The Sixth


From Wordsworth on a Kindle turned his eyes towards the sea, seated in a rocky cave, kindlings like the morning.

High privilege of lasting life, exempt from all injury.

Living presence still persists, stamp wind’s image, send abroad.

Existential risks like those threaten this humanity.

The axiological argument is familiar, misanthropic argument, obviously never been.

Is it wrong to reproduce, procreation, future child?

Most humans produce children on mere impulse, reproduce.

Reasonable estimates tending to be subjective.

Dinosaurs and dark matter, invisible gravity; colliding tectonic plates, molten magma near the core; galactic coma clusters; luminous objects elsewhere.

Lensing measurements are used, lines of sight to galaxies.

Asteroids and volcanoes, gamma-ray bursts, and earthquakes.

Human intervention in ecology.

Magnitude of loss expected in catastrophe.

Such modelling assessing serious risk, then permanent stagnation, realisation, ruin.

Future technological breakthroughs in biotechnology, self-modifying the post Homo sapiens human qualities: whole brain emulations, super artificial intelligence…

Earth originated life’s sentience is a billion years.

Garage/Band


We were never really free,
we never really had control,
we wanted to destroy it all,
we wanted it to self-implode.

We never really had control,
we were working in a factory,
we wanted it to self-implode,
we were pretending to be poor.

We were working in a factory,
just some dole queue nostalgia,
we were pretending to be poor,
in the bollock freezing cold.

Just some dole queue nostalgia,
with the teeth grinding boredom,
in the bollock freezing cold,
of dry mouth rock ‘n’ roll.

With the teeth grinding boredom,
hammering the clothes,
of dry mouth rock ‘n’ roll,
on the garage floor.

Hammering the clothes,
playing fast guitar,
on the garage floor,
pretending to be bored.

Playing fast guitar,
we wanted to destroy it all,
pretending to be bored,
we were never really free.

We were never really free,
pretending to be bored,
we wanted to destroy it all,
playing fast guitar.

Pretending to be bored,
on the garage floor,
playing fast guitar,
hammering the clothes.

On the garage floor,
of dry mouth rock ‘n’ roll,
hammering the clothes,
with the teeth grinding boredom.

Of dry mouth rock ‘n’ roll,
in the bollock freezing cold,
with the teeth grinding boredom,
just some dole queue nostalgia.

In the bollock freezing cold,
we were pretending to be poor,
just some dole queue nostalgia,
we were working in a factory.

We were pretending to be poor,
we wanted it to self-implode,
we were working in a factory,
we never really had control.

We wanted it to self-implode,
we wanted to destroy it all,
we never really had control,
we were never really free.

Subsongs


Situated somewhere
almost in the middle,
like a progress report
in a formless lyric.

If it can’t be described,
it doesn’t exist;
if it doesn’t exist
it can’t be described.

Off, on, for the record,
the songs write the scene,
the view, the information,
written into place, sung into being.

The deposits and relationships,
which comprise words before
they’re recruited into action
of human agency.
Creation of knowledge
destruction of subjectivity.

Not at the same time,
restoration of the subject,
landscape, myth, material,
the present situation,
other times, other places, other persons
beyond the sixth extinction.

If it can’t be described…
subsongs on the page…
it doesn’t exist…
subsongs in the voice…
ineffable, irreducible…
subsongs in the air…
imposter syndrome…
subsongs on the page…
if it doesn’t exist…
subsongs in the voice…
it can’t be described…
subsongs in the air…
ineffable, irreducible…
subsongs on the page…
imposter syndrome…
subsongs in the voice…
if it doesn’t exist…
subsongs in the air…
it can’t be described…
subsongs on the page…
ineffable, irreducible…
subsongs in the voice…
imposter syndrome…
subsongs in the air…
if it doesn’t exist…
[…]

Inside

 

I am here inside. Here am I inside…

my head, the sound inside. Here I am inside…

I am warm
lobal, frontal and hippocampus, inside…

I am synaptic
hear the snap and crackle encased bloody flesh inside…

I, in me from inside aware inside…

I hear that high pitched sound more than a sense
inside.

Off Off On

 

what with this, and that
what with when, and how
what with chaos, and form
what with how, and where

where with why, and whom
this which when, and where
what with shape, and substance
why, with what, and when

what with warp, and woof
with what weft, and weave
what with all, and nothing
who, and when, would think

when with where, and tear
when with thus, and thou
what with truth, and justice
what with this, and that

Passing Place of the Seat

 

passing place of the seat
fold axial planes dip steeply

a coat of rattling shells
sheep graze, rough open hill land

one leg, one arm, one eye
recumbent nappe folds north west

bismuth, mercury, quartz
food denied the traveller

densely planted conifers
wealth and beauty denied the sidhe [pron ‘shee’]

hog’s back ridge and knobbly ground
synsedimentary fault-bound basin

stabs the thatch with willow stick
arsenic, antimony, copper, lead

zinc, barium, gold, silver
downward forms synformal anticline

the metamorphic rocks
the turbidite assemblage

assumes the shape of horse
water bird, water devil

the shallow water shelf
shallow marine deposits

passing place of the seat
fold axial planes dip steeply

subsong

 

where will, it go, such song sung low
beyond, right now, where will it go
ever, nearly, subsong sung long
next verse, blank verse, verse in reverse
it fades, dissolves, forms and resolves
from verb, to noun, amplifier
cyber, corpus, hallucinate
inner, body, experience
visceral, embowelled, corporeal
somebody, song body, conscious being
volume, song mass, chorus corpus
sung into being, life of its own
to play, to sing, subsong so slow
where will, it go, such song sung low