In his head
A small factory
Producing
Packages of wisdom
Personnel
Cooperating
With unprecedented brilliance
The observers
The processors
The creators
All contributing
To a brand new theory
Unfortunately
The packages
Won’t be sent
The fear
Of incompleteness
Interfering with development

Oh logician
If the world could only
Feel
Your passion
Behold
Your creativity
Your theories
Would dominate the world

Sensation, intuition, feeling, and thinking,
Is wrapped inside a ball,
A small pink ball inside our head,
That won't stop till we're dead,

Analytical bedrock inside oozing theories,
Elemental atoms sizzling logic,
The imaginative stranger,
One abstracted and eccentric,

Walking with shadows,
Talking and mocking,
Through these theories inside us,
Tilting our caps ‘til we’re shaking our heads,

Pensive love in storming analysis,
Sapiosexually excited, piqued interest,
Unemotional and thoughtfully attuned,
Absently minded, always condoned,

Unconventional and impartially stringed,
Weirdly wired in auxiliary functions,
Misconstrued and misunderstood,
An ****** intelligence bleeding paranoia,

Knocking unto me,
Into you, inside us all,
It’s something we all yearn to be,
And when you fail and prevail we laugh,

Crickling crickets thinking nothing,
Washing down the storm drain,
With no thoughts fluidly sliding down my throat,
Pop goes no questions into absolute concise words like freshly broken glass,

Again shadows await, but different shadows,
Blinking at me staring at you,
Wondering what’s what, inside this dementia made sense of a lovely afternoon,
Inside your sane, autocorrected, predetermined, twitching, little…mind.

Inspired by Myers Briggs Personality Test
Tyler is INTP... Logician  (Introverted INtuitive Thinking Perception)
The drifter, dreamer the absent minded professor!
SassyJ is INTJ... Architect  (Introverted INtuitive Thinking Judging)
The starry-eyed idealist manoeuvring life as if a giant chess board!

What Myer Briggs personality type are you?... See link below
It would be great to know.Please comment!!
http://www.16personalities.com/intp-personality

The best of logicians make the worst of lovers,
They do not believe in four-leaved clovers
Logicians know what's done is over
Lovers in love-drunkenness don't often think sober.

Logic is a thing of "the free men".
And lovers are not free especially when
They are chained to emotion and even then,
Love lets them fly free over tall feet ten.

When love set's you free, you cannot be caught
In so deep, haunting, immersing right thought.
When logic makes you free, love does not.
When love makes you fly, logic does naught.

There's no middle ground, there's no in between.
Only one or the other, only one could have been.
Tis a truth that only I might have seen,
So deep for someone who's merely a teen.

To concur, I say that even I don't know
Of on which side I would dare go.
I could have both, maybe, although,
Only one will reign a worthy glow.

500

Within my Garden, rides a Bird
Upon a single Wheel—
Whose spokes a dizzy Music make
As ’twere a travelling Mill—

He never stops, but slackens
Above the Ripest Rose—
Partakes without alighting
And praises as he goes,

Till every spice is tasted—
And then his Fairy Gig
Reels in remoter atmospheres—
And I rejoin my Dog,

And He and I, perplex us
If positive, ’twere we—
Or bore the Garden in the Brain
This Curiosity—

But He, the best Logician,
Refers my clumsy eye—
To just vibrating Blossoms!
An Exquisite Reply!

as almost every man is born into a pentagonal womb of experiencing the world, a few are born into a hexagonal womb.

to exact Aristotelian logic is to
construct sentences in accordance
with some form of agreement
or disagreement -
               which also concerns the already
stated example above: talk of
sharpening the knife - *as almost every man -
also knows as: attempts to brush of
details under the rug -
   and as Nietzsche said, although
alternatively: beyond universals and particulars -
because who has enough spare time
to think up measuring that ****** concern
for exactness? no one...
unless you're doing the greatest philosophical
feat, as in exacting solipsism
         toward the most adulterous
translation of images into words,
  and backing up words into images (or
copyrights of noun-images) - after all...
wasn't the crucifixion the most excruciating
experiment in proving the point of solipsism?
exactly that: the god-man status as sheltered
by solipsism... so he basically ignored the
poor ******* and said: i'll reach Adam
or god-like status and get myself crucified...
the crucifixion as a spectacle is a form
extracting solipsism...
  Judas ***** off and the thief on the left...
somehow the thief on the right is redeemed...
nonetheless, what a mighty gesture...
instead of the forgiveness of sin,
we get the basics of what solipsism invites...
not a **** on an over-crowded train
but a crucifixion... **** on me...
given it's the 21st century, this wouldn't
pass if the Vatican had any power,
or the orthodox publishing industry...
**** the money, i'm just glad it's out...
but isn't it? he crucified himself in order
to be the supreme soloist...
                    it was only him and everyone else
was.. according to the Islamic calendar lunar
year and doctrine: a phantom...
which Islam borrowed from the original
phantom theory in Gnostics' heresy...
         my my... what a long way toward Arabia...
you have you Arabian Shakespeare with
the Merchant of Mecca and all...
i just think he was a selfish *******...
read the theory? god ***** a ******,
god marries the ******... not even the Greeks
kept up...
                               but still the glottal
juice stream out one name: Malachi's mistake...
Malachi's mistake.... Malachi's mistake...
a god in fractions.... reincarnation from
polytheism adapted to monotheism means
god's in fraction, not a non-divisible number,
whether 1, 2 or 3...
                              yes, i'll be obnoxious enough
to reiterate this point...
             no, my revision of Aristotelian
logic is not based on words, but akin to mathematics
based upon units of sound, not units of meaning:
  i.e. if you can write 1 + 1 = 2
              and you can write a + b + l + e = able
and understand that word... you're a logician
like anyone...
                                 obviously the higher tier
of logic is identifying the word able as an
adjective - but even i don't do that...
                     nor do i press matters into arithmetic
of juxtaposing words into a coherent sentence:
if it feels good... it's right.
so there's me... farting in a crowded train
solipsism... and there's he: getting crucified on
Golgotha... we're both proving the same point...
my proof is peppered with diffusion...
          his proof is peppered with infusion...
he needs the sacredness of icon...
                  done in a shady alley in Jerusalem
and the news wouldn't even spread beyond Lebanon...
              strange... being antisemitic when only
damning one individual...
                               feels much like any thrill seeking
event might...              only because he's so
sacred... when in fact only selfishly seeking the ultimate
god-like solipsism -
                                   easier for people to
bend their knees if you're hanging than sitting
comfortably on a throne...
                  always was... always will be.
but more to the point - i see dead people -
the star of david phrase - not content
  with being pentagon farmers readied for
a completely fluency in the sensual world...
women, wine and song... and sweat...
         a few of us reach the potential of the hexagon...
a sixth inkling concerning the world...
          but, mind you, the sixth limb is a coagulation
of all the faculties available to us...
          a total of the fractions taken from us
to experience a total pentagon immersion in the world:
    a quarter of our heart went into it,
a fifth of our thought went into it,
                         an eighth of our imagination went into it,
and so an so forth...
                            i too wish i had the capacity to
never experience the hexagon...
              and be a fully-hot-blooded-mammal pentagon
worth a rare stake of fancies...
                    eager hollering boxing matches,
crying at football matches... i wish...
                    i wish... i really do...
but then i'm the person who tells you:
               crucifixion, or the adamant need to
stage a solipsistic exit and drag Europe into the dark ages.

three specialists travel in their car
down Victoria, Australia
through rural Mildura
and they see fields
and a black cow standing in one

“Cows in Mildura,”
announces the astronomer
“are black”

“Tchk! Tchk!” says the logician
(Eminent Professor Emeritus)
“Some cows in Mildura are black”

“Let’s express it with precision,”
says the Mathematician
*“It is exact to say
there is at least one field
in Mildura
with at least one cow
of which at least one side is black”

Is God a logician?
Scholars say his plan - intelligent
For no better meta magician -
Could we ever want -

Is Devil an executive?
Marauding as capable of contrition -
Soul - substance - capitulate -
To terms - conditions -

Cozenage be vein of her parsimony
deciphering unlikely by any logician
witchcraft concealed in metrical composition
She jerks one’s tears with great acrimony
as selfish rhymes sings no just harmony

Carefully she devises alliterative pull
this to an ear, dare sound enchanting
how known better be most common ranting
Twists words with lilt but not essence full
leaving some to say, “such pulled wool”

Speaketh she, as from long faraway world
this strange poetess be not one at all
seasoned sailor know she blow tall squall
Serpent’s tongue flailing and twice twirled
young sailor I suggest, keep sails securely furled

I don't like honors
It just doesn't appeal to me
That such a surreal feeling of recognition
Is attributed to such intense hard work and innovation
I don't like honors
It puts on the pedestal of human achievement
Whereas, my work is meant for the few, who arrive at it
I don't like honors
It doesn't do me good to biased towards my own
Qualifications
That's why I love contributing
Because it gives me peace in this pensive mind searching for the end
Of the vast tunnel of possibilities, where questions are answered
And answered questions are an explicable form of logic
Contributing is a logician's ebullient dream
Because this hand is meant for forgiving and not taking
I guess that's why we have the sun set on a place too far
I guess that's why we have a fascination for the beautiful
Because it helps us understand ourselves better
And feel connected with our own art and creation
I don't like honors
It makes me feel like a destroyer of doubt
Rather than the creator of fascination and amazement
We have sullied the atomic bomb
Time for us to bring up our arms in rebarbative rebellion

I’m a logician
A tic-tac-tician
Accountable to
Me

Bringing it day andor
Night
It’s time to get
Into My groove

Cause ... caustic ... causality
Tom waits for no one.

I, (a bookish educated intelligent nerd,
albeit three score plus tres años)
constitutes a novel titled
The ******'s Lover
by Philippa Gregory
another writer from England.

Not so much to boast
yours truly sunk trenchant figurative teeth
into material authored courtesy
aforementioned former renown British philosopher,
logician, and social critic.

As an academic, he worked
in philosophy, mathematics, and logic.

Just to reiterate
quite a couple plus years ago,
I plunged further into
trying to comprehend
(and did study every last page
birthed from said storied academic)
erudite epistemological philosophication
courtesy said renown British polymath,
philosopher, logician, mathematician,
historian, writer, social critic,
political activist, and Nobel laureate.

Whew! His Hume among us treatise
A History of Western Philosophy Quite profound
gleaned material eyes surmised
and into cerebral cortex his notions did drill
offering grist for intellectual mill
yours truly, a johnny come lately (me)
doth thirstily swill.

Though challenging material
to comprehend without shadow of doubt,
yours truly disciplines himself
to utter words out loud
in an effort accentuate, enunciate, inculcate...

No matter said storied author
among grateful dead fifty plus years,
I experience a communion
integrating esprit de corps
of one garden variety
beetle browed foo fighter (me)
linkedin courtesy immortality of soul.

Slow and methodical
thru telling material I tiresomely did wade
steeping yours truly signature
writing stock in trade
while sprawled out on bed housed within
one bedroom apartment (B44)

Highland Manor Apartments
(situated in Schwenksville, Pennsylvania
owned by Grosse and Quade),
one of the largest residential
property management firms in this area.

Analogous to basking robin luxuriating
within his/her medium of taster's choice,
I experience with exultant and exuberant
express within poetic quasi-motto rejoice.

Book learning brings me tremendous delight,
whereby my mind soars to immense height
despite eyes forced to shut courtesy blinding light,
nevertheless joie de vivre prevails gleaning
precious nuggets of knowledge to ease
penurious and precarious penniless plight
prompting provocative dreams tonight.

Figurative meaty tender vittle morsels
temporarily appease appetite
dentures no drawback into juicy tidbits to bite
impossible mission countless passages to cite
each page chock full
food for thought delight

either factual or fictitious
voluminous tome doth excite
buzzfeeding Dharma bums' fanciful flight
occasionally curiosity finds him (me)
scrutinizing mind boggling gametophyte

phase regarding plants,
(the dominant form in bryophytes -
mosses and liverworts -
reproduce by means of spores
released from capsules),

less familiar to most people, I highlight
smattering botanical information insight
nsync with tidbit
about mineralogy namely jacobsite,
a black magnetic
isometric mineral MnFe2O4.

Fifty plus shades of gray matter (mine)
undergoing voluntary torturous subjection
i.e. stoking, perusing, and manhandling
a heavy (Sisyphean) subject matter
(honest to dogs' truth),
I Kant understand a single word!

stick to tree, marker lost

to the forest.

ariadne's spidery verve of

weave, threading cities lost

to their applied logic.

dense enough to entrap flies--

zigzagging against these

gordian knots.

her mind-eyed computer

graphics unable to simulate

disentanglement.

deep breathing for clearer

intuitions, ariadne breaks down

to the squeaky laughter of spiders.

who thread without threading--

feast on the dainty logician.