poetry critical

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Ah, no... there's no quitting here, you hear?
Be patient 'till i get my
Chatter in mindlessly.
Dig it and
End it where
Eat should be
Hindered from seeing with the
'I' and eyes altogether.
Jest, if you must.
Kill the dust
Long before it settles
Mindful of your
Nil chances
Of escape.
Periodically stutter now...
Quit, if you must.
Run for your life.
Sh*t your pants, if you're wearing any, that is, hehehe...
Talk to your dearly-departed
Until they talk back
Will make your
While and
Wiles all
Worth your nearly
Yoda sensibilities for
z = z^2 + c



please don't mistake this
mindless chatter
for a poo'em.

written 5.16.12

thank you so much for the very exciting repartee
and the 'roses are red fish-eye photo',
Elaine armpffft face.

till the next one!

; )

16 May 12

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mindFully made repartee of momentous meanings all converg'd into a whirl'd view where sensibilities swell into a bang, whimpering a-long with a song 'til they're you ...
 — AlchemiA

look at my new discussion on 'romantic', in p&p, and use it as a critique of this poem.
 — cadmium

hello there, guys.

can any of you please tell me what the suspended comment said?
thanks and it's so good to hear from you and to be back writing here again.

: )
 — fractalcore

transcribing the text/critique @ http://poetryandpoet.lefora.com/2012/05/16/preten ding-to-be-real/#post0 :


"Intuition" is the reflex proceeding from the encounter with the Absolute.

The Absolute is life, the boundary of your ability to say what life "is"... of your ability to say what it is that is life.

[ the mistake, for instance, is to think that intuition is the motor of reason, that there's truth to be intuited in argument -- that thoughts 'flow', change, into 'better thoughts'.]
the thesis, anti-thesis and synthesis are the dimensions of the same reality -- not a logical progression, but separate views, without an absolute resting point to derive meaning. in three dimensions, we're of present, alienated in space, and unified in time... that is, back to present.

dimensionality is space -- rational and explanatory, in contrast to non-contrasting 'dumb present'. [ if you're bored when you come back to reality, it's because you thought you could think up a better life for yourself. all you end up with is needing someone to tell the secret to.]

a. -- the romantic imagines world-substitutions, no? the artist invents new worlds.


philosophy writing, as hegel or wittgenstein, doesn't show any truth but the author's having written something. it shows how to write yourself into your own reality... not how to 'think'.


'thought' is negation -- thinking is negative, the rejection of something obvious for a hypothetical 'better'. thinking is the negation of the present, when the present becomes confusing. but, the solution, thought's conclusion, isn't the synthesis of reality and thought, of the real and the abstract. it's the simple abstraction of playing with words. anything can be said, but what can't be said has to be invented into saying. the absolute is that you're doing something and with control -- you're "thinking" and not just motor-dribbling on the ball-court... you know that there's a game to play. the thought is not the absolute, but the sentence is. your writing is done in nature, in history and will live or die according to its rapport with the present, with the absolute itself. and, of which your absolute thought is an item, a possibility, until challenged, until it dies or becomes a part of your spirit, your belief... your energy in things.

intuition is a reaction to the intuition of the absolute. that is, a forced abstraction ( intuition ) in non-rational dimensions -- unknowable in words. and, is the point of view of objectivity when you're creating a new rationality, a new language [ a new art. ]

intuition is non-verbal coordination using what you understand as the absolute [ as life out side this thing you're creating. ]

this is the artist's understanding of consciousness -- when the awareness meets the external world -- the knowing awareness that you're something, meeting the unknowable and wanting to know. consciousness is life-reality, not 'imagination'. it takes forever to come to see this -- that it's not history  we create in, but dumb reality. 'history' is what we say about it all afterwards.

[ i can imagine myself imagining myself not able to imagine. but, i can't imagine myself not 'being' -- that is, not seeing something which is me looking at this imagined world without me in it: i couldn't know what to see, or whose eyes to see it with... i would, in the fantasy, rationally chose some appropriate persona -- someone's point of view. and, that's the romanticism -- to think no one could see your deception.


the beauty of creating is that you come back to reality with a new piece of reality and the confidence of history.

simply coming back to the sameness of things, isn't the absolute real, though it's a necessity, it's comforting. you know the real has nothing at all to do with you until you start messing with it.


thanks, mike.
: )
 — fractalcore

you effin' useless critter!
 — fractalcore

i'm so fekkin' fed up with your antics here!!!

what else have you got to offer besides your
1 and only, huh?

grow up and get over it!!!

 — fractalcore

if you're fed up, fuck off. you stupid fuckwitted ass-kissing creep.
 — unknown

this piece of shit attempt at writing isn't even worth a 1, but it should get more 1s just to make it disappear out of sight.
 — unknown

oh, yeah? really now?

fekk off and cufk you!

 — fractalcore

it's imperative that the GOOD mods of this site trace those unks' IP address.

talk about real justice!

 — fractalcore

its imperative that you take your head out of bauers ass and clean his shit off your face
 — unknown

and clean his shit out of your idiotic brain
 — unknown

you're talking to yourself in the mirror, einstein...

good, entertaining monologue.

jay limo should have you over.
 — fractalcore

or, bend[?] you over towards the light
at the speed of your brain.

 — fractalcore

E = panty-yeasts to the power of your squared pant[ing]s, yes?

very well-done!

 — fractalcore

fuck, you are one boring cunt
 — unknown

there's a huge can't in your boring skull.

never can do because of no other than hue, i.e. black,
if there's such a you.

gawd-awful, big-time sucking!


 — fractalcore

i guess that really is the best you have. serious fail.
 — unknown

what a tedious little twit you are
 — unknown

its worth setting up a few more dummy accounts just to make sure everything you post here is rated out of sight.
 — unknown

which brings us back to the real question:

what's the best you can offer here, really?

we've gone full circle now and i can indulge you
for the rest of the day, if you want.

 — fractalcore

there is no "real" question here. just the fact you're a useless fuckwit with your head up bauers ass.

kill yourself.
 — unknown

mod -- whoever and whichever and wherever you are -- please leave the unks' comment open to the public.

there goes your real culprit! that's how this site devalued at the core.

if you don't find a way to circumvent their hideous acts, then there's no use complaining about one particular member here who posts under his moniker and leaves actual, significant, useful comments/critiques.

get real!

 — fractalcore

mod -- whoever and whichever and wherever you are -- please leave the unks' comments open to the public.

there goes your real culprit! that's how this site is devalued at the core.

if you don't find a way to circumvent their hideous acts, then there's no use complaining about one particular member here who posts under his moniker and leaves actual, significant, useful comments/critiques.

get real!

 — fractalcore

repeating yourself won't change anything. no one cares enough about your or your shit writing.

kill yourself.
 — unknown

cuff and cufk your dimwitted self from behind.

^ now that would be a lovely sight symbolic of
how infinitely-tedious and -boring you are.

and, die happy right after learning for the first time
how it is to be self-sustaining and eternal[ly-screwed].

 — fractalcore

lol. if only you could be clever with your comebacks. i would be at least slightly entertained then.

watching you chasing your own tail will have to do in the mean time.
 — unknown

yeah, you're as clever as an ant, can't!

well-done! you deserve a 1, twoo!

 — fractalcore

and repeat
 — unknown

you have a thing for redone-dancy?

gneiss try.

 — fractalcore

umm, maybe it wasn't necessary to post the whole thing. what i wanted to say was that this kind of verse is like talking to a wall while attempting to talk like a wall -- that rationality only talks about its own reasonableness, and can't talk about the absolute truths, since those truths aren't analytic -- they're simple and beyond words. what works in verse like this is the feelings projected by the author -- we feel the author is a nice person. we haven't a clue what the subject is, because we can't see the subject, only infer.

best is to say what only is real for you, even if it makes you feel that you've admitted you're un-connected with everything and everyone, and that reality is what you want it to be, not what you suspect it actually is. what we get, from that kind of direct and real poem, is a new element in nature -- not a new 'weather' or something, but at least a new kind of sunset.
 — cadmium

well, i thought the whole thing nailed it down to a tee, so...

how else would you talk about the whole process of this
kind of writing, i.e. poetry-writing?

the 'absolute' that we recognize is all temporary, or that
it changes slow-enough for us to warrant, say, a mental
or numerical algorithm.


so, you think the intuitive space stays the same over time?
we cannot call that space 'absolute' if the so-called 'dumb
present' can and does alter it -- this is me considering the
not-so-remote possibility that the whole process of intuiting
is a 2-way traffic.

 — fractalcore

the 'absolute' is just that world we stare at sometimes, not the fantasy of living. the absolute is that you have to exit by a hole in the wall, but that doesn't mean anything. but, addressing the world as though it were this clean, and not just your need for a non-chaotic world, means you're going to create stories insides stories -- apologies and explanations for why you said things at all. 'intuitive space' is just a reaction, like putting your finger in a wall socket. it has no content, just energy, and it's only positive when you're face-to-face with the cold world and react to the cold world. just knowing that you can jump in a hot tub because it's a hot tub isn't intuition. but, knowing that heat moves between two people is intuitive as motion and energy and is the real subject of poetry.

talking about the world and what it is for you is like using mathematics to talk about the meaning of ocean. you can't get beyond math. and, talking about stuff, you can't get beyond what people expect you to say about things. the only real poetry comes when you invent a new reality -- invent what ocean really is FOR you, and not for surfer joe.
 — cadmium

of course, all that is based on this assumption that the immaterial exist[s] -- that's how the creativity in configuring math or art according to one's impression of 'life' or '[illusory] reality' is.

the absolute can very well be just an aftertaste, which is a consequence of a previous aftertaste, and so on, and so forth.

there is never a 'thing' in the cosmos that stays immobile or stuck in a corner.
; )
 — fractalcore

thanks for everything, fractalcore. |29 reiterates.
 — softyetharsh

life is only real, then, when I am -- if memory is a lie, then so am I -- ergo I am not this ( points to his brain and anus at the same time ) -- nonetheless you're in this heart swelling as an infinite sea into me where deep calls to deep ...
 — AlchemiA

ok, what i'm trying to get at is to get over the sophistry of thinking that nothing exists, when you sometimes actually know your limits within the limits of what can actually be done. i'm thinking of when you 'wake up' and see what's really going on. it's true that you can't know what's going on, ever, but you will still bump your shin on the table -- you couldn't go through the table. i think the realization of that kind of world only happens in a crisis, and then only for a moment -- your mind wants to go back to normal, doesn't it? like, when you're afraid and you need to go to put yourself back together; 'intuitions' are 'flashes', not thoughts. thoughts are when you're reconstructing your place in space and time -- building a history of yourself again.

'wow' is probably the only verbal available for intuition. 'wow' or 'fuck', depending..., but something direct like that, no? and, that is the poem of intuition.
 — cadmium

but, here's what's hard: that the poem of intuition isn't a poem in intercourse, in interconnecting, unless you're sharing that moment -- two of you seeing the moon come up. then, what's the point of the flowery language? it's not the moon nor the 'wow', it's a recreation of the moment in another medium. the sad and fucked thing about being an artist is that what we make doesn't change in time on its own -- my poems don't re-edit themselves to suit the season. i work in the myth that i'm writing in the eternal, creating eternal 'thoughts'... but, the reality is that the dimension only defines itself as i read the poem. i make the completeness by writing the poem and then reading the poem -- the words exist as shapes, unreadable until i 'get it'.
 — cadmium

the poem is a leaf on a tree where the synergy of Sun and Earth meet inextricably, 'til the ultimate epiphany, when loose clouds and rain in wind meet and earth's decaying leaves are shed ...
 — AlchemiA

what do assertions like ours actually show? because, if a poem is a leaf, then what is a leaf? and, isn't our intuition of the leaf null and without meaning? what are we seeing? the color and shape, or 'the eternal cycle of nature'? how could we see the reality of 'eternal cycle' or, even, 'nature', without having read the handbook?
 — cadmium

... the unspeakable awe in the music leaves make -- wind-song which is like a stream rushing to the Sea echoing inside of me wondrously; without thought or memory, just a feeling 'til I smell the brine baked air, and hear there a calling-song with a longing swell of waves and foam, tickling my feet as I roam the crescent beach to the beat of over and over again...
 — AlchemiA

what is gained, in a critique, by replacing one word-set with another, if that other just sort of sounds poetic and holds only the shell of the concept instead of the means to move away from the impression of things into actually creating a poem? if i look at a tree, i see what i want to see, but i can only create what i'm able to create. if i only had a stick and some dirt to draw on, my subtlety would be in fluid lines, not in shaded textures.
 — cadmium

at least in my universe, matter is the only real thing in spite of the predilection of most people for false dichotomies -- 'contact' results to 'tangible' which can then result to 'self-induced alienation', and that's all because of the arbitrary finite-ness of 'things'. a dualist, then, is more-prone to the sophistry you've just mentioned.

now, the only 'absolute' here and everywhere else, is 'dynamism', really. i find the ascription of 'absolute' to 'life' icky by virtue of that fact, though it's necessary in establishing a point of reference relative to another point of reference.

so, 'contact' now also implies the 'limits' or 'extent' of our being conscious or 'consciousness'. i'm so bent on thinking that 'intuition' is instinctual and a very abrupt one at that when contrasted with the urge -- which, to my mind,  still is an instinct of sorts -- to write the experience down or paint it.

the poem of intuition has triggers and can therefore be leveraged romantically, albeit not a legitimate poem of love.

; )
 — fractalcore

the absolute is apprehended in the emotions -- it doesn't really look like anything, because 'looking like' is a word game. that moment of flash or buzz, when the world turns neutral is a cause of dynamic, not a picture of 'the dynamic'. your dualism allows you to think that the world has soul, while your rationality holds that you're seeing something other than yourself. reconciliation comes through making an image, a document of the close encounter. art comes from playing with fire.
 — cadmium

i'm dedicating this write to one of the most beautiful hearts & minds i've ever known and also one of the kindest kindred spirits there is, Joe 'uncle tote' Cunningham, who passed today.

i love you, man!

 — fractalcore