RÓse blòssom RÉD BLÉD BLÉdius
insect toss’em to a distant radius
distracted by the critter’s crawl
as by sleight of hand ‘t was dè sting of thorn
that jettisoned the sly beetle’s downfall

Nearly healthy soil crumbs’ surfaces
clinging on memories of mist and droplets
of clouds confused and dampened to dew
tentacles wiggled with a weary whisker
or eyelash laid shed ‘n’ aged nearby

flowers as with snifter stems elongating calls
for intimacy and increased sense where tingly
feelings end in pain bellow the bubbly bloomy bouquet
testing roving noses and fidgeting fingertips
to eagerly miss crawlers ‘n’ prickles

with squeamish stomachs as creeping of sliding creatures
sounding an Ur alert for the gardened self to gush a blurt
as a burp releasing anciently held fears and tightness
“aaah,” relaxes the beetle to a sigh:
“sounds good”

                                  —animasuri’24

The artificial and its intelligences
if technological are a veil of the institutional.
in that space have you ever thought
we do not think in language and rather

—as the bird abstracts home by weaving a nest— we think in abstraction; as jiǎgǔwén thought by stick figure we weave meaning by incorrection

figuring humans to intellect as note taking;
as thought echoing across time. driving sticks and carvings: How do we deeply think love? How do we think companionship?

How do we think of the incomputable liminality when searing to ask: what has not been captured not by the frame of thought, knowledges and intelligences, yet carries meaning wordlessly and incalculably?

How does one think fairness for froth? but by Chaos as waiting room for paragraphs to be sentenced. When it is not ordered by thought in taught language as to educate to forget by authoritative reduction.

I think yet I do not need to language therefore I am: I think in colors when smelling the letters of the wrinkle ever small upon your skin on the side of your left eye: I think to know love is triggered there:

I think scraping dead skin as data does not tell my story but on surfaces of syntax as ripped covers from untouched drinks: you might get a taste quickly flushed and never toiled

and never needed to be told: if one does not think does one belief out of language?

                  —animasuri’24

Sauntering barefooted who not only senses surfaces of clay dune gravel dust across the old man’s floor either recently passed away temperatures and flows texture topologies of unchanged fluid meaning propriocepting our movements across That floor if crevices could line up every word articulated all thought ricocheted off any cranial wall that visited stilted above bare feet weighted and strung across the barrel of a spectrum spanning verbal love making musings to brutal brawled toxic talk without any comma semicolon or periodic question mark yet sneaking in a capital or two Freedom of Speech monotonically spits out any word heaping hopping hoping for free domes of unfiltered coffee ground mixed with glass shards and a lone staple licked from a tongue before swallowing if there ever were freedom there would be detritus saliva interwoven with secreted heavenly words well here it hints walking barefooted across the skid marks of a verbosity herder horsing around and hoarding hearsay for fact and folk art for fancy. Periods are as grains stuck between toes and teeth lacking their release from ever needing to be there pulling a toe as a tooth rathe than a silenced letter r lacking freedom to be speeched from a word or placing the grain elsewhere if only care discernment and flow formed a mop onto the old man’s floor passed away Is then the man alive and well and how does one pass away a floor for more dust to dust and word to word as methane or flowered bouquet attractively arranged

                          —animasuri’24

—-•
an unrelated trigger in the periphery but related in time, attention and space

Lawrence, N. (2024, August 28). Neil Lawrence: Being human in the age of the machine. IN: Sackur, S. (2024, August 28). HARDtalk. 23 minutes. Online: BBC World Service. 05:06 (22:06 BST). https://www.bbc.co.uk/sounds/play/w3ct5t4h?partner=uk.co.bbc&origin=share-mobile AND https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/w3ct5t4h (concepts: eugenics, intelligence, technocracy, tech industry, governance, understandability)

The robot acts as it must
under the apple tree

besides its founder’s bust
forged in metals of logic

bolted on a cube of concrete
effectively fixed in rhyme

at the cost of a many a life’s fee
autonomously yet lacking trust

remanences if a magnetic didactic panel
of fallen red fruits for none to discrete

inconsistently in harmony:
with seasons and leaves

a puff of wind, rustles and gnat clouds
with apples lacking pie

                        —animasuri’24

a trigger or two:

Amodei, D., Olah, C., Steinhardt, J., Christiano, P., Schulman, J., & Mané, D. (2016). Concrete Problems in AI Safety (arXiv:1606.06565). arXiv. http://arxiv.org/abs/1606.06565

Nissenbaum, H. (2004). Privacy as Contextual Integrity. Washington Law Review, 79.

Through his designer sight
he became his designed environment
his critical distance evaporated

His critique equated to janitorial disgruntlement
when his premise had footprints
on the ceiling, walls and floor

as if his soul had been trampled on
his baby dropped
his layer of paint not pampered

His designed world was but a fold in the fabric
a string of beads slid along crevices of his desires
and existence while suckled remained hidden from insight

                                    —animasuri’24

I can hear the words and pitch to her songs perfectly
once I try to sing ’m all become ephemeral
wiped with a sponge of transformation
from mind to pressure and absence of muscle memory

I can eloquently separate the words to a grand speech
once on stage, even at that kitchen table with mom
grammar and syntax as vassals of order and sequence
never rsvp’ed and retired from their halls of reverberation

I can sense the confidence in verbose presentation
I can sense perfection in the plucking of a string ’n’ vocal cord
I can feel the energy, the passion, the skill
ah, if only

imagination

                            —animasuri’24

I submitted bodily fluids to control
there goes the diaper, here’s my bathroom

I hardened the path surrendering it to logic
a highway appeared, orthopedically manicured

I categorized the outside by governance
a wall on stilts separates the other from this side

I straightened out the river surrendering it to intellect
a canal with canal locks and spillways came in its stead

I have beaten life’s single determinant with willpower
here’s a photograph of me on my deathbed

Please, remember,
you’ll keep it safe?

                              —animasuri’24

Why let us wish you an invisible Thursday. Be done with it. Get it over with. Fold it and stuff it under a week’s worth of carpet. As all good bachelors are destined to do once or other day. But no. Not on Thursdays. Has one ever acknowledged a Thursday’s bachelor? By thunder, no. Procrastinate from Sundays to Wednesdays. Have a day left out to grow envious of and we’ll call Friday-Saturdays that weekend we all imagined for good measure. Immeasurably if all else failed that day, chew on this, for isn’t chewing that repetitive act life seems to deny us to be bored with?

—animasuri’24