Pain and its absence
great health is like the fullness of a symphony orchestra playing a great ballooning crescendo as if in the next moment it could devour the maestro but still play on can you, if you are in great health, feel this absence of pain and would it be like a silence, an deadly empty musical score? ...
I hear the frequency of my kitchen the deafening sound of appliances that killed the wind, the quiet murmur of the grass and the cicadas and the death throes of little animals I try to remember the smell of the earth her dirt, her ashes, her streams, her stones her forests, her oceans, the long ...
I observe myself with scientific precision: a large-brained primate manipulating an artifact with dexterous fingers. I have gone to bed with blackness lately for those who know how that feels. Time's racing. Imagine you are the only one in the universe you are its grimace and everything is suspended Perhaps we need words that last, ...
Edwin Vlassenroot, Milano)
we hasten not
it is high noon and the bright fruits shine in the air is a promise of decay we let the sun pour its old light on us and bury imagination in warm smiles we save up for higher seasons, for longer shadows for deeper promises and gentler declines slow and infinite are our thoughts, we ...
the joy of writing
self-awareness boils in your bloodstream you feel immersed in the wanton inflation of the infinite hole that homes you, and keeps you dissolving into that heightened state of mind, so you can push the buttons or beings loopiness. now two minds in such a state will smile at each other as two monads, on a ...
Robert Creeley (1926-2005)
This poem by Robert Creeley perfectly fits Bernie Sander's campaign. “I want, if older, / still to know / why, human, men / and women are / so torn, so lost / why hopes cannot / find a better world / than this.”
the day I found out that god didn't exist was like any other day I was eating the apple during school break observed by the boys that would steal my glasses I could not imagine back then that the laughing you hear when you watch tv isn't real
Two poems of Tomas Tranströmer
I discovered, through Facebook, the 2011 Swedish Nobel laureate
I want to describe this Christmas market with its two santa clauses with its smell of burning sugar and nuts its pointy shoed elves, its fake snow on miniature chalets, its happy tunes its steel frames covered with fake silk flowers its plastic mistletoes in the flickering light with a language that isn't subject to ...
AI, copy, repeat
what we can't automate in principle we can't monetize either
dark waves pound the steep cliffs below where the sea is great and never settles i dream to find shelter, to house in her to return to those first beginnings to access the experience, to welcome the waves when they roll home to me and my love. i whisper to her, stay because of everything we buried ...
Poetry in Times of Bullshit Jobs
On my screen is a translation of European data protection law. On my ears is Beethoven's seventh. A major. I listen to one of the greatest geniuses of our modernity. My fingers are moving with every measure. The vacuity of the language I observe, as it emerges on my screen suddenly enables me to see ...
oh, you can arouse her straight from your browser
Bullshit Job Rap
We perform empty tasks to protect the status quo of the one percent Hell-bent on endless wealth multiplication and profit enlargement The fruit of our labor is trickling bottom-up on the escarpment We're the indentured workers who slave for money just to pay our rent "It's the economy, stupid" preaches Donald Trump who knows how ...
I like Charlie Mingus I like cunnilingus I like to lick my fingers while I'm eating you out