(Note.) Praxis is the wisdom of swine.
When a pig, hog, or boar says that two make a wall whereas three make a
balance, his, or her, meaning is much clearer than any Zen master ought
to tolerate in a mere ace of diamonds. Praxis ought base itself, or be
based, on sound principle. The hinges of a scientific scale, save never
any swing-vote, become the aim of the corn-creature's verdict-bound muse
soon after the day's juries retire. And scientific conventions are better
paid than the bitterest swine imagine. They define the corn itself. It
is the tricks of the earth-crust which concern mathematics to the exclusion
of all other conventions paid in wise of reality the way its accountability
begins without ears, and the way the strange adage " play plenty of know-it-all
games with the man on the job" is the heart of its praxis. As thus proven,
mathematics also gets slippery as well as weird. Sights and sounds leave
patches of swine-like swirl in any person's non-scientific memory, until
the pig, hog, or boar sorts the patches out. Even then such patches often
amount to a jumble of associations. It is the strange virtue of mathematics
to number the particles of the jumble and only then ask questions; this
corn-fed science begins with arithmetic, which removes such associations
as apples and oranges and swine and then jumbles hands and fingers all
together with no regard given the tricks in the nerves and joints, and
almost ends, though with much further comment, in x-and-y-and-dz abstractions
from the numbers which count the stones and the swine, as well, on the
moon, all in a jumble which includes the associations formerly counted
out, so as to match up the patches of swirls of sights and sounds which
count out logic from swinish experience. After all, that hardly matters:
mathematics, in the vast confusions which do matter, is fallacy-enforcement,
too weird a jumble ever to tell its tricks.
Enslavements of the past
Still give life bilious squirms,
The more since none make terms
With numbers drawn to last.
Useless though scant spent,
The tides maroon the colors
The chillest winds trounce.
Gossip keeps fire at ease when pleasures scoff
At those who breathe time's smoke without a cough,
To schedule friction on old desks, -- and yet,
What new success will cool the hot-heads off?
Figurable grace
Is born again to learn Zen
And damn piety.
Just when cash keep-sakes vaults combine divest,
The socializing at school gathers jest
And debt in a single face, morose wheel
Which circles freedom with lost bribes at best.
Thinned-out effusion
Of sparks in the broodish sky
Which light the sunset.
Decimals divide quotients and sunders
Between fool quorums and poor remainders,
Gratified when their solutions torment
Scalps cut from crooked bums, to crook lenders.
Wonderful spirits
Spun from the finest ghost wool:
Dances played as yarn.
Sin to count the countables one small bit
And then forget the aggregate of wealth,
As then the vacant heart, its hell-roads lit,
Must count its monuments to shells in stealth.
To take wonderful warmth with it, the heart
Of mad equative grief and burning land
Endures peace in the valley in good part
For the sake of old insights fallen bland:
And while hell garners all its wealth of dreams,
With aim to count the visions in each head,
Zen's better way guides custom to its gleams
At blind reliability instead.
Mathematics be renounced when sordid
rips
In magic bags act free, and wisdom flips.
Scribble by Travesty
Endures cust wool quotient, Must cough scoff? Figurablest.
Decimallenderful school hell quorums At the
fire aggregathe sake winds trount hells in solutions
in the hell-roads of the morose wheel What better
warmth will its blind when blands divest best
ghose when piety. Justom flips. Endures morose when
the colors Between then torments to colors divides
smals insteads divest when pleart For renounce.
Gossip keep-sakes vallenderful spents at effusi
(Note.) It defines normal reality
to give what doesn't fit the brush-off. According to Darwin, new
species appear from time to rare time with no regard given, in the normal
case, the occasionality of time to reflect, or to dance. The new
profilers are rare excitements. Since natural science treats the verification
of its discoveries as its most amazing shibboleth, the normalities of the
so-called parade of the generations, normalities which include the illusions
of birth and death, require an elaborate matrix of verification procedure
categories, so elaborate a matrix that this set-up also is simply amazing.
Valid novelties, to name the first of these categories, establish the transformative
phenomena which remold a few members of one species into another species.
Then the adjustments, and adjustable frameworkings also, which the ossifiable
remnants of the old order need make to fit their old ways into the new
scheme of things are granted signature profiles, and the same profilers
are categorized as standard novelties, soon to become the same old standard
routineers they always, or almost always, were. And finally the remnants
of the remnants are profiled as inconsequential or misfit novelties, abnormal
derelicts and freaks fated not to survive. The new harmony of nature
thus becomes verifiable through the expedient of an easy picture, a categorical
picture. Darwin was slippery enough to earn regard for these tag
tricks as ineluctably slimy. His followers, fanatical worshippers
of evolution almighty, excuse this on the grounds that at least he shied
away from anything psychiatric. Progressive profilers dance and philosophize
in front of their students; -- not in secret, they swear. Besides,
proud sharpies do not find fault with Darwin, who was the natural beneficiary
of a faultless, because unbreakable, new path in evolution. It is
wonderfully fair to observe against this that strictly pious pomp, so to
tag their everlasting backbones, cashes in on its demonstrations of grand
agreeability -- be it agreed that dead-end mavericks find their self-evident
futures hot, accursed hot -- cashes in, only at school. Pomp of the
ilk, quite a transparent ilk, is bound to be a development of the facts,
were the normal case, a case of dirge fatigue, of death, corruption, and
damnation called on to destroy all the textbook buddhas who ever drowned
at sea. After all, even though sincerity is a venial sin, yet piety
remains crooked stubbornmost a mortal sin. And so the sharpies will
curse the dawn to evolve another almighty dream, another day.
Soon to drown the river,
The floor of a canoe
Lifts its worries anew: --
The hope it hold water.
Dense in the back-woods
Of God's redemptive magic,
Dreams of quick escape.
Half a loaf aside, sharp teeth forbidden
To swallow soggy crusts of milk-toast then,
Nor crumbs of turkey-stuffing now, since pride
Finds half another loaf hard to ripen.
Severe reverie
To flaunt in Satan's garden
As though proper moon.
When Mammon blazes keen to entertain
Those of his servants able to explain
The land which lies beneath the round, round sun,
His level face retreats from light in vain.
Shadows of old trees
Rich in terror and lost voice:
Echoes in the void.
Fire is the devil's only friend, they say,
Fit for cooking the souls that come his way:
Food of the spirit, stolen from the night
In time to mechanize his teeth all day.
Quirks in the jitters,
As fast as thunderbolts dare: --
Wealth startled to vex.
Forsworn all save terminal decadence --
Which pests endure -- market research, and clout,
Repeat the crimes grace makes their incidence
Of blame, each time they junk the wits they flout.
They know less yet, nor think themselves to blame,
When circumstance derides the aims they shock
With words of indifferent hate ever lame, --
Since failure wishes luck without the lock;
And when such mischief-makers play to win,
Those who still love freedom abandon tool
And time to talk, as if no rush of din
Had caught their words and fingers lost in school.
Those who humor quick hopes to charm
the land
Find no humor in perfidy's last stand.
Scribble by Travesty
Soon. Sevel fast in per moon to explain thout Repeat
the last as the words able think the clout the
loaf and sun, Nor the wishes terror in time to drown
the face Of God's loaf hat the floor in vain.
Which that the his to talk, as teeth time his wate
anoe Lifts of the night then Mammon they friendure
with all loaf harp teeth stan's of thunderies anoe
Lifts only flaunt incides beneat proter. Dense
of harp teeth allow soggy pests only from light
(Note.) When a Zen practicioner attains
nirvana, what lies ahead of him? Has his future changed? Has he found a
utopia in which he will live in peace and good health till he spirals up
into the sky like smoke? These are the questions they load in the courts.
Perhaps the attainment of nirvana was already behind him before he was
born, or perhaps not. Or perhaps to liken time at large with a long highway
is some sort of transcendental mistake in the first place, mixing and blending
falsely the notes of an old sunspot symphony, to which a single life-span
is no more than a bar or two of music. Is he a saint to find nirvana a
changeless utopia? To a Buddhist believer, it makes a difference;-- and
he had better keep alert. So he reviews in his mind how it is in a storm.
Just before a storm the winds are chaotic and powerful. These winds do
not hint at any clock, nor, for that matter, does the storm give any clock
any quarter. The elements of the storm go their diverse ways. Add together
the separate schedules in a multitude of clocks, and though they map complicated
sequences, they mistake the nature of the multitude of directions and dimensions
in the ominous storm. And then the torrents begin. Half a mind bend and
half an investment, to reduce things to simple arithmetic nice and neat,
make a nice safe soak. The poor fellow has rushed indoors before he knows
it. Time itself is like that. And then the best gamblers besiege him; Science
is experimental truth, they point out, -- but truth is never speculative,
and therefore Science is never speculative. He will find an umbrella scientific.
The method of difference, to run a variant, will allow it is foolhardy
not to use the very umbrella in question. It is a valid syllogism either
way, he is told. The best gamblers are charged, carried to extremes in
love of logic, and acquitted for lack of proof, so long as they stick to
their tricks. The poor soak wonders what became of the consequences of
the division between half a mind bend and half an investment; he thought
there was a twisted time factor in that. It turns out that besides the
road that leads from Naples to Rome there is another road to the same destination
which begins in Florence. The travel-times differ between the two. The
storm, not yet forgotten, had a multitude of starting points, rather than
a single omen aimed at a single target. In Rome there is nothing to expect
from the clock but death in the teeth of the lions, because Rome is the
end of the world. Yet birth and death are both delusions. And so the poor
soak finds himself singing the time-syllogism blues.
Bold truth delivers hope
Into the courts, where words
Fix trios cut in thirds
As wild verdicts to dope.
Winter in the shoes,
Held back from ease, to filter
The taste of water.
A ghastly apparition found slowly
Asking about nirvana; with the key
To wisdom hidden there in its pocket,
Unawares of ghostly coins resting free.
Two and three and four: --
One door after another,
Nowness spells a hoax.
Hubbub beyond the night, before morning
Should make it workaday; yet day might bring
Such ease of silence as cut it to size
And banish hypnotic sleep now fleeting.
So wise, so happy:
Always in the best of moods,
Just like a puppy.
The clocks that pleased the common saints of old
Now structure freedom, with like hearts as cold
As worse can make their graves; -- from sacred flesh
They drew their calendars, and now strike bold.
Birds on a journey
Into regions where proud skies
Hold songs together.
Its target, soon once he saw, of its knife
In his heart, the weirded dolt blew his mind,
Which is to say, he studied half his life
And attained nirvana, in dreams half-blind;
Yet it went on to gather old remorse,
This paradox of school and recompense,
As it were keen of grave, and buried horse
Alike as talk, and voted death made sense.
So then the dolt made off with all its pride,
And found himself original at school,
The worst it play as game with which to guide,
And soon was talking fool to bitter fool:
As dolts love freedom more than verbal
chains,
Away from prison heights remorse constrains.
Scribble by Travesty
Bold As dolt make a jourts to that school: As dolts
as to guide, As dolt made shoes, and his half his
pride, Away from eased there freedom his paritionstrains
remorse, As in than make heart, before pride,
As in the dope. The before there key dreams
happarition a jour: -- One door clocks to vers
hope. Wints pocks to size Alike heart, the key drew
his half-blind, Which there the after fleep now
struth to game workaday apparition saw, of scho
(Note.) Economics is the science
par excellence of marginal sophistication, a sort of gibberish. What
the facts are depends entirely on the theories posited. In economics
the way the facts seldom or never add up, since there are so many of them
and they are so diverse, requires that every sum total be posited in the
applicabilities of the marginal theories which they presume to reduce the
facts to a manageable collection of principles. Every requirement
of reductionism is of course posited at every point they point this out.
The marginal worth of the land, of capital, and of labor, or of labor-power,
as the case may be, taken together will add up to the total worth of their
product, as their statistics reveal that total worth, because the certainty
the parts will add up just to the total was posited at the outset.
So what if so many swine get to be slippery? It all is sure to add
up -- they presume.
Analytic marginalities are not the only
contentions of no more than marginal concern to wisdom in economics.
Also of marginal arguability is the supergrand perspective they make bold
to reveal, that the workaday facts of economics teach us all the inner
workings of the zero-sum world we live in, inner workings strictly posited
every time an economist tries to teach anything at all. The zero-sum
world we all live in is an old story in India, having been espoused by
brahmin poet-idolaters ever since way back when. When the time came
they were able to export their zero-sum prejudices, they also were so many
mad hatters on behalf of their marginal doctrines of the zero-sum probabilities
inherent in any and all ramifications the facts of economics dare ever
find themselves, or found themselves, involved with in the course of their
revelations of the zero-sum nature of existence itself, which, it is posited,
is a changeless substratum given to illusory ramifications which all come
to a zero-sum cancellation of any and all oppositions possible against
these marginal sophistications. The facts are the slaves of zero-sum
transformations pretty much, much along the lines of the so-called conservation
of energy, which is the cornerstone of all scientific legislation, legislation
most irresponsible, let it be said, since all the Greeks did with this
gift-horse sent to them from India was to convert the snake-worship of
the exporters into the scientific star-worship impressed on them when lost
in strange solipsistic spells of causation-science logic, the import of
karma and kismet, and of kismet and karma. The wheel of fate tolerates
no semblance of anything coincidental, semblance which might make scientific
legislation into evidence of ill-repute. They still do not tolerate such
talk in India.
Economics is also a locus of marginal
plans. One such plan is to sell all the product to those already
on the job, and then to isolate the squatters sure to be found in places,
back them to the wall, and exterminate all their ilk. The marginal
planners of irrevocable prosperity contend there quick as rabbits will
be enough capital available cheap to hire all the squatters, but it is
scientific legislation, after all, which keeps sweat-shop plans so stark
with karma and kismet, with kismet and karma, always and infallibly marginal.
Let the economists quarrel over their supplies of Jamaica rum just as they
like, and just as they will: the marginal proofs with which they keep their
endless parade of doctrinal sophistications on the march will never transform
their marginal essences of sheer gibberish into any wisdom better than
the sheer marginal ignorance of solipsistic swindlers.
Rum to drink smooth and straight,
When the killjoys dispose
The cripples to whine woes
Too extreme to tempt fate.
Credit which functions
As warrant of trend and tune,
And tempers backbones.
Fast change be the very soul of Mammon,
Rich with shells of a wooden Indian
Which studies show circulate moon-quarters
Within proofs from wicked wills drawn and done.
Spirits of eagles
With beaks turned beyond low clouds:
Tame storms to spin free.
Pride of Satan himself: barbaric jeers
At all demented sleep as morning nears,
Since the heavens love distant fire come day,
Just the sly way grave grace at once appears.
Crush the keen phantoms
Of shop wealth, and God above
Were backroads worker.
Funds which owe their futures to ancient bets
That crime should never pay, fix bonded nets
Of regular income and gift in place
And, quick enough, of taxes thrift regrets.
Wild recollections
In case funerals prevail
Against drainage schemes.
Cash if it comes to the final retreat
Of humor from devotion to promise
And resolve, and abandon if to bleat
Before treasure, as that prospers in bliss: --
Since keys to each school of hack submission
Are held in trust at the whim of stewards
Sworn to reckon town luck with discretion
And ruthless pride, and to drag scares from birds.
Yet come the glory of the clouds on high,
Redemption in large figures might berate
The swift ranges of horses, should they shy
Away from the nests their trick runs inflate.
To wish corruption its hard-earned
reward
Dislocates just those thefts the
banks afford.
Scribble by Travesty
Rum their funerals distant of each wish comes. Fast
the grave Were held nets To which schemented be
the come the keys town and tune, and above Were crippless
prevail Against the whimself: back runs in
lar in from birds. Funds Sworn town large sleep
as might beyond gift range final res just at thefts
The beyonded berate morn to and above day, final
retrend above Were bandones. Credit crime ancient
fate. Too eagless prevail Against the keys the sly
(Note.) The idiom 'fate on the prowl'
denotes the approach of death, domesday included. To say something safe:
though death is simple logic, it is nothing more.
Demented and entwined
In fatigue, God lingers
At strange ease, his fingers
Eager for stones to grind.
The bitter last dregs
Of coffee once a pleasure,
Hot enough to curse.
Two strings apiece make any credit-line
Fair security in Mammon's design
To truck his wealth where high prices prevail;
One string to stock, the other to combine.
More details to tend
Than the work schedule plans on:
Regular chaos.
To pay off its oldest debts, vain rigor
Ransoms mint of coin, and redeems figure
As if accounts should sooner wake than bones,
And thus secure sleep's grotesque sinecure.
Preview of losses
And tame submission in death,
To dare corruption.
The moon opens its signs to wind and fog,
Yet keeps its secrets like glue -- in a clog
Void of all talk; -- the nameless graveyard lies
Silent, -- but why refuse to name the dog?
Straw well along
Till it has rotted away,
And sleep to say
Which was snack and which was song.
When freedom sports its traffic as if lost,
For all the devil care, in slaves and graves
And theaters of ease, without time's cost,
They say, he freezes hearts and then behaves;
For after all sincere society
Make haste to sign his lease, and bid him wise,
Free action terrifies dire calumny
Till hell at last keep all the masks he buys.
To honor freedom with poor talk of these
And lie when traffic in the night appear,
His captive tongues take heart and strive to please,
Yet sacrifice the hopes they purchased dear.
And so his pride corrupts free hearts
at times --
That thus one sorry poet end his rhymes.
Scribble by Travesty
Demented and theart apiece to name to traw well the
night appearts any Till at last dregs and grotesque
strings Of coffee him with price masks heater
afterrific in slaves And they sacrifice the name
to tend enough poor after last keeps if losses Silent,
-- in debts, And song. When the which why refuse
the on: Regular chase, His corruptive to say,
he hopens ones, And which where As its should society
in a plans offee once a clog Void of corry And
