ensconced in such a sight, I was nigh capitulation;
two flowers plucked from heavenly shawls sang
notes heralding the coming season
exhausted of greenery and without purity.
they had exchanged a nectar
whose redolence was reminiscent of Cora
and this fact bore witness to my desire of Aufhebung,
spreading my soul like wings, unleashing my hunger
to consume their very ephemeral tenderness and beauty.
my name carried out of her mouth
her smile a tightly-knit carousel
her teeth within, dancing to
You'll never walk Alone
round, and around her my heart hovered
ever so closer. Even the glinting
of her eyes did not escape my adoration,
and her lashes auspices of affiliation
made my fibers listen for her fibers
so that they could vibrate
at an equal pace. her distant gaze
gave way to sprigs unfolding into a map
that led from anywhere to pristine
III. Ode to Fallacies
Mathematics are not precise,
they do involve long calculations
and algorithmic formulations
but like any other ontology
they lack an epistemic foundation
which is only to say:
if you let yourself get lost in them
you'll realize how lucid, how loosely fit
everything actually is. complex numbers
are really just when letters become numbers too.
real numbers, for the most part, don't ever end
and they're simpler than complex numbers.
a matrix is nothing more than a party of aesthetics
the coefficients of algebraic equations coming together
to visually define a set of variables;
sexy, lanky, curvaceous and even. a bit of geometry
but let's look at the word set first:
set theory allowed for an axiomatization,
let's just call it a simplification of mathematics
to logic. How's that for fancy? Reducing
number theory to a bunch of object variables
letters, alphabets, orders and grandeurs.
yet Russell posited a paradox to undermine it all
Basic Law V: a linguistic loophole.
language to the rescue! defeating logical axioms
and debasing all foundations of mathematics.
I am a liar, and this is a lie.
and the story is only beginning...
geometry: is it a priori or a posteriori;
do we already just know it intuitively,
or do we need to experience it to know it?
Yet again, does a blind person know what a square is
or does he need to feel it with his hands to know?
to any extent, can he even feel a square when stuck
in a physically three dimensional plane?
Go ahead and tell me mathematics are exact
lead to one answer even if through many methods
have such precision that even the batting
of the wings of a butterfly in Brazil could cause
catastrophic differences. Ignore the fact
that they are nothing more than a vague instrument
we use towards our own ends - we are the ones
who calculate, who derives products from nature
mechanize processes even to the point of enslaving
other human beings. We are the rational creatures.
the logical positivists, radical empiricists who
murdered god, and penetrate the mystery of the universe
with our index of information, and of tools.
So I've realized something about writing
a secret unknown to other writing beings:
if it does not sound epic, have some christian reference
if it is not gloomier than Poe, have some greek mythos
it probably isn't westernized enough to be literature.
None of that actually matters though, anymore.
which is absolutely key: any-more -- and I'll die.
the meaningless ebb of poets against the flow of life.
the meanderings of animals yet to become humans.
throughout syllabic count sense should ascend
yet every time I pretend to pen words (I type you see)
the sense of my poem descends as syllables are shed.
how do I winnow my poetry of its turbidity?
primarily people will protest: "turbidity?" to which
I shall asnwer: "turbidity!" because it offers stability
to an otherwise inaccurate line which would read...
how do I winnow my poetry of its hmm-hmm-hmm-eee?
IX: dead space
and anyways like the again that grew up
in the great Ago, the adagio of a cantata
that cuts itself, that loves itself but wants
more from life than simply being okay or normal.
there is attention in daily routines which otherwise
dispensed could make people special or
feel as if butterfly wings were only an option
beside the infinity of intrinsic liberty.
yes, there is a certain difficulty in the things
I say, the language I spew from a well...
[I miss how you liked my wells...] underselling
the overpriced merchandise of verbiage.
I resile in social situations because I understand
all too well the very way of human life,
the discrepancies which detail and catalogue
the trivial of your life in a story about life.
on a dirigible to avalon
I met a nimbus named pure
filled with cringles bearing pathways
down to the earth, down to the stars
and the burning stairs of heaven.
I asked him: "oh nimbus that I've found
why are you so bound?" to which he said:
"dear traveler, that you noticed my enthrallment
without seeing its purpose means
you do not hear the song of the sirens beyond."
upon tending the path which I'd yet
to fly about an ear, I noted notes being sung.
soon my ship was sunk.
after, in the delirium of clouds and seabirds
my mind was no more than a wreckage.