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

I follow the saccade
deeper into its sound
of diurnal jerky eye movements

looking around the scene
undecidedly hearing a thrush
thrusting and pecking

the molted exoskeleton
of a mold-housing nymph
masked by chirping cicadas

left, right, above: within one’s head
all scrubs and trees alike
abolishing absence of life

between the dewdrop’s depths
of summer twilights and the
bat crossing human crossings

silence smiles with sharp monotony
when invited
and heard

it’s early morning
when I say it is
time to wake a walk

                               —animasuri’24

trigger:

Ruefle, M. (2012). Madness, Rack, and Honey : Collected Lectures. Seattle, USA: Wave Books. Retrievable via: https://archive.org/details/madnessrackhoney0000ruef/page/n6/mode/1up

Walking
through a Cartesian space.
crossings:
that thickness

aligning:
corners at zero:
the signpost
of all axes meeting.

meeting:
at Octant VIII’s axes.
axes as liminal spaces
that mathematically exist

axes,
with
a thickness
of infinite thinness

where
relativity
collapses
into singularity
and physics
seizes to not-exist,

here she enters
not
as she imagines it

but
as she thinks to know
deductively
she enters Octant VII:
it’s a bit frisky here,
sounding playfully cold

and yet
here on these axes, at zero
or elsewhere
if one wishes
there is no entropy,
infinity existing
as none-existent thinness

the air is thin,
the ledge is thin,
the logic is thin,
the queue
at the Octant II box office
is even thinner, but long
as is she

for a spot
to be placed
point blank,
a pint, a copper
and a bet
at the tip of a plus-sized vector
instant dietary callback.

for there
is one dimensionality
collapsing into zero:
therefore thinness
is an infinite obsession

a point
rolled out and
lined up straight
around the globe
curved as fabric

at the event horizon
where mass is large
curvatures are dances
to disintegrate

and light
to not escape
can this space
contain
border-crossing movement
as it occurs?

or
is it infinitely
confusion to her,
at the moment of crossing

where width is synonymous
to negligence of length
and deals are made
in corridors

isomorphically crossing
the line
where she fights abstraction,
absurdity, and, and!
abbeys brewing
dark beer

physics’ reality
seizes to exist
the moment
she abstracts into axes

physics’ reality
seizes to be
mystified
moments she crosses
barrels

physics seizes
reality
when
axes direct and engage
in velocity

physics warbles
when
their mingled
chemistry intoxicates.

Take a breather:
she wears perfume now.

At the none existent
liminality,
pivoting
morphology:
sized
and measured up

forces
delineated
and poles
swapped

one might find solace
in Cloud Atlases
or Naked Lunches

“I’m positively in your debt now,”
X capitulates, yearning force.
Coins tossing
the nightstand.

and just
when you think
she will,
she powerfully doesn’t.

                    —animasuri’24