silent robotics

delicate plastic

tinkering thoughts

constraining mechanism

i’m here touching you

you’re warm,

 as warm as

your homeostasis allows

and as your feeling guides

i turn to your world,

see into your presence

aware of the detail

the silent robotics

from which you emerge

humanoid form

kiss me because

we love each other

two of earth’s creations

self-organized, and

auto-katilized from the

precise contexts of our birth

firmware and mindset

developmental structures

---interacted with our world---

experiences guiding experiences

we love each other

two beings,

you and I

completed mindset

points trace to points

lines in my mindset

dotted along my

full connectome,    

completed being

mess of sodium concentrations

structures of myelin

our thick, fatty soul

cabling our thoughts

at thirty clicks per second

pops of now

waves of presence,

conscious perception

flesh intact,

skull, thick braincase,

encapsulate my cerebrospinal,

my extracellular fluid.

my vessels of oxygenation

fuel my electrical being

oscillating to create my

completed mindset

undulating moods of then

influencing now

with wicked indifference

to my present desire.

i am many things,

contexts essential

to my me-ness.

strip away my circumstance

and watch me become a new person:

sometimes dead,

sometimes weary,

and sometimes,

ready.

writing for themselves

moving on several months later
who writes for themselves anymore
no one calls people crazy anymore
or, that's the filter they have around me
since I'm either
    a) obviously crazy, or
    b) so clearly not crazy it would be silly to accuse
and that filter leads me to conclude
such crazy things like
    a) I'm crazy, or
    b) I'm not crazy, and
either would be crazy to determine
if the opposite were indeed true...
which is, of course, a general property of sanity,
but it's especially true in this context,
this environment, where we're considering
   a) the clarity of thought, or
   b) the soundness of ideology, so
let's just
get down
to business

rhinoceros

we’re in this world

it’s hard enough

just being here

our open markets

let people construct

financial devices

wherever they succeed

...without intervention

in some way,

it’s our job

you know

as citizens

to identify

what can

and cannot

be done

in the name

of money.

but it’s

really hard

to tell

someone that

the way they’ve

found to live

cannot be done

because it’s

so HARD

to live

so DIFFICULT

to ascend these stairs

in light of all we’ve known

sparkles in your eye

minds of the unknown

frighten me

that they might

slay the rhinoceros

stab into the dark

carve into our future

because mine gives

so many shits about theirs

and we’re joined

in our

cyberemotional Umwelt

of what actually does

make it in this mess

of today.

I mean like

fuuuhhhck

look behind me

see that statue?

cut stone

meets our presence now

uncrushed

never left

in enemy territory,

hammered down

in outright despair

and now

look before me

to this whole

manifold of possibilities

spaces intertwining

money creates engines

on our futures

and each creature

rises like a phoenix

once the fire strikes

the burning begins

—nay, nay.

remind yourself

it is our responsibility

to influence

and guide

the engines

of tomorrow

medusa, cry

Let's talk
full headed medusa
small juicy snakes
full girthed
jetting poison
full creativity

found alone again
no face
to stand
opposite
and tangent
full featured
gutted motif
full bias lighting

I'm a fucking
jellyfish
fucking like
spores floating
sperm germinating
smoothed pestel,
met reproducing
tides of an
unswept
unmeditated
mind

clear it sweep
tidings to be
unbalanced I find
myself alone--
    medusa, cry.

profile

I am the plate that fixes a heavy, black chain which whips and pulls with a dagger on its end, tracing curves through the Husserlian space of all mental states.

kung-fu magic.

Kung-fu magic

fighting for, at least, something
to hold on to
That's what I know.
I'm about as alive as I can remember,
and for now, I can't seem to remember very much.

It's not that I feel, what, without life
It's more like
The barriers of memory
confine
what and how
I think of myself

For instance:
 there are times that I forget music.
Strange, because
I've been
playing music
longer than I
can remember.
I mean: really.

Some of my first memories are
playing my mother's grand piano,
bought fresh from the admiral's wife,
with higher strings
slightly rusted
from the belly
of a cargo ship,
that drifting Italian,
toward our Chesapeake.
Slammed for drama,
keys pressed like
"the day Abraham Lincoln was shot."
that's what I named it.

Quarter,
 to half,
to competition violins
crying over
a cracked bridge
in the back of a church
for old, bitter Olga.

I learned bass because
I dropped our new,
red, Mexican fender,
strangely bigger
and heavier
to my uncertain
8 year old hands.

my life can be told with music,
yet sometimes I forget.
Not just sometimes.
We're not being fair, though.
It's not really the same thing as forgetting
it's that sometimes, like earlier,
the thoughts we have are
just not including...
and...
it's not included.

Who am I?
What have I done?
Oh, god, what have I done?!
I'm fighting for myself,
against the boundaries of
our totally context sensitive lives
kung-fu magic.