Wednesday, April 10, 2013

Demiurge of Dataflow


                Excerpt from Wanting to Know 

       Eyes fast shut
We dream miracles.
Smelling the smoke
Of sacrifice,
We promise
To be good and nice.

Eyes wide open
We behold
Quick looping hands
Whose work seems play:

Origami DNA.
With shapes untold
Our futures they enfold.

We want prophecy
Cloaked in secrecy,
The inside track,
The inside story.

We want stimuli
That amplify
The ode to self:
                                                Cacophanous chorus
Of lyrics laudatory.

We want an ersatz
Of our every opinion:
Instant petition
With Everyman
A signatory.

We want the
Tip Top Story,
Au courrant,
In your face
Without a trace
Of reticence
Or grace.

Promises we want
Premised on

Champions in armor
Bright and strong

To protect us
And defend us
Whether we are
Right or wrong;

Experts in battle
On their mettle,
To wow us.

We want to know
The story-arc of every
Embedded video.

We want the climax
Before the prologue is done,
To know how every cyber-war
Ends before it’s begun.

We want the thrill
Of the remote-control kill
The virtual rush
The crash, the crush.

We want confetti,
The victory parade,
And an ever-ready Ferlinghetti
Patriotic troubadour
Singing the wrath
Of some modern Achilles:
Praising the win,
Lamenting the war.

And when it’s time
For our troops to go,
When every capo’s made,
We want to know
Pity and dread
In the limitless
City of the Dead.

But come, let us avert these
Ghostly men,
Let us whisper
To their souls, to go.

Subverting our end,
Let us descend.

Making no noise,
Let us repair

To a level where
We find the things
We want to know.

Mark twain on a riverboat:
Two fathoms deep,
Twelve feet,
For wit and tragi-comedy.

                                                Nemo journeyed twenty thousand                
                                                Leagues beneath the
                                                Seven Seas

                                                A four-league drop:
                                                Twelve miles
                                                Into the wild,
                                                For a sci-fi séance in the

Sub-marine domain of an Übermensch:
Mania Most French.

                                                To the DeepSea Challenger:
Journey Toward the Center
                                                Of Earth.
                                                Six thousand miles
                                                For the epic saga du jour––
In the Mariana Trench.

Let us repair
To a level where
We find the things
We want to know:

‘Why’ we’re on this
Earth, and
‘When’ did we arrive?
(3:30 a.m., 7:55)

‘Where’ we came from
(Elemental goo)
And ‘What’ we are
(Woman of that girl,
Man of that boy)
And ‘Where’
We’re going to
(Address Unknown).

“Where Do We Come From?
What Are We?
Where Are We Going?”

The figures in the pantomime
Directed by Gaugin
Mimic Polynesians of that time,
Phantoms made of sun, sand, and clime.

Images made up of
How many brushstrokes?
Impossible to gauge –
Flat on the page –
Stark on the canvas,
They won’t be going
I guess.

On your wall,
You can ask them
Any time
At all.

You can ask them
One by one –

                                                Those existential
Posing naked
European questions.

Behind the phantom screen
Reality hidden, faces unseen:
The show a Western fantasy
Claiming universality.

Primitive scene
Soft focus porn
Bourgeois dream of
Native form––

When the last question
Has been posed,
Collateral harm 
Can be disclosed:
To hearts of darkness exposed.

The questions then
Belong to us.

Let’s ask them now
And answer what we can
Without presuming
We speak for Man.

“Why are you on this Earth?”

Because you wanted to be born:

Of starlight were you made
Early that morn
On the very long day
When the galaxies formed

                                                When the

At the beginning of Time

Then was your conception,
Reason and rhyme,

Then was your Election,
Your Predestination,

Your original direction,
The moment of creation:

                                                Your chance or luck
At the crux
Of space-time and matter

A random opening
Onto life-forms, eons later.

Destined for a world
Where you would be
Finite and created,

You swirled in infinity’s
You waited.

That was your beginning
First of many births,
Bound for Earth,

Arrival pending
Specific directions
To the folks in reception:

Parents made of
Stardust, too,

And isn’t that more thrilling
Than elemental goo?

Where did you come from?
You came from afar,
From a time-wrought,

Where did you come from?
You came from glory.

What are you?
A human,
A man
Or a woman.
Just that.

                                                Where you’re going
Is the real story.

Wanting to know –
That was never really
                                                A question of
Forbidden fruit –
Of fruit, yes,
Sweet taste of
Channeled by
The six senses –

Cosmic knowledge
Not forbidden,
Only hidden

In space-time,
In energy,
In biology,
In history;
In patterns

Made manifest
By Time’s

And a Glorious Revolution:
                                                Without a doubt

                                               The position you retained
                                                Remains the same.

                                                Advancing intelligence
                                                Changes the game.

                                                Balanced between two infinities,
                                                Demarcated by birth and death,

                                                You are now in equipoise,
                                                Poised to sound the depths.

                                                Between two infinite worlds,
                                                Macro and micro
                                                You are the Go-between:
                                                Demiurge of dataflow.
                                                Now in your lives
You have the chance

To learn what matters,
                                                Disclose what’s hidden:

For you the synchrony,
The happenstance;

Now are you bidden
To the cosmic dance.


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