Tag Archive: experimental poetry


Dedicated to the inventor of the diarized poetics form, Fred of Poetical Psyche (see the post explaining the form here http://poeticalpsyche.blogspot.com/2011/08/diarized-poetry.html)

Chinese artist Wang Qian Peony Yuan Dynasty 1271-1368

October 29, 2011. Up before the sun to snow on the ground (it’s below freezing here at 10,000 feet). I reach for the laptop, instinctively, as it’s become an extension of my mind: axons traversing the wide world, its tendrils reaching out. I check the site stats for Chromapoesy: 6,467 visits since I started four months ago, 2,427 comments and I think about all the years I went without one reader or shred of feedback. Now that I quantify my bounty, does this make me greedy?

I trudge downstairs to make my whey protein breakfast; it is Saturday so I put orange dark chocolate chip sherbet in it. Wow, someone needs to clean the refrigerator! I make a mental note to organize and scrub it out today. Light will soon hit the tops of the bare aspens. I proffer a treat to my dog, Jody, still my baby girl though she’s 11. Kissing her head with a deep well of love I push aside the fact that she has cancer. Passing by the piano I see the ashes of Buddy, sweet boy who died in May, I cry again, take a deep compassionate breath, and remind myself I’m still grieving. Funny, that sentence has enough commas for Jane Austen.

Back at the computer I read Political Psyche and look for archived gems. Everyone’s in a Halloween mood. I’ve read about murder and mayhem for more than two weeks: vampires, werewolves, and incubus dreams. His cherub piece is certainly original and disturbing. I remember to click the like button for the poem with the sensuous eye-lid flittingly gorgeous word inquilinity. Then I stumble upon the post Diarized Poetry a form Fred’s invented and decide to try something new. Apologies to Fred if I butcher it in my first attempt but there has to be a first to be a second and so on.

Remembering my poetry notes about calyx I do a Google search to arrive at Calyx of Held (which sounds to me incredibly epic and poetic). I read multiple research articles on it and am transfixed by science’s inspiration. Unique one-to-one connection in auditory ventral brainstem (I get tears on my scarlet moleskin notebook, yes I’m still crying over my dog). Pray, wonder if there’s a God that embraces every living thing or if in this cold distant universe we’re simply fodder in a circle of life which makes me think about the things I do for love, seeing the Lion King in 3D with my mentee and her sister. What a massive headache that gave me though I reminisce how earlier in the day she agreed to speak at the fundraising tea at the Brown Palace. I bought her a dress for the occasion. She told me she loved me, out loud and to my face, there at the Colorado Mills mall while her sister chimed in.

I’m thinking about peonies, the Chinese symbolism, medicinal purposes, art, beauty, and can almost conjure their smell. I dry the tears still falling for my dog. The Calyx of Held connects the globular bushy cells of anteroventral cochlear nucleus and the principal cells of the medial nucleus of the trapezoidal body (MNTB) in the brainstem. I ponder, download pictures, read more about its nascent development, and investigate short-term plasticity. Plasticity is such a marvelous concept/word in Biology. Neuroscience is still illuminating the plasticity of the brain, we never knew how plastic, and magnificent it truly is. I think about poetry comments and The Invisible Gorilla, what bookshelf is that in? By the wood-burning stove and the swiveling reading chair? I’d look down from the twenty-foot balcony but it creates a shock that travels from my head to nether regions with simply the thought. Guess that phobia isn’t going to retreat. Momentary flash of the hot air balloon ride over the Valley of Kings and the Nile (did I move during that whole tortuous hour)?

Can I combine the Calyx of Held and peonies, the rambling of my mind, into engaging poetry? I read Fred’s examples and remind myself I can always rewrite or skip the prompt (based on the clues I think it’s on conversation). If I don’t try and fail I never get anywhere. One of the reasons I write so much experimental poetry. I find a pile of cryptic notes (never a surprise) that has the phrase ‘a state of profound abstraction’ and the definition of nepenthe (so beautiful I need to find a way to incorporate it into poetry, it means forgetfulness of sorrow or something that causes forgetfulness). Thoughts flood too fast to write clearly: the Death Enters the Rooms and Deep Grief sections of my epic Mere Beasts; the death grimace of my beloved dog, Buddy (foreshadowing the one that is coming); Joy’s Poe poem about his dead wife (I must look up the name and write it down, another cryptic note to decipher later); symbolism; Ophelia floating in the river; and finally, focus and reread Fred’s notes.

Rereading the post to refocus I admire his voice and style. I begin to see how to make this into poetry. My attention is called away again to the tracks in the meadow; I take in the sun now flooding the forest with light.

How honest do I need to be? Probably I need to be as honest with you as I’m willing to be with myself. I’ve always been entranced by the romance of what goes unsaid. Who was it that said they wanted to remain a mystery to themselves? Right, Mad King George, no, the other one, Mad King Ludwig, ‘I wish to remain an eternal enigma to myself and to others …’ Yet the vulnerability of art has to be mutual if the artist & the viewer are to be transformed (as I discussed in my post about it on Chromalexicon). I remind myself to be receptive.

Shit, that essay for the blog about Socialist Realism, inspired by The Color of Pomegranates, the film by Sergei Parajanov, is finished but for the final edit! The painting on the easel, in the vein of Torn is likely ready for another layer but I have to figure out where I’m going with these glazes first. It’s a new and intriguing direction and that always takes longer. The Requiem for the Unsung I’m composing will lose its way if I don’t return to it again very soon. The gorgeous sounds of David Lang’s Requiem for the Little Match Girl are ringing in my head (but damn that computer fan is loud). Will I ever finish those screenplays? What are all the things I’ll leave unfinished in my life?

Ok, but now I’m supposed to write a short reflective poem as instructed. I laugh aloud as I see the scene from Sherlock: A Study in Pink where Sherlock’s brother says to Dr. Watson: (Laughing) ‘Yes, the bravery of the soldier, bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity don’t you think?’ And I must ask myself: Is my writing courageous?

I am in love with the world
engagement acts as a nepenthe
as the landscape floods with light
my thoughts churn and spill over
from pencil to page I’m quiet now
yet do not allow myself fantasy
as if the thoughts send signals
of intention into the world

jumbled in a sea of interconnection
peonies bloom in recesses of imagination
raindrops gathering on nectar drenched buds
their scent, merely incanted in my mind intoxicates
potent stimulus, enough to induce vistas of flourishing
desires full of sensual and intellectual pleasures

Calyx of Held, largest synapse in the mind
nerve terminals moment by moment
receive paeans to a eudaimon life
direct one-to-one connections
co-existing in osculant bliss

yet in the external world
I am entranced by intrigue
by what remains unsaid

Perfect Secrecy

‘save me from the lion’s mouth; for thou hast heard me from the horns of unicorns’ Psalms 22:21

I found myself somewhere
at the edge of the known earth
in an age when there is nowhere left to hide
pursuing unicorns, my elusive alicorn cure
for you it was always a game
you never think I remember
but the blunt force trauma
entered my mind all twisted,
as a matter of survival

Your missive arrives
in that cryptographic mind
geography’s incomprehensibility
impossible to decipher
a one-time pad
on a sheet of nitrocellulose
it burns instantaneously
leaving small ash

We agreed ahead of time
for the 23rd of October
a truly random sequence of letters
trick of modular addition
only I got lost in the ciphertext
mistaking it for meaning
meta-language to transcend
what came before

A tortuous inculcation
using proximity and shame
more like a rearrangement
the homonym of my name
anagram, a twisted joke
more than one hundred thousand
(because the numbers
never lie) forming a:
cacophonic bestiary
axial defense
detested asset lure
hush, rue

A spiritual starving
that hollows me out from the inside
even after all this time
with all this great distance
it is a violence that wrenches free
dissociates, disembodies, a disease

A priori probability
is equivocated to
a posteriori where
the entropy of plaintext
equals the conditional entropy
of the plaintext given in the ciphertext C
you’ll begin to see
where I derailed the equation

All that I have is this legacy of ashes
an unbreakable code
shielding you from your crimes
infinite computing no adversary
for the tangled traumas
obscured in my mind

In a conventional symmetric
encryption algorithm
complex patterns of
substitutions and transpositions
these places dance
to orient me to the key
I see the risk

Data remanence is such
a continual problem
simplest overwrite technique
write the same data everywhere
(often just a pattern of zeros)
a way to be nothing
nullify feeling

Poetry is a cipher but
it isn’t known whether
there’s a cryptanalytic procedure
which can reverse these transmutations
mathematics may be my undoing
while I’m mourning what cannot be recovered
security continually assures me that this technique
is proven to provide the perfect secrecy

Linked to Mark Kerstetter’s excellent prompt on persona poems – join us http://dversepoets.com/2011/10/22/poetics-the-other

Temple of Artemis at Roman ruin of Jerash, Jordan by Anna Montgomery

Morphing Electroacoustic Transducer – spoken word poem please listen by clicking

She’s a whirling shape-shifting actuator
knowing energy is neither created nor destroyed
only transformed, simply trans located through space

Generating thought is a form of energy
within a microelectromechanical system
that uses wet etching nanotechnology
in a lexicology and semantics twinning

Scrolling legged immense lexicography
induce perfectly isotropic etches which produce round sidewalls,
slippery micro slopes of meaning
Smooth surfaces on aluminum discs
positing thought invents language

Backend processing removes pesky micro cracks in her theory
dramatically increasing its resistance to breaking
Tactile and cognitive flexibility
though any transformation leads to a loss in translation

Morphing electroacoustic transducer interrupts echolocation
disorienting signifier from its denotata
within patterns of semantic relationships well, anything could happen
Transmogrified thermoelectric conductor heating
as auditory hallucinations clarify the idea
that speech acts like a convoluted telekinesis

Platinum resistance thermometer in a four-wire Kelvin configuration
results in full cancellation of spurious effects, allaying the static

She’ll draw you a picture:
forces change her world she’s as sensitive as a chameleonic electrochemical detector

Hydrogen sensor, a palladium coated micro mirror
measuring the changes in the back reflected light
shining in a metaphysical quandary of interpersonal dynamics

Morphological, phonological, and contextual behavior all conspire
as thought changes language causing others to respond, philia, neikos, affinity

Internal energy obeys the first law of thermodynamics
conservation of energy denies the perpetual motion machine
Entwining within the physics of proximity, the psychology of proxemics
garnering cries of ethical impunity while meaning and intent magnetically attract
implying perhaps there’s imperative, initiation behind all this energetic interaction

10,000 year old Two Headed Goddess @ Jordan Archaelogical Museum in Amman by Anna Montgomery

Adrian Montgomery Engine 486

Durango to Silverton ============================ San Juan Mountains before
Red Mountain Pass ////////////////////////// Train wrecks as two parts of me collide
One an historic relic >>>>>>>>>>>>>>
<<<<<<<<< one high speed bullet train
Sense impressions intermingled ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~with a coruscant intellect.
coal fired steam pours narrow gauge rails into overhead electrification to create vivid imaginings, mangle new destinies #######################################

along the Animas River, engine hauling 286,600 pounds/////a thousand flashes of memory
steel, water, and cargo toward water tower stops, fragments of homes, the smell of mountains
………………………………………………………………………………………………

synchronicity stabs stating you arrive with all the subtlety of a freight train
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

we cede these visages as imagery sung by loquacious tongues, in the shadowed corners – all the fears, debts, atrocities are piled up

Conductor calls the shots **************************************** there’s no escape from responsibility
I am the Engineer, complicit, culpable (to stand with the Fireman) and I can barely calm the dragon that scries the future {{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{my wellspring of shame}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}
smashing into whatever ate my past- familial bonds and human failings

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
(Head and Rear Brakemen screech, pull, will the stop) while mythologies reveal the hidden dangers of archetypal activism as we lose ourselves in over-identification, righteousness, or doubt (the passengers begin to shout)

Each moment of conjunction:::::::::::::reciprocity::::::::when my embodied self ameliorated the suffering of another or my own is a gift ::::::::::::::::::::this rare moment of communion

1878 Nomad car that bore four Presidents through the West/ intertwining insights /this is that famous train from Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid

Old train of creativity, deeply held convictions, passions of the mind, a journey of desire along all these sharp mountain curves^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^emotive effusions of art, papered meanings to the place Utes call heaven but they call the million dollar highway $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$
engine 486 curves in its track as cars fly by on 550 @@@@@@@ Visual striving, resolution + melodic companions, finds me lacrymose, overwhelmed by beauty

[][][][][][][][][][][][][]][][][][][][]]]][][[[[[[][][][][][][]]]][][[[[][][][][][][][][][]]]]][[[[][][][][][[[][][][[][][][][][[[]]]][][[][][][][[[[[[]

Twisted metal chunks recalling The Wild Bunch! Will it all end guns ablaze dying in San Vicento? Sundance is a crack shot but we’re outnumbered kids!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

These offerings, gifts, and sacrifices pointing toward divine grace and awe, genuflections and contrition all lead to promises of an immortal soul – that slow train to transcendence at 14,000 feet the thin cold air soothing the mind’s whirl ”””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””’

Maybe this time the super train of imagination never left the station, or I’m still riding on creativity laughing at apophenia as she zooms by, ghost train mirage, there never was a wreck, it was only in my mind ==========================================================================

River of Lost Souls Anna Montgomery

The original poem can be found here: http://chromapoesy.com/2011/07/09/apophenia-and-creativity-a-kind-of-self-possession-2/

Stochastic Intimacy

Stochastic Intimacy (this is a spoken word piece so click to hear it read)
for Hypatia “Reserve your right to think, for even to think wrongly is better than not to think at all.”

Blind caches of probability theory
hide in undercrofts
seducing non-deterministic variables
counteracting an unfairly weighted die
chance involves the randomness of specificity
slot machine spins
love is a weak convergence theory
requiring proof.

She’s dancing round helical truths.

Dependence will tend to be distributed
according to one of a small number of
attractor elements
diverging within the limits
approaching infinity
caressing asymptotic density convolutions
sexual creativity plays with game theory.

She chooses.

Variable ratio schedule of reinforcement
insures she keeps pulling the handle
appetite for stimulus drives the euphoria
highest rate of response
scientifically guaranteed
heightens the anticipation
of winning the whole show.

Figuring the chances of hitting the jackpot.

Ars Conjectandi! a bold conjecture
gene expressions in the roulette
of ubiquitous computing
predictable actions rouse random elements
probability theory spirals stochastic intimacies
astounds glistening ambient intelligence.

Equations inscribed by electric flickering tongues arouse.

Friction exerts its force
upon blooming lacunary trigonometric series
stimulating the total variation distance
pairwise independence won’t correlate
these atoms gotta smash up
to go supernova baby.

Each move she makes changes the board.

Multivariate Gaussian polytopes
nest in orthogonal matrices
central limit theorem initiates chain reactions
hydrogen bomb’s gonna blow
overcoming electrostatic repulsion
in a nuclear fusion transmutation.

Mathematics sighs and roars, she’s never been seduced by a poet before.

This is in response to the Poetics prompt on silent film @ dVerse.

Note: Spoken and written language, numerical skills, reasoning, and control of the right side of the body occur in the left hemisphere. The right hemisphere is responsible for control of the left side of the body, music processing, emotional thinking, and perceiving visual-spatial relations. The two hemispheres are connected by the corpus callosum.

Pneumatological Enigmas

Pneumatological Enigmas (click to hear the poem read)

Spirit-Sophia thunders into me
shatters my specious separations
fallacious wavering hesitancies
with surrender secures
never violating
breaking my heart wide open
amor procedens vivifying

renewing empowering grace
initiates novelty
breath of life
multitudinous interchangeable
kymographic nodes
puzzle internal sacerdotal scarabs
in a chary zenith
viewed from subsuming positions
into gestalt being

self-referential prosody
breeds halophytic
warranting dirges
of the laciniate self
behold the vast mysteries
elegiac verandas groan
elliptical protasis tumbles
tensive veracity guarding
explicitly bellicose religions
floating away in the saline

self forming requiem masses
grim obscurantist phrases
offer vivace caresses
baronial cobalt gems
defame the evolute kerfs
terminating in elegant periods inglorious
obligatorily wedged sideways

she is unknowable unseen
I am unknowable unseen

philia of artist poet composer mother
imago dei spiritus creator
beneficent power indwelling
breathing blowing wind of being continues
under pneumatological ramifications
trailing labile nilpotent agnosticism
willful xenophobic fatigue
curvatures inundated by magniloquent manners
choirs crying glorias unending

Longing unshackled
from romantic notions
desire released from ambition
exigent memories of Grace and Muse
awakening experience
sweet liberation cherishing the immersion
into lost moments of eternity

Spirit-Sophia whispers
follows my impatient steps
desire of intimacy encompassing presence
immensity reaping meritocratic enigmas
overflowing sensate resistances
in a deep awareness of otherness

Note: Spirit-Sophia is the name given to the Holy Spirit in Elizabeth A. Johnson’s awe inspiring book SHE WHO IS: The Mystery of God in Feminist Theological Discourse © 1992.

Fetched Oft By Chance

Kali whispering fates swirls her tongue forming
loci for impending chaos disintegrating
she saves one child chosen as witness
to her wrenching nod poised rendering
swift judgment upon all soft creatures

she clacks geographic prophetic scripts logorrheic
fingers curled with dramatic glee
multitudes of vertiginous yawning palaces
of iron Underwood typewriters
spinning tales of harrowing crises
decrying stories permeable
some querulous left tumbling
victims fetched oft by chance

earth born bounty’s sons and daughters float along oblivious
pupation’s hopeful peels light laughter and curiosity
aubergine eyes, twirls of glorious eiderdown,
espouse rambling besotted naïve ideals
floral tempests accelerating

peering at horizons of impoverishing windmills
monstrous blades gouge perilous trenches
wind creates shimmering uplifts where children hover fixated
argon burns bright in neon telemetries of serial reflections
mudslides contentiously obliterate, shift our paradigmatic visions
hunger’s hard tacked swirling blunders rent innocents sideways
through thundering organs mangling broken starved bodies

derision forgone relegates foreshadowing in helical caverns
reams of toroidal cross capacitors quantifying dielectric constants
scanning for insulators: none found

Kali licks her lips again croaking
vita incerta, mors certissima

Posted at dVerse for Open Link Night http://dversepoets.com/
Sesquipedalianism and Logophilia Engage in Logomachy click to listen to the author read this monster
Sesquipedalianism and Logophilia Engage in Logomachy click here for the PDF which has original Word footnote formatting

Sesquipedalianism (1) and Logophilia (2) Engage in Logomachy (3)

(The definitive annotated version (forgive the parantheses but even HTML couldn’t copy the format of MS Word’s annotation) which is dedicated to Arron Shilling who laughed when I sent it to him)

ATTENTION: The part of Logophilia, written as an avatar for Arron will be played tonight by Anna (on the recording) because, well, she looks better in a dress (wait, didn’t you say on the recording?) – also, she will have to play the part of Sesquipedalianism since she couldn’t find a pompous ass to pull it off – however, stay tuned kiddies because at some point in the future Arron and Anna will role out a poetic/philosophical dialectic (4) complete with Thesis, Antithesis, and dueling Syntheses (5) which we both promise to keep short). Now without further interruption the poem begins:

Sesquipedalianism, a mathematician in his prime (6),
frets on his way to the 1.0 X 10-6 society (7) for
the infinitesimally small number of people
with über IQs, born without a sense of irony (8)

Once there he converses with the child prodigy
pontificating on the demerits of ochlocracy (9) and Fourier (10)
f(x)=a_0+∑_(n=1)^∞▒(a_n cos⁡〖nπx/L〗+b_n sin⁡〖nπx/L〗 ) (11)
Eigen solutions (12), elementary really

Then she walks in the side door
Logophilia (13), dressed to the nines
snickering in a daring act of trespass
cutting through to the alley leading
to Eudaimonia (14), the philosopher’s club next door
notorious for attracting Sappho (15) wannabees

she pauses to overhear the conversation
Sesquipedalianism is sententiously (16) spouting in the hall
“Poesy (17) as noted by literati (18) is in the antechamber (19) of expiry (20)
all the better for us” he concludes with an air of superciliousness (21)
“Poetry isn’t dead! Why just yesterday I said:
In noumenon dominion shakes
Roquentin’s nauseated theme park,
the fugitive melody – Seeping
the external drift (22)”
and so the verbal barrage continues, each
point and counterpoint escalating their logomachy (23)

as the altercation reaches a fevered pitch
Logophilia howls the club needs a higher ceiling (24)
at which point it would later be generally remarked
she took it to the mattresses (25)

Now no self-respecting pedant (26) could bear the dishonor
especially within the hallowed halls of his own club
“‘Le coup de Jarnac’ (27) won’t save you now missy
Choose your second! I choose Evariste Galois (28)”

This ain’t no ‘petticoat duel’ (29)
I don’t need a second; I was trained by Carlos Hathcock (30)
our words will manifest our weapons
upon the field of honor

Sesquipedalianism confident agrees
he shows up early to practice shots
his abstruse words conjure up
an English Flintlock Blunderbuss (31)
flared at the end, a gilded dragon thunder pipe
powder box and all
that misfires and kills his second

on the next practice shot he focuses
remembering he hung the ‘ten of diamonds’ (32)
surely he can kill a girl
and hits a bystander square in the jaw
Harry Wittington (33) winces
reloading he never makes
that third practice shot

Logophilia miles away
incants her power phrase
conjuring a .5MOA (34) 50 caliber
5000 meter range
Precision Sniper Rifle
calculates the range, wind direction,
wind velocity, air density, and elevation
with a single shot
pierces Sesquipedalianism’s brain stem

She says now kiddies remember:
‘Talent hits a target no one else can hit;
Genius hits a target no one else can see’ (35)

Or I could have avoided this confounding,
annotated, curious, satirical and long winded tale
and simply said:
Logophilia shoots Sesquipedalianism dead!
or alternately poetry beats pedantry
(or even simpler as Brian @dVerse
already knows, ‘love wins!’;)

(but where’s the fun in that?)

1 Sesquipedalian language uses long and obscure words when shorter, everyday words would be more effective. From Instant Word Power by Norman Lewis ©1981
2 Logophile: A lover of words. Shorter Oxford English Dictionary Sixth Edition ©2007 Logophilia: Goddess of the love of words, i.e. a damn fine lover
3 Logomachy: contention over words
4 Dialectic: originally Socratic philosophical discourse or style of inquiry based on critical examination
5 Developed by Hegel as dynamic process based on Socratic dialectic Word Menu ©1992
6 ‘prime’ a mathematical joke and play on words, ding!
7 1.0 X 10-6 = 99.9999th percentile IQ society called the Mega Society, they look down on the Promethean Society and way down on Mensa
8 Oxymoron alert: these are people who are too dumb to question the validity of or ponder the original purpose of IQ tests and the pseudoscience it lent credibility to, namely eugenics, high IQ but not gifted, narrow-minded smart people
9 Ochlocracy is mob rule!
10 Jean Baptiste Joseph Fourier: French mathematician (1768-1830)
11 Fourier Series – a formula Microsoft Word can insert in the text but which WordPress has mangled beyond recognition 😦
12 Small mammalian frogs (really?) no but do you know what it is, I mean really know? Wiki says any of the results of the calculation of eigenvalues
13 See footnote #2.
14 Eudaimonia: concept in virtue ethics that translates to happiness or flourishing but contingent on ethical imperatives. The concept of eudaimonia, a key term in ancient Greek moral philosophy, is central to any modern neo-Aristotelian virtue ethics and usually employed even by virtue ethicists who deliberately divorce themselves from Aristotle. It is standardly translated as “happiness” or “flourishing” and occasionally as “well-being.”
Each translation has its disadvantages. The trouble with “flourishing” is that animals and even plants can flourish but eudaimonia is possibly only for rational beings. The trouble with “happiness”, on any contemporary understanding of it uninfluenced by classically trained writers, is that it connotes something which is subjectively determined. It is for me, not for you, to pronounce on whether I am happy, or on whether my life, as a whole, has been a happy one, for, barring, perhaps, advanced cases of self-deception and the suppression of unconscious misery, if I think I am happy then I am — it is not something I can be wrong about. Contrast my being healthy or flourishing. Here we have no difficulty in recognizing that I might think I was healthy, either physically or psychologically, or think that I was flourishing and just be plain wrong. In this respect, “flourishing” is a better translation than “happiness”. It is all too easy for me to be mistaken about whether or not my life is eudaimon (the adjective from eudaimonia) not simply because it is easy to deceive oneself, but because it is easy to have a mistaken conception of eudaimonia, or of what it is to live well as a human being, believing it to consist largely in physical pleasure or luxury for example.
The claim that this is, straightforwardly, a mistaken conception, reveals the point that eudaimonia is, avowedly, a moralized, or “value-laden” concept of happiness, something like “true” or “real” happiness or “the sort of happiness worth seeking or having.” It is thereby the sort of concept about which there can be substantial disagreement between people with different views about human life that cannot be resolved by appeal to some external standard on which, despite their different views, the parties to the disagreement concur.
All standard versions of virtue ethics agree that living a life in accordance with virtue is necessary for eudaimonia. This supreme good is not conceived of as an independently defined state or life (made up of, say, a list of non-moral goods that does not include virtuous activity) which possession and exercise of the virtues might be thought to promote. It is, within virtue ethics, already conceived of as something of which virtue is at least partially constitutive. Thereby virtue ethicists claim that a human life devoted to physical pleasure or the acquisition of wealth is not eudaimon, but a wasted life, and also accept that they cannot produce a knock down argument for this claim proceeding from premises that the happy hedonist would acknowledge.
But although all standard versions of virtue ethics insist on that conceptual link between virtue and eudaimonia, further links are matters of dispute and generate different versions. For Aristotle, virtue is necessary but not sufficient —what is also needed are external goods which are a matter of luck. For Plato, and the Stoics, it is both (Annas 1993), and modern versions of virtue ethics disagree further about the link between eudaimonia and what gives a character trait the status of being a virtue. Given the shared virtue ethical premise that “the good life is the virtuous life” we have so far three distinguishable views about what makes a character trait a virtue.
According to eudaimonism, the good life is the eudaimon life, and the virtues are what enable a human being to be eudaimon because the virtues just are those character traits that benefit their possessor in that way, barring bad luck. So there is a link between eudaimonia and what confers virtue status on a character trait. But according to pluralism, there is no such tight link. The good life is the morally meritorious life, the morally meritorious life is one that is responsive to the demands of the world (on a suitably moralized understanding of “the demands of the world” and is thereby the virtuous life because the virtues just are those character traits in virtue of which their possessor is thus responsive (Swanton 2003). And according to perfectionism or “naturalism”, the good life is the life characteristically lived by someone who is good qua human being, and the virtues enable their possessor to live such a life because the virtues just are those character traits that make their possessor good qua human being (an excellent specimen of her kind). Stanford Online Dictionary of Philosophy If you actually read this footnote it is quite possible you are living a eudaimon life or maybe have too much free time. This is the reward you’ve gained (sorry no extra credit). If you didn’t read this entire footnote then you won’t know we’re calling you names like Fred, lazy, or solipsist behind your back.
15 Sappho ( /ˈsæfoʊ/; Attic Greek Σαπφώ [sapːʰɔː], Aeolic Greek Ψάπφω [psapːʰɔː]) was an Ancient Greek poet, born on the island of Lesbos. Later Greeks included her in the list of nine lyric poets. Her birth was sometime between 630 and 612 BC, and it is said that she died around 570 BC, but little is known for certain about her life. The bulk of her poetry, which was well-known and greatly admired throughout antiquity, has been lost, but her immense reputation has endured through surviving fragments. Or so says Wikipedia. @expoetics joshuA says: On Sappho […] born of eros[ion…] resin and ruin […] who is what Time did to her […] the fragment suggests […] ineffable who[le…] ©2011 vandalized today
16 Sententiously – delivered in a pompous or moralizing manner – like this poem
17 Poesy: poetry darlings
18 Literati: fancy people, not you or me, who read the right books and discuss them, they hang with the intelligentsia, also now a variant of Scrabble™
19 Antechamber: vestibule
20 Expiry – a frilly way to say death
21 Superciliousness: feeling or displaying haughty disdain says the free dictionary (free source=questionable data?)
22 From Arron Shilling’s excellent Atomic Charade to which I commented, “I have not read Sartre’s Nausea but now I am intrigued and must do so. Antoine Roquentin is liberated, as I understand it, to engage in creating his own meaning in the world. A real existential crisis is apparent in this work. These lines feel seared into your being (sorry if the narrator is not you but a fictitious ‘I’ for effect) perhaps the Atomic Charade of the title. The cognitive dissonance is at a frenetic pace here: if the resurrection is fallacy, is entropy the only legacy of life? Where is integrity at the atomic level, ethical action birthed, when all you’re left with is emetic phenomenological concerns? Is Kant’s neumenal world real just completely unknowable or are we left with no beyond the knowable? You’ve certainly sparked the desire to reread and read new philosophical arguments. Your poem is finely wrought, heartbreaking, and it seeps all the way to the quarks.” You see how I am qualified to write the part of Sesquipedalianism ;).
23 Summation because this poem is long enough as it is without adding pages of dialogue, you’ll be happier I didn’t in the end
24 IQ tests have ceilings, the higher the ceiling the greater its ability to discern the upper echelons of intelligence. Presumably the society club they fight in would have the highest ceiling (ha! though maybe you don’t enjoy jokes that have to be explained)
25 “Take it to the mattresses” Godfather © 1972 During mafia wars it isn’t safe to sleep at home.
26 I’m getting tired of these notes! You’re getting tired think of the poor reader. Pedant: noun 1. a person who makes an excessive or inappropriate display of learning. 2. a person who overemphasizes rules or minor details. 3. a person who adheres rigidly to book knowledge without regard to common sense. 4. Obsolete . a schoolmaster. Sayeth dictionary.com
27 ‘Le coup de Jarnac’ a legend arising from a French duel that lead people to believe there was a move an amateur swordsman could pull on a master to win.
28 Evariste Galois a mathematician who, at 20, died in a duel under suspicious circumstances!
29 The Petticoat Duel was fought 1792: Lady Almeria Braddock versus Mrs. Elphinstone – don’t believe me then look it up – them bitches took it to the mat!
30 Carlos Hathcock trained snipers at the Marine Corps Scout Sniper School in Quantico after distinguished service in Vietnam.
31 England 18th Century; a blunderbuss is a muzzle-loading firearm with a flared, trumpet-like barrel and is the predecessor to the shotgun; known for its inaccuracy.
32 ‘ten of diamonds’ is the nickname given to the VP of Iraq Taha Yassin Ramadan who was hanged for his crimes. In 2002 he suggested that President George W. Bush and Saddam Hussein resolve their differences though a duel
33 Harry Wittington was shot in the face by Vice President Dick Cheney in 2006 (no, I am not making this up)
34 MOA = minute of angle
35 Arthur Schopenhauer (Who? Oh, go read a book.)

 

‘O Holy Wisdom, Soaring Power, encompass us with wings unfurled, and carry us, encircling all, above, below, and through the world,’ giving voice to ecstatic melismas of avidity eternal.

Calligraphic signifiers rouse masterful enumerators while language seduces inscribed astral bodies listening with striving attention eons churning the refrain avidity eternal.

Pneuma is piqued by enraptured subtleties caressing phosphorus membranes
upon gentle ascetics performing ignoble traversals over Gaussian eliminations of avidity eternal.

Stumbling fearful lacrimose tender utterances filled with fatuous genuflections
upending ornate tables in art’s gilded sanctuaries finding and seeking anew your avidity eternal.

Bold succulent hedonists nuzzle watchful questioning contrarians into a tremulous daring surrender
lapping nectar buoyed by shocking desire penultimate game of avidity eternal.

Jousting firm convictions encircling kyriarchy infatuated with a once pellucid order
nesting in suffocating ruts blown apart in the mysterium tremendum casts avidity eternal.

Whispering bouquets of adoration and certitude unending: concede, merge, meld
suck wonder and lyrical promises floating in ephemeral delirium swirling avidity eternal.

Beacon of unadorned fidelity no soul cage yet an ever patient dove over shore less seas
encountering spirit rapt longing in glowing sensual unraveling hosAnnas avidity eternal.

Note:

‘O Holy Wisdom, Soaring Power, encompass us with wings unfurled, and carry us, encircling all, above, below, and through the world,’ Hildegard von Bingen —O Holy Spirit, Root of Life