a nearly decomposable system. as defined by m. hofstadter in (hereafter "GEB") Godel, Escher & Bach. that is what work is. that is what a lot of things are.
a nearly decomposable system whose constituent parts, at their most individual, speak entirely different languages. yet speak english.
mu.
cold labyrinth: leaves
tossed around the entrance -
a few dare inside,
then hurry out again.
his girlfriend is walking
around the labyrinth,
in slow, determined strides.
she wishes
she had her iPod with her.
she makes do with
his cigarettes
from one pocket of his jacket
and a book of matches from the other
he forgot the damned ball of string,
left the hardware store
without it. he was distracted by her
walking by the window. ran out -
(she was on her way there, too - )
the wind cries where are you
through the anonymous halls.
he lights the corridors
with his cell phone's
weak blue light.
at the center, there is nothing
sitting,
waiting,
fangs bared,
silently.
Showing posts with label logorrhea. Show all posts
Showing posts with label logorrhea. Show all posts
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Monday, February 25, 2008
the next big thing
... And You'll Be Shocked By The Surprise Twist Ending!
sometimes i feel like my eyes are sewn closed but i am unaware of it. everything that i see i project onto the back of my eyelids. what i see is what i make of what i hear around me. this morning, during daily calisthenics, this headline:
Blind Man, Having Acquired Heightened Senses, Becomes Bodybuilder
the sun, particularly distinct this morning and early afternoon, has already capitulated to the horizon's yawn. i get very tired around four or five.
one of the first things i'm noticing is the sharp crack & shiver of icicles melting, the grumble of snow, shifting. the temperature maps slowly acquiring the midrange colors: greens, yellows. the need for less layers.
once again, i have a telephone. i can be reached. i am no longer so incorporeal. and things start to warm up, as the sun is brighter & the windows less closed, the mess the winter made is becoming painfully visible. i know i'm jumping the gun a bit, but i can hear the ice breaking. stupid groundhog-seers.
another thought on the bus:
Robber Jone Is Actually Robert Jones - Or Was, Once
Headlines Nowadays Too Pun-chy, Says Times
sometimes i feel like my eyes are sewn closed but i am unaware of it. everything that i see i project onto the back of my eyelids. what i see is what i make of what i hear around me. this morning, during daily calisthenics, this headline:
Blind Man, Having Acquired Heightened Senses, Becomes Bodybuilder
the sun, particularly distinct this morning and early afternoon, has already capitulated to the horizon's yawn. i get very tired around four or five.
one of the first things i'm noticing is the sharp crack & shiver of icicles melting, the grumble of snow, shifting. the temperature maps slowly acquiring the midrange colors: greens, yellows. the need for less layers.
once again, i have a telephone. i can be reached. i am no longer so incorporeal. and things start to warm up, as the sun is brighter & the windows less closed, the mess the winter made is becoming painfully visible. i know i'm jumping the gun a bit, but i can hear the ice breaking. stupid groundhog-seers.
another thought on the bus:
Robber Jone Is Actually Robert Jones - Or Was, Once
Headlines Nowadays Too Pun-chy, Says Times
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