Another Monday
another technology
The dramatically acceleration
of output coming in
the key to inclusion
is excluding all days ahead
when booking a guide
another view alerts the said
be archived, bedusted
become the past bedone
—animasuri’22
This is the playground for the serious at heart
Play and scaffold your giggle with depth, profundity, reflection, and wit
let the sciences, semiotics, ontology, epistemology, post, pre, peri play, play
play, imaginary friends
ah the thrill of the adventure, the excavation
the symbolically measured and the looking into the spaces in-between
that liminal that is only metaphorically segregating: let nonsense befriend Apollo, rising into quicksands
Let Dionysus enjoy fasting; he secretly craves
the controlled, the stoic, the pure,
come and lie down spread out arms onto the fresh meadow calculating the circular movements of drops visually bending the branches
Let the surreal be real for the artificial shan’t grasp its quick shifts in meaning eloping the censors of the established, excommunicated denotations
Rise and sit at the table, break bread and slide
For it is the universe that looks into itself
you are its expression and birthing of thought
you are its commune
—animasuri’22
header visual: digital photo edited analog paper, pencil . “Artificially Not There” . —animasuri’22
It’s time slinger
Let the song end
Let the slung go
Catapult you-selves
out of here into the future
Utterly unknown
Drop the belt
‘n’ fold the greyed wife-beater
drop. the. belt. or else you say?
Nah, muscle up the tonality
of your compassion
show off its sexy six pack
Bend is not break bro
Brothel of the insecure yo
Brethren of the Ronin
Masterless slaves
Become at peace with the new code
be breathing breaches of air
You Awesome, Me Tarzan
you sister me handsome
You mother me hand some
listen here
silence fellow man silence
lend her your ear
—animasuri’22
(for Mother’s Day)
for Katarina
Header visual: digitally photo-edited pencil on paper fold . “Trickery of the Eye, message of the medium” . —animasuri’22
What reality would I be imagining
IF
X = believe-systems; technologies; communities; relationships; systems; foods; drinks; drugs; products; brands; ideologies; dogmas; stories; pleasures; obligations; jobs; companies; bosses; etc.
AND
“Naturally, persuasive [ __X____] should comply with the requirement of [my] voluntariness to guarantee [my] autonomy…
[My] voluntariness presupposes a sufficient understanding of the [interaction with___X_____ ]. But, what does it mean to “understand”, and what is the sufficient degree [of understanding], really?
What is the correct reading of “understandability” – “transparency”, “explainability” or “auditability”?
How much, and what, exactly, [should I] understand about [ ___X___] ? When can [ I ] genuinely estimate, whether or not [ I ] want to [be guided by / be part of / be constrained by / be defined by / delegate decision to [_____X___] ?”
—animasuri’22
Perverted note-taking of https://ethics-of-ai.mooc.fi/chapter-3/4-the-problem-of-individuating-responsibilities
the methodologies of doubt until proven wrong, are the humbleness we could cup in our open palms when reaching out to others with the gift of questions.
Here, hold this measuring stick through wondering meanderings, through life, through counterpoints to countering voices.
There burn the regular intervals well-tempered for microtonal crisp fireflies darkling the unknown skies: the lens is yours to sharpen.
Where then she’d shed the stale narratives unreal of the stagnated and installed. Human, halt your race, guiding the seeing blind to the furnaces of moist soil and dispersed stardust.
Gentle Human, you noble beast, are never too bloated to dignified fail.
—animasuri’22
I impertinently stole these words pried from the wicker cutty-stool’s back Was it bamboo, cane, rattan, reed, seagrass, or willow perhaps vinyl: for sure You sat there, arched back, lower disc pains pen held in left itch in the armpit: paper smudges I will hold you responsible for all the things you did not and knowingly omitted: blank page Did you mean for your main character to actively commit someone to the immorally dead by turning her head away from agency Ah bestowed upon loss of autonomous pages where are thou free’edness Rip the rattan claw them out: cat Let the inner frame be naked and stand out Spill your guts out: filled The page silenced the stomachs
—animasuri’22
A self-portrait, perhaps of that old bearded professor’s book not of the author of the printed words but of the messenger’s own private house of lords and common articles precious and pressured to be meant. Is he who marathons’ a thought the writer of the subtext on the sideline? To then parched then dropped dead of then watering words is staining ink as then a last breath to off a human serial a-synchronization of thoughts in the margin. The grammatically abusive lies of syntactic silent crows picking tongues no longer bespoken of standards of stories of strangulated minds, triangulated with les franges du tapis at the shared and fringes of one’s read, thus transparent, existence. Life, life is funny that way.
—animasuri’22
perverted note-taking of Ishion Hutchinson; Published in the New Yorker print edition of the September 17, 2018, issue.Ishion Hutchinson is the author of the poetry collections “Far District” and “House of Lords and Commons.”https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2018/09/17/the-old-professors-bookand of the email and emailer Dr. WSA
Let me pay you with a flipping billion pages daily oily rice paper enwrapping the margins with distracting layers of writing that have never really felt as having left the winding windmills of the undiscussable authors’ mulling Let me pay you homage with marginal funds of fondness paid to you to keep the bordered-off body of verbalized peoples warm and the framing of factories flowing Sounding spices must flow and trothed sand shovels the riverbed deeper flowing its pickled phrasing inland We are the salt flowing in your lake of words madam Shed multiples of my childhoods in bookhood heading upstream: I see you now You row, you crane, you rush ‘n’ you beaconed the beckoning of the youesque
—animasuri’22
Accidental Perverted note taking of Waddell, J. (April 29, 2022). “Sorcery and the apprentice. A bibliophile critic’s powerful ‘shelfie’-portrait. Retrieved on April 29, 2022 from here ( https://www.the-tls.co.uk/articles/portable-magic-emma-smith-book-review-james-waddell/ ) ; as triggered by Dr WSA.
Sit. Let me parade the trivialities.
I have to show for this: I was there.
At every backdrop, the world and my stage.
Now I dangle my framed locality before you; geotagged.
Poke. ceiling-suspended dead disbandaged digital body. I shaped thee as horse: mare lean meat. For pleasure of gaze and pedestrian highbrow. Imagine she told me she loved me; my selfie.
Cockle. I am man if I am tweeted. Ever so minusculed masculine, curling up in a drip of hundred and forty characters: all my own. I pretend to be loud and cocky. I rule my world pretentiously, accepting all cookies.
Pose. The same places as mini elevators. I’ll call the determining moment of pitch and parleys. Myself sold as the ultimate fair use of slipped-in foreign language, into the vagueness of my higher glossed numerical success.
Pretend. It is a space of iterative self-reflective surfaces. Life is glitter and shiny skin with blurred out imperfections. Innovated so I am no longer to become. I have a profile. I must be proud as plastic surgery ever unfinished.
It’s all me.
I was here
—animasuri’22
“Language is a virus from outer space”
one line snorted after the other
it fuzzies the brain
virally jumping sane to insane
Language structured universally
leaves the techno hungry mind in daze
content and consciousness
as slingshot and hand
as hand, eye and brain
as rock against the temple
heading bleeding by damnation
Language oh languaged
crumblunteously vain
its desert is just
deserted by architectured will
a dessert, a chill pill a discipline
of tempo, meter and grammar
Language is nonduality built-in
inevitability present more when muted
aphasia’ed with clot, blood, or shot
Language becomes outspoken
in absentia of open, deep space
Silent, child, silent child, silence is your hand
dropping the stone floor wall
in watery lands of concrete reflection
and meadows of the unspoken,
whistles the signaling sparrow
—animasuri’22
perverted note taking of a hit of William Burroughs and an alluded to Dennett, a touch of Chomsky and sprinkled severely with some Jos de Mul via De Groene Amsterdammer https://www.groene.nl/artikel/mutaties-in-onze-geest as often trigger-mused by Dr. WSA
