"noumenon" poems
. *and today's prime concern of the day? i can't access the recipe site for Australia's master-chef... maybe it's Australia, and their restrictions, or it's the ******* E.U... but... come to mind... last year i could access Eliza's triple-fried tamarind chicken... my god! they're going after restricting access to food recipes!*
could i ever think any woman as being, "ugly",
neglected, yes,
but... "ugly"?
please...
all manner of things become beautiful
around the mandible zenith upon
the grinding wheel of the big O...
nothing quiet like deathly screaming
in the hollow of the night,
but some drunkard loser -
speaking in tongues and recollecting
a myth of a patriarch
akin to Abraham...
'it's just the moon, you shit-face!'
'yeah, and my grandmother sees
a Herr Tvardovsky in it from
time to time, riding a ******* cockerel!'
which equates to a banality of
two things (well, three):
1. she shouldn't have been given
opiates during WWII to shut
the **** up, as a baby, so my great-grandparents
could hide in the Polish countryside,
i.e war zone....
2. i shouldn't be drinking and reading
religious text /
listening to Finnish folk songs...
3. about that Hollywood thing...
how movies are getting ******** and
******** by the day...
see... in philosophy there's this point,
not a Hegelian dialectic crap,
a Kantian coordinate,
a starting point,
zee: res per se...
a thing in itself...
blah blah... noumenon...
i hardly think t.v. shows will reach this
level of "self-consciousness"...
i.e. will be making t.v. shows about
making t.v. shows...
English soap opera tide barrier...
but movies have certainly turned
to focus on this, "vantage" point...
the disaster artist for starters...
birdman?
eh...
and like any cascade of falling
down from an airplane akin
to the opening image from
Salman Rushdie's the satanic verse...
mighty fine looking up
and cackling while flapping your hands
in imitation of a Canadian goose.
ha ha ha... ah... **** never gets old.
Sep 29, 2018
Sep 29, 2018 at 10:29 AM UTC
prayer reminds god to grieve.
paragraphia
in its entirety
is anecdotal.
my mother, in two acts: secretarial / secret exile.
noumenon / father. together,
the one that got away.
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 1:32 PM UTC
the presence
of futility
an enduring antipathy
or dimensions
of the unresolved
emotions
of past lines
of the traveled
senses are damaged
from short lived
over applied
civilized
series was foreseen
long after
the desolate
unveiled
a raw reconvene
noumenon narrow
absoluteness
destined at zero
Aug 26, 2012
Aug 26, 2012 at 10:02 PM UTC
Our destination we knew beforehand
we did set sail to distant galaxies, that create
rainbows out of light years and star dust.
We forgot the meaning of the word 'return'
never imagined a coming back, ever
the journey of no return every moment,was
rich
only we were there,needless to think
about the beginning or any one other than
us
we didn't bother about the moment of culmination,
the phenomenal world, after all is not ours
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 3:50 PM UTC
what a shy event,
considering it,
to be supposed
to encompass, "life"..
a few fractures,
and an antithesis
of the river of Heraclitus...
the stillness of
the lake...
whereby Narcissus
was born...
from the philosopher
of the river,
to the demigod of the lake...
to the god of the sea...
grandfather god Poseidon
begot
the father demigod
of Narcissus...
who begot the son
Heraclitus...
what the sea is,
is what the river encapsulates,
which is what
the lake will never be...
the paradigm,
the writing of Heidegger...
spurned me to think,
to think, rather than "to be"...
how much of
cogito ergo sum
is ontologically, "satisfying"?
probably the nil of it...
counter Latin: in german:
denken werden sein?
oh, the shit-list goes on and on...
denken als sein?
reiterate that for me...
in Latin...
thought as the becoming
of being...
in German, first...
denken als die werden von sein...
now in Latin:
cogitatio quod dacens ex esse...
you know that almost all of
my childhood friends ended up
in prison?!
i'm just an oddity...
i infiltrated the theater of
intellectualism...
and i said: bogus, ********
and the supposed lost brimstone!
scent of cooked sulfur that stank
to the high heavens!
free speech, blah blah,
"free" & "thought"...
whatever the **** that means...
an antithesis of a claustrophobia?!
thought?
thought is the equivalent
contraceptive in terms of being...
thought liberates, but also
provides constraints...
thought is a being
that has non-being in its focus...
thought is a "being" that has
non-being as its focal point...
ontologically:
thought is a form of being,
that doesn't necessarily relate to
the existential "arithmetic"
of thought: thus done...
thinking is important,
but it's completely unrelated to being...
the thing itself,
and then... the thing in itself...
and subsequently: the thing for itself...
phenomenon, noumenon,
phenomenon...
since how much of
"thinking" is translated into
"being"?
i guess... not much of it
is ever translated within the confines
of the imagery of a cascade /
a waterfall...
zilch...
not a lot of thought crafts
the impetus to be...
as...
not a lot of being crafts
the impetus to think...
coincidentally a lot of:
out of every instance / insistence:
i.e. existence, happens,
simultaneously to said expression.
sam cooke:
don't know much about history,
don't know much (about) biology,
don't know much about a science book,
don't know much about the french i took,
but i do know that i love you,
and i know that if you love me too,
what a wonderful world this would be...
i could write this candy floss ********
point blank statement with
adverse feelings...
i have a pact of uninhibited
lying...
i could lie... but then lying
requires a prior experience in lies...
and...
i hate the economics of lies...
however much i might cherish
thinking, i seem to have picked
up a pattern whereby:
thinking doesn't translate into being...
so i guess...
as much of thought goes
into being, as it goes into non-being...
and that being said:
what is post-existentialism?
ontology.
Oct 27, 2018
Oct 27, 2018 at 10:33 PM UTC
again, this thing about the cartesian res cogitans
(thinking thing), substance and extension...
i’m pretty sure the darwinistic expression
of early model does not suit this model,
my own version i wrote once, res vanus (empty thing)
fits the gig better - we who can now snuggle in duvets,
who housebound the wild boar,
who milk cows with technological octopi tentacles,
who switch hot dogs with popcorn in the dark,
who ice-skate at somerset house at christmas,
who take diamond bling and christmas tree bulb bling
to equal the same credit on plastic,
who with polystyrene foam beat nature
by showing nature it couldn’t digest it on whatever
level of insect and parasite,
well have all the luxuries now, and we found them
not so much from thinking but from emptiness,
there is more chance of the eureka in res vanus than
there is in res cogitans - it’s the spontaneity you see,
and less need to narrate: love, lost love, aching love , ex lovers.
what else is there? it’s the easier assumption to have
with the niche topic in relation to kant’s noumenon (thing in itself),
i don’t know why i want to mention this orientation
to further the explanation -
early man was defined by res vanus - the sensual overload,
the prime, being empty and forced into the heat and the cold
and the mystic tiger hunger -
and still as defined by res cogitans, we pause and feel empty,
not so much in terms of emotion, but in terms of thought,
however we no longer gather at the campfire,
few people crowd by a lightbulb to talk fables with a
memory of achilles ajax and hector...
we need neon rainbows to huddle -
whether that be by eros shooting the neons of piccadilly circus blind,
or by televisions or computers,
rarity a fire that crept into the ribcage and gave way to
a macaw song of cross-dimensional sophistication off mayan jungles.
Nov 21, 2015
Nov 21, 2015 at 12:11 PM UTC
*perfomrer between recitation:
the crescent moon chin between recitation
revealing smug*
(huh? blue = noun, bluish = adjective,
but smug = adjective and smugish = noun,
even though smug is closer to verb
of the doing part that modifies itself: a noumenon,
and smugish is a name of a quality kindred...
but blue, and bluish?! yeah,
smugish, wrinkles nearing the comedy stretches
marked by consistent smiles...
yes smugness is a definite article
and smugish is cryptological half-revelatory
indefinite articulation);
*poet between recitation:
i’ll just fill up vanity with as many heart attacks
to **** me as i have hearts.*
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 8:12 PM UTC
they want to read you and not think, so too they want to read you and not see, they hardly care for punctuation necessarily used, so who's out there to please? n'ah really, i was onto something, i meant that if the Kantian thing-in-itself was applied to the cartesian expression, either thinking-in-itself or being-in-itself is jested at, then we can explain the freedoms of disobedience and obedience, truthfulness and falsehood, and the parody of paradoxes, as highest claimants the claimants: (singular plural) choice - whereas will (plural adjective congregating into singular) is always a butterfly fluctuation of measuring an exactness akin to dating and remembering 1066 the battle of Hastings.
mingle Kant with Descartes and you get thought as the
per se existence - splitting into either fact of coining
phrases or robbing someone: no doubt (existential
good faith) and certainly no denial (existential
bad faith) - mingle Kant with Descartes
and you get the twins
cogito ergo sum mingling with noumenon,
and thus somewhere along the line
you get to see the membrane of the zygote,
like the thought behind a criminal life
where the life is unexplained because the thought
of such a life is "easily" accessed,
so too in reverse, i.e. being a councillor
or a clerk makes such thinking easily explained
for the prop of the life lived "easily" justified via
the person trading tomatoes or lamb shanks
to keep you unthinking in a bureaucratic role.
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 7:50 PM UTC
it terms of orchestration, wiring latin to english using the latins' alphabet, and advocating a different movement of the knight to the queen in placement, biased on the chequers given the |, it might be that in latin the grammatician would say postponed words were designated the categorisation of adjective if trafficked purely on the right... but in english interpretation of latin, with the surviving alphabet... and the missing burnt out eyes of balthazar seeing written hebrew like king chalres iii seeing cyryllic... what if... what if in terms of | alice decided, through the mirror, that adjectives became nouns and nouns took on the noumenon form of being omni-grammatical in terms of allowances of usage to trans / to transverse?
this is how sophistry happens on the “sly:”
the crusades... eh eh eh... em em em...i i i i...
such eloquence for the proper elocutions
before the world actually revolved...
it’s called the onomatopoeia of thought...
it should sound like it’s scripted...
but it’s not scripted...
instead it’s a scarred thought that might have
sounded an octave above the mezzo;
well... at least both of us sung the song...
whatever medium was discriminated at less
whether that be kareoke
(the japanese word for mime) or poetry;
anyway... i learned to stutter and think of
toes like twinkle twikle litter star... how i wonder
what you could articulate with einstein cracking the nursery rhyme
for an equation that dazzled everyone
in the symphonium of ceaceless ahs and sighs
before red october
revolved into the futures of the november
revolution of '89 /
grey november they called it...
they gave us treaties for the autobahn in colour...
and it turned out to mingle the echo black and the voiced
white... in a medium that only desired quies genesis.
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 9:37 PM UTC
cheers, to the day you find someone that challenges your inner being. someone with vibes so powerful that the only option you have is to bow down to her. cheers, to all of the broken pieces of your heart for she yearns to pick up those pieces. a being so powerful that even she is intimidated by her noumenon. an individual so passionate that when she moves the earth quakes, trees quiver and bones break. at the very foot of her throne, there are peasants trying to love her in the utmost unique way possible but darling, she is reserved for you... for she is only fit for a king. her melancholy so positive that you'll smile from ear to ear at the calling of her name. she will be yours to keep, i warn you.. she will be broken, she will have a past, & you will not understand most of her but darling.. please darling, do not give up.
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 3:09 AM UTC
In my deep state of awareness
an apparition strikingly similar
in form to me in many ways appears,
"What are you looking behind me still?
I am an ancestor of ancient, in your linage,
countless generations before"I hear the words
"But I see myself far behind you too
we are all one, so no confusion in multitudes
my quest for noumenon has only begun,
isn't it what you tell? Time to break loose,
from all the illusory identities, bindings.Adieu"
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 4:16 PM UTC
*take one look, on the spare eye
of "nietzcshe's" the will to power,
you'll spot something unusual...*
man's logic is linear,
woman's logic is circular,
a woman will cite you
a thousand emblems of truth
bound to a circle,
but a man will only cite a hundred
digits of truth bound to a metre,
there are hardly any negations
in woman's truth,
there are many negations
(kantian mirror, symbolic
of the zero symbol) i man's
utterance of truth...
at first glance one prickly thorn
stood out, the will to power's
author s elisabeth nietzsche, not
frederick... there's this lack of
linear authority, there's this
almost kantian in-itself enclosure,
while a man says: i'm only here
only once... a woman retorts (paradoxically):
there's plenty more these where it came from...
the most scandalous book ever written
that was ascribed to a ménage à trois thinker
was this diabolically babylonian mongrel
of nueva germania's failure...
which is why kant demanded the noumenon
to be of a given *** a woman, he never married,
he lived to a clockwork precision,
he learned that the unfathomable
was the cyclic, and within this framework
he supposedly died an idiot fathoming
the linear ontology by disregarding the cyclic
ontology of women, with a humoristic
expression concerning the french revolution,
quote: that's a revolution; so unbecoming
of a german, that it could almost pass-off as
english black humour.
a man competent with his linear activity
will only be deemed maddened when cursed
to a cycling exception of a certain inability
to pursue the linear ontology to the fullest release
of meaning, instead, the linear will prevail,
although like a trans-linear object stranded
chained to the clutch exerting force on an otherwise
speeding wheel, in revs, tattooing the cement
with rubber tattoo skids and heated convulsions,
nonetheless, leaving a mark, however
abrupt it might be, nonetheless linear.
Feb 26, 2016
Feb 26, 2016 at 8:31 PM UTC
*the gods' fear of a mortal's expression of itself, they fear it because the mortals cannot what the immortals can, express themselves, per se; when the mortals punctuate the immortals puncture... Zeus' brothel the ******* allowing; the gods fear a mortal expression of a noumenon as of kant, that could never accommodate phenomena of what is a guarantee of insects with constant replica; counter to being happy and being interesting; why not be simply sad and bewildering?*
i can't be bothered
living in a zoo
or in a scientists's brain
ignoring
what's happening
in politics,
give what's happening in
your expertise agenda a second
cage or opinion, before the laughable
comb-over quiff makes it to the standard
of a charlie chaplin moustache
trapped in a cage of would be jokes...
well, as long as there's no holocaust
we're all free! hurray hurrah!
czech republic too the former Bohemia
as a natural part of the *****
Mar 21, 2016
Mar 21, 2016 at 12:20 AM UTC
after changing my drinking regime i realised i moved to a different planet... it's days are ~36 hours long, they include an entire night and two halves of two days.
this poem was to be a brief review of a
sample of a book,
the melancholic mystifying melancholy
as something mysterious,
not a noumenon in sight,
just the same bland phenomenon on
repeat, always in the modern age
with urban environments instead
of attacking old men who accomplished
much, instead attacking youth...
it's when he mentioned reading much
of Foucault's madness and civilisation,
much?! what's much? a lot, most of it...
so it doesn't exactly mean all of it,
and this is a person studying for an MA
(masters in arts)... oh let me tell you,
melancholy in youth spreads like
an Australian bush fire, in youth depression
is actually contagious, a virus of some sort,
old farts don't bother each other in
the same way, moulding each other...
they complain about bad knees,
aches and pains and erectile dysfunctions...
but it's a sad comedy, it's not exactly
a tragedy.. they're laughing with each
other: WE MADE IT! youth can't say
the same, old age used to contain the virus
of depression en masse, it spread
naturally, in varying degrees, but depression
in youth is like A.I.D.S. or something,
talking my old grandfather for long periods
at a time i too thought about jumping
off the roof... yet this is given the comforts
of post-communist retirement whereby
he was comfortable. i too read all of
Foucault, one picking up **** from a dealer
who worked in a hospital and was supplying
lean ***** to rich kids doping...
book in hand, he was sitting on his sofa
playing a computer game, we were both at
the same uni, he was there for business reasons
studying oriental & african studies...
but actually there on business...
he saw me with the book and just said:
oh man, heavy going, yeah? see... i should
write something more on the subject matter,
but there's already a bunch of coalminers
digging in my conscience whether i start apply
self-censorship to the whole debate, accusing
myself of the Orwellian thought-crime;
the great suppressors of vocabulary, who
probably speak fluent regional slang better
standard trans-regional English.
May 29, 2016
May 29, 2016 at 6:16 PM UTC
Saturday, May 31, 2025
7:48 AM
Extra terrestrial mote in a sunbeam
curious particle thunk to death still
jiggling Brownianly, when adsorbed on my eye
“Three quarks for Muster Mork!”
Kworking out Complex Adaptive Systems.
In noumenon perceived, perhaps,
a whisp of wish we knew, perchance…
A noumenal flash,
and all the ever is, was,
at fundamental centrality
apparently expanding until
some initial torque inserts
curveball science allowing
bits to bang into bits and stick,
or carom off in predictable ways
like, as not, in theory.
Then, should one think onward still,
noumenal nominal notions
make letters let nonsense emanate
natural schemata muses index using
creative compulsion classically causing
an instant to cease.
May 31, 2025
May 31, 2025 at 4:15 PM UTC
It rained this morning
It's very watery outside, I said
The black umbrella was my friend and the white skin beneath its shade remained in denial
-cj
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 12:32 AM UTC
*and thank funk, that the english (anglophones) say: i don't know how to pronopunce that... which is self-evident... they haven't applied the custom of diacritical marks... therefore they blubber-blab their words... if you base your language on syllables alone, you can't make distinctions with letters... e.g. why... i... very closely associated... well, with such linguistic darwinism as the number of accents in the anglophone sphere... why be, even remotely bewildered? and yes, that's a phenomenon, because, thankfully, the complete lack of diacritics (distinctions) on letter, is no noumenon... it's verbal gluttony; just keep intertwining the words: custard fudge custard fudge 1 0 1 0 0 1
custard fudge custard furdge fudge custard; *******
or read some irvine welsh, or something.*
i love the diacritical nakedness of the english
tongue, and my mutterzunge...
e.g.?
plot - a narrative of some sort...
and then... *** a fence....
ha ha;
i guess only i can find it funny,
or some respective bilingual, entreched akin
to the belgian trenches...
i already said, with my bias for
the authority of language,
i'm either pinhead digging trenches,
or the minotaur excavating a labyrinth;
god... i love these nano-nuances:
caryca (polska tsarina) is now breaking her
back to suggest alternatives...
caryca? oh... a term for some peasant
woman married to a jew... new money, basically.
May 27, 2017
May 27, 2017 at 9:09 AM UTC
"Ardor yet torment are so abutting in tactility of amass,
Yet the latter is so very arduous,
Love can be like the flower that will not bloom,
Yet carries the love you had to others hidden in the dark,
We must thank the love we had may shed the aroma,
May the love once had may survive dimly within our souls,
The incandescent that rises from ground to your cilium,
Your alluring artistry protoplasm your prose your aroma,
That of a love that once cared yet left your palate in torment,
When your love and beauty gave exigent to my heart and soul,
As does the sea give oxygen to its living things to live,
Of my heart to my noumenon maybe I can live without you,
One day a new love I shall affix a diadem in my lonesome dynasty,
What sorrow did I not express to you was my sorrow immersed,
From crest to surge I still canticle your name as I wonder,
You were the long stem floret that comminuted my soul,"
May 25, 2018
May 25, 2018 at 5:37 PM UTC
oh but the thought of tears, and the brimming of a heart's discontentment; chokes; to reveal a strage form of actually being... content.
what i just experienced?
was nothing more
than an in situ anomaly...
well, just as much
as a portishead song:
wandering stars...
because that's what i witnessed;
**** me, no telescope,
no microscope,
no kind of comet,
just the naked eye,
and the noumenon;
because either newton or einstein
could never call it
the phenomenon of a halley's comet;
and by phenomenon
i mean recurrent... replicable...
a noumenon event though?
happens at the odd occurrence
of only once;
death doth bid, the questions away.
May 25, 2017
May 25, 2017 at 6:25 PM UTC