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"sechs" poems
A C H T U N G   acht         neun         acht         sechs          vier          fünf           zwo sechs          drei         eins          fünf        sieben          acht           null    the         radio            spews             over          and          over         again   void of      meaning.           or                 so                 they          want    us to         think           as          the       concrete           wall keeps       standing.        they         came           to        liberate us which         they               did. of       thought of        speech    of         word.             see             the        ashen         blocks sit aren’t         they        pretty?           as         dark           red        blotches stain          their           smooth       surfaces           like        lipstick on wine       glasses.           an           old          fan          turns         slowly     in a         dusty         room          just               south of Leipzig.       men        dream of         hazy       Stalinist        façades     as          she        brings a      cigarette to           her rouged        lips. Belomorkanal.       the        rusted          olive        uniform   pulls        tighter           as           she        draws in.        octaves bellow        from           the       speakers. it is           time     to         hear          from the     homeland.          how         sickles gleam         for           the         Union          just like they    did          for         Lenin. we         don’t           talk          about    him         now         though.         sickles         don’t         gleam here    like         they          ought to.          the          reels          revolve unforgiving   to the cry           of a          winter’s   night.         the           ruby          snow         glints            in         torchlight.    the          night          goes on. it           has    to. sieben        sechs          vier          zwo         neun           drei          sechs   eins        sieben          null         sechs         acht           fünf          sieben E N D   E
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May 13, 2013
May 13, 2013 at 8:49 PM UTC
3820kHz
A C H T U N G   acht         neun         acht         sechs          vier          fünf           zwo sechs          drei         eins          fünf        sieben          acht           null    the         radio            spews             over          and          over         again   void of      meaning.           or                 so                 they          want    us to         think           as          the       concrete           wall keeps       standing.        they         came           to        liberate us which         they               did. of       thought of        speech    of         word.             see             the        ashen         blocks sit aren’t         they        pretty?           as         dark           red        blotches stain          their           smooth       surfaces           like        lipstick on wine       glasses.           an           old          fan          turns         slowly     in a         dusty         room          just               south of Leipzig.       men        dream of         hazy       Stalinist        façades     as          she        brings a      cigarette to           her rouged        lips. Belomorkanal.       the        rusted          olive        uniform   pulls        tighter           as           she        draws in.        octaves bellow        from           the       speakers. it is           time     to         hear          from the     homeland.          how         sickles gleam         for           the         Union          just like they    did          for         Lenin. we         don’t           talk          about    him         now         though.         sickles         don’t         gleam here    like         they          ought to.          the          reels          revolve unforgiving   to the cry           of a          winter’s   night.         the           ruby          snow         glints            in         torchlight.    the          night          goes on. it           has    to. sieben        sechs          vier          zwo         neun           drei          sechs   eins        sieben          null         sechs         acht           fünf          sieben E N D   E
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29
beginning with the circle, for there are three, in an "abstract" sense of staging the Δ, i.e.: Ω Υ O alternatively: o υ ω thus in deed... (macron as omega, in greek acute accent on upsilon to extract omega, or the p(oo)l sound.. acute on the omicron? gives you upsilon... omega = macron on the omicron)... however the Σ (totality) of this observation? how many s esses are there, orthodoxically speaking? s, ś, ß (a german grapheme, variant of the roman æ, æsc, sszett - albeit the latter invoking consonants, the former? volwels), the greek will now provide the aesthetic twins: σ, ς (whereby the latter, created the french ç, which is another form of s... e.g. in the word waiter: garçon) - the final s form? akin to ß... but the germans would write it as -sch-, east germans say it when writing ich... in english the compound is -sh- sharp... in slavic it's: either -sz- a variant of the english -sh-, or with a caron, e.g. š... like the car-manufacturer: škoda... which, when said in adverts... omits the diacritical mark. how many "satans" can you see? count: s, ś, ß, σ, ς, ç, (-sh- / -sz- /) š: eins, zwei, drei, vier, fünf, sechs, sieben... you can site that seven headed hydra in the book of revelation... right about now. oh sure... let's go crazy, put an extra head on the beast: the cyrillic ш... some sort of rigid omega, or worse still... an uptight double-"u".... it's a V, a ******* V, a double V! qui? qui? wee? wee? it's a soft-v!
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May 15, 2017
May 15, 2017 at 9:20 AM UTC
a pseduo-socratic 'so' (theaetetus, penguin classics, page 118): an elaboration