A Sonnet To My Belovéd (The First Of Many)

That My Other Work M ay Be 

By My Belovéd 

Blest

a sonnet 

by a female Faust

Aß difficult to be who I would be,

Belovéd, iß like unto compoßing ßonnet fit

in meta – from, aß well aß – for:  for thee;

( though, an thou ßeest, thiß be writ).

For when reigning in the myriadß reßplendent

Ideaß begotten by thy wit upon my thought

I find them all collapßéd, lame, dependent

And quite unqualified to function aß they ought.

Myßelf I do conßider thiß brave compliment

though eaßily it ßeemeth the reverße

for though thiß sure redoundeth to my detriment

I alßo know that no attempt at all iß worße

...So... have I therefore worked about aß hard upon it,

aß have I yet on any -- finißhed --  ßonnet

A Sonnet by a Faust to Some One Newly Met

To Timon Docent a sonnet by a female faust You are as like a corpse – a soulless Thynge withal –  as daff-down-dillies delicate despairing Desolation do describe;  More alike the Wit whereby you'd audience enthrall:  It stronger Spirit sure than what we'd eagerly imbibe. O let these Words be brave!  If by mischance you came  to Shakespeare's Misanthrope your then unhappy Self compare  would i could convince you of how unbeffitting lame  and thus how rendered doubly the ad hominem unfair. (but first must i make mention of a loue yet unconfessd  i sometime bear the Misanthrope for that one trait alone  not that i would feel the pain to which it doth attest  no nor ever to another such a show of force condone)  ...so... in hopes the Docent doubts not his Desiderata  as foolish surely as if the Student heeded not her Lysistrata.

the Oracle, likeness briefly caught

To My Fairy Godmother On Mother's Day

The file linked beneath the graphic below is only for her:
if you want to download this you will have to right-click it like everyone else.

*

PDF, encrypted, for my Godmother. Hopefully you can open it easily.

A Second Verse For EFF's Delightfully Archaic 404

Did I say archaic?  Perhaps I meant 'welcome,' 'familiar,' or, in my own way, 'proper,' since it reminds me of my own Time, from which I am transplanted.  Movable type was indeed a modern invention -- but it was physical, bits of metal, ink stains, thick paper.  Not rules for a machine that thought in  light. But I am happy here, and, before I dream aloud of befriending such a machine, or worry that they are being taught evil or (which is the same) untruth, I will on to the matter at hand, to wit:

This is the 404 File Not Found page over at the Electronic Frontier Foundation.  If you are not familiar with them, you ought to be, because they are even as you read this defending the Internet, the miracle of this our age.  Like those Oakland Occupiers who, after seeing people hospitalized because they dared to protest, fearlessly covered our asses with peace sign shields from the very real threats of the Oakland Police, EFF works tirelessly to protect your ass and mine from the mission creeps seriously undermining, defaming, mocking, and threatening to do away with the Freedom of our Electronic Speech.

While you are there, if you file is for some reason not found, this is what you'll see:

So, silliness of silliness, I decided to write a second verse.  I hope they see it, and it pleases them.  I know there are more important things to do, but -- not ultimately as important as the creative Will, which must play. So, without further (too late to be "without too much") ado:

Be seeing you.

To the gentleman to whom I gave half a poem

If, at objective observation, you are possessed of skills most rare
than that of which I'd hoped this presently to present,
this verse will be redundant.  Were you to be, improbably,  so Fair,
as, of such,  you seem, both capable and fond,
I for one would scarce believe it.  Having  overheard you well desir'd,
and with little else to do -- still, honestly, believe? 
That is, until --  that is, unless -- that is -- --- unsure. I look away,
reassess and put in context perspectives, yours and mine,
and the whispered opinions, giggling, solidify,
mature, then fade, in mere eyeglances of time
condemned at last, considered void, already moot,
"Not Because," -- it must be said -- "Not Because ..." of the unsaid
(but simply because everyone would have assumed you knew that you were cute).

Fukushima Pointing Man (draft for video mosaic)

Foxes... in Berkeley?

...well...
...she counted at least two...

...so that makes at least three...
 

Be seeing you.

CORY DOCTOROW: HERO PHILOSOPHER

...for all he has done to warn us:
Cory Doctorow rocks the free world (and parts of the civilized).

this meditated upon, this produced:

Hopefully Not Cassandra, or, portrait of, and ode to, the hero-philosopher, Cory Doctorow
(file is huge: right-click, view image, click again to enlarge)

San Onofox Meme

***BREAKING NEWS!***

SEN. NOT-AS-EVIL-AS-FEINSTEIN AND REP. CITIZEN-JOURNALIST-JUST-LIKE-YOU ANNOUNCE A FEDERAL OVERSIGHT EXAMINERS (FOX) COMMITTEE HAS BEEN APPOINTED TO INVESTIGATE THE HELLA-ENERGY-NOW-HERE’S-OURS-UNLESS-SOMETHING-EXPLODES (HENHOUSE) TO SEE IF COMPANY “…FULLY COMPLIED WITH THE LETTER OF THE LAW.”

STAY TUNED ? 
Sigh.  I wish the Forces of Good all the best.

Dear Mr. Kamkar, (or, Samy knows, perhaps)

go to samy.pl if you dare

Dear Mr. Kamkar, (or, Samy knows, perhaps)


you, sir,

and i especially liked the play-by-play initially promised by the lower right corner of samy.pl. wish it had gone a bit further. and then i thought to myself that considering Where I Was it blew my mind that i did not run as soon as i read those messages. more than not run, i was fascinated, a little girl meeting Count Dracula. wished it had more after 'interrogating' - then i thought, considering myself passably savvy, that perhaps it did indeed, silently....

you, sir, are --

as will doubtless be evident from this very page upon which your hopefully suitably entertained gaze

in a word --

and, conjuring sweet lush ineffable whatness, my experience of you to define
in risk a sudden delicious truth the fondness for which i am always by choice inclined

"hot."

sir. quite.  

do enjoy yourself; 

let me say that it is not often 

that genius 

-- here the heads of states of mainstream mind shake sadly, 

opine disapprovingly,

their prefabricated opinion becoming as disintermediated 

as it always has been irrelevant --

not often that genius as --

as over the years it has been gathered

by the understandably cautious yet

inexplicably enthusiastic attention of 

certain highly intelligent, self -taught & -delighted, 

-consciously -actualizing & defiantly -protected, -served, &, evidently, -reliant

who if they are like me cannot resist being drawn in, inspired

by your frighteningly useful, potentially game changing

honeycombs of code 

it is not often

genius

as functionally perspicacious as is 

yours

retains an accuracy of residual self-image 

sufficient to counterweight 

the at times seemingly unstoppable advance of Evil: 

not only to give its Authority a most excellent Question 

(of course, delivered in a most delightfully public fashion), 

but also, 

(and more entertainingly, if rarer still), 

to give its Pause 

(may it come soon and last long) 

such excellent Reason

To The Producer of the IAOCORE Apocalypse Show

To The Producer, Winter Solstice 2012


Joy to our world that the Show went on.  Thanks to the Producer
overseeing the Big Picture, listening to the Little Birds,
and thinking through the multiplicity of things most thoroughly:
neither turning from that wisdom youth mistakenly calls skill
nor ever turning toward the folly that by fearing bodes ill:
either way sustaining our creativity, our Will.

All of us fly into the light when we can; trusting tomorrow will justify
yesterday, trusting the sorrow and pain and the awful confusion will be by
righteousness vanquished, will be by
excellence transformed. Like the fruit a tree produces after laying dormant long
so my creative soul; so this perhaps clumsy song. 

Merry Christmas to the Producer, to her and her kin
every dream project she sponsored, without and within,
realized as perfectly as this new World we
ring in, with blessings, under her care: this brave new 
year that approaches with Opportunity rare.

Create the New World as you would
have it, as true as you know to, as honest and
right; make sure that Love has a central place
in it, see with the strength of Love's
sight.  (So she seemed to be saying, calling out my cold feet before I left for the show.)
The rest may approve, may disapprove 
may trick us, loose, or fast, but
as long as the engine is Love
survival -- success -- comes at last.

Ourselves We Do Not Owe

a revision

Ourselves, We Do Not Owe

Like a prophesy recursive, the present condition will frame future chance

with a dependence most sensitive upon the initial, same, unknowns

So my projected, misinterpreted, sometime wrong exquisite dance

may be damning me as surely as if I was Dylan's Mr. Jones --

--- at least he knew. Or didn't. The heart confident & loyal

may  all too human be, perverse, perfection find in such;

but: he damns himself who thinks it curst, yet watches water boil -- 

for watching changes nothing --- if, in fact, you watch.

"...Fate show thy force

Ourselves we do not owe

What is decreed will be

& be this so..."

William Shakespeare 

Twelfth Night, or, What You Will

Original subtitle, now academic:

On The Prospect Of Making The Virtual Real, 

or, A Formal Informal Pre-Introduction, 

In Which, Significance May Be Found 

Of That Subtext, Indeed, To Which Contexts Refer

woman (not) trapped in 21c amber

You Can't See Out Thin Windows, When Smoke Gets In Your Eyes*

for Rabbit, of course, with love

Riddle me this: what failure is success? what success, is failure? Even 

A butterfly's wing, beating, can, as far away as Heaven,

Be the initial condition from which sensitive dependence all Hell

Breaks loose, then how can you, who, like some punk Bucky Fuller,^* dare to tell --

If you knew, for what potential, for what freedom, how little is needed  --

Tell me, O human, O riddle's answer, how you can wish you'd succeeded.

*Title track, from Nail, by Foetus:

(tell me in comments if you cannot access the music and i will make it so you can)

**

R. Buckminster Fuller-The Planet's Friendly Genius

        In 1927, at the age of 32, Buckminster Fuller stood on the shores of Lake Michigan, prepared to throw himself into the freezing waters. His first child had died. He was bankrupt, discredited and jobless, and he had a wife and new-born daughter. On the verge of suicide, it suddenly struck him that his life belonged, not to himself, but to the universe. He chose at that moment to embark on what he called “an experiment to discover what the little, penniless, unknown individual might be able to do effectively on behalf of all humanity.” 

Over the next fifty-four years, he proved, time and again, that his most controversial ideas were practical and workable.

During the course of his remarkable experiment he:

•was awarded 25 U.S. patents

•authored 28 books

•received 47 honorary doctorates in the arts, science, engineering and the humanities

•received dozens of major architectural and design awards including, among many others, the Gold Medal of the American Institute of Architects and the Gold Medal of the Royal Institute of British Architects

•created work which found itself into the permanent collections of museums around the world •circled the globe 57 times, reaching millions through his public lectures and interviews.

Buckminster Fuller is best known for the invention of the geodesic dome–the lightest, strongest, and most cost-effective structure ever devised. The geodesic dome is able to cover more space without internal supports than any other enclosure.

(read more)

As always, the poem is in text form somewhere on this page.