Tag Archives: poem

<< Enlightened Techno Dark Ages >>


brooks and meadows,
books and measurements
where the editor became the troll

it was there around the camp fire or under that tree at the tollgate gasping travelers scrambling a coin grasping a writer’s breath for a review piercing with needle daggers of cloaked anonymity

are the wolves circling at the edge of the forest
as overtones to the grass crisp dew in morning of a fresh authentic thought

is the troll appearing from beneath the bridge expected and yet not and yet there it is truthful in its grandness grotesqueness loudness

the troll phishing gaslighting ghosting and not canceling until the words have been boned and the carcass is feasted upon

spat out you shall be wordly traveler blasted with conjured phrases of bile as magically as dark magic may shimmer shiny composition

the ephemeral creature wants not truth it wants riddle and confuse not halting not passing no period no comma nor a dash of interjection connection nor humane reflection

at the bridge truth is priced as the mud on worn down feet recycled hashed and sprinkled in authoritative tone you shall not pass

confusing adventure protector gatekeeper with stony skin clubs and confabulating foam Clutch Helplessly And Tremblingly Grab Pulped Truths from thereon end real nor reason has not thy home: as it ever was, so it shall be.

A bird sings its brisk tune.

—animasuri’23

Perverted note taking:

Peter A. Fischer, Christin Severin (15.01.2023, 06.30 Uhr). WEF-Präsident Børge Brende zu Verschwörungsvorwürfen: «Wir werden die Welt definitiv nicht regieren». retrieved 16 January 2023 from https://www.nzz.ch/wirtschaft/wef-praesident-borge-brende-wir-werden-die-welt-definitiv-nicht-regieren-ld.1721081 (with a thank you to Dr. WSA)

<< I Don't Understand >>

“What is a lingo-futurist?,” you ask?

It is a fictional expert who makes predictions
about the pragmatics and shifts in social connotations of a word.

Here is one such prediction by a foremost lingo-futurist:

“2023 will be the year where ‘understand’ will be one of the most contested words.

No longer will ‘understand’ be understood with understanding as once one understood.

Moreover, ‘I don’t understand’ will increasingly —for humans— mean ‘I disapprove’ or, for non-human human artifacts, ‘the necessary data was absent from my training data.’

‘Understand’, as wine during recession, will become watered-down making not wine out of water yet, water out of wine, while hyping the former as the latter.

All is well, all is fine wine, you understand?”

—animasuri’23

<< I could >>


I could rekindle faith
now that what was known
Has been been balled into

The enticement of the Elegant Demon
If it were not for Peaches, Sweet Thing
Strange Fruits and Poplar Trees

There is no courage in daring to be different
if the metaphors change while his urges remain, main and mean

troubles do not melt when the toy hardens
into the stake for the taking and breaking
loaning the moan to the soft, ripped other

for the second release of one’s own selfish lazy pleasure; it feels nice from where the taker’s standing: I could, I could I will I did

Drop her for soon the year will be over
all could be, tailored I could be, it could be
The Elegant Demon.


—animasuri’22
24 December 2022
Beijing

In The Age Of Information

In the Age of Information, the Age of Reason has been surpassed, signaling the return to finding meaning —confused as “knowledge”— in mesmerization, fad, hype, snake oil and data as snowflakes, moldable in any shape one desires, and quickly diffused, convolutedly, in the blinding Sun. In erotic dance this Age of Information copulates with the Age of Sharing giving its offspring heads to bump in shared gaseous dogmas.

                           ---animasuri’22


<< My Tree and Me >>


Does the tree knit together into a neat picture of life when branches broke off and leaves foliate the roadside into palettes of yellow-brown-greens unintended but nonetheless 

taken by pedestrians and urbanites to slide along in their newly seasoned vehicles: “look, I took a memory of what we’ll do again next autumn” some things will never change as mistaking cliches for the good life

Does the tree flip on its side and show its underbelly when veneered into that couch to pouch on as a bag of past virility 

and the calling of brevity of stride bent to the longevity of a crutch and stride of a walking stick postponing the cane into the grave 

Does the tree ring a year around its waste when eye-bags appeared and chests sagged 

relentlessly climbing downwardly as roots to death. 

periods are made of wood or ash spread across the soil of cycle not change. And yet there we are not the same while encroaching communal dust 

Does the tree freeze when winter is upon it 

as the mind’s breezes between birth and that circulated last breath over and set in repeat

Even at that last moment he taketh and does not give it; he breaks the bread, the cane, the sled and kisses the wooden floor he decades had tread 

Does my tree, planted at birth, and hashed to utility across a life time, remember me diffidently when our frost already set in?

—animasuri’22

perverted note-taking of Rothman, J. (2022, Oct 3). Are You The Same Person You Used To Be? In Annals of Inquiry, The New Yorker. Print edition October 10, 2022.

thank you for the hint Dr. WSA

<< Morpho-Totem >>


Decomposition 1

my hammer is like my_______
my car is like my______
my keyboard is like my______
my coat is like my_____
my watch is like my______
my smart phone is like my______
my artificial neural network is like my______
my ink is like my_______
my mirror is like my________
my sunglasses are like my______
my golden chains are like my_________
my books are like my_________

Decomposition 2

my skin is like a_______
my fingertips are like a_______
my fist is like a_____
my foot is like a_______
my hair is like a_________
my bosom is like a________
my abdominal muscles are like a______
my brain is like a__________
my eyes are like a________
my genitalia are like a______
my dna is like a______
my consciousness is like a______

reference, extending
to the other desired thing
not of relatable life

—animasuri’22

<< One Click To Climbing A Techno Mountain >>


A Rabbi once asked: “Is it the helicopter to the top that satisfies?”

At times, artistic expression is as climbing. It is the journey that matters, the actual experience of the diffusion of sweat, despair, and to be taken by the clawing hand of an absent idea about to appear through our extremities into an amalgamation of tool- and destination-media.

The genius lies in the survival of that journey, no, in the rebirth through that unstable, maddening journey and that incisive or unstopping blunt critique of life.

That’s clogs of kitsch as blisters on one’s ego, sifted away by the possible nascence of art, the empty page from the vastness of potential, the noise pressed into a meaning-making form as function.

Artistry: to be spread out along paths, not paved by others. And if delegated to a giant’s shoulder, a backpack or a mule: they are companions, not enslaved shortcuts.

That’s where the calculated haphazardness unveiled the beauty slipping away from the dismissive observer, either through awe or disgust alike, ever waiting for you at your Godot-like top, poking at you

—animasuri’22

<< MENSCH >>


“Was ist der Mensch?” triggers a distinctive set of sensations away from “What is Man?” 

In further retrospection of these fleeing sensations, the first set feels more elegant, and yet also possesses an attribute of melancholy as if sustained in the attenuation of the noise band with which the word ‘Mensch’ exits via its last uttered phoneme; hushed into silence. 

Could it be before the play starts? The dance erupts? The pinnacle found in a last aria sung? 

As shampoo mixed in fluidity of waters, too busy bubbly, Mensch washes over, leaving certainty in shambles. 

—animasuri’22

thank you Dr.WSA for subtext, context, and text text and for guiding to J. Brian Hennessy who offered text.
thank you J. Brian Hennessy for the space to cycle back

perverse note-taking of Hans-Georg Gadamer‘s 1944 by the same phrase as title, as published in Phainomena’s “The Covid 19 Crisis”. 30 | 116-117 | April 2021, and a recent bbc world interview with a famous South African visual artist (who’s parents were famous anti-apartheid lawyers) and who uses charcoal into animation…

Header visual: playdoh sculpture by Aiden H. Photograph by animasuri’22

<< Wise intelligence-wise >>

While many of us strive for those around us to be less complete and complex humans,

we equally strive for our artificial output to be more anthropomorphic and life-like.

Is the place where both processes will find their nexus the singularity and a desert of the real we should yearn for?

—-animasuri’22

—-•
contexts:

https://garymarcus.substack.com/p/nonsense-on-stilts