A femtosecond rendering of an uncanny head; smiling, like a mischievous
20-year old Ernesto Guevara. Hair vantablack; long at the top, left side, and back — right side barren, ersatz follicles no longer work;
here, a meta-ink embed reads:
a writer takes its pen
to write the words again
that all in love is fair
Eyes as black as his hair, they’ve the sparkle of knowing and unknowing.
A small Soneto de las Estrellas inked below his left earlobe….
Words from the past are often met with resistance and irony. Are words from the future any more valuable? Did Barron Trump III deserve the Nobel Peace Prize? When was the last time that I saw a flower? …
Towers fell and up flew
A drone, Herzog ersatz, shot the collapse.
No more blue pulsar impressions.
The staff chilled Hope in their icebox
(The most desired reply).
Instruments probed cold, vast, void;
Crashed and carved unknown pleasures.
We missed the cosmic bus,
Delayed by stale supremacies;
Old rotten tensions gave way
To anemic celebrations
Of bubbly-worthy star gazers…
In Another Time-Slice,
Arecibo collected aural debris —
Never San Salvador; always Guanahani…
We’ll weave neural simulacra,
And dull the pain of conquest.
This encryption is from a non-human source.
Cayeron las torres
& todo es metáfora & lloripari,
Precariedad & abandono. …
I bought this game a few weeks ago. It’s sprawling and poetic beauty, set during the Mongolian Invasions of Japan, compelled me to collect — and publish — some haikus I’ve written, using the constraints set by the Kurosawa-esque game. These poems are not created from scratch. When the hero finds a suitable spot for inspiration — usually a circular floor matt and some writing utensils — he sits. Hauntingly beautiful music is triggered*, a topic is given, and the game generates 9 verses. The player chooses 3 to compose the piece. …