Ayahuasca Death Trip
I’ve got an empty
Kitty litter bucket
Outside my garage
Filled with $3.000 dollars
Worth of cigarette butts
A $600 dollar laptop
Compliments of Covid
Thanks Uncle Joe!
And a woman
With a heart of gold
I’ve got an ounce
Of mushrooms too
Not to brag
I’m just saying
Some of us
Are luckier
Than most
David Burdett
5/12/2024
Apache OpenOffice post - videlicet converting ascii format back to ODT.
I (Matthew Harris) scrolled thru a small number of threads applicable to issue iterated in Subject box, but yours truly (me - a spry boyish looking married sexagenarian - Doctor Demento humanitarian wannabe) does NOT consider himself technically savvy with computers (NOR anything electrical), hence a panic stricken state prevailed regarding .doc written and saved poetic material somehow getting converted into orthodox ASCII irretrievably lost. After doing a Google search I came (upon the midnight clear) witnessing your forum emblazoned across the sky. After reading similar laments courtesy countless unknown persons, who experienced a similar quandary (most posted some years ago) methought there must exist a verbal incantation that can be uttered to reverse the unwanted ask key transmutation nearly rendering hours of blood, sweat, and tears on a three dog night all for naught.
After familiarizing myself with creating a username and password at the following link (User community support forum for Apache OpenOffice, LibreOffice and all the OpenOffice.org derivatives), a hare brained idea awoke to communicate far and wide across the webbed wide world namely elaborating to elucidate (peppered with light humor), and enlighten anonymous browser (reader) aside from being gifted as a storied poet or poetess in particular or writer in general to help distressed dude, perhaps (ideally) courtesy a former damsel in distress.
If nothing else this beatle browed, doobie brother, foo fighting half noiser maker jumping jack flash blinding as a luminaire nonchalant poetaster reaches toward virtual wizardry gave thee dear reader a chuckle.
Please do NOT reply with message encrypted as text clipping with bangles, NOR goo goo dolls serving red hot chili peppers. A private joke only known to myself.
Possible Side Effects Include Stroke
i think i need jardiance
or skyrizi
i can't get the fuckin jingles
out of my head
i wake up singing
i take once-daily jariance
at each day's start
and i like it
i fucking like it
they say he'll topple democracy
unless a porn star topples him
he's gonna free all those bad guys
if he's president
he says they're hostages
the other guy's just gonna die
and then she'll be president
and no one likes her
she does laugh too much
nothing is everything
it might make me commit suicide
or give me suicidal ideation
someone else could kill me too
like a well regulated militia
who hasn't had any pussy
and std's are rampant too
that's my real plan
or someone'll carjack me
and i'll try to fight back
the migrants are gonna
take my job anyway
or maybe i'll get laid off
due to ageism
and then i'll join a class action lawsuit
for nothing
or ai might make me obsolete
i'd like to kill an ai
i hope i don't get dupuytren's contracture
noninvasive treatment but still
does it matter any more
if i live in a flood plain
if a year's worth of rain
falls in a day?
fuck
i think my testicles are shrinking
Daddy’s Girl
A two-toned, red and white Chevy pickup truck was parked in a bare spot which wouldn’t grow grass underneath the shaded limbs of one of the two magnificent pecan trees which dominated either side of the old farm house’s front walk. From the covered front porch the excited voice of Eli Gold could be heard describing action from The Charlotte Motor Speedway clear out to the road, even through the hand-sized transistor radio. Beside the truck, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a dripping sponge in hand, a man was caught in a curious pause from his truck washing, having stopped to watch his four year old at play. The child was behaving in an unusual, if enticing manner, having climbed down inside her pink, pedal-powered plastic Barbie car to remove the bicycle-chain linkage which acted as the little car’s transmission. The man’s ’Lil Miss had managed to identify the master link, then had used some unknown tool to pry it apart, and was currently attempting to shorten, or tighten up some slack which had grown with time and use between the gear sprockets.
The man with the dripping sponge didn’t have nearly enough time at home with the kids, so it was with great effort that he resisted the urge to jump in and help his baby girl, though it appeared that his youngest had gotten herself into something that he was uncertain if she could resolve on her own. A good father, the man determined to let her try, just as he would have let her older Bubba try.
The child’s chubby, undeveloped fingers struggled with the tiny pieces of linkage. He watched as she dropped a part, found it again, and spent some time figuring how it fit back with the larger pieces. But she did figure it out! His pride swelled nearly to bursting as he watched her remove a link from the chain and slowly jigsaw the thing back together. Unable to contain himself any longer the man finally did step in as his little girl fought to snap the master link back together again, knowing she would not have the strength to do it.
”Here.” He handed a pair of pliers up under the toy car’s chassis, then he watched on amazed as his Missy pondered the pliers for a long moment before finally gripping them correctly, centering the linkage between their jaws, and snapping the chain almost expertly back together with them.
”Fixed it.”
”Yes! Yes, you did. And you made a nice job of it, too!” There was no camera present, so the man made a snapshot of the moment in his mind, desperate to hold on to the memory of it forever.
But the child’s expression remained serious. She took the car in a quick, neat circle around her father before handing up the pliers to him. ”It needs woobwicant.”
After a moment lost in translation the man chuckled aloud, the pride which had swelled his breast having pushed its way up through his choking neck and into his eyes, embarrassing him no little bit. “Yes Missy, it probably does need some lubricant, but how could you know about that?”
”Fiwabaw is teaching me to be a wace caw dwivuh.”
”Fiwabaw? Fireball? Fireball Roberts?
The girl’s smiled sparkled. “Yea! Fiwabaw!”
”Honey, Fireball Roberts has been dead twenty years!”
Ignored, the man was forced to keep up as the little car sped off towards his tool bench in the barn, and the can of 3in1 oil atop it. He watched from the doorway as his baby girl expertly held the can in place, turning the car’s pedal to rotate and lubricate the entirety of the chain beneath the can’s dripping tip as if she’d done it hundreds, or even thousands, of times.
”Fireball Roberts, huh?” He smiled as he said the name.
”Yea! Fiwabaw!”
You know, Fireball was your Grampa’s favorite, back in the day.”
”Yea! Gwampaw!”
The truck gears ground down as the man pulled out onto the highway towards both town and the Western Auto, his Lil Missy perched happily up on the seat beside him. Momma wasn’t gonna like it one bit, but who was a mother to interfere with fate?
Daddy’s girl was getting herself a go-cart today!
Seventh Sky
i am in a village with some priests
there sits in between us a black dog with a pus filled lump
there is nothing in site but mounds of mud
all of a sudden the priests have begun to clap in unison
theyre thumping their feet
and his years old lump just burst
there is a shower of pus
amidst the spectacle of prayer
of miracle
this black dog puts his tongue in a water bowl
the priests bathe him with saffron
and he runs and curls in the vast vast mud
The philosophy of Jorge Luis Borges - Alexis karpouzos
Luis Borges, the Argentine writer, is renowned for his complex and thought-provoking works that often delve into philosophical themes. While Borges himself was not a philosopher in the traditional sense, his writings frequently explore philosophical concepts, particularly those related to metaphysics, reality, and the nature of time and identity.Borges’ philosophy cannot be pinned down to a single set of beliefs or principles. Instead, it manifests as a playful interplay between fiction and philosophy within his diverse body of work. He delighted in blurring the lines between genres, treating literature as non-fiction and vice versa, and often included invented authors and works within his essays.His fascination with philosophy, especially metaphysics, sets him apart from his contemporaries. Borges appreciated and formulated rigorous philosophical arguments, but also had the unique ability to present abstract ideas imaginatively through metaphors and symbols. For instance, his stories often feature labyrinths, mirrors, and infinite libraries, which serve as symbols for more profound philosophical inquiries into reality, perception, and the infinite.
In his works, Borges frequently references and engages with the ideas of notable philosophers such as Berkeley, Hume, and Schopenhauer. He uses their concepts as a starting point to further explore and sometimes refute or extend their ideas. For example, in “The New Refutation of Time, ” Borges discusses Schopenhauer’s denial of the reality of our representations and takes it a step further by questioning the reality of time itself.Overall, Borges’ contribution to philosophical literature is significant, and his works continue to inspire and challenge readers and thinkers alike. His approach to philosophy is less about asserting a consistent system of thought and more about exploring the possibilities and paradoxes that arise when one engages deeply with philosophical questions.The philosophy embedded in Jorge Luis Borges’ “El Aleph” is multifaceted, reflecting his deep engagement with metaphysical questions and the nature of reality. The story, which is part of the collection also titled “El Aleph, ” revolves around a point in space called the Aleph, which contains all other points in the universe. This point allows the observer to see everything in the universe from every angle simultaneously, without distortion, overlapping, or confusion.The Aleph symbolizes the concept of infinity and the limitations of human perception and language. Borges uses this narrative device to explore the idea that the universe is ineffable and that experiences shape perception and rationality.
The story suggests that language, being sequential, cannot adequately describe the Aleph, which is synchronous and represents an “unimaginable universe” that is infinite.Borges also touches on the theme of memory and its fallibility. After witnessing the Aleph, the narrator realizes that human memory cannot retain the infinite, and forgetfulness is an inherent part of the human condition. This ties back to the philosophical exploration of time and its inexorable passage, which naturally leads to memories fading away.In a broader sense, “El Aleph” can be seen as a commentary on the human quest for knowledge and the desire to comprehend the incomprehensible. It challenges readers to consider the limitations of their own understanding and the potential vastness of the universe beyond what can be perceived or described.Borges’ work often blurs the boundaries between the literal and the metaphorical, encouraging readers to reflect on the philosophical implications of his stories. “El Aleph” is a prime example of this, offering a rich tapestry of ideas about infinity, reality, and the power and limits of human cognition.Jorge Luis Borges’ essay “A New Refutation of Time” is a profound exploration of the nature of time and its existence. In this work, Borges challenges the conventional understanding of time as a sequence of events that occur in a linear fashion. He argues that the negations of idealism, which suggest that reality is fundamentally mental or spiritual rather than material, can be extended to time itself.Borges posits that time may not be a real, objective entity but rather a subjective construction of the human mind.
He draws upon various philosophical and literary sources to support his argument, suggesting that time, as we perceive it, is an illusion. The essay delves into metaphysical questions about the continuity of time and personal identity, examining how our perception of time shapes our experience of existence.The philosophy presented in “A New Refutation of Time” is complex and layered, inviting readers to reconsider their understanding of time and its impact on their lives. Borges’ reflections on time have influenced many thinkers and continue to be a topic of discussion in philosophical circles.In Jorge Luis Borges’ essay “A New Refutation of Time, ” some of the key arguments include:The Illusion of Successive Moments: Borges suggests that our experience of time as a continuity of successive moments is a cognitive illusion, not an inherent feature of the universe.Time and Personal Identity: He explores the idea that time is the foundation of our experience of personal identity, drawing from philosophical and literary sources to support his views.
Time as a Mental Construction: Borges argues that time may not be a real, objective entity but rather a subjective construction of the human mind.Berkeley’s Idealism and Leibniz’s Principle of Indiscernibles: He uses these philosophical principles to support his argument that time, as we perceive it, is an illusion.Parmenides’ Proposition: Borges refers to Parmenides’ idea that “what is” never was nor will be because it simply exists, which challenges the traditional concept of time.Time and Movement: He discusses the relationship between time and movement, questioning the conventional belief that time is a measure of change.Eternity: Borges offers a definition of eternity in the form of a rhetorical question, further complicating the concept of time.These arguments are part of Borges’ broader philosophical inquiry into the nature of reality and existence, as he seeks to demonstrate that time, as we understand and experience it, may be nothing more than an elaborate mental construct.
The Robo-Ghost
The best thing about the internet dating sites is what they’ve done for her confidence. She used to think she was attractive, now she knows she is hot. Now she dresses hot, more revealing, while tight-roping on taller heels. She acts differently too, now, but that is the worst thing about the internet dating sites… what they have done to her confidence.
She only swipes on the best, and they always swipe back. Always. She is hot. Super hot. She must be. She is a princess. Doesn’t a princess deserve the best?
But dating is different these days. Men don’t buy dinner anymore. Movies are a thing of the past. Dating is drinks now, always drinks. After two she’s tipsy, having not eaten. Tipsy enough to be silly… and friendly. But guys like silly… and friendly. She is proof. They like her. They always like her. After her third drink she wants to dance. They accommodate her. Why not? Dancing is cheap enough.
There are more drinks at the club, and the pounding-rhythmic music she craves, and sensual, hypnotic gyrations. She finds herself all in, every time. After all he is tall, nicely dressed, and he smells fantastic. They all smell fantastic. Don’t they? Those most desirable guys on the dating apps? She could smell them all night, and she usually does.
There are mirrors at the club. She looks hot in the mirrors. So does he. She knows this because she sees other women looking. They’ll even pass him a napkin when her head is turned, forgetting the mirrors. This is ok though. She doesn’t mind it. She wants them to want him. Why not? She is super-hot. His eyes are only for her, and she knows it. She likes it. He knows where this night is heading. Where she is leading it. Besides. Would she even want him if no other women did? No, of course not. In fact, their interest fuels her. It excites her, so that she dances closer, backing herself against him, arching her back, watching herself in the mirror, moving to the music, fueling his excitement. And he is excited. She can feel his excitement. And she is hot. She can feel this, too. And knowing she is fuels her.
And the sex is always fantastic. Always… what she can remember of it. And there is always sex. And always at his place. Always. But somehow on the Uber ride home, she never feels hot. She never looks hot. Not ever. What she looks in the morning light, and what she feels, is washed out and ran through. But no worries. The feeling never lasts.
He won’t call her again.
That is dating today, for those like her, stuck in the robotic grind.
But next weekend she’ll swipe on another. As always, it will be another match. She is hot. So she puts the dress back on, the really tiny one. And the shoes, the really big ones. And she tells herself how hot she looks as she goes to meet this new guy for drinks.