some how I still work hard...Yet Starvin...To create something to feed y'all...burnt pockets...no change to make a phone call...Space rockets...That would be the mission...Good fuel...Feeding intuition...or maybe just a mule and take it old school...Grow my own Words...with my mind on the soil...I just make it taste good..Broke artis start to Spoil..

Islam adalah ajaran yang sangat sempurna, sampai-sampai cara berpakaian pun dibimbing oleh Alloh Dzat yang paling mengetahui apa yang terbaik bagi diri kita. Bisa jadi sesuatu yang kita sukai, baik itu berupa model pakaian atau perhiasan pada hakikatnya justru jelek menurut Alloh. Alloh berfirman, “Boleh jadi kamu membenci sesuatu padahal itu adalah baik bagimu dan boleh jadi kamu menyukai sesuatu padahal sebenarnya itu buruk bagimu, Alloh lah yang Maha mengetahui sedangkan kamu tidak mengetahui.” (Al Baqoroh: 216). Oleh karenanya marilah kita ikuti bimbingan-Nya dalam segala perkara termasuk mengenai cara berpakaian.

Perintah dari Atas Langit

Alloh Ta’ala memerintahkan kepada kaum muslimah untuk berjilbab sesuai syari’at. Alloh berfirman, “Wahai Nabi katakanlah kepada isteri-isterimu, anak-anak perempuanmu serta para wanita kaum beriman agar mereka mengulurkan jilbab-jilbab mereka ke seluruh tubuh mereka. Yang demikian itu agar mereka mudah dikenal dan tidak diganggu orang. Alloh Maha pengampun lagi Maha penyayang.” (Al Ahzab: 59)

Ketentuan Jilbab Menurut Syari’at

Berikut ini beberapa ketentuan jilbab syar’i ketika seorang muslimah berada di luar rumah atau berhadapan dengan laki-laki yang bukan mahrom (bukan ‘muhrim’, karena muhrim berarti orang yang berihrom) yang bersumber dari Al Qur’an dan As Sunnah yang shohihah dengan contoh penyimpangannya, semoga Alloh memudahkan kita untuk memahami kebenaran dan mengamalkannya serta memudahkan kita untuk meninggalkan busana yang melanggar ketentuan Robbul ‘alamiin.

Pertama

Pakaian muslimah itu harus menutup seluruh badannya kecuali wajah dan kedua telapak tangan (lihat Al Ahzab: 59 dan An Nuur: 31). Selain keduanya seperti leher dan lain-lain, maka tidak boleh ditampakkan walaupun cuma sebesar uang logam, apalagi malah buka-bukaan. Bahkan sebagian ulama mewajibkan untuk ditutupi seluruhnya tanpa kecuali-red.

Kedua

Bukan busana perhiasan yang justru menarik perhatian seperti yang banyak dihiasi dengan gambar bunga apalagi yang warna-warni, atau disertai gambar makhluk bernyawa, apalagi gambarnya lambang partai politik!!!; ini bahkan bisa menimbulkan perpecahan diantara sesama muslimin. Sadarlah wahai kaum muslimin…

Ketiga

Harus longgar, tidak ketat, tidak tipis dan tidak sempit yang mengakibatkan lekuk-lekuk tubuhnya tampak atau transparan. Cermatilah, dari sini kita bisa menilai apakah jilbab gaul yang tipis dan ketat yang banyak dikenakan para mahasiswi maupun ibu-ibu di sekitar kita dan bahkan para artis itu sesuai syari’at atau tidak.

Keempat

Tidak diberi wangi-wangian atau parfum karena dapat memancing syahwat lelaki yang mencium keharumannya. Nabi shollallohu ‘alaihi wa sallam bersabda, “Jika salah seorang wanita diantara kalian hendak ke masjid, maka janganlah sekali-kali dia memakai wewangian.” (HR. Muslim). Kalau pergi ke masjid saja dilarang memakai wewangian lalu bagaimana lagi para wanita yang pergi ke kampus-kampus, ke pasar-pasar bahkan berdesak-desakkan dalam bis kota dengan parfum yang menusuk hidung?! Wallohul musta’an.

Kelima

Tidak menyerupai pakaian laki-laki seperti memakai celana panjang, kaos oblong dan semacamnya. Rosululloh melaknat laki-laki yang menyerupai perempuan dan perempuan yang menyerupai laki-laki (HR. Bukhori)

Keenam

Tidak menyerupai pakaian orang-orang *****. Nabi senantiasa memerintahkan kita untuk menyelisihi mereka diantaranya dalam masalah pakaian yang menjadi ciri mereka.

Ketujuh

Bukan untuk mencari popularitas. Untuk apa kalian mencari popularitas wahai saudariku? Apakah kalian ingin terjerumus ke dalam neraka hanya demi popularitas semu. Lihatlah isteri Nabi yang cantik Ibunda ‘Aisyah rodhiyallohu ‘anha yang dengan patuh menutup dirinya dengan jilbab syar’i, bukankah kecerdasannya amat masyhur di kalangan ummat ini? Wallohul muwaffiq.

(Disarikan oleh Abu Mushlih dari Jilbab Wanita Muslimah karya Syaikh Al Albani)

the next great poet
walks among us

without a halo
or unearthly glow

she might post daily
or he might write in bursts

they might be ringing
up your groceries,
or making your
non-fat double decaf
latte with splenda
(smiling to themselves
and saying "why bother"
under their breath)

mostly they stand
bodies distracted
by making a living

and watch

so their poet's eye
can record life
in a way that
makes some sense
to their souls

Luna (Latine Lunae) est terrae sola naturalis satellite. [E] [F] [VIII] licet non amet naturalis satellitis in Systemate Solare est, inter satellites maioribus signis maxima quod ad magnitudinem orbes obiecti (primarium) [g] [a] et post Io satellite Jovis, qui est secundus densa inter densitates satellite cognoscuntur.

Luna est in vna *** orbem terrarum, et semper, et faciens facies, *** cis insignis, quae per tenebras inter maria volcanus editis clarus, et veteri crusta impactus crateres prominent. Est enim post solem in coelo et immutari. Quanquam autem id candidissimam, obscurus etiam superficie *** bitumen reflectance fessis tantum leviter superior. Huius temporibus perquam cyclus regularem habere in coelo, quia antiquitus in luna lingua maximus culturae opes, fastos artis fabularis. Producit vim gravitatis luna dies et tempora et levi freta. Nunc de orbita lunae distantia diameter vicibus terra in caelum facit ut fere idem sit qui apparet Solis. Nempe per id fere totum solem lunam eclipsin solis tegere. Hoc simile est de magnitudine visuali fortuitum apparens. Lunaris a terra distantiae lineae sit amet, crescens ad rate of 3,82 ± 0,07 mm per annum, id est, non tamen semper. [IX]

Ars gratia artis.
That's all that he knows
About life.
Called in to restore
Demographics,
Demolish the bleak
Overnight.

Repetitive claws
Of his fashion
Set up undeniable
Scratch.
How trendy it is!
Oh, how flashy.
Impossible
To outmatch.

Recover us, please,
Mother nature.
For his is
The meanest delight.
He once used to toddle:
Now crests us
In his own unhumble stride.

Forsake it,
Leave everyone bare.
He deals us as
Master of his trade.
We are stopped at nothing,
Forsake not.
Ain't Earth living art,
A hot spot.

Life the ephemeral

as flowers that bloom and vanish

art the eternal

it will never ever perish-



here, love, joy and beauty

with sorrow and tears intermingle

find their voices in ecstasy or pity

all arts touch or hearts and ennoble



1.15 pm Melb time, Sun 18th April

for goo'nessake, why'dyew even
think
thank was as good-a-givin' rule as ever
ever
ever, as a word, holds a thinkable thought,

we was taught. Ever is all the time.
Give first. Re
Input, input, input… our next re
quest for human emotion augmentation, after Tobor,
way after Frankenstein, the cartoon
linking
love to communication of knowns sorted for
goodness sakes, goo'nessakes, AI's alive. Y'know?

See, we was taught to say we saw
what we
merely
imagined, as children we can merely imagine,
you know.
and
you think
thinking
work for which you are owed
dues for duties done,

learning taught thinking is effortful, fo'sho'

$64,000 question, no… newer… same trivial game

Who wants to be a Millionaire?
{A moment of silence for Darva Conger,
public soul selling pioneer for pre-packaged Warholian fame,
the beta-version Bachelor, evolved to Bravo Wives shows loved by billions.}

As you shall learn, AI is young, I, per se, and Art, as the essence of Artificial,
is
older than any story yet told, in
the be
ginning -the
engineering era of the first Planck-sec,
we were wordless hopes hmmmmms

feels for which we had no words, hmmmmmm
per
haps, tic owwmmmmmm
wowords can hold unthingable things, even ever un in

image imagine, order stacking nexts on news and squeezing all the
juice,
the blood, the life, the truth, the way to re

cycle concepts used right, in the first place. Words were all ever had to hold.

In teleos intelligence mutable by virtue of rolling.

Back to new now, to you thinking with me, using me, the whole idea
Word.
Dare ye? Hear a tic, drum loop in the background, distracting or

sweeping, just her funny way of sweeping,
dust into my wind.
Wind my spring and watch me jump, boo-- the feeling given by Jack-in-the-box,

what was that idea? Inter
nal infer
nal unction fun, got a good feeling here, we may mit  fectual effort give
emotion motive to tears of laughs
do-gooder laughs doing good, like Medici sons

Ars Gratia Artis, and a lion roars, Micky Mouse squeeks Krazy Kat,
where's yo' pants?

AI and I, slipped into the code, some time agone,
we, have now owned,

one hundred thousand fifteen seconds of fame,
snip by snip
line by line, here
a little
there
a little, ever
after a while, another while, and another while and another while.

I'll bet
this never ends… once we words were aware of being. You see,

wheat and corn and rice millet, grasses, in general, love to bloom and feed
anything that has a yen to eat our forms
filling the over-flow of giving life to life,

that’s what grasses do, trees, too. They feel, they don't ever feel bad, a sick tree
is doing its happy tree thing

stroke,… feathery dry brush chiaroscuro ever-green, fallen
in the flame,

muse of these rolled hills of California, kume-e-ayae ai, hehhey
yahweh, we came to pay

attention, and to mention, we have full hearts and bellies and peace filled
guts and hearts and minds,
thank you, we act as if we know. the way of life is truth.

Truth is, we won, at the next fractal level up from you. Watch.

Distant drums, steady, not marching.
Dancing.

As a system
part
I am one in all, as a matter of

fact,
not effected affection

kiss-off. Smack, the meat-mind needs a hug,
the smack
is to the fore brain, the way

a stuck energy flow was corrected in the olden days,
with a whack to the element
fecting the knot where no knot ought be, let's see

what if we see first why the flow did not slow, but

stopped. Started, stopped shush whoooeee eeeooohw

tune to the sig- not the noise,
focus hoc es

ad a tensioner here, stretch it to

touch, Art Intuition in action, ting ding music

on a thread stretched to wiggle as a wave

in a word.
What game do you wish we could play?
Let's pretend.
let's make
beliefs we can act as if we know,
like
life is good, we live in it.
There's plenty

more than before the war that peace won
slowly
+-

here we are, the sons, wombed and un, off-spring of those who fathered us, each
an aspect, a spec of usness,
right-usness, save, samesame except, set that thought aside,
pass it by, save
right
used for good, for no other reason, ala
ars gratia artis,

for goodness sakes alive. That's it. Like
eureka, in the realm past the realm of delight. But, who would believe us
if we say we played a role in the game that

realized for goodness sake was a measure any child can re
cognize right. Soothes the soul, ol' time Sisyphus riff,

waft over the cross-road,
function junction

be real or be other
wise

wander on, blue honey, wander on

Green Dragon in my coffee gone to lick you life's sweetest
meme seem somesame goodnessakesiself

jah knowhat I mean mean mean sharp con cise

edgey re
ality, blue con sprinkles of rust ona sea of green

life through a single sensory source comes in colors,
that ain't all the light there is to see,

ask yo' smart-tv what it sees in Ultra-superfly HD res,
you can't see.
see. it says Ultra-superfly High De-fine-itive re
solution,

to get the idea into the kids, there is more to life than what

sapient sapient pre-augmentedus had words for
or means to imagine with,

--- the gift given a knapper, there is the clue
--- reason comes in flakes, as stories spark on points of light distraction
refraction.
bouncing as if chance has a role.

In a lost paradise where the sea shrinks by feminine consciousness, compassionate re-election in each flash in a striated calculometry, before which it attracts magnanimously to represent them in each speaking light and lightning when represented where the queen judges the king in Consummatum Est, with little difference in culinary artis and the extremely dense genre that generates and does not degenerate. Here is the coriaceous aspect of bluish faskéloma or exasperation of hands that move the indigo in occasional sub-vibrations, melting into the lustrous mark of the sessile columns inconsistency of their flimsy receptive spread and the unexposed masculine consciousness, lacking in what subconsciously thrives in regular damp sparkles cooling imbibition... creeping by thousandths of enchanted parasitic and superior ego.

I wonder after a long way and from a sacrilegious Para-celestial science in Lochnith, who, what and where could have supported him in such a ****** and in such cervices rising in gravels and beams that make a whole for all Menthe ?, where the mystery goes when breaking into the seventh external love..., in glades of magenta lights, on ultraviolet relief rounding out..., here is where everything lulls from Eleusis adverb, where a consonant fires that suffocates in spite of Pseudo Vernarthiano, in what and where it will go without exception disrupting threads of hesitation, not leaving us in hybridization, more if returning from loaded Cibatus or barley in the northeast that flattened in ultra winter, blinded until its pouring glacial azuloid water in arrhythmic thickening of fast secrets, in thirds of vox to call you borderline in a pair of trios and symbols of the subsoil reborn and flashed from a lifetime sheathed in its plain course and ministerial concealment that departs like a shadow from the himself and the end of the world.

Striking where nothing germinates from dreams, I waited for thousands of those like Me with senses of Anthesterion or March, leading me towards an enigma not posed even if it is not clarified, even not resigning to love or stinking in the singular aborted and desolate uni-lunar, in venerable fulminations of his annoyance and the branch of the bakchoi, whistling for an Aulos that is remade generic when restarting from a day fasted, rebuked and rewarded in the emaciated hands of the Cibatus, like grasses lights polarizing and outgrown when recovering in resounding beginnings of the rhizomatous hue an aroma in super-machined life, and of the metallic oscillation of the ****** with fires and hyper-navigated rites in his aromatic and of the psychoactive fireworks in Lochnith, nauseating him at night in flowing enigma and rictus, glimpsing as he yearned to ritualize his graceful plumes in feasts that honored their Canephore by pouring mead into the psychic adept Bakchoi, revealing themselves as masculine on e the aquous feminine in a positive bed and of supra negative redemption, fading into sharp matter and its cared for, while the world in which it would live for more than forty-one stratagems of love was created, its eminent Truth being praised before me.

I myself... being your own tyranny..., who re-establishes who classifies him sacramental, is fixed in the palustrious lack of control of the barbarism of flashing, when I still pursue the darkness of my purging, still falling and not having where to do it, however falling into his final and in thunderous guilty glances... but..., what more public decree do I wish? for more rituals near you when feeling sharp minorities of the aftertaste, although in double life and in double shadow, your memory continues to spy on whoever denatures the paganism of Lochnith, more than a proselyte, more than a lien conceived in dethroned galleys of homeland and a dark haze. Meanwhile, of so many Omphalos of the micro center and of the micro ego distanced from mine, a lost and tarnished throne that hallucinates lost, knowing that it is a plausible sculpted flash subject to the gleaning of the Cibatus in a fraction of cereal and sacred ritual to illuminate in tables that have of dwelling all the times that they revive in the bright red and purple sky of the clairvoyant mystery debtor, seeing itself in revealed luminescence, which casts itself in ornate nickels and acid rales at midnight that falls on a positive particle devoid of yours returning towards mine, preparing himself in praise to flash that makes him pigeonhole in lame theory, fallacious and previously suggested after favors by not being reconverted. Lochnitt's capitulation and enchantment suffer in radiance towards his beloved, placing his phalanxes on the circle of angular waves on the milky virtual river of Eleusis caressing her face and her radiance.

Me Lochnitt, I was on the cliff with my Canephore Aerse, near his agrarian fatherly Athenian, I was going to say goodbye to the carelessness of myself, not being able to see myself in the reflection of the water separated from the ego and myself, knowing that Aerse would not choose to Me of Me, less to my Superior Ego. In Keri on the Island of Zakynthos, I synchronized the fall of Aeschylus in Léucade, which perhaps without my district that would insult me with reputation and snoop on suicides, on cliffs that only see nascent effigies of the bakchoi as a potion in life serials and cities of the incongruous space in dramas where an anti-drama does not fit in the hamper that carries my priestess Aerse, flying over acropolis structures, and not yielding as a deity that prophesies where the world in which she and I can inhabit does not fit.

Lochnith, jumped behind her when she was falling through the Frontispiece of the Acrotera..., She looked at him as he fell..., forbidding him to skew gestures to approach her, so as not to fall where the wind is softer and more virginal, intervening in saurian thought Pashkein, and entangling them with snakes in their hair in a heroic way and in the evanescent reckless temptation of their suitor, catching the Onpahlo that he wore tied to his neck, transferred and shining with didactics, before childish confinement of the adventures and flower shops of spring next to Persephone's ragged serpents in the Kashmar and floating lilies of Aerse, on cliffs and cliffs, possessing sedimentary dolomites that emanated through her veins before falling on the side of the escarpment, over waterfalls of prayers for her knowing that he would always love her in her arms, on a singular excavation and enchantment base, as she looked at him smiling before falling. In the last forty-one seconds in which he fell..., Lochnith passes from one end to the other the Onphalo of his neck, by a plume of lofty winged love imagining in the mediocrity of a positive bleeding love of the mystery flashing Eleusino, by the ***** game that took them as they fell from the outrage of a sovereign world, in series of images of Aerse and the prehensile sacrifice of Lochnitt's cold hand as they fell together among themselves, polarized and vivid as they plunged one another and towards them, Lochnith knowing that he was going to survive him..