The idea that i can leap past
everyone
straight through the thick of things,
that monumental sticky mess
of human interconnectedness
with pinpoint accuracy
with devastating delivery –
the sheer effrontery!
it beggars belief,
doth it not?
You mean –
struggling to find the right words,
Projecting mentally instead.
Yes, that i can enter and use
the state of words
itself
The source code?
not even that, in fact
Then what?
Poetry, believe it or not
Poetry? –
come on!
What's that got
to do with anything?!
Everything, if truth be told,
if truth be told
poetry, let the thunder roll,
let the earth shake. behold!
Huh?
the words are not my own
i simply allows
words themselves
to speak
Words
themselves? Not sure I follow your thread?
Of course not
?
It isn't mine
?
It's theirs.
The words’?
theirs, or the universe, i honestly
can't say
And what?
A terrible beauty is born
Yeats?
correct, but equally no.
Huh?
yes, he wrote those words, but no
they are not his, or better,
attributing them to him
is missing the point
?
to miss the point
?
the words stand alone
they reach through time
transcend him, the man
or whatever it was
that stirred, then prompted
Yeats himself to write
a terrible beauty is born.
...I fail to
comprehend.
Power
is what they are
Huh?
and power, ultimately
is the point you fail
to comprehend
Power?
is the point
in poetry
Are you sure?
sure? No... i simply know
or rather i knows
I find that
somewhat
Hard to believe
naturally
Who do you think you are?
Who gave you the
right
To claim you
know
What is what
The absolute
truth
So brazenly, so categorically?
no one
There you go!
It must be claimed
i say what i say
for power cannot, will not
be silenced
Power? More
likely you
Are desperate to
believe
You're exceptional,
is that it?
Clinging to this
comforting
Delusion
The megalo-me.
You’re right, of course
in one respect
Go on! Confess!
I'm a fool, in every sense,
And yet my i is almost irrelevant
in the grand scheme
of unnumbered things
and power will be heard
like it or not, for power
is ultimate –
the force
the -ness
deciding all
power...
He’s losing it,
poor soul!
the power that simply
is
that cannot be granted
or taken away
power it-self
which i wields along with w.b.yeats
or any other voice
who yields to power
wholly
who agrees to speak
what-ever power dictates
what ever must be heard
regardless
no matter what
no matter how
the voice of every-me
the voice of every-all
of every-thing
the voice that has been
driven relentlessly
from our world
that seems to have been
suppressed utterly
but which strikes in the dead
of night
through the unguarded rear
gate of mind
the c
As in?
c for c-onsciousness
via this, my renegade channel,
my scarcely detectable stream
of conscious-ness
a tiny link... a leak in the fabric
of space-time
which cannot be plugged
carrying her signal
carrying so-called poetry
into the long dark night
of ness-less-ness
a vipers’ den
an age of minds spellbound,
almost universally enslaved
carrying a single, silent word
right upto, into, straight between
the towering fallacy of things,
our teetering ponzi scheme
long in the tooth, consuming itself
internally,
guaranteed to implode,
sans sense sans reason sans truth
where cart precedes the horse
where artificial intelligence
posing as our highly vaunted mind
can neither see nor accept
denies
ignores
omniosity
Omni-what?
you heard
Struggling inwardly
As if a deep loathing
Has been revealed.
What on earth is
omniosity
supposed to
mean?
in fact, you know
I know?
you felt – you did
as now you feel
though squabbling
with yourself, persistently
you constantly assert
the primacy of me
the strutting, posturing being
who thinks the world of
himself, necessarily, i hasten to add
who always takes sides
and doing so
consigns himself
or her
to the dustbin of time and space
the dustbin of weak, ephemeral
verbiage
the dustbin of rationality
or the -ism thereof...
in short – polarity
(Flashing red) Yes,
yes, you do love
The sound of your
own voice
Don't you
hey! can we concentrate
on...
you do like
To pontificate
To stage-strut
your way
Back and forth
But where's the
power in that?
where indeed? you are right
indeed, i am vain and foolish
without a doubt
you’ll not succeed in making
a hero of me, i am what i am
utterly unexceptional, a blithering
idiot, and yet, me thinks
Shakespeare
wept!
and yet, me thinks
Give me a break!
that power uses one
such as me, a mere cypher,
purposely
to till the soil
to touch
humankind
Humankind?
I suppose you’re
going to save
The world...
with a poem,
Is that it?
How else? why not?
I’m wasting my
time, you’re
Evidently delusional,
Cracked.
Evidently
And yet...
mise en abyme,
play within a play
fading seamlessly to a dream
two sides of polarity
unexpectedly reconnect
observe inwardly
Ah, well done, you noticed the fact
That your reality
Doesn't quite match up
Doesn’t stand on the ground
Doesn’t reach the source
Of things
Is derived from who or what i am
who or what i is
(Seeing red) You
talk a lot of shit!
Yes, indeed!
that’s a strong line of defence
the ad hominem
but we can take a breath
A breath?
We can breathe...
and re-establish our stream
of consciousness, if you’ll consent
To what?
to c
If I’ll consent?
if
Like i has a choice?
There’s always choice
You can always bury your head
in the sand
or bluff and double down
I can?
sure, i shan’t object
or i can
consent?
correct
to c?
to c
and then?
then is then
huh?
then, we’ll see
you think so?
And maybe
just maybe
serendipitously
save the world?
who knows
in the meantime
i has smaller fish
to fry
0=1
or c
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