Young People..

It was a riot of False-=valencies or mech./ thrmdynmc solecisms, b-a-d metaphors, compleat GiGo rhetoric, rubbish polemical micro- & mind-twangg info-product, that 20th century hey.

PERMANENT WARFARE MENTALITY WAS A FEAST FOR THE INDIVIDUAL WARRIOR’s 5 SENSES AT BASE^!, that 20C raison d’ètat Screw-thy-neighbor at Communty level & actually organise permanent rolling homicidal assaults on the people of any region or nation outside thine own in the EXTRA-REGIONAL qdrsphrc, hmsphrc or even global theatres or geographical domains.. even on the little waterdrops that will be hanging on the bare twigs of trees in the square below – these being in all deracinated bizarrely disarrayed and mentally misconstructed or by strict definition psychotic personal ‘issues’ of scale-scope dimensionality & relationality ⬱ fake or virtual relationships ☞ my second after a @TwitterTakedown entry of the day of yester/ yes-stir/ yes-sir/ how-high-sir: explicatory macro readout of David Malouf’s CHILD’s PLAY 1982 p 127, 8 ⮕

[TURNING TOWARDS THE FIRST LIGHT OF DAWN] that I can see colouring the window, pushing a foot down into the colder reaches of the bottom of the bed, snuffling, hauling the rug up over his hunched shoulder, rising slowly towards the surface, the few pints of thin blood still pumping, the viscera tightly packed under the wrinkled belly, still miraculously intact after another night out there in the no-man’s land of sleep? This, I feel, might be the moment. Just now in the lightness of his early morning sleep, when the [MIND] looks two ways, we might make contact at last and the conversation take place that I long for as one might long for forgiveness. It is after all words that I need. I feel so utterly alone, so vulnerable to [THINGS]: to the little waterdrops that will be hanging on the bare twigs of trees in the square below, [LITTLE SWELLINGS OF EARLY LIGHT WHERE NEXT MONTH THERE WILL BE BLOSSOM.. ; to the cats scavenging for scraps in cold doorways, to the shallow pools of rain in the gravel walks that will be dry by midday, [THEIR DRYING UP A PROCESS OF FORGETTING,] drop by drop. [the passage of the new moon across them]; to the grains of soot tbat settle on treetrunks and boughs, leaving them streaked with dew; to the round lids of manholes that are stamped with the city’s ancient insignia – [a blind eye turned downward into the] bowels of the city; whose odours clog it with rust

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; to the light that slowly advances out of the darkness of things, out of leaves, stones, pools. scraps of paper, out of hands and faces, out of the ../2

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depths of space itself, & which cannot be resisted as it pours out endlessly, endlessly giving each thing shape colour solidity making reality [SOMETHING] that knocks gnst all 5 senses 2 prove us real. At this point of powerful weakness of openness 2 the common life of [THINGS], surely we might at last make contact].

^!Pahpa doesn’t ever want to smack you about the proverbial ears eyes nose throat and waggling tongue/ lips configs/ bad-assed commonly left-cerebral-quadrisphere modulated puffs AND sucks we authentic 21st century human and other bifurcated 🧠 (at the least of it all mammalian species of animal neurocognitive health scholars and amateur sleuths/ Crowd-science youngsters) BUT simply and elegantly reminds you that the 𝜶 male – ‘the Warrior-prince adventurer discoverer scientist of the last 500 historical years – the Age of Romance (& catastrophically romans) would only effa see hear taste touch smell in order to (ut, the Roman Latin language say minus 5 – 25c years) fight freeze flee feed f_ck

John with thanks to the readership

¹ᴬas in the Toraic Christian official book of “gen-is-is”\ Genetics where the first official dude DELVED and he’s GF, well, y’know

¹ᴮsee 🐒⌨️🐒⌨️🐒⌨️🐒🎤’s fabbo pic of Nanny Plum knitting @ the head of documeant/ da capo 🎼