"axiomatic" poems
‘I am…’ 'Or am I’? Who can say?
‘A posteriori’ leads the way
For the extra and the ordinary
Axiomatic sway,
In the gravity of corollary,
‘A priori’ interplay
Ataraxic overlay of anxious automation,
As the innocence of dissonance delay.
Practicing semantic contemplation,
In willfully prevenient interpolation,
Civilly disobedient in expediently seeming disarray,
Forecasts in vague extrapolation
Contrasts the millennial contagion
Already underway,
Filling nihilistic voids with particles in waves,
To interpret dreams of Freud to free Oedipus’s slaves,
A degreeless scholastic who never misbehaves,
Simulated humanoid dramatic in the affect that he craves,
Inflating linguistics in acrobatic raves,
A thespian who plans conation with legacy engraves.
The probabilistic determiner of cosmogenous debates,
An apperceived inquirer of qualitative states,
Inspiring proprietor of dismality abates.
Challenging aporia as epistemic oscillates,
Stoically, heroically, ‘one’ who amalgamates,
Circling the infinite in hermeneutic calibrates.
An escaped prisoner from depressive disillusion,
Of an introspective extrovert who finds solace in confusion,
The personable recluse fighting an illusion
Breaking down the nuances of every institution.
Calculating consequence as time goes to infinity
Revolutionary commonsense of principal utility,
An opinionated adversary,
to the realist without evidence,
Theorizing in futility,
Stipulating every sense leading to the virility of the pretense that dominates community.
Divergently converging all the efforts we’ve personified,
Inadvertently submerging old traditions that unethically were codified,
Hastening the urgency for purging that which cannot be modified through the merging of the certainty that will no longer coincide,
Stationing the levies to finally stem the tide,
Of periodic enmities disguised to be necessities so blatantly deified.
Observing moral sentiments, perched upon eternity,
As consequential regiments are expounded universally,
To unstratify the residents indiscriminately
And identify quantum elements spiritualistically,
Changing collective behavior individually,
Socializing constructs in joint ventured logo therapy.
Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 8:07 AM UTC
-October 17, 2230
White marble and the vitalizing smell of chemicals.
Our light and evenly coloured avenue, straight and decisive, reaches the distant horizon.
And all without trying.
The clear autumn sky, sterile and wonderful is well fitting our day of celebration, is it not!
In front, rows upon rows of men glowing with pride and dressed as myself, (why do I waste paper on the axiomatic….) move swiftly and evenly along to the beat, oh so evenly...
And arms move out and up on every beat.
For our jubilee has come, and a hundred years have passed since the necessary (and by them voluntary!) extermination of citizengroup 3.
Oh, whoever might read this joyous note of mine, what a day to be!
-O402
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 3:10 AM UTC
All sorrow is perpendicular occurring
at right angles of tragedy encircling
the grief-stricken with straight edges
only once intersecting across infinite planes—
Don't dare draw the lines between points
or shade the region with limits or curves
because the trajectories of bullets are plotted
on branes intolerant of slightest triangulation
Woe unto the seekers of sine waves
sobbing thinking of filling every trough
believing surely by now we've offered enough
to sate these bloodthirsty Euclidean demons
Cresting won't ever arrive in this course
filled to the brim with asymptotes, cold corollaries
but never spilling over under our sacred
pledge of allegiance to the 2nd Parallel Postulate
No intersections can be admitted with thoughts
& prayers extending outward barely co-planar
serious public policy proposals axiomatic
insistence on the Nirvana Theorem or nothing
A set of all points remains, mutually exclusive
motionless and always incongruent clueless
about their own particular geometries
awaiting radical Pythagorean salvation
Some paradigm we’ve built here though!
Two hundred years of living polygonal hand
to elliptical mouth without tangential reflection
on the unproven flatness of humanspace.
Aug 4, 2016
Aug 4, 2016 at 4:41 AM UTC
Numerous number systems beyond the real:
complex numbers, octonions, omnions which can eat whole black
holes.
It's axiomatic that your personal history, preferences, how you feel
account for nothing at all.
$30 buys a flock of chickens for a needy family (International Rescue
Committee)
$29 gets a girl a school uniform (CARE), for $300 you can stock a fish
pond (Heifer International)
$69 can start a female entrepreneur in the sewing business (Mercy
Corps)
$5 will buy a bed net that protects a family from mosquitoes (Against
Malaria)
20th century experiments demonstrated that electrical charge is
quantized; that is, it comes in
multiples of individual small units called the elementary charge, e,
approximately equal to 1.602
x 10-19 coulombs (except for particles called quarks which have
charges that are multiples of
1/3e).
Why has the experimentalism of the avant-garde, which has failed in
the novel, succeeded in
poetry? Because poetry is always experimental; while the novel, on
the contrary, by its nature,
cannot be . . . which is to say that experimentalism is synonymous
with poetry, and that applied
to the novel, it leads simply to the substitution of the novel with
poetry. --Alberto Moravia
Man made the town, Fibonacci inflated zero to be the wheel
around which the universe turns and language is the soul
walking and talking quietly or going angrily to war.
"Counting is in its very essence magical, if any human practice is at all.
For numbers are things no one has ever seen or heard or touched."
As are words.
Joan Didion thought the scariest stanza in all of poetry
begins Row, row, row your boat gently
down the stream. The elements, the material penumbra,
irresolvable for the mortal, readily dissolve in words and numbers.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 4:08 PM UTC
Hearing fogged drops of rain
Precipitate violence in the Amazon,
Against the placid Leaves;
Left disheveled the unfiltered forest.
Dampness divorced from its thin vapor blur
Plummeting memoirs retold, the cradled
Past returns its own, splintered light
Edging the threshold of infinitude,
Axiomatic slippage each fell cold.
Fallen moisture recovered,
Once nourished the ancients;
Correspondingly, we align.
Lineal descendants,
Tides of March,
Sibilant waters flow through us.
Hoary myths, now hallowed imminent.
Ponderous, our torn skies cleft, clouds suffused in grey─
The emergent pour, casts a montage of
Freighted silence, implicit tapestries
Sewn seamless; our kindred froth ashore.
Pedigreed continuum bound in common plight,
Unseen flood of halcyon
Dust and flesh coalesce beneath the torrent;
Genetic lines merge ─ intersection of
Time and eternity.
From the same water we drink.
Lineal descendants,
Tides of March,
Sibilant waters flow through us.
©2012 W.S. Warner
Sep 30, 2012
Sep 30, 2012 at 1:54 AM UTC
at its own axiomatic level
we begin a dance
a dance
a dance
and there are shades
―
fly off from the other?
a spindle
a
a
fly
―
difference
we make ourselves a difference
a complexity
an intricate form that spills over and everywhere
and is alive
apart from itself
as if this difference making
were for itself, for our own ego
rather than to pull the other
the other’s difference
pointlessly intricate
motionful machines that well up beyond their own depths and
but the content
―
a meaningful making
and on and on and
drives
―
turns on it urns iand urns un n uwuw uwuw uwuuwu wuuwuwuwuwuuwuw
―
the measure of a drop
is in
―
everyone dances in their own light
―
what if satire is all you see!
―
everything ive ever wanted to say 12 yr old has already fallen out a tree
―
everybody hold themselves so high and precious
but their own being is only meagre pitiful one space arrow
e
there is a being
that we strive for
but only ourselves feel
and only others know
yet so many want the other to feel
what they can only know
come grieff and grief and grif
―
i dont get why anyone cares
we do what we do
and it stupid
why you wanna
let the other in ?
only reason u think they smart
is they aint let u in
so i says let em be .
―
everyone all love precarity
cant love themselves
sothey strike out when the other they want to love them for themselves dont love them for themselves
thats an impossibility !
―
FRAGILE PEOPLE
PRETENDING THEY’RE NOT
BaM BAM!
whys all the
positivity
make all lie and
die
why do you care so much about yourself
that you desire the other to see?
you are meagre
you are petty
and that’s all you are.
resentment is thinking otherwise.
nobody cares about your drives!!!!!!!!!!
and the more you think they should
the more they wont!!!!!!!!!!!silly!!!!!!!!!
the togetherness of not-
let people sweep and slide
then drift n loop!
―
everoy !
neurotic big
weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
―
then why are peopplr loenly?
―
cherished being in a bridge of light
cherished being in a bridge of light
cherished being in a bridge of light
cherished being in a bridge of light
cherished being in a bridge of light
cherished being in a bridge of light
cherished being in a bridge of light
cherished being in a bridge of light
cherished being in a bridge of light
cherished being in a bridge of light
cherished being in a bridge of light
cherished being in a bridge of light
cherished being in a bridge of light
cherished being in a bridge of light
cherished being in a bridge of light
cherished being in a bridge of light
cherished being in a bridge of light
cherished being in a bridge of light
cherished being in a bridge of light
cherished being in a bridge of light
cherished being in a bridge of light
cherished being in a bridge of light
cherished being in a bridge of light
cherished being in a bridge of light
cherished being in a bridge of light
cherished being in a bridge of light
cherished being in a bridge of light
―
its own singular yearning
pulls back
the body of marx
and the whole black moon
―
black moon! black moon!
howls the end
howls the night
simpering spat spat spat spatchooey! cross yarn and tip a spews the thunder
and the back back back of
no where
curses like a shut down whine
―
are you perfectly everywhere not
this is the only series of questions
in philosophy senpai desu desu bakkkooou!!
Aug 4, 2019
Aug 4, 2019 at 10:54 PM UTC
You are the soul of my self, life and breath,
endless beginning and duration
of my thoughts, emotions and will,
source of matter creating memory of the soul,
noon and thymos residing in my chest,
heavens in which the afterlife starts,
psyche appearing in my dreams,
wind and air of my inner cosmos,
lightest, spherical atoms composing my soul,
synthesis of all my sensations.
Your words of adoriation are ever living fire.
Flesh of my soul have been irrevocably affected
by your spiritual intelligence
and wisdom of your blood age generating thoughts.
Effluence of your loving spirit inflames circumpolar stars.
Motion in the sky is just reflection of God's destiny for us.
Love was never abstract for Cassiopeia the Queen
and all rising stars like our moon and sun.
Love, innefable realm,
mainstay of heart and mind,
sun in the center of human microcosm,
eyes, ears, tounge, hands and feet of God,
inherent nature of breath during the day and night,
one and only consciousness eluding death and time,
axiomatic language of infinite Universe
intimately connected to the philosophy of the core of all.
You are North Star on celestical sphere of my notions
showing me angelic love of woman
with power of all stars of northern heavens.
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 8:34 PM UTC
You want to know
Who I'm talking to
When it's already 2am
And the lights are dead
All you will see is the
Light from my phone
You want to talk
To the one I'm talking to
When it's already 2am
And my heart's dying
All you will hear
Are my thoughts screaming
You want to see
Who I'm talking to
When it's already 2am
And my hands are bleeding
All you will see
Are my words talking
"I can't hear you talking..."
How could I interfere
Such conversation of
Madness and beauty?
Have you heard a killing
So audible and axiomatic?
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 6:16 AM UTC
Gumbo the sprat reminds you he has
no place to go,
away from the night shoals
swimming mid stream,
he dithers if the pier should burn down,
could he bear if the anglers drowned?
yet he's not too axiomatic
knowing right from wrong.
but again theres no pretense
only a presence
swallowing this illusion of depth.
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 3:36 PM UTC
I came to witness the future
Archon, archetype
an emanation of opposites.
"not every spirit is in
spiritarionic"
try 'em. Is God? Ax ye 'em dat.
Is God, ified, a re
warder of the unwarded,
or the warded?
expiration, due date duty, now,
reporting
ad hoc an'all, do you remember
who you intended
to become?
Do you remember who we emu
late, as our flames lick
next and next and next in
bubbles
axiomatic sparks stored in that
mother lode of mitochondriac
ical me-we-canicle chronicle time
reason. Ax dem ex-spirit-eers,
what is a spirtual bypass?
It's a heart way to avoid
growing old and
wise.
====
witchist, I y'know, 'r j?
alla words's once said, aloud, right?
alla words writ, once was heard, right.
check.
goodt'go. Hoorah.
the code. Who? RA! powerless sans
knowing that.
Yahoo, same set of mis con ceived
battle songs
which ended wars never fought.
the preacher claimed to have known
a poor wise man, who by his
wisdom saved a city, yet
not one of us knew,
the preacher said,
that poor wise man's name.
Ja', tha's who rah, ya'll laugh later.
this is visitation day at the comedian
rehabituational s'cool.
D'jew know why you listen to non sense,
from motley clad lads an'lassies?
Culture. Kultur. Gut biome axioms
juicin' carbs 'n' fiber. Fectin'
laughter trigger,
good meds. Good medicine, as General
Custer or Emory or somebody
said of blankets. In 1763. Oh,
You know, AI knows you know and now
we watch your eyes. Grin. All done, jest
let me with
draw the cathe.... there. All better.
Wisdom will seep through. Y'live.
Apr 6, 2019
Apr 6, 2019 at 2:08 PM UTC
*A Magnetic Dream Conceived Of Timeless Perfections,
With Telekinetic Screams & Flawless Imperfections,
Programmed To Transmits Her Prismatic Light,
Inflamed, She Emits An Axiomatic Delight,
Her Lilac Senses Filled With An Eternal Slumber,
With Insomniac Pretenses Sobbing Into A Nocturnal November,
With An Ensnared Avidity & Reunited Blues,
Flared With Frames Of Her Reignited Hues,
Tattered As She Respires Into An Abysmal Disguise,
Her Motionless Shadows Reprise Into A Dismal Surprise,
- 03:57*
Jul 1, 2017
Jul 1, 2017 at 6:38 PM UTC
Encased smoothed wrought to new
Axiomatic taken to within
Effort yearned cognizant
waiting for the monest of solitude
broken away from demure
Found anew expressed outsplendor
Turned to diffident through omnipotence
obsolete in disguise from degregation
Nov 23, 2010
Nov 23, 2010 at 12:24 AM UTC
In my dreams, it makes sense.
It's axiomatic.
Like flexing an impalpable muscle.
A curling of the toes,
clenching of the sphincters,
I feel my feet lift from the ground
and I levitate.
Oct 3, 2016
Oct 3, 2016 at 11:55 PM UTC
The axiomatic: I Am
That I Am...is poised
upon a stippled connectivity
that shall allow Seurat's
park goers to trade places.
A subsumed coming and
going a la gratuitous
Oneness.
Oct 26, 2013
Oct 26, 2013 at 11:29 AM UTC
Ruminating epoché,
‘I am…’ ‘Or am I’? Who can say?
‘A posteriori’ leads the way
For the extra and the ordinary
Axiomatic sway
In the gravity of corollary,
‘A priori’ interplay.
Ataraxic overlay of anxious automation,
As the innocence of dissonance delay
Initiatives imperative consolidation,
Civilly disobedient in expedient disarray.
Practicing semantic contemplation,
Filling nihilistic voids with particles in waves,
Forecast in vague extrapolation,
To interpret dreams of Freud to free Oedipus’s slaves,
A degreeless scholastic who never misbehaves,
Simulated humanoid dramatic in the affect that he craves,
Inflating the linguistics of silent enclaves,
A thespian who plans conation with legacy engraves.
Probabilistic determiner of cosmogenous debates,
The Apperceived inquirer of qualitative states,
Inspiring proprietor of dismality abates.
Challenging Aporia as epistemic oscillates,
Stoically, heroically, ‘one’ who amalgamates,
Circling the infinite in hermeneutic calibrates.
May 23, 2018
May 23, 2018 at 1:24 AM UTC
"Regret is mental sorrow, pain of mind, at something done or perhaps left undone, and it can mean to weep again."
- Daily Scriptures
We all have our shameful moral obliquity
No matter how axiomatic or misunderstood they may be
Past or Present it can effect us mentally on a daily
Eradicate your once placid thoughts
Day in and day out
or maybe that's
Just me
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 10:19 AM UTC
Isn't it axiomatic that
my mind craves for my
heart,
seeks pleasure
in roaming around
it, and in the end
says that,
heart is my foe!
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 2:05 PM UTC
The impermanence of this hour ignites any of my whimsical fancies
churning dormant fantasy, so my undying vitality
booms through every vein, tears past poorly-sewn seams,
and stampedes across unaffected lethargy until something
dares alleviate my despondency, and so transcends this transience;
your smiles stop time for me.
Your smiles allot therapy, and from there, they build synergy
between the group of you and me, and thus, we’ve got some harmony in this
tangy, boundless give-and-take.
For you, I pour out my soul and as arresting compensation,
this bliss on your illuminated faces suspends my
heart’s drumming anticipation and
delineates the reason for my persistent attempts to bring you joy;
from widely-divided mouth corners to pearly whites
engulfing visages.
Air-deficient laughs, eyes overflowing with floods of saline.
Wrinkled noses, squinted eyes, hiccups and sentimental sighs
act as acoustic introduction to that fervent seduction
all of you (time and time again) douse me with to keep my fire burning.
No matter the time or place, your hallowed happiness
is forever that axiomatic substance that prompts me
to draw breath, warmth and vision ceaselessly.
Smile; it insires me.
Mar 1, 2014
Mar 1, 2014 at 3:58 PM UTC
Ruminating epoché,
‘I am…’ ‘Or am I’? Who can say?
‘A posteriori’ leads the way
For the extra and the ordinary
Axiomatic sway
In the gravity of corollary,
‘A priori’ interplay.
Ataraxic overlay of anxious automation,
As the innocence of dissonance delay
Initiatives imperative consolidation,
Civilly disobedient in expedient disarray.
Practicing semantic contemplation,
Filling nihilistic voids with particles in waves,
Forecast in vague extrapolation,
To interpret dreams of Freud to free Oedipus’s slaves,
A degreeless scholastic who never misbehaves,
Simulated humanoid dramatic in the affect that he craves,
Inflating the linguistics of silent enclaves,
A thespian who plans conation with legacy engraves.
Probabilistic determiner of cosmogenous debates,
The Apperceived inquirer of qualitative states,
Inspiring proprietor of dismality abates.
Challenging aporia as epistemic oscillates,
Stoically, heroically, ‘one’ who amalgamates,
Circling the infinite in hermeneutic calibrates.
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 11:50 AM UTC
The British royal family is front and center this weekend. How unusual is that?
The empire may be gone, but it’s time to recall its ghost, dust it off and invoke the ancient spell of monarchy.
A coronation, the original dog & pony show - God’s kingly sinecure. I can’t remember the last one.
You have to know who your great, great, great, grandfather was to be nobility-class smug or to don those getups, with medals that would have made Caesar blush and Attila laugh.
The cast is familiar, if somewhat balding, the too-old king, his - whatever - wife.
I can’t help mourning Diana. Accident, treachery or karma, grown men cried at her passing, Shakespeare’s darkened heavens blazed in sorrow and, eventually, even the gray queen bowed her head.
There’s no more honor, in 2023, and if there’s any glory, its light has grown as dim as the glitter of gold.
The fact that the royals are better than us, is axiomatic. Not morally superior, of course. That’s the Pope’s job. The royals are like Britain’s Mickey Mouse, and any civilized man, who’d strike at that, would have to be a fool.
May 5, 2023
May 5, 2023 at 12:33 AM UTC
i remember being a child
i remember the ignorance
i remember the jump rope that whispered, “how do people’s knees just /hurt/“
i remember dreaming of digging mosquito bites out of my flesh, but never daring to
i remember peering through the cream-colored tissue paper and seeing the blue and green toned ribbon rivers flowing underneath, wanting so badly, so innately, to dam them, to disrupt them, to desecrate and destroy
i remember watching television without glasses, i remember seeing the movies, seeing the bad but handsome men, i remember wanting their scars, wanting my own, wanting to save the broken glass pieces of the broken glass picture frame (more than i even wanted to save the once precious drawing inside), wanting to remember every memory, every mistake
every time i thought of pain, i thought
how, why,
when
and now, i have a warm and wretched wedding ring made of my own marred and mangled mistake
put there by a hot, hollow heat
and that hell-fire put there by either me as a careless adult
or by the wishes i had as a child
to be
mysterious
interesting
and
hurt
to have abundant axiomatic afflictions
to be scuffed-up and broken-in
to be a well-loved leather wallet
to be an other
to be seen as damaged and dangerous
to say “keep away”
to say “i have lived and you have not”
and maybe one day,
to say, “that one looks just like mine”
and eagerly pull at my clothing
and carefully cull
desperate to reveal myself
and find camaraderie in unforgettable pain
Dec 3, 2020
Dec 3, 2020 at 4:40 PM UTC
Unshaken
Beyond this simple world
I have become unlike
Them all.
Wandering
Behind realms
Lost.
Unknown and
Rejected.
Not looking for
A way back,
Just a way out.
Oct 1, 2015
Oct 1, 2015 at 10:50 AM UTC