Tuesday, December 24, 2013



in dream thought
we wonder the same
and work on the real stuff
though it may feel confusion
there are no belief limitations

all out behaviour
sex drugs reading
are playing as if one could adjust
a factor of connectivity
turn up familyness
to feel safe for immediacy

yet if it feels that right
if you are aware of everything
it is hard
to get a wrong feeling
about something
you should trust

you are a dot in a field
fields
but once you realize
that
you begin to see + and -
connectivity
speed within a plane
different angles

shaking your head vigorously
might change your frequency

you see through things for they
are small outside time
as are you

like we're all
in this weird construct
trapped in it

you are creating this all
around you

once you see that your heart is the center
and you go down into that
into the spark of the heart muscle
you also go into dna

all your ancestors are there
for you are an impression forever
on code if you have children,
and indirectly, through your behaviour,
others and your own

your own decisions in the past
have created the code
which you experience
now but you connect to everything
through dna

and they all sit in my room
in my head and listen

when you are in the presence of another
dog or person
it confirms your belief
that your reality is real
all this talk about what is real

why write
why teach? entertainment?
leaving a path to get back
if one would ever

i experienced all my eyes
 a wonder
mother and dad working together
making it easy to work within me

whatever law pattern telling you not to ___
is the last hurdle
you don't
 it would be the reversal of love
but you could and then you begin to read code



Sunday, December 8, 2013

Sackner Archives









 









 

Perez Art Museum Miami





 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

basel 13



 


basel 13






basel 13



 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

basel 13



 

basel 13

 


 













 





Monday, December 2, 2013

 



the serpent is the Form
you are the monkey

the myth persists
your reality
for 80 revolutions
a cord with a head
attached
to the back of your mind
like earth to a plant

unknowing unloving
mechanical to a T



Thursday, November 7, 2013


why the eyes
signal the back
the skin patch

at dark
do we return
outside the trip
ourselves real
dreaming of puppets

noone to call
a kid with imagination
liquid mind telling the story
or

you do not inhabit
the body in sleep
the body chooses
your exit
switching inside

why surprise
when things missing
reappear

two
life personality
spreading infinite
laughing painting

praise without ego





 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Wednesday, October 30, 2013

 
 
still 
 
 
 

Tuesday, October 29, 2013


the lure of fixating abstractions
is freedom from the body
requiring for service of
the metaposition
the apparent need for
elimination of alternatives
and a fixation with objects
upon possession

and yes the ego is an insect
and I am a good reptile
but the unity within me
has to overcome all assumptions
conditions and beliefs

underlying every assumption
is that we are awake
that waking is the alternative
rather than a limitation
of the interface of matter & symbol

and unity only
has to be beheld
to be expressed
that is the tough one
and then what to do








Friday, October 18, 2013






















I am the Word
does not imply meaning
the Truth
the Way
these are the values
of the peoples
the constants
of the Universes
as are you
and I

















Saturday, October 12, 2013



now
fences by capital
140  NSA  profiles
the new currency
is ingenuous
even if possible
through the filter
the jinn

nothings free
even illusory community

but the future
full access
you had in the past
have
now



Sunday, September 29, 2013


the fed and q e
may be just the lever
to keep down unrest
at any cost
even of money

but the new currency
will be digital anyway
or is

passed
we lay like lions
lazing with friends
under trees on rugs
with women
but at night
we are chaired







 


should mind exist
us and others
are the only agreed
media to matter when
in fact its connected everywhere

a predicament

and if they take dna
from the ugliest part of you
they can remake you
to the nail

all this recording of us
foldered in heavy metal
will be the only option
or termination
and we will rush for it

its delights
its fakiry

a matrix of numbers
alternating zero
in eternal purgation
with a plug

thereby gaining some escape












Sunday, September 22, 2013


a paladin Mynster
stopped and bent his mare
a crowd from the street gathered
a piper, a maid
he wrote,

a war between a religion of the rich
versus a code of the strong

I am the fruit man
its of the season
and always ripe
but it cuts to your belly

among of which
pupal suaves
the pizdrool has been pulled up
bred and battered
for a dillon a dollar

because if we don't have the demand
we don't need the servants
as the moment arrives

its a wild's kitten, my dear
jj
a book of nights

the galaxy is within
same as the galaxy without
and your bridge is just a room
and your chair
is rented, licensed
and belted

I labeled it earth
I don't think I was smarterer than
or more knowledgeable
I am more knowledgeable about my own self
which is perhaps the only reliable possibility
of probabilities I've got

typin to the notes of a raga
with forty instruments of percussion
jackoac might have felt that comparison
between the trumpet and the typewriter
the keypad and the flesh
Fkesh

it is the next frontier
biology is absolute
culture is your relative
and a prison
with jeweled windows

step out
there is no odour
step out of what you can
every day

it will exponentiate

do it comfortable
until comfort no longer matters
step out
live

and now so do I
dancer
its a white world
course ridley
made them white






 





 

Sunday, September 15, 2013

compass glass whistlin
sails tight mast aching
seas of waves
a touch within the code
calling you to ground

growth stalk leaf
the animal cant fight
cant write
still whistle tho
skip then gaze
feel hair on the wind
light on the cells
and the streams
in  the last shot
a quantum on break

a rub of english
sight blurred in the south
limbs from the North

heart fast






theres a room where they wont bite you
the insect brain the reptile has you by the throat

reflections you weave from smokes
mirrors you lose at cognition

and the rock rotates
grinding and aiming
for your outside lane
and your pedals move
the bar is broken
you'll never make speed

but try anyway

if not for the straw games
you could lay with the dog

straw and rain




 

Thursday, September 12, 2013


but if you step out of
your species' learned pattern
senses change, values
necessarily your soul
but in perception
you become aware of everything
and the way the world is

you know there is a
reality universe everything eater
and its just beginning
and you know there is something
you're not supposed to do
something like madness
loss of direction
and if you do
it will be the end of a con
only you will hear



 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Sunday, September 1, 2013

what to decide
what is growth
what does one learn
is the infant the body
what are we
an organizing pattern
of behaviour only
part self aware
ignorant of the whole
on repeat
we have followed astray
lapsed, shiny hollusions
universal yet insular
of our own ideation
that have windows
called music and art
and roofs like religion

so is not the door
yourself, the most certain
and chances are
when you get there
it knows
where to go











Wednesday, August 21, 2013

the pharoahs
didn't show their faces on their masks
they showed their souls for eternity
the proof they were human
their faces sneeze
could not show
and be god

79 took no picture of me
if a man can die by reading books
that is the mask of my radicalism

Monday, August 19, 2013

one of the essential
rarely reached peaks
of a human is deciding
if there is no explanation
for anything
it follows
there is no reason
for any particular explanation

except choice
and its limit

the future's
accidental data wash
removes choice
for eternity
it is possible always
you will cease so you do
if not already
or ever
datum
quanta
point
field.

Sunday, August 18, 2013

this Self is never born, nor does it die, nor did anything spring from it.
This Ancient one is unborn, eternal,everlasting.
It is not even slain even though the body is slain.

revelation manifest

one frame of reference

we are mud pushing mud
on a dark heated rock in the middle
of EVERYWHERE

leaving the planet
means at best a new species
or dna thrown upward into chaos


JFK Fitzgerald responds
or we have a new species
smarter than whole flora
and fauna of prior organ(ism)s
which has extra angle
we do not
weaknesses, obvious strengths
but its adaptability
and ours
will make the difference
if any

the upanishads are a manual
set down by a fire
to the user of an operating system
which is becoming yours

your collective
the collective ignored
is telling you this is dangerous
but lies are deceiving your will
your days are as real
as your decisions and just as unstable

you cannot explain either
and find no answer from anyone
so you dive
species
parents
wills:
abilities:
term:
value:  $



it is not that I claim to be certain for you
but I must be certain for me
certainty being a delusion
a choice
cept after cept

the systemic push
is no to every line
may be a background program
to facilitate signal travel

writing as if the world were a computer
creating data
electric memory




m'rning walk thoughts

if you can read a book by two ways
as if a different person(s)
you can do it with life

so if a new voice speaks
how certain that it is you

like most categories
systems as a member
I think we are
severely imprisoned
so imprisoned that if true
all of us in unity
could not defeat
awareness of this

is their value humor?

perhaps you chose this life
your independent behaviour pattern
looked into a hole
and saw your life
and chose it as an experiment
signing up again

that would explain everything
amusement and loss of memory

totems make money on that
value pre arranged
in a data contest you lose

that is what you have entered
a novelty Hell
infinite circles
paradise squared
with a fall

but birds make do





Saturday, August 17, 2013

those eon evo trails
backward connecting
to the other strains
you left a moment ago

feel  them
not with plastic
old  game pictures to
distract the monkey

dont do
stretch dance
vocalize
what birds do
your body  does




 

Tuesday, August 13, 2013

your soul the universe
is not dead
without doubt
shamed, defaced
whitened, painted
yet all awaits

a communion of saints

and you seek change
a tool technology was only
to master the rock

now the rock invites

and you shifting shade
in nine moons
ranged the fauna
but where do tools lead now
past life per se life

grow the soul
cut the angles
to meet every symbol
with whatever are
ego and whatnot




















Monday, August 5, 2013



multiples of multiples
i hold to the line
and race the spray
this instant claims identity
i am a sail ripped
a moving cloud
of airs
for the moment




james james james
you coulda been the One
the drapery
the churches, spires
the drones

there must have been something
poisonous
not maybe in you
but those who marked
denied your family
the nephews, cousins
still living
relative to your brother

and i remain
still true, credit good
no one yet has stolen me
but your brother
who was he?

and were you Him
you coulda been



Sunday, June 2, 2013

why no recollection
of the day first
was it too horrible

can i go back now
this afternoon
live as an infant

when the moon is above
the lids close
but the eyes are open

a first tool, your hand
an agent
first with intelligence
after your feet
with this improvement,
its own craftsmanship,
an intelligence of certainty

a second tool
with a trap:
the  learned priority
of  symbol use
rather than creation

limited use

Saturday, March 23, 2013

 
            Workers Accident Insurance Institute
                                   



                                                            September 20, 1912
My dear Fraulein Bauer,

      In the likelihood that you no longer have even the remotest recollection of me, I am introducing myself once more: my name is Franz Kafka, and I am the person who greeted you for the first time that evening at Director Broad's in Prague, the one who subsequently handed you across the table, one by one, photographs of a Thalia trip, and who finally, with the very hand now striking the keys, held your hand, the one which confirmed a promise to accompany him next year to Palestine.
      Now, if you still wish to undertake this journey-- you said at the time you are not fickle, and I saw no signs of it in you--then it will be not only right but absolutely essential for us to start discussing this journey at once.  For we shall have to make use of every minute of our holiday, which in any case is far too short , especially for a trip to Palestine, and this we can do only by preparing ourselves as thoroughly as possible and by agreeing on all preparations.
      One thing I have to confess, bad as it sounds, and ill as it accords with what I have just said: I am an erratic letter writer.  Yes, and it would  be  worse still if I didn't have a typewriter; for if my mood doesn't'  happen to feel equal to a letter, there are still my fingertips to do the writing.  On the other hand, I never expect a letter to be answered by return; even when awaiting a letter day after day with renewed anticipation, I am never disappointed when it doesn't come, and when finally it does come, I incline to be startled.  While inserting a new  sheet of paper, I realize that I may have described myself as far more difficult than I am.  If I have made this mistake it would serve me right, for why do I choose to write this letter after six hours in the office, and on a typewriter I am not used to.
 
      And yet, and yet--the  only disadvantage of using a typewriter is that one easily loses the thread--if doubts were raised, practical doubts I mean, about choosing me as a traveling companion, guide, encumbrance, tyrant , or whatever else I might turn into, there shouldn't be any prior objections to me as a correspondent --and for the time being this is the only thing at issue--and as such, you might well give  me a trial.
Yours very sincerely,

Dr. Franz Kafka
Poric 7, Prague


                                                            September 28, 1912

My dear Fraulein Bauer,
 
forgive me for not using the typewriter, but I have such an enormous amount  to tell you and, and that typewriter is outside in the corridor; besides this letter strikes me as so urgent; also today is a holiday here in Bohemia(which strictly speaking doesn't belong to the above apology); the typewriter doesn't  write fast enough for my liking' the weather is lovely, warm, the window is open (but my windows are  always open), and I did something I hadn't done for a long time, I arrived in the office humming; and if I hadn't come  to get your letter, I really don't know why I should have come to the office at all on this holiday.
      How did I ever get your address?  When you ask that question, that's not the question you are asking. I just managed to cadge your address.  First I got the name of some corporation,  but I didn't like that . Then I was given  the address of  your apartment without the number, and  eventually the number as well.  Now I was satisfied, and of course didn't write, for I considered the address as something in itself; besides I was afraid the address might be  wrong, for who was Immanuel Kirch?  And  nothing is sadder than sending a letter to a doubtful address; that's no letter, its more like a sigh. Then when I discovered that there is an Immanuel Church in your street, all was well again for a while.  But in addition to your address I would have liked to have some indication of the compass point, since a Berlin address always has it.  I for my part  would like to have  placed you in the North, although I believe  this is a poor district.
      But apart from this worry over addresses (in Prague it is not even know whether you live at No. 20 or 30), how much did my wretched letter have to suffer before it was written!  Now that the door between us is  beginning to move, or at least we are both holding the handle, surely I can, in fact I even must, say it.  Oh, the moods I get into, Fraulein Bauer!  A hail of nervousness pours down upon me continuously.  What I want one minute I don't want the next.  When I have reached the top of the stairs, I still don't know the state I shall be in when I enter the apartment.  I have to pile up uncertainties within myself before they turn into a little certainty or a letter. How many  evenings--to avoid exaggeration I'll say 10--did I spend composing that first letter before going to sleep!  Now it is one of my failings that I cannot write down auto-matically anything I have put together beforehand. My memory is very bad, but even the best of memories could not help me to write down accurately even a short paragraph which I have thought out in advance and tried to memorize's for within each sentence there are transitions that have to remain in suspense before it is written down.  Then, when I sit down to write the memorized sentence, I see nothing but fragments lying about; I can see neither through them nor beyond them, and the only thing to do would be to throw away my pen, if my halfheartedness would let me. Nevertheless I did ponder over that letter, for I have by no means decided to write it, and of course these pondering's are the best way to prevent me from writing.  I remember that I once actually got out of bed to write down what I had thought out for you; but promptly returned to bed,  because --and this is my second failing--I reproached myself for the foolishness of my anxiety, and decided  that what was so clear in my head could just as well be committed to paper in the morning.   Around midnight such decisions always win out.
 
      But if i go on like this I'll never get  anywhere, I am chattering about my last letter instead of telling you all I have to say.   Please understand why that first letter has assumed such importance for  me. It is because you answered it with the letter that lies here beside me, which has made me absurdly happy and upon which I am now laying my hand to be conscious of owning it.  Please write me another one soon.  Don't make an effort, a letter requires effort, however one looks at it; just keep a little diary for me; this demands less and gives more.  Of course you have to write more in it than you would for yourself alone, since I don't really know you at all.  You must record for instance, at what time you get to the office, what you had for breakfast, what you see from your office  window, what kind  of work you do there, the names of your male and female friends, why you get presents, who tries to undermine your health by giving you sweets and the thousand things of whose existence and possibilities I know nothing. --  But oh, what has happened to the trip to Palestine?
 
In the near future, or the not so near future, by next spiring or autumn for certain. --Max's operetta is now dormant; he is in Italy, but soon he will thrust upon your Germany an enormous literary yearbook.  My book, booklet, pamphlet  has been accepted at last.  But it is not very good;  better things will have to be written.  And with this verdict I bid you farewell!
                                         


                                             Yours,
                   
                                                    Franz Kafka