Nimrod is probably a self-communion of abnegation masturbation. CONTAINING magicians' disclaimers & strengthening the deceived & those who are divested of any illusion.
they will recognize the testimony of an opposite.
& by careful devotion
declare all things forbidden
but forced there by our folding prophets' veteres fidem. their ways will echo a sorcery of inferiority.
this testament is a cast off skin written by an identity prophet in his hour Gethsemane. our vulgar translation incarnate
we are no longer heroes
underneath these auspices
we are villains & victims
cast off your skin again
& be prepared to translate
this script
has begun to run
its course
some victim. bound to some device. that could translate the sunset. into undisturbed sleep with its perfect realization of the dreams of dawn.
gates frame our neighbors
guilty of
somewhat hopeful dawns/dreams. & Hentenius explanations. kissing sympathies off the backs of kings. lapidosus versionem. nowhere power. haunting the n[EG]ations. in Zoar space. we are all messages. packets of reality. contained within the desire for us to be. and messages can merely be deleted.
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)
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Popular Posts
-
This proof for whatever reason gets into people's heads. Any adjectival property of an object is a dimension. Really simple proof. ...
-
III. The Economy is a Game. The Game is played for market share. He who controls the most market share is winning the game. Since it is equa...
-
until her smiles were only kept teeth with a pain for believing, he was acquired by riverlike eyes, deserted at each watched horizon, fed pr...
-
dust silence as earthen mountains pitied earth. he had no hands. and he was four feet away from a military grade rape kit. then they languis...
-
bat island warms by the scream of insincerity. star suicides cleansed from time. the margins of the bound are the boundary of a breath assai...
No comments:
Post a Comment