Our language
I overlook the green garden The wind is almost invisible A sheep is bleating, nearby Look at the evolution of Our language, she is layered She is a flight And a hiding place Some people make it The green garden doesn't make it The wind doesn't make it The sheep doesn't make it
Professor Trompsky #3
Professor Trompsky, what do you think of the intellectual climate of today? There is a worrying decline of what I call the culture of wisdom. More often than not, people engaging in debates are more concerned with cementing their own argumentation, making their own narrative waterproof as it were. Instead of trying to integrate the ...
Professor Trompsky #1
Professor Trompsky, welcome to our studio. At 87, do you have any plans for retirement? Listen, the burden of the world rests on my shoulders. I can't just give up because the fragility that is slowly but certainly shutting down my body. My responsibilities are grand, and with grandure I shall go to the grave. Can ...
we burst heartlong through life
we burst heartlong through life before the silence we don't know the probability of a thermonuclear war & other reflections of the mammalian brain ________that rascal! butterfly wings are rife with functionality ________or take phantom limbs we tool like a tool inside a tool & that is confusing too but also wonderful like feeling the ...
We breathe calmly. The word purpose agitates. Propos, to 'put forth' says the etymology. We are familiar with a hierarchy of purposes. At the end of a curious child's inquisitive series of "why?" every adult will resort to "just because". The purpose of growing up is to contribute to society. The purpose of society is ...
Starlight
last night, ancient starlight fell onto your arm it was billions of years old and had traveled the entire time only to smash into your barren wrinkled skin. there was a team of people who rushed in to help you wonder, and to make sure you understand the grandure, the sheer magnificence of it all. ...
My words that are idiot contracts written to the music of escape.
Meditation on Hope
We sit and pretend we are terminally ill. We breathe calmly. What is hope? What do we make of the bonmot that 'hope dies last' if we are lost in a desert without the prospect of water? And isn't the human condition hopeless 'in the end', if we presuppose a rough understanding of hope as ...