oh so lazily may my words come -
-esque of a harlequinn romance
for grandmas -
where so little thought or punctuation
is necessary -
otherwise spending a month
in between the book and one's
own head having to enlarge -
to shed a sheaf of bone for the brain
to grasp the bulging growth
of anything worth minding as: new...
perhaps then: only a sample
of the language a man might use...
i need a break...
the mainstream conversations
i feel, "if" feeling: has anything
to do with -
what's certain is that i'm not exactly
a bit like the concept of
sticking dough readied for
dumplings... into custard...
then sprinkling some desiccated
coconut thrown into the mix...
there is absolutely nothing necessary
in these words...
a loitering poo'em...
no rhyme, not technique...
a scenario when i can reveal...
i sometimes feel like i'm a tourist
inside my own my mind...
has there ever been a construction
of a bridge that had subjective
arguments to weight it down?
how architecture became a subjective
experience is beyond me...
i guess in terms of bridges:
the only "thing" of "concern" is
whether it becomes
the sort of Morandi bridge disaster...
a bit like a culinary critique:
how can you be objective about it?
can you? if any apology (is required):
why is this world trying so hard
to make every angle every argument
into this sanity project
of reason and sensibility
by having "sort out" subjectivity:
banish it as Hades' dog into...
what are the merits of objectivity?
outside of the realm of bridges?
outside the realm of tunnels?
outside of technical equipment -
hardly a hammer if it can't
hammer a nail into a frozen slab
of butter... is it?
that's an objective statement -
but... eh... when it comes to the tongue?
hands and feet and torso and...
how lazy am i?
this is not the sort of drinking
i take with me to a page...
this is the sort of drinking i take to bed...
but why is subjectivity: base?
has it become skewed?
are people not enjoying subjectivity -
they have to be, "all of a sudden"
become raped babushka dolls
where only objectivity matters:
as the one true proof that one is
a sensible, that one is a reasonable
example... of the lightbulb man's
greatest moment to shine?
what critique of art is worth a critique
if it only uses blunt objective parameters?
has subjectivity really outlived
its lifespan? i like the idea of being
after all... i am made to subject to
the sun... the earth... as the seas are made
subject to the moon...
but to be some overly objective:
to find oneself on the plateau of objectivity
where only an object-object critique
said the hammer to the nail.
said the saw to the timber.
why are modern "critics" so afraid
after all... aren't we all made subject
under a certain medium known
and you should be thankful that you're
subjected by money:
not objectified by it like a prostitute is...
but i am always gentle...
fuck's sake... once i brought nothing
but whiskey, cigarettes and a teddy bear
of cuddles and snuggles...
because... i just didn't feel like fucking
and... looking at my skeleton hands...
you rarely feel a warmth of a body
by a measure of your own...
unless you're going mad with fever...
you always need that bosom...
that living leather grace of the thighs...
and... the fragrance of the hair...
the subtle gentle pinch of the nose -
rubber or cartilage...
the Eden of a woman's collar bones...
and those enslaves above them
just below the neck -
as if fiddling with excavated
pouches of kidneys,,,
how lazily this comes to me -
i suspect a butterfly puts more effort into
its flight than i do playing digit chess
with 26 characters and...
apparently no plot...
hmm... disgraced subjectivity,
abandoned subjectivity -
bewildering how any food can be turned
into a critique worthy of a profession
when the objectivity only asks for:
the taste of carrot, the taste of balsamic vinegar,
the taste of honey, etc.,
objectivity is just a dissection -
it would hardly convene to talk about
a "playfulness" of the food about
to be eaten...
the objective man would
never entertain: this is my body,
this is my blood...
and if you were to think, this was bad...
critique of pure reason:
the last bit of it:
transcendental methodology reads
like a best selling novel...
what transcendental methodology
can be arrived at by championing objectivity?
to transcend "by a" method...
is it aligned of thinking of a hammer:
as not being a hammer?
a hammer is a spoon?
or is a hammer a subject, rather than an object...
what else... the marching hammer army
of another brick in the wall pt. 2:
hammer transcends its object
and the noun associated with it:
into something akin to the dross
of stale pedagogy... dogma...
- the objective take on a painting?
blunt: paint, canvas, rim... the painter (somewhere)
and the person "admiring" the painting...
it's shit... or it's good...
perhaps "shit" modern art is trying
more than appealing to the palette
of objective thinkers...
i don't think Pythagoras would come
up with a hypotenuse equation
if he looked at a triangle as an object...
triangle: well no shit! slope!
things roll down a slope!
in the immediate sense a triangle is
only a face of a pyramid...
and a pyramid is nothing more than
by god... imagine the "conundrum":
the ancient egyptians build
far grander mausoleums than they did
what an inversion with: Δ (david) and ∇ (jacob)...
for a while i thought this
was the democratic inversion
of a petition: questioning
the authority of monarch...
yes: i like to consider myself being a tourist
in my own mind,
i can come across frequented landmarks
of expression -
the mind-body duality,
the subject-object dichotomy...
can i objectively transcend a hammer?
can i transcend what a hammer is,
what a hammer is used for?
can the hammer be divorced from a nail?
objectively? no. to hammer in...
but subjectively? horror territory...
take a hammer, leave the nails out...
and paint me a bullseye
with the sort of aim associated
with a Sally Challen...
i can't objectively transcend a hammer...
oh such laziness having to ask
non-purpose questions -
something so bland and self-explanatory -
but even these recesses have
to be entertained when
no flamboyance of wording is made
what am i to think about?
perhaps i'm just relaxing, with,
in the back of my mind...
the universe of adam kadmon
and its inhabitants: the tetragrammatons
and their counterparts: the apex of yod...
the universe of atzilut
and its inhabitants: the sefirot, the partzufim
and their counterpart: yod itself...
the universe of beriyah
and its inhabitants: the throne, souls -
and their counterparts: heh of(f) itself...
the universe of yetzirah
and its inhabitants: angels
and their counterpart: vav itself...
the universe of asiyah
and its inhabitants: forms -
and their counterparts: heh in itself...
perhaps i have found the otherwise hidden
form of meditation,
a decent glug of ms. amber in a ginger jacuzzi...
qabballah while listening to
some jaufre rudel...
itching tips of fingers...
a mind so empty that the hands are allowed
to speak for themselves...
two eyes, two hands...
the mind and tongue allowed to rest.