Computer poetry is warfare carried out by other means, a warfare against conventionality and language that has become automatized. Strange as it seems, our finite state automata have become the poet’s allies in this struggle, the long historical battle by which mankind pries into the surface of language to reveal its latent mysteries… R.W. Bailey, Computer Poems (1973)
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Highgate Hellfire
newton's world is a great machine operated by a demon at a button wearied by years of narrative science. cursed in the repetition of a gravity which collapses into a masochist's minstrel pushing a fat lamb up an incline of nails. nuns with guns are chasing their own habits. business men reach their hands into their throats. they will breed a new cancer with an asexual reproduction of disfigured midgets growing from the tumors in their chests. they will run through the heart of them, beating faster, faster, faster till their power suits are ablaze in names. mothers will shove their children back into their wombs where they will be safe from craven comforts and sickbed medicine along the dark streets of a coward's definition of a tomb's prediction. i will be buried alive in darkness, my sky like a shadow, my spirit a house i cannot escape warming in the night like a defense mechanism weeping the voiceless whispers of consecreated cries burst into the grammar of a cave.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Popular Posts
-
Dave: Look at you. You're sitting at your desk staring at several books. None of which you feel like reading. Dave: Yeah, I know. I need...
-
[1] Daedicarus the attacks will be psycholigical. the inverted apex of a predator's index. & when the storm comes the walls wil...
-
the LORD's house called time furnace tender Gilgal ( gate of desYre ) place of blood out where foreign gods preach through their te...
-
de blessed di mata de runden don umata shlet tel fleb inducta nomini ophesia disti mata donde et satam est di mata mata tanta dephaige induc...
-
all angles edge perfectly upon their pretext. copies of angels. as many as could be collected by Aye Mencius Possunt in his hour of science....
No comments:
Post a Comment