what am i with regards to language:
another person -
or some complex tool?
my grandfather is still bewildered
by invisible telecommunication
lines of connectivity -
and if philosophy begins with awe,
poetry - well hardly a bewildering
enterprise -
back to language as a primitive
tool box -
a shape ascribed to words -
rather than colours -
take this one word:
what shape would be ascribed
to bewilderment?
nouns are all straight lines?
and so unto bewildering-,
are adjectives squares?
there must be a grammatical
geometry of some sort -
otherwise how are we to compete
with the chinese encoding
complexity -
if we are to return to such
openings of phonetic complexity
as Handel's messiah -
while the chinese call themselves
Lee Chow - or Li Po?
i'm buckling under the fact
that english speakers are literate in
that they are literate by some measure:
odd...
is language another person -
or as i like to think of it:
a "primitive" toolbox of screws
nails, hammer and sickle...
better still: a scythe's shadowy peering
into the light...
i think of death as with a hope
of immortality, armed with a hammer -
nailing each staff of wheat
into place -
rather than: with a guillotine grin
marking each equal: before itself...
i too wondered whether language
needs complicating -
or whether at best: to simply grunt
and growl through...
but that's beside the point when i
wonder that the brain: has no knowledge
of the tongue...
how many times i've heard people
speak of: the eloquent thought,
coupled to a mumbling tongue...
which is why: a cartesian dualism is hard
to fathom... summon Libra!
eternal Libra - nothing precipitates
to an equal fathom (unit of comprehensive
in situ) -
there was and always will be
a dichotomy... hence the dualism advocates
invented the: schizoid mind...
which is 2 x 2 = 4...
so is language not worth
complicating - after all, i have no other,
"greater" concern in using this: tool... person?
can language really devolve
to scoop, or is it mere a shambles of
floating vegetables in a soup?
drinking helps to numb the pain...
oh how friendly to return to
a pseudo-incubation of sheltered
ego-foetus...
ego... foetus...
it must be an echo from the future
shouting: right back at me...
for not having a memory of
being a tad bit tadpole: foetus -
here - said god: i give unto you ego...
and thought - your 2nd womb...
and for the love of god:
so few images have been ingested with
words, having to weigh the ******
obvious, smirk of science.
of what i've seen of Warsaw i remember
not too dearly -
the Warsaw Central Trainstation:
a barren place... a beautiful girl engrossed
in techno-attachments -
the capital with so few people -
a sight of a head with thinning hair -
if only: the apocalyptic
baldness of a Golgothan scalp...
then i could: smirk and retort -
last man standing is never the king...
perhaps a pawn, a bishop, queer or rook...
i laid my king into a pocket rather
than a coffin...
last time i checked i was able to
numb mein schmerz with the antic of
sleeping for 14 hours...
and can you believe it that:
graphemes are needed?
the germans require S C H
to utter the same sound as the Poles do
with S Z and the English do with S H...
some spaces ought to enforce
the Siamese dictum of Roman hellish
spawns...
because what is language at
best?at best it's not another person -
but a tool, however primitive language
not looks compared to <code> ext .2
practice...
or that techno-puritanical posture
without a glum book...
either i am using a hammer
as i use my tongue to babble or lick -
otherwise...
a sickly simplicity?
- and words do have grammatical geometry!
clearly, a verbum similis changes
shape: from the form
bewilderment -
through to (to) bewilder -
into bewildering -
otherwise named from an observation:
the genius monkey who said:
(that) thing makes be more wild
in temperament...
and open: the universe -
and closed the sight of stars in an
oxygen tank...
for i am sure -
of a satanic possession that stirrs the mass -
as i am sure: god took a seat back -
what proof?
home bid yet homeless -
in the same station, a gradfather watched
his grandchild taunt a pigeon -
in her arm no breadcrumbs but only
a wish: perish: or perch here...
i am blind to see past only
two existential arches: types -
winged or horned -
and beyond that: a zoo -
something daunting to clarify with
an intelligent discussion...
so is language another person -
or a tool?
may i be understood
or must i necessarily be: standing ground -
never aloof - never fascinated
with an attic?
am i to always lounge with
an antithesis of friction?
- and that's what sitting on
the throne of thrones does to you with
a dollop of Heidegger -
yes, dropping a name -
but it would be hard to accomplish what
i am strumming without a mention of
what "mirror"-psyche i looked into,
before i looked into mine...
it would be hard to digest myself
as being this complicated,
on an a priori whim...
as if it was worth a base of:
uniform humanity -
sooner finding an answer concerning
the existence of a mole looking
into one's own ****:
and only one act is left with an
impossibility -
the mole is as certain to exist
as a floating **** in the oasis -
but my ***: might as well be
the regurgitating mouth...
- and for all the beauty -
it's crasness that shines for man -
to have to educate foul
speech is one thing -
but to have to use it:
a lesson in liberty...
besides - never mind "educators"
outside educational institutions -
the muse: gratifyingly ends -
but unlike a sense of accomplishment
a reader ascribes to having finished
a historical novel...
saying that - what is below a poem?
a novella -
at least i can be honest -
the novella can only be dwarf of a Goliath:
the height of Goliath's armpit hair...
BUT TO THINK I HEAR WHISPERS
IN MY DREAMS!
who was the original iconoclast?
"paradoxically": Medussa...
enshrining them into stone -
the word is odd - to make icons -
ah... ****: tribe -
caste - to caste is to make -
again why the Americans don't know
that the suffix -cicki is actually slang for:
*******... i.e. **** - well, piquant zingy -
for the original ingests cycki...
never mind nationalkapitalismus -
the nakies?
because obviously it's not just:
nappies, is it?
big baby was told it could poach
bacon instead of frying it?
evidently we can't complain -
unless of course we care to be
both nationalists and capitalists
at the same time: as the English found
out the hard way...
but little Joey and big Sam
can be: national capitalists...
the rest just sign of
whether they're capitalists or nationalists -
since, outside of h'america:
the two are never supposed to meet.
