There needs to be a Twist to This // Buy me a Beer

Let’s cre­ate the com­plete discipline

to look at what’s around us and under­stand it

per­fectly: thor­ough through both the­ory and real­ity.
But import­antly, let’s remem­ber to keep the text books thin.

let’s begin with his­tory, but for­get the emphasis on

indi­vidu­als, and vary­ing philosophies,

let’s get sci­entific with our social the­or­ies,
apply­ing deduct­ive methodologies;

have tan­gible, quan­ti­fi­able, cal­cu­lat­etable prob­lems
to test our queries.

Let’s not do a, holy-grail scale quest, series of inter­views,
attempt­ing to estab­lish a mul­ti­pli­city of intrinsic truths
try­ing to recon­struct ‘that which was

my, your, his, her, their our inter­pret­a­tion of

what was once writ­ten, then translated,

recon­tex­tu­al­ised and oblit­er­ated before it was

reques­ted and con­tested by the hege­mon’ and then
‘recon­struc­ted by a prophet per­tain­ing to a par­tic­u­lar polit­ical imagination’.

Who then did noth­ing to real­ise  that they

were sew­ing words against the wise just to get a pension.

Let’s get rid of that tension.

Let’s get through this with physics

applied to polit­ics and ser­i­ous stat­ist­ics
study­ing the way soci­et­ies tick.

Let’s not dick around with cre­at­ing a dia­logue, open ended,

no norm­at­ive (or rad­ical) val­ues intended,

no impli­cit, assumed, des­ig­nated or pre-consumed agenda.

Let’s get some data that doesn’t need

a lec­turer who’s role is not as teacher,
but as imperfect-information defender.

And for heaven’s sake: Let’s save a bit of paper,
write some truly axio­matic stuff so we can for­get about expiry dates

And oh man: I can­not wait until we’re in a work space where
we’re not swayed by the publisher’s gender.

 

Let’s not let this get distended

but hey, I think my mani­festo just ended.

 

Because as much as I wish it could go undefended:

these knot­ted threads and hashed ends of cables – carrying

inform­a­tion feed back loops through ter­rain and time -

pro­cessing, and fail­ing to, tran­scend the bends

of our Chinese whis­pers with the world:

Our imper­fect extrapolation

of ideas, gen­er­ated in responses to our

ever morph­ing environments.

As much as I wish it could go undefen­ded so we could

say that class had ended after this next chapter

of equa­tions about people steady,
and invari­able in what ever series of situations.

The world can­not be cemented –

it is erratic in it’s static character.

And we are the self-conscious actor given

chaos’ as our grey matter

we spoke ourselves into existence

my grey mat­ter, the man­del­brot set

and your grey mat­ter, the universe.

We are the grey mat­ter that is the blend

of white noise and black text

on a tele­vi­sion set and any given page of the internet.

We are chaos who wraps its coat tales around its

old, over grown stom­ach, bloated and cough­ing from

dis­eased varicose veins of dilated dis­tri­bu­tion,
and dis­place­ment pollution.

And we are the music that sputnik-splutters,
rup­tur­ing, away from Earth’s own face,
we sing the thin inter-planetary whistle of

shuttle sym­phon­ies from a blip-blip-blip in A key,

sur­vey­ing cold war hos­til­it­ies from space,

to a caco­phony of the inter­mix­ing melod­ies of

us, of you, of them, we the human race.

we are the static noise of the bio­chem­ical, biological

philo­soph­ical, his­tor­ical, present and past tense.

And as much as I try – I can­not combine

all of these diver­ging lines of enquiry,

wir­ing real­it­ies in dif­fer­ent directions,

across dimen­sions of mind – and find

a single uni­fy­ing way to ana­lyse that which makes

this grey mat­ter, and that blue world, whirl,

and makes any simple sense.

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