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Mateuš Conrad Jul 2016
from the simple email, to now a pitch-perfect complication
of the internet - no performance poetry found here -
performance meaning singing, meaning cascade of rhymes
to help you memorise sentences and shake your hands
about - ekphrasis (εκφρασις) - performance stand-up
but not stand-out - i'm not complaining, i'm just feeling
the fear and loathing too - or according to M. Schmidt (
no, not Martin Schmitt, the ski-jumper, but then again
the two seem almost indistinguishable when said -
counter e.g. gnome - 'nome and schmi'dt'dt'dt'tt stutter
at the end of words rather than at the beginning before
the dam gates open for the word to flow out from).
besides the point, can you imagine Kant using the phrase
a fortiori in his work that uses only a priori and
a posteriori? i only came across it today - but given
the big *** systematic approaches, you'd find it hard
to squeeze in a fortiori into the complex narrative -
an entire blackboard of mathematical proof concerning
disallowing the end product to be ∞: in philosophy that means
explaining something on a universal basis, the entire human
concern for things said, things done, things owned -
inserting the term a fortiori where once came a priori
would be a disaster for the Kantian narrative, he'd
have to write another critique all on its own to insert that phrase
among a complete systematisation of that phrase -
well the funny thing is, this expression goes in line with that
i observed about left and right, hands eyes whatever -
indefinite a- and the definite -the articles and then an ism -
i sometimes feel funny or at least embarrassed that i keep
repeating this notice from time to time -
but you would expect me to include gravity too,
or how i used to be a flower thief in spring bordering
on winter, plucking the eager flowers in the frost around
the countryside - well, i revived that practice today,
plucked two stalks of lavender (they were pinching my
nose when i walked past with a beer) and something
resembling lavender... google-moment... if only they
created apps that could tell you what flower it is you're
trying to identify, search engine impromptu -
well... it's either a coin-toss between
summersweet (clethra alnifolia) or butterfly bush
(buddleia davidii) - but it could be something else -
cigarette, beer and sniffing lavender, just my kind of night -
i swear to god i once drank a lavender-flavoured beer,
or cider... i can't remember -
but by definition, when i look at philosophy books i feel
they're much too bound to something said earlier
and followed by something to support it -
or in the case of a fortiori the expanded-upon basics,
i.e.: from a / the stronger (thing) - which means
it's a dual-carriage way of saying what you want to say:
from a stronger thing - from the stronger thing -
in real life that's like: what we get from a telescope,
or? what we get from a microscope -
stars aplenty - G-Rex 5571 in the Zodiac constellation,
U80802Z from the constellation of Poseidon -
i mean, flimsy answers - sky's the limit - then
the azure cage hovers over us during the day and
we turn to daydreams packing apples into crates -
telescope: oh airy-fairy, somewhere far far away -
microscope: got that needle and thread with you?
well, whatever we have, we know that our minds are
not build for the omni- affix when affixed to anything,
esp. god. Jews never bothered with it - there are just
as many necessary limitations of a deity as there are
as many unnecessary limitations of our freedoms -
that's how you move away from big ideas and narratives
of a Kant, with his chequers of analytic / synthetic
a priori / a posteriori and concern yourself with
knives (indefinite) and scissors (definite) articulation of
language - hell, we can go down the road much further
and say something about indirect and direct articles -
pronouns are the prime subscribers -
you wouldn't talk to a Jihadi directly as you'd talk about
him indirectly - i shared that curiosity with a local
stranger-mate in a park once walking his dog,
an ex-banker - those boom-bomb boys are being prescribed
the same thing that the Lufftwaffe pilots were prescribed
(pervitin) - but i doubt they got their hands on the pure
medical stuff, they're probably on amphetamines...
oh the R.A.F.? yeah, drunk like skunks.
but just imagine rewriting the Critique with a fortiori
and a infirmiori - disobeying "correct" definition,
as already mentioned the pronouns composed from
articles, as in condensed to indistinguishable parameters -
a fortiori - from something stronger            -
             a infirmiori - from something weaker -
(as already stated, the original definition of
  a fortiori was - from a / the stronger [thing]) -
so the articles disappear and couple themselves to the word
thing (word meaning, no grammatical classification is
really necessary, because if grammatically classified it would
be too obstructive) - but because of this lack of
grammatical classification of the word thing,
we are already associating the definitions via only the
indefinite pronoun - rather than a definite pronoun (i.e. nothing),
it would be pointless to write definitions using a definite
pronoun - well, up to a point, i suppose that
suggesting both a fortiori and a infirmiori to be defined
as: from nothing stronger and / or weaker we can create
a self-mechanistic-propeller, a way of self-overcoming that
in the end arrives as self-knowledge, obviously the
ultimate purpose - and this goes against all solipsistic despair,
as it also goes against making too many comparisons
with others, some who are weaker than us, and some who
are stronger than us - for the stronger will make light
of one set of propositions as the weaker will make light
of another set of propositions to suit their demands -
this can only be seen in light of Kantian-Darwinism,
survival of the fittest and what not -
Kant had in mind something simply said historically in
a condensed sphere of reality, Darwinism kinda did away
with historical realism, soon after the English Renaissance
after the second world war, Darwinism picked up again,
as a way to shut off the murk of the Holocaust -
Elvis did his bit, the Beatles too, but once the imagination
dried up, people decided they wanted to travel back
in time to 10,000 B.C. - and you think artistic expression
will end up a concept prog rock album, or a cute 3 minute
synthesizer song while M.T.V. turns into a 16 year old's
******* of a baby? i'm going keep the acronym, and instead
call it MORAL TELEVISION, or? how to buy a ******
or pull out early - but obviously i'd get a wisecrack comeback
from Juno - see a preacher man anywhere around here?
Kantian algebraic (big words, small people, Belgian waffles
too):                                                    ­              a. / s. after
                                           (event) x.
a. / s. prior
                                     what qualifies?
                                    - historical hindsight -
                                    - the current historical catalyst(s),
        THE BIG BANG... or as i like to call our current history,
an interchange on the words: BIG BANG BLACK HOLE...
BANG A ******* HOLE... get a BIG CLOCK...
******* HOLE... which is what it looks like at night...
two catalysts overall - and boy we're speeding
to Groundhog day - the biggest changes in history were
some celebrity's haircut - that's relative to
what happened when the Treaty of Versailles was signed;
BIG HOLE BLACK BANG (and that's thanks to dark matter) -
but to be honest, if i'm given only these two historical
vectors to work with... i'm not surprised so many
Islamic youths are disfranchised, choosing a third,
Jannah - it seems like a natural thinking process that
will never make it into popular media -
just thinking about it probably warms the heart,
obviously to an extremely violent end -
but this is gone way beyond the heliocentric and
geocentric arguments - because up there, where you
can see the earth where the hell is Copernican East
or Copernican West? it's nice to know that the earth
isn't flat... but that won't help you reaching the Panama
Canal from Portugal... will it?!
I hear soft music
haunting sitar riding the low wave of a synthesizer bass
I am perplexed by the choice I must make
be taken by the song
or fight the twisting pain in my chest
'In search of the lost chord'
that Moody Blues title
I've found it!
here in the between space
'Visions of Paradise'
'Steppin' in a Time Zone'
I'm dying
and I can't stop listening
can't stop
the pain subsides
and I am crossed
I think
the music and vision now clear and strong
George is playing the sitar
and the synthesizer is not a synthesizer
but the wave itself
the beach I return to each Summer
Vincent hums along as he paints a wheat field
that fades in and out over the horizon
and the Sun is blazing
there in a white suit I see him
"The Lucky man..."
John says to Marilyn
as he turns toward me
..."you've made the grade"

the Sun suddenly falls behind the horizon
the music fades
I begin moving back to the center of all there was
and for a moment there is nothing
no sound
no light
then a voice
"It looks as if he's decided to return"
I awake to see a man in a very long beard,
dressed in white
with round spectacles staring down at me
"I'm Dr. Wall...Russ Wall"
"You're a lucky man! looks as though it's just another day in the life of...
what was your name, friend?"
just a little tribute to a band I spent some time listening to
Caroline Aug 2012
people drank and swayed as you stood up there

and oscillated your hands over the surface of the synthesizer

Ambience

all I heard was the thereminEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

I heard that as I boarded the subwayEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

and I thought about an orchidEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

You resembled an orchid.

An orchid, save my soul.

And so was I.

I went and saw you again playing the back alley

and you did it a cappella while people shrieked from their acid trips

Sad

and all I heard was your voiceEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

and I heard them as I fell onto the pavementAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

and I thought I saw an orchidEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAA

You still resembled an orchid.

An orchid, save my soul.

And so was I.

I bought the paper because it was routine

I read you had vanished, but your face was on the page

Smile

and all I heard was my voiceAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

and then I pictured the fireworksOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAOOOO

they looked like orchidsAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

You didn't resemble an orchid.

An orchid, save my soul.

And so was I.

I pulled over on the highway, I saw a ghost

He got in the car and it was so cold, I thought about my disbelief

Disappointment.

I looked in the rearview mirror, I saw a ghost

Its hand were big and nimble, its head a large inflorescence

Pretty

and I heard the thereminEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

the fireworks in my headOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAOOOO

and our voices.

You resembled an orchid.

An orchid, save my soul.

An orchid, save my soul.

An orchid, save my soul.

And so was I.
Julia Brennan Jul 2017
I send this track

Out to the Universe

Praying its echoes

Reach the farthest corners of the Earth

To reach you



I want the melody

To seep into your skin

The synthesizer

To shake your ribs

Each percussive meter

Synced to your beating heart



And as the music fades

And the ethereal chimes

Tickle the silence

Imagine my fingers

Tracing your lips

Pulling you in for a taste of bliss



I hope this track

Transcends the airwaves

That my light

Enraptures you

And embalms you

In Affection
Cielo Gebilaguin Dec 2010
There is a note that lives between thought and slumber,
That’s when I thought of you today
A harmonica lay in my hand, the reeds looking at me silly,
Play, I imagined it say, and imagined it was really there.

In my mind we are still walking a dusty bluesy road, our jeans torn and worn
In this midday dream the blues is red and wore a hat; I let out:
This, is not the blues from which my hippie son was born.
I sigh, at the sight of a synthesizer kissing a harmonica, the synth in your head, the harmonica pregnant with my heart.
Our blues drove us to momentary madness, because Syd Barrett was always jealous
Like fights that happened on Sundays and when we choose to mock, then cruelness.
Come midnight someone awakes and someone is being wakened,
And outside, nothing is lit, But she's not afraid, just letting you know she was waking.

Your bedside was colored, certainly psychedelic, but was almost always red
I lay there, like a pregnant harmonica making love to a trusty guitar, the guitar thrusting, the harmonica trusting.

I confront salvation with a straight face, a cigarette now intruding
No, I yell, the harmonica sounds the same, still on the key of C,
But by a synthesizer you sat, the harmonica lay there, heavy with child, looking at me,
And as I stare back, I've seen: indeed you have chosen the synth.

A note creeps in between the high and dry of low, I insist that kismet needs a little shove
Just a push, a new pair of eyes, another heart and a memory that knows only love,
Spiralling in Syd's Milky Way, me drowning, me begging in exchange for you,
I tried moaning a tune but the blues have discolored and turned simply blue.

I face the devil now, I try to bargain, but he sings, 'the blues trusts no one, no longer.'
The devil makes a face, sings to me then says, 'you've forgotten that I'll always remember.”
Pedro Tejada Jan 2011
When you look at me without
speaking like some doe-eyed
Guatemalan selling watermelons
on the corner of Forest Hill
and Military Trail, your
disbelief triggering in the hinges
of your jaw like a hairpin turn,
reaction time looming
as endlessly as a broken synthesizer,
I begin to need you, darling,
like the axe needs the turkey.
Elise Jackson Jul 2017
Save yourself, you insufferable, juxtaposed parasite.
Day 6/31 of my "Six Words A Day" Challenge for the whole month of July, the whole collection can be found on my page on the first of August.
Andrew Aug 2018
And then the synthesizer made a come back
And then a supernova. And then anxiety.
Cam over.
I’m out in the desert, studying the meaning
Of rain in the human brain. I’m learning
More about myself that is. How the blood
Talks. How the shade relieves itself.
I’m offering you sunsets. Roots set.
The lonely land and sky
Oculi Nov 2017
I don't understand how
I don't really see now
Eyes are just half-open
I just feel like copin'

I'm indoors to recover from outdoors
My mind's all gone as it's on its all fours
Am I abstract or do people just interpret
Things all wrong? I have to tell them stat

I'm just a tired old man with a young mind
Just getting my thoughts out there, do you mind?
I'm sorry, I shouldn't be so harsh on you
Just stop the praise and go and do what you do
XOR
Cut my wisdom teeth on a bass synthesizer.
As the day of our green patron saint approaches
I'm indifferent to thoughts of debauchery that once
invigorated my soul. This town has changed and I've
lost faith in the session, these memories are so pointless,
I'm somewhat manic, surely a result of excessive stability.
I think this is my prime reason to get out, but
my love for G-twn remains; part of my soul'll be always buzzin'
here, in the city of my birth,
The place where I learned
how to be a human being.
Meg Freeman Jul 2011
take me under.
sweet surrender.
let me sink into you like my feet in the sand
as the tide pulls it away.

lay with me in silence
on the beaten path
in the cold and the dark.
the light of the cartoon moon
shining through queen anne's lace trees.

the clouds take shape before us, pulsing.
a butterfly.
a castle.
where before, turtles trudged on the side
of the road,
plastic bags.

that ringing sound, inside my head
the bells and the synthesizer pulling,
strumming, stringing my brain cords.
i rest my head on his shoulder, only just.

he used to be inside.
he made me this today,
and he knew id never been happier
than in my "wonderland."
i was my very own alice,
spinning, dizzy with delight.
lost in a fantasy.

"i am not sorry for my soul."
he's distant, but so close.
and i don't even care that he doesn't love me.

he's calm and observant, reading me
while i dance in front of him
no longer on the path in Ohio,
but in the firelight in Bogota'
golden flesh.
twisting and body pulsing
with the beat of the music.

the guitar makes me languid
and you run your hands over my skin,
and we fall into each other,
fall into the heat.

back home. cold and dark.
a boy, not in the same place as i.
he will not cease to be an object
of my fascination.
abstract understanding of him.

we were meant to change each other,
never to love the other.

but YOU. you and i,
we were meant to spin, crazy, out of control.
so right, so wrong.
i fall into you over and over and over and once more.
and i never want to leave you,
though the cartoon moon says i just might have to.

take me under.
sweet surrender.
Martin Narrod May 2015
Sensational curiosities of quarter-sized universes of human love and human flesh.
Gentle insane thoughtless violence cured in time's long sluice of betrayal,
Rancor, then betrayal, and then the frost. Never did I hear the twigget of the synthesizer max its flare.

Every mouth was a warship, the plumes coming up over the top of the spigot, sampler of the Neverspoke. Worships them, in the Hectares through the dross, the incumbent conflagration

Envelops life from venom thru a stra.  Into the hutch the creeper shakes, like the
effie ebbtide Apr 2020
wobbling returns to emergence
the sine wave resonates, it is
oceanic, fluid, bulbous
and bobbing, all at once
a whole and not a whole

bleeding out salt
and tropical fish, its
tissue paper curtains covering
the last ruins of
the forgetful earth

a hole, yet not an absence
but a presence of a triangle
a missing number, unsevered
flowing together, keyboard
abstractions, not there

oh but it's melted snow
the opposite of noise
a vague feeling of nothing
and presence, wrapped up in
a paranoid returning

it's like argon -- like chlorine without
lungs, veins without organs,
pain, inert inertia slippery
spine breaking
on the ice. the moon
This was written while I was listening to Horse The Band

Rip n' cut n' though the gut GOES THE KNIFE
Lovely suds in the blood
Of course I am talking about my mind
Torn to pieces
But that is oh so common
Torn to pieces
Be you insane? I think otherwise
Be you insane? I think otherwise
Are you weird, surely you're not
When you say so I say you're so dumb
Of course I've been called weird but I prefer to refer to myself as strange
Unusual in my interests at times or what leads to what
Ere the di un
SPLIT!
Add to category number-twenty
Never mind the numbers and math
YOU ARE A WRITE-R
Synthesizer star saturates the bar with MILKY love
Beautiful scream of hate is therefore silent
ZERO MARK
Leave this unhindered by sentimentality and null feeling seal the reeling sta-sta-stutter into the vast!
Rouge rogue go southward toward the boardwalk crutch hallowed by APOCALYPSE!
Southern mess of strangulation stress stuffing the throat with dairy-wine
Bleep bloop beep slop soup ****
Peeling the head said me or was that an alternate personality?
Can't remember now what was said between us as people or dream
shireliiy Nov 2015
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Amanda Elizabeth Jul 2015
His
His rusty doorknob moaned as it peeked open,
The glare from his synthesizer irradiated through the small crack
Yet trekking into my companion’s habitat, my eyes wander down a path
As I examined:
The creamy-white ‘65 Fender Jaguar strapped to his back, idolized like a son to his father
His scattered Rolling Stone magazines, strewn, across his clearly visible unmade bed
His imitation Bob Dylan wayfarers, rested gently on his nostril, accompanying a mischievous smile
And mountains of flannels that he claimed made him appear “*******” and “hipster” at the same time
Obscure in a corner, his preferred foreign films organized in a stack
North of his bed… hundreds of pictures of Lennon and McCartney, signifying his shrine and slight obsession with the 1960’s
To the left, his personalized skateboards, festooned with mainstream company seals and psychedelic band logos
The framed polaroid of us sitting effortlessly on his bedside table
And directly 12 o’clock: his father’s turntable spinning early Lou Reed, beside his collection of dusty records I granted him..
6/5/14
Tyler Mar 2023
shall I synthesize your imagination ?
electrical impulses,
like singing sparkling stars
or a dive in lush deep green turquoise sea cities.
the complete notes there,
the ground has placed,
all in where we shall play.

the diatribes, in love,
of the framers and constructors
shall build and destroy
upon us the corrections.
do we trust
angel's blueprints
and shepherd's paths?
Well,
no matter,
loving phosphorous
flows in canals of
poetry and marble
aqueducts like our veins.
cathedrals weren't
built on nonsense,
but truth.
yet still the heaven's creator
is just
less than
discernible.
hiding eternally within
the architecture.
and I would not have it any
other way.
Stephen Leacock Sep 2021
The Old man in a throne
The old man with a tone
The poetry of his work
The pillars of the clerk
The insight that is said
The eyes that sees beyond the dead
The keys of the work
The red bird like the stork
The Person that blesses you when you get married
The things in life that you  carry
The father that teaches you to be strong
The lessons from him if you have done wrong
The Listening wisdom that sits on a  throne
The voice in the mind that comes with a tone
The  decisions and guidance
The  advisor
The wisdom and  Intuition from the synthesizer
fyodormatveyev Aug 2020
It is o four hundred
And no fruits for today
It is a little bit too late to sleep
But happy was the lamp of the bright world

I hear synthesizer
That I want my head to synthesize
And pop shuffled
Will go down in the dawn

Nine minutes in the middle of a chaotic mind
As I lay my fingers on the keys
Full-speed in a numb fan
Voices of whisperers

Apparent death
Feel to spare some time
Whisperers echoed fifteen minutes after four
Two points of view are not enough

It is about to rainy season
When clouds overtake the sun
Missed her presence
In monsoon air

Heaven is bliss
An everlasting palace to stay
But the ability to take the step is gone
Between me and Him.
Maddening sore
nevaeh Sep 2020
~
1. try on everything in your closet and determine that you look awful no matter what you wear

2. play rachmaninovs elégie op. 3 no. 1 with the synthesizer tuned to sound like a robot so the fact that it's for dead people feels less heavy

3.  turn literally everything into art - including yourself and all reachable surfaces - paint, write poetry, make music, dance and be free

4. drink more water in one sitting than you have consumed in your entire life

5. put a box fan at the end of your bed, therefor inflating your blankets and effectively making a sick blanket air cave

6. reflect on every terrible thing you have done and all of the people you've lost

7. spiral into a deep depression and wonder why you're even alive when the only things you have to live for are universes away

8. remember that life itself is pointless and that nothing means anything until you force it to

9. pet your cat because shes a beautiful girl and she deserves all of the love in the world and more

10. absolutely, no matter what, never ever go to sleep.
~
its only when im dreaming that i remember what it's like to feel loved

— The End —