"kabbalah" poems
split the atom an we get fission
mass becomes energy
but can we split a second
enter the essence of the present
what would it mean to us
to be that mindful
ask your self doesn't your mind
only occupy past future
abjectly incapable of living in the present
in the true present there could not be even a ghost of a thought
theres no time to think
can we enter
an incalculable split second
and totally take in that instant
with a forgotten organic technology
is it the big bang in perpetuity
yet quiet as a mute
a raging ever expanding sea in a connected
but distinct dimension
if you entered it
would it not utterly erases all of history
the thinkers and doers along with it
the step beyond the alpha and omega
the great underlining reality
imagine the penetrated moment
an all consuming unimaginable
trans-mutational merge
omnipotent
yet forever imperceptible
to those among us
time locked
an irreducible limitation
like an ant in a closed paper bag
a fixated reflexive machine
wandering aimlessly
with an unknowable mission
and a relentless survival mechanism
with no chance of survival
time as a cosmic metabolism
its medium space
a vast cauldron
an infinite vessel containing endless points of light
everywhere
myriad phenomena
its terrain and the temporal creatures that inhabit it
both exquisite and hideous
an incalculable zoo
histories victors and victims
one and all vanquished
by the curse
consciousness of dis-juncture
a merciless countenance of limitation
yet could time be an illusion
rooted in a narrow awareness
bereft of an eternal
inexhaustible self effulgent now
the rapture
an eternal ******
if we could only penetrate into it
would it swallow us
and blot out the drama of creations theater
is the
now
conscious
illimitable
ecstatic
a perfect meta moment ?
we hear from sacred texts
like the Vedas... Bhagavad Gita.... and Kabbalah
that we may enter beyond the veil
passed time and its ravages
passed mind and its distortions
not to the heaven of religion
in its endless
closed system precepts
anthropomorphic metaphors
theistic gobbledygook
and
sophomoric social engineering
a kind of cliffs notes
god for dummies
we can enter
the eternal abode of the divine
a point between
the splitting of seconds
revealed through the simple act of mindful breathing
pierced by the effort of a focused mind
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 8:09 AM UTC
That was then, this is now
Who was where when what was how?
Hear them take their last breath as they're shot down
I scream
Floating in the gene pool, expecting the man who can walk on water to arrive
Sell outs and everyone who has had a bad week even though it's only Monday
Whippersnappers hang their heads in shame
I am one of twelve
So expendable
We live in gluttony
Lineleaders, math teachers, bottom-feeders have no idea
Watch them fall and be forced to crawl on their bellies
We laugh
Lewandowsky-Lutz dysplasia, getting back to your roots
Progeric clock-makers, lying dead on The Yellow Brick Road
Thin-skinned Transsexuals putting bricks in their purses
We live by eight
We die from our weight
And go unbloomed
-Tommy Johnson
Standing in a nuclear reactor somewhere in Chernobyl looking for the truth
It might be in my contaminated endoplasmic reticulum
I am a radiant
Doppler radar
Monopoly dollar
Singing in the shower, amateur hour
Projecting sour notes
Pouring out their hearts and souls, hear them
Trying
Moo-juice nectar, spilling off The Round Table
Blondes in red bracelets, Kabbalah saves them
Henry pays no tax, John Berryman's bats tell us
You are the lunatic
We are the two quarters of a half-wit
This whole thing is insane
-Tommy Johnson
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 10:49 AM UTC
my neighbour came over,
quick impromptu
into the dog collar
and you have your murderer
and the priest;
guilt ridden as if by small pox
she sat on my bed:
no ulterior motive,
no auxiliaries of conscience to back-up
now; a clear would-be **** victim...
jewish so i had to stress my fascination
with the jewish mysticism of kabbalah;
and i did so in all earnest
asking whether i said i am eh yeh correctly:
also the whole bit of original interpretation
the secrecy of the rabbinical
aHa aHe
males as rigid as consonants
women as fluid as vowels ********
missing accents on eden's language of globalization
that's short of tartan english of glasgow
with key stress punctures of trans-punctuation
crafted for either serious distinction on consonants,
or ridiculous aesthetics when given to vowels
of parisian stilettos: fancy ah fancy nah fancy
a mistress in fishnet leggings? yes? no? maybe?
undecided i see. trophy wife material... next!
Dec 31, 2015
Dec 31, 2015 at 10:59 PM UTC
*adverts and the internet medium:
d'uh... you forgot the capacity
of the mute button...
wha'? wha'?
audi tt?
(let's expand on the title:
geometry (Y) the three dimensions,
and trigonometry (W)... cosine rule,
i.e. how three-dimensional space behaves).*
i was born in the late 20th century,
and, right now,
i'm seeing the "problem"
you thought jews in europe
were the problem...
ever read anything
on the subject of kabbalah?
i can only reply
with sepultura's:
ra-ta-ma'h-hatta'h...
**** me, the tetragrammaton feels like
licking a pharaoh's toes in linguistic terms...
*and there are always four,
to ensure there's one*.
but at least the aztec pyramids
were not burial grounds, or burial monuments,
rather, sites of capital punishment...
which the conquistadors misunderstood!
only the whites know the concept
of ethno-masochism.
by common-tongue standards
so thoroughly expressed with
the desired eloquence, stated, already.
social sciences are a disease
in terms of science per se...
why isn't there a divine intervention
story with regards to the aztec pyramids?
**** me and the scaffold!
the largest bird on earth,
and instead of flying off,
it sticks its head into the earth
to "hide".
that's pushing it...
that's saying the non-existence of god is based
upon the non-existence of a good joke;
i just don't think he needs to be
revered...
but obviously people have other
plans...
never mind the comedian...
mind the moloch;
so they pray, and pray, and ask, and plead,
and end up looking like amassed lunatics...
they demand praying...
me? i demand of myself thinking about him...
hard to think about nothing,
if i were thinking about nothing,
i simply would be, not thinking;
and you'd probably find me:
painting.
but **** me, aztec pyramids didn't receive
a divine intervention
but the egyptian pyramids did...
clearly the aztec pyramids weren't vanity projects
akin to burial sites / tombs...
clearly...
sites of enforcing capital punishment;
years later mis-translated by conquistadors...
and in militant atheistic form...
said: retarted.
Jun 12, 2017
Jun 12, 2017 at 3:09 PM UTC
Sell me your god-thing
That I might contemplate
It’s face
Where is my misplaced
Faith
Along the edges of
My dream-scape reality
I have never found
Any measure of grace
Maybe it has been
Buried along with
The ashes of time
Loan me your Idol
That I might
Worship and bow
While babies and ladies
And toys of my youth
Are mutilated and tossed
aside
where is this prophet
of ages past
where is my lot to be cast
gods and demons and
devils called divas
have all led me astray
sell me your god-thing
your play-thing
your toy
sell me your rosary
his crucifix
your joy
allow me to borrow
your kabbalah
your quran
your bible
your talmud
your kebra negast
give me your god-thing
that I might have peace at last
send with it your
lamentations
your reservations
your contemplations
but keep your wisdom
I have found mine
in the vast
May 23, 2010
May 23, 2010 at 8:45 PM UTC
much of j. r. r. tolkien is unoriginal, the dwarfs are basically jews, thrór is simply king solomon, amassing great riches, the dwarfs are exiled; it's a clever plagiarism of historical events.
for the ones that say: too see patterns in holes
in phonetic units, too see
lions in zoological enclosures of curiosity,
to craft orbits of curling lips
and numbed tongues within trebling
kabbalah is the forgotten anatomy
of only the mouth, the gate into the mind,
find the mouth a curiosity, you will enter
solomon's mines of wealth, where each
thought an idea, the constantly pressurising
scalpel furthering you on: it was islam
with the gift of the holy graffiti of scribbles
on walls: their verboclasm that pursued us
to abuse a fondness of erecting statues no more...
to copyright and trademark an arrangement
akin to coca-cola with hope of lettering
a statue into motions of nonchalant waves
and lashes...
to abandon representation of chiselled cheeks
and foreheads to carve into marble
and other stones the phonetics while
leaving the many ignorant and dyslexic
is too a blasphemy on the original demand
of the commandments: this engraving of
the tongue's recognition of sounds is equally
abhorrent.
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 12:09 PM UTC
a century skipped
from one soup line
to the next
never thought I would
stand in one, a homeless octogenarian
who doesn't like soup
the library serves sandwiches,
Eden’s apples too, on Mondays, but gray Sundays
they are closed, so here I be
at a holy house
that feeds beggars, bankers
and ****** but only after servicing
our souls, with etudes on eternity
and other hymns to which
I am deaf
tomorrow I will visit the VA
for my monthly meds, free potions
to pacify me while I wait for a bed
in the shiny new castle,
forever being built
in the meantime, I get the shed
behind the shack, of another "brother"
who tells me war stories
that can't be true, since he
was but ten and two when
the last bird chopped its way
into the Saigon sky
the embassy below yet teeming
with ghosts, and the screaming hordes,
scurrying still in a conquered land, desperate
victims of our proud command
I don't tell him he does not
speak the truth, for he gets even more
potent pills than I to keep
his demons at bay
today the broth has chicken
and rice, and our platoon slurps in unison
after another plaintive prayer
to a god I never knew
tomorrow, over my white
bread and bologna, we will
be able to sup in silence, in the
calm cathedral of tomes
where I will try in vain
to comprehend the mystic
Kabbalah, or perhaps read The Grapes of Wrath
to hoist healing hope of suckled redemption
before my ancient eyes
.
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 5:13 PM UTC
god almighty, it really has become that,
constipated writers inc.,
you can see them bargain hunt
the next big word - big word among
very simple narrative, stands out
like a christmas tree in a forest
of anorexic pine - they've started the
conveyor belt of horse eye shutters
so they can be reined in on the basis of
some puppet voodoo via the hindu
muses of brahman, it's a 'down the line'
moment: a does what a can only do,
and b does what b can only do,
given c is the process by which
a does what a does prior to not doing it,
like b, which does what b does prior to not
doing it;
me? well i too wish i was an english literature
or a journalism university drop out,
the hard man, the one who left school
at 16 without any qualifications,
started a record company, signed mike
oldfield believing that tubular bells would
be the basis for the soundtrack to both
halloween and the exorcist
(1973, 1978 and 1974 respectively) -
but they're just coming out of these institutions
with institutional verse - they're bothered
and conscious of techniques, they know
why and when to use a metaphor,
they care about saying a maxim about a similie,
they do everything by the rubric as if poetry
was a multiplication table worth memorising,
they write about thirty words a piece
in order that someone might write a 10,000 word
essay playing surgeon on them, cutting them
up to such a bare minimum that you could
almost learn kabbalah inside-out -
but i did graduate with a chemistry degree
unfortunately, and that makes me no hard man,
but i did masacre a bottle of absinthe
at about ~96% in one night and got annoyed
at not being drunk enough - yeah... hard as
they come... nothing to be proud of in all
honesty... yes all that sugar on spoon, bit
of absinthe on sugar and inferno - then some
water to dilute the absinthe and make it
milky green (czech absinthe doesn't turn milky,
some additive is missing, i can't remember) because
i have this one point to make: over-analysing
poetic expression, being conscious of poetic
techniques, in general orthodoxy is so ******
tedious that you begin to put faith in free verse...
that splendour of spontaneity like fireworks set off
un-expectedly on guy fawkes night giving you a startle.
Dec 16, 2015
Dec 16, 2015 at 7:23 AM UTC
*now you thought arithmetic was hard... they really omitted telling us a clear deciphering of diacritical marks - kept the advantage. it's not really an area of expertise, but an area of clear interest worthy of a spider-web corner, something to feel cosy in... for god sake, even the Greeks started using diacritical distinctions on their beautiful alphabet... the English left theirs in squalor... ******* get moving! or you won't get rid of illiteracy in your people you sadistic ************* because, i mean, with the appropriation of diacritic you can teach people strong unitary measurements applicability of encoded sounds, that's what i learnt from Polish... e.g.: Ł (wha-wha Jimi Hendrix peddle voodoo child - ń is an n but pinching your tongue internally - kabbalah is the anatomy of the mouth and the nasal cavity, in kabbalah you have the organs teeth tongue nose mouth breath to deal with, expedition into vibrations... ó is just an aesthetic alternative to u... so the word looks pretty... you need these marks, otherwise you're first teaching people the alphabet, then you're teaching them syllables... great twigs and all... then you shove a tree into their eyes, a custard, an entire word... no wonder you have a syllabus (origin syllable) to teach them the atomic scaling of things: tree you teach as e e r t and you teach onomatopoeia as a a e i m n o o o o p t... and that's hardly a Mendeleev rational (French, prolonged a syllable cutting on -tio- prolonged n with -al, using diacritics: rātion̄al).
**diacritics - also synonymous with punctuation,
syllable punctuation, not between words
but inside them.***
as a Latin man, i'm still stuck on
deciphering the barbarism,
what barbarism you ask?
the diacritical marks added to our
alphabet - it's the last stronghold
of the literate class - i'm sitting here
wondering how to use them,
i have a couple i'm certain off,
but others just seem too impromptu,
too wobbly in how they're used,
given people cheat, gamble, and lie,
i'm not sure some of these marks
are properly explained in schools,
actually, i don't think any of them are...
not to my knowledge, with the English
language stark naked and it's
many particularities of grapheme hidden,
i could list you the oddities, but there
are too many unique examples to go
through; i mean, you could write
Joyce's Finnegans Wake on 20 pages if
the diacritical marks were included
and not this excessive spelling to capture
these stresses of accent.
May 16, 2016
May 16, 2016 at 10:54 AM UTC
אני יכול לזכור...I can remember
I.
in the ashes of Auschwitz
February 2018 / Shevat 5778
there exists no
kol hachavvyot,
the Infinite One bring/ing
all of reality into be-ing.
there is no 'ehyeh 'asher 'ehyeh
who formed Light,
who created Darkness.
II.
the candles of the Vanished
World are no longer
sown in the seasons of breath.
in 1920 Vilna, Yehu'dit bones
were excavated for horses
to be buried,
all by the tongue of a priest
covered in ambergris.
in 2018 Cyberia alleys,
the malefactor mime cries
as Long Island parhelia
flicker in the seasonal
ice around his little girls.
III.
the cypress of the
Kingdom of Night are
amidst natz'ri house gardens,
marking in the mouths of
opus dei children the straws
of Poland.
long after midnight we seek
solace in One-Eyed Paritus's
Meditations obliques,
where Sol Nazerman's
zoharic midrashim of
Shabtai Zisel are
narrated by Claude Lanzmann.
the quantum nonlocality
of the corpse of
ha'Kodesh Barukh hu
is the Hollerith tracking
number.
IV.
Nach uraltem, aengstlich beheutetem
Klostergeheimnis lernen selbst Greise
muehelos Kavier spielen.
-- Max Ernst
this is to the memories z"l of
Rod Steiger 14 April 1925-9 July 2002
Roman Vischniac 19 August 1897-22 January 1990
Rose Leamel Ziebell (1933-2007)
Dottie Sutton (1922-2015)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
© 3 February 2018 / 18 Shevat 5778
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
STEPHAN PICKERING / חפץ ח"ם בן אברהם
Torah אלילה Yehu'di Apikores / Philologia Kabbalistica Speculativa Researcher
לחיות זמן רב ולשגשג...לעולם לא עוד
THE KABBALAH FRACTALS PROJECT
לעולם לא אשכח
Jun 30, 2018
Jun 30, 2018 at 12:40 AM UTC
Familiar enough, they live in the same flat
Sleeping on the other side of paper walls
Phone calls muffled. Or clear as day
When nighttime drama has been peaked
Passing when scurrying
Off to work, out for a walk
Gone to the beach for a breather.
They politely nod with pleasantries and smiles
The flat is surrounded
By invisible but ever-present
Life forms
Who arrived recently
The three sages, the visitor, the novice
In the novitiate all strangers
We try hard. To be civil, kind, pleasant
We would do well to have a warm relationship
Sitting at breakfast on Tuesday morning
Master encounters the viejo leaving
“oh, hi”
Frequently those would be
The only two syllables to pass
Each of their lips
“We are here to guide, protect and educate”.
The disembodied women and children
Steeped in ages of tradition
Have found their way here. Or were they summoned?
Rising slowly the Master stops the flow
And cuts into recognized routine
“I have something for you,
I made it last night.”
That evening, Tuesday, another chance encounter
The docent, el viejo and the Master
Chat comfortably, alone, without the others
A quiet and peaceful cabal
The building was a shop
Or perhaps, a parts supply warehouse Which
Upon installation of sacred statues
Became a sanctuary. With a loft
Do you practice in a particular way?
Are you comfortable in the expectations
When your inevitable death arrives
Are your wills stout and resolute?
You have heard of Kabbalah, of course
The concepts strange to me
Numerology
I’ll stick to what I know, goodnight.
Let them go to slumberland
Attend the special space
Where they can see
A Pure Land
May 19, 2019
May 19, 2019 at 9:13 PM UTC
and she came,
stabbed a man
with a bottle
in the eye
who swore
newton ******
into einstein's roundabout;
and i said the rabbi's secret
termed kabbalah;
of man a consonant
and woman vowel:
or something breathed into.
Dec 31, 2015
Dec 31, 2015 at 4:44 PM UTC
magic what?
squares?
sudoku, i mean,
isn't even remotely related
to kabbalistic "magic":
the sort of bum-note
intellectualism in trying
to tune a violin...
2 9 4
the easiest argument from
the qu'ran readers is the common
joke about Moses
taking the distraught path
into the desert for 40 years...
therefore i think the zigzag works...
7 5 3
6 1 8
hell, i'm in the immediate
state of conjuring Belial with
no. 9916 of the times
sudoku puzzle box!
i'll figure it out...
but on the frontline of attempting
to give a ****
about the seven "mystical" seals?
that sort of **** gonna give
you the lament of Solomon
for seeing too much and then...
a harem for a parkbench
scenario as an afterthought?
i honestly think i masturbated
every chance i had when
in the pitiful relationships i was in...
O(micron) falls short of
the idea of sudoku,
hence the equation...
a crude 6... or 9...
depends whether you want
to do cosine or sine inconveninece
of a twirl, abyss...
and ziggy-ziggy...
"crude" 6
visualisation, beginning with
dissecting omicron,
ending in eastern european
symbol for multiplication (⋅)...
which, in orientating one's
optics with a sudoku,
becames a #,
get the picture?
they teach the algebra variant
of "x" in catholic schools
for the term: multiplication...
scarred, for the rest,
of my ******* life!
now... back to no. 9916.
Jun 5, 2018
Jun 5, 2018 at 7:45 PM UTC
Thirty-two teeth in our bodies,
Thirty-two virtues of Buddha,
Thirty-two paths of Kabbalah (wisdom tradition),
Thirty-two plus 1, the age of Jesus at crucifixion,
Thirty-two, the life-span of Shankara.
Thirty-two is Fulfillment.
Dec 9, 2018
Dec 9, 2018 at 7:12 AM UTC