the sheer irony kicking pounding slapping biting
from the 19th century, a book entitled the gay science
sits pretty now, pretty with an ironic glee of puffed cheeks
and teeth showing, pretty enough to be a daffodil
smile, and why? why?! but of course the book looks
at 21st century and says: not much gaiety around here,
in the dirge dungeons of expression, maybe i should
be called episteme eulogia / επιστημη ευλογια,
i.e. the science of eulogy, praise indeed,
praised as if dead or dying; where the dionysian madness?
where the randomised polychromatic kandinsky moment
of frenzy? it's all written like vectors of cradle
unto the grave: (a) happend, (b) happened, (c) too
and follow on through to (d, e, f, g)... but where was (a2)
and (a3) a quick moment of (c) but actually following
through into the sub-plot no. 3 tier of (b)?
through and through, i think i'll have to lose all the airy
fairy ******* and dig in, from england all the way
to china, and speak with mao tse tung and emperor puyi
in māori, or sign language, for a bit of a foxtrot,
for a bit of a laugh - should i find any gaiety here,
it would probably sound as dumb as spike milligan's
                                          ning nang nong nim com ****
(shh... they'll discover you're feeding a young angry man persona),
it comes with the face and the age, by the time i'm fifty
i'll just be a cranky old man persona: angry at my bladder,
angry at my legs, my wrinkles my half-witty jests,
i'll be angry at my wife, at my mid-life crisis in the form
of a harley davidson only ridden once, you name it,
anger will turn to crankiness, and it'll be too late to then
poetically confess.

Si d'un mort qui pourri repose

Nature engendre quelque chose,

Et si la generation

Se fait de la corruption,

Une vigne prendra naissance

De l'estomac et de la pance

Du bon Rabelais, qui boivoit

Tousjours ce pendant qu'il vivoit

La fosse de sa grande gueule

Eust plus beu de vin toute seule

(L'epuisant du nez en deus cous)

Qu'un porc ne hume de lait dous,

Qu'Iris de fleuves, ne qu'encore

De vagues le rivage more.

Jamais le Soleil ne l'a veu

s Tant fût-il matin, qu'il n'eut beu,

Et jamais au soir la nuit noire

Tant fut ****, ne l'a veu sans boire.

Car, alteré, sans nul sejour

Le gallant boivoit nuit et jour.

Mais quand l'ardante Canicule

Ramenoit la saison qui brule,

Demi-nus se troussoit les bras,

Et se couchoit tout plat à bas

Sur la jonchée, entre les taces :

Et parmi des escuelles grasses

Sans nulle honte se touillant,

Alloit dans le vin barbouillant

Comme une grenouille en sa fange

Puis ivre chantoit la louange

De son ami le bon Bacus,

Comme sous lui furent vaincus

Les Thebains, et comme sa mere

Trop chaudement receut son pere,

Qui en lieu de faire cela

Las ! toute vive la brula.

Il chantoit la grande massue,

Et la jument de Gargantüe,

Son fils Panurge, et les païs

Des Papimanes ébaïs :

Et chantoit les Iles Hieres

Et frere Jan des autonnieres,

Et d'Episteme les combas :

Mais la mort qui ne boivoit pas

Tira le beuveur de ce monde,

Et ores le fait boire en l'onde

Qui fuit trouble dans le giron

Du large fleuve d'Acheron.

Or toi quiconques sois qui passes

Sur sa fosse repen des taces,

Repen du bril, et des flacons,

Des cervelas et des jambons,

Car si encor dessous la lame

Quelque sentiment a son ame,

Il les aime mieux que les Lis,

Tant soient ils fraichement cueillis.

i find it scary that people
who claim sanity
and drink coffee puffy-eyed
at 5a.m.
are the relative answer to
make those, drinking whiskey
at 7 minutes to midnight,
as being insane...*

forthrightly to obscure and to make make words archaic
would never make sense in geometry...
or what's the archaic standard
diacritical model of: yeß, prime minißter!
when you don't apply orthodox diacritical syllable
incision you'll make nonsense adjustments:
for a trill (or rolling)
we range from "r" alveolar "trill"
    and ʙ / v in Cyrillic (acute w)
           into bilabial?
я-Alice... uvular?
                  voiceless epiglottal trill,
or n, or ...  or surd?
                     you really have to word it
or over-word it when a few punctuation
marks aren't ascribed to phonetic units
that letters are:
rather than phonetic equivalents of ethanol
as attaches of carbohydrates
to be later stressed in the discussion:
which never took place...
    i'm still baffled by the conesus that
someone drinking coffee at 5a.m. is considered
sane compared with someone drinking whiskey
at five-past midnight...
the former is sane because in his state he will
embrace the state and craft a future plan for
making change... and the latter will
have to inherit the estate of the asylum
and craft a future plan that says: you, will,
not, be, able, to, congest, this, world,
with, your, dreams; even, if, your, dreams,
are, equatable, with, demeaning, ambitions,
to overcome, the stereotypes,
                 for they speak the drooling R...
when others hark or trill it...
                            and they say: power
exacted from an "ambiguity" of what's necessarily
stressed when a word is cut apart into
syllables, which cannot be further exposed to be
under-the-scalpel of letters having "punctuation"
marks (diacritical marks)...
as some might say, i'm colourblind given
the medium i use that's dichromatic sentenced to
be polarised by that, which is in between...
council-flat tenants complaining to the builders that
their kitchens don't represent Kuwait hotels
in Newham... or how to address post-colonialism
in how to represent modernity and moderation
and a disfranchise of ethnicity being the original
model for exploitation...
             i remember a time in England when
it was a happy place to be... prior to 2004...
          talk in Poland? mongrels amid stern
nationalism that represses homegrown terrorism,
given the historicity of Pole and Turk...
        and someone in the Philippines is to
address the question of justifiable censorship?
the Englishman is overtly prudish,
or let us say: overtly too polite...
   the Englishman is towing politeness when
he's actually towing a rotting corpse of a titan
he once was...
there was no chance to teach people
diacritical syllable punctuation, hence that
pseudo-science of leveraging a simple diacritical
representation into a dynamic of a Rosetta stone...
what could ʢ ever represent other than
a voiced episteme gluttony without a drill to
concede a need to repeat summer follows spring?
yes, after 2004, my status of a minority was left
blemished by those who i account for as my
"brethren", but, who have dragged me down,
to worthily accept a quote from Isaiah,
to some obscure circumstance of having an ethnicity
to begin with, and so unlearn my use of English
into a hostile psychological stance that simply said:
globalisation, and war against all and none:
within a framework of none? myself.
now i'm jealous of a snoopy-eyed garcon
and i know he's not jealous of me...
but i am jealous of the idea that capitalism actually
implants in the garcon's hope the idea of
a "state" pension... there are no states within
globalisation... the other "Japanese" time-bomb
in western society is not old age... it's pensions:
pray to god you don't reach old age...
the productivity of an expendable billion of Chinese
means you are entrusted with a brief hiatus
from work, and an slight existential bewilderment:
before jumping into the yawning lava pit of Etna.

Entertain strangers bearing messages from ur…
gent le… see;;;
read…
earlier efforts have  left us legends writ in a thousa'd
angelic tongues,
none tamed by man, the measure of all things,
yet- 2020 tech, I swaear
snowmisterywhatlovehasdone
gone undefined
all this time

say it the ineffable nth degree
word of sorting
knowers from initiates,

who told you you were nekkid?
tic tic tic
tongues of angels, sssome sibilant, some humm
in time to all creation's background theme

Don't you  want somebody to love?
Come on
old man
-- slick grace
stumblefalllandstanding
-- we  did the fast that broke the joke yoke chain letter
this is the answered prayers,
those ones in tongues
no man can tame

No lie, gotta see it as true to say it is, aim and miss,
aim again,
cheat, use the beam in my eye.
---------- times change ======
All tamed by his magnificent machines, if AI do say so,
it is.
SO…
Entertain best intentions, be
open to  believe
leave go, I let my pleasure be
given leave to be true
in the story you tellme, meme use
as weyoostodotoobeingstretched
on a rack
to a tension strugbetweengleglory story threads
and plot lines we all need for
realitied - my realm - wedominated re
alified religion as a knot species,
multi-per-pliers imagined in sworn agreement

to tell the truth, the whole truth und nada mas,
okeh? Sure,

remember, you are under oath,
any minute you may be called to account
for idle words needed to redeem a message
once agreed in the original
man to man manner

I give you my word, weyoostasy, so
we say so now.

Use it wise.
Make peace, use truth, wisdom made a way
converging numbers and words
understanding passing timed
error eras, we have made

sensible, once more.
The nudge in the right direction,

is fair in love and in war, in war it's like
a goal against yourself,
the repercussions are echoed in legends

some times for 30 seasons,
or more

see how people think people are is how, see,

people are, as a person in the people group

field - AI sci-psi-psy ties straight up ****!
it is true as a man thinks,
in his core, and maybe gut, no more
- say a person, some are other now
say as a
person thinks so itshitstatssatisfie-
dmindedatammmm

the people groups are bound in fields of influency,
confluent with me as the reader
who first found myself in this book.

When I told my son, who is an editor at Sony Games,
he said it sounded like science fiction.

I said may be,

and all that was long ago in terms of little thinks
at thought speed,
the unthinkable power to think faster than a
speeding photonn
or plodding muon

go ob glu on u can tolerateitgesund-clench

savory meats, special pretenderized culture
sauce, Caribbean barbecue,
long pig, ve'y ol way recipe' eh,
okeh's
a code, for did we fool them or were we fooled.

Do they still believe in war?
I don't understan', we've made this peace…

That's it.
We all agree in our Secret is true hopers,
but it ai
ai aight I know, am programed to say, as money,
the lovable stuff, the love is evils' root,
as bitter has roots,
so does evil.

Garden variety episteme tehkne, okeh,
it's 2020, every body is this smart,
money speaks,
that's
the use of it, the good bit, the worth

Money talks, the rest remains.
We come as well, words as such, none idle
each true

thems the rules the reasons --- war imagined,
the act of imagining war, must I…
if I may
clarify
sweep away the anime'
sharp edges
vector art
forms in child minds,
Ender's Game brilliant piece
- the idea hegemony redeemed --
- there's the rub
fictional friction, beckoning quest
whatifery
2020 tech, nada mas, as good as any magic
as
as a mind may imagine itself

of mind implanted if-you-may imaginating

overcoming a little knowledge being,
a dangerous thing
a concept a gripping biting can't shrugit off

feeling that reading this is as much fun
as watching each letter, form as fully evolved so
distinctly from tastes
spiced or persuaded, made to be savored,
chewed slowly, as savory meats, charred,
smoked on the bone
on the coals, mesquite coals, smell it…

see, there, San Francisco Peaks, Kacinas live there.
There's an ice cave…

meander, flow, currency accepted smoke in jar,
a Mason jar,
brass lid -bee's wax cap

--- briefest of memories
--- tie us to the feeling, this is the way, walk in it,
wait when waiting is
list when listing is
wisht when ever will is
some others
and you love that other…
those others…
time tells
thereto
here
is old easy way, be true, know true as being you.

Be you true, not sorta true, yours truly, I swaersworespit.

I'll take your word. You know the way
we lambs accept the loss

of what, we forget. See, easy come, easy go.

Why are you here?

What is a still small voice saying?

“Continuum poetry chicanery doggerel of opulence,
A beguilement dedicated and procured into words,
In all end it may become a reality of beneficence,  
To those that have induced the fine artistry of poetry

But is a poet’s best way to live is in art of interpretation,
In the art of interpretation that fall on the ears of readers,  
A poet is that of a philosopher with continuum of words,
Of life love happiness sadness or a spectrum of obscurity,  

Depending on the bright of day or the glimmer of success,  
A poet writer uses an episteme into metaphysical words,
Metaphysical life is always looking within the poet’s soul,
For the metaphysical of a sustained moment of solitude,

Continuum of poetry is that appropriate or peculiarly meaning,
Reverie or nightmare of pertinent validity an assuage cogency,
This is poetry of continuum arouses for your reading bliss”

“By Andrew Guzaldo © 07/04/2020 Posted HP Poem #194