Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Monday, August 2, 2010
Untitled :: WIP
Consumed like plastic wrapped meattrinkets
in a grocery store sit my writer's heart
at sleeve length atop the dungheap
others refer to as my telelogical continuity.
No real meaning in the authentic sense of all things.
Banished by unanimous braincommittee from
both Verona and Eden.
Cursed to trudge and toil in the furrows
of other mens' minds whilst expected
to spray my own with his pesticides
and pull my own nettles and buckthorn
without gloved hands.
Tender is the constant gardner of his own
plantation; brutal and swift is he toward lesser mens'
victory gardens.
in a grocery store sit my writer's heart
at sleeve length atop the dungheap
others refer to as my telelogical continuity.
No real meaning in the authentic sense of all things.
Banished by unanimous braincommittee from
both Verona and Eden.
Cursed to trudge and toil in the furrows
of other mens' minds whilst expected
to spray my own with his pesticides
and pull my own nettles and buckthorn
without gloved hands.
Tender is the constant gardner of his own
plantation; brutal and swift is he toward lesser mens'
victory gardens.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Useless But Not For Long :: WIP
My future is coming on, is coming on, is coming on. My future.
What is continuity, really? This blog has a slug that dictates the authors name as if it means something. Absolutely, there are things about the author that demonstrate his ability to navigate this world with some sort of cohesive attitude and behavior. But aside from a name and a set of behaviors or specific set of characteristics that are identified by those around him as being uniquely "him," however, if you talk to a psychologist or any one of a number other other professions that study and dictate social mores and norms they fit a pattern of a wider culture and, more specifically, geopolitical location. They are, those behaviors and beliefs, in essence, not the author's own rather, they belong to the environment in which he was reared and continues to operate. The author cannot find anything about himself that is uniquely "his." Yet, he operates with authority and authenticity that he claims as his "own." "My life," he says, "is mine unto me." It is those things his broader culture or, again, more specifically, his specific geopolitical location, that really dictates what he values and sees and "right" and "wrong."
To be told he would be a loser for not doing X when he wants to do Y; and Y, according to his worldview, is what is best he and his kin even if Y flies in the face of those dictating and touting the virtuousness of X. What is correct? Is it better for the author to follow those things that allow him to operate with a sense of his own continuity or, as the often much louder and thus, sometimes more persuasive majority voice. But again, this reckons the question, what is continuity? Can one claim any sort of continuity if he is always at the whim of another's idea of what is "right" or "wrong?" It is a constant struggle to find one's own voice amidst the cacophony of liars. Perhaps, then, the question isn't "what is continuity?" rather, it is, "what is authentic?" To yourself be true, but who's truth? Does one really establish their own truth in the staccato chatter of a world who is constantly trying, in a very tyrannical way, to mandate it's own version of "right" and "wrong?" Can an authentic sense of truthful continuity ever really be found?
The author challenges those always dictating X to disclose what makes X such a better decision than Y. Can it really be done? Thomas Jefferson warned nearly three centuries ago of the tyranny of the majority; a majority, in this case the "loudest" of the voices in that staccato filled social, political, emotional, cultural and geographic vacuum we all nebulously exist. How does he who dictates the virtues and values of X thinking weigh his authentic truthful continuity against those that say Y with anything more than, "Because, that is what I think is best."
To be sure, to be human is to think and, the author chooses to take it a step further, to sit in judgment of another's thoughts. This is discourse. To shut down and refrain from discourse is tyranny. To sit in constant, self-righteous judgment and issue tyrannical dictates of what he assumes to be authentic truthful continuity makes a man shallow and cruel. Again, what makes his authentic truthful continuity the "right" authentic truthful continuity? Man's Law is his best attempt at curbing Natural Law which, by all accounts is brutish and short; Man's law doesn't attempt to dictate "right" and "wrong," it attempts to dictate what is "legal" and "illegal." In this vein let's raise the age old philosophical quandary: Is it right for a starving man to steal for himself and his family?
I am sure if you are the shop keeper you have a different perspective, a different authentic truthful continuity than the man committing the theft. Our laws, Man's Law, does not dictate who is correct or, perhaps more aptly, righteous. Our laws attempt to prop up the social value of the artificial construction (property) in the face of human needs (hunger). Though the author believes most human beings would feel obliged to say, "Let the hungry man eat," yet, the core humanist obligation always seems to fall flat in the face of tyranny, however that tyranny manifest itself. Daily, men in the United States are divested of their freedom for dispossessing the smallest amount of wealth from those that have the most.
In human relationships that exist outside the realm Man's Law, this same thing happens. Men view their daughters and wives as property and to dispossess a man of his daughter in a way that falls outside of Man's Law (or his self-righteous authentic truthful continuity) is prosecutable, not in court, but by a vindictive heart. However, outmoded this idea of ownership may seem in the face of modern feminism and critical cultural theory, their are loud factions of a minority that posit themselves as a majority simply because they can raise the loudest voice or biggest stick. This idea of the corporeal body being the site of tyrannical control can be seen in abortion protesters not only shouting terrible slurs outside of clinics but also in the violence perpetrated against doctors and those that utilize abortion services. It is governance of fear and projection of the unknown. My G-d, would never condone such practices but, a handful of people's G-d says that the use of violence and fear as a control mechanism is the ultimate authentic truthful continuity.
The vindictive heart of a man that holds onto arcane and self-righteous ideas of his own authentic truthful continuity creates tumultuous repercussions not only his life but in the lives of those he directly touches. Again, who is one man, though he is loudest minority (which makes he and others think he is the majority), to dictate the authentic truthful continuity of another?
What is continuity, really? This blog has a slug that dictates the authors name as if it means something. Absolutely, there are things about the author that demonstrate his ability to navigate this world with some sort of cohesive attitude and behavior. But aside from a name and a set of behaviors or specific set of characteristics that are identified by those around him as being uniquely "him," however, if you talk to a psychologist or any one of a number other other professions that study and dictate social mores and norms they fit a pattern of a wider culture and, more specifically, geopolitical location. They are, those behaviors and beliefs, in essence, not the author's own rather, they belong to the environment in which he was reared and continues to operate. The author cannot find anything about himself that is uniquely "his." Yet, he operates with authority and authenticity that he claims as his "own." "My life," he says, "is mine unto me." It is those things his broader culture or, again, more specifically, his specific geopolitical location, that really dictates what he values and sees and "right" and "wrong."
To be told he would be a loser for not doing X when he wants to do Y; and Y, according to his worldview, is what is best he and his kin even if Y flies in the face of those dictating and touting the virtuousness of X. What is correct? Is it better for the author to follow those things that allow him to operate with a sense of his own continuity or, as the often much louder and thus, sometimes more persuasive majority voice. But again, this reckons the question, what is continuity? Can one claim any sort of continuity if he is always at the whim of another's idea of what is "right" or "wrong?" It is a constant struggle to find one's own voice amidst the cacophony of liars. Perhaps, then, the question isn't "what is continuity?" rather, it is, "what is authentic?" To yourself be true, but who's truth? Does one really establish their own truth in the staccato chatter of a world who is constantly trying, in a very tyrannical way, to mandate it's own version of "right" and "wrong?" Can an authentic sense of truthful continuity ever really be found?
The author challenges those always dictating X to disclose what makes X such a better decision than Y. Can it really be done? Thomas Jefferson warned nearly three centuries ago of the tyranny of the majority; a majority, in this case the "loudest" of the voices in that staccato filled social, political, emotional, cultural and geographic vacuum we all nebulously exist. How does he who dictates the virtues and values of X thinking weigh his authentic truthful continuity against those that say Y with anything more than, "Because, that is what I think is best."
To be sure, to be human is to think and, the author chooses to take it a step further, to sit in judgment of another's thoughts. This is discourse. To shut down and refrain from discourse is tyranny. To sit in constant, self-righteous judgment and issue tyrannical dictates of what he assumes to be authentic truthful continuity makes a man shallow and cruel. Again, what makes his authentic truthful continuity the "right" authentic truthful continuity? Man's Law is his best attempt at curbing Natural Law which, by all accounts is brutish and short; Man's law doesn't attempt to dictate "right" and "wrong," it attempts to dictate what is "legal" and "illegal." In this vein let's raise the age old philosophical quandary: Is it right for a starving man to steal for himself and his family?
I am sure if you are the shop keeper you have a different perspective, a different authentic truthful continuity than the man committing the theft. Our laws, Man's Law, does not dictate who is correct or, perhaps more aptly, righteous. Our laws attempt to prop up the social value of the artificial construction (property) in the face of human needs (hunger). Though the author believes most human beings would feel obliged to say, "Let the hungry man eat," yet, the core humanist obligation always seems to fall flat in the face of tyranny, however that tyranny manifest itself. Daily, men in the United States are divested of their freedom for dispossessing the smallest amount of wealth from those that have the most.
In human relationships that exist outside the realm Man's Law, this same thing happens. Men view their daughters and wives as property and to dispossess a man of his daughter in a way that falls outside of Man's Law (or his self-righteous authentic truthful continuity) is prosecutable, not in court, but by a vindictive heart. However, outmoded this idea of ownership may seem in the face of modern feminism and critical cultural theory, their are loud factions of a minority that posit themselves as a majority simply because they can raise the loudest voice or biggest stick. This idea of the corporeal body being the site of tyrannical control can be seen in abortion protesters not only shouting terrible slurs outside of clinics but also in the violence perpetrated against doctors and those that utilize abortion services. It is governance of fear and projection of the unknown. My G-d, would never condone such practices but, a handful of people's G-d says that the use of violence and fear as a control mechanism is the ultimate authentic truthful continuity.
The vindictive heart of a man that holds onto arcane and self-righteous ideas of his own authentic truthful continuity creates tumultuous repercussions not only his life but in the lives of those he directly touches. Again, who is one man, though he is loudest minority (which makes he and others think he is the majority), to dictate the authentic truthful continuity of another?
Friday, July 23, 2010
Evaporated :: WIP
To write prose is to breath with heavy lungs.
Asbestos fiber embedded in otherwise healthy organs, waiting.
Waiting to consume a whole for selfish purposes, foot to neck.
Bite the curb, nigger! They scream, and push to curb broken nose
shattered teeth.
Heart broken Liberty trudges the alleys and gangways looking for
bottles of love.
Emptied of all meaning, puffed, sails in oceans of considerable size.
Pissing into wind, stop.
Asbestos fiber embedded in otherwise healthy organs, waiting.
Waiting to consume a whole for selfish purposes, foot to neck.
Bite the curb, nigger! They scream, and push to curb broken nose
shattered teeth.
Heart broken Liberty trudges the alleys and gangways looking for
bottles of love.
Emptied of all meaning, puffed, sails in oceans of considerable size.
Pissing into wind, stop.
John Brown's body sways in the gentle breeze, reminder that life is
sanctified but only in blood and tears. What's the value of life?
It's seen in the mangled bodies pierced through the heart with
hot lead and bronze spears. Waste.
Cable tow around neck ties each to all and all to none.
Disjointed cybernetic community brings us together by segregating us
to our locked rooms.
Savage beating of breast and head.
Disemboweled; slit from nose to penis, opened up.
Prostrated in front of altars to false gods and capital.
Soul now commodified and the body a prison.
Death is not reprieve, the sins(debt) of the father are always
revisited on the son, ten-fold.
Prairie Doves :: To AWJ
White lilies.
Talking to you through electrotype transcription.
The subtlety of the unspoken
words weigh heavily on those
days we have no contact.
Your desert prairie doves
have nested in the bunk house
of my heart.
Our doors are guarded by
stinging nettles and salt brush.
Talking to you through electrotype transcription.
The subtlety of the unspoken
words weigh heavily on those
days we have no contact.
Your desert prairie doves
have nested in the bunk house
of my heart.
Our doors are guarded by
stinging nettles and salt brush.
Open Range
Oyster moon dripping
luminary pearls
into the jewlers hand.
Precious celestial metals
trim the hems
of galactic garments.
Lined with the fur
of fire fox.
A million places to
hide cracked rocks
from Europa.
The great Titan
went and brushed
his shoulder off
scoffed at his external charge
which now navigates the
vast void.
Expanded girth of Venus
result: spaceship birth.
Technicolor dream state worth
its weight in gold.
Evolution on hold.
Wobbly topped
revolution, three-six-five
hasn’t stopped in 250 billion years.
Onyx expanse.
Cosmic praire.
Lonesome dove.
Time measured in rhythms
tapped out on the architects
bongo drums.
Long pauses of “ohm.”
luminary pearls
into the jewlers hand.
Precious celestial metals
trim the hems
of galactic garments.
Lined with the fur
of fire fox.
A million places to
hide cracked rocks
from Europa.
The great Titan
went and brushed
his shoulder off
scoffed at his external charge
which now navigates the
vast void.
Expanded girth of Venus
result: spaceship birth.
Technicolor dream state worth
its weight in gold.
Evolution on hold.
Wobbly topped
revolution, three-six-five
hasn’t stopped in 250 billion years.
Onyx expanse.
Cosmic praire.
Lonesome dove.
Time measured in rhythms
tapped out on the architects
bongo drums.
Long pauses of “ohm.”
Love Left Chicago
Six years
the trail of tears
started out innocent.
Pure as de Beers.
Our first apartment
turning 21
that trip to Colorado.
Reyado,
tracking and navigating
destiny revealed itself.
Our love repealed itself and left Chicago.
You left Chicago.
And I don’t know where to go.
I’m sorry I was gone for awhile
and left you in that disaster space.
Never loved me.
Stood by me,
not for me.
If I could sing it would be the blues.
Because shit doesn’t just come
in 2’s.
It comes in three’s and fourses.
Dark skies bring dark forces.
Four horses of the apocalypse,
Love stalled.
Everything has to rearrange.
The inspiration for rhyming line
after line.
Like watermelon rind
not so sweet
when the substance is gone.
the trail of tears
started out innocent.
Pure as de Beers.
Our first apartment
turning 21
that trip to Colorado.
Reyado,
tracking and navigating
destiny revealed itself.
Our love repealed itself and left Chicago.
You left Chicago.
And I don’t know where to go.
I’m sorry I was gone for awhile
and left you in that disaster space.
Never loved me.
Stood by me,
not for me.
If I could sing it would be the blues.
Because shit doesn’t just come
in 2’s.
It comes in three’s and fourses.
Dark skies bring dark forces.
Four horses of the apocalypse,
Love stalled.
Everything has to rearrange.
The inspiration for rhyming line
after line.
Like watermelon rind
not so sweet
when the substance is gone.
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