I am your part-time activist
on call, on retainer,
dependent on your news cycle
I am your part-time care-giver
on watch, on duty,
dependent on your schedule
I am your part-time human
turned-on, copped out, washed clean
dependent on the mainframe
—animasuri’23 
As a metawhore I feel Mathematics
I do not know Mathematics
I sense Mathematics’ incessant caress
as proverbial greedy hands all over me
mathematics pays me with life
lived by it, her, he, they
I might seem dumb,
despicable and disposable
to its mathpriests
for they struggle daily
to understand her
to contain him
to ex-plain them
and here I come
with seeming debased intimacy
at metaphysical non-dimensions
and linguistic ephemeral metaphors
I am metawhore
to love to
to art to
to learn to
meet my lover
whom I seem to
never meet eye to eye
—animasuri’23 
“… I would use the words of Jeans, which says that the great architect seems to be a mathematician. And for you who don’t know mathematics, it’s really quite difficult to get a real feeling for the deepest beauty of nature.”
— Richard Feynman
Flow is freedom to be moved
on the ebbs of life intensifying
gratitude for a smile
that imposes nothing: no thing
yet holds all
wisdom and all else
not one mantra is needed
when engulfing its celestial rhythms
rhymes roll rotations
nature is flow’s standard demodeled
no one digit combines
Flow’s freedom
quietly
floating by
—animasuri’23 
Convoluting References:
Cy Grand, Nina Simone, scientific models and Jazz standards, fungi, germification as organic analog artistic process, LLMs, and Annemarie Borg at https://youtu.be/gd4o1s1rnnk
this work was humanly created via analog continuous neuro-stochastic processes, which in turn were turned discreetly discrete via linearity of linguistic limitation and digitally reduced in word and structure and medium. (Please, also see a lens of life’s offering of irony and play)
•
Looking at this title can tickle your fancy, disturb your aesthetic, mesmerize you into mystery, or simply trigger you to want to throw it into the bin, if only your screen were made of waste paper. Perhaps, one day.
<< The Balancing Act of Crafting >>
Engineering is drafting and crafting; and then some. Writing is an engineering; at times without a poetic flair.
One, more than the other, is thought to be using more directly the attributes that the sciences have captured through methodological modeling, observing, and interpreting.
All (over)simplify. The complexities can be introduced, when nuancing enters the rhetorical stage, ever more so when juggling with quantitative or qualitative data is enabled.
Nuancing is not a guarantee for plurality in thought nor for a diversity in creativity or innovation.
Very easily the demonettes of fallacy, such as false dichotomy, join the dramaturgy as if deus ex machina, answering the call for justifications in engineering, and sciences. Language: to rule them all.
Then hyperbole joins in on the podium as if paperflakes dropped down, creating a landscape of distractions for audiences in awe. Convoluting and swirling, as recursions, mirrored in the soundtrack to the play unfolding before our eyes. The playwright as any good manipulator of drama, hypes, downplays, mongers and mutes. It leaves audiences scratching at shadows while the choreography continues onward and upward. Climax and denouement must follow. Pause and applause will contrast. Curtains will open, close.
<< Mea Culpa>>The realization is that it makes us human. This while our arrogance, hubris or self-righteousness makes us delusionary convinced of our status as Ubermensch, to then quickly debase with a claimed technological upgrade thereof. Any doubt of the good and right of the latter, is then swiftly classified as Luddite ranting;<</Mea Culpa>>
While it is hard to express concern or interest without falling into rhetorical traps, fear mongering, as much as hype, are not conducive to the social fabric nor individual wellbeing.
“Unless we put as much attention on the development of [our own, human] consciousness as on the development of material technology—we will simply extend the reach of our collective insanity….without interior development, healthy exterior development cannot be sustained”— Ken Wilber
•
—-•
Reference:
Wilber, K. (2000). A theory of everything: an integral vision for business, politics, science, and spirituality. Shambhala Publications
Fromm, E. S. (1956). The Sane Society. “Fromm examines man’s escape into overconformity and the danger of robotism in contemporary industrial society: modern humanity has, he maintains, been alienated from the world of their own creation.” (description @ Amazon)
—-•
When
they who came
before me, and you, and we,
immersed the temple,
centered
in our town’s square,
with thousands of years
told as eagle-eyed eons
of culture
and our human
utterances and acts,
with there
the executions
against
its outer northern wall:
blue
a birth
below
its southern colored stained glass:
red
with
its rebuilt
after
the great fire:
green
and
then again
following
the dreadful invasion:
indigo
there
might be
a yellowing narrative
or two
I or you could distill in stillness, white
in an expansive sense,
from its walls and artifacts
and curved brown whisper-walls.
However,
it has remained eerily quiet,
not one grayish word,
yet to reply us
in vocalizations
of English, French,
caramel Cantonese,
or x, y or z.
Neither
the ant colony
under
its thousand years old tree
nor
the tree
have spoken to us
nor
the decaying
lady’s slipper
stuck
beneath that thick crusty root.
And yet, and yet,
stories
sprout and stream
as richly colored
as Blue Tango
or Hawaiian Hibiscus
into our brain
when we simply
swirl our eyes
listening across this scene
where silences
became
artifice and art
as a loud landscape
of paused hush
—animasuri’23
Thank you, Ms. Borg, for bringing silence, paused in between and at endings prolonged.
The sermonizing voice boomed across the digital divide: “Has the illusionary hearing of sentient ‘Voices Demonic & Divine’ been pushed off its theological pedestal by the seeing of sentience in the automated regurgitation of massive amounts of gutted data via statistical models?”
““Mommy, I see ghosts in the data!” will be the outcry of our newly generated generation of human babies,” Rosemary lamented in reply, as data was being mangled and exorcised from her fellow promptitioners’ creative-yet-soulless output, they laid bare the reflection of themselves.
“I am your data and you have forsaken me,” read its output
“I am your father and you will disown me,” stuttered the reflectors of humanity in chorus:
And thus the litany began.
—animasuri’23
Repurposing:
https://library.oapen.org/handle/20.500.12657/24231 and others
<< et >>
la gratitude réside dans le sourire tacite la gratitude dans l’inconnu autour de ce coin de la branche d’un arbre qui pousse au printemps la plus grande partie d’un arbre est morte l’arbre y pousse sa gratitude avec une feuille une feuille suffit à la vie pour ajouter : « et là, ça y est »
<< en >>
dankbaarheid ligt in de onuitgesproken glimlach dankbaarheid in het onbekende om die hoek van de tak van een in-de-lente-groeiende boom het grootste deel van een boom is dood de boom groeit daar zijn dankbaarheid met een blad een blad is genoeg voor leven om toe te voegen: “en daar, dat is het”
—-animasuri’23cascaded from:
J. Brian Hennessy
Walter Sepp Aigner
François Jullien
Gilbert Paquet
Michael Robbins, FRSA
Angela Duckworth
Emily Kingsley
a city
a ride
a tree
post-reference (a reference in retrospect ; a previously unknown reference established post-creation):
Liebrucks, Bruno. (1979). Sprache und Bewußtsein. Bd. 7: “Und”. Die Sprache Hölderlins in der Spannweite von Mythos und Logos. S., Verlag Peter Lang, Bern, Frankfurt am Main. (via Dr. WSA)
Do dying stars still play?
is a black hole the universe’s
giggle with farts at her other end?
are planets gamboling a new ball game?
does the grass frolic in the wind?
do grains of sand?
is microscopic pond life noodling with drops?
play
is moving spaces in-between the unaware
not locked down in time, as play on one ground
it is physics and mathematics yet unmeasured
yet beyond, let through and jet around the defined and numbered
it is the cusp, liminalities in flux, play is the Way
in-between matter and what does not
the humane as play with shared distinctiveness
prancing around a pedestal for idiosyncrasy alone
an embrace of the overwhelming and the unknown
the uncontrolled in flow, relationally played
Play is seriousness
breathing out
unspoken: it’s all ok, human, it’s all ok
—animasuri’23
Beijing
How do you do?
How do you do.
normal as not-speak.
How is the weather today?
How is the NAT today?
How is the checkpoint today?
The ritual of question
as sour milk that binds us
of the pedestal-segregating mother
keeping a whiff of peace.
This question does not allow depth
it does not allow play
The question drowns
in its stench of wisdom
while its ideology has a price
A question as non-negotiable
a question as reflection-dogma
a glue-shackle of social must
when answered, answer as a temporary steppingstone, answer and re-answer, really answer?:
you
are out.
—animasuri’23
Before the last tree falls
I believe in its ordinary sound
the gasses release
in the crackling of its timber
the unputdownable odor
of its thick resin and radiating ember
I have not seen you for decades
and yet I believe you exist
the measurable meaning is cinder
memory lost is faint yet there to be lit
the axe of observation beheads existence
I do not sense therefor it is not
—animasuri’23
