Trump Card – Le Diable

trump-card-le-diable

 

 The  Tarot deck contains

22 Trump cards( the Major Arcana  ).

Force Majeure

Le Diable has small hands, but a big tail.

 

Upright: Bondage, addiction, sexuality, materialism

 

Reversed:

Detachment, breaking free, power reclaimed –

 

Make America  Great Again!

Build a huge wall

&

Stop the Bad Hombres.

They’re sending –

People.

Force Majeure

Lots of problems

 bringing those problems with us.

They’re bringing drugs.

They’re bringing crime.

They’re rapists.

 I assume,

 good people

know me too.

 

The Tarot card of El Diablo represents –

Hidden Forces –

– Negativity

that Constrain You –

That Trick

You

INTO

Thinking

You

 

are

 

 

Imprisoned

 

by external forces  –

Ultimately

Out of Your Control…….

 

Look at the Face of the Inner Force within each of US.

The Face of  Our:

Fears,

Addictions,

Harmful impulses.

He is a master of deception and creates the illusion that you are involuntarily bound to him.

However,….

the figures in this house of cards

 free to remove

the chains from around their necks,

 they have freely given any power he has over them.

I could stand in the middle of Fifth Avenue & shoot people and I wouldn’t lose voters,”

A total and complete shutdown

of

“Must -be-Them”

entering

the Homeland.

In its most general meanings, a symbol can not compel – it reveals a truth that is a reflection of hopes and fears that the reader projects on the world. Strands and threads of emotions and needs – look at the card again,….

trump-card-le-diable-fr2

…. it signifies Mammon, and thus big business, the conventions of society, the injustice and cruelty of a social order in which money takes the place of God, in which humanity is reduced to a cornered Beast ( where has Beauty fled), in which war is engineered by greed masquerading as patriotism, in which anxiety is dominant (take a Brexit and cleanse the system of foreign material) .

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Primal Convergence

primal-convergence

 

As an approximate primal solution,

we take the Minimizer

of the Lagrangian Dream;

I see under this, Equality –

Here The Stream foams and swirls

among jagged rocks of inquiry –

dual demons of identity

demonstrate form ,

a convex effort guarantees

that dual optimization of Self.

 

 

We derive error boundaries

for this approximate primal solution –

a mass of big-beliefed vines,

flowering and fragrant,

above,

towering jungle giants,

explicit convergences –

rising,

the primal iterates of memory –

so long ago,

so long ago,

just a whisper,

a question unanswered

by news bytes

&

headlines.

 

Important Properties,

Anger in first-order are clouds of unreason;

Be explicit when evaluating the dual gradient,

the soft swish of bearded moss,

the strange rustle of palms,

the dreamy hum of the languid jungle,

general smiles,

tearful hopes.

Lipschitz kisses

Admits the Shade of Solitude.

 

Convergence for assumptions ,

they are blind.

They constrain in senseless classes,

rated unworthy in the eyes

of the fearful ignorant masses –

Two methods set,

established linear global barriers,

Walls of hatred to keep out

The Other.

The high yellow bank,

Crumbling empathy,

Bare of sympathy,

There’s no outlet,

Just a sensation –

Blank dismay.

 

Feel now an expansive primal sleep

whose hold grates,

gathers gradients,

assembles constraints,

restrictive.

 

The only convergence,

The Continuity of We;

Duality is a drugged sleep;

Iterates locally of have and have not.

 

 

Dozing over paper editorials,

Nonlinear techniques;

Convergence in large-scale forests

full

of

pleading eyes.

Of this and that,

polemic,

including primal constraint,

Obtained

in

Their Anxieties.

This studying of that inequality problem

squares

the circle of Calais,

transects

the floodplains of the Rio Grande

&

9,000-foot peaks of the Coronado.

 

 

Calculating the Primal Convergence

requires balancing the equations of fear.

 

Animation1_head

Q → ℝ over the time axis ℝ.

In particular,

Q = ℝ × M if a reference frame is fixed.

In classical field theory,

all field systems are the Lagrangian ones.

 

A Note on Process: I started with the image, which I titled Primal Convergence. Checking that phrasing  googled by path to Convergence analysis of approximate primal solutions in dual first-order methodsLipschitz continuity, and Lagrangian system.  I used the Dada Poem Generator to play with the text. I then incorporated some  lines and phrases from Ken Ward in the Jungle  by Zane Grey(1912) .  As I sculpted the text and worked word choices, the themes of The Other and selective memory came up, as they often do in my poetical puttering about.  The mathematical/engineering terms became a metaphor/imagery of the logical order of moving materials & people in contrast to the intense emotions surrounding the crisis in immigration & refugees ( the current form of this cyclical crisis/social issue ). Hopefully the specifics of the terms do not get in the way of the overall metaphorical associations.

The image that started this off now has a different context – the primal  core now suggests the fears and uncertainty facing both the refugees and those resistant to allowing them entry.  The languid to swinging jazz of Sidney Bechet’s  performance of Egyptian Fantasy (1941)  becomes an ironic musical commentary documenting the flight of the refugees.

Conversations Overheard: A Dadaist Pantoum

Conversations Overheard in A Virtual Spirit Tent

(A Dadaist Pantoum)

The modern pantoum is a poem of any length, composed of four-line stanzas in which the second and fourth lines of each stanza serve as the first and third lines of the next stanza. The last line of a pantoum is often the same as the first. A Dadaist Pantoum incorporates extra stanzas of varying length that will repeat some of the lines from the other stanzas. Additional prose poem/dialogue elements are interspersed with the stanzas.

their laughter's echo

No, now lost here the rout,

like that sound, Bats will gather –

This property of owls, wings whooshing,

sand – on their laughter’s echo – sits.

 

 

Bats in driven photographic Acts,

like stored echoes in the art of icicles,

Each on their own

find meaning,

then sent outward –

this too brings rejection of some things.

 

 

Like that sound, Bats will gather –

a rapt audience waiting for meaning.

Sand – on their laughter’s echo – sits

in stillness – waves lap the shore.

 

Sand - on their laughter's echo – sits

“Who, yes, I was … so … so to speak, on the spot.”

“What! I was completely sent.”

“Who shares the art, reflects what I’ve done hotly.”

“What of His Art ? …….. he lost the most important and powerful patron so far. Although it was already known outside Italy,….. and it seems that it was so, even before you left.”

In Stillness waves lap the shore

 

A rapt audience, waiting for meaning,

watches desperate boats reaching towards shore.

In stillness, waves lap the shore

With tears of dead mothers.

 

 

Like stored echoes in the art of icicles,

Generations carved from bone and brine

then sent outward –

this too brings rejection of some things.

 


Watches, desperate boats reaching towards shore –

Pleas call for humanity’s caress,

With the tears of dead mothers –

Sent outward, Each on their own.

 

 

 

“But, what is this property of owls’ wings ? This property is not decreased by the transition of time or the period of free passage over rough waters.

When does this desperate market of lives and families end ? Before or after the photographers have left for other sensational sights ?”

“They refused quickly, spiels of public gaze. Greedy media eyes stood, haunting the ridges, lined up along the dense dark bushes facing the rocky trail.”

“Yes, those Bats will dive for photographic echoes, shopping for lucrative moments to sell on a free information market, break the lull in the season, and make their careers. They call it financially sustainable art working with political necessity.”

“Since when is this the only end of the photograph?”

what is this property of owls' wings

 

Pleas call for humanity’s caress,

when all the trees tear up their roots,

Sent outward, Each on their own.

Generations carved from bone and brine.

 

 

Generations carved from bone and brine,

test their resolve against sighs for yesterday.

This too brings rejection of some things.

This is the only option, a flea market of souls.


When all the trees tear up their roots,

what country remains ?

Generations, carved from bone and brine,

now depart, desperate leaves take flight.

 

 

“And so, … wherever, … but it was empty still, strictly an alternative, to make a direct style, that fell on me.”

“So, Go to the light colour, such as setting … where and when, truth must be presented plainly.”


What country remains ?

Is there life in the common ?

Now depart ! Desperate leaves take flight

for this, this is the only option.


Test their resolve against sighs for yesterday

with barriers of fearful excuses.

This is the only option, a flea market of souls,

a child’s bones for table legs.


Is there life in the common ?

Here the rocky dense bush,

for this, this is the only option,

Dark streets lined with bats.

Generations carved from bone and brine

“You know, she refused an overview of that rapid game. She remembered when her children played.”

“You continue on your way …… so good a day, today. Search for the mood of this season, then you can look to the free market. Before you go, remember, that is not only the most important painting of the important work. We shall share the Commission position.”

The sign was in bold letters, “Photography! Mural Now”. He entered the Bat Dive Shop with trepidation, his purpose as uncertain as an ultrasound image on a rainy day. That alluring career of the free market future was waiting. A Just Cheque, his soul stood at the door.

The Photographer, that was another style, another voice in the corner of his life. Overhead he saw the flowers painting the old hometown. He had received a commission for an altar painting of Servite Monks rowing the Boat of Salvation. He called it “To know before You go!” . In his pocket, the number of that telephone alibi was like a reflector lamp waiting to divert suspicion. Looking around he saw various metal plates.

fearful excuses


“Is this just the end of the whole tree?”

It is, therefore, it is time for the art of Ovid. This season, it is possible and the free market opens the way to success, if not freedom. In particular,….. I have used the resources to paint some of the flowers.”

“Quickly then, because the photo can be white.”

What? I was completely sent !”

And that is the only option, or go to the flea market.”

Where …? What country remains ? It will be tight or indirectly fall on me to do so.”

They said the tide was low.”

Such as the Creation, in light and colour … everywhere.

Gives that charm to the day … still … I went too easily to see the cause.”

Life there in the Fall – down by the grey wall of the sea, perhaps this year they will find a home……..” 

down by the grey wall of the sea

 

Here the rocky dense bush,

Such a creation, in the light, colour …

Dark streets lined with bats,

everywhere, catching time.

   

With barriers of fearful excuses,

like stored echoes in the art of icicles,

a child’s bones for table legs

brings rejection of some things.

 

Such a creation, in the light, colour,

like sand – on their laughter’s echo – sits.

Everywhere, catching time,

No, now lost here the rout.

 

 

 

 

 

Valentines for Refugees

~ Valentines for Refugees ~

The Sharp Dressed Man faces Quantum Asymmetry

” What are we to say to document examiners here in the still brine offers of love ? “

 

Refugee Voyages 2h

 

Where can that love go ?

This congestion of the heart

falls over the fading hopeless horizon –

We are forever reminded of the past embrace.

Only if you know this –

it is the bottleneck of broken dreams.

 

Just me –

What is my name ?

Still Love in Salty Water.

 

Refugee Voyages 1h

 

What about Time?

Just as eyes obsess over love torn letters,

perhaps the document examiner

forgot to kiss the clean snow,

blue-white crystallized seconds,

moments dressed in hoar frost gowns.

 

 

Echoes of footsteps,

wet shadows sliding on pavement,

beat out hollow hopes that struggle,

like a gun chorus at dawn –

just the Austro-Prussian puppet war

in the Abyssinia of the heart.

The heart of the movement,

witnessed through whispering wings of owls.

 

 

 

In front of luck,

Every day the word, “when”…….

My mind returns from the stars,

the servant of power,

My soul dangerous.

 

 

The world has changed,

the whole time domain and space

in my fast hands,

burning in my heart and trove house.

 

Refugee Voyages 3h

 

I feel such a passion –

do not take my hand,

fear to know that there is nothing –

wraith women wander

over waves of neutron stars,

briny eyes weep for children  .

Refugee Voyages 4gh

 

Special value found

In the Mirror of Regrets and Quantum Asymmetry –

face-saving Time and Space.

 

“Yet while we are indeed moving forward in time, there is also always some movement backwards, a kind of jiggling effect,…”

 

An incessant unfolding of the universe over time –

I think, that thing takes notes, glances in lamp light,

looking for Long-time.

 

Refugee Voyages 6gh

 

Watch, moderate, wrought eagle sky-arcs.

Closed steps, meadows, forests, plains –

I feel the glory of grass and spring rain beneath my feet.

 

 

It was forgotten.

Now seven corners in this magnitude of war

becomes a very passionate day.

The clock face laughs at the mirror.

 

 

Nothing’s Kiss is All.

Hull, why mass at Fortune’s call ?

It is just an Established Howl.

 

 

 

Finally, we have a joust of possibilities –

ridiculous odds, newspaper facts

flying into the recent path of cormorants’ wing.

 

 

Magic of water boat anger –

The ground shifts beneath migrants’ feet,

like tides in a capsized boat,

Love And You  both weeping.

 

Refugee Voyages 5gh

 

Please watch for the torpedo of wants-

See the last man, both tree and poet –

Ore of the day.

 

 

You fear the animal,

Profit.

There is a crew.

You have a dream,

the king heating of victory.

Room was available;

The Turtle does not feel human.

 

 

Breakfast rate for the song,

At the moment,

there was a Wyrd approaching.

Some of the cities found,

waiting like bridegrooms

at the bedroom door,

in the subconscious.

 

 

The Worker enters the Air Gate.

Who has an illiterate clock ?

This completes it,

cogs of despair and hope.

 

 

I like having the beauty of ghosts and death

waving from a distant shore;

Resistance was good for no thing.

It offers a thought – please, see.

 

In the Wood-spa , might it feel better ?

Waltz with her – a lot of people watch;

For music, visual acuity, robust minute passion.

It a strange love of power acquired – the latest public concern .

 

 

This mind, perhaps it is not that difficult an explosion.

Use the dream of Yasu of M and make it so.

 

Love the Woman in the Words of Waters.

Two whisper,

Workers of energy.

 

This hides the sound

By removing it –

Her ghost,

Love.

 

Rusted metal and twisted wire 

embrace the eager seekers –

yet they seek

the sirens of serene cities,

while the well dressed ponder,

leaving workers unsure

with  their hearts

half opened.

Time turns on itself,

the boats set sail again.

 

Refugee Voyages 7jh

 

However, what was given to the sheep of the city ?

Able again.

What does not speak of passion ?

Fear the unfamiliar strangers.

 

 

However, we believe the things we hear now.

The same song, was a woman of fear.

   

Examples of resting places

beam us towards Promethean graces.

Voices and new things rise in resistance,

a gracious hearth-breath awaits the weary.

 

 

Smoke like mountain ranges

speeds towards frail bows,

grief lined brows.

 

 

 

Then, create the explosion that is not a torture shout,

these women sing in an unfamiliar tongue.

Cry over  wave tossed memories of home and family.

Who mourns for the broken staff of the last twenty fingers ?

Stones washed on shore,

bones of the sea.

 

No delivery in this city,

Nosfuragu is shouting unnecessarily.

Lead to the wind that has just been given.

All is clear, many things are new here.

In my fingers you can hear crying – your voice.

 

 

Note: Taking inspiration from current events and topics in the news , together with a poem by simono1968m,  I contemplated how current  upheaval of social structure parallel science’s new interpretations of the structure of time, space and the universe. I loosely framed it in terms of our  Western preoccupation with Valentine’s Day. What does this commercialized romanticism mean in the face of understanding the cosmos or the turmoil and struggle of people fleeing waves of suffering ?  How do we reconcile our growing understanding of the universe with our lack of empathy for the suffering multitude.  The incorporated portrait  of the Middle Eastern refugee used in images five and six  comes from a forensic facial reconstruction of what Jesus would of looked like based on location and ethnicity. A unmarried male with limited education & training, no papers, questionable parentage, attracts a diverse following and has upset both secular and religious authorities – knows about boating in the Sea of Galilee.   *****  See Links embedded in poem.

 

 

 

Be Legal……… Talk American

Be Legal - Talk American

 

 

Looking for Connections – Linguistically Transparent,

A conundrum that marks the border between communities

They are not us  – they Came Without Papers …..

Are they legal ?

Why are they carrying that young Woman ?

What about the boy on the beach ?

His family was going to Canada. 

Why that village ?

His Aunt weeps there  – the village is divided.

 

 

Say “aboot”, eh.

Y’know, like they say Toronnah Canada , eh.

How about Welcome ?

Depends on what party you are going to…………

Kanata means community

 

Water laps at shore –

waves goodbye as small child’s dreams

crash on rock borders .


Salty lips, tears dry –

politician’s promises

a bitter salve.

 

How many ways here –

paths of thorny ground rules cut – 

hopes bleed, red ink dries.