Wednesday, October 30, 2013
Hiatus (new photos)
Monday, October 28, 2013
Of Honey, Roses,and Venom
Of Honey, Roses,and
Venom
L. Edgar Otto 27 October, 2013
I. Mothers & Daughters Work the Bars & Dress Up for
the Other
The hidden side of
one way mirrors work both ways
to lift a face and
mask
Tammy Faye head on,
imprinting, colliding with my
tee shirt, make-up,
leaves here face a featureless cloud
It starts with
children's shows, mom, dad, puppets, local TV
or Xuxa, once a pron
star, now darling redeemed
Beloved by the peanut
gallery
Of clowns and Captain Kangaroo
tragic masks, comic
masks, epic
Bottle fed shadow
sheep stuffed animals to be shorne
of wool, ride
bareback on the prancing pony dream, or
Unicorns only to be
pushed out of opened doors
puppy mills, already
lost far from the strand and broken
Thru walls and Great
Balls of fire until if lucky realize
the Rolex watch
reward and large brass golden
Cheap knock off
copies
II. Does God do
Automatic Writing
We used to count by
letters made of god-like
hieroglyphics, runes
near to them
Then just put on the
pictures or spoken story
alphabet of metaphor,
history emerged entangled
Half babble Rosetta stones in fractured leaps
leaving clues
Alas, the numbers for
their tally marks, recycled wood
to burn, contracts
long forgotten or in
Made of cuneiform then sealed inside ball of baked clay
masking them until
they're broken.
This empire new
slogans carve, a pipe or cave
filled with crushed
pillars of Pharaohs past
The prophets speak of
generations, empty, seething
brimstone, or
successive layers, levels of hell
Echoed here in
earthly tells, gods, ghosts, now aliens
from end time
prophesy to predictions we call science
Women still blow
pigment to spray paint on cave walls
their hands that
leave a shadow.
III. Venom
Razzle-Dazzle or
Sweet Rose Etta, I
left but with a withered blossom with
acid fire on a chain
link fence see thru as you tossed with
Your wedding bouquet, Venus belt trapped on the fly
with stained glass
slippers, the imprint of you open hand
Slap on my face, so I
read the news report ow well you were loved, your general hospitality- I part
of your pelts of motherhood
Boys and their puppy
dong tails - I saw my pet speckled
slug as beautiful as
your freckled mug- Rhesus negative Who
frets she cannot wear green or look like Christmas
cat fight claw my
Rh-positive animus, the little red haired girl
Hell for me would be
to take a younger Eve
tempted even if she
were a nurse, relive my father's fate
Then she remove one
node and all its links that our
new world encased
upon itself brings conflict
Breaks apart love
between my children's sisters, brothers
even step and half
siblings, lost modern families
Even the last left of
a nuclear one to fission itself
All this somehow
foreseen, my path a little less
than my father's
failures- beyond resentment biological
Mom took with her to unforgiving innocence down below
as you whom I doubt
said loved him, there alone to pull the
Plug following the circle
of your slime of slugs
May you - and whatever
lesser god that cannot forgive and
struck you blind -
rot and burn in a forgotten hell.
* * * * *
For imaginary garden submitted Monday... concerning masks... Only could see two of you before phone slowed down and main PC went on the blink (at library now) did read some others but could not comment.
I took the Vandana's flower picture as inspiration and the venom of fireblossom... sorry if it is too dark...
Friday, October 25, 2013
Watchtower
Watchtower
L. Edgar Otto 25 October, 2013
The bus stopped in Swavesey, by the old clock
late at night from Ely's Isle to Alconbury
That urge to lose myself in crises flight, some
endless space in but safe measured hours
That to desire to seek the far away drives me
back to home, there already, we cant return again
But while the rumble lasts, glaring light hiding the night
you Carol sit by me, I not the caboose chasing your train
The driver, and the couple between him and us, well
she setting on his lap, we pretend not to notice
You show me what you bought the day in Market Square
I have you give me your address so I might write in
An old book of wisdom from a bygone age, a sister's praise of
sisters, opium eater diary, or picture of the days of plague
You get off by the watchtower, its pale Roman numeral clock
a thousand miles away the book took another subway route
I could not write you, my words blacked out, returned by
prying eyes afraid of jazz terms I loving your isle too much
At the watch tower I see your ginger hair, freckles, smiles thru
the window while the night light clock grows dim behind me
There was nothing else worth to watch for you someone
I could have loved and more, friends, our heartbeats side by side
* * * *
For imaginary garden... thoughts evoked from the lyrics of songs, and barn dances once my home...
Added later after thinking about how I used "dim" in this poem without thinking about it then seeing the same themes in the other poet's here... that and a friend mentioned too how he had to use the word dark matter or energy differently every time he used it... so I thought I might, as a source of terms made clear try to coin some clearer ones as seems it best a poet's duty. The physicists run out of Greek roots it seems, or how creative the "gluon" not or quark that means cottage cheese... I used opaque substance or Dark matter like or obscure matter, or anything with the simile the so called "God Particle" for awhile called Higgs-like.
So here a final thought as a poem after this daunting yet glorious educational prompt so much so at the beginning and way beyond the cycles of seasons and days intimate to our souls at the end of the line...
Crepuscles and Gloam
L. Edgar Otto 26 October, 2013
Why must my shining light racing off
into the starry horizon
leave behind my cloud of gloam?
I slow in the salty scudy sand grain
broken shells of crystal waves
walk on water quickly sand sea foam
Poets as well feel yet the hidden scoff
so think unique zodiacal lights refrain
their own horizon's inky rain of tomes
Our compass North falls off the world
ghosts vanished there yet leave their bones talk
to each other as if to them, seek diamond double cones
Walk on shaky ropes of time up from our marrow
where we're close, may fall, riding one loves arrow...
* * * *
Glossary perhaps in this footnote:
Crepusculum and Gloam
L. Edgar Otto 26 October, 2013
crepuscle(s) : obscure or dark (twilight) matter and
gloam: the same for the concept of dark or hidden energy; dusk dust
Starrizon: (the starry horizon) mirror compliment of gloam, gloamnium.
Calyptic Substance (energy, thoughts, or matter): hidden, esoteric (vs neoteric physics)
* * *
L. Edgar Otto 25 October, 2013
The bus stopped in Swavesey, by the old clock
late at night from Ely's Isle to Alconbury
That urge to lose myself in crises flight, some
endless space in but safe measured hours
That to desire to seek the far away drives me
back to home, there already, we cant return again
But while the rumble lasts, glaring light hiding the night
you Carol sit by me, I not the caboose chasing your train
The driver, and the couple between him and us, well
she setting on his lap, we pretend not to notice
You show me what you bought the day in Market Square
I have you give me your address so I might write in
An old book of wisdom from a bygone age, a sister's praise of
sisters, opium eater diary, or picture of the days of plague
You get off by the watchtower, its pale Roman numeral clock
a thousand miles away the book took another subway route
I could not write you, my words blacked out, returned by
prying eyes afraid of jazz terms I loving your isle too much
At the watch tower I see your ginger hair, freckles, smiles thru
the window while the night light clock grows dim behind me
There was nothing else worth to watch for you someone
I could have loved and more, friends, our heartbeats side by side
* * * *
For imaginary garden... thoughts evoked from the lyrics of songs, and barn dances once my home...
Added later after thinking about how I used "dim" in this poem without thinking about it then seeing the same themes in the other poet's here... that and a friend mentioned too how he had to use the word dark matter or energy differently every time he used it... so I thought I might, as a source of terms made clear try to coin some clearer ones as seems it best a poet's duty. The physicists run out of Greek roots it seems, or how creative the "gluon" not or quark that means cottage cheese... I used opaque substance or Dark matter like or obscure matter, or anything with the simile the so called "God Particle" for awhile called Higgs-like.
So here a final thought as a poem after this daunting yet glorious educational prompt so much so at the beginning and way beyond the cycles of seasons and days intimate to our souls at the end of the line...
Crepuscles and Gloam
L. Edgar Otto 26 October, 2013
Why must my shining light racing off
into the starry horizon
leave behind my cloud of gloam?
I slow in the salty scudy sand grain
broken shells of crystal waves
walk on water quickly sand sea foam
Poets as well feel yet the hidden scoff
so think unique zodiacal lights refrain
their own horizon's inky rain of tomes
Our compass North falls off the world
ghosts vanished there yet leave their bones talk
to each other as if to them, seek diamond double cones
Walk on shaky ropes of time up from our marrow
where we're close, may fall, riding one loves arrow...
* * * *
Glossary perhaps in this footnote:
Crepusculum and Gloam
L. Edgar Otto 26 October, 2013
crepuscle(s) : obscure or dark (twilight) matter and
gloam: the same for the concept of dark or hidden energy; dusk dust
Starrizon: (the starry horizon) mirror compliment of gloam, gloamnium.
Calyptic Substance (energy, thoughts, or matter): hidden, esoteric (vs neoteric physics)
* * *
Wednesday, October 23, 2013
An Anthology of Flowers
An Anthology of Flowers
L. Edgar Otto
24 October, 2013
The shawled lady worked the amusement park
the theaters, restaurants around the penny arcade
She sold Kewpie dolls with long crape paper dresses
and bouquets or a single rose, her artificial flowers
How could the sailor refuse after the ride thru the
tunnel of love, was the neon light in her eyes as artificial?
Who with mooning gaze could refuse the wider ones,
pointed hair. for you Doll dressed up, hold your baby
Baby, baby face, you got the cutest little baby face
Oh don't you need one? Let's walk hand on hand
No one will know in the privacy of the instant photo booth
what sort of poses we display, its OK I will show no one
The child that followed her on her rounds looked up at
the two headed man and poster, mushroom cloud splitting the earth
Leaving the ocean view, merry-go-round, roller coaster screams'
here's your cap mister, you left it on the carousel booth
He gives the boy a silver dollar, the small train smells of coal
I can ride it to the Promised Land or all around again
The boy thinks, more nickels for the Nickel, Nickelodeon
he cannot enter therein but can still point the way
As they leave the amusement park a Kewpie falls out of
her dress and they make fun of the swabbies he looks back
At the lady's artificial flower in her hair, then the dolls ruby lips,
sings goodbye Milk and Honey, goodbye Humpty and Dumpty
* * * * *
Kerry's prompt on Imaginary Garden
Monday, October 21, 2013
Epistle to Alduz
Epistle to Alduz L. Edgar Otto 21 October, 2013
When the Intelligent Designer of whom we could not speak His name said
"Let there be gluons", the Chosen in their towers of babble wrote Him out of the Play
One minor species or tribe arose by chance from all the elements and exoplanets in
the image of Universal Law to which the people labored in exile from the imagined Gardens
Beholding the great supercollider of the sky, the source of mass was made manifest for
in the dark matter on the face of the deep so his creatures felt its telescope
That time repelled his amplification condensing into gravity as in the heavens so on Earth
that the creature could evolve fore-ordained who endures or is born again, the word
Spoken and written without the soul of vowels a mystery offending the left hand that
the road to Heaven was paved with infant's skulls to hell's bottomless potential wells
The sum of paths the same at every branch or around the canopy in totality
Enter Pythagoras or his likes all at once at a distance to begin alphabets and history
"Did I bid you keep separate your church and state, a lesser broken place your helpmate
Temptress of uncertainty first and last man, my eighth day work no rest begun?"
"O Lord, He whose center is singularity and circumference a hypersphere beyond
the stars and God dust string motes everywhere, did I not pray, ask you your design?"
God then looked at his handiwork tried of testing rainbows, tired of ends in fire then
Said to these mortal creatures he knew not ready, personally, " It is disgusting."
Adam kept a level head in flatland and gazed elsewhere shutting up to measure
the plots of mud left by the Nile, the cubits of pyramids and New Jerusalem
"You see in my perfection I born without umbilical in your image and purposes conserved
In symmetry, a creative lesser god, where before the world was, I Am, we will be".
* * * *
Sunday, October 20, 2013
Speak No Ill of the Dead but Shout Out Our World is Living
Speak No Ill of the Dead but Shout Out Our World is Living or
A Letter to His Mythical Home before His Last of Battles
L. Edgar Otto 20 October, 2013
We live free in a least government state to follow our individual purposes, fit in smoothly with the expanding society, or even ride the light of a God not our will unto a weapon unto others.
For as we are distracted by the fantasy's of those who see the state as everything, and hold its people individually without it do not exist at all, lies and charging all outside it conspiracy, the leaders feel the state is fixed and real so too the people fill their empty lives to heed, or fear, or redirect their path as salvation to the puppet strings they give attention.
The dead do not belong to the state that like in primitive tribes they can be tried for non-participation, their self-sacrificed corpse put on public display, confession by the ceremony of the circus. The memorials merely serve to rewrite history, maintain regimes of accidental or ruthless victors. The dead belong to the mothers, lovers, children and the soldier who sacrificed for what he believed, believing in others in sincerity or fool hardy, so serve a deep or small part.
The dead do not belong to the soldiers who dispatch them, not for superstition as once we ate the heart of our enemy, gained their power, gave them honor. The times moving us without control the fallen leaves in turbulent wind, here and there a pile of molding leaves to walk around, permit the living to forget lest it wounds their lives and lives to come, the troubled minds with flashback of the job, the test but unto death of strength, defense of genes pools and territories not forgotten the nagging guilt that we may have grown callous and uncaring to our fellows.
But far worse the departed and those caught in the crossfire, the hopeless rising in the ghettos, the children at war with each other overlooked as long as contained on the other side of tracks, and those who forgot their roots so to use the law as their chains... thus and is the machine of drones that moves by design and cold gears, inertia growing strong, that myth of spring we who recall its passion in the rants and rage against the twilight of autumn night far worse, as if above the clouds the bombs fall distance, our hands are washed from troubled dreams and face to face reopen wounds with bayonets, one military man to another, the missing limbs not buried at Arlington hold no regrets.
The military man was not meant merely to just supply the seed, to grow fat on free loaded pension honey, the queen is slow to pay them anyway if they don't die but fade away. For what, that his sons cannot bring to the world some poetry, or that his daughters are infertile workers for the hive without dreams of her own?
Work it is the ethic on which we build and self-rely, and work it is sacred that we bring to it what we can to ease life in this world, and work is the enemy in that it feeds on slavery with promises that it will make you free, busy work for its own sake to learn the habit as routine so accept moving pointless objects around to sort them and if efficient find them jumbled again before the clock shift is over and the conveyor belts grow silent there relentless bone crushing sweat shop explosion. Work is that which we find absurd to do if an animal, another, or a machine can do better. But if we promise the least of that for a place in the society it is perhaps that the state still fears that we have learned to use our stingers and our ladies to make their own honey. Or worse that deep down they know but cannot test that we will not break down to violate in faith our good hearts without limits.
We may not fool the dead, our leaders some of the time for as such they fool themselves all of the time, and if the dead can vote or the voting dead the state remains unreal to which no rite of legitimacy or span of hegemony can insure a state endures- not when divided in its life and the life of its people.
* * * *
Perhaps for Open Link Monday Imaginary Garden...
A thought in the back of my mind, I of lesser sacrifices alive but faded away, no more the sting of false promises reaching the summer outings, parades of Memorial Day that Lincoln promised care for the loved ones of those fallen...
Love in the Icy Cold of Space
Love in the Icy Cold of Space
L. Edgar Otto 20 October, 2013
The universe itself is a cave
what attracts, what repels
What in the sea of ice is hidden
nine tenths under swirling waters
There must be more than echos
as we cry out, make messages of song
Send them off inside bottles
after the wine bids us sleep awhile
I am not Virgil where imagination can
send my senses to a climax, no poetry can
Wait to penetrate the mystery of love
Yeats and the moon shaddow eaten
Somewhere weightless deep in space
doubled our stardust face to face
That I worship you, entwined realities
one again exploring new geometries
What in your ankle sent Frenkel wandering
in wonder far from the arms of Milky Way
His magic marker and equations on your
belly down to the end your belly button
Nature, no one can keep her in a pumpkin shell
crave on it our face that jack-o-lantern light shows thru
At midnight again, mice under snow cover
then the search to see who fits the one glass slipper
Against the cold of night the fall or bounce of dreams
we crave the cave as well for the cuddles in respite
Build our domes of blocks of snow but cannot know
If the spring returns its sun lost in midnight
* * * *
In the viXra an interesting shot film and book review inspired and kept me busy then I saw Hannah's prompt on imaginary gardens... sorry I am late, another fine exercise of love and the cosmos as poetry.
L. Edgar Otto 20 October, 2013
The universe itself is a cave
what attracts, what repels
What in the sea of ice is hidden
nine tenths under swirling waters
There must be more than echos
as we cry out, make messages of song
Send them off inside bottles
after the wine bids us sleep awhile
I am not Virgil where imagination can
send my senses to a climax, no poetry can
Wait to penetrate the mystery of love
Yeats and the moon shaddow eaten
Somewhere weightless deep in space
doubled our stardust face to face
That I worship you, entwined realities
one again exploring new geometries
What in your ankle sent Frenkel wandering
in wonder far from the arms of Milky Way
His magic marker and equations on your
belly down to the end your belly button
Nature, no one can keep her in a pumpkin shell
crave on it our face that jack-o-lantern light shows thru
At midnight again, mice under snow cover
then the search to see who fits the one glass slipper
Against the cold of night the fall or bounce of dreams
we crave the cave as well for the cuddles in respite
Build our domes of blocks of snow but cannot know
If the spring returns its sun lost in midnight
* * * *
In the viXra an interesting shot film and book review inspired and kept me busy then I saw Hannah's prompt on imaginary gardens... sorry I am late, another fine exercise of love and the cosmos as poetry.
Thursday, October 10, 2013
Sinkhole
http://africaunfinished.blogspot.com/ On Redemption, Fireblossom Friday prompt
see Peggy Goetz's Poem One by One: "...When one tiny hole
is patched a fist blow breaks another..."
Sinkhole
L. Edgar Otto 11 October, 2013
The Earth's crust shrinks as its core expands
cracks like the emptiness of Heaven, yoke of hell fires
We still a planet all alone despite diamonded bands
abandoned in between, our whole world failed stars
Redemption, green tea consumed so chains, rations
to give back in gaudy glass books of green stamps
Abandon all hope, the gospel shelter, entering therein
lives rebuilt, renewed, admit all are born in sin
For the tramps have nowhere else to go to sleep, to dream
save scarce wine, relieved in stalls or dustbins
The money changers glean those already broken and
they come from far away, tokens to a Field of Dreams
We know at the rock bottom survival will kick in but
at what cost the scars, the fall apart, pain to rise again
Indentured for a year, toss all sentimental, cherished
feral now your once family cats, yours no human bonds
They called it the House of Ruth, married to the Lord
all the virgins shaved and cloaked in black that your
Religion becomes their religion, hot dishes, deloused
pregnant black teen in the rain sang hymns too ghetto
She does not exist, I send her home, back to Chicago
like I called the police, a blind man sent out in snow
Not paid past his thirty days, sorting rummage clothes
they did not sign away threats to face the nuthouse
But how many times can the stony stardust graze the sun
in one lifetime to reach oblivion in last of waters?
I cannot write again my thousand poems, my junk
auctioned off by fraud, those who stole contributions
My hundred songs, children's memories, the landfill
I homeless again, they charge me with illegal dumping
Despite no bands, locked out of storage yet it paid
thieves scavaging bailment, I the one forgiving them
* * * * *
Footnote- It was only Dave King that gave me ground to carry on
somewhere in a confusion of metaphors worked in poems past
half aware I may half plagiarize myself, what we have built up
in efforts of our hearts... no imaginary garden, Dave... no more exile
from what you still give us of paradise redeemed beyond the night that
echoes full of things we half successful stars, sharing your poetry....
see Peggy Goetz's Poem One by One: "...When one tiny hole
is patched a fist blow breaks another..."
Sinkhole
L. Edgar Otto 11 October, 2013
The Earth's crust shrinks as its core expands
cracks like the emptiness of Heaven, yoke of hell fires
We still a planet all alone despite diamonded bands
abandoned in between, our whole world failed stars
Redemption, green tea consumed so chains, rations
to give back in gaudy glass books of green stamps
Abandon all hope, the gospel shelter, entering therein
lives rebuilt, renewed, admit all are born in sin
For the tramps have nowhere else to go to sleep, to dream
save scarce wine, relieved in stalls or dustbins
The money changers glean those already broken and
they come from far away, tokens to a Field of Dreams
We know at the rock bottom survival will kick in but
at what cost the scars, the fall apart, pain to rise again
Indentured for a year, toss all sentimental, cherished
feral now your once family cats, yours no human bonds
They called it the House of Ruth, married to the Lord
all the virgins shaved and cloaked in black that your
Religion becomes their religion, hot dishes, deloused
pregnant black teen in the rain sang hymns too ghetto
She does not exist, I send her home, back to Chicago
like I called the police, a blind man sent out in snow
Not paid past his thirty days, sorting rummage clothes
they did not sign away threats to face the nuthouse
But how many times can the stony stardust graze the sun
in one lifetime to reach oblivion in last of waters?
I cannot write again my thousand poems, my junk
auctioned off by fraud, those who stole contributions
My hundred songs, children's memories, the landfill
I homeless again, they charge me with illegal dumping
Despite no bands, locked out of storage yet it paid
thieves scavaging bailment, I the one forgiving them
* * * * *
Footnote- It was only Dave King that gave me ground to carry on
somewhere in a confusion of metaphors worked in poems past
half aware I may half plagiarize myself, what we have built up
in efforts of our hearts... no imaginary garden, Dave... no more exile
from what you still give us of paradise redeemed beyond the night that
echoes full of things we half successful stars, sharing your poetry....
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
Between the Reed Symmetry of Tiger Stripes
Between the Reed Symmetry of Tiger Stripes
L. Edgar Otto 09 October, 2013
I carry my baby bundled near my breast
on the way home to the warmer fishing grounds
Too late to turn back, the twilight, wilder gully
I see the bones half eaten hidden there of horses
I walk cautiously though not aware of stalking eyes
a tiger appears before me, we both hopeless, frozen
Then the pounce like the playful cat that paused
to let the mouse groom itself before its end
I kick a small stone before awakening from dreams
parallel to some other plight in dream's sunlight
So casually we stumble then break apart the worlds
we cannot see beyond inference in the tigers stripes
Somewhere over there, the zebra fish sees me as
her spirit animal who diverts the turtle's snaps
While she protects her brood distracted by the tannin
peat that put her into exhaustion, replication frenzy
* * *
For the imaginary garden
L. Edgar Otto 09 October, 2013
I carry my baby bundled near my breast
on the way home to the warmer fishing grounds
Too late to turn back, the twilight, wilder gully
I see the bones half eaten hidden there of horses
I walk cautiously though not aware of stalking eyes
a tiger appears before me, we both hopeless, frozen
Then the pounce like the playful cat that paused
to let the mouse groom itself before its end
I kick a small stone before awakening from dreams
parallel to some other plight in dream's sunlight
So casually we stumble then break apart the worlds
we cannot see beyond inference in the tigers stripes
Somewhere over there, the zebra fish sees me as
her spirit animal who diverts the turtle's snaps
While she protects her brood distracted by the tannin
peat that put her into exhaustion, replication frenzy
* * *
For the imaginary garden
Sunday, October 6, 2013
Unistonium, Standard Theory and Einstein's Brain
Unistonium, Standard Theory and Einstein's Brain
L. Edgar Otto 06 October, 2013 (an offering for open link Monday for imaginary gardens)
Yeats in the poem "Stamper in the Sky", made the universal point that the sentient creature paints an image of God as if a projection of its own mind. We great apes as in the sci fi movie full of jazz and classical Wagner stand before the monolith to ignite new stars at a critical point of their replication in which each if we can partly see into them are full of stars. We now motherless star babies will have to think of something soon.
It is clear that ideas of deja vu, the synchronicity of dreams as in Jung's thermodynamic model of the mind allows that over a small interval of time anticipating or foreseeing so far into the future we actually feel, across the hemispheres or in deeper structures of our mind... we have seen or been in some place of observation before.
But it is also true of dreams and their interpretations as in Freud that we have a vast sense of hidden regions, the dark subconscious of our thinking that inspires curiosity and vast reactions to superstitions, recapitulation of seats of process usually starting in sets of three from our fish souls up, that has us tell stories, hear and heed voices, become attached to and embellish them looking for a sense of unity in the truth and in our wholeness of well being. In the act of living in a society we go thru the motions of processes sometimes defining our life by our roles.
Many of the great thinkers in physics start out to behold and praise the handiwork of a Creator who has care or moods. Yet often in the attempt they find or their disciples find, going way beyond the intent of teacher, that in analysis of ideas that do not always seek first the simple causes as physical, puts these ideas of higher ultimate being as ever more distant or vanishing from the cosmic landscape. So Descartes with good intentions is said to be the meditation that undermined the world view of the Church that is a gateway of separation from the older unity of religion and science.
Cosmology is the tragic loss of such a concept painted on the sky of higher love to which the lens grinder Spinoza, for his faith was excommunicated as the general idea of atheism grew as a term of those who work against beliefs. Anything supposedly higher that that point of awareness, understanding, and consciousness in the spacious now is derided as metaphysics even if the once schools of the subject gone fallow in the seeding of thoughts held we reach a speed of a maximum in the "psi plasm" by which after a great struggle we can sustain wisdom, predict scenarios of warning of higher dangers than that of the lower creatures in the wild, even imagine higher realms of dreams and returns to homelands and gardens, to the milk and honey breasts again of a caring mother thru the generations objects of desire. We coin the idiom our head is in a spin so to speak, for where else does the light go beyond our cubits of building brick by brick from the quoin of birth, we drawn or in free fall?
So much depends on the exceptions to conservation of CPT violations, the breaking of symmetries, the focus of such abstract higher light and complimentary darkness into some level of contrast that the Standard Theory explains the observed sets and decay of particles as we go back in theory to arrive at origins as if in our microscopes we view in the depth of the small nearby or the distance in the large far away as if in time the threeness of unity in the staircase of forces. In a wide sense this is the issue of chirality by which we as bilateral creatures, between the snakes or reeds and the starfish and lily pads self adapt the physicality of our brains. Our brains, also hard wired on pattern levels like the chemistry, induction flows, nerves and DNA are also defined and limited by the totality as if quanta and loops of gravity.
Einstein's brain, from this crude level of analysis and of what we are to make of it in the search for physics genius or creativity, gives some hope to tell us something of all brains in structure and processes. We know as in the sense of the urban myth we only use part of our brains, or DNA codes, or visible matter in the universe and so on,. We want the magic bullet of respected and simple cures after a long climb of research in fits and starts to climb to the wider dream, think about it and bring back to our familiar home the wisdom again in ways with objective certainty new seekers can understand.
Some have found a higher connectivity between the hemispheres of Einstein's brain, certainly close to the foundations of things that the plasticity may adapt and compensate in non-average ways. A proof by those cases of exclusion in average people with physical injury in specific areas or in the newer methods of today that imagines it can tell us something of our core souls and monitor our dreams our technology of scanning, our refinement of magnetic and other fields... as if we can be sure of behavior say we took a scan of Dalmer's brain to explain how some individuals against all the thrust for survival as if there is a death wish that disturbs our continuum of social values. While we are lazy to go over data in the detail, we are not wrong to seek the universal simplicity of explanations of the world so trusting those who we imagine experts, geniuses who worked long to master their fields.
Some report that certain areas are advanced in his brain like regions where the ability to play string instruments on one side or the piano on the other side while music itself is a universal language of transiting if not unifying the whole. Recent analysis suggest in addition to the old observation that one side of his brain had more connections between the nerves in the secondary levels... a condition we now know where nerves do attatch and connect to each other with more than simple connections, that the area is wider in the convolutions wherein a potential is there if not the indication that this speaks of higher intelligence where found.
Yet this seems to come at a price in the face of it... the larger brains of dolphins are not connected such that they must dream on one side, two healthy brains if unconnected that in the exposure of the open degrees of freedom in the sea half of their brain can stay awake. For it seems that those areas close or at what is the creative and most abstract regions of human thought in Einstein are more separated.
So considering the grounding reference frame of unity despite the sparks of randomness of which one could imagine the formulas and process of electron work force as a grounding process as well, and the time aspects from that as a measure of our ignorance of the unknown, what happens in the dark depths of quantum theory and computation, the doubly symmetric awareness or the mistake we all make in geometry where we have to make our values half again in the influence of higher dimensions of force fields, there to bring it back home again to what we feel a physical grounding, it seems to me only natural that a human with such a brain structure would feel and imagine that things are not what they seem when it comes to time as simultaneity.
So some pioneer, by endowment can show the world and communicate what for him was the intimate vision as vision to which the average mind may stand in disbelief or awe. This is not to say science is always done this way for much of it is the luck of secondary or accidental discovery, and much of it is the clues we work out in our dreams. Yet, we should not as objective scientist dismiss in the higher longing of higher regions of a brain that wants both sides to connect into a still wider generalized theory to which Einstein as some said in his mistaken goals in the face of quantum theory that unifies everything in a universal set of simple laws that can with assurance reach into expanded realms so therein is the abstraction we know as genius, but of us all as specimens of humanity beyond local color and so on or claims for or against the exceptional evidence of the extraordinary. Physics, as well as people, can be an enterprise that for our survival makes us too smart for our own good.
I stand midway between the very large and the very small at once still yet moving. This much we know that what we see is influenced by the frame from which we view things as observers, and anything so observed including the miraculous organization that is our brains concretely and minds abstractly is changed by the act of our observation in the very small... and a watched pot of helium mysteriously will not boil.
In this higher sense of unity, of a spirit that rides over the relentless and oft spooky eddies of a directed branching history we can see the world as a static and steady state as Einstein was surprised at the instability that leads to the Hubble expansion... that for me is an error in the restrained power of our existing mathematics and statistics, notations as well as ideas for a better language design of logic. Did he not consider in the hieroglyphics left near his death bed a sort of quantized sequence to consider the universe as cyclic? Did he not ride the light until the bitter end?
* * * * *
L. Edgar Otto 06 October, 2013 (an offering for open link Monday for imaginary gardens)
Yeats in the poem "Stamper in the Sky", made the universal point that the sentient creature paints an image of God as if a projection of its own mind. We great apes as in the sci fi movie full of jazz and classical Wagner stand before the monolith to ignite new stars at a critical point of their replication in which each if we can partly see into them are full of stars. We now motherless star babies will have to think of something soon.
It is clear that ideas of deja vu, the synchronicity of dreams as in Jung's thermodynamic model of the mind allows that over a small interval of time anticipating or foreseeing so far into the future we actually feel, across the hemispheres or in deeper structures of our mind... we have seen or been in some place of observation before.
But it is also true of dreams and their interpretations as in Freud that we have a vast sense of hidden regions, the dark subconscious of our thinking that inspires curiosity and vast reactions to superstitions, recapitulation of seats of process usually starting in sets of three from our fish souls up, that has us tell stories, hear and heed voices, become attached to and embellish them looking for a sense of unity in the truth and in our wholeness of well being. In the act of living in a society we go thru the motions of processes sometimes defining our life by our roles.
Many of the great thinkers in physics start out to behold and praise the handiwork of a Creator who has care or moods. Yet often in the attempt they find or their disciples find, going way beyond the intent of teacher, that in analysis of ideas that do not always seek first the simple causes as physical, puts these ideas of higher ultimate being as ever more distant or vanishing from the cosmic landscape. So Descartes with good intentions is said to be the meditation that undermined the world view of the Church that is a gateway of separation from the older unity of religion and science.
Cosmology is the tragic loss of such a concept painted on the sky of higher love to which the lens grinder Spinoza, for his faith was excommunicated as the general idea of atheism grew as a term of those who work against beliefs. Anything supposedly higher that that point of awareness, understanding, and consciousness in the spacious now is derided as metaphysics even if the once schools of the subject gone fallow in the seeding of thoughts held we reach a speed of a maximum in the "psi plasm" by which after a great struggle we can sustain wisdom, predict scenarios of warning of higher dangers than that of the lower creatures in the wild, even imagine higher realms of dreams and returns to homelands and gardens, to the milk and honey breasts again of a caring mother thru the generations objects of desire. We coin the idiom our head is in a spin so to speak, for where else does the light go beyond our cubits of building brick by brick from the quoin of birth, we drawn or in free fall?
So much depends on the exceptions to conservation of CPT violations, the breaking of symmetries, the focus of such abstract higher light and complimentary darkness into some level of contrast that the Standard Theory explains the observed sets and decay of particles as we go back in theory to arrive at origins as if in our microscopes we view in the depth of the small nearby or the distance in the large far away as if in time the threeness of unity in the staircase of forces. In a wide sense this is the issue of chirality by which we as bilateral creatures, between the snakes or reeds and the starfish and lily pads self adapt the physicality of our brains. Our brains, also hard wired on pattern levels like the chemistry, induction flows, nerves and DNA are also defined and limited by the totality as if quanta and loops of gravity.
Einstein's brain, from this crude level of analysis and of what we are to make of it in the search for physics genius or creativity, gives some hope to tell us something of all brains in structure and processes. We know as in the sense of the urban myth we only use part of our brains, or DNA codes, or visible matter in the universe and so on,. We want the magic bullet of respected and simple cures after a long climb of research in fits and starts to climb to the wider dream, think about it and bring back to our familiar home the wisdom again in ways with objective certainty new seekers can understand.
Some have found a higher connectivity between the hemispheres of Einstein's brain, certainly close to the foundations of things that the plasticity may adapt and compensate in non-average ways. A proof by those cases of exclusion in average people with physical injury in specific areas or in the newer methods of today that imagines it can tell us something of our core souls and monitor our dreams our technology of scanning, our refinement of magnetic and other fields... as if we can be sure of behavior say we took a scan of Dalmer's brain to explain how some individuals against all the thrust for survival as if there is a death wish that disturbs our continuum of social values. While we are lazy to go over data in the detail, we are not wrong to seek the universal simplicity of explanations of the world so trusting those who we imagine experts, geniuses who worked long to master their fields.
Some report that certain areas are advanced in his brain like regions where the ability to play string instruments on one side or the piano on the other side while music itself is a universal language of transiting if not unifying the whole. Recent analysis suggest in addition to the old observation that one side of his brain had more connections between the nerves in the secondary levels... a condition we now know where nerves do attatch and connect to each other with more than simple connections, that the area is wider in the convolutions wherein a potential is there if not the indication that this speaks of higher intelligence where found.
Yet this seems to come at a price in the face of it... the larger brains of dolphins are not connected such that they must dream on one side, two healthy brains if unconnected that in the exposure of the open degrees of freedom in the sea half of their brain can stay awake. For it seems that those areas close or at what is the creative and most abstract regions of human thought in Einstein are more separated.
So considering the grounding reference frame of unity despite the sparks of randomness of which one could imagine the formulas and process of electron work force as a grounding process as well, and the time aspects from that as a measure of our ignorance of the unknown, what happens in the dark depths of quantum theory and computation, the doubly symmetric awareness or the mistake we all make in geometry where we have to make our values half again in the influence of higher dimensions of force fields, there to bring it back home again to what we feel a physical grounding, it seems to me only natural that a human with such a brain structure would feel and imagine that things are not what they seem when it comes to time as simultaneity.
So some pioneer, by endowment can show the world and communicate what for him was the intimate vision as vision to which the average mind may stand in disbelief or awe. This is not to say science is always done this way for much of it is the luck of secondary or accidental discovery, and much of it is the clues we work out in our dreams. Yet, we should not as objective scientist dismiss in the higher longing of higher regions of a brain that wants both sides to connect into a still wider generalized theory to which Einstein as some said in his mistaken goals in the face of quantum theory that unifies everything in a universal set of simple laws that can with assurance reach into expanded realms so therein is the abstraction we know as genius, but of us all as specimens of humanity beyond local color and so on or claims for or against the exceptional evidence of the extraordinary. Physics, as well as people, can be an enterprise that for our survival makes us too smart for our own good.
I stand midway between the very large and the very small at once still yet moving. This much we know that what we see is influenced by the frame from which we view things as observers, and anything so observed including the miraculous organization that is our brains concretely and minds abstractly is changed by the act of our observation in the very small... and a watched pot of helium mysteriously will not boil.
In this higher sense of unity, of a spirit that rides over the relentless and oft spooky eddies of a directed branching history we can see the world as a static and steady state as Einstein was surprised at the instability that leads to the Hubble expansion... that for me is an error in the restrained power of our existing mathematics and statistics, notations as well as ideas for a better language design of logic. Did he not consider in the hieroglyphics left near his death bed a sort of quantized sequence to consider the universe as cyclic? Did he not ride the light until the bitter end?
* * * * *
Friday, October 4, 2013
Synjazz
Synjazz
L. Edgar Otto 04 October, 2013
(for Friday prompt at the imaginary gardens)
The universe cannot be described only by
its cyclic bouts of epilepsy or mystery of memory
Nor without feeling all, the sum total, the Omnium
be more than a phantom aura beyond the flickering light
Induced into epiphanies of perception or
catatonic coma to stop short circuits, blowing the fuse
You who said there was not a theory of everything yet
imposed your chains of virtual totalities on others
have come late to the game in your one room old school
Perhaps you do not believe in magic or moral law above
but have you not seen the variegated universe within you?
* * *
Some hold a central place, only the higher angles to face
what beyond it is but half Adam's face beholding God
Or in the numbers game, grinding lens or making potions
tinkering with nature's sea-foam taffy steel simple machines
So cleaver that in the end philosophers can build the lever
that can lift the world, measure Earth by our axioms and runes
Or that gated cathedral space ship an endless array to which
all paths in the endless beach and plane yellow brick roads
we come home, time walk outside a canvass of our visions
The peach that was the embryo of your soul sorting errors
fetal dreams of birth to come then more beyond night terrors
* * *
Arise! my child of Earth, the fall persists, the grays, the nothingness,
colors greater than Aurora's sources in our sky
Blinded by our own light or walls against the stars, doubt our worth
so choose if our world ends in a flood or fires
The rim of your volcano sleeps beside me multiple fits, starts
my once fire cracker then gets to the how to find the why
That we lose ourselves in the drinking, probing the Big Bang
drakes and damsels together for a season in groups to hang
migrate to the depth of stars enticing us with their wares
Can the thinkers find themselves deep toward nature's womb,
can also blind fainting fem fatal rolling eyes find otherwise?
* * * * *
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
Twenty-one Words, Twenty-one Lines
Twenty-one Words, Twenty-one Lines
L. Edgar Otto 03 October, 2013
( for imaginary garden...)
borrow laughter, return tears of snow
weather birth of fences
deck of death
children, weeds
teenagers, trees
parents, garden
neighbors stoop,
barbecue potluck,
handshake
borrow tears, return laughter
weather death of fences
deck of birth
teenagers, weeds
parents, trees
children, garden
potluck stoop
barbecue neighbor
handshake
parents, weeds
children, trees
teenagers, garden
* * * *
L. Edgar Otto 03 October, 2013
( for imaginary garden...)
borrow laughter, return tears of snow
weather birth of fences
deck of death
children, weeds
teenagers, trees
parents, garden
neighbors stoop,
barbecue potluck,
handshake
borrow tears, return laughter
weather death of fences
deck of birth
teenagers, weeds
parents, trees
children, garden
potluck stoop
barbecue neighbor
handshake
parents, weeds
children, trees
teenagers, garden
* * * *
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