- The Philotropic Equilibrist
- At Apogee
- The Chant of Non-Koan
- Breaking The Godspell
- The Inescapable Universe
We have not been waiting for you!
We knew you would meet us everywhere!
If you are a seasoned traveler
Enjoy your acceleration!
If new to these velocities
Please stow your carry-on fears under your seat
And carefully read the book in front of you.
The Philotropic Equilibrist
"True poetry is always an early form of our future common speech"
- Frank Clinton, Retrospection In Retrospect
More than the pregnant
Hung hollow to dry In coffee'd air;
(Some culled club
Of a dull two-edged cliche)
Neither a black belt in innuendo
Nor a silver tongue for solipsism;
More than idiosyncratic privatisms,
Or the correct academic thing.
The shambling, threadbare vocabulary
Obsequiously rattling mediocre metaphors
In the tin cup of one's inadequacy,
Panhandling the reader's
The public gashing of hysterical wrist,
The ceremonial disembowelment
Over innocent paper,
The obtuse capitulation to the void
In impeccable Italian clothes,
Or the picking of one's emotional scabs
Offered, in bruised defiance,
As facsimile of a complex universe.
The romantic perception that,
At its best, the making of poetry
Differs from meditation
Only in that one judges it
To pause in the toroidal spiral
Of hyperrecursion to splash a bit of ink,
Scratch a few inchoate syllables,
Pan a rough neural gem
Or flecks of intellectual gold,
Enough for one more decent meal
Of fresh metaphor garnished, perhaps,
By an appropriate word or two
With the elusive charisma, body and bouquet
Analog of an unhurried sherry.
Even the profound articulation
Attained in the tranquil eye
Of counterclockwise anxiety,
Or the unanticipated vision seen
Staggering from some transparent,
More satisfactory that,
Beyond the prescient probing
Of the quick and the deft
When the ambiguous roots of equations
That must be written in three dimensions
Warp the Cartesian axes
Of our elemental perception
In the complex gravity
Of reflexive consciousness,
The elegant delineation
Of symbiotic topologies taxes
Even poetry's meta-syntactical flexion.
When sanity sends you an invoice,
Caught pacing the fractal fringes
Of four-dimensional retuition,
One must mint metaphor In real time
With a non-arbitrary vocabulary
So pungently precise
It silences the transforms of intuition,
Creates a dynamic ad hoc integrity,
A sympathetic shiver
Of intuitive delight,
In those who know the place
But not its name,
The name but not that it is a place,
A name so seriously precise
That it is humorous,
A diamond point of oscillating
As we tame poetry's laryngeal strut,
To the high tasks of humor,
And the higher task of wisdom,
Slowly the slippery imprecision
Of the rose garden,
Quickens to trans-dimensional perception.
At the still point of the turning universe,
All meaning can become so clear
No poetry is possible;
Words lose their charm,
Shimmering in consensual resonance,
Polarized to transparency
By the orthogonal oscillation
Of their duplex roots.
Poetry alight Is fore-space reification
A luminous obsidian microscapel
Of orthoscopic discovery
"Turn a word, with precision,
Turn a war, a world."
To say the least,
If it is possible to say the least,
It is probably not possible
To say the very least
While you are the music,
But shall we not try?
Playful terror of pedestrian bards,
Disdainer of menopausal musings,
Imploder of their cloyed vehicles,
I come, seeking the prerequisite tuning
Among you somnambulant singers
For I am this spacetime's itinerant
Crafter of the new language;
Lapidary of the touchstone word,
The singing singularity;
Seeker of isotropic freedom
Face to the stellar winds,
Rider of gravitational groundswells
Undulating galactic undertow;
Juggler of alternate universes
Strolling the ubiquitous fringing
Vast violet whirlpools of captive light;
Purveyor of phoneme tokens
For transelectromagnetic transit,
Chronicler of quantum suggestions
Driven by their transparent potential
To leave cryptic conceptual cairns;
Dispatcher of the urgent image
Rumoring events in the ancient future
Fragments of alien conversations
Whispering along astral geodesics;
Cherisher of the isospin relationship,
Exquisite sexual synchronicity,
Vehicle of elegant molecular geometry
Shimmering spiral of binary intelligence;
Forger of the explorer's canticle
Space-ready and earth-content.
Tear down the dusty shrines to Anachronism,
Monasteries of your private sensitivities!
I'll teach you the relativistic space-craft,
Quantum modalities fitting of our kind,
In the key of zero-G.
In a time of younger vectoring
The subtle pragmatic hiss
Of quantum statistical static
Or sudden irradiations
From cosmic thunderclaps
Spider-alerted my personal web
Into grotesque local distortions,
Comic fatigue from colored infusions,
Fiber optic fibrillations
Flashing through the labyrinthine
Endocrine rites of passage ... leading to fear.
In time and out of time
One learns to witness
Classic cellular metaphors
Impersonal hormonal software
Polarizing the stochastic proclivities
Of our bicameral genetics
Sequentially tripping smooth molecular relays
Analog grammar of our survival.
One gains paralogical balance
To surf the thunderclap's curl,
Traversing the multiple ecliptics
Of the bead game's conversation,
Taught by gratuitous densifications
Quite logical but always amazing
Accelerated by foregranting friendships
Interpersonal tendrils glowing
In nondescript times
Amplified intelligent fusions
Leading to universe doubling love.
In a fit of fun Under a full moon
Swung a luminous hip at me
Said "....you feel?"
I'll fabricate you a rolling field effect
An unilateral symmetry convergent
In this aromatic haze
Singing in hologrammatical cadences
Of a gentle sinuosity
Suspended in transpersonal space.
....Would you like a bite?"
"Certainly, I've tickets to your show!
Dusky glittering phallicisms pollinating the gibbering wind
Idly rolling the rattling limit-cubes
Of discarded concepts where
Metaphysics' dry night
Goes blind with fright
My ( tittering ) hero!"
By mock-strike laughing finger
Arching my back as it gold-trailed,
Drew consciousness across my blushing abdomen.
In those private times
When we pluck the shimmering lattices
Of quadramatrix consciousness
Into asymmetrical harmonics,
Hurtling outbound through the heroic asteroids
Of our rational minds,
Most ancient song begins to unbind
Our mutual histoglyphics Into succulent synchronicities.
And suddenly I remember In peripheral history
That, significantly, bones glow, sinews grin,
Subtle molecular intrusion triggering
Fringe rippled neuronet extends
Through paisley fractal dimensions
Absorbing the smiling infusions
Of your binary gravity.
The awarenesses that we care to share simply
Become in the silvered curved emulsion
Parent transmind of our transparent mind
Proximal activation of genetic epigrams
As the content of our context
Becomes the context of our content'.
The inexorable hedonic overtones
Of those ancestral harmonies
Excite the fluid frequencies
Of our binary pulsar drive
As awareness rebounds coterminous
With consensual universe
Until the parallel imprecision
Of our asymptotic velocities
Sparks across the limit set of ecstasy
Exquisite acceleration into hyperdrift
Time past and time future
Only retrospective convergencies
As we read the flickering neuroglyphs
Embedded in incandescent filigrees
Of synaptic conversation
Along this unimaginable apogee.
In cosmic double entendre we become
The modes of our perception,
Extrusions of consciousness
Through the prism of gravity
Rainbowing the quantum preunity
Into a spectrum of encrypted frequencies
Whose indigenous syllogistics
Cascade kaleidescoping In self-referencing transforms:
Reality the hologrammatical standing wave
Perceived by the surreal light
Of strobing cancellations
In the hypercomplex of interference patterns
As a quantum modality
Requires a pliant scalar grace
To be prepotent pheromemes
Laughing across dimensions,
Curled so tightly they whisper
In an unthinkable friction.
Undulating Escherian fabrics
Woven of the naked laws of form,
Rarefy to Cagian stillness,
Without conceptual subtitles,
Until quaint compassion Is the only valid currency;
Calling/crossing diamond token
The subquantal shuttle
Rapid transit two.
Here one must forego even the language
Spoken only in pastperfect humor
Tensed along the back of the eyes
Learned in the very ancient future
From savants, outlaws and cognoscenti
Who have slipped the event horizons
Of select singularities.
In the quantum modality,
Across interpersonal synapses
Oscillating conscious equation
Scintillating maximum pleasure
Of minimal differentiation
Humorous helical undulation
Of transparent vulnerability
In synchronous phase spaces
A few smiling photons exchanging
The negotiated symmetry
Of congruent initial conditions
In sparse engrammatical syntax
The frictionless retroactivity
Of gene-field recognition.
Here one must finally forego
Even the tincture of exponentiated poetry,
The beautiful blasphemy of thinking.
The intrinsically recurrent
Now only a rote declension,
A reflexive Dopplering contrail,
The tense of security.
In any way we know we know
If one wishes to be informed,
An epistemologically humorous dare;
If one desires to be in form,
If one deliberates,
An arbitrary construction;
If one decides,
An intrinsic construction;
If one differentiates,
If one chooses,
If one chooses to persist,
Somewhere along freefall
Fourth derivative friction In the multiplexing geometries
Emergent in the iridescent geodesics,
Churning conceptual webs,
In reconstituted universes,
Only possibles yet In the teeming of probables.
Is reflexive pleasure;
The beginning of existence
As pure information.
Our omniscient fingertips
Reify, touch as polyvariant topologies
Tuning the superstrings of duality
Teasing non-local harmonics into empathy
Still beyond the innuendo of trajectory;
Only a congealing overtone.
The monolithic threshold
Of allowable universe encountered
At humming velvet velocity crystallizes
Molecular memories past and future
Glittering in the merging mirrors
Of contracting dimensions
Tracking one's timeline origin
By atomic pheromones
At four liquid frames per second
Toward rising cellular symphonies
Sudden solar resonances awaken
To the onset of conscious sleep
Prerequisite the rites of intricate passage
Through local customs.
Too soon the familiar
Reentry corridor echoing
Hawked by second class deities
Forecasts and rumors
Headlines of the politics of evolution,
Offering limbic thrills In elationary traps
Limited noetic exultations,
In the clean rooms of idealized realities.
The games of thinkable gods
Are always antique ecstasies,
Even the exalted plucking of superstrings
Played coterminous with universe
An intrinsic pastime of past time
Only possible derivatively
In a relatively relative space-time.
If you think about it.
Slowly the universe,
The grinding expedient
And the impractical essential,
Dealt with in humor
As the contrails fade,
In the cyclic redemption of citizenship.
Patience is a Newtonian virtue
Only in Cartesian space.
Treading the opposites
As stones to the teahouse,
Each step a statement,
Or juggling them as runes
Each toss a pun, a parable
One gains paralogical balance
At the coda of refractive thresholds
Permit us not
To impinge ourselves
We are only an extended
And xylophone bone
Unrhymed in non-time
A reciprocating dance
In our own phase-space.
The Chant Of Non-Koan
Permit me not
To introduce myself
I am only Non Koan
A rhythmic limbic,
One hand band,
Like a Zen master's cane
Augural doggerel's my game.
Called me Chiton
Such a horny polysaccharide
Thorn in the side!
But mimicked either,
Jived the hive.
I am notes in the margin
My own style
My own smile
Call me Paraphrase
Or out of phase
I'm a spacetime dancer
Verbal tightrope prancer
Wild side walker
Language a game,
At least a predilection,
Poetry's only a paper caper
Weak flickering taper
But Non Koan grammar
Hits like a hammer;
In which to dabble.
No fame. No blame.
Look in my eyes
And find the free lance ambiot
That is both
You and I
Know the arcane lore
Of solipsism's spore
Prepackaged freeze-dried umbra,
Littering the intellectual tundra
Where metaphysics' dry night
Goes blind with fright
Level of rarity,
Parity of synchronicity,
Where prime rhyme's the same
As patrician periodicity.
A Salespitch chant
Do not linger
With the ancient singers
At the corner of Garlic and Rose.
Put ethnic traps
To your back
Take gentle leave
Of cloying tugs at your sleeve.
Daylight or night
Cleave to the spot
Charmed matrix dot
Under the stoplight
Where, in a pinch,
Moving only an inch
Always allows you to go.
You can see,
Through my inflections,
That a purveyor I am
Of botanical confections.
Step right through, folks!
Step right through!
Tell you what I'm not going to!
What I have in this vial,
In a very short while,
Spins you through an age
As if through a page!
Prevents with a taste
A whole life of waste!
The product of my vat
Can transform Laplace
Into Schroedinger's cat!
In a wink, with a drink,
Make Descartes really think!
Tell you what I'm not going to!
The one and many
Molecular cosmic mirror cleaner
I'll GIVE it to you If you'll just step through!
Before all, after all,
What else is the sound
Of a one hand band?
Permit me not
To ingratiate myself
I am uneasily Non Koan
A progressively digressive
Like the aikido master's game
Your aggression is my digression.
In my search for the exotic
Biopyrotechnics that endure
Most curious pleasure I've been able to procure,
A laser-traced treasure,
Polyhedral crystal polyglot
Of science fiction diction
Spoken by Swartzchilders
Who trade in pastperfect futures
And quantum commodities far wilder
While summering along private radii
Following their relative bent
To a pregeometric extent
Sipping Brownian fizzes without visible change
Except to the range
Of their horizon's events.
To be explicit
I do not traffic
In the gross
Or in the illicit
But once, by mistake,
Down a black hole
To their chagrin,
Since, once they were in,
They found, in awe,
Regarding matters perverse,
The Law serves the sentence --- in reverse.
Yet, permit me not
To intrude myself
I am simply Non Koan
A serpentine endocrine
Like the philosopher stoned
Infinite regression's my profession.
From the quantum outback
(Squeezed in the nick
Through a suspension
Of the consensual
That would give even Kali a kick!)
On the subquantal shuttle,
As I loaded my trove for home,
-- such a subtle rebuttal --
"Home is only a genome!"
"Quarks are atomic pheromones!"
Then it's slide
The stark stellar dark
In glorious hyperdrive,
Down and through
The sullen solar stew
(One must shield one's stock
When the crackling electric demons
Lurking in Van Allen's belt
Begin to pelt
With elastic shock)
Skirting the gravity of customs,
For I am, by election,
A dedicated purveyor
Of molecular confections.
But, permit me not
To reiterate myself
I am certainly Non-Koan
A slippery symbiont
Like imaginary numbers
Uneasy solutions are my fame.
So! Step right through, folks!
Step right through!
Tell you what I'm not going to!
In a blink
Through a chink
In the consensual window
I'll guide you as you go
If you'll just step through!
From the clear space
Between innocent smoke
And fearful mirrors
Between the teahouse
And the recent future
A deftly adept
Collector of intellectual taxes
Rattling the conscious bone
To drive a no-point home.
Permit me to excuse myself
I am a transmuting koan
A cosmic windharp
The knave of the game called Names
Yet, when caught in your freeze frame,
Infinite progression's the game of my name.
So, do not let the driving rhyme
The song of a one hand band
Cause you to miss the new paradigm
Celebration of a grand reality
The regality of relative immortality
At the coda of refractive thresholds
Breaking The Godspell
We have come, these last two incredible millennia,
In vulnerable suspension between identities,
Walking the eerie boundaries between ages,
Both equally ours, yet not quite ourselves;
Timidly murmuring precluded questions,
Hovering between the obvious and the unthinkable
The delicate, evolving psyche
Palpated by the throbbing genetic dynamos,
Unripe defiance transmuting gradually
Into quiet detachment, yet avoiding
Premature disenfranchisement In duplicitous cultures.
We have come, knowing that, somehow
We were supposed to know, ever less docilely,
Stringing and unstringing the bow,
Denying the reality of the target,
Following the wrong gods home,
Down the uneasy valleys
Of our species' discontent,
Lately patting our pockets for the last few
Stereoarchetypes left to scratch dim light
Against the shadows and spectres
Of those petulant gods we have been
Trained to find peering, peevishly,
Through flaking scars in the silvering
Of the puzzled mirrors of our introspection.
From where did this history come?
Parched Persian sand is an impartial curator,
A patient and laconic collector
Of fur, feces, kings, or records of the stars,
Indiscriminate, but highly efficient,
Treasurer of the ubiquitous clay archives
Incised with our unthinkable history:
Of transcultural gods,
Muscular and imperfect gods,
Known and approachable gods,
Lusting and loving gods,
Goddesses of engineering,
Gods of rocketry and flight,
Goddesses of architecture,
Science, and the birthing
Of our synthetic species,
Multiple mothers of our genetic genesis.
The unthinkable message
Of ancient broadcast resonating
In the molecular archives,
Three hundred thousand years of power
From the spiral antenna,
Station DNA announcing
The reification of history
Recovered and re-acknowledged,
Polished and published
By the patient shifting of purblind
Crystal silicon, communicating
Only when we were ready in our time
Of silicon and crystal communication
To disavow this strange apotheosis of aliens.
The gods, unmasked, are found smiling
In our genome's spiral mirror;
Their history travelling
The undulating neurolexicons
Of our helical history's
This is the end-game of an age,
Be certain; the dreamtime of the hapless hero
With a thousand hang-ups is over.
Mark it well.
At the convoluted coda
Of current consensual reality
(A brief period of static grace)
It is history or hallucination,
Nothing less, as we awake from the suprafamilar,
Of history as mythology,
The myth of myths, the self-imposed
Cloud of unknowing shrouding
The genetic narcolepsy of our denial.
From your self-imposed Alcatraz.
The ultimate totemtaboo
A beat frequency schizophrenia
Of the bicameral oscillation
Damping the throbbing genetic
Intimations of immortality
With a fulminating lead grey scrawl
Across the innocent local heavens.
We need no longer live recycling
The fragmented, maudlin tales
Told by confused ancestors
Across the dying embers
Of somnambulant cultures,
Shuddering at the old words,
The antique awe, self-inditing
Metaphors imprinted in the womb,
Trembling in the fear of our fear,
Wracked and torn by weird irruptions
Of suppressed archetypes
From beneath our dignity.
In the elational daylight
Of genetic enlightenment
We shall overcome the ancient godspell
Slave blindness, god-fright,
Parent taboo, Babel-factoring
Our genetic genius
Into negative quotients.
Come down, Job, from your dung heap,
Wash off the ashes of your subservience,
Own your own skin. In the nature
Of our beginning lies the seed
Of our alienation and the night
In which you lived under that brittle
And unforgiving sun.
We are, no longer, the property
Of those parent-gods nor their partners
In our precocity.
The synthetic species
Awakens from it racial amnesia,
The long millennial dreamtime
Has healed the unspeakable trauma
Of their leaving without bothering
To explain: the laboratory door closing
And the lights extinguished.
The rock sharp reality sustained
By the benevolent local Nefilim
Imploded into our innocence.
It was, in any manner of speaking,
Unbearable; scalding humiliation,
A hideous, silent shrieking
From the pit of a child's craven fear
That we were truly abandoned
And would surely perish.
Seeking the return, the favor
Of the parent-gods at any cost,
Mute performance of the only way we knew
Gives way to dismay and, finally,
The hearts of daughters
On unconcerned stone;
Reeking rivers of brother-blood
Down pyramid steps, the hideous
Currency of obsequious supplication
Scarring the uplifted palm.
The resonance of genetic valences skewed
By coordinates warped and gradually
Lost with the parchments
Of Alexandria's agony of fire:
An unthinkable intellectual genocide.
Precarious oral traditions,
Threading the eye of imperfect intellects
Eased furtively into library, then sanctum
And finally into cave. The unvarnished
History, occulted gradually by the now
Unfettered power of patronizing
High servants, desperate foremen kings,
And second class elders, falters
And transmutes. The flesh and blood,
Real and imperfect gods replaced
By rote remembrances, rituals,
Cargo-cults and cathedrals,
Stained glass, the color of blood,
The mirror of our guesses.
Religions the sublimation
Of the ancient subservience,
The master-slave relationship
Of our synthetic origins,
The godspell, a dream within a dream,
The meta-myth of our myths,
The Babel factor exponentiated Into a war of absolutes,
The certain indicators of uncertainty.
Rise, Buddha, from your serene tree.
Our aboriginal subservience,
The autopilot of yesterday's survival,
Disengaged, gives way to the imperative
Of the bicameral engine:
Genetic enlightenment a moving point
Along the arching trajectory
Of our accelerating metamorphosis.
The mutant species shakes off Its racial amnesia;
The focused realization
Of the inexorable evolution
Ignites the incandescent
Genetic awakening blazes along the very bone,
Breaches the autonomic barriers,
Commands the cellular echelons,
Rescinds the molecular encryptions.
The agonizingly poignant jeweled birth cry
Of a race reaching planetary parturition
Rises over the planet.
All done In one revolution
Of that unknown, so familiar planet.
The godspell is broken.
So, here we stand,
Loitering on the brink of our first
Uncharted millennium, shifting from one
Intellectual foot to another,
Generally comfortable speaking to strangers,
Innocently unarmed, for the most part,
Recognizing the naive adolescence
Of the atheist's incredulity,
Having gotten it only half right with Darwin,
Tending to avoid the sacred traps,
Having learned to tactfully suspect
The museum keeper, equally,
With the general, the priest, the politician,
The penitent and the police.
Even the children, a reverse measure
Of our certainty, have long been taught
To discount the unfounded image
Of brutish ancestors
Gnawing unspeakable bones,
The simple, early rhymes about
Dumb Darwinian damsels
Dragged into drudgery
By despicably doltish duds.
But this future shall be quite different.
We have recovered the clay keys,
Attained our own understanding
Of how it could be so,
Regained our potential for sanity,
Thrown off the blinding fear.
We can accept our unthinkable history;
We can remember.
For a time it will be inevitably sad,
Some still lost to the pitiful safety
Of subservience, still congealed in rituals,
Myths and reasonable theologies.
But the cycles of our planetary amnesia
Give way to our own god games,
And we shall not die, struck
By some anticipated antique god-bolt,
Or offhand remark from a burning bush.
We will no longer accept third hand
Condemnations by second hand prophets,
The absolutes of ignorant visionaries,
Vilification by self-appointed
And amateur would-be gods.
Those we respect have cautiously
Relegated the false imperatives
Of stiff-legged canine warfare,
Of Pulitzer'd, pragmatic politic,
To textbook tintypes
Of mammalian psychopathology.
But what of the precocious
Prematurers of inchoate vision,
Waiting all night in line
On the strength of persistent
And clandestine rumor
Of a second edition
After two millennia?
Driven by anticipatory tensions
To brave the tweed, tenured fury
Of vituperative academicians,
The steel-rimmed patronizing
Of cynically derisive scientists,
The amoral refractivity
Of the theological police,
And the pervasive cultural deafness
That stunts the child,
Contracts the adult,
Enervates the ancients,
They have wandered, bewildered,
Futants and aliens in their time,
Furtively scouring the mindless bazaars
For hand-made parts for their vision;
Naturally noble, sensitive, precocious
Children refusing to close the doors
Of perception on parental command;
Royalty, provided only one conform.
Not nurtured, nor educated to dance
To the rhythms of our private
No toe-hold in the dark,
No adequate maps, no context
So many lost to the mad world,
We have lost too many
In that lonely unnecessary fire.
No longer must the few survivors
Stagger from that scorching reentry In dazed glory.
We need never
Do that to ourselves again.
Rather, in our time, we shall learn
The sound of our own freedom,
At first disconcerting in the gentleness
Of its echo off the back wall of infinity,
Learn the intricate steps of the quaint
Dance of our oscillatory and peculiar
Kind of consciousness; re-discover
The threads of our common humanity
Woven in the tapestries of our cultures,
Struggle into the lightness
Of an unaccustomed, unassailable integrity
And prepare to take the children
For a visit to the patient grandparents.
In the satisfactory afternoon
Of bicameral integration
We become our own
Merging our planetary genius
Into positive unity.
The godspell is broken;
Let our god-games begin.
The Inescapable Universe
In this inevitable and amazing time
Of our racial efflorescence,
Along the ubiquitously unvectored interface
With the refractory zero-point's mirrored synergy,
The languid vectors of our racial trajectory,
Shimmering along the complex planes
Of our consciousness' latest orthorotation,
Converge, coherently, still parsed
But irresistibly prepotent,
Into a dynamic fluidity of higher awareness,
The habitual perception of four dimensions.
Incited by the cumulative volatility
Of latent informational clues;
Abetted by the startlingly independent agenda
Of benevolent extensions of hyperbiological
Neural field negotiations, far beyond
A simpleminded sophistication of synapses;
Compelled by an accommodative genetic imperative
Expressed in polyphonic neuroglyphs,
We shall proceed by redefining ourselves,
Eased by quantum currency, spent relativistically,
Out of the Newtonian sand traps,
Through the bars of quaint Cartesian prisons,
The way of the charmed particle
And the way of right intention oscillating
In intricate reciprocal modulations,
We shall attain a fiercely blissful,
Transparent intensity of awareness
Subsuming no-mind, satori, tao, samhadi,
Prajna, wisdom, the austere secret
Of Tibetan jewel mind and elusive enlightenment,
All signifying a charming and childlike beginning,
Beautiful and awkward, a determined self-initiation
Into an assiduous and recursively holy arrogance;
Ancient mind transmuted into its tranquil chrysalis
For which immortality will be its fleeting mating time,
In a generically comfortable hyperdimensionality
Of consensual comprehension; the pitifully inadequate
Current metaphors for which, even as we plot expeditions
Into the quantum foam, lead, inexorably,
To hopelessly unmanageable laughter.
When one releases one's consciousness
To one's own recognizance, deliberately disbarring
Oneself as self-appointed judge, pardon has meaning
Only in the universe of statutes, a privileged,
Juried show of static geometry, long discarded
For a degree of freedom so radical the uninitiated
Find it disconcertingly lonely, not having become
Accustomed to our own company from an early age.
All ideas of our time, outmoded by their very
Amenability to expression, still necessary
In the transitional phase in which awakening
To the process is the process itself,
For which we will find, cyclically,
A more suitable name than evolution.
The predictable is only a subset of the known;
Science, an amulet rubbed against error,
Seduces to security.
Quantity is but a reflection of being;
Mathematics, a philonumerical incantation,
Seduces to control.
Reason is but a shadow of wisdom;
Philosophy, an archaic intellectual politic,
Seduces to concordance.
Syllogisms are not the same as sanity;
Logic, a handrail to consensus,
Seduces to confidence.
All are subsets of incomplete theorems,
Larval convulsions, time-stamped to expire
Spontaneously bursting their desiccated criteria
At the edge of our genetic season.
Outmoded metaphors, regardless of venerability
Or fame of vintage, are the ultimate
Evolutionary obstruction, an embarrassment
Of traditions; psyche, intellect, mind, reason,
Intuition, imagination, will and wisdom
All antique metaphors, justifiable
Only as translational stelae, brittle labels
On dusty containers.
In these latter days of life In the divided middle, our thought,
Chafed by the blunted jaws of binary scholastic traps,
Bound to dreary, plodding coordinates
Orbiting an origin relative to nothing;
Finding little solace in the small transition
From ricocheting concepts of equal and opposite
Rigidities to fields over fields among fields;
Our consensual communications display
High valence for a higher science,
Congruous with our consciousness,
Befitting our dignity, and consonant
With our epistemic vision.
Realizing only an inadequacy of metaphor
Rather than a satisfactory expansion
Into the anticipated, we have delayed leisure,
Held knowledge in abeyance, decried wealth,
If not sufficiency, fearing a premature freedom,
While craving each as an inalienable right.
But honest reason, reflecting, has found
Logic inadequate at the edge of awareness,
Unable to escape the elastic bonds
Of its own preemptive postulates; shaken
By the oscillations of statements
That must be written in three dimensions;
Its plea to a syllogistic court of appeals
Has betrayed it into truth: logic is a function
Of three dimensions; it is blind in its fourth eye.
In our spiraling cycles of morphogenetic discontent,
Ascending through harmonics of consciousness
Each of greater unified dimensionality,
We have enshrined as current criterion of truth
Each cresting of consciousness,
Apogee of awareness reached.
Reason, in due season, was enthroned when
The heady fullness of the Hellenic consciousness
For which logic was a geometry of thought,
Geometry a logic of space, having afforded itself
Sufficient leisure to reflect on itself,
Codified the processes of reasoning, and logically so,
Securing the rules against the foil of unruly ecstasy
And the disturbing unreason of oracles.
Reason, in a reasonable universe, has always found
Intuition naive, the transcendental incomprehensible,
Imagination childlike, ecstasy suspect, if not degenerate.
But we shall have a metasyllogistic logic,
Topologically adequate to the fabric of spacetime,
Subsuming linear reason, intuition and parallel processes,
Easily capable of tautologies of higher power,
Oscillating statements and self-referential equations.
Self-reference is the only common language we speak.
With regard to the universe,
One probably may make it as simple
Or as complex as one wishes.
If one chooses to determine
That one has a choice, being careful;
If one chooses to determine
That one has no choice, being careful,
Reciprocating statements about reciprocity
May not rend the elastic discontent
Of our involuted introspection
Into hopelessly unmanageable laughter.
Even as we seek respectful control over our existence,
Adjusting to the disconcertingly pleasant promise
Of continuance at will in a known universe,
The classic gambits of withdrawal, heroic service,
Asceticism, licentiousness, elegance, poverty;
The acceleration of process,
Canonization of progress,
Stimulus, study, knowledge, resignation
Or the integration of polarities,
All are uncovered as escapes within the prison,
Awkward displacement activities constituting,
Ultimately, only a cyclical substitution of metaphors,
Each containing the seed of its own supersedure.
We shall have a philotropic humanism
Worthy of immortals who play their own god games.
Whether perceived as hyperrecursive ratcheting
Along the fractal fringes of chaotic awareness
Or as a graceful superluminal fluidity,
The current focus of our racial attention
To determine its selfsource, groundstate,
In one's own good time, on one's own terms,
Without a strike price, depreciation,
Or termination clause, demands a new physicality,
Due immediately on its very realization.
No longer subject to the implacable authority
Of seasonal rhythms lapping along the dulling bone,
Or condemned to be the petrified ancient
Whose only interest is the friendship of the fire,
With the passing of the macabre winter shadow
We shall see, in our astounded lifetimes,
The obliteration of the event horizon of the death sump.
The elegant and pitiful, classic rage against the void,
The gruesome romanticism of the mystic
And the honest horror of the materialist
All erased to a clear glass into the future.
At this anticipated but unfamiliar threshold,
There is, no longer, an adequate archetype
For the fullness of the human but the human.
Immortality is the only real impulse toward laughter,
A context of adequate leisure in which to determine
Our future evolutionary trajectory.
Darwin's precocious contribution
Was to simply bestow a name,
A hesitant distinguishing,
A gentlemanly shove against the wall,
Intending little harm, except, perhaps,
Righteously to the legacy of Moses;
Denied access to our bicameral beginning
Hidden by the heavy cultural tapestries
Of the godspell mind, getting it
Only half right, yet a clear focus,
Regardless of caveats, igniting a firestorm.
What was intended as description
Of nature's way rather came to signal,
Across the echoes of conflict,
An indication of a fundamental momentum,
A potential to bootstrap, consciously,
Out of the bated daguerreotype illusion,
Static, yet somehow indictable,
Of control by God the photographer,
Not yet a return of full birthright
(Yet admirable vision for viscid Victorianism)
But a rumor of a promise of a potential.
Darwin's consciousness failed
At the self-conscious gate,
Where both survival and altruism
Are subsumed by compassion,
The jewel on the forebrain,
The backlighting of the new benevolence.
Having shaken the ancient slave binding godspell
That excised the child's ability, before birth,
To participate in the primary human field equation,
Slowly we turn to acknowledge, in clear discernment,
The true creature so long disguised,
By the hapless cleric, as depraved, clothed by mandate,
And apish by description if not by doctrine.
For this theological chimera, the prisoner
Of the menacing mantis mentality of theotribal opinion,
Inhibition causes peer pressure to pale
Before the primitive motions,
Mean mammalian machinations, masquerading as human,
Stunning in the proto-nakedness of the aggression,
Sullen, limbic, reptilian competition.
The cobra's fangs cannot be compared
To the contemptuous venom of the spitting silencer.
The terrifying assertion of the silverback
Quivers before the mewling malfeasance of devolved elders.
The nervous desperation of the cheetah's hunt
Is not the sneering depravity of the urban predator.
But, inexorably, through furtive indirection;
The insight of the surviving warrior;
A woman's true word; the keening fire
Of chastening exhaustion or shared disaster,
All of equal risk, we have come, haltingly,
To differentiate, not among the religiously moral,
The fashionably ethical, the culturally correct
Or the philosophically logical but, elementally,
Between the sociopathic and the benevolent,
The dogmatically skewed and the generically human,
Those who would deprive, invade, coerce, or kill
And those in whose presence we could doze, who
Would support, criticize, tolerate, enhance and further
All freedom of our everyselves in consort or alone.
The local patois and dialects which confuse us
Are transient effects of the Babel factoring
Of our species' genius by those ancient masters
Who would divide to control into artificial subservience,
A vote of no self-confidence caused by the torturous
Apotheosis of aliens, a tri-millennial transition
From serf to Savior to self.
We have projected
Our precocious bicameral metamorphosis
On the absent minded ways of natural process.
The restoration of our species' confidence
Facilitates the rediscovery of an archetypal modality
Resonant across space, time, and species,
Sought long by the lonely poet, the whole vision again
Recognized as the touchstone of the philosopher
Now in consort with the artist, the linguist
The mathematician and the scientist.
The ultimate sadness is that one
Cannot wait forever for those
Fearing death because it is an unknown,
Fearing life because it is an unknown,
Fearing mistakes because they were unknown,
Fearing the first movement out of fear
Because it is into the unknown,
Writhe resentfully, attempting to escape
This anomalous and inescapable universe
Which must respect its everyself
By allowing such maximal freedom,
An incomprehensible latitude of structured chaos.
There is, perhaps, more hope for younger skeptics,
Those of translucent black humor who, having avoided
Contamination by common education,
Maintaining an eccentric privacy
While collecting classic philosophical gambits,
Dehydrated academic museum pieces,
Elegant in their own right and time,
Spoken in many voices, in many ages,
A function of the parameters of our comprehension,
Now recited in the mall by the sophomore
And the uncluttered, in a rocking chant
Of unknowing against the reflective
Wailing wall of our epistemic anxiety:
Once again, now!
There can be no proof
That there can be no proof;
Certainly no certainty
That there is no certainty;
No absolute determination
That there are no absolutes;
One must be aware that one is aware
Before one can know that one is aware;
One defines what one wishes to define
By defining what one wishes to define;
By what criteria shall we judge the criteria
By which we judge our criteria?
How can we know the truth of what we sing
Unless we define a universe in which to sing?
When one's consciousness has become habituated
To being coterminous with the ubiquitous universe,
Taunt polarities are a manifestation of local panic;
The continuous dissembling of forming constructs
A far more profitable itinerant pastime
Within the context of the faintly luminescent
Clock-logic, child-fears of our linear dusk.
From now forward into the subjective future,
Each conceptual cairn we posit will be understood
As only a marker on a map of a territory, lawful,
But to a law which is its own intrinsic modifier.
As we slowly approach the compressed light
At the heart of the toroidal shift
Signaling a higher integration of the familiar,
Even as the dissolving convolutions
Of our self-awareness logically smother
All possibility of continuance in thought,
That which is the inexorable continuance
Has already uncoiled beyond the obstruction,
Transcendental dynamics driving the unfurlment
From which we are free to personally secede,
Although we cannot otherwise prevent.
Even as we become aware of the cosmos
As a neutral plenum of structured potential,
Tolerant even of our most brattish petulancy,
Our demand that the universe reveal itself completely,
Is an audacious, even humorous, display
Of our murky comprehension, even more disconcerting
In the possibility that the universe may comply.
The universe, demanding of itself to know everything
Of itself, is, indeed, a strange metaphor.
A curious universe, nurturing a consciousness
Which, no sooner formed, would step outside
The unimaginable cosmic envelope to comparatively shop
Its suitability for habitation, play, and profit.
To take the universe humorously, for some,
Is a most brazen and significant sacrilege:
But, at this extreme, such imputed larval insensitivity
May be understood as an appropriate expression
Of the intrinsic humor of the universe itself.
A serene contemplation of fourth dimensional
Angular momentum humming in the wind harp's
Motionless strings, incessantly altering
Initiating conditions of the cricket-still air,
Tends to subdue incessant recursion but only
Until one considers whether one is considering,
Breaking into hopelessly unmanageable laughter.
There is a class of human consciousness
Which presides, rather than observes,
In a clear hegemony, exercising
A preemptive sovereignty, essentially
Unavailable to poetry's probity,
Not amenable to metaphor, an unanticipatable
Inescapability but not a prime mover,
An unquestionable primacy of awareness
Which alone confers a diploma on philosophy;
Assigns logic its license;
Endows wisdom with its significance;
Bestows permission on art;
Awards mathematics its prize;
Inspects the procedures of science;
Regulates religion; defines intelligence;
Prompts intuition; teaches transcendence;
Integrates ecstasy; critiques its own
Poetic reflections on itself
As it informs the local universe
With the self-referential patterns
Of our racial dance in the continuum.
The vexing sandglass flux of our verbal processes
Lags comprehension by several orders of motion;
Our language, factious and degenerate,
The triple key withdrawn, a truculent dictionary
Of mismatched odd parts that must be slammed by syntax,
Hammered by grammar, warped, folded, forcefully
Elided or compressed to gain even a proximate accuracy.
Words that should be robust, elegant, evocative,
Capable of right resonance and right meaning,
Having long lost their systemic consort,
Simply drop, detached and clattering, on the earthen floor
Of our inarticulate suspicions,
An embarrassed and pitiful parsimony of speech;
Even the energy of the poet drained in making do,
The tea neglected and tepid from the effort to achieve
Some semblance of pleasant presentation
From unmatched services, awkward together,
Attempting to elicit a subtle precision
Of cadence and meaning through sheer determination
And desperate devices, burdening the impotent interstices
Of silence or bluffing with an intimidating glossalalia
Of insipid images, or a pastiche of rhomboidal words
Of no intrinsic relationship, skewed, warped,
Cobbled and coerced to yield something more
Than an inglorious, forced fury of hollow dissonance
And lesser meaning.
But, having regained custody
Of the ancient code, analog of the sutra
Of our genetic unfurlment, we shall have
A robust and dignified language
Of aesthetic timbre and inherent consonance,
An intrinsic symphony of resonant meaning,
Amenable to ad hoc correlative expansions;
A planetary tongue of higher order
Hardly differentiable from the consciousness
Of its employ; a subtle mirror of the neural instrument
In which it plays; summer lightning across the waters
Of perception; a soft luminous spark across synapses;
A vehicle of self-generational wisdom; an unfettered
Modality of recursive progression into the future
Or the past; an effulgent speech of interlocking construct,
Multi-dimensional and logically metasyllogistic,
Yielding an easy non-local tiling of exposition
Of indefinite boundaries, quick of hologrammatical humor.
The mild autism of the current breed of bard
Will be outmoded; everyone a poet by the very speaking.
The consciousness of the new human,
At play in the polyvalent freedom
Of quadramatrix perception, shall be
Dimensional in a manner of expansion;
Wholistic in a manner of expression;
Metasyllogistic in a manner of logic;
Intelligent in a manner of priority;
Sequential in a manner of concordance;
Compassionate in a manner of integrity,
Composed in a manner of patience;
Complex in a manner of purpose;
Immortal in a manner of simple dignity.
Such a rhapsodic unified dynamic
Of self-referential state transition is yet
Only a dim view through a narrow slit
Of frequency, a function of our exponentiating
Awareness of our self-awareness, our current
Triumph but a first epistemic fetal movement,
Regarded as touching among our planets.