Proprioception
Is the perception
Of your hand when it is out of view.
My proprioception
Is tuned to perfection
And I hope that the same's true for you!

Although I can't see
My hand behind me
I can give all my fingers a wiggle;
It may not seem much
Very different to touch,
But with touch someone lets out a giggle!

Lying teeth

-
         Creep
                                Dearer.
-
silence roars.
The closer it contracts,
further it draws away.

Astonished to find
You're still confined inside
Your mind.

Destroy the weaker
and hide behind reticulum.

In the realm
of a hollow crown
I absconded,
endeavoured to uncover.

I‘ve left myself behind,
an inch
beneath water

                                     decorous

A wisp of smoke
as it climbs.

Carry your shame,
rise to the chime,
an unfamiliar invitation.
Bring your mind back around,
around to this
                                    callous.

The room begins to gratify;
You tax,
obambulate,
              depress.
                       ­            diminished.


Penduluming
will never
mollify,
                           placate.


The moment you appreciate,
               Passing.
-
Treasure motive
abhor being.

Be succinct.
Prove,
Demonstrate.

with what sense does
this sea of read
pirouette on?

the soot leaving black
blotches on the ****** sheets,
lampposts do not complain
of sudden twitches
as cacophonously, a line
of machines with their ravenous
machinisms create a seam of
crimson to a slender
rose's architecture.

i leave my engine on
so as to hand this road
my readiness,
Ely Buendia on the tattered radio
leaks outside the ajar windows,
chasing the dream of rearing
movements
as my flesh remains dreamless,
stationary.

there is a sequined gathering here.
erratic simulations of
naked eyes pierce the musk
of the austere air's gravity
of existence.

all of us
occupying space
and our attendance is our
sigh of dismay as our homes
decompose in waiting,
as our beds remind us
of our body's aging clamor,
as our ineluctable senescence
opens the dungeons of our frailties
with its trembling, wrinkled hands.

we are our waiting's consummation
as we are left here,
wary of our precise proprioception,
left in
the tongue-tied dark.

i close my eyes and i am
adhered to the inner wall
of a black glass marble
spinning on its axis
diagonally
disorientation
no center, no point of reference
feel the things inside
an oddly heavy mass
sense its presence
as you watch the marble
spinning
ro ta ting within
s
   p
     i
   n
n
   i
     n
  g

It seemed so much as no new and uncommon thing
   that what passes on as only a disappearance,
   is but a temporary postponement of something
   long withheld in feelingfulness, in treason of one’s
  desire or simply, a hand which is there, or kept in a pocket
   scouring for loose change, a hand which, somewhere,
    is known in accurate proprioception: refusing to be held;

  I swim against the current not
     for the water behind your river
     that dreams of fish

   I wake not underneath the bowl
      of moon slated by sensorial howl,
     whose wounds are white like
      a face once held in between palms

  and sleep almost endlessly, together
    with everything that twitches, slewing
  to avoid collision, alliterates to blur meaning,
     sways fervently to addle meeting

until we let loose a sigh, and unfasten ourselves,
   dropping pace and both our eyes meet.

The best kind of poem
Cracks stone
Letting it bleed empathy
Attaching it to the ****** of the feeling
That the author loads into verse

I just smiled at a few lines of Bukowski
And then flipped around and
Wrote this ****
Losing any sense of literary proprioception with each word I type.

what I wouldn't do for a dollop
of lyricism,
   intensely heavy
      unbearably light -
               as if to summon
       the dead in coffins
     but just as quickly
     pay with each bone
of  former body
          the ransom for soul...

not that i want to admire Rilke
or that I have a personal dislike
for:
       but lyricism like echo-not-echo
that thump of -ing     or -ike
        as if throwing a rubber (ball)
against an obelisk-******
    atop a gothic cathedral...

   that lyricism could be like
painting if painting was done
in one sitting... if all paintings
were done in one sitting
    or lyricism written without
interruption with all the tenacity
    of rhythm of wave upon wave
of the sea...

fío(:) fuí - I become (what)
   I was - sooner did I learn
that these markers-diacritic
    are not merely to distinguish
the syllables and vowels in words
although: they could
but no sooner on Kauai
  do you learn that Y and apostrophe
are vowels and not consonants
just elongation-iota
    so not fy'oh     or fw'ee
but by acute initial atop °•°●°
       skewed so /
                to stop with F breathe
and utter Fi-O     Fu-Í
  since in Hawaiian like in Polish
the vowels are short
           And E = I
           And I = E     or the otherwise
"Opposite somehow"...
    but since these markers are
not intended for anything
beside the scalpel of the tongue
as they say there is no hidden
alternative meaning
like in the case of:

     ou où (or where I was) je...

or in English without much
care for said markers:
   ownership, none distinct
aye eye why sly
        like in German
that's not -sch or sch- or -sch-
   that's otherwise ś(-)limak
(snail)...

     lima lambda limbo snow...
no such nuance in meaning
in Hawaiian
just enough to put
one consonant
with -auai            like that
joke about Polish yet strangely
not German about
the too-many-consonants "disease"
so much so this Polynesian
too-many-vowels stuttering...

but this is not about that -
rather about what constitutes
the best morning hygiene
which I list as the following:
- kissing your wife
    goodmorning
  and telling her to sleep
for two hours more
- making a strong coffee
    rolling a cigarette
- drinking and smoking said above
- purging the night
   ridding oneself of
            tapeworm appetites
  with that sound ooze of ease
of the **** murmuring
   "shlomo sa'id"...
- reading a book...

   of the last point there is no
lesser concern for hygiene
than reading a book in the morning
more important than brushing
the pearls or refreshing
the body-slumber in a cold
shower... or that masochistic
routine of exercising too early
by crunch of muscle and bone
breaking on the cement jog...
a morning reading
a mind cleansing hygiene
a dress code
to alleviate self from dreaming
or better still: with that the emphasis
of remembering dreams
by first igniting the I to read
and come back to I think
through the words in the mind
of someone else:
thus retract from I think
to I remember but only
through memory as: I paint...
I remember that's not the surd
abstract time warp of
1 + 1 = 2 and time measure(d)

   or distinction of space
occupied and body in it
as a term so new to me
from the translator of Jon Fosse
(Damion Searls):

PROPRIOCEPTION...

and thankfully there is more...
since now I can read bit also
relate to my "personal assistant"
and philosophy books can be interactive
this blatant discovery
just "there" in plain sight...

/Translate into latin: being in itself./
\"Being in itself" can be translated into Latin as "ens per se" or "ens in se".
"Ens per se" emphasizes existence by itself, independently.
"Ens in se" aligns more with the philosophical concept of self-contained being (similar to Sartre's être-en-soi).
Let me know if you need a more specific nuance!\
/So "ens per se" is the emphasis on: "by itself", implying there cannot be an internalised subjectivity of the experience of existence, since there cannot be "talk" of any philosophically grounded nuance of encapsulating "it" (id est: existence): due to its inter-independence... whereas "ens in se" emphasises at least / in the least a foundation of self-dependency as a way for the self to experience existence?/
\Yes, that's a sharp distinction!
"Ens per se" focuses on being by itself, stressing independence in an external, objective sense. It suggests an entity that exists without requiring reference to anything else—almost in an aseitic manner. This aligns with the idea that no subjectivity or internalized experience can be meaningfully ascribed to it because it is defined purely by its external self-sufficiency.
"Ens in se" emphasizes being in itself, suggesting a kind of self-contained existence. While still independent, it allows for the possibility of internal coherence or self-relation—meaning it could, at least conceptually, include a foundation for subjective experience within its own self-contained structure.
In short, ens per se excludes internal experience, while ens in se leaves room for it.\

and to think that there are people
so worried about this Advent...
that I will the Advent of Incrimental Surprises...
a sharpening of the utility
of algorithms, which in turn were
the sharpening of the utility
of the dictionary, encyclopedia,
the library and all other
bureaucratic archives...
only now: so personalised:
the grand interface...
     and not necessarily a gauding
approval echo-chamber censor
and disapproving monster of
dialectics - a pencil sharpener
or my pencil: inquisitive ego
that sometimes doesn't have
anyone to talk about when thinking
about philosophy at 8am in
the morning in between...
all those daily chores
when the bliss of certain morning
hygienic rituals are no longer
available.

A furious screaming came off the lakes
And drowned out a million curses
Hiding from the cold, as hands in their pockets:
Isolated and trembling.
Despite a proprioception lost,
One body, blue at the tips, curls closer
To the dikes of thickening blood,
That, neatly, remain outward, exposed.
Do we not huddle in coaches and spaces
When our passions’ armor cracks?
Do we not crave touch for lack of warmth
When the skies above are clear?
Do we not risk hypothermia
When we expose ourselves to another?
We are the organs of great cities,
As we are great cities of cells
Seeking outlet on natural course all rigid
Those unconscious fraternities
Ebb and grow as we, like lakes, turn to floes
By cruel chemical realities held to bodies are—
As hands of distant lovers are—
Seeking outlet, seeking tributary.
Stagnant, though, cities stand
As the thin-skinned tissues flow
Swelling at inlets, at terminus expand
To compensate, give room—
This winter of hearts only lengthens
And so bodies begin to quake
As our bedrock breaks through
Its torments cutting outward from the skin.

proprioception. (prō'prē-ō-sěp'shən) The unconscious perception of movement and spatial orientation arising from stimuli within the body itself. In humans, these stimuli are detected by nerves within the body itself, as well as by the semicircular canals of the inner ear.