"cartesian" poems
but have you noticed, have you noticed how all mental health problems
stem form a seemingly aether virus that attacks the pronoun category;
i mean with proper justifiable schizoids you will not hear of the nouns
being ransacked for an equation that equates itself to misnomers;
it's all categorised negation of ease within the framework of pronouns.
it's strange that philosophers stress the pronouns so much these days
and those countless prior, but why do mental health diseases
attack the pronouns and not the nouns? they attack the verbs
thoroughly, but prior to the verbs exposing an illness
the pronouns are attacked, so that many considering the singularity
of expressing thought are ill because of being forced into a plural expression
of thought: "voices." i find it hard to understand, but it's the reality,
the aether virus attacks the pronoun
on the backdrop of a king's casual expression / use
of pronouns, when a king casually says
of himself as omni or multi with one and we respectively;
so why are pronouns so weak and nouns so strong
that a tree cannot be a misnomer attaché of timber
and rock not a pillar, or mountain as the verb: mountaineering?
the pronoun category is weak from day one,
because it suggests photographic duck animation on the lip pursed
into a quack quack, but if we constructed thought
without knowledge prior, eating the fruit of knowledge
rather than the fruit of thought, using the starting point
of the genesis metaphor, it's sometimes a no brainer
to have weak thinking and strength in knowing,
for if there was strength in thinking and weakness in knowing,
i'd be the one chiseling these words in the ice age on a cavern wall.
so, given, that diseases such as the famed premature dementia
attack the pronouns but not the nouns the schizoid one
will convene life with: pizza is pizza and sunshine ray down the drain
clock the millionth dead parting of grasshoppers in decimals -
while man unto man lusts one man's parting in decimals,
but should dire said, part man with integers, and insects with decimals!
but still, in the terminology of a cartesian understanding of illness,
in that segregational aspect of things "sorted,"
why are mental illnesses tattooed in a weak pronoun usage
compared to a strength in other grammatical categories?
why are not mental illnesses ******* the life out of the nouns?
the nouns are intact, the pronouns attacked,
and the verbs chess piece the pawn from the casually speaking clown king
into a beast imprisoned, for while the pronouns are attacked
and the nouns left intact, the attack on pronouns expresses itself
fully in verbs of the never existent tact: with such magic
as to claim knock knock on plank is the same as knock knock on veneer.
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 7:58 PM UTC
The blank page stares at me
mockingly, an empty wishing well
of impermanent desires, my
thoughts a herd of nomadic
feral cats to be coraled.
It is a mathematical permutation
of the identity matrix, imaginary
numbers and exponents,
fractional divisions with
no order of operations.
Solve me for x, given y,
yield absolute value at
absolute zero as my
function crosses Cartesian boundaries.
| x | = y * (universal truth / personal experience) ± squareRoot(-1)
y = zero; go.
Factor in gravity (9.8 meters per second^2),
we have lost cabin pressure.
Please show all work, points will be deducted,
this is a test.
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 10:35 AM UTC
.*i guess a loss of subscriptions is, somehow, a badge of honor, namely? i somehow managed to attach a screwdriver to my words... why? read below... English women consider motherhood to be a job... how ******* demeaning! gone are the days of womanhood attaining the stature of god, in the Christian methodology of encompassing the pivot of lady Madonna... perhaps a too high peddle-stool? i guess so... i'm not usurping the female status, but elevating a female stature, deeming motherhood an UNESCO status? seems it's too much... for some people... who make it necessary to befriend their shadow, and travel to the hinterlands.*
just your atypical pedantry,
a translator's subscript comment -
who's richard rojcewicz's...
regarding what?
heidegger...
das volk,
and the three derivatives -
volkhaft (populist),
volklich (communal)
und?
völkisch (folkish) -
i'm starting to suspect that
i'm tapping in the all things folk....
unconsciously, favoring folk
music...
see, us central europeans,
we bunch together and share
the most odd similarities -
i never thought that the song
herr mannelig could be translated
from Swedish - as it was
translated into German...
then again... Vikings founded Kiev...
and all these loan-words
of Germanic origin in Polish...
the only Anglo loan-word
that i know of, is, weekend...
hence, das volk, people -
by the way... German has "too many"
definite articles,
and only one ein - or eine -
is that the same rule as in Ęnglish?
i.e. N
in an example,
rather than in a counter example?
two vowels adjacent in separate
word, sitting across from the grand
chasm of... a spacing itch?
but look at German, i never get it...
DAS DIE DER...
is there an aesthetic difference,
and only an aesthetic difference
to mind?
bewildering...
if there is such a thing as a western
civilization...
that sometime
pompous obnoxiousness,
fair enough... no problem:
but learn to hide it,
feel it, rather then feed it...
it's not a question of a civilization,
but more...
an answer to what is less
civilization, and more... a chore...
just like western women,
notably the english women
call motherhood a, "job"...
it's a... wait... a job?
doubt was big in classic philosophy
of the Cartesian schematic...
so no one knows that
the French existentialists
brought in negation,
as the driving force to replace
doubt?
who the hell sees doubt
these days?
either the know it alles -
or the hush-hush crowd...
motherhood is a... job?
well... then i guess, being a man...
western civilization,
by that standard of logic...
can't be anything more...
than a.... ******* chore!
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 8:33 AM UTC
*concerning the last lines... all we can do with the Cartesian Libra is add adjectives to it, which is contrary to what the existentialists did by simply modifying a furthered abstraction of the compounds 'i think' and 'i am', via the inverted comma(s), otherwise known as dittoing, sic, prior said, or re-, true to the oddity; a king will continue to question his position / being a king by not thinking about it, hence his uninhibited delusions, hereditary, very much genetic; and hence someone who precursors his being with much concern for thinking, the inhibited delusion, self-serving - both are adjective expansions of the Cartesian Libra, just added qualities, given both are facts requiring a slab of marble to look like Rodin's kiss - or approximate, with therefore being the chisel, and so dependent the end product, indeed a slab of marble at first, but not necessarily Rodin's kiss at the end - perhaps a Notre Dame gargoyle...*
i am what i think,
that's what i came up with after
reading some of the bio sketches -
even though the truth is that
i am what i own -
thinking is the part that comes last,
if i own a bed and a roof over my head,
i end up i thinking about being
homeless - but sometimes you do find
the ones that are inclined
to be what they think, the extremes
we call them - supreme anti-materialists,
it's not satisfying to own a house
or a phone, more is required,
something tinged with transcendental
counters - they "own" a home
but rather not live in it, already the
looming fairy of heaven tells them
of an unnatural life expectancy -
some might say thinking a form of
uninhibited delusion sketches,
like i'd be a venture capitalists taking
a weekend away in Hawaii while
some ridiculousness of poverty in India
was to blame for my jet streams and
carbon footprints - they keep the
inhibited delusional in cages without
a chance to sketch - because the uninhibited
delusional have all the freedoms
that Versailles could allow - or...
uninhibited delusions of non-thought,
inherited, hereditary,
versus inhibited delusions of thought,
mutated, self-invented...
this could very well be a "magic" square
with two further variations, i.e.
uninhibited delusions of thought (psychopathy)
inhibited delusions of non-thought (coma?
Jun 19, 2016
Jun 19, 2016 at 10:11 AM UTC
**** you and your little intelligentsia
group therapy sessions
basing its roots in caveman cartesian
theoretic - i know you know that
the blank canvas are the ********
and that artists work on that -
because normally grey citizens are no
blank canvas but a subordination -
but still, **** you, why not concentrate
on the blank economics of a beggar
to exercise your little intelligentsia
get-together sessions?
there are less social securities in that
department of inquiry -
mental health and art... what's that?
you jealous of the caverns of the mind
crafting an escape pod to your
****** exercise of mechanisation -
**** on me, crosswords! su doku!
all matters of encryption!
endear your lack of creativity with
the synonymousness act of creativity
decoding encryption,
because you obviously can't encrypt
on a complete lack of encoding parameters (blanks).
you can't encrypt originality unless
you start with encrypting nothingness
with stars... and how often does that happen?
perhaps once... i care to make you
feel something akin to bombastic,
a football stadium size of appreciation lost -
skull kickabout with commentary:
to create the post-relativity warp
of quantity-quality, akin to space-time,
for indeed the answer to science's
space-time hyphenated couplet
is quantity-quality - and that's hardly a measurable
consideration, since there are too many particulars
involved, i.e. too many individuals, choices
and disparaging wills - too many particulars
in the hyphenated couplet quantity-quality,
since science is offering universal breadcrumbs
with its space-time rationalisation
for each and every for a share in populating
an insignificance, whether on a personal
scale or an impersonal / collective scale -
and both are indeed expressed,
the famous parasitical comparison found
in too many numbered essays by individuals -
but still humanism has a quantity-quality parabola,
while science has its space-time parabola,
and indeed both in dip, provide waves,
for example the former with Plato and Neoplatonism,
and for example the latter with
the revisionists of Einstein - the revisionist excavators
arguing precision to 100% proof of measurement
in exponential scaling of the mind theorising
a bus trip to Saturn like a bus-trip parallel-akin
to a 1 mile trip on the same vehicle in the earthly atmosphere.
Apr 14, 2016
Apr 14, 2016 at 8:40 PM UTC
Mystery girl, let me make an ansatz about you:
You are like an anti-gravity wave -
the farther I go, the more I pine for you.
Some kind of growing exponent:
yes, you are the solution I ignore in my
quotidian root-finding mission;
Ah, the annihilation, those killer eyes!
Now I see, we inhabit orthogonal planes.
Your uv, to my uw, you are IR to my ivy.
Wonder-woman, let me make an ansatz about you:
You are elegance. Ripple-play at pebbles,
those dimpled cheeks.
Deliciously symmetric. Alpha 180, no Beta
at all - well not Cartesian.
Guess it's subterranean, Artesian,
in the k-space, transform domain,
my mind-space, where, girl,
you are a wonder of beauty and grace.
Magicienne, let me make an Ansatz about you:
You are the particle for Love waves. A lovelet.
Dressed in that kaftan when you walk in,
I will sublimate. Ether-maker, you solve
the Hamiltonian, I see now how matter's made.
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 10:40 PM UTC
Patterns form across convex corneas
Geometric portraits of tangram animals
Hexagonal-faced lions
Triangular-trunked elephants
etc.
Tessellations of
anagrams
Draped over rods like Batik fabric smoothed over king-sized beds
Calculating Bayesian probability on fingertips
rote
styles
Whispering, "Carry the 1!" to columns of 100s
with a remainder? Try again.
Plot Cartesian coordinates with mechanical pencils
click! click! click!
Crying, "Awwwww.....
you
sunk
my
battleship!"
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 11:28 PM UTC
As I sit in front of the feared book
mocking me with it's elaborative examples
of reminders
reminding me of all that I can't do...
the x's and the y's programs my brain
forcing an instant recall of memories
about all my ex's and my why's
and as I fail exercise after exercise
I start doubting my rationality...
What is the probability that
I , am nothing more than a common denominator??
the truth is, that while trying to figure out the identities
of sin, cos and tan...
I realise that my own is not yet figured out...
I am still lost somewhere in the Cartesian plane...
I have no hope for passing my exam tomorrow...
my sleepless nights are haunted by the statistics
, and the improbabilities that make up life
as we know it...
but that's okay
because I am not analytical...
I am not mathematical...
I am just lost between the letters and the numbers
of a world I will never understand...
Nov 10, 2013
Nov 10, 2013 at 10:27 AM UTC
Know-it-all revelation celebration deflated with a
"no you ******* don't"
Cartesian cliche quotation.
So imagine mom's elation when she finally shut the **** up and moved up in conformist ranks
set trends and bred friends.
Thanks!
Thanks friends. Without you I'm just some pearly whites,
a sundress and a skewed perception of what is wrong and what is right
Future bright, like some little paper lantern glowing
but if the flame kisses pulp than than just gulp and take up sewing.
Because you're growing with the notion you're just some fish up in the ocean attracting fish nets with fishnets floatinghopingchoking
Choking on your words over 3 syllables it's a drag
I'm feeling bad
for the fact that I'm a man
**** you dad.
A slight ephebophillic fascination for the fairy folk
Till she spoke, and ruined the illusion I was going for
Little girls turned shiny objects
auctioned off to flyest bidder
Quit her after several children, physical evidence you did her
Hit her too, I feel the burden bared by my sister,
hung on the bottom rung just because her organs are within her.
teenaged girls are wasted on the their Y possessed cohorts
***** and ****** so guess what? your mother was a ***** too
Our system's banging **** ******* "get money" funny we weren't singing that song getting tucked in by our mommys
Nov 3, 2011
Nov 3, 2011 at 11:26 AM UTC
René Descartes rested his pen,
to take a Parisian stroll -
stopping to order a cup
at his favorite patisserie.
The waitress queried "with cream?"
and René who sipped his brew black
testily scoffed, "I think not"
and immediately disappeared.
August, 2013
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 1:11 AM UTC
well acting is a metaphysical assertion of the physical act of theft, in Cartesian terms: a part of the extension is stolen, for example an object passed down via generations, your grandmother's wedding ring... acting is in a sense a theft that defines creating a civilisation and eradicating tribalism: galoshes, guttering, sewers and irritable bowel movements.
some said acting
was a subtler form of
defining theft,
given the term
doppelgänger;
i.e. i stole your shadow,
all you have is a hand
to mimic a shape of a hare's head
to please children,
deal with it.
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 10:28 PM UTC
what i understand as a definition of
the word complex,
it requires a hyphen as a
pseudo conjunction, in that it
coordinates words in opposition,
which is why freud's right on the
money with the madonna-whore
complex, but completely bonkers
with his oedipal fetishes,
because oedipus is a complex in itself
that cannot be excavated
and theorised for the sake of a
analogue... that's a horrid plagiarism
that might plagiarise awry,
for all orthodox necessities:
a complex is aqua- -marine
aquamarine... but in terms of theory
it's evident that the hyphen usage
is still retained, before everything
goes **** up perfect *** **** of
compounding the two words like a german:
Fernmeldeverkehr (telecommunication),
der... 'nurse! pass the syllable scalpel!'
'herr doktor, der silbeskalpell.'
'ah scheiße, 'ere we go 'ere we go 'ere we go:
fern' 'mel 'dever 'kehr.'
the operation was a success, apart from
the silbeskalpell being left in the patient's body;
and i never understood why people
expect you to talk to them face-to-face
like you're reading autocue, the minute
you talk imagining off empty space
to invent a new language of comfort
they equate you with autism...
i once had a glance at psychiatric notes
sent to the bureaucratic doctor (g.p. / general
practitioner)... psst... they only care
about whether:
a. you're able to keep eye contact
b. you're / you're not biting your nails...
but that's what you get, the welfare state
policy of funding distribution of the infamous
n.h.s. (national health service)...
****** by the cartesian dualism of splitting
mind from body like the brain is some
gooey porridge mixed with cornstarch for
thickness... only 0.6% of n.h.s. funding goes into
psychiatry... i'm guessing at least 1% goes into
prescriptions for pensioners demanding ******
i already told you, cats are ontologically autistic,
hence their appeal to autistic children,
or just anyone not really into leashes, being
tugged or tugging, come rain or shine, come
7am or 7pm... they can be so inanimate sometimes
that they blend in will flowers, and when awake,
yes, like plants doing the kayan lahwi tribe's
extending neck with rings thing... ah what's it called...
ah yes phototropism... take the rings off the neck
a million swans with broken necks.
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 7:39 AM UTC
the evening sky
returned the last star
to it's assigned cartesian
inclination
and the night calm of barn owls
sank talons of silence
into modern
noise
the
flame
in the pit
is having
the last
dream
of mesquite
it's
reading today's newspaper
from last week.
relaxed reeds catching spiders
and baseballs
all this
all this is dreaming
yellow
bruise hemp
swaying
over sand
dunes
backdrop for my wine glass.
deadline
tomorrow
oblivious
i could see god getting the job done. wearing house shoes.
he's bumping into things
but catching anything that falls
always always
been good at that
however weary
absolute Love
bottle of wine, breathing
won't tell a soul
by telegraph
when a light buzz
perfectly
encrypts a moment of clarity
and every little thing
about right now
is true
wild sage landing helicopters with glass blades
black smearing blue, jackson *******
with van gogh's soul,
brush
in the palm
of my
eye
Feb 27, 2012
Feb 27, 2012 at 6:56 PM UTC
cogito qua sum
because i thought the original cartesian model
was too stuffy,
had too many scientific models
and was riddled with moths,
plus it sounds better:
thought in the capacity of being -
plus there is absolutely no sequencing,
no sequencing of events and then doubting
that they happened, or denying they happened...
(in relation to thinking about them)
with the above stated you can have spatial awareness...
for example?
someone hammering nails has only a certain
capacity for thinking certain things...
someone watching the television has only
a certain capacity for thinking certain things...
as contradictory in strict cartesian terms
as daydreaming: like sitting in a classroom
learning about english grammar and thinking /
imagining (the same thing, both cognitive faculties)
you're on a beach in the maldives sipping a mojito
or that you're riding a roller coaster:
ergo et cetera... id est, multi vacuum prefix
absens locus in metaphora... ego noto ******
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 8:26 AM UTC
Victories and losses faded under a light so dim,
Trophies and certificates stacked a ream.
Fame and pride cling on to an empty name,
Fear and worry fuel a meaningless dream.
Greed, hatred and delusion cloud the mind,
A blur and foggy vision satisfy the eyes.
Mundane happiness is built on illusion and lies,
Leading to pain and sorrow ready to thrive.
The paths of extremes that have been tread,
Relating to the stories that have been read.
Supreme path of all is to be found in the middle,
Demolishing the renowned Cartesian theatre.
An enlightened mind transcends the web of lies,
Realising the laws of the universe that created life,
Compassionate, kind and fearless one becomes,
Shedding false belief that is preparing to come.
Oh, what a beautiful path to Enlightenment lies ahead,
Which is open to all who possess faith and courage!
Aug 5, 2012
Aug 5, 2012 at 10:14 AM UTC
take money out of the equation, and sack all the waiters and return to tribalism, the former statement of non-intellectual socialism, the sort of inherent: in us there is a togetherness, no more service from strangers in the hierarchy of enriching a piece of metal or a wavy rectangle of paper with “necessary” symbolism of authority of the status quo... but that’s not going to happen... the pickpocket picts are no more... the normalising normans glared at the hastings pinnacle and integrated with the saxon women... the saracens became surnames in poland... actually that last one is very true... a branch of my family has the surname saracen.
so i’m reading this article
and i’m hardly debasing myself,
it’s not that i’m referring
to sartre’s negation of certain things
whether animate and essential or
inanimate and existential... in that formula:
i deny therefore i am... because i can’t deny my existence...
and 2000 years down the line i’ll be pitchfork
argument in an atheist’s mouth anyway (nothing is certain in the realm of cognition, hence the cartesian invocation of doubt),
it's not like i'm referring to inappropriate pronoun usage...
so **** a doodle do... twang the strings on the mandolin...
i’m referring to this classical reference of the shy literary figure
unable to spark conversation with strangers...
god, i really love strangers, and talking to them!
why? there is no personal history, there’s no past,
there are no reference points... it’s just the moment and nothing else,
the perfect anonymity project...
not the matrix philosophy (easily invoked because
it has a flimsy plot-line and loads of images...
just what the doctor ordered for the english speaking masses
with a very naked orthography - i.e. if it’s on the internet
it’s not “real life...” as is this computer i’m using
it’s not even here!)
of using the deep web to join the rats and etc.;
i love talking to strangers, i can forget myself
and enter the realm of discretion about how within randomisation
of eggshell, yoke and cockroach there’s also the randomisation
of the interactants to balance out the need for a theological unit, god...
it’s great... it’s like... it’s like... life.
defining the genre of biography proper? never backtrack...
always sidetrack... i can’t be bothered living a life with cocktail parties
and romps and romantic comedies to look forward to
once all the animalism becomes domesticated and a
gym-session complaints column in a newspaper.
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 7:54 PM UTC
i wasn't satisfied with the cartesian
cogito ergo sum...
it's not that i couldn't stomach it,
it was just: not enough?
people claim that maxim to be the source
of all subjectivity,
and there's nothing objective about
it.
all this modern talk of subject vs. object,
i had to employ a θήσαύρύς.
i needed a square... a solomon's star,
two squares encompassed against each other,
nothing akin to the star of david...
i mean solomon's star, of two squares
imposed on each other, layered
so you get an oκτάγωνον oktágōnon
oh **** a macron over an omicron = an omega!
oh k'tah goo non...
wait wait... i was going to write something
concrete, and yes, it was based on solomon's star...
6 things -
cogito sum
subjectivity objectivity king david (6)
reflexive reflective
thinking = subjectivity = the reflective
thinking = subjectivity = the reflexive
thinking = objectivity = the reflective
thinking = objectivity = the reflexive king solomon (8)
being = subjectivity = the reflective
being = subjectivity = the reflexive
being = objectivity = the reflective
being = objectivity = the reflexive
(alt. given the atheistic scissors of definite / indefinite articles
of the / a a reflex, a reflection)
what this means is, what's generally thought of as
the tetragrammaton, but it's not four letters,
it's the interpolation of the four main faculties,
that are now seen as tripling up, or call them: cubed;
a lament configuration representation.
thinking is subjective in that it is also reflective
(the narcissus bias)
thinking is subjective in that it is also reflexive
(i need a shave)
thinking is objective in that it is also reflective
(i am ageing)
thinking is objective in that it is also reflexive
(i'll just stop looking into a mirror)...
dear apologies for the geometry of the arrangement
of words, i know you'd love to see a tartan pattern
of interchange, but this **** seems rigid, in the way
that i wrote it... i couldn't find a way to write a b a b
as stated, it only came out as a a b b,
or a b c a b c rather a a b b c c.
but do you see what is even more fascinating than numbers?
the arithmetic symbols... arithmetic symbols
are very much akin to diacritical symbols...
i write an over-simplification of a concept using =,
and then all these conjunctional words pop up!
and yes, in terms of citing heidegger as opposed to
descartes there's a great disparity between
being and i am -
self-evident, being = the sum, a total, Σ,
while i am? it's a unitary representation of the total (sum / sigma)
of the possible mode of being -
it's also called ego interference / pronoun inteference
in the conceptualisation of the cascade that's ergo
into the basin that's dasein.
what philosophy call metaphysics?
linguistics call orthography...
what chemists call para- positioning on
a benzene ring;
or what non-chemists call the paranormal.
May 5, 2017
May 5, 2017 at 1:31 PM UTC
The future is strange is it not?
All our hopes and dreams
Aspirations sewn at the seams
Of a dwindling reality.
Everything is possible,
I suppose.
And if we concentrate just so,
We too can take a glimpse of the show
That lies behind drawn curtains.
Nothing is certain
This I think I know.
Yet at times we feel the ebb and flow
Of futures yet to pass.
Not to be divined from entrails
Of a broken looking glass.
Mirrors have their uses
To show what others see,
But no great revelations
Of what will come to be.
Have our minds been made,
Long before ourselves?
Are we cartesian nightmares
Unto which we delve?
Is our image of ourselves
As foolish as I think?
And what becomes of the world
In the instance that we blink.
Have these words been uttered
By anothers tongue.
Under the guise of destiny
A pointless race to run.
Thoughts implanted,
Minds enchanted
By the most temporal of enemies.
Throttle the future with me now
As we fight the tides of entropy.
May 6, 2012
May 6, 2012 at 9:45 AM UTC
Remark, pageant, how well this worn Cartesian speaks silence instead of wit.
Crucify maybe and often; singsong prattle succumbs him you.
Torturified lamb’s breath, teensy sighs and sweep of tentacled agog garners attention and wildfire – hop and home to not attend, to see.
Brandish magma wake and crystal cleanse re-barb, vicious cycle in heat patterned pro-guiro neural network, neat, loud for senses laden.
Up them and through them.
Scent the seeks you stones in barb, a fence in white a guttered prose, slitherentine.
Stately made his gatekeep - defend you. Harbor outwards with willpower nonchalant.
Pardon his with provocations, decadent don’t they know. (You know you, don’t they?)
And then.
Feb 20, 2017
Feb 20, 2017 at 4:43 PM UTC
Remove a book from a library and it stands still the same.
Remove another and one more, and onwards in this way.
How long can you continue, for how many days,
Before no library is before you, and the concept starts to fray?
Now take the man before you, what he is is made through change.
What is it within him that makes past and future the same?
The body has continued, though clearly grown and aged.
Who he is now is content, your idea of him a frame.
His mind is still his own, though it has turned the page.
"Cogito ergo sum" the old Cartesian phrase.
How he thought before can be said as but a phase
And how he thinks is who he is. The man stood here has changed.
But still there's keen resemblance that you're clearly keen to hold.
Is he the same man young, as he'll be when he is old?
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 4:32 PM UTC
again, this thing about the cartesian res cogitans
(thinking thing), substance and extension...
i’m pretty sure the darwinistic expression
of early model does not suit this model,
my own version i wrote once, res vanus (empty thing)
fits the gig better - we who can now snuggle in duvets,
who housebound the wild boar,
who milk cows with technological octopi tentacles,
who switch hot dogs with popcorn in the dark,
who ice-skate at somerset house at christmas,
who take diamond bling and christmas tree bulb bling
to equal the same credit on plastic,
who with polystyrene foam beat nature
by showing nature it couldn’t digest it on whatever
level of insect and parasite,
well have all the luxuries now, and we found them
not so much from thinking but from emptiness,
there is more chance of the eureka in res vanus than
there is in res cogitans - it’s the spontaneity you see,
and less need to narrate: love, lost love, aching love , ex lovers.
what else is there? it’s the easier assumption to have
with the niche topic in relation to kant’s noumenon (thing in itself),
i don’t know why i want to mention this orientation
to further the explanation -
early man was defined by res vanus - the sensual overload,
the prime, being empty and forced into the heat and the cold
and the mystic tiger hunger -
and still as defined by res cogitans, we pause and feel empty,
not so much in terms of emotion, but in terms of thought,
however we no longer gather at the campfire,
few people crowd by a lightbulb to talk fables with a
memory of achilles ajax and hector...
we need neon rainbows to huddle -
whether that be by eros shooting the neons of piccadilly circus blind,
or by televisions or computers,
rarity a fire that crept into the ribcage and gave way to
a macaw song of cross-dimensional sophistication off mayan jungles.
Nov 21, 2015
Nov 21, 2015 at 12:11 PM UTC
*it would be easiest to switch the lights off
and bemuse whether there's a light-bulb
in the room.*
but of course psychoanalysis originated
in the upper tiers of society,
where people found dreams unappealing
unless interpreted by third party
associates of psychiatry and put into nice
and neat boxes of theory...
of such people we know as perhaps neither
butchers or surgeons, who's only
obstructions in life were but dreams,
and dreams in themselves also obstructive
because of lack of coherency and soluble
meaning, perhaps even not sexually potent
enough; only now the backlash of
digging into the unconscious greedily like
dwarfs mining for precious jewels,
to have merely woken a flip side of all
that theorising that came from the 19th century,
you hear so much of the balrog that slay durin vi,
this bane of durin: oh it walks among us,
it does indeed - with a cartesian duality whip
of medicinal splinters etched into an almost
dark ages account of knowledge: to have us
treat mentality and physicality of a negation
of ease as equally paired to be chiral -
indeed politicians speak of mental health and
physical ailments as distinct - but gentler
the thought pressing down on the cranium
than an elephant in stilettos likewise - but why
so? for all this previous theorising ambitions
in a safe environment of natural hallucinogenic
encounters of sleep - safe there the egoistic scalpel
of this branch of medicine of a straitjacket -
safe there indeed, and perhaps even more with
a placebo effect acceptable; but by god!
this scalpel wants to censor thinking, even
thought that extend into our ontological bereavement
of being but mortal - even if suicide is a problem,
the more methodological such thinking becomes
the more ineffective it becomes, and for some
strange reason, thoughts of suicide (when trained)
have this strange way of prolonging mortality,
the carpe diem of reasoning, after all, all things
possess the concern for two things that interchange,
and in that interchange the + can become a -,
or as i say... take to committing yourself to
a gruesome end... hara-kiri (seppuku), and you won't.
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 9:02 AM UTC
they want to read you and not think, so too they want to read you and not see, they hardly care for punctuation necessarily used, so who's out there to please? n'ah really, i was onto something, i meant that if the Kantian thing-in-itself was applied to the cartesian expression, either thinking-in-itself or being-in-itself is jested at, then we can explain the freedoms of disobedience and obedience, truthfulness and falsehood, and the parody of paradoxes, as highest claimants the claimants: (singular plural) choice - whereas will (plural adjective congregating into singular) is always a butterfly fluctuation of measuring an exactness akin to dating and remembering 1066 the battle of Hastings.
mingle Kant with Descartes and you get thought as the
per se existence - splitting into either fact of coining
phrases or robbing someone: no doubt (existential
good faith) and certainly no denial (existential
bad faith) - mingle Kant with Descartes
and you get the twins
cogito ergo sum mingling with noumenon,
and thus somewhere along the line
you get to see the membrane of the zygote,
like the thought behind a criminal life
where the life is unexplained because the thought
of such a life is "easily" accessed,
so too in reverse, i.e. being a councillor
or a clerk makes such thinking easily explained
for the prop of the life lived "easily" justified via
the person trading tomatoes or lamb shanks
to keep you unthinking in a bureaucratic role.
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 7:50 PM UTC
Tonight as I lay down under these endless skies
There were certain things I’ve come to realize
That it’s already been a year since you first set my heart to veer
Now if I were to tell how our story went
I’d say that from the realm of strangerhood in a Cartesian plane we were sent
Two opposite lines that were bound to intersect
Or at least at that fateful moment, I felt we connect
At that time, stars were aligned
Chains were casted for hearts to bind
And to account for each time our paths have crossed
To our skies a checkered plane is what we have tossed
Forming a constellation of smiles and avoided gaze
Of an illusionary friendship and uncrossable space.
As one side of the hour glass was slowly drained of sand
Consequently, chances were slipping off my hand
For me to get to know the better of you
And for me to show how much you’ve meant to me.
Truly, time is a **** for it screws everyone
It is a monster that pities none
But today, I will let myself be its prey
For I know after the exalted day
Seeing you would be an improbable dream
And someone’s world will surely dim
Tonight, I will let the stars do their job
The empty darkness of the night they will rob
For they will illuminate this verse to you
These last words I’ll offer you.
Aug 3, 2017
Aug 3, 2017 at 1:05 AM UTC
"Je pense donc je suis."
-Descartes, 1637.
You'll never know,
Though forever wonder
Of the day of your feast!
It's an unknown moment
In the long annals
Of the Universe's clock;
And you blame things--
People, places, principles,
For not giving you enough,
Or not giving you at all.
In fact, you're to blame:
The sheep with the scar,
Cleaning out with naive acts
What might have been of use to you;
Your mind and body fight,
Fight, because that's all they do,
That's all they CAN know!
Ah, such Cartesian discovery:
One set against the other,
Without end or result;
For evermore, like ebb and flow;
Day and night, up and down.
Was Jesus the solving synthesis--
Sprite or Spirit? He came and left--sole
individual!
Dualism yet persists, as before:
Keep reigning as King in your 'mind,'
Though to 'matter' you're
One among six billion hapless faces!
-by
Hakim H. Kassim.
(d. November, 1988)
Sep 6, 2016
Sep 6, 2016 at 10:18 AM UTC