Carlo Parcelli

Lucretius, you fool, Epicurus told me
‘A wise man does not write poetry’?


Eschatology of Reason:
De Rerum Natura

Prologue: Denatured Things

If only Roger Frugard could observe these tabloid tits!
           Preening above the Mounds and Mr. Goodbars.
           Burst, Proud Cyst!
Back in the day, when going under the knife
           Still meant something
Akin to murder, hair dressers led the assault.
          And here we are after Laplace transformations
With a ‘celestial mechanics’ of the bosom
          With an entire epistemology pruning
Toward a ‘determined idealization.’
          A culture sold on ‘euthanasia of the object.’
          The denatured thing.
          The prohibitions of Bruno and Blake;
Kant, Hegel, Heidegger and Husserl,
          So much stir fry, ecological adipose.
Wave mechanics preserved 
          the acoustic etymology of
          Idealizations idolized by idiots,
Framing Nature to rescue 
          The marketplace from a litany
          Of fatal paradoxes:
“Physics does not create the world,
          It simply describes it.”
But with the Crash of ‘33
          The description died in the Ivory Tower of
Babble & as Bohr predicted,
          Retreated further into mathematics;
Into stone. Anchorites suckled on
          Plastic mammary sacks.
“[I]dealizing thinking conquers the infinity
          Of the experiential world.”
But under pressure to be both consistent and closed,
          Positivisms caved
          Like so many aluminum cans
And, as Ammons could only in part bring himself to admit,
         Garbage is
What became of sensible cause.
Packaging for mathematical causalities
Husserl’s “unconditional again-and-again;”
         Recycling time to point of purchase.

Lying constitutes the default frequency
           For communication.
What is in our head
           Is the truest thing 
           We’ll never see 
Was the best Brentano could offer.
The Vedas of the Calculus
           Traverse the profoundest depths
           We find we didn’t want to know.
Sampling’s nostalgia for the edge of the world; 
Attributing our attributes to no thing.
           Father. Can mortal sin be absolved in a nanosecond?
Since time went on the butcher’s block,
           Endowed with unforgiving efficacy
More immaterial than absolution’s most charitable unit of measure.
           As Adorno said: Lies have Nature’s ear
           And mass produce it.
A field of dead satyrs stripped of their pipes
Predates its replication by the buffalo 
            By just a matter of biblical weeks.
           A shoreline of dead centaurs bleeding from the ears
Predates its replication 
           By whales by less than a biblical year.
           Now, after the hard lessons of the Galilean Flood,
           The bitter, shopworn bible has designs
On the tithings of reason. 
“...[T]he subject of animal conduct 
          Can be treated
          By the quantitative methods
                    Of the physicists...”
Noah’s binary that Loeb invokes to re-enact
         The genesis of species extinction.
And the ‘universal’ application
          Of management systems
Being the legacy of F.W. Taylor,
          Who suffered from Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.
That single morphed virus
           From a good, patrician family
Infects every aspect of the marketplace,
Like AIDS from a French gigolo airline steward
          Who had sex with a single monkey
On a layover in Gabon. 
          That misprisioned, contagious lunacy
That we now must call upon. 
That superstition of iterated quantities.
         Lying is the default frequency
For communication in an epistemology
         Of quantification. 
Le Chaos: Jean-Fery Rebel, at odds
          With the Second Law,
Scored equations for a celestial mechanics
          With entropic parries of his baton,
The last time it was possible for music to scratch 
           The glass ceiling
           Of the planetarium.
Think of lying as the cotton gin, 
          Refrigeration, triple bypass surgery.
Newton, Descartes and Einstein as liars.
          The lies that, at the time, if not timeless
                  Seemed the cure. 
Think of loss as intercontinental air travel,
          Sonigrams, text messaging,
Often done but ruined by nostalgia.
          When did the apparatus producing physical phenomena
          Begin to embody the characteristics of
                 “Intentional inexistence”?
The backlash effect of the medium on authenticity.
          The tell-tale corniness of media and material existence. 
Only the sheer anality of wealth
          Carried over to quantification.
The folly of programming altruism when
Murder hums
          To the gates and switches.   
Quantification recommending a selective, self-promoting
          Charity whenever it manages 
To rape an ‘other’ into existence;
That old overdrive superiority of the rapist
          That makes science work. 
          Quantification saves you the trouble;
Its virtue is its iterativeness. 
          So many accidents sewn in this destiny;
So much fate story-boarded.
         Coincidence at the eye of every storm
Where the barometers of plague 
         Aren’t calibrated to measure conspiracy.
History & motive managed into star studded cartoons.    
         Lying is the default frequency
For communication in an epistemology
         Of quantification.
By virtue of what my machines made me.
         By virtue. 

“Suppose that modernism is dead.
That [science] is rhetorical.
And that the rhetoric of quantification needs reexamination.
So what.”

Science does our forgetting.
“That is, as a scientific statement gets ever closer
To being accepted as fact, historical contingencies
Get progressively stripped away from its enunciation.”
Classification, our tool for forgetting.
“ this case an infinitely more important jump
Than a simple ‘mise en forme.’
It is properly an innovation”
For which scientific imagination bears responsibility.  
Science as an anecdotal record.
The palimpsest of experience. 
After five centuries shrinking the speculative mind,
To the game theoretical mind.
Not Kant but Leibniz
Slave to every feint and furbelow
As though the encounter and
Its description were predestined,
Prefigured in eschatology,
Upending its moment in a grand adversarial extinction.
The result of  “the naturalization of social classifications.”
Terror, not curiosity, spurred the assignment of cause.
Mortality not gawking at immortality.   
Causal idealizations substituted for context
Ground apart the globe.
Their proponents engulfed by
The enormity of their precision.
To conclude Husserl:
“[Science] as science,
[For] serious, rigorous, 
Indeed apodictically rigorous science---
The dream is over”
For the teleological fictions 
Of a bowdlerized reality.

Over. And for whom, Citizen?
If awareness that the methodology 
Is ‘bounded’ constitutes intent...
And that those limits are integral
For successful expression, 
What electorate neglected the formulae by which
We might avoid basing 
Our covenants
On the sociopathology of mathematics?
The pathology of certainty.

Are these incorrigibles the tack faith has taken
Directly into the currents obliterating itself?
The evangelical swine, smelling the sea swell,
Hysterical in their swill pens, shocked 
By scripture’s godless denouement in science.
Shocked that its not them
        Stained with the blood of lambs.

To confirm with Casullo:
“The classic example of such a sense [of certainty]
        Is the ‘notion’ of incorrigibility:
p is certain for S” blah, blah blah;
        “[L]ead[ing] to [the] unwelcome consequence[]
“[T]hat all mathematical knowledge is certain.” 

Why would Medawar ask  
“Is The Scientific Paper Fraudulent?”
The interrogative a form of inquiry
Before blank verse and dialogues
Were supplanted by the scientific report
Adopting the mathematics of the late 17th century
Whereupon Lakatos adds “The problem,
The conjecture which the experiment had to test,
Is hidden away. [And] the author boasts of an empty,
Virgin mind...Inductivist style, just like its 
Deductivist twin...claiming objectivity, [while]
Foster[ing] a private guild language, atomis[ing]
Science, suffocat[ing] criticism, 
Mak[ing] science authoritarian.”

“Authoritarian” in a time and from a refugee
Whose object cannot be missed.
Where conflicting data rapidly become rhetorical,
Matters of ‘opinion’, not ‘fact’ or ‘Science’;
Not worthy of discussion.

Since time confounds measurement, the method
Has made time a function of space.
Its increments incubating an ahistorical rationalism
Where the Nazi and the victim
Are conflated in the canards of Casti’s Prisoner’s Dilemma.
The objectivity of the method cannot recall in time,
Only in other backlit cubic hectares of space.
And methodological failure is not contrite.
The murdered must fend off deadly sentiments
By iterating with open wounds.
The harm generated by agents
Promising no suzerainty; sent packing; 
Humiliated as if they had been mere human consorts. 
Evil as soon as hindsight named them.
Cunning microbes.
The absurd projections experiment requires.
And to challenge these failures of
Fungibility, we got ecology instead.
How did a toxin engineered at Fort Detrick,
To kill an undetermined enemy,
And cryogenically sealed, end up 
In the tissues of wild Manchurian dogs?
Einstein/Podolsky/Rosen? That’s a joke.
Define enemy and then, for fuck sake,
Read the first few stanzas and try again. 

Once Galileo determined 
The earth moved about the sun.
The sun resolved to embrace 
G.’s own discovery and poison him. 
Ethically, that’s the way the academy 
And the sun-block industry has left it.
Professional shade makers advertise, “We know the threat 
From sunlight is here now; we created it.”
But, as Husserl found, it’s too late to assess blame,
Not only because its their neck, 
But because it threatens the way they do scientia. “I may have 
Flawed intelligence but not a flawed methodology.”
And if Galileo is not guilty, 
How boorish that Niccolo, Ivy and Edward should be. 
Naturally, the pay off for being right 
          Is wild dandelion
With boosted ranch dressing; all
         Within sight of extinction.
The final accolade, the collective finger pop 
         Of props from the National Academy of Sciences,
And as quickly, the last inspiration, 
         An “AW FUCK, 
Shock and panic.
A life’s work documented in 600 
         Half masticated Cornish hens 
And dozens of overturned chairs
         Stored in security cameras. 
         And Fame, finding no claimant,
Cuts its price.
The president pardons Ted Kazinsky,
         Then steams off into outer space.

Euclid’s pinions proved no engine of incarnation;
         “Renounced all claims to foundational ontological purpose.”
Yet, the Calculus, mathematization, “the direct echo of which
          One could no longer claim to find in reality.”
Was, nonetheless, to be its evolutionary expression.
         And Leibniz’s “devices for making good estimates”
Gambled away the ontological power of Goethe’s ‘ding an sich’
         And chartered that substantial end time
And distilled a Platonic greed and perfect, 
         Blameless logic for Mammon.
Only the Prologue survived..
         There are no readers to be enlightened.
No readers at all.
         To most its just like before.
But for those who road the tsunami,
         Doppler had not prepared,
And Jerusalem though it captured shards of the drama
         Foamed and Rolled its Eyes back up into its Head. 

Taking into account
         The ratio of success to failure
After 500 years of one dominant paradigm,
         Impunity has steadily accrued 
         To such remarks
As coolly watching Joubert
         Replace the errors 
         Of the common folk 
With the errors 
         Of the professional class,
As Weyerhauser replaces 
         The ‘mighty oak’
With its mathematical substitute—
         The loblolly pine.

Spam still alerts Sweeney 
         His hairline,
Not the tree line,
         Will save the world
As best he can hope 
         To circumscribe it.
         Sans De Doctrina Christiana,
Agonistes can be repaired
         With no incentive
For true contrition enforced
         Beyond the SEC,
Shareholders’ claims, and pity upon
         The bewildered, itinerant poor.
         Evil has been amended
To the ossature of the creature,
         In Harmonium poised
To dismiss the impracticable 
         As the run off of 
         All that is holy. 
Repetition is all that preserves 
        Culture over the prosthetic.
Sex over autopoeisis.
Bacteria over a few thousand carbon atoms
       In a chemical bath.
Proof by Discours de la methode
       That living tissue 
       Can Mach it self up;
Though woven anonymously 
       Can hum a tune every bit
       As mechanical as
A Jacquard loom
       Though borrowed 20 generations til now.
Don’t you get it Rousseau
The ‘natural man’ is corvee
        To Monsanto.
Violins cued? Rosy filter up?
        Working class hero who
But for a Billboard bullet
        Wastes a CEO.

“From Paumanok Starting I Fly like a Bird.”
“[S]oar to sing the idea of all,
         “[A]rctic songs,...” songs of “Kanada in myself,
To Michigan then,/ To Wisconson, Iowa, Minnesota,” 
         “Ohio and Indiana”...”, to Missouri and Kansas and Arkansas...,” et al
         “[T]o sing their songs, they are inimitable;”
Yet not a chirp from that species a-nesting in Wisconsin;
         Nor a whistle, mating call, regional squawk.
Not even chilling teardrops like Messeian
         But ad hoc concordance that studied 
Fraud from back of a buckboard.
         Warned with I said “they (those songs) are inimitable.”
“My ornithology promotes the extinction
         Of what never existed.
A Golden Age muscling out reality itself 
         For some jingle of imagining I call ‘myself,’
And everything is disposed of me.”
         But when the songs are sung,
To death’s castanets, 
         The shudder of night trees,
And all thoughts of force cease knowing
         Day through their night vision goggles.

Men far more dishonest than Whitman
Will, against all living things, in ways “inimitable” to him,
Keep themselves to remain his beneficiaries.
And the young Ginsburg,
         By death born passed regrets,
Mocked the Whitman
         Of empty promises.

“[S]uch ages weave ye, as ye run,"
And in your wake churn some stink of ancient wrong,
“The deep with ships,” weightless scraps in outer space and
“Towns girded with walls,”augur
        Continents buried under megatons of racial prophylasis.
        Such dreams arise from the daily exercise of nightmares.
And “furrows cleave the earth” as sands
        Scorched to furrows cleave.
A second Tiphys shall be there and new wars arise
        And broad Achilles to his shoe Maker 
        Shall have his credit maxed out.
And what Europe had thought the Greeks had thought
        Will have been retailed to the colonials
        Like ozone regards the Euro to the dollar.
Then all things dreary shall be like to like. Engineered 
“In the pens, shall play the ram within himself; 
         Now, without dye, be robed in the soft flush of purple, 
         Now with tint of yellow saffron
While clothed in natural scarlet graze the lambs,”
And the ram bewildered by his blood’s evolving, 
         Marvels as his flock flies to its prey.

What knell awakens us to Eschatology?
         Theology’s hammerless bell? 
Barely audible as a timekeeper’s metaphor where
God strains to be as wrathful
         As chemical exchanges in the atmosphere;
The endtime’s a Twinkie wrapper seeding
         The eternity of planned obsolescence.
A catacomb shucked out of air;
         The gutted bull of Notre Dame;
Writs and stipends to preserve old stones     
         Gossip immortality among themselves.
Order by causal consequence
         Isolated from “disturbing secondary phenomena,”
         From all social consequence.
Sitting in on Feynman’s lectures
          Where the schizophrenic girl
Who gave me a chunk of her Milky Way,
Laced a dozen greasy ringlets of dandelion for infinity
          And stuck the diadem on my head,
Saying Sir, “two marvelous infinities she has offered to men,
          Not to be conceived but to be admired; no more.”          
And burst the chains of QED.
Or Dirac “I cannot neglect infinities in this arbitrary way.”
          Or rat out Brower’s canard of the observer 
                 ‘Supplementing’ the observed
          Without disturbing ‘secondary phenomena.’
As holism in ecology refers to a set of hierarchies.
           The approach to a phenomenon,
Not ever the casteless non-adjectival community. 
           Where is the critique of the ‘idealization of mathematics’
and “the interpretation of these idealizations as objective being?”
           Happily, this late, it is effected no where,
Because just as a barren hillside
           Finds recent expression as the valley floor,
So are the sympathies for the present catastrophe.

Ignore the thin conceit of bees           
           When taking the rudder from Mandeville,
The helmsman drunk at the buzzing oar  
           Anoints the voyage with unconscious depravity.
A cybernaut of perpetual motion
           Where no rudder breaks the reverie.
Yet their sleek machines sound coarse;
           Information theory, cybernetics, systems analysis,
                   Advertizing, public relations, 
                          Operations research and computer science.
Public Vices, Private Gain.
          “Such were the Blessings of that State;
Their Crimes conspired to make 'em Great;...”
          “...Every Part was full of Vice,
So entire the Mass seemed a Paradice;
Flatter'd in Peace, and fear'd in Wars 
They were th'Object of envious Foreigners,
And lavish of their Wealth and Lives,    
Their currency the Ballance of all other Hives...
And Vertue, who with Politicks 
Had exchanged a Thousand cunning Tricks,
Was, by their happy Influence,
Made broth from Vice: And ever since 
[Convinced] the worst of all the Multitude
Did something for the common Good.”

Luxury Employ'd a Million of the Poor,
While NAFTA ignored 100 million more
And odious Pride yet other
Millions Production outsourced to the foreigner.

Money first embraced one world
That labor might follow.
Oh, thou, tangled in meter,
Did you miss that, Fuck?
Empires exhumed and stacked like concrete.
So what if Envy itself, and
Vanity Were Ministers of Industry;
Their darling Folly, Fickleness
In Diet, Furniture, and Dress,
That strange, ridic'lous Vice, was made
The very Wheel, that turn'd the Trade.
Their Laws and Cloaths were equally
Objects of Mutability;

Such ruled the bellies of those who stitched
Or did not succeed by midday that morning’s kitch.
Worse for all intent to endure
Was abandoned at the bureau drawer. 
For every Vice that requires a Trade
There’s a hundred Vices that are by terror paid.
And for what seemed well done for a Time,
Has balloxed the world with a fresh litany of Crimes.

“Yet Merc'ry smiles at My Impudence;
And Others call it want of Sence;”
          The final conflict in flickering fables 

About men and money;
         Not man larger than newspaper type
Morality plays played out by 1932.
Now its no amount of money
           Less than an astronomical parody of zeroes.
So large the bible couldn’t contour them
      To her own enormities.          
The bond between scientific method
And its departure that it failed to contemplate.
         The genesis of an agent.
Did you think the end would be left 
         To something as subjective as sin?
That it would involve faith 
         And the exhilaration of the unexplained?
No, what Kyoto establishes is that
         Extinctions are pedestrian enough without god.
         The Garden, a viper’s pit
Where a second coming would be a mere retrofit. 
Why surprised
             That such a freak of Nature 
             Would turn to its disposal?   
All you anthro-apologists,
             You filthy cunnu-linguists,
             Come out from between diversity.
The jig was up
             Long before wax cylinders 
                     Trapped going up in smoke the incense of its creation.
The best lineage assured us that Nature 
     When she had her passions baptized by reason
             Would mete out consequence for ignorance.
             Justice in visible signs and objects,
Read in blood
             For failure of intellect.
             But reason, that “special case of blind faith,” 
The cause that surrenders all effect,
             Made a guerilla of menses. 
     “Universally” “binding standards of knowledge”...
“The belief [that] propelled the Muslim conquests;
             “...accompanied the crusaders into their bloody battles;
“...[G]uided the discoverers of new continents;
       “...[L]ubricated the guillotine and...
      Now provides fuel for the endless debates 
Of libertarian and/or Marxist defenders of 
           Science , Freedom and Dignity”
With a velocity headier than any conceivable destination.        

Nature slaps away the mailed hand
             Of our knights in shining kevlar; tortoises
With detached retinas, hunkered behind a
             Repository of sand-bagged hours,
Spilled among the cracked vile of their cycle
             Waiting to squeeze off rounds of steel into an iron age.
They die in a QED infinity like the computer generated 
             Motherless fucks in imperialism’s endless Santayana retakes.
But in the original once the danger was sown
             Jason returned a symbolic stone
             And retreated unharmed. 
If you smear an election 
            Of an occupied people
With the media’s immaculate enchantment 
            And a borrowed ritual stink, 
            Terror will be all around; 
            As palpable an olfactory 
As billions of cubic meters of natural gas.
            So the marines hoist scrap made from the first world,
The tortoise shield. The mappemunde.
            And scrap themselves to the underworld.
Their ceremonial quantities of dead...
            Blood libations to the periodic table.
            Their blind faith needing
            A detached retina
That visualizes for them in the dark.
            Ignorance as bland
As the energy required to produce a pound of beef
            For the Homeland;
            KBR SUVs 
            Sailing a few meters above a sea 
                     Of oil.
With an unrequited projection of power.
            Its easy to believe anything
            When a high school dropout,
Who fucked Sally Sue without a condom,
And bullied the homuncular engineer,
Can call in airborne’s vengeful machines,
            Like it was the Second Coming;
            Like it was an extra-large pizza with ‘everything’.

“Whorf! Hands behind your head!” 
             We’ve repositioned our satellites
To chew up the Bedoin with our eighty-eights.
             In confinement you must repeat
Our myriad euphemisms for Freedom---oil, natural gas, titanium, manganese
Our myriad euphemisms for oil---
             Democracy, God, Liberty, Country, Patriotism,
             NASCAR, GM, Love, Faith, Black Gold,
Gusher, Free Market, Progress, Texas Tea,
Free Speech, Free Press, Freedom, Technology et al

             Sonar to our fathoms of terror.
Leagues down, frenzied by a crack in the earth’s crust;
             Adapted to the sulphurs
That we swore were first man’s bondage.

What epistemology?
            What ‘way we know’ dumped us here
            Where the words
Can’t be parsed to attach us? 
            Sure we assembly lined the electronic bone saw
In sequence with the Bouncing Betty.            
            But who knew, Anthony Flew, that
‘Objectivity’ is the locus of the imaginary,
            The rock that shelters a ‘free press’
Over which the day’s shadows crawl.
The object is the canard of the ‘objective,’
            A chemical abidance, 
            Arithmetic’s Object Collection metaphor.
And the canard of the ‘objective’is
            Due to the expediency of experience.
Destroyed was Fallujah by that method, and also Hue;
            By cowardice, expediency and lies renamed
            Freedom, Faith and Technology.
Faith and anointing oil,
            A species rapidly absorbed
Into the epistemology of Christianity.
            “Differences in convictions...are not
Themselves occasioned by differences
            In modes of speech.”
So Kuhn, hands behind your head.
            We won’t tolerate your glib,
Moralistic World Court feints
            Any more than we want to hear about
Biological diversity
            Much less the squared circles 
Of Fibonacci or Locke.
            Kant tried to staunch the ‘true alchemy’,
            “[T]he naive objectivism
[That] has marked the philosophy
            Of the whole modern period.”
But to hell with that monastic head banging. 
All we want is a precis of Nature
            As legal counsel for Imperialist War.
 No one knows what it portends
That even now technological society
            Is in its ‘granularity’ a ‘terra incognita.’
Yet, to know who one embraces...
            That numbers need not be associative
            So that the systems require elaborate metaphor.
Humping ordnance in the dark
            To molt time to its isomorph.
      Reason ex cathedra.   
To build a system where the offspring
            Of the murdered are
No longer concerned about how they died,
            Rows of crosses bartering immortality  
      Into rows of little, toney shops. 
To acknowledge that this error,
      Commutability without context,
            Is an error of novelty, and of some consequence,
And its surd mystery of evil.
            To acknowledge that the universe of matter
Is provisioned with self-delusion, 
            Entity imagining metaphors, 
And the self-interest of the speaker;
            And that “the belief that America
Is the moral leader of the world
            Through modernization
Still sustains
            Even the most banal
And ruthless of our managers,”
            Rumsfeld or Cheney,
Kissinger or McNamara,
           Archived by being.

Unlike Villon with his “Princes...
            Destined all to die”
When chimps are raised up high,
Better to credit legislative consequence.
           Though they be “but living clay”
           More yearning their wind to blow us all away. 
And “as our liberal horizons fade
            In the winter of nihilism,
And as the dominant among us
            See themselves
Within no horizon
            Except their own creating of the world.”
“[T]he pure will to technology
            (Whether personal or public)
More and more gives
            Sole content to that creating.”
“‘The End of Ideology’;
            The closing down of all thinking
Which transcends calculation.”
Husserl’s ‘subject’ burned off like ozone.
            The sum of all hope---
That the roaches will evolve.
“It might seem, then,
           Since we are destined so to be,
We might also be the people
           Best able to comprehend
What it is to be so”
           In “this new-found land
Which is so obviously a “terra incognita.”
           More EC in the Gulf in 90 days
Than DoD put in Europe in 40 years.
           “The very substance of our existing,...
Stands as a barrier
           To any thinking
Which might be able to comprehend technique
           From beyond its own dynamism.”
An infrastructure then can only 
           Signify permanent hegemony.
In such sheer quantity
           The ‘object’ emerges
To confirm expediency.

Nature never cracks under interrogation.
          Pistol whipped, her genitalia fried,
She lies to confirm experiment’s intel;
          Sets up their extinction.
          Hot wires strung across her quim,
She has never sold out a lover
          And on the cold concrete beaten and torn
Given birth to armies of futility.
          Raped, Nature holds her antagonist close,
Pants the secrets, the codes into his ear
          As though entropy had fallen for the dazzling weave
Of the communications engineer.     
          Nature never cracks under interrogation.
As it rips out his jugular liked boiled meat from a chicken bone or
          Thrown from a helicopter
Snatches her tormentor over the side like a valise full
        Of ‘for her eyes only’         
To secrete him under the sea.
“Boake Carter was unschooled 
          And knew practically nothing in depth.”
But he was on the radio observed Edward Bernays.  
Set on humiliating medieval teleology
           “With its substantial forms...”
     Stifling the fungibility of matter,
“Preventing men 
            From observing and understanding
The world as it is”
            Shorn of its perspectival manifolds. 
“Engraved stationery,” a Turing Machine
           Where “nine different letters needed 
Only blanks filled in 
           To answer his fans.”   

           Paradise is a mantle of flame.
What Archangel will braise the backs of bombardiers 
           With jellied gasoline?
           Clark bombed the Serbs
                      And their mines of rare earth
Back to where the liberal environmental establishment,
           For the sake of its centerpiece initiative, declined 
           To certify the world was safe from them.      
So off to the auction block;
           Sold to companies where Clark serves on the board. 

Fuck me, Lord; but is this the catechism of life?
            “Reflection on the praxis of knowledge...
Similar to the reflection carried out by one
            Who works in any other practical sphere of interest,
The kind...expressed in the general propositions of a technology.”         
             A technological mathesis universalis.
Convinced by the bedside manner of a Turing Machine,
  That existence for its manufacture should be traded clean.
“[F]rom mechanical analogy to mathematical analogy.”
At Goettingen, in 1923, the mathematicians 
            Beat Nature like a recalcitrant whore. 
            Von Neumann’s discretion based on games of strategy—
“Roulette, chess, baccarat, black jack, bridge...”
            Gambled away the planet on
            “The principle problem of classical economics:
How is the absolutely selfish ‘homo economicus’
            Going to act
                   Under given external circumstances.”
Tacitus said, “they make a slaughter and call it peace.”
            Japanese radio transmissions decoded,
           “And other sources that the Japanese
                   Were already seeking surrender.”
Eisenhower and Leahy opposed the attack
           And command denied its necessity,
But “the air services interwar bid for independence from the army.”
           Dresden, Tokyo, napalm, LeMay.  
                   Cut to a pressurized cockpit
Rolling thunder 40,000 feet above the Mekong.
            Plus a crucial distinction in weaponry;
A-bomb Radiation, WMD was too subtle,
           Too closely held by Groves and Strauss,
Von Neumann and Byrnes,
To effect an inter-service rivalry.
            And thus it seemed doubtful to Borel
That the natural evolution of a game
            Will approximate the impracticable solution
Of a system of equations that completely describes the game,
            “And, anyway, if it happened,
It is almost certain that” 
            That particular game would be abandoned.
            As Von Neumann’s self-reproducing automata
Retreat from earth to colonize the stars.
Or Robert McNamara, “killing or seriously injuring 1000
            Noncombatants a week while trying to pound a tiny
Backward nation into submission
            On an issue whose merits are hotly disputed...”
Eschewing the kill ratios and the theoretical projections.
            Yet, eschatology finds defeated systems of equations
Employed as complete descriptions, and again
            Iraq gamed for oil, desperate for  the fungibility
To deny liability for ignoring Bohr’s visualization of phenomena.
            It was Von Neumann who “removed the distinction
            Between primary factors and outputs.”
Once you conceive of the universe as one big ego,
            The game gives you no choice
But to take it where its leads you. 
            “And, anyway, if it happened for a particular game,
            It is almost certain that the game would be abandoned...”
But if it happened for war gaming,
            Gaming would be abandoned.

So doesn’t “Ontology, as the science of everything,”
            Make a stronger claim than natural science?
Mussen wir die ganze Sprache durchpflugen?
            In a universe of the monsters “of rigour and precision,”
            With “relations to experience more obscure than ever,” 
            Do we exist without the ‘dignity of self-evidence’?”
How can “human subjectivity constitute the whole world?”
“Constitute it as intentional formation...”
           When “only a partial formation...”
Comprises “the intentionally accomplishing subjectivity.”
           After Kant, how can western subjectivity
Rule the world?

“Fraser says that it is very hard to discover the error in magic”
           Such as Von Neumann’s work in quantum mechanics:
“No measuring instruments...specified 
           For the great majority of observables
And where specification is possible
           It becomes necessary to modify
Well known and unrefuted laws in an arbitrary way.”
          An incantation for rain
Sooner or later appears efficacious.
From Bohr’s dignified visualization
          To Von Neumann’s simulation onward to ‘primitive thought.’

The antediluvian flood retrieves the hull of the ark
          Through ‘transcendental reduction.’
But “Was will Er denn mit der ungeheuren Zeit al anfangen?” 
The epoch of gossip;
          The epoch of the hall of records;
                    And now the epoch of mathematical hearsay,
“[A] science of the forms of meaning
           ‘Of the something’ in general...
Constructed in pure thought, 
           And in empty formal generality.”
           Dumb, inured to Planck’s constant
And 10 dimensions, 
           A manifold fetches, 
           Its tongue thrust between the slats of mathematical discretion;
Drags away in its maw,
           The nave of St. Denis.
Nano-structures’ chemical fizz,
           Poisoning their patrimony;
A Little Big Horn of nature 
                   To hold off extinction.
       Size conjoined to drop     
                   A clot of rotting corpses
       Collecting on the storm drain;
The one nailed like a star against the bars
                   Looks amused,
But its not you.
       “Come back when I crest,
                   And stand right there,” says the Mighty Mississipp.

Mathematics must be, initially,
                  About its own truth;
                  Not ontology.
“The principle instruments induction and analogy”
                  Crawling the kingdom.
Arrogant, gaming the planet.
Ignorant of the mermaid

                    Resolved by observation
And the mathematical mermaid of quanta,
                    Wave/particle, one the other’s antonym
Where no sense is repeated time and again.
         Take the symposium of Gross and Levitt, 
Petulant, arm pits puddling in polyester shirts
         Alerting the world to its extinction.
                 Passing out pink slips to entire phyla.
What Voss called “the precociousness of the Germans;”
         “The childlike old man.” 
                 As though some huckster God, three time loser, 
         Tossed them the keys to the kingdom, his El Dorado,
And said “you know the routine”---
         For the West the only Ontology 
                 That will leave the Buddha state
         Is extinction.
None for sake of quantum paradox 
         Dare call it senseless.
Its all quite great chain to each and 
         Every buffoon in the room. 
“[T]he possibility of major global warming,
         The ozone “hole,” species impoverishment,
Overpopulation and its consequences—are issues
That would be unknown and unknowable
         But for the ‘accomplishments’ of professional science;”
Making John Mandeville come alive,
         And all that metaphysical drivel 
About observation altering reality sound true.
         Someone in the audience laughs 
At the word ‘accomplishments.’
         Coal? Fossil fuel? Nuclear? 
It’s the incumbency’s little ontologies,
         Gaming existence,
         That can’t tell what they kill
Until its unidentifiable as what it was.
         Who knew, though the hype was Thomas More,
The reality was Mandeville’s sideshow.
Who knew that a four eyed frog would be unknown and unknowable
         But for the ‘accomplishments’ of professional science.” 
When it comes to Utopia           
        “Better to throw off the burden of proof
                  And continue to ‘owe’ it.”
        “The belief that the imagination [can] accomplish in one stroke
       What the selection operating through the long nights
Accomplished once and uniquely...
       An illusion.”
“...[A]n illusion engendered by reason.”
        “[T]he idea of free variation” sans contradiction.
The desire for a system
        Both consistent and closed.
That engineer lies with the river;
        Oh, the temptation to fail. 
The revenge motive in modern physics?
Not Hiroshima, but Three Mile Island and Chernobyl. 
        “[T]hat game would be abandoned.”            

The startling applications of
         One’s success at negation;
“The exclusiveness 
         With which the total world-view of modern man,
In the second half of the nineteenth century,
         Let itself be determined by the sciences
And be blinded by the ‘prosperity’ they produced...”
         With relativity and quanta
So that Newton’s reality was ‘only truest’ until Planck.
         That old positivist conjuring
Is just a sweet passive joy.
         An augury that can’t lose
                   Because it can’t win.
Each error in no way dissuades 
                  The fundamental pursuit 
          From again using the method that erred.
The “free variation” of reason being a singularity.
          Joe Campbell; a big sappy tragic Palooka.
“Identifying one’s own gods
         With the gods of other peoples.
         One convinces oneself that the names
                    Have the same meaning.”
         A mathematical product.
“And so the chorus points to a secret law.”
And ‘we have to try to predict and guide development.’”
         Form before fact.
                    Calculation as prophecy.
Dr. Bohr, note how Feynman saw in 1959
                That nano-machines could direct chemical synthesis
Missing only a brave new world of random universal toxicity. 

The mathesis universalis:
          As though historicity hence 
Would have no greater premium to place on conformity.
         The ontology and epistemology of reduction:
“A system...reducible to its parts” &
         “[T]hat knowledge of the parts of a system
Gives knowledge of the whole system...”
         Basic constituents that are discrete and atomistic
With the same basic mechanical processes. 
         With judgement reserved for the priesthood. 
“Will we develop monster technologies
         Before cage technologies,...” 
Who would launch the locomotive 
         Before the Celestials laid the track?
But that’s The Method’s ontology.
         By induction, each highway pit stop, a universal expression
Of Locke’s probity
                    Until in the salts and bacteria,
         The elegance of the matter,
The initial impulse is forgotten.
         The superiority of Locke’s use
Confirmed in the transformations to what’s
         Standing, neon-lit, with indoor plumbing before you now;
XXX Satellite; air conditioned; pool; condoms in the can.
         The rest stop is part of the better life,
On the way to a better life, and a job in Pasadena.

O the great power of incumbency;
         Hoarding disaster.
Jury-rigging the unified field.
         At the mirror
               Hanging the stars  
                       Over the flesh;
        The paralytic bits of progress
Issuing in chorus
              Shaping principles.
Water seeking the lowest level
         Doesn’t mean its trying to stay out of the way.
To nickname its mechanical uses
              As the Way to Power,
And to relegate Tao to management seminars.
Joyce’s gossip flint flaked myth.
         By babbling brooked stone.
Naturally there is no uncut block
                  And what kind of hod is your navel?
By working, utility has a lock 
          On the way the world works.
Even as the way the world is said to ‘work,’
          Is not the way the world is known to be.
“[T]he faith that the suitable naming of things
Will suspend the enmity between them and man.”
          A trope so immense;
So early catalogued;
It may now be destiny.

Tiphys triggered extinction and Homers
Hired scribes to sit down and dry dock the epics.
         Gasping fish ghosted Odysseus’s autobiography.
“...[W]hat is one supposed to write 
         For a people that is indifferent to 
                To the grandest of all poems?” Voss mewed.
Until the Ezralite answers, “Lie quiet Divas.” And whose Sordello? 
         Has the world always been
         The way it now threatens to become
When the Enlightenment waited 400 years
         For such simple distinctions of persona?
The membranes of stars
                    Filled with gases that pop 
         And pin-wheel into radio.
The geodesy in libraries.
If the stars had been Homers’
         When London factories and homes
Burned coal,
         What theoretical gossip would account 
For the celestials’ eclipse?
         The stars became countrified
         Through an arbitrary sequence of philological interpretations.
And even without Gross and Levitt’s tool box tutelage,
         All of London knew why.
Still history is mortared with interpretative error.
         Ontologies with their conflicting claims
                   Of eternal utility
Customarily pictured as roaring bonfires
          On a starlit beach,
Beacons as cold as home
          Through a sextant.
          Another set of omens.
A method beginning in matter;
          Carefully harvested complexity.
“What you do when you do science
          Is not simulate observational variance
But to build experimental environments
           In which you can strip off 
                  As many of the interacting factors as possible
And study them one by one.”
           But what you have in naturally occurring environments 
Is seen by positivism as more cumbersome than experiment.
           And the chasm is flooded with 
           The deficit of Tiphys.
The inevitable has its metaphor and denouement in consumption; 
           In Mercury; in Hermes;
In thievery and luxury. 
Fulfilling ancient predictions in compelling magnitude.
           Long forgotten opprobriums,
           And the roots of conflict
Were subtly dispatched
           By methodology. Heinrich Scholz wrote:
“[Aristotelianism] (cock sure) perished as a result of its positivism.”
           So that positivism, shaken by the fate of the Greek, 
           Set out to assure its authority 
In conquest, mathematization, quantification
           So destructive as to earn imperial fiat.
           Utile by the perishing of parts.
           While Goethe and Wordsworth shrank
           To Adamses of overwrought edens
Against Ockham’s Bauhaus of Newton & Galileo.
           The clean lines of a table leg to work the world down to.
Homer became less plausible than the daytime soaps:
           “...No sweet sleep fell on her lids til he    
           Had finished his story.”
You mean to tell me
           That a Machiavellian like Odysseus,
Oral tradition or no, 
           Recounted for Penelope, Circe’s fellatio? 
Another rosy-fingered dawn
       With a store of Eve’s red delicious in the hold.
The aroma of apples were fruit enough for John Mandeville’s others.
It was understood that intentionality circumscribed a breach.
       Like Oppenheimer later,
       Waiting for the weather to clear
                   Or an increase in the Weather Service’s budget
So they could blast flashing from the model’s manifolds.
      Since sail, something was uncharacteristic about Jason’s quarantine.
      The catch was big enough to franchise. 
“Goethe came and shook my hand
                  And thanked me for such a Homer.”
Jason put up his nets;
Took up the lyre.
      Tiphys drilled his sea legs behind the war college.     
So much ox blood on our swords and
      So many puddings on our plates,
                 We forgot who to sacrifice to.
      When Hermes proposed commerce,
To brutes like us it seemed a most commodious sin.
      The copy read “Back to the Garden by Barter.”
After just one voyage there was 
      The scent of apple blossoms on Sardinia and
      The whores smelled just like home.
And quietly, yet profoundly the sea’s sandy bottom
      Dried up at its antipode.
And the sand ran to remember
To forget the water clock..

No destination but buttermilk
          From the teat of labor!
Where’s the evil in that? 
The tide came in and we slipped off
         At its beckoning
Insistent waves like the crowds
         That won’t take ‘No’
From a modest, unassuming fly boy hero.
         We slipped off onto the mosh pit sea.
         The ‘other’ was about to undergo a change. 
Jason had that old time religion 
         But several of us brought our stores
And soon it seemed
         The machine of God had worn out its bearings,
So that the ‘semblance of absolute truth,
Seemed nothing but the’ verses of absolute bores.
         We masked our terror
         In tonics,
One of us being an apothecary;
         A drug dealer christened Elixir.
So Tiphys, helmsman and deckhand,
         And Jason the captain howling,
Aren’t to blame
         For the screeching halt of our world,
Or that dried out peel, the Argos
         That carried shrunken apples, augmented bodies
                   And pharmaceuticals to other shores;
Worse than a malady seeking a host.
         The sextant won’t give bearings
For the ontology of all things,
                  Nor the waves tarmac,
         Where everything lost sets down.
Who knew the place may be wrong and
         We in that place a poison.
We had to shit so
The intelligence was ignored,
         It’s miraculous that Tiphys was tipped off
                    To the end of the world. 
For Descartes its defects have to play out
        On the Southeast Asian Peninsula
Or endlessly rock the cradle of civilization.
        And its addictions must be denied
So gamed ‘truth’ can land
        With the thud of gravity 
Within our range of senses.         

“The punishment they inflicted on non-human nature,
          They had first inflicted on themselves.”
The Vienna Circle wiped out myth with a 
          “final assignment of predicates”
But the laws of nature morphed 
                  And method became the aether of eternity;
          The lynchpin of error. 
          And error accounting for progress;
The only thing outside the bubble.
The narrative of a utopia of prosthetics.
         So we arrive at truth too late to rule out
         Osiander’s eschatology of objectlessness
                                             As just a scare tactic.
And who can say he was wrong
         When Melanchthon thought man would misplace  
                     His talc for misery
If the Canon appropriated the Sun.
         Or Bruno’s fuming his way to the stars
At the camp followers who plot starlight’s alien visitations.
Those who “found out how to disturb the peace of others, [anthropology]
To profane the guardian spirits of their countries, [evangelism]
To mix what prudent nature separated, [genetics]
To redouble men’s wants by commerce, [transnational corporations & advertising]
To add the vices of one people to another, [pornography and drugs]
To propagate new follies by force [invasion]
And set up unheard of lunacies where they did not exist before, [American culture]
and finally to give out the stronger as the wiser. [Engineering, Science & the Military-industrial complex]   
They have shown men new ways, new instruments, and new arts by which to tyrannize over and assassinate one another. [strategic hamlets, semtex, sarin gas, psychological torture, magnetic pulse, nuclear weapons]

Thanks to such deeds, a time will come when the other peoples,
Having learned from the injuries they suffered,
Will know how and will be able, as circumstances change, 
To pay back us, in similar forms or worse ones, 
The consequence of these pernicious inventions.”[9/11]

Nor to mount to the heavens, 
Pass through the outermost circle of the stars,
And leave the convex firmament behind
           For a toll.
Has that much been lost to the imagination
           That throw weight is the way Bruno 
                    Will finally be vindicated?
TV trays at La Cena de le Ceneri? 
Do you believe ‘a savage dies because of error?’
          Because Wall Street’s vaccine was
Not available to him.
          “Frazier is much more savage than...his savages,
For they are not as far removed from the understanding of a spiritual matter,”
          As a spiritual matter.
The ‘dignity of self-evidence’, 
          A design flaw ironed out by Leibniz just in time for Auschwitz.

If science was to be dissuaded, it was there,
         At little armageddon where the ‘greater’ ontology 
                   Could have refused to pick up again,
Where filthy, squat in the rubble with
        Those that like Diogenes tried to back
Out of their original skin.
        To rub off what had been ordained,
        Confess their mistake and
Brush off the ashes of Alexander the Great,
        Who proved to be light as a feather.
                   Yes, a feather.
An object lesson
        Concerning the stated difficulty of secession.
Blowback from one whom
        We imagine would exude enormous thrust.

And during the battle, Sinope, hiding in the rafters,
        Got covered in the shit of hysterical birds.
Rich in nutrients
                  It sustained him throughout the entire war.
         “Better than Patria,” he sqawked.

“And tastier than Jesu.
           I possess the strength of a hundred Alexandrews.”    
                     While the Great One ended up looking like 
          A ragged squeeze box wheezing with fever,
          That less than an ant could drag to the pyre.
The Small One said, “Guano! I’m too big for my tunic, 
          And my tunic was my Big Top.
I can scratch and rub myself to swell into an ICBM but
I can’t back into Tiphys’ bones
          Until we fight foreign wars to lose.”
          No reply from the weary troops.
“Alexandrew’s dead.
Where the fuck is my tub?”
All from a book so designed
          That Alexander is mentioned just twice,
And Diogenes not at all.   

Even now technological society
            Is in detail a terra incognita.
So Nitze and Rickover,
           Jacta est alia.
And Cicero introduced ‘individuum’
           As a translation for ‘atomon.’
When it is thought, it becomes mortal.
And Odyssean Bayes, that old idealism that
           Assumes we can assume
           At the discretion of the individual.
No man, “in the least constrained 
           As to the confirmational significance 
           Attached to any given piece of evidence;” 
What Reichenbach called “psychology”
           Where in Popper the probability of novelty is high,
           And in Lakatos the probability of novelty is low.
Where mathematics knocks the flashing
          That butterflies the engineers’ die.
“For in mathematical praxis
          We attain what is denied in empirical praxis:”
“Ideal shapes in absolute identity” or Virtue, &
          Justification against the infidel.
Bayes hand out like Adam pr(p/q)=pr(p&q)    pr(q).
          Every theoretical approach has its Genesis,
                       Its Big Bang, its prior probability.
Its zero that somehow subsequent theory obviates.
          “But the atom has been split
                       And the integrity of the individual undermined...”
Within “the tutelary expertise of the modern state.”
          “The atom staat...the final technocracy...
The reification of the machine.”
With fads as constant reminders of our mortality.
           “Its’ hot.”---
Until its not,
          Them Madison Avenue morticians explained.

          Properties qua property.
          A godhead with legions “of absolutely identical
And methodically, univocally, determinable qualities.”
          Idealizations carried out “in univocal determinateness [and]
The pure idealities that correspond to them.”
          Da Vinci’s “evil nature of man”
Obscured by the idealizations of the angels of production.
          The simpler shapes to which western man conforms
And just enough precision to ape some process in nature.
           “Empty formal generality”
By virtue of its hidden transformation;
            Its chowder of living protein.
That progress is a way of refinancing intellectual debt.
            The situation so absurd
                   That epistemologically there was a genesis of the dugong.   
The mermaid, woman and fish;
             “Wave-particle” or Minkowki’s “space-time” and
“mathematical calculations and predictions, much like those
             Generated by the” mermaid
Before Europeans discovered the dugong. 
             That illusion borne in the timelessness 
Of the conversion;
            A quantum of the quality of data;
And the compost of data from 
           Which the terms and conditions 
Of life and death are derived gli umidi.
           Therefore, except for whale-like ejaculations,
           “They shot not the nursing mermaid for sport or meat.”
Our great discoverers, pantaloons pooled at there ankles,
           Jacking off at the sight of marine mammals
Speaks to the ingenuity of the Knights of Columbus.
                  Oddly Chico, counting as “pair a ducks”
Or Wittgenstein’s rabbit just ducky.
           So “What’s more confident than water
           That makes way for Diogenes’ who bathes in his roof?”
Its calculation and spirit of compromise?
           “Hence...coincidence must be produced by some cause,
            And”, after the illusion has been performed,
“A cause can be assigned.”
            For among philosophers,
The poorest hygiene 
            Went to The Dog. 

All this shit about being ill-equipped;
            About methods lost;
                    Alternatives extinct
                              Don’t matter at all.
           ‘Solutions’ is idiomatic of properties
And we got properties and their flacks.
No short pants German Boy Scout’s 
            Going to yodel back the original ontology
            From a bluff in the Black Forest;
Not even if the text bleeds from his pours
            In the last language
That refuses to medicate its last mendicant.
 Not now that the physicist has been miked
And directed to the applause sign and
            And begun to shift and squeak in his leather chair,
Gurgling ex cathedra on ‘scientific progress’,
            Calmly picking apart alarms by straw men,
As though he was still en route from the forest floor.
            That nervous chuckle of detached sobriety,
Folding his hands and sneaking a whiff
            Of his wet and shining knuckles on camera,
Longing gesture to his salt origins
            Ruled in as Cartesian signs,
The aroma nearly brings a tear
           Behind his flounder’s mask
                    With its wrinkled focused brow.
Taken back, and aback.
Now, let’s hear the fizz of your planetary bromide.
 Experiment drowned
Parmenides in the Heraclitus.
                   Change accommodated permanence badly.
      Medicine selling futures to immortality.
The music of the spheres
                       In the swing time of entropy;
Pythagoras in Formalist Mathematics;
                       God to Biology;
            Bach to Berio;
Until Tiphys the imperial slaver,
           Bobbed up under the antipodes
      Registering as both particle and wave;
                        As observational mermaid.
           Not a conceit but a compression.
A way of teasing out 
                       The wreckage of epistemology
           By amplification
Rather than forensics. 
           Godless Irresolution. Sonar
           That bursts the ear drums of whales
That The Method, bless its progressive heart, did not detect,
              Ergo was not at fault.

Why doesn’t the Sierra Club
            Burn down the National Academy of Sciences?
Why doesn’t Human Rights Watch
            Set fire to MIT?  
The nearer a unified field
            The larger the deficit.
      The further the exploration;
            The closer the apocalypse.
      The larger the number,
            The leaner the constituency.
The keener the mathematical experience,
      The fuzzier ordinary experience.
“[T]he formalism does not permit
            A well defined classical state.”
But if you are dead set on continuing,
            It has been arranged.
“Currently humans consume 
            20% more natural resources
            Than the earth can produce.” 
            But “Except [for] the success of theory
         In ontic scientific explanation”
“There is no reason at all 
             To think
                   Anything occurrent”
Should live forever.
         And naturally, entropy doesn’t merit 
         The old moral feasance 
         That dances in Dante’s eternity.
Science parked all that scrap 
         Anthropomorphism in heaven
While trying to smelt the keys into gold.
The computer wags at MIT said,
           When language is just out of reach of its object,
                  Art flourishes.
But the condition of numbers
           Is that an anomaly
Cannot determine its ontology.
           Therefore the solution     
To language’s deficit simply awaits computation.
           The rain slicks hung in the foyer
                  Over the radiators.
           There was a war on.
There was beer and Friday evening melodramas
                  And serialized salvation. 
The black Buick beating the train to the crossing.
          The handsome hero outrunning the explosion’s fireball. 
                  The small group of maverick clinicians
                  Discovering the vaccine in the nick of time.
The locomotive’s brakes squealing down the ratios of Zeno
          To stop at microscopic tolerances from the School Bus.
The disgraced airmen finding redemption in pulling his craft up
          At the very crown of the earth’s atmosphere.
Movies that, in the context of HUAC,
          Were more satisfying, more easily democratized than Shakespeare.
A replica of Time stood impassive
                             In a glass case at the end of the hall.
Fags and cokes were free
                 Except to the enlisted men.
The perimeter was guarded by the inferior races
           Who were plucked and used in experiment.
Yet, after billions in other people’s cash, comprehensive testing,
            And close analysis of millions of screams
There remained the narrowest seam between,
            The deer in the headlights and its model.
A span of pearly atoms
            That only the clinicians purest angstroms could detect.
Enough that, though statistically
            The response of the naked eye was a wash,
Soon after, the respondent developed a fever, 
            Lesions and a wracking cough
Never seen in pure melodrama before.
            Failure prompted central command
To recoup its losses and pay a dividend by 
                    Declaring it pure artifice,
Just out of reach of its object,
           And rushed it into production.
And like art, its effect upon the user was subjective
           For heretofore no one credited ‘language’,
Except perhaps Homer, Joyce and Shakespeare
           With making the respondent feverish
And bleed from his ears.     

Methought it shamefull he had no volume of Donne,
           Yet a full half dozen of O’Hara 
           And another five of Berryman. 
Thousands of movies were in the can
            But the picture of consciousness had been wrong.
“Understanding itself is a state which is the source of the correct use.”
            But with Descartes “every finite existence
                     Except the human mind”—consciousness—
      “Is a mere machine, which men,...
                     Can manipulate without scruples.”
            Better Adams than god had made.
“Not as essentially corrupt but as having the duty to create...”
       Present to the ubiquity of ‘creation’ as corruption itself;
A prelapsarian trope “[i.e. to understand nature scientifically]”
            Was again “to call creatures by their true names.”
“...[W]hen men act as to transform their environment...”
            Nature binds them
To what they never intended to do.
      Again mitigation only man
                     Is prepared to afford himself;
How utterly base is consciousness. 
“The fact that the West has never been...committed
      To...the maintenance and preservation of the world around him...”
Except in formaldehyde.    

         But for now the rubble remains there in the darkness.
That’s how it embodies the deficit;
             Closes the deficit
To a whisper
             But runs up against
The tolerances of Zeno
             Squealing like bad bearings.
The metaphors hum a frictionless and perpetual motion,
            But that’s wrong.
The comedians get serious and joke
            About the pratfall we will take
But don’t know when it will come.
            Lousy alarums.
The duck and cover of the daily news.
This could go on forever,
            One, two steps ahead of disaster,
Plenty of drama
            And serial salvations.
Beating the train to the crossing.
            Outrunning the explosion’s fireball. 
                       Discovering the vaccine in the nick of time.
Pulling the craft up
            At the crown of the earth’s atmosphere.
So where’s the adrenaline 
            In driving the hydrogen car 
            To the paperless office
But for watching the movie on plasma TV?   

“In the field of utopia...
       Better to throw off the burden of proof
            And continue to ‘owe’ it.”
Abandon the claim as its productions 
            Prove murderous in all but intent.
To name the objects of their creation
           Was the scriptural moment for the scientists.
A test of their descriptive powers
             (The quark, The Super, the ENIAC, the Internet) 
Without the constraints of causal narrative.
            Consoled by the kulturnamen of advertisers and poets
Against Osiander’s eschatology of elimination.
“[T]o every T in the latter there corresponds a T in the former.”
             To proceed without either
Is to be run off the road
             By jealous spirits;
To live as though the internal and the external 
             Are categorically the different.
The naturalists confirmed that discovery
             Need not be ‘a bringing into being,’
                       Tiny bangs of existens.
Tagging nature like a morgue
            As the toom ark to Mars counts down.

Or that there exists a false distinction
           That we will call “either side of emptiness;”
           Rejecting Wittgenstein’s “evolutionary hypothesis,”
Laws “by means of the schema of a religious ceremony”
          The reductionists became our scholasts.
“The concept of perspicuous representation” is power.
          It controls the shape of our representation,
                 “The way we [can] see things.”
“A ‘World View’...typical of our time.”  
          The experimenter’s paper mastiff.
Batons of findings raining down
                   On shivering, anxious hoi poloi. 
             Descartes, hanging on Aquinas,
Standing on Aristotle’s hem,
             Expose the crude phalli of David and Goliath,
                                                        As semitic folk art and anecdote,
While marble Davids after marble Davids contend with marble Davids
             Laying depth charges with their Nobels.

Don’t run on, disappointed that mortals have made another capture.
             As much as formalization is amnesiac,
As much as it crosses over,
             As much as it trolls for irreducibles,
                         There is still entropy.  
Inspectors rush from vessel to vessel,
      Hold to hold,
              Canister to canister
To award the old ontology;
              To detect the old allatonce
Out there sizzling in the past
      While half the cosmos sits in dry dock.

Who walks into the open manhole with Negative Dialectics?
       Yet how many have stared out 
       From the sewer of their being 
                       With Von Neumann and Morgenstern.
We don’t know the sages 
       Who do schtick neck high in our own blood?
       The first third of Dante should have been utterly rejected by now
In the Utopia of Espresso Makers. 

The theoretical engines are little held to account.
        The defiant impulses that consumed the planet
To form the liberty of observation, are little held to account.
        Where god intended all, Descartes, being better than god,
Intended only the good
        Raising up his corpus of failure.
So many dead, they back up and mill in camps
        And become objects of exploitation.
Hang on the fences like scraps of plastic and become incomes.
------, Sage of Commerce.
           Despite the gags and corny dialogue, sages
                    Are industrious ontologists;
Even the naturals; and this is too much heft.
But if you rest your head
           On a bag of Alexander’s feathers
                    That’s Morpheus editing CNN in your head with
Total authorized access to the archives.
              Those bars of music
Sound is blown against.
     Where there used to be homage, 
                    Now nostalgia..
When the mastiff did not glance
            At tomorrow’s absolute tribute,
Perfect to hear
            Those scraps that jitter bug into the fence.
The music of the spheres
                       In the swingtime of entropy;
Tiphys splitting the antipodes
      As both particle and wave.
            Not a conceit but a compression.
A way of teasing out 
                       The wreckage of epistemology
             By amplification
Rather than forensics. Sonar
             That bursts the ear drums of whales
That The Method cannot find.
            The nearer a unified field
            The larger the deficit.
      The further the exploration;
            The closer the apocalypse.
But if you are dead set on it,
      It has been arranged.
            “Except [for] the success of theory
         In ontic scientific explanation”
“There is no reason at all 
             To think
                   Anything occurrent”
Will live forever.

The computer wags at MIT used to say,
           When language was just out of reach of its object,
                  Art flourished.
But the laxative of numbers
Is all coming back to me now,
      And though I hate
               Even god can’t assign me an arsenal.
Hell won’t read us its intent.
Since electricity powerlessness is silence, peace.
        No appeals. Just back to every insects
Evolutionary power pack.
        So we can hear the ontology. Sense it.
The horror of salvation.

There’s been a jester’s calvary
         Made of the whole.
A discipleship that fails to understand
         That the negation is not selective.
You’re a vein and it’s a slash
                  Across you,
That when done right is a single cello’s tock.
         Don’t make powerlessness a misdemeanor
By imagining you’re in the aura of Penderecki
         Keeping your neighbors up all night
With cries from Auschwitz.

Go quietly.
         Crawl into the roadway.
With the half of your face left retaining
         Those average good looks,
Catch the headlights
         That are glancing off into the jungle 
To avoid you.
         Be happy in the ravine with the others.
Sing for those of your species you nourish.
         Don’t ask them.
They will tell you what to sing from
        Their litany of things.
Which raw material is possessed of which properties.
        You don’t have to ask them
For them to sell you what to sing.

The apocalypse is reflexive.
          No change in method is needed for its denouement. 
The check on his sneakers made him a marked man. 
         And it was his logos
         Belly up where the rubber meets the road,
The police said a victim of a rival gang.
                  But his head looked popped by an enormous thumb.

Half the household wants to move.
The other half feels it has finally arrived.
When the exception’s right
                  It improves the rule.
Is that Popper’s happy anecdote?
Face down on the macadamy where Mercury
Circles Troy displaying his most durable commodities.

Tutankhamen awoke to Ra reaching 
Through a  ragged dentation of battered stone.
No bath drawn, no shit pot, no oils.
No servants, no taster, no pressed robes,
The pomegranate and apricots spoiled.
No room service, no door man, no concierge.
No chauffeur much less a fleet of ships.
Had the cosmos overslept?

No. All his treasures had been stolen
And if Tut wanted to see ’em
He’d have to hop the subway 
To the Metropolitan Museum.