i know of Knausgård -  sure, and i share this concerns for
the art of taking to lumber and chopping,
  as novelists tend to do, write with an axe,
philosophise with a hammer...
          metaphor turned into imagery
counter-turned into literalism...
   i once imagined him not being there -
i once wrote ich kampf, stressing
that it was an indefinite expression
of expression, primarily due to the content
of the pronoun... and i was referring also
to the definite expression (much obliged,
atheism, a- without, and the- with,
or indefinite and definite articulation) -
the English eye sees one stance as definite,
and another as indefinite, and juxtaposes
the two interacting...
                          they duly interchange...
i can say ich kampf and say i internalise
verbs: a movement of the hand,
   a strutting or a waltzing circumstance
of owning a body... that's what it's indefinite...
that's why Sartre slithered in counter to
his expanse in philosophy: because i really loved
his novels...
                          but in terms of a mein or
a mit (including me) struggle i find not
ease... no one dares to devalue ****** as a human,
not talking about the past history in purely human
terms urges the postscript of a dictator,
it actually elevates him to a godly status...
           not realising the human is to make flaws
of what the en masse does: raises him to a godly status...
     Zeus had a beard... not a Charlie Chaplin moustache...
right now he's laughing in his grave...
                      old Aldous ******...
   and aren't dictators born because people find their
surnames a little bit funny? it starts so
innocently...          and then it morphs...
   and it becomes an unstoppable morphing...
    yes... i know of a certain number of fellow
      contemporaries... because i want to? no,
because i have to. like rewatching the 2015 film
android - some films you have to rewatch...
   what's being debated? autism and artificial intelligence...
   hyperactive autism, i grant you that...
        it dawned on me... at autistic person could
fake a normal human response treating it as
      artificial... artificial also means mimicked -
  it means that "smart" guy at a bar reciting poetry
he hasn't written... artificial intelligence or the study of it
or even creating it has nothing original about it...
it's not groundbreaking in the same sense that
discovering champagne or penicillin is...
or l.s.d., because these examples have the magic of
being discovered by chance... humanity has been
artificially simulating intelligence since time
immemorial... it's that natural consequence of not being
endowed with a peacock's array of feathers
   to create a soothing, and sickly gentle wind of a woman
resting in a hammock under the shade of a palm tree...
artificial intelligence was inherent in us...
       it's the unravelling of the historical noumenon of man,
the per se that has only crept up on us,
   and before the reality of such a foundation being
established... the humanities create the "prophetic"
citations of it being true: in the "near" / impeding future.
    if god is a noumenon, then man cannot be a
phenomenon... but he is and paradoxically the two
of mutually compatible on a basis of exclusive rather than
an inclusive naturalisation...
               we are talking nature:
  we are talking god naturalised by the medium
suggesting: for i am bound to create obstacles and test
the body, rather than the mind of man...
    as so is man, also naturalised by the medium
of the elements, saying: for i am bound by a body,
   and have to utilise the body first, to overcome the wind
and the snow and the furthermore, until i reach
the labyrinth of the mind...
  and man has done just that, he has bypassed the struggles
of the body, and created entertainment using
the body that once struggled against the elements...
   for he has created the god Minotaur: and the psychic
labyrinthe... as with the Titans whom the gods
usurped, so too comes the twilight of the gods...
but being usurped by demigods...
       Minotaur was a demigod... who usurped the gods
of the trinity that were Zeus, Poseidon and Hades...
        for only the Greeks could create a Judaic bewilderment
as to why a sign was given unto an infant...
           but that's getting technical...
the film, android (2015)? it supports the misconception,
the anguish of a highly functioning autism...
      whereby showing a woman's carelessness in the realm
of adaptability with what some would claim to be
the beginning point of: overcoming the elements...
sure the odd tsunami and earthquake...
   but there's also the tiger, and winter, and parasite,
   and diseases of so many variations...
              man has not been endowed with complete
control over his surrounding... but in becoming partially
overlord of the ones tamed, he has created a mental
labyrinth... a world of such complexity that will
inevitably produce instances of autistic genius...
                 artificial intelligence is already imbedded in us,
just as cloning and Islam has already existed
(Christianity is too schismatic to be considered a cloning
definition... and Judaism as a monotheistic principle
has a heresy embedded in its orthodoxy that it simply
ignores: reincarnation... the Malachi heresy...
  that a second Elijah comes... and god becomes a half)...
   we see artificial intelligence everywhere...
        if the myth goes that woman fed man the original
lie of Eden... then man has nothing else to do than
attempt to polymer that one single lie...
       and repeat it... a reverse intrusion to what "could"
have been an utopian splendour.
      we all see artificial intelligence rummaging about
in the choices people make... it's called lying
   to gain access to a ****** gratification...
  or as i like to call it: a way to compensate our falling short
of the norm, a norm that focuses upon creating
   the most complex startup a Silicon Valley genius
can't comprehend... a family.
    these times prescribe such a bewilderment...
              families are artefacts of what some believe
precipitated into barbarity so close to us: the 20th century...
        and all those arguments you hear that might
discourage the opposite ***, as in damning your parents
for a piece of seashore **** fest of the *****?
   probably came from a person born from a surrogate
mother... well... an incubator, a very expensive *****...
   homsexuality created the evolution of prostitution,
once bound to the genitals... now bound to the womb...
     i.v.f. kids calling natural kids ******...
   i never liked the matrix movies in all honest...
but we're seeing the reversal of the original idea...
                 in the matrix of knowledge... hearts become
piñata: chockies sweet, sensations abundant,
  the spectrum is yours.
                but this poem isn't really about that...
i can sip a whiskey and actually find these things when
i start to utilise these symbols... it sometimes happens
that they fall through... all i was really thinking about
is the "theoretical" score of 147...
                      i'll call them billiards rather than *****
to excuse a "he-he" Michael Jackson laugh at a chance
of "nuance"...
       yellow (2), green (3), brown (4), blue (5), pink (6), black (7)...
and plenty of red (1)... points in bracket respectively...
                  of course from childhood memory i sided with
ronnie... also from Romford... an obscure town in Essex
that oversees the shard and canary wharf from
a distance...                    but watching snooker as a child...
          not too bad at pub-snooker: i.e. pool...
and that game show when snooker was hot back in
the 1990s... big break, with jim davidson as host...
    and of course: john virgo as the rejuvenated
                         ghost of alex higgins... this whiskey
swiggly is on me al.
                 but this final... ****! at one point it was
a century after a century...
                     chess with mathematics, trigonometry
and Pythagoras in motion...
                                    the gods playing with saturn
and jupiter neptune planetary arrangements...
            i can't word it properly... but it'll definitely sound
better than a concussion after too much rugby and
the rough-stuff of "manhood" strutting with bulging
muscle tensions... rather than this Japanese warrior-monk
in a waistcoat and bow-tie swirling a stick in the air...
           i just thought of one thing...
15 wildebeests on an African savannah...
       out comes one lioness...
    and she nibbles at the pack... and she picks off
the weakest of the 15 wildebeests...
              she nibbles the pack before the pack breaks away...
         she looks left (red) and then looks right (yellow,
green, brown, blue, pink, black) -
                      and she picks at the pack, one by one
they fall... but there are two games going on...
   there's the no-man's land snooker where the game is
about entrenchment, and snookering the opponent
for a foul... and then there's the tsunami snooker...
which kinda looks like one person playing chess...
     with no opponent other than a chance mistake...
misjudgement on the case of instinct and how they ******
well know what angle to fudge the white lioness
                onto the billards... and with what force...
      tsunami snooker, or cascade snooker is basically
a monologue...
                             after seeing 3 centuries in a row
you get to crave classical snook -
                                       the mind games of safety shots...
   and teasing, and tempting, and teasing, and tempting,
before the Rubic cube unravels itself,
   and you find that light at the end of the tunnel...
                        and the black pops into...
i'll be honest, i haven't watched snooker for a long time...
        maybe that's why i feel so enthusiastic about it...
       it's sometimes good to be fed this mundane diet
of sport-fanaticism that football is in accordance with
religious dogma... it's a good thing...
             then you end up watching a game of snooker
and all these things start firing up your brain...
   and you end up saying:
      the Taj Mahal can be there for all i care...
the Grand Canyon can be there for all i care...
                    such things don't really require a photograph
with my gimp-face trying to make other people jealous
by actually being there: only to take a photograph,
rather than feed into the air and the thrill of being there...
        as they say... it's a small world after all...
better get used to it being much bigger inside your head.

The first time I saw a woman body
It was a delicate sweet flower
The ******* were perky and stuff
It was a sensual brew that sooth
There is a miracle in a woman touch
It's the sign of her reflection to mine

The first dream I had was with her
It was a taboo, a secretive rendezvous
Her lips were swollen with hasty lust
I was in her list and she followed
She swallowed her pride to touch me
I run for the fear of misjudgement

The first scream I had was with her
It was when I stopped my soul to want
To eat that fruit that wasn't masculine
To bathe in the summer fest and rivers
She crawled her nails, a scratch on me
She craved my source to hold her own

That was long ago, yet there is a wish
A call to taste her strawy honeyed set
To kiss her toes and finger her moles
Would she be part of a 3rd wheeler?
Rotate her hips as he ropes the pole
Whilst the other controls the rythym

Misjudgement

The stereotypical society has notions of its own,
Being judgmental towards the calibre and capability of the known!

Academic qualifications pace up your growth,
Separate domains are left behind to loathe.

Touch the feet of printed pages and your success will touch its summit,
Being discreet is the hated song and you mustn’t even hum it!

Beliefs of the individual are controlled by the preceding,
They then are pushed into the crowd of unaware succeeding!

We are what we are and we believe in what must be done, yet we can never be grown,

Ladies and gentlemen

The stereotypical society has notions of its own!

comprehensive and cohesive thought
is perhaps too sophisticated for a mind that
shatters upon arrival - i am not
boundless; my thought cyclic like a
sunrise or hyperbole or
the soft decay of trees upon
frost and grass upon high mountain,
failing crop upon a forever urbanised
temple. winding foundation i've clearly fallen through,
lost within nothing but a clear crisp
memory i think this setting
is lost here but i don't think that
your arms emanate enough heat for me to judge
you've emptied me of difficulty whilst filling me with
the clarity of misjudgement and this
decadent optical illusion.

i love this quote, esp. the way it’s orientated in terms of functionability of deciphering the timing and what-not:

"a  poet is an unhappy being whose heart is torn by secret sufferings, but  whose lips are so strangely formed that when the sighs and the  cries  escape them, they sound like beautiful music... and then people  crowd  about the poet and say to him:  "sing for us soon again;" that is  as  much as to say, "may new sufferings torment your  soul."  ~soren  kierkegaard
it’s:

a. ambiguity par excallence given that no one has yet sorted out
    quotation markings in the english language -
    so why does the “ “ enclosure really deviate from
                                                        “           “          “
proper usage?

oh it means quoting aloud what you could think of...
how about starting with ‘a poet...’
no? oh well,
but how did the english language begin with
using both “ “ notation and ‘ ‘ notation?
no diacritic on e o a c r and so many others...
typical stiff upper-lip bits and pieces...
- not content with the polish / irish (joyce’s ulysses) notation.
- i am sure of it.
- you’re not more sure than the reality of such blatant misjudgement.
- really?
- really dee dee indeed e.
- by hoghorn and the grunting snout!
- smoking cigarettes smoked outside, whiskey drank indoors,
   i’m really feeling a tango will precipitate.
- first good night of the thrill of a chill this year.
- i entered the supermarket with blood-red hands.
- it rained, remember?
- it did, and the air eased the chiseled of ice breathed into.
- are we really one but representing two?
- it’s the neo-fiction model,
   not first person third party smallprint
  sign the contract get satellite t.v. for 2 years and not the legal 1
  to mind changing the provider.
- o fortuna!
- dressed in a straight-jacket announcing the x-factor fudge-packers
   of taste by populist consenus.
- my that’s witty...
- it’s not, i borrowed it from psychiatric books:
   two schizophrenics in the nest of cuckoos’ borrowed eggs...
- technically and with proper terminology?
- see that dust over there as if it was winter in auschwitz?
- yep.
- that’s called the ready model / safe model,
   we’ll never get rid of it in either first or third person narration,
   we need to invite gymnastics into the realm of typing & typos,
   get the first person splits-aware...
- right on - tom petty’s last dance of mary jane...
- ever see stoners dance?
- yeah, once, when they abstracted the word dance
  and visualised it for the sake of giggles...
- exactly...
- what now?
- now you pretend to be the protagonist and
   i pretend to be the narrator
   and we mingle, leaving us with the only acceptable equation:
- narrator steals from the protagonist the limelight!
- yes!
so now that we have the whole problem sorted into tight
boxes, we can reclaim the bulge of plato in the demise of existentialism:
i speak the truth... although truth is “truth,”
it’s technically ~truth... ah... that’s better... better notation
that “truth”
which gives me worry though... so the guy who said the bit
about poets is approx. the guy who said the bit about poets?
that’s doubly confusing...
- i will tell the truth with ambiguity...
- but how can you if you take to be an ambiguity per se?
so if an approx. man said an ambiguous thing in relation to
a definite thing... an inapproximate replica of the man
said an in-ambiguous thing in relation to an indefinite thing...
vomo maxim;
the truth is bewildering within the realm of proximity:
the prefix-affixes do their dues to add to the confusion:
it’s a ceremony down the middle so nearly missed
but not so nearly meddled with:

definite article                                                         ­ indefinite article

red
                                                    ­                                  mars
                          ­                                                            fire
­                                                                 ­                     sunset
                                     ­                                                 apple
          ­                                                                 ­           cherry
                                               ­                                       (burgundy
                ­                                                                 ­      crimson
                                                         ­                              pink
                                                            ­                           coral
                                                           ­                            salmon)

                                                    ­                                 sea
azure
artichoke
asparagus
fern
admiral
brighton lauerel
aegean
arctic  
storm of the gray earl (etc.)

whatever... i'll just pour myself another whiskey and laugh it off.

She is standing at the door
of a new home the state provided
From place to place they throw her
wherever budget has decided
Too much, too little, too quiet,
too honest, she talks too loud
Too messy, too mouthy, too unfocused
And her head whithin a cloud

I am sure she looks pretty pitiful
in her hand me down clothes
Trying to look presentable
to every new home she goes
I hope they aren’t mean
and definitely not too nice
I thought my new dad was just friendly
and for that misjudgement I paid a price

Of course no one believes
the mouthy child who always lies
Just making the story sound better
too much pain to disguise
She is just a little girl lost
and her lies scream out for attention
Forget the bruises and lack of food
that she forgot to mention

No one really wants to know
what I saw or what my daddy does
No one wants to hear about mommy's drugs
what she was doing or where I was
Like little slaves to the strangers
with rules sitting high and looking low
It’s not like we can go complain
there’s nowhere else for us to go

New schools and no friends
walk the halls, eyes to the floor
In a few weeks it starts again
friends don’t matter anymore
They point and whisper with cruel intent
because someone heard your tale
Of the kid that no one wanted,
which is pitifully dressed and frail

Children can be so cruelly misinformed
at times such as this
But I am just a nameless face
that no one will even miss
I stopped unpacking my suit case
so many months ago
No matter how the time goes by
my belongings never grow

A few outfits, a few pictures
and a book to write a thought
A few mementos from home
and a unicorn that my mom bought
Anything more is just a waste of time
and not worth all the fight
Of remembering what you leave behind
when they take you in the night

No one wants to face the tears
of the child you’re throwing away
Maybe it was harder to look
at their mirrors in the light of day
70 homes in 5 long years some with love
and some without a word
Some were nice and some paid a price
for the little girl left unheard

I spent my life with the sorrowed looks
of those who knew my world
And many times I heard the phrase
such a lost and lonely little girl
My mother filled her world with drugs and men
I paid the highest cost
In the end I gained my heart and soul
then found everything she lost

I grew up, took my head from the clouds
and put my feet on the ground
Went searching for the little girl I lost
and love the woman that I found

Janette Richie
didn’t like you much  
as was shown

that time
in Mr Finn’s class
when she slapped

your face
for something you’d said
leaving you

with a spinning head
and a red cheek
but that aside

and her rather
plump frame
and maybe spectacles

you kind of like
her motherliness
the bossiness

around the class
the way she walked
the wiggly ***

but whatever it was
you’d said to her
to invite the slap

it was just a string
of words carrying
no malice or meaning

to hurt and the sensation
of her hand of flesh
touching your

young boy’s cheek
a nearness
she hadn’t thought on

or given any deeper
probe than the desire
to swipe an annoying boy

not realizing
that the gesture
and the plump hand

landing had more
than a momentary
feel or touch

you there after kind of
liked her in your
secret way

never repeating
the words said
about her plumpish

frame or swaying ***
or the spectacles
of thick glass

and maybe the other
boys laughed
and thought it some

joke of misjudgement
on your part  
but you found

a secret place for her
in your nine year old
heart.

still, i wish flowers grew from my veins
and curled around my wrists like vines - no snakes
i’ve spent so long in my room that i don’t
feel like i’m natural anymore

it’s been months since i first wrote about you
and days since i mentioned you to him
i know where i stand now, it’s on glass
i bet you wished flowers sprouted from the red

i’m not the same soul i was at eleven
sinister motives wire their way through
my nerves, my senses, the blossom in my hair
at least i think you’re learning of love

rapunzel in the tower, you’re acres away
through controlling thorns and misjudgement
i’ll find you with your hair down and gasp
because until now, you weren’t one for metaphors.

I was just bolts with a jar of mortality
       sitting on top of a conscience frame.
Were they just following programs to
              fulfil a outdated programme.


Like watching black & white programs
              on an old 4K television screen.
Incompatible to even comprehend that  
            the actions & consequences
                                  were known when the switch
    was no longer, like a god everything was preordained.


But for one to know everything, one must know
           the intricate nuance's of action and consequence.
They had no emotion, no feeling. Not knowing that
              what was forgivable, to give one a second chance.

Instead they just hollow pointed there intention across.
A full stop in the heart,
                               and a silence of thought in the head.
For when the genie was released every action was a
                           ripple of what could become.


And they thought to stop crime was to see the actions,
               of one and all.  So a child,
                                                   was read on mannerisms
Psyche profiles where constructed and without a moment
                                                          ­­         cries where silenced.


The protector of all who now judged,
             Tears of infants fell silent.
I was the machine with a heart,
             beating to the reality that all where guilty till
                                                                ­­          charged.


We were few, but we judged the machines before us,
              unworthy were those that took a life.
For an algorithm that was corrupt of humanity.
                         Serving with the strength of conviction,
but we would see deep within and see the seed that
              could grow not clip it blossom before it could grow.



Machines were once the morals of mans sentences,
            now there are those who see morality.
          But have the steel to back up on the convictions.



Morals are mans strength not a weakness,
            I'm just bolts with a jar of mortality.
              but before all were guilty...
Slabs now hold the misjudgement of so many.
             we see beyond 000,s & 11111's
were not numbers were more than that now.

Rhetoric.
An Acrostic verse.
~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rhetoric is the art of polish and refinement
Harlot verbiage moving from context -context
Every now and then causing misjudgement
Tenses abound within rhetorical speakers
Orator, when will you ever learn?
Rhetoric Embarras many words inappropriate
Inappropriately in discrete as testified secrets
Clearly dismissing rhetoric to a state of limbo.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Written by Philip
December 1st 2018.

Its an hour past midnight
Thinking about misjudgement
How I saw you in bright sight
Must have been my fantasy
You living upto your promise and
Me not hoping to see it fulfilled