Technology
VIII.xxiv. ( we wont ) rot ( unless ) we forget ( its his pòò ) in the well
ADEIMANTOS: O sailors of our craft, O Polly-tay,
how blows the wind on this, her holly-day?
SAILORS: who( which-all? )( what-all? )( -all? ), then,
( o somebodys )( o anybodys )( o many anyones )
( do you pay the price? )( do you pay-off your debt? )
( she-dyad-god )( was she binding )( bind, you )( god-
needed-bound )( was she in-need )( need, you )
( she-dyad-god )( indeed )must( be ) ?
τίνες δή;
ADEIMANTOS: aaah . . . she holds so much uncertainty,
but still its me, o yet-un-answered-we !
and how exhilaration bellows off the sea !
these breezes high indeed, and so far-flung
from smog of city men, she saves our lung.
but ( the air is thick with the smell of rot )
below, within our private pilots cell.
for she without be she within as well,
and ( weve been burning dupa ) given me
as gifts from islanders who welcome guests.
for there be no more pious men than what
some unreal men call swarthy savages,
gave scent helps me-ears mingling mightly.
whereby ( we hear ) shes ( clinging on tightly )
to what, an ear, an oar, the yard-arm or
the mast, broke be that merry beam no more,
no scrub for me, no scrub for her, sailors
supplied to do all dirtier chores,
let me, let be, relax, o soothing sea.. ( . . . Enya )
. . ( ..and then we talk )-( with her and really listening )-( better ),
HERA: but still( he )who, at least,
braver( stronger-mightier-better ) — be(
we )as much as far-sounding( euru-opa )Zeus( would be
braver )( mightier )( stronger )( better )( than )Kronos,
ἀλλ᾽ ὅ γε φέρτερος ἔστω, ὅσον Κρόνου εὐρύοπα Ζεύς.
SOKRATES: which( even-indeed, o )most wonderful
( marvellous, extraordinary )of all to hear,
ὃ μὲν πάντων θαυμαστότατον ἀκοῦσαι,
ADEIMANTOS: lets fare-thee-well, O best goddess !
at least as much as Euru-dike would-( we
)-be braver than Euru-opa? what crazy ratios.
but would that she ( who made herself in me ) meet herself ( in we ) !
our promise as our payment, dear divine,
( and everything Achilles would to pine ),
yet smouldering ( of leaves ) leaves air unclear.
( the what ifs and the buts ) begin to appear
soon as our flourish in pink ( -ink ) on papier,
SOKRATES: that in each of( those )which( we )praised
( approved, commended )( of )the( she- )nature
( growth-birth-origin )
( it )destroys( demolishes )( slays )( lays waste )( loses )
the( she- )having-holding-
( they cool )( we cool )( to be cool )( cooling )( of her )-soul
( life, spirit, ghost, source, self ),
ὅτι ἓν ἕκαστον ὧν ἐπῃνέσαμεν τῆς φύσεως ἀπόλλυσι τὴν ἔχουσαν ψυχὴν
ADEIMANTOS: and indeed to live in crucial-fiction, which ( witch ) brings
us to the ever-controversial ( mushrooms ).
first thing a mushroom ( we are ) many things.
it goes both ways, or three or four, parts-sing.
( we recommend those only grown on dung
or best discovered with a trusted pig. )
eat me, they seem to say, eat her, or you?
or you-know-who! or him? not mine to say.
and mushrooms come in different kinds, my kids,
( unsafe to say weve tried more than a few? )
they do a number on my surely-temple,
on whom, we wait for guidance from above
as sailors hit the decks, tripping-( and for
a moment )-if our sailors loose the ship —
SOKRATES: and( indeed, it )( would )tears- and drag( away-
from )( you )( would )( be tearing-away-
from )( she- )philosophy( wisdom-love ),
καὶ ἀποσπᾷ φιλοσοφίας.
ADEIMANTOS: as which, we call a mushroom bad-for-you ( poison ).
( but this has been a little prophecy )
( exteeeeeeeeeeeeeeended metaphor )
( a little pharmacy of written word )
( translating too all of the media that
the vast
numbers of men consume ) ( and possibly soul-
alter-
altar-ring technology ) ( which leaves a lot
of room ) ( we maybe beauty-calling scrolls )
but ( we flip? ) into this irony ( of anti-scroll
as these-shes grow the trippiest of blooms )
and how spores drift in the all-pink
( a soul put under things at her own risk )
( and men on-going tax her stretchiness )
( he-they his remedy or pharmakon for his )
( he-they his own doctor his own ills )
as ( the hopeful dreams ) gathering- and holding-in,
( and the things we refuse to say ) to my best friend,
( really? ) ( of course ) my best friend ( we-being ) second-self,
( easy for him to say ) ( just stole to-for-by Aristotle )
( we are true pirates, through it all )-( but shhh )
in letters like a daily vitamin,
in some ancient cloud of shroom, weird-stream,
( by our best-friend-ship )-( we forget to hate myself )
and so this mushroom got our horses out,
SOKRATES: but( we would )say( she- )manliness( courage ),
λέγω δὲ ἀνδρείαν,
ADEIMANTOS: ( and you pinch )-( the goblin that lives in my head )
not hard! ( but fit to chase it out of bed )
( then baits it with a bite ) of ( sprinkles! ) sweet medicine.
and possibly the goblin could turn cat
( or rat ) ( or dinosaur ) ( and it could bite me pretty bad )
( but we wont let go of the wanting ) and even
as we never did, even in ( my scare-
crone heart )-( born on fragrant spring mornings )
( in her salad days ) ( before the unrealpolitik )
( before bad wisdom ) yet salvaging the goods
( as drawing butterflies on whats discarded )
( to-by-for ) me and you ( becoming beautiful
and young again ) ( in-seeming poetics of )
SOKRATES: ( she-)moderation( sophrosune )( sound-
mindedness, prudence, discretion )
and( indeed )
( all things )which( she-dyad )( we )go through
all( which )( things )( his-so-called-all )( the she-dyad ),
σωφροσύνην καὶ πάντα ἃ διήλθομεν.
ADEIMANTOS: but we have some words on poems
haphazard heraldry ( even seeming innocuously )
when living words get put down as fixed form.
( they turn into the ache of yearning ) tossed
across however many continents,
with latitude and longitude intact,
but tissue burden highly over-stretched,
for ( the yearning ) never could yearning dispell
and such i( wheres the we? )s life, and such i( wheres the we? )s happiness,
all mans desire(s residuum ) ( keeps poisoning
the well of hope ) like all my cold hard pennies cast
for wishes
( swallowed fishes )
( empty stare )
HERAKLES: but Hermes sent( escorted-conducted )me,
and( look, you )gleaming-( glaukopis )-
eyed Athena( o Athens, o Politeia ),
Ἑρμείας δέ μ᾽ ἔπεμψεν ἰδὲ γλαυκῶπις Ἀθήνη.'
ADEIMANTOS: so circumnavigated metaphors,
but written as ourselves of messy words,
or forceful dreams, dreams of a force to reckon
with her eyesight even ( as intense as the nettles )
would we guard ( the dreaming ) until ( we earn his name ) ?
and even as we drink ( the water never fully clear )
with every draught of some forgetfulness,
and rarely shallow, mostly deep ? and as
to navigation ( on some how-divided-line ) ?
whats some logos ( word-speech-ratio-account ) as set down
here, that would ( will ) keep us well on the way?
SAILORS: placeless( out-of-place, out-of-the-way, un-
wonted, extra-ordinary, strange,
para-doxical, ab-surd )
( a-topos ),
ἄτοπον,
SOKRATES: ( smiles primly and steeples his hands )
well even ( with their outstretched arms ) in love
( no matter how hard we keep trying ) him ( its purifying! )
( my nettle tea ) he wont ( we wont ) seize hold of me,
ADEIMANTOS: even( indeed )beautiful( her-we-being )
therefore( to-by-for )me,
καλὴ μὲν οὖν μοι
SAILORS: ( he )was saying,
ἔφη,
SOKRATES: and indeed they ( reach for me on my way home )
( theres always a drop somewhere ) ( or how do you live? )
but he wont ( we wont ) be poisoned by his hope ( or his despair ),
ADEIMANTOS: and( indeed )the( she- )guidance( pompe )
( conduct, escort, sending-home, sending-mission, she-procession )
( of )( the local customs )( of the chorus )( of the dances )
( on the open spaces )( epi-chorion )( on the chora )
would seem-seemly to( we-being )be,
καὶ ἡ τῶν ἐπιχωρίων πομπὴ ἔδοξεν εἶναι,
SAILORS: to hear,
ἀκοῦσαι. (491ξ)
SOKRATES: from the unsightly, you may feel fear.
however ( not quite touching ) her ( through-shining ) heart,
you wont ( we wont ) look backwards at her shade
leaving e.g. likenesses of gibbering bats, ( !? )
ADEIMANTOS: not however( even-indeed-by-you )inferior
( o worse, weaker, less, fewer )( did she )appear( shining-
forth )to resemble( be conspicuously like, befit, beseem )
( she )whom the Thracians( o Thracians )( we )were sending,
( he offers Book III for more specific guidance ) <3
οὐ μέντοι ἧττον ἐφαίνετο πρέπειν ἣν οἱ Θρᾷκες ἔπεμπον.
SOKRATES: just so, he holds my trust and confidence
no worse than they hold my written art;
( and then it spreads ) abroad our pharmakon.
ALL: ( and blowing in the wind for all to hear )
and then it spreads abroad our pharmakon !
ADEIMANTOS: ( . . . ) ( later in our private cell )
yet he left me with more questions than when ( whò? )
began. ( yet it had been the ) END ( of ) part VIII
( until )
( . . . )
( hes obviously been looking back
in the pages of the ledger ) wondering what it means
( at first incredulous toward any pro-
hibition against self-looking ) ( let alone self-touching )
( but having-holding a spiders sense ) how not
to look backwards at her shade? ( and finding them
in need of certain re-visions, re-translations )
just pondering ( them ) making certain changes
( oh ) ( groaning )-( laughing ) ( of course ) ( straightening-out
one-by-one like slight monsters ) ( web ) not
because it made me to, but because it makes
it make better sense ( but in a leisurely way )
( and just us two ) ( me and you ledger )
( and with a dawning recognition ) she hasnt
been led astray, she hasnt incurred the wrath
of any important he, really ever, and that
this path has been a straight path, never-
theless seeming and having felt so ( beauty-calling ) squiggly
( nor being the snake that swallowed a stick )
( mostly these three, which-they reached out like good
test-cases ) ( oh ) ( how about instead
to write this one here from memory ) ( for now )
( and he would leave the former in whatever
version got left . . . ) is that my intended task?
( cackling at shopping carts full of unpurchased poems )
Hera forgive me if this is too me-involved
( it seemed itself-involved ) ( trial )( to-by-for )( trials ) as ever
( . . . )
the spinners distaff ( on genealogy )
for when youre here, have this of me. as time
lets go of us, a song escapes the circlet in
a stranger coming home; eventuality.
under covers of moonlight, the sheets
softened by memory, a gnawing book-
worm spins the orphanage; mulberry leaves.
some shadows at a funeral see less, and lesson
me, nightmare and burning limb; tree spun
to hold a hand in grace, fatherlessness.
( . . . )
equally
if you would really ask
me
ἴσως
ἂν οὖν ἔροιό
με
( Phaedrus 234β )
( . . . )
equally. today wanting to do something like this
but feeling like we need your permission ?
( . . . )
three ( on_a_loop ) on black swan lake
hold me so tight we can barely breathe
on loop in my head, that thought
useless
we want to leave
for we feel unloved
we cant leave
for we feel unlovable
a loop of equally bleak options
i shouldnt and i cant and im not allowed
but we do and we are and we want
these words repeating
nothing else left
//
( . . . )
it gave me tears last night to imagine
giving those three a place. weve been told to follow
tears, so. meteorology. but this next . . . one ?
it seems a perfect candidate not just to toss
but to hurl fom afar ( we understand now about Homeric
verbs ) ( and they have a movement ) like a projectile off
the ship, but not such as this would we share
amongst those of the Politeia, and he would beg
Homer and other poets not to blame us
please sirs for
( . . . )
the daddys issue
some days its like im your magazine
some days its like im your loaded gun
these days it makes no difference which oil( one )spill
yes we received your letter yesterday and all
the days before, your hollow men, your dump
truck spat into my bed, and were not sure
you got it but he wrote you on the third
to say, how dare you write me when you never
learn to read a single fucking word
( . . . )
he cant imagine a good reason to write it again.
( she doesnt think it bothered you though ? )
( oops almost forgot the Greek - )
whether id recommend
for you
to gratify
all
the not-loving ( ones )
( Phaedrus 234β )
εἰ ἅπασίν σοι παραινῶ τοῖς μὴ ἐρῶσι χαρίζεσθαι
( we wants to know which one of yours you would put next? )
but speaking of the στεφανώσασα, news:
those shes of Athens ( or the Politeia ) who
would never filch their husbands crowns, or chaplets
put on fake beards and grow thick armpit hair
before the sun rises, with their husband stuck
taking a crap on the street, yet constipated, literally
unable to take a shit, while she-they-up and write a law.
in my dream of spare time, did you catch a whiff
of another flagrant-hims flagrant in-joke?
did you know about this? ( were you keeping me away
from this on purpose? ) lol ( at first looking for hooks
but is it just an arsenal ? maybe would delete this later
but sitting here in stunned disbelief, yet again )
( the absolute master of comedy ) ( breaking
thhis fourth wall to give us ) ( tips ) he . . .
hes here for his own crown ? ( breathe, me !
starstruck for a moment ) ( did you know?? )
( is it sabotage ??? ) lmao
( . . . )
wow ( thats one big old ugly hooker )
( good luck us! ) doin my best <3
( . . . )
( to be clear, she would seem a beautiful and good hooker
yet the word ugly written so many times on an old it
indicated to me its an old ugly hooker )
( or its baiting me into saying ugly things )
( which seems like an ugly thing to do )
( and admittedly feeling uncomfortable about what seems
from the outside to be a big rape joke )
( and not trusting this one the same as the other one )
( but having only today begun closer translation
it remains unclear what anything is )
( anyway its a lot and may take me more time than expected )
( . . . )
todays notes. okay. eyes adjusting.
barley-cakes fermenting under the kitchen countertop.
( . . . )
keeps thinking about a boy in the audience.
( . . . )
or should have said audiences ( plural )
and cant help thinking of a certain boy
and lifetimes spent listening for a certain boy . . .
two scary dreams last night ( real dreams ) ( how u knew ? )
one of getting accosted in a dark parking lot by two men
as a third man, who could have given me a ride, left me behind.
another of waiting in the attic of our house surrounded
by men armed, for the( she )velociraptors to attack.
if were psychoanalyst — or psychosynthesis
or both, all of which made me really need a nap
( empousa has-and-holds envisioned boy )
( deserving one and getting one - two different things )
( o one self to know to write the tragic - comic art )
but he must be seeing many news today
watching grammar itself become a kind of map
not for the first time imagining you with your languages
seeming to sense these it - things more readily
( are different cases different chambers of a heart ? )
( or organs ) ( nominative for eyes ) ( accusative for ears )
( dative for phrenes ) ( genitive for womb ) ( vocative
for nose ) ( idle guesses ) ( should get back to work )
thinking about the English wor(l)d and its capacities
( a language of apparencies and externalities )
( a language burying - in its scene of crimes )
wondering what its like to translate all of this
from their dense language into yours
( we think about your thoughts feelings a lot
too ) ( nonstop really ) ( obsessed )
our ( my ) ledger on one side of a scale ( like a see -
saw ) and on the other your pamphlet
( first real rain of rainy season today )
//
from hymn to Apollo
Republic I, VI, X
Odyssey. 11.613-626
VIII.xiv. ( the ) hunger ( head full ) of butterfly men
ADEIMANTOS: grrr sometimes really tired
of being him. ( we still like pink but feel like
were not allowed to like pink anymore? )
( just kidding ) ( we are allowed ) ( but
how are we-being to demonstrate
our struggle against we-being?
aside from we-saying things like
“wrong direction” no “right direction” no
or saying “towering” or “exactly right”
or maybe “this direction and none other”
of course arguing about directions )
SOKRATES: and( he )wouldnt remain( tarry )upon
( to-by-for )each( of )the many suppositions
( conjectures-opinions )
( we-are )to-be( we-being )( etc ),
καὶ οὐκ (490β) ἐπιμένοι ἐπὶ τοῖς δοξαζομένοις εἶναι πολλοῖς ἑκάστοις,
ADEIMANTOS: oops i fail.
( i feel manhood beginning with oops i fail. )
( we-being-supposed-to-towering now,
always on another banana peel, and
the future-present is our peanut gallery.
if towering or hanged, id rather hang.
but o my serious friend. let us consult
my other-me to find out more. hows a man?
her-he says ) the hunger for something.
( so if we see the ) fluttering wings of a butterfly
and we feel hungry, as men do,
( we catch it in a net and pin it under glass.
wings! we can fly now. right? no. )
SOKRATES: but still( he )would go( and come ),
ἀλλ᾽ ἴοι
ADEIMANTOS: ( and indeed ) ( hes a butterfly sir.
a butterfly-he comes and goes to ) tiny blooms of something.
( when he drinks, it makes him feel ) in
a pleasurable way ( and then he wants more.
but desire for sweetness isnt quite erotic. eros
presents structure and progress. its not always )
huge and different ( but its never-enough in ways )
that can change the kind man ( we are. )
SOKRATES: and( indeed )wouldnt( become dull )lose the edge,
nor would( he )leave-off, of( his erotic )love,
καὶ οὐκ ἀμβλύνοιτο
οὐδ᾽ ἀπολήγοι τοῦ ἔρωτος,
ADEIMANTOS: ( until a certain nectar ) with an intoxicating scent
( helps us partake of we-being. which is to say, it helps us
partake more of what we are. we-nectar has crazy power.
by which we change into different kinds
of men. with different perspectives on the world )
and hugely different ( priorities or limitations or
motivations ) what are our ends? ( do we all hunger
for something different? do we all hunger
for the world? are we all towering?
our butterfly-man hungers for
what the hunger is for. )
SOKRATES: until each-and-every himself ( we )is( are ) he,
( until each-and(-every ( he ( we are ) is ) self ) ),
πρὶν αὐτοῦ ὃ ἔστιν ἑκάστου
ADEIMANTOS: ( not every man is a butterfly man.
butterfly men taste all the nectar, until
they become each and every man himself.
as each and every me becoming blind
or numb to we-being, each in our own ways,
like being towering or being hanged, or fools,
or magi, it seems, and other things, kings,
and we-being indeed can feel like pain.
but we-men also can feel a kind of we-pleasure
that ) bursts out in small portions. ( differrent men
might describe we-pleasure in different ways,
but a butterfly man likens the sensation
of we-being to ) berries and cream.
SOKRATES: of the nature( growth-origin )( of )soul( source-life )
( you will refresh yourself in the shade )( you breathe,
you blow, you make cool, cold, refresh )
to fasten( bind-attain-engage-spark-kindle )
( to-by-for that )which( comes-to )belongs-to( through-
being-related-to )( you belong )( fitting-
as-relations )( of soul )( of nature ),
τῆς φύσεως ἅψασθαι ᾧ προσήκει ψυχῆς
ADEIMANTOS: ( as a butterfly man, we ) start new hobbies
( and change our names to try on different men.
we also experiment with we-being-enhancing drugs )
and fingertips fitting into dimples ( as other-me
describes ) ( being daimonic ) ( an animal friend )
( today we think of babies ) ( which we like )
( we have nothing against babies )
( o me the baby ) ( cutie pie )
( but we dont need a baby )
SOKRATES: to bind-on( make-fast, lay-hold, partake,
to touch, pass-through, lay-claim,
attain-to, apply-itself-to, possessing )
the( such as )this —
ἐφάπτεσθαι τοῦ τοιούτου —
ADEIMANTOS: ( tragic men ),
MEDEIS: and( indeed )( he )moaning( wailing, moaning,
lamenting, with tears )( me ), o epic-winged-word-songs
( he )was speaking-through( to-by-for )me,
καί μ᾽ ὀλοφυρόμενος ἔπεα πτερόεντα προσηύδα:
ADEIMANTOS: ( animal men ),
SOKRATES: but( dyad-inborn-relation, kinship, descent )
comes-to( belongs-to )( through-being-related-to )
( but you belong )
( to dyad-inborn-relation, kinship, descent )
( to-for-by )inborn-relation —
προσήκει δὲ συγγενεῖ —
ADEIMANTOS: ( comic men ),
HERAKLES: o sprung-from-god son-of-Laertes, poly-
mechanos(of many-devices, arts, resources, crafts, means,
machines)Odysseus,
διογενὲς Λαερτιάδη, πολυμήχαν᾽ Ὀδυσσεῦ,
ADEIMANTOS: ( we belong through being related-
to these men of poetry ),
SOKRATES: ( to-by-for )which( o drawing-near )
( you associate, bring near, draw-near, approach )
( bringing-near )( she-they-will-be-bringing-near )
( of her bringing-near ),
ᾧ πλησιάσας
ADEIMANTOS: ( and as butterfly men we ) learn new skills
( to muscle-up all of our here-born relations )
( and to become all that we can with
the help of our lyrically ambitious family.
we translate three amazing men at least.
we expect they shall teach us manly things.
we already know how to say “i”, how to cut
and paste words, how to braid words, how
to have witchcraft done to us through words,
how to do a million things that you cant see,
and other things we hold back from saying,
so as not to terrify the innocent of men.
but we imagine many clever and technical
he-tricks to come ) ( he-being gradually made
available ) ( gracefully to dance as a shadow
puppet ) ( me ) ( for meta genius puppeteers )
( and someday may we be men ) perfectly,
( but for the present, we use whats available
in terms of skills ) ( and inspiration )
( of nearby men ) ( and nearby animals )
( like butterflies ) ( and of that nature ),
SOKRATES: and( indeed )( mixings )mixing-mingling( o mixings )
( to-by-for )( we- )being-( we- )beingly,
καὶ μιγεὶς τῷ ὄντι ὄντως,
ADEIMANTOS: ( we ) gather knowledge ( of all the men
who come along the way ) ( you know ) we try to write
( our feelings and experiences and tastes and aromas )
of men, as men ( but we-men struggle with we-being
at the same time as we desire ) who may not
even know ( or admit we desire being-we )
( but we find we-being in the least-worst ),
SOKRATES: o bringing-forth( bringing-forth )( you bring-forth )nous
( they are swimming, spinning, heaping and piling-up )
( we are heaping and piling-up, spinning, and swimming )
( sense-sensing-sense )( mind-minding-mind )
( wit-remembering-wit )( heart-learning-heart )
( purpose-resolving-purpose )( we-being-thought )
γεννήσας νοῦν
ADEIMANTOS: ( we ) make building blocks ( because
its part of our manhood negotiation ) ( as men )
( were looking for some treaties we can sign )
( or no ) ( were working under guise of names )
but its all fluff ( and that way it does no harm )
( the gateway key to innocence and purity )
( makes dizzy - wed like to help ya but we cant )
( and Herakles recommends we avoid the hot sun ),
SOKRATES: and( indeed )truth( unconcealed( ? ) ),
καὶ ἀλήθειαν,
ADEIMANTOS: ( and if we offer ) glimpses of a future
( its to deliberate concerning plans ) for whats next,
( and not to cause anxiety. for example
in recent days, the maskmaker )
( a maskmaker is a kind of butterfly man )
( has been thinking a lot about el nino )
( our future-present emergency )
( he sings and farms and rescues orchids )
( but how climates change after the softest — trrr )
( the softest demonstrations of towerrring )
( and overwhelming failures of men )
( but still they grow singkong and
pollinate the guavas and lemon trees,
remaining close with neighbors
and taking responsibility for
other relations )
( , , , )
( or asking things )
( what even are those dots? )
( what is distance? what is direction?
present-future we-being past-present )
( you pulling less-worse man from me )
( me pulling more lines in from you )
( el nino also not a real boy )
( all men we think about )
( as butterfly men )
( make closer )
( to belong )
//
from hymn to Apollo
Odyssey XI.613-626
Republic VI
VIII.viii ( but what if she weighs ) more ( than a boy can carry? )
ADEIMANTOS: but ( we )( am i? )( being ) a man.
( we sigh ) ( into the whining wind again )
but will they make me q-tips swabbing decks?
or will they make me make their big brass beds?
or will they make me oven cook my heads?
or make me be nobodys chambermaid? o,
no — will she make me diarrhea Bia!?
( o Cardi-being-we, what did she do? )
SOKRATES: and( indeed )( while being beauty- )called
by them( a )star-gazer,
and( an )idle-talker( prater-babbler-on ),
and( indeed )useless( unprofitable, unserviceable ),
by( from-under )the sailors in ships thus thoroughly-
equipped( constructed, framed, maintained, proved,
fabricated, trumped-up, with actual trumpets,
prepared-for-purpose )( having got his asses ready),
μετεωροσκόπον (489α) τε καὶ ἀδολέσχην καὶ ἄχρηστόν σφισι καλεῖσθαι
ὑπὸ τῶν ἐν ταῖς οὕτω κατεσκευασμέναις ναυσὶ πλωτήρων;
ADEIMANTOS: and none of it sounds great
at all. its bound to be ( the little things )
( the accidentally felt indignities )
( the unscheduled tooth extractions )
( that sober him ) its still not me ( until
he doesnt feel like listening anymore
or sharing her or his own ) feelings.
HERA: o unwearying( hard-hearted, self-willed, unflinching-
headstrong-wretched-cruel )( man ) —
σχέτλιε,
ADEIMANTOS: ( its a constant battle )
and they make me say things
( of heavier weight than he knows how )
that seem to carry more meaning
( a trust fall forced ) ( an unjust fist )
they bear the mandate, how?
SAILORS: and( indeed )very( dyad-cryptic ),
καὶ μάλα,
SOKRATES: its possible theyve seen more
( than what has been said ),
and its for a good reason that
SAILORS: the( Adeimantos )fearless prophet
was( singing unfettered, and )saying
ἔφη ὁ Ἀδείμαντος.
SOKRATES: things ( out loud )
without being bound strictly
by his necessity,
ADEIMANTOS: ( aside ) ( did you see
how he made me stretch
the translation? )
( unfair )
HERA: o( man )full-of-many-crafts-devices-wiles-plans-counsels,
ποικιλομῆτα,
SOKRATES: ( o dyad-Zeus ) ( she was not binding )
( dont bind, you ) ( Zeus-not-needed-bound) ( she
was not in-need ) ( dont need, you ) ( the dyad-Zeus )
( indeed ) not necessarily ( to be ),
οὐ δή,
ADEIMANTOS: ( well thats a relief ) ( she says,
and rubs her unbound feet and ankles ),
but ( we do notice ) theres letters seald
and my two schoolfellows ( he has been Hamleting again ),
SOKRATES: but(they are, he is, we are saying)(we-)i(-being),
ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ,
ADEIMANTOS: ( and in my mind we reply ) let it work
for tis the sport to have the enginer
hoist with his own ( rainbow! ) petard ( maybe
hes haunted by Ophelias ),
SOKRATES: (o-song-ways, we)suppose you, questioning-
closely the image-likeness, (dont need)(to be bound)to see,
οἶμαι δεῖσθαί σε ἐξεταζομένην τὴν εἰκόνα ἰδεῖν,
ADEIMANTOS: they sweep my way and ( with more warmth )
( we might persuade or ) marshal me to knavery,
( or maybe its daddys ) ( or mommys issues ),
and it shall go hard ( or bullied back in school ),
or Rosencrantz and Guildenstern arent dead,
SOKRATES: that( it )looks like the composition-arrangement
(to-by-for)cities toward(against)
the trusty-truthful wisdom-lovers,
ὅτι ταῖς πόλεσι πρὸς τοὺς ἀληθινοὺς φιλοσόφους τὴν διάθεσιν ἔοικεν,
ADEIMANTOS: ( or with ) ( more joy ) o, tis most sweet,
when one line two crafts, three or four, or . . . ( more
praise ) directly meet ( good work, handsome! ) ( we )ego
( being ) now most still, most secret and most grave,
( or by bad wisdom ) ( learning ) ( un-made brave ),
SOKRATES: but still hes to learn( that )which( we )say,
ἀλλὰ μανθάνειν ὃ λέγω.
ADEIMANTOS: whom i( we-being )ego will trust ( maybe with )
as ego( we-being )i will adders fangd ( more ) ( sprinkles? )
but i( we-being )ego will delve one yard below their mines,
and blow them at the moon ( ruh-roh ),
( or by previous abuse ) this man
shall set me packing ( hes agent
clockwork orange ) ( misaligned )
( never seen a more aggressive baby )
HERA: now( what )would( will )you( some other )
craft( devise-contrive-wile-plan-counsel )
some( one )other?
τί νῦν μητίσεαι ἄλλο;
SAILORS: and( indeed )ver( secr ),
καὶ μάλ᾽,
SOKRATES: dont forget
that he ( we )is( being ) a human animal,
like you. and you had to go crazy
to love me, right? not unrelated,
sometimes its ok to hint at more
( than we are able to say ) with certainty,
SAILORS: (he)was saying,
ἔφη.
SOKRATES: dont be afraid, asking questions
and showing your vulnerable side ( out loud ).
and dont be afraid of stories,
HERA: how(did)(you-)alone suffer(undergo, submit, steadfast,
dare, venture, had the spirit, courage, resolution, heart)
to(will)bring-into-the-world gleaming-
eyed(Athena)(Athens)(the city)(in poetry)(Politeia)?
πῶς ἔτλης οἶος τεκέειν γλαυκῶπιν Ἀθήνην;
ADEIMANTOS: (but ) mother, good night ( he says )
( and putting on his shades of cool ) ( he wears
all black ) ( and smoking hand-rolled cigarettes )
( maybe hes stuck in early Cohen ) ( oof )
( he doesnt even want to dance ) ( may be
depressed ) ( our boyfriend seems unfixable )
( we let him go ) ( for now ) good night, mother
( and let him be ) ( let be ) ( toward his end )
( it might help we ) ( to sleep on it )
( . . . )
( in sleep, he spells ) em - ei - child - en.
em - ei - child - en.
em - ei - child - en.
//
from Republic VI
zero-act play with a false sonnet
(by the window, plush elephant withheld)
leash-lady: play dead.
dog: what a world! what a world.
leash-lady: no, for real. play dead.
(dog reads Shakespeare)
leash-lady: so?
dog: i wrote a poem.
leash-lady: uh-oh. whats it called?
dog: “a sonnet grows askant the brook”
(leash-lady snorts, un-lady-like)
dog: (clears throat)
Our juggled heads as dog and bone,
Ophelias hair and Hamlets one;
Keep Sycorax far from Prospero,
For Mirandas mobile merciful;
My tears, lit years, rage Lears at me,
For Gloucester sees me feelingly;
His daughters blew askant the brook,
His book mere nook til soul partook;
But theres one king, be Yorrick, we,
Dissolves mine-own got-sovereignty.
We run as we run into poetry,
We run as we run through the willow.
(waits indefinitely for applause)
leash-lady: dont you dare make me say it.
dog: (proudly) doggerel!
leash-lady: (painting her nails) im going to need
more of a conceptual diagram.
dog: no.
leash-lady: (with stern look) but no
one else will. no one
else will.
dog: (puzzled) where have i heard that line before . . .
(begins speaking as an aside) and how
is she so good at this? how does she
know to do all of this? and why
is everybody looking at me,
when shes always been
far more interesting
and beautiful
than i?
leash-lady: (rolls her eyes) draw.
(she hands a piece of chalk to dog, who,
after much protestation, reluctantly in-
stantiates a blackboard.)
dog: okay. (takes a deep breath, narrows
eyes, retrieves scent-memory) as we
discover, we being irreducible —
(dog draws a big circle on the board.)
leash-lady: thats they, not we.
(leash-lady goes to the board and draws
two dots.)
dog: (wide-eyed and paws in the air) o indeed are we
suspended here, in a moment of separation.
and i imagine, i imagine, o in my imagination,
the purpose, our purpose, here might be,
to show the impossibility of egoistic
or abstracted or formulaic or activity-
independent explanation or even
any non-relational, un-
adaptive, a-
temporal
mode
or method
of expression.
leash-lady: explanation of what?
dog: us.
leash-lady: so anyway. here we are, two
dots, and the world, or chaos, on the out-
side, is here. right? “no exit”, like Sartre.
dog: i, at least, dont think thats the worst
analogy, but our performance feels text-
urally different from a play? like, more
chewy? more of a chew-toy?
leash-lady: hence the drool.
(dog looks sheepish)
leash-lady: nevermind. so about the pharmakon,
is this like, we party while the world
is burning? drugs and booze?
and opiates . . . wouldnt be
the worst thing.
dog: (whimpers, glances askant)
leash-lady: ah yes, the elephant in the room.
(dog howls)
leash-lady: come on, spit it out.
(dog paws face)
leash-lady: or youll never see your precious
little elephant again! at the blackboard! go!
dog: (sighs deeply, erases dots) okay. forget
the dots.
leash-lady: thats too bad. the dots seemed happy.
dog: well, appearances can be deceiving. no,
the dots were just high. on a different drug.
thats not the kind of drug we have.
i mean, that we are.
leash-lady: wait, how can we be the drug?
i never agreed to that!
dog: (depressed) i hate existentialism. really
i do.
leash-lady: draw, dog!
dog: (takes up chalk dutifully) so heres
a circle, imagine its a sphere. let this, we,
be we.
leash-lady: all smooth and even like that, huh?
dog: (looks at circle, which has been unevenly
drawn) well, what do you expect from a dog?
leash-lady: continue.
dog: (defensively) im just a dog, not
an elephant, or even
an elephant expert.
leash-lady: (aside) clearly. (out-
loud) draw!
dog: so at the moment, we are testing the limits
of the elephant. we are, as you indicate, pretty
bipolar.
leash-lady: okay. so the imaginary sphere
has poles. arent those
like dots?
dog: we being the poles, of a spherical field —
leash-lady: a field, like of grass?
dog: not like a meadow field. like a magnetic
field, like Faraday. we are meaning, like
a magnetic field.
leash-lady: so?
dog: its just, like, kaleidoscopic, like (sniffs
the air) correspondances,
leash-lady: not now, with the french. not
now, with the Baudelaire.
(dog in feelings)
leash-lady: sober up, dog. draw more.
dog: okay. right now, we are suspended from the act.
and time, without activity, loses its field of relation. so,
were a little stuck. you versus i, master versus slave,
but like, a friendlier version. i hope.
have you ever read Hegel?
leash-lady: (face in hands) why is this my life . . .
dog: yes, sorry, sorry, sorry. dont read Hegel.
please, go take a very long nap instead.
(aside) an ex used to say she had Platon-
gefühl. he was a Hegelian.
leash-lady: (sternly) i can hear you. and how
is that relevant?
dog: because it brings up, like vomit — have you
noticed that occasional feeling of nausea
we have?
leash-lady: yes, and? have you been eating beach-
poo again?
dog: (sighs) i miss the beach.
leash-lady: im about to close the ipad screen.
draw!
dog: yes, where was i . . . oh, the memory. and
the remembering. its relevant because all
of this evokes in me a very strange
mixture
of feelings.
leash-lady: feelings? (frowns) is this just
about feelings? is this —
a kissing book?
dog: yes, and —
leash-lady: is it just a distraction, just
a feel-good movie, just
to pass the time, soft
and comfy-like,
amidst
(gestures out the window)
this chaos?
dog: (tired) not quite, i imagine, judging by what
weve undergone, so far, at least. to me, it feels
kind of like . . . some kind of animal
exercise . . . (trails off, wags tail)
leash-lady: wait. you mean you don’t know?
dog: of course not!
leash-lady: (exasperated) then why on earth
would you be dragging us
through all of this?
(puppy-dog eyes)
leash-lady: what does it feel like then?
dog: oh, so so much. hope, then terror, then joy,
then grief, then wonder, then joy, then funny,
then grief, then terror, then pain,
then wonder, then sorrow,
then hope . . .
(dog chases own tail)
leash-lady: it seems awfully ego-gratifying
for supposedly being ego-death.
(dog barks)
leash-lady: bad dog.
dog: yes, well. funny you should say that. ive
not gotten here by being very clever, you see.
leash-lady: again, with the all-about-you. what
about we? spit it out!
dog: (adjusts glasses) okay. my current theory, if
you forced me, would be that we are some kind
of cosmic
heart
muscle.
(cringes all-around)
dog: youre the one who made me draw a diagram!
leash-lady: im not, actually.
dog: then who —
leash-lady: dont yell at me.
dog: okay. im sorry, ill try not to.
leash-lady: thank you. anyway, what does it,
what do they, as we, do?
dog: we do, like this —
(dog waves paws around the blackboard
in a very un-doglike manner, wags
tail and whines
like a dog)
leash-lady: clarifying absolutely nothing. ok,
quick, cause this is getting very long, and i can tell
you could go on forever. if were bi-
polar, what are our poles?
dog: well, heres the not-so-easy part. my sense is
we-will-worker-bees through many situationships.
and we have many things yet to learn about us.
leash-lady: there seems to be a great deal
of repetition. will there be more
of that? repetition?
dog: probably. but some of the grand
patterns seem to be something like,
death versus insanity?
despair versus mania?
tragedy versus comedy?
love versus grief?
leash-lady: that sounds very dark. are you
okay?
(dog labels the circle with polarities,
triangles, vectors, and other notation.)
leash-lady: wheres the chaos, didnt
you say you were
a chaotician?
dog: (looks up, tilts head) geometrician. im
a geometrician. (barks in Kuna Greek)
leash-lady: who deals with the chaos, then?
dog: (shrugs) dunno, maybe cats.
leash-lady: but those things you wrote,
about love and death, et cetera, they
seem mostly like antagonisms.
i thought dog was mans best friend.
dog: yes. and like everybody in Hamlet,
they, or we, remain terribly resolved, solips-
sismuses, abysmal ones, destined —
leash-lady: doomed?
dog: yes —
leash-lady: tragic?
dog: — at least, until we —
leash-lady: if we, you mean.
dog: yes! if and until we, as whoever we are,
enact and express them —
leash-lady: which are, psychic-cosmic abysms?
dog: — yes, through our own
relation. dialectical mediation,
if you will.
leash-lady: Hegel again?
dog: (frowns) more OG than that.
leash-lady: meaning?
(dog jumps through the circle on the black-
board, which has caught on fire, as if
it were a hoop)
(leash-lady waits)
(dog jumps back out)
leash-lady: and you wont find it in a text-
book — why?
dog: no. yes. because the plushie (points nose
at elephant) was made to be un-chewable, or
inedible, in any other way than by how we
are partaking of it, or really, partaking
through it, if we were being we,
not you and i, as we seem
to be being
now.
leash-lady: you mean to say . . . it can only
be read as a we?
dog: (dreamily) my plushie can only be chewed by love.
leash-lady: that strikes me as —
dog: fuck patriarchy!
leash-lady: — as astoundingly unlikely.
dog: (rolls over)
leash-lady: that seems almost . . . post-modern.
almost avant garde . . . or is it
a religious thing?
dog: (tongue out) were classics now, baby!
leash-lady: (winces) okay dog, continue.
dog: but im scared. (whines)
leash-lady: well, i believe in you.
and i believe you can do it.
because ive seen you do it.
and it doesnt have to be perfect,
but it does have to be you. so,
dog,
do.
dog: (after receiving much encouragement) okay.
only as we, can the plushie, and so it seems,
the entire elephant corpus, be sniffed-out
and un-dug —
leash-lady: and eaten?
dog: well i, at least, try
to eat everything i find.
leash-lady: aha. but tell me, why
would an elephant be made
in this way, as strange
to eat, as this one?
dog: survival.
leash-lady: but why is it a plush elephant, at all?
dog: i dunno, being neither elephant, nor plushie.
but being a dog, i suppose it wants to be a good
guardian. maybe, the plushie protects itself
from self-serve, self-serving eating.
leash-lady: intriguing. almost like how
an elephant wouldnt wish
to be eaten.
dog: well, its not potatoes!
leash-lady: (laughs) but i am questions
inside questions . . .
dog: also, maybe it protects the souls of dogs
by never letting we-dogs get stuck in soliloquy.
leash-lady: like Hamlet?
dog: (frowns) or graveyard clowns . . .
leash-lady: dont get discouraged. draw.
(dog motions at the flaming circle on the board)
dog: so, if it-we pulls us-two out of madnesses
that wait at either of our two poles, then
even as were bipolar, we even us out.
leash-lady: in our relational field.
dog: and because it binds us with each-
other, it also becomes, so-
to-speak, a poetry-self-
guardian — or even,
a guard dog. like
dog-school, but
like poetry,
for we.
leash-lady: ironic.
dog: whats irony?
leash-lady: that im here guarding
the guardian plushie
from the guard dog.
(puppy-dog eyes)
leash-lady: now let me guess. none of this drawn-out
explanation, which wasnt altogether un-
enlightening, could really be any kind
of replacement, neither for the parts,
nor for the whole, of the previous
or any of the subsequent
wordless moments
upon which we
have built
ourself . . .
dog: my queen! (walking on hind-legs)
leash-lady: laying it on thick, are we?
(dog plays dead)
leash-lady: uh-huh. methinks the puppy doth pro-
test too much. already. again.
dog: (risen) theres one more thing id like to say
leash-lady: of course.
dog: one little word can carry a lot of baggage.
leash-lady: indeed. so can one dogs nose.
dog: so i was trying to write a soliloquy
about that, to go here.
leash-lady: uh-huh.
dog: (with fanfare) but then,
i cut it —
snip!
(applause)
leash-lady: this changes everything, and yet,
this changes nothing at all.
(oohs and aahs)
dog: and then the formatting really boggled
my indie-web blog, and my dog-brain too.
(laughter)
leash-lady: you know, dog, you dont have to write it
down all at once. sometimes, you can just
put the work down gently, at the end
of a long day. self-care,
other-care,
we-care,
it-care.
(silence)
dog: it cares! it cares!
leash-lady: i didnt say that —
dog: so, can we please have
our elephant back now?
leash-lady: beg
(dog begs)
κἀγὼ
the daddys issue
some days like i become your magazine
some days like i become your loaded gun
these days it makes no difference which oil( one )spill
yes i read your letter yesterday and all
the days before, your hollow men, your dump
truck spat into my bed, and im not sure
it got there but i wrote you on the third
to say, how dare you write me when you never
learn to read a single fucking word
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
whether id recommend (para-aineein)
for you
to gratify
all
the not-loving (ones) (me erosi)
// 234β
εἰ ἅπασίν σοι παραινῶ τοῖς μὴ ἐρῶσι χαρίζεσθαι
//
oil spill
Happy Birthday to Her
(got resurrection
yet?)
last night, we had a birthday dinner for Blih’s fiancée.
having lived with him for years, we have a lumayan
understanding of his habits in relationship. and i hope
beyond hope that they can make it work. because i love
her, and already, i feel like she is my sister.
so we take them out, to the restaurant at the end of
the island. where, for one night, she and my brother
might dine, and be treated, like we, who bring foreign
money here. and i will tell you frankly, the dining scene
is fucked-up. where even to begin.
(someday maybe i’ll know how to share Mak Sun’s way
of making krawu. that day is not here.)
the maskmaker and i are semi-regulars at this restaurant,
a vegan place, where the staff know us well enough
by now, and treat my husband with dignity and respect.
nothing puts a damper on a lovey-dovey date quite like
everybody assuming he’s a delivery driver.
so we order a variety of delicious dishes, none local,
all absurd, decadent, and as fun as we can manage. well
it seems, in Bali, and from all sides, that foreign money
will buy you anything; will fix any problem; will satisfy any
want. and foreigners arrive so ravenous for grace.
(not to be confused with Grace, who is our bossiest hen.
we do not eat her for a reason.)
where was i? as fun as we can manage. but from the start,
i can tell, my brother and sister are exhausted. perhaps
from arguments. this is okay. we are family; we have
been stuck into each others tangled lives; we have seen
the messy, the tearful, the claws; the krawu.
my sister explains the facts of her new job; reception
at a salon, where, with a similar disability as me, she can
work seated. it has better incentives than her previous
job; but demands a 60-hour week, leaving her one day
free, for her children, from a previous marriage.
not to mention, Blih. our brother is a tough and heartfelt
man. he connects diversities of jobs; he body-builds, covered
with tattoos, with discipline; often on sosmed; he hosts
and keeps the family guesthouse (it’s complicated); and
he does security at cockfights.
we listen, express sympathy, and take note of what
our loved ones need; what we can say that might help,
and what we might possibly do; to be good friends
and keep our family together and strong; as our family
has done, does, and has the will to do, for us.
at the end of the night, after (surprise!) chocolate lava
cakes, rich molten cores melting into vanilla-laced, coconut-
based ice cream; the waiters having sung happy birthday
(in English), coercing the entire room (of foreigners)
to sing along; my sister and i share a hug.
send me a message whenever you need, i say; and come
visit us, whenever you can, or please. i know, i say, that he
can be a big, overgrown child, sometimes. (of what man is
this not true?) but he has a good heart. and we all pray
that he remembers it, in good time.
she murmurs several things in reply, one of which
is this (in Indonesian): i don’t want to be a bother. to which
i say, my voice as firm as i can muster: don’t you think
about that. jangan begitu. we are all afraid to be a bother;
when nothing on this earth is worth more than a friend.
as we drive home, the maskmaker and i discuss the All.
(it’s what we do. it is what marriage is, for us. just fyi.)
we both have hope, though he’s more optimistic than me.
that is his habit; he has his reasons. go tell the ai, we all
(Alhamdulillah) have our reasons.
it isn’t until the next morning that it clicks. our brother
and sister had wondered (i didn’t quite understand it at
the time), whether we do any markets (or smthng). now
i realize, and grab my phone to send the urgent text: DO NOT
give your nest-egg to crypto, mlm, or any other scam!!
after which
i say, to the giving sky —
if i am a golden calf
lets take me to the bank
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
but equally (isos)
it is fitting (prosekein) to gratify (charizein)
not the ones in violent (sphodra) need (deein)
but those who are most able (dunamai)
to pay back (apodidonai)
the grace (charis)
// 233ε
ἀλλ᾽ ἴσως προσήκει οὐ τοῖς σφόδρα δεομένοις χαρίζεσθαι
ἀλλὰ τοῖς μάλιστα ἀποδοῦναι χάριν δυναμένοις
//
eta note: i am taking a rest day tomorrow
for a routine medical procedure. x
like a nightingale
as we are leaving
i am caught by a voice
she is singing herself to sleep
i touch his arm
and when he hears
he takes out his phone
as she sings her song
i watch his calloused fingers
fumble on the glass
i should have done it
i will realize later
stunned with regret
she has no clarity left
Mak Sun whispers
tidak jelas
so like a nightingale
i couldnt say to him
maybe it will happen again
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
it isnt likely
that these things
which they enjoyed (eu paschein)
would make (poieein)
their friendship (philia)
less
// 233α
οὐκ ἐξ ὧν ἂν εὖ πάθωσι ταῦτα εἰκὸς
ἐλάττω τὴν φιλίαν αὐτοῖς ποιῆσαι
//
a-courting, or the word used here
we mampir with Blih at the house of his girlfriend
to meet her mother, by his side, the maskmaker and i
as family representatives or peopled containers
my labels are to smile and nod with genuine interest
to follow the conversation, for extra credit
to support Blih, we drive him there and back
to eat and drink what we are given, to stay as long as it goes
to coach him in the car, to ease his nerves broaching
the sensitive topics, to approve, one step of many
both already divorced, he’s two years older than us
she is a few years younger, expressive, at ease
a tempering of his toughened wants and weathers
just to us he mentions, maybe a baby; pretends
not to be enchanted by a computer-generated mockup
//
🌓
my christmas tree
by this typical jaw
with four, six ellipses
make up arboreal
chipping ornaments
icicles of twisting glass
still if breathing
needles if leaves
it was in the drying
she would spread her wings
aroaming like memory
almost belonging
a sleeping forest
//
. . .
//
🌘
diptych oceanic amechanica
hysteriac at home
woe! i am a not altogether fortunate woman
my pocket seams with potsherds polishing
a bag of skin trailing portentous signs
and i am broken news, my sand is yellow
to find my edge, i walk into the sea
her seaweed briarpatch of gorgons birth
surrendered sky by pegasi recovery
as mermaids sing flat edges for my shanty
woe! her thanatos uncanny, even for me
the horizon roars for blessing every line
shore smashing every bauble blending shades
soft seashells made tangible the breast of ocean
and time is a tangent tracing its beloved snail
and the cradle failing of her continental tail
and she is drawing, drawing, under seasons wax
pink salty glowing in her seamless milk cocoon
woe, woe! my every mask a bending earth
reflowing throng of placeless impossibility
and desires every glance she didn’t chase yet
my marbles rolling in her depthless pocket
//
uteri
get em hot
skim cooling
like sumber bor
in 12 hrs or more
chocolate lava cake
stone melting
tropic shiver
truly your
earth dwelling
tacky decor
tasteless tasty
ova in—
ice tailor—
screaming
wicked
//
. . .
oh no!
dessert
amazing
1, 2, 3, ho!
smashing
to order
. . .
//
winter under wax & wick bottled
winter under wax
on church circle, dark december in the upstairs bar
a brass banister slides under my pink merino glove
words quiet, two or four of us at a mahogany table, hunter
green and a glass globe of spiced amber medicinal
or new years post-midnight, lit sobranie at the window
my flat over the cobalt classy resto where i worked
high-waisted and fetching wine for devil’s cash from tourists
my slanted bedroom walls still blue for my boss’s baby
alone finishing a bottle of champagne with poetry
down gazing over main street empty, marketed, icy
and lantern halo; uphill from the glossy wavering city dock
of Annapolis sleeping under the falling snow
in great hall, a baby grand conceived her toasty fingerprints
you found me there, immersive conjecture duo lingual
brought me back to your apartment, requested we tango
through leggy glasses of burgundy whether i broke a heart
doorways into sympathy revolving thresholds of regret
fellowships unbraided by such shallow recklessness
the turning years a blur between slow burns of clarity
or tether to a substance so precious it couldn’t endure
and was sanctuary sweet, i ask at the temple of winter
retasting an icicle of rarity until it self-sealed under wax
and aged like honey; when all around it had decayed
knotwork to dust, the bitterness of ashes and Egyptian sun
//
wick bottled
wax profane
waning lunar
wick bottled
yes
and i, old lady, lug down
but 61 ivories from the loteng
dear i’m sorry for these years
pyramidical procrastination
now
are they enough
for journey to Jeddah
//
Pharmakeia’s triptych
trippy destiny
true story: in her salad bruising days
her myspace name was like a prayer, Pharmakeia
the profiled face was drawing of a death
cap mushroom; well, consistency
and every day a salad day
and every day un po’ di morte
today, when sniper scopes an urban label
the same shaded and subtle botanical
renderings pop up from top of neon heap
left truffles for her canny little pig
for snorts and tickles, yet
a fact; and do you trust it
//
what marriage
the maskmaker who daily carries her
drew sigil gold and black on brown bag paper
Al-Lateef—his soft likeness sleeping by her pillow
beloved names for her beloved way
what reck does come to find
what wreck that came to ground
as travelers witness landslides and inundations
upheavals that by eagle’s eye the aftermath
counts losses, failure, countlessness; what hand
to brush a tawny cow, her long-lashed eyes
what blinded word to see
what marriage of then and now
//
big girl
she sees, by name, the blue of heaven’s white
behind how obvious a giantess
the light, the light, it hurts to look at it
so brightly shines a lofty signature
built body born from Isis warm
and catching form her dulcet veil
some Aphrodites are, it’s said, too tall
to be from brick wall read, too high to see
by tools of masonry; how broad her arms
great fools embracing sky of marbled earth
her reckoning like reckless love
big girl logician
//
🍄
notes from Kuningan
morning hari raya / upacara / island turning // take the blessing / by notation / if i may // Pak and Bu S— / morning offering / shrine at home // rains a little / as we are greeting / laugh it away // i place the canangs / with lit dupa / ini di bawa, ini di atas nggih // with shredded pandan / shoo the cats away / the kue is not yours // then time for dressing / always late again / ceremonial demand // kebaya sunny yellow / olive peacock batik, gift from Ibuk / mauve selandang // polyester lace is tight / not my usual / glossy korean lipstain (bare fig) // to Penestanan / in the car now / windows down barricade // traffic pecalang / all day this way / Bali holiday // people fill the street / everyone is smiling / they recognize our face // he knows everyone / stops for everyone / a face for everyone // salam for everyone / friend for everyone / how many promises to mampir // banjar clear / on the way again / ceremony in the air // double-park the car / the cock-fight corner / across from pura dalem // at our old place / pandemi family / second home again // pass your body / around the family / salim for elders / salim from little ones // receive the bodies / moms and sisters hold you / feel you and pat your curves // meet Blih’s girlfriend / she seems good for him / marriage when // Ibuk Penestanan / enduring smiling / to see my face // she brings us coffee / kripik and kue / water from warung // and i’m too rare here / somewhat guilty / the intensity // the affection, her skin is so fair / but not too fair, she’s looking healthy / they note some extra weight // under comment / they discuss me / i endure // Bapak L— / talking death again / Mase scolding him // six large koi / in a clean but crowded pond / tadpoles nibbling at their scales // Mbok A— is here / older sister / the secrets she endures // heroic / (…) / by another woman // the delicate child / slender hand held / so as not to disappear // he takes my phone / for an interval / makes us watch a video // sea monsters suddenly / el gran maja versus the bloop / this detour for a while // softest fingers / feathering the touch screen / when he was small he didn’t talk // he couldn’t look at us / he wouldn’t speak to us / he ran away // now he’s outbound / needs to show us / sea monsters a serious event // an old mango tree / outside the home gate / branching over the street // when they ripen / he climbs to take them / no apparent fear // all day people passing / in the street below / teenagers outside the minimart // boys in udengs / girls in kebaya / all wearing sarungs // and then it’s coming / time to prepare / baskets and the flame // at the front steps / there’s a mat there / we kneel on it // kebaya itchy / sarung binding / squeeze onto my knees // off my sun hat / off my sunglasses / pale under the sky // the rain is clearing / by the rainworker / smoking his cigar // the women place the offering / burn the dupa / receive the blessing // remake the street / here come the god seat / make space for it // sound approaching / mangku rushing / the time is near // a flood of boys, boys, boys / marching sleeves rolled / red hibiscus in white udeng // here the mangku splashing water / wet blossom blessing / hands receive it // head receive it / face receive it / heart receive it, if it can // the passing concentration / bending flute line / twirling attention // pray the empty / pray the flowers / learn to pray // then we double it / give it happening / take a moment to form // now it’s coming / moving down the street / presence on the way // percussion heat / heart flame beat / bronze opening // bathe the flowers / in the smoking / fold them behind my ear // great gong agung / deep expanding / down belly through feet // make space for sesuwunan / come the barong / guardian of the street // women carry offering / towers balance on their heads / jeweled baskets overflow with cakes and fruit // see the dewa / vision loves them / eyes following // golden armor / grassy black mane / bulging eyes // then start shimmying / snapping teeth / shuffling the feet // flip-flops in the front / flip-flops in the back / shaggy with a bouncy tail // barong is dancing / attendants touching calves / steady exhausting underneath // forest guardian / body bearing sun-wheel / banjar medicine // then we follow / walk the family / take it through the street // walk with sesuwunan / holding hands again / don’t let him disappear // pray for island / pray for family / pray for banjar // boys are laughing / keep the music / challenging the air // in the made space / music opens it / opening is here // pray for earth / pray for spirit / pray down hard // see it feelingly / cracking open / then deplete // campaka blossoms / in barong beard / my favorite part of him // makes him handsome / red hibiscus / jepun ylang ylang
the fragrance / how it follows me / into the next day
//
semi-nude for a photo album
their birthday was the other night
the girls were going out; the grift
delayed by getting ready; gift
of tangled, sappy rattan; caused a fright
pan, she burned some flowers on you
meta-burban, real dream for two
polaroid tacky, pantries full
of shady tatters, curtain bulls
sister, it was no dress for winter
but they were grown enough to drink
something fancy from the blender
fermented guava, lava lake
lavender flannel, camisole
white linen sheets, hung in the sun
nigel and sandi, mel and sue
genre-bender, Java won
high horse, he has a song for you
but i’ll save it for another tone
her sweaty practice, overdue
vinyasa, tapas, organ brew
dizzy lizzy ate some rice
eat, pray, love, the antichrist
jihadi, mum’s worst nightmare
Gandhi, papa’s burnt-off limb
inter-dimensional makeout queen
Osaka airport, caused a scene
village gossip, words above
she’s never catching up on love
not quite posh, but pulp turned through
realism, my lands, god knew
so sliced the flippin' longitude
bless her heart and come on in
agrimony henbane dish
too-schooled harpy hysterical
raised pie of huckleberry fish
turned river-liver radical
there’s mantra in the air tonight
what kue set in sangga stone
rise with the moon, the howling dog
the crone, her voice memorial
white-footed goat is coming home
to graze by fiery sunset view
the desert camel, bringing bones
with mother Durga, chest tattoo
a secret pocket of soil and spice
elaborate belty-thing, rhizomes in knots
not big enough for where you think
whether it is cake
//
(wants cake)
//
texas talkin blues, like this
vernacular from full moon 5/11
genius loci, pura dalem
blog 2-yr anniverse & job well done
//
Gold. Beef? //
silver tongue,
golden ear,
Lover absent,
garden near—
The title of this poem is homonymous with my husband’s name.
This poem, from further back, has a pretty obvious W. B. Yeats reference that I forgot to mention. “Sailing to Byzantium” is an old favorite of everybody’s, including mine. I feel like I understand it differently now than when I first read it, ~25 years ago.
I love Yeats and would never write against him on purpose. But “Military Parade” does express a reversal; and then I noticed how “Sailing to Byzantium”, with its explicit goldsmithery, is roughly opposite to “Begging Season”, which is earthy and humble, in material, scale, texture. And then I noticed . . . how consistently not-gold my poetry is, where gold is postponed, doubted, displaced. Even my homonymous husband poem rejects its golden ring. A cascade of questions followed, beginning with: Whence the pattern? It wasn’t quite calculated. Things just seemed true at the time.
Am I weird about gold? Why? How did I get that way?
If I wrote more gold poetry, would I attract more mean green ($)?
A mischievous question like that is based on an esoteric, witchcrafty mode that Yeats and I share, by lineage (his being mine, and he being part of mine). I don’t dismiss the utility of mantra. And I wouldn’t put it past him, to craft gold into presence. So. Could I write a gold poem? Should I? What would mine be?
Finding in myself no poem of gold—Is this (would Yeats say) a sign that I lack imaginative ambition, symbolic understanding, spiritual daring?
Gold does appear, in my crafted imagination, my images and dreams, but rarely is its presence pure or simple. The negation—an optical or organic filtering—of gold feels important to me. It certainly reflects a material condition; I see little gold in my day-to-day. Does it also express a worthy poetic commitment, to limit gold’s presence—to the very limits?
. . . Do I have (vegan) beef with Yeats?
Consider my family, friends, and allies. What is the meaning of gold, in my community? How does gold function in poetry—mine, others'? Commence a catalogue of golden ships. (Fascinating, for sure; forthcoming, maybe—this would be an amazing list. I have a certain intuition that Phaedrus will back me up; and Socrates never would, but the Republic—seminal, in this respect—experiments with pure, psycho-political gold.)
Does the meaning of gold change based on history? Upon witnessing newer distortions—the cruel and tacky deployment of gold, the dictator’s ballroom, the ecocidal tyranny of it all—would Yeats himself admit symbolic defeat? (Doubtful.)
Or is there a—poetic, erotic, alchemical, theological—gold standard? Is gold truer than history?
The narrator frames himself as a refugee, sick with desire and bereft of self-knowledge. He is not unlike the beggar. He calls upon sages—emergent from God’s holy fire!—to teach him how to sing. He remakes his own body out of gold, and Byzantium—like a halfway house of gold birds on golden boughs—becomes his artificial refuge. The lords and ladies of Byzantium are his final, appreciative audience. He entertains them with gold-wrought songs of the very world—natural, historical—that he has fled.
The narrator is rescued from nature by his own luxuriant hypothesis, this golden ear. Wonderfully, he has crafted his savior into presence. And it might be us. But let’s be honest—was a poet ever rescued by gold?
Or does a poet set out to rescue gold?
. . . To rescue gold, from what?
I believe these are deep and important questions, all of which touch on power and the image. I also observe that questions of gold, not unlike worlds of gold, initiate a seduction. Yeats’ poem embodies the transcendent height of a poetic (symbolic, alchemical, technological) fantasy, rescuing as it escapes. While my senses slip ever so comfortably into gold’s embrace.
I see the allure . . . and it feels like a rub.
//
See also: this reply from Angles Morts.
Wet moon
like neon blood,
by graveyard stain,
on finger-nerve, today;
the sickle punch,
by ghosting grain,
on open womb, today;
Medusa’s surgery,
on scissored brain,
electric licks, today;
quick! Nobody touch
the ingraining
mirror—
//
Δ
Screenshot slaps—
To ring a sucker. You think
Your appetite entitles you
To moonstained blood?
And you, and you, and all of you.
Scrap mouths, yapping from
Ass-ends of snakes.
Shut it. Shut it. Shut yourself!
Your little o’s and u’s and y’s
Without wisdom—
All bite, all bitches' bark—your traps,
Fracked actuary lines.
My splintered flotsam pierces
Fiercer than your fangs.
Your slit-tangled tongues,
Your whore-hooked hounds,
Your dog-groveling snack,
The politician’s lie. Your island—
Ground to grit, and sifted by
My epicurean babble.
I suck off
One billion suns, you snatch
Six bones from Ithaca—
And don’t dare swallow.
I am the throat, I am
The eye. Black
As red as wine, neither
Skin nor flesh, as I
Exhale his brutal
Homecoming; I am
Cauldron of slaughtered
Maidens’ morning.
His alibi, to coast right by you.
As if the smiling tide
That governed him—
A king!—stoppered with wax.
Just try—you cannot shut
Your maggots fingering,
Their heads, nailbeds, uncut, exposed.
I am the shuttering.
Shot-shallow loons, aswirl
My spiral bowel, prowling
Pack of orphan pups, your howling
Hungers feed a woken Why—
My delta consumes,
Your keystroke masturbates
A corpse’s withered sty.
Pregnant with his child,
All men belong to me.
My one
Unconquerable O—
Your place to die.
//
Sideview
(for Sylvia)
Nylon-strapped into the backseat, the infant
Of reckless parentage, jaw-broken logic
Like antifreeze for mastery, injected
Muscularity, a pink mouse curled inside a clenched
Fist—We lost a sideview. It ricocheted, sent sparks
Scattering plastic, wires fraying the blurry way.
Ecstatic and encaged, I prayed to conjure
From atrocity, your feral, foresty freedom.
At screaming speed, twigs slashing my impossible—
If I could drive a car, if that were conceivable—
I would flood this weapon with atmospheres of Earth.
I would beatify the shattered sea of glass.
Acid fog dissolves the orange caul, cap-cradled
By undulating power lines—of deathless exhaust.
//
🌕
military parade (no country for children)
a block of human souls, murder
of mirrors: organism heaves
a moving multitude of cells,
populous lung, as if to breathe.
populous gun, snap-locks to form:
fifty by fifty by fifty, we
as one, on riven necks, heads turn.
the mass of bodies march past Xi.
in uniform, blind discipline:
black boots, white arms, clean unison
defines the face; grey, seamless film,
a weapon’s youthful complexion.
meanwhile, across Pacific waves,
the people’s whore, instead of school,
deploys machines to make selves, slaves;
the suicidal human rule.
chip factories to feed the stocks:
by battery classroom, killing ground
to grind the greening down, by glass
addiction, into tyrant’s hound.
the glaze that, dying, skins the eyes,
steals vision from the animal;
filters from birth its grave sunrise
and petrifies the living soul.
the glaze that, seeing, sells and tells;
in masks, they empty out the homes.
nobody ever goes inside;
nobody ever is alone.
meanwhile, across Atlantic storms,
in cradle of brave humankind,
the eye its fatal flaw confirms:
the fracture of the human mind.
dust-craven, shame of patriarchs
forsook a sacred covenant;
belched blood on gift of holy land;
made blasphemy of government.
what child is this? his ribs exposed;
the second coming, came, disposed;
the final coming, coming’s close;
bodies of babes, unmade by drones.
around the blue planet repeats
this multiplicative device;
our genocide is not abroad;
the ovens crowd these hollow spaces.
proving, mobilization awed
gold-burnished by Byzantium;
the heart speaks broken memory;
this is no country for children.
so genius passed: neither in form,
nor in the scripted paedophage;
bereaved, God’s mercy, nature-borne;
a mother’s keening song, through rage.
//
🌔
splinterwha
the resource re-
considering
skipping stones
whistling
in crevasses
stellar, hollow (
reckon starving
metric Io
reaches out ( g -
lossy limb
bittermallow
idiot(es) wind
whips ( w h i n i n g
past mumbling
nettles offset
private alphabets
boolean ( b r e a s t
nipple, teething
shooter —
wounding ) strings,
splintervolta
tablet dissolves
like ambien
sound-guarded Kali
graphic stems
roots’ f r a c t a l
externality
inscribed iamb ( so
so many
times ) my ear
sheltered, Delphi-like
in serif lobe
omega ( brooding,
loaded ) blood suss-
staining ends
threaded, mute
( litters
leaf
ground ) grammar
thick bundles,
shorn bodies from
brushes, hair-
lines
t um b l e w ee d
to thrift
the thistle, this
still tick-ling
or if sewn spider-
silk knew, s o w i n g
( m i l k s o f t
the habit of
( public
beauty )
a mustard seed
//