you know, i abstract far enough to make the x, y, z
co-ordination seem as bewildering
as using a satellite navigation
without instruction,
i mean, i get to the point where it's
just automated,
i wonder about the applause and a
large crowd and feel uncomfortable,
i bite my nails and love the taste of
keratin - i remember when
she stole my trentemøller c.d.
with the silver surfer, ghost rider go!
track on it, while she wept and something else,
she loved playing video games,
i grew out of it, i started reading her dissertation
in anthropology and started making markers,
you know post-colonial anthropology will
be hard, it will have to learn a new humanism
by dehumanising psychiatry,
then i blind drummed the beat of
teenage mutants' out of time (finnebassen remix),
drummed or nodded, whatever,
i find it hard to encounter a clear narration
after i abstracted using points of departure,
chemist abstract to the point of
symbolic phonetics encapsulating something,
physicists abstract to the point
symbolic geometry, the mushrooms of hiroshima
and nagasaki left them a bit mute,
fungal shapes took over, as did the fascination
with creating a pop culture via these fungi
and l.s.d. tabs and creating the perfect
analogue of plato's cave: the television, almost
near perfect synchronised adventures...
these numbers are numbing,
you get a virtual crowd of 500 and still no
point to gig your outpouring out to an earning grace...
you could claim me being autistic,
but i wasn't the ****** that wanted to be impregnated,
i told you, condoms were priority, and pulling
out of a *******'s canalisation prior to
******* also, to boot,
if she was only better educated in the activity of ***
she would have the problem,
but it's like these days you have to appropriate
psychiatric terminology to say something
complex enough yet simple enough to simple
expressions, only because our understanding of the world
has become so complex that expressing politics has
become the plain jane of the studious environment...
politicians are liars, or so they boast in a wholly brass band
known as the salvation army...
to use psychiatric terminology to express emotion
is to deem fit a complexity of the emotion
naturally and simply expressed,
only because understanding the digestion of
a piggish carbohydrate chain took us from
congested, into acid poached squeamish -
or something akin to depressed rather than sad...
after all a punch in the face was not designated an
onomatopoeia... but a clean house kept to a ****
of hardly a brush stroke of dust with the finger by a woman,
was equal to a haphazard arrangement of ideas
by the male intellect, parody the two and you get the same,
a clean house via a women, a ***** arrangement of
intelligence via a man...
and indeed the zenith a necessary departure into
abstraction, donkeys counted the years of the problems
being unresolved, but what mammal brought the poet
back into a love of narration without third-party narratives
of a book of fiction? well, something with about
8 - 10 fingers, yes, in that range, two hands...
sometimes the index, sometimes the middle,
sometimes the pinky, and indeed the thumbs always welcome
to draw the shape, the shape akin to circle or triangle
of two hands prancing about on
q w e r t y u i o p
a s d f g h j k l
z x c v b n m
indeed this grand chess board of alternative stenography,
the board of stenographic chess of thinking quick quick quick!
indeed, but what shape have i just drawn?
well, the poem i guess, and it's not exactly worth
you picking up syllable digestion to make your
tongue into a dagger, or fold it to make a parabola.
