“Like an infant that has not yet smiled. I droop and drift, as though I belonged nowhere. All men have enough and to spare; I alone seem to have lost everything. Mine is indeed the mind of a very idiot, So dull am I. The world is full of people that shine; I alone am dark. They look lively and self assured; I alone, depressed. I seem unsettled as the ocean; Blown adrift, never brought to a stop. All men can be put to some use; I alone am intractable and boorish. But wherein I most am different from men Is that I prize no sustenance that comes not from the Mother’s breast.” -Tao Te Ching, Chapter 20–
Propaganda, perhaps not only in inverted totalitarianism, follows a dialectic. This may be because language itself follows a dialectic, and propaganda is the language of power. It is a language in the sense that it is a narrative. The narrative is also instilled immediately into the subject’s brain through a process of indoctrination. Thus the absorption of propaganda is not unlike the way a language is acquired. As a culture would be acquired with a language; as a subject of the nation-state, so too does one acquire its language of power.
Note: (1) Inverted totalitarianism is a form of grassroots totalitarianism where power originates from the ground up as in the oedipal family unit. (2) The oedipal family unit is a family grouping with sex repression functioning as a form of power formation, ultimately patriarchal, which formulates power as a privilege of ownership and authority; dependent on the atomization and inequality of family members effectively fractured by the State, and forced to sell their alienated labor, taking the form of an ideology of becoming “self-sufficient,” i.e. taking a spouse and reproducing this cell of authoritarianism being at the root of a so-called oedipal conflict.
We were born into this– toils of tangled gods’ maws gnawing us raw as we wiggle and crawl on top of each other like fish out of water.
Nothing sprouts from our barren faces no eyes to cry, no mouth to shout and wail as the gods’ acid spit flays us alive, naked red ready for an eternity of their vicious brute bites.
Shrieks of pain caged inside our larynxes eat us from within; our blood and self chewed and churned to nothingness whilst outside, our bones and flesh crushed and burned into disfigured mash.
Then the gods feed on the juice their teeth have squeezed out of every fiber of our meat. our blood and tears, bittersweet with the futile hatred for them we bleed A gory feast that goes on for eternity.
Then here we are— a mammoth mush of battered bodies and dismembered hands, feet wrenched dry of any humanity Our gods’ grisly feat.
But we don’t die like free men do in this teethed pit of spit and bodily goo. That’s how these gods torture you. We bud again from our broken bits to be bitten and chewed anew.
Overthrowing Fists
Part 1 : LakePonder
Soldier of self-abuse, Used by the frog chieftain among frogs in the lake, ripples made; on the silver sheen of the surface like gunmetal burn subtle the souls of brutes in battles of lakeside, while a frog jumps in, & swim to the middle
The size of the waves looked like a knife used to cut off the legs Only dead rot the amphibians and frog chief wouldn’t care less Generations of the gentle creatures had become foam in the belly of a monstrous crocodile. Lines of each individual’s freedom crossed Captain frog head in the clouds fogged Thought everything can be bought like a boss Sought he not in his own frog’s belly and ask what’s lost
Contemplation half-way jumped the crocs at the entire army of frogs till chieftain realized some thing cannot be bought. What violations of serenity in a pond where green was once the color of life, yet too many green frogs suffocate the very life out from under yourself, and an infinity of soul-crushing soldiers as frogs would never be enough, to squash our freedom-loving struggle, this blood-thirsty ignorance shall see nationwide reverse. . .
Converse the universe of brutality in the heads of frogs with weapons in lake pristine near those mountain ranges by the river of life Till all their thoughts flow out in the open water defenseless yet serene The mountains reflected in the sharp knife of the lake upside down became jagged rows of the dictatorship Commander lost-marble gave out command : lunatic fickle in the face of religious label; brutally, heads penetrated by fire metals in concrete jungle, yet army-owned news on TV one-sided fabled
Rainforest tropical from the south to the west up the ranges to the north till we go east and also in the middle : said playful otters to each other. . going further, frogs know not better; for the rightfulness of mind and act is best together
ii
Strategize, neutralize damage in water, otters scattered networks of defensive & offensive packs in the lake green shore, though it not clean leading foul water to the middle yet if need be there could always be battles, settle differences and all unjust acts through the right tactics rather than might mad click of metal amid misery
Misery, like the kind hovering over mass graves, a bloody massacre of their green bodies ripped to shreds in a bloodlust rage of the crocs; Hushed not by his own FrogConscience, general power-thirstFrog fat flat sat on his butt yet let the other frogs rat-tat-tat-tat. . . met croc the brute mess not in water made foul so oiled-skinned otters pack up yet fatso FrogChiefGenerals led by TheUnscrupulousGeneral, Ruthless. .
were days on end, not only this cycle that fattened the stomachs of a regime gone blood-blind; but so too to accuse electedButterflies of fraud on baseless blunt cockiness, O. . . . FrogGeneral wanna-eat-power, voracious. . moral fibers & every molecule lifeless in shamelessness.
Only problem was with this characterization of butterflies, numb-nuts and the full power of its propaganda machine was goin’ around sayin’ they were actually Death-head moths. See the thing about that is every single fucking creature on the planet especially anarchist frogs or at least the common peace loving people have goddamn fucking eyeballs.
Yet to make brutes see beauty in truth ain’t always been smooth; nonetheless, sight we have not even though no one’s life’s futureproof? “Exterminate all the brutes,” has always been a common maxim among the ruling class box of tools,
and “do we not see cruelty with every creature?” should be asked often to ourselves if we ain’t fool : said the FrogChief to his army An army’s an army. Hence all the world must bow to our own conception of human nature.
Right, human nature. . . what do you think of us, peculiar savage nature : ChieftainFrog retorted unnurtured The untutored, the unwashed, Bags of theft-cash packed FrogChieftain thought he might have left, swag yet croc & otters ain’t done having frog-snacks soft splash in between jaws raw fat exploded, oily mouthwash
in There was the Lake, how to fight against its swelling waters in the monsoon As frogChief panic, butterflies in its stomach one thoughtless traitorFrogSoldier gave an unexpected bullet penetrated the Chieftain’s right temple through left, putting the GreedyGeneral to eternal rest. . . . Hush. . .
billions of lifeforms sprung up in a rainbow formation. We are the regiment for Life. We shall be taking over now, dear sweet corrupted General, how sad.
ripped and swallowed, numerous frogs in serene water near many rocks, advanced otters & croc, met not chieftain for he marbles lost and hop. . . hop. . hop. Till he on his deathbed will he stop . . . . Aye. . . what the fuck the deceased gon be if he still hop not sleep stop? : asked a loco mob
Frenzied like the monsoon waters, Nah. . . Chieftain exported byRussianMobAs toastedAmphibian to ChinoShop : said a RedMofoLunaticBliss at the bus stop. Awaiting a signal like them trains which always run on time in Western Fascisms, Panic ensued GreenFrogChief then got swept away by his own greed to leave no print in the sands of time; Organized otters, however, glide with ease even in filthy water
dark green polluted by dead frogs and found themselves exhausted; flock above the lake were famished vultures, occasionally snacked down along shoreline of lake on dead frogs ‘fore they rot, or just when they’re rot enough as the birds’ snacks in filthy water broth.
TO BE CONTINUED IN DISPATCHES FROM HEURISTIC HALO PRESS #8!
Cult of a Colonialism called “Liberty”
Our life is your entertainment, we are the lumpenproletariat. We are the refugees of endless wars, we are the rent paid to your mortgages. We are the disempowered statistics, we are “we the people” with an asterisk, Human in quotation marks. We are the loose change donated that relieves Protestants of guilt, we are the infinitude of suffering on display at a never-ending protest. We are the bums of global capitalism. We only ever get heard after we’re gone, After the illegal operation wasn’t explosive anymore & got declassified,— we’re the ones who didn’t get a memorial after we were bombed, we are the ones who you refused to say even got bombed. We are the refugees of the bomb, of our circumcised peace movement, Of executed civilians who are terrorists Because we don’t have a State. I am a refugee of your State, O Lady Columbia, you cult! And what else is a cult, but a conspiracy? Ms. Columbia, you greatest of conspiracies; Stealing the land right out from under Life’s nose, With the ideology of a war machine from overseas!
When a throbbing fear invades my mind, Roses of divine, in time, bestowed thorny rhymes; Structures like a shell spiraled, Deconstructive at sea viral Waves of the hand, pearly nets Though stormy the fisherman drag A lone crab. Jellyfish sparkle at sea deep, no hurdle. . .
for a sun blooming red above the twinkling sea. Dark blue dotted by colorful diamonds framed by the sky, free in the times before history began, a value higher than currency, truth be not in part of nurturing minds; the mightier, legendary? Textbook hypocrisy or red book theory!
All text is a double value, memorization is indoctrination, theories are statues made of the once living. Who could force the youth to conform, and all their hopes and dreams, on an exam, on the tyranny of social status, be based upon? As in a harp played by a lady in Bagan, strings don’t begin to make mellifluousness unless struck by individuals with manual dexterity; How then can the poverty-stricken golden land of Myanmar ever be sweet again? will we ask our teachers in exams?
It is the divide between teacher and student, the singer and the song, for all are one; no sweetness can come out of a singer imprisoned for singing out, not in beauty alone, but in speaking these truths. That if you divide us into privileged classes and race, poverty and misery, though wealth and power, do follow.
Hollow in universe of learning be the freedom of curious minds; indoctrinated are we much by the dead through time, ‘fore we resign from the diverse earth, what do we genuinely feel at heart after being poured with old ideas in the dark?
How ultimately be human race saved at last? We are vessels, like the cosmos itself is, empty like a cup. Bottomless potential for creation, stifled by the Pharaohs, who rule us by death through their Legacy. Are their dusty wraps as real as the Statues proclaim, or does it all fall to dust but return again.
What returns being potential to build it up. But manias for Legacy govern us, as always. If we Fear, that death will come, and remove us from our Mummies. Hence stripped every pyramid yet do we find kindness in humankind? ask the thorny roses to whoever is divine.
Cruelty we find among the so called gods, a human is a rational animal, so the ancient Greeks supposed. If we can’t show compassion to every creature, from the smallest flea, to hugest divinity, what Good are we? Within our own selves, does divinity not exist? ask the fisherman to the sea sparkling with jellyfish.
A baby dolphin keels over in blood. The fisheries fatten on change, the human diet craves its holy menu. Are they not beings as we are beings? Whose net but the net of industry?
Slash of robbery on the blue planet witnessed by some yet greed blanketed the truth; Hush not truth by the bloody nets, for in every soul there’s a seed at rest. I eat myself, thinks the Dragon Ouroboros. Self is this selfsame illusion. And the net of industry transformed into the net of Indra.
For “I” is a mere speck of dust in the sands of time: said the fear of Self at sea to the rest of burnt cinder on many boats been afar. . . . . .
“Arrogating to themselves the resources that are the common wealth of our planet, the capitalists grind us into a poverty that denies us the right to live. Not that the State punishes them for it: worse still, it protects them through a battery of laws. […] Without the State and its laws, we would have real freedom: without the capitalist class, we would have real equality. Friends of the world of labour, can you see just how free a society rid of all authoritarian power would be?” Ba Jin (巴金).
MORE POETRY COMING FROM ZO IN ISSUE #8, AS WELL AS THE CONTINUATION OF “OVERTHROWING FISTS”!
CONTACT MARSHALL AT HEURISTIC HALO, OR ALEX AT[email protected], IF YOU’VE GOT SOMETHING YOU’D LIKE TO SAY!
As you fall in the 1810s a new century arises. Call of the spirit of Tecumseh, of Geronimo Dancing ghosts; if history as, why wouldn’t it continue on cosmically, Extends into the heavens, then in truth, One day we shall overcome these earthly dominions, Shooting star.
i
Sky rained not clear; drizzle billions, not downpour How does each bead of the monsoon link up, Dressed up Elf asked. . . then in the backyard : click, clack. . Nickety-nack with the gnome goin’ on about subterranean bee’s wax
Taxed in the nuts up from the government of animal kingdom to squirrels. . . through old-fashed fax The paper squeaked through, ‘who xeroxed they nuts on this goddamn photo-booth?!’ While numerous general skunks boozed-slapped each other; drunk confused, funny pics oozed Caught with their military fatigue pants down, how many goddamn generals it take to screw in a frickin’ halfway decent society, not go around killin’ folks, by gawd
brought the generals’s father’s daddies in Japan in some forest witless since the English screwed ’em over thoroughly Buggering each other thoroughly and the planet too and all its inhabitants, and calling it Civilization Realization of schmucks in the jungle wasn’t quite the idea yet at the time. . .
Civilization has created our concrete jungles, where war and poverty and suffering and misery are the fruits of it Bit by bit, clouds drain from above for a whole day; squirrels wondering question: what civilization? Can I sell deez nuts for a Porsche?
What’s posh is the nature nurtured not by rods, not? Or would squirrels rather drive a McLaren in jungles? All creatures have a car farting up the ozone, oh no now the rain falls a Civilized Brown Game of crown played in the animal kingdom found by a shepherd; later sold the game idea to a fame-famished clown who breeds lots of skunks
This odoriferous code, a trinity of programming language, hieroglyphic beginnings start on square one in the pharaoh dreaming of eternal life, eternal Rule Blew in the cool breeze of moonsoon when a wizard named MickeyMouse pass gas : Buzz! Fuzzy Dumbo then the Trademark put a sleep in all the people’s eyes, can you smell that smell,
Belle then asked the Beast : did you just break wind? No not I, said the fair Prince, while that stupid fucking candlestick was like, ‘aw fuck’ Who utter the F word?! : yelled Duck the Donald. Ol’ Grandaddy Scrooge! His flappy orange hairpiece eclipsing the sun, and Farts ruled for a century.
ii
Really? Who’s the grandpapa of that orange moron? : asked Pooh Winnie who was made in China. Winnie Winnie Winnie can’t you see, sometimes the Dragon Lord hypnotize me
Hypnotic KungFu Panda jumped in and he went : I am the dragon warrior. . . wu. . ha ha ha. . . Monkey King grow out of the rock on the hill, enlightened with Tao, no you are the emptiness of your Dragon Mind
It’s time you dine with your bananas, bro! : cried the Pig to the Monkey. : & we’ll talk about Dragon Mind after we get rid of some snakes, eh? : he added. . . Fall one banana. Grown to the size of crescent moon. No a helical serpent. ‘I am goddess of wisdom.’
Crimson creek in concrete jungles wonder : why does she not make the water pristine with her wisdom? For God came, binding her with power lines, pyramids of skyscrapers, and banished her to the ancient books.
Divine not God, for banishment’s not what a true deity would attempt if he or she’s good Indeed for Jesus the Conqueror in the name of All that is Good, kicked the shit out of all His enemies.
Believe or be good or will he be his own enemies? : is the question we need. One’s enemies are also one’s self, ah yes for the true conqueror first overthrows the violence in one’s self!
How often do we reflect our selves from the inside? : ask ourselves. Which is the true mirror : the mind, or the Endless Yearning of Farts to be smelt and dealt, out of a Screen?
Algorithm
We are born into a world that cites as facts the absolutism of the reflecting screen, that the imbecile omniscient has their proof! And all is everywhere no more a miracle than tuned, programmed. All is confirmed forever in the absolute mundanities, Even the last revolution passed without much thought, Till even the reality of thought goes debunked, Leaving us in the fantasy of our clockwork universe.
Ghosts of fallen souls risen again holdin’ branches of flowers poking the soldiers’ & the generals’ conscience To see if the murderers have hearts & souls who hold the oath to protect yet destruct The very people who employed them to avert danger fallen to the country Now look at us, do we still need this self-destructive army? No. . . blood we can still breathe. . so, please. Breathe. . . . deep. .
I read a book about the meaning of life in my dreams, While keeping me hands clean amongst monstrous scream. . . Me felt a wave of energy, like a roar of a ghostly train, Enter terrain of bloodthirsty creatures draining crimson from atop, insane.
My mind squirmed in its hold, desperate not to catch the disease, Oh please : said the crazy monkey to whoever with the disease. . . breathe. . The breath was golden light, confusions began to clear, Fear not, dear : send the message from the book : for over this territory, there’s beer; Brews of intoxicating amber color, ideas and words blurred, a Oneness of existence fermenting; Bluntness in honesty rewarded not by people with integrity : said the Whiskey to Fermented Liquor. . .
Now the booze was talking to each other, the Beer said to the Whiskey, what do you mean by a Reward, what do you mean by Integrity? Dependency on each other are what they mean respectively, dummy! : clowned the Whiskey to Beer the dizzy, yet both in lunacy.
The dizzy and the lunatic, relieved in their passing gas naturally, though then were approached by the Drug Administration : No, one can’t be farting here, to the dungeon with ye!
No. . . no. . no. No off they go somewhere else for the breaking of wind without being heard or seen yet they make sure the gas is thoroughly smelt. And we were tagged with a birth certificate, endless government documents. A celestial bureaucracy which watches us from birth to death. Face analyzing software or rather, can and bottle analysis, found the Whisky and Beer in a crowd. Big Brother say : There is a structure in life we create that denies the fact of making a fart behind little White lying!
Aye, here goes : poof. . . & Whiskey goes : the other boozed can just passed gas! Beer got gassed. Punishment of death. Whisky got a bunch of Indians shit-faced, then became an American President!
“There is only one path to happiness and we can only get there by overthrowing the following systems: 1. The state: [. . .] The state creates law to restrict our freedom; it forces us to fight against our peace-loving nature; it encourages us to compete with people of other nations while we are supposed to help each other. [. . .] 2. Private property: private property is the reward of pillage. Property was originally shared by all people. However, some men, either by using their intelligence or their strength, began to occupy public property or made many people homeless. They also began to hire people to work for them. The products that the workers produce are only enjoyed by their bosses. This is the most unjust example in the world. [. . .] 3. Religion: [. . .] Religion teaches us to believe in superstition while we should search for the truth; religion encourages us to be conservative when we should act progressively,” Ba Jin (巴金), 1921.
CONTRIBUTE? CONTACT ALEX AT [email protected], OR MARSHAL AT HEURISTIC HALO.
ValidateExploitFish plays in the PollutedInfoFoolLake with SystemicCrapCrammedShrimp and both of them enjoy MuddyShallowMarsh because they get to SwimDiveDeep together JollyFunGood.
M.
Like swimming in poison
the psychic atmosphere
of this eon,
a dominant ideology
is hidden & toxic,
all one can do is remember
to breathe deeply
And to, like a tree,
suck up this latent toxicity
& produce a cloud
of equanimity.
A.
iLLpUNKuAted
Drifted off shore floor earth touched electrocuted by lightning sky dark yet no rain . . . Then heavens untamed. . Pained waves of stormy sea strike as tsunami lives in agony nonetheless the crazies can still find joy in miseries
M.
A Haven Made of Memories
by Zo
Back when I was 4 or 5 years old, I used to sleep in my parents’ bedroom. There was something peculiarly cozy about that bedroom which still sends a warm soothing feeling down my spine whenever my mind wanders back into the elusive memory of it. It was a small, windowless room directly beneath the only staircase of the house. It was so small the sides of the bed touched three of the four walls of the room leaving only a narrow space on one of its lateral sides that acts as an aisle between the bed and the only door of the room. Not only was the room particularly small and dark, it was also dimly lit with only one small electric light source that blankets the entire room with a comforting faint glow; all of these added to the whimsical atmosphere of the room.
Besides the observable features of the room, what also made it special are the memories tethered to it. I remember waking up late to the mumbled voices of the rest of my family chattering at somewhere that sounds far away from where I was snuggling amongst the piles of pillows and heaps of blankets. I also remember waking up early and listening to the distant sound of my mother’s gentle footsteps roaming around the house doing chores before dawn. I remember the crackling noise of the radio left turned on by my father who had already left for a morning walk. I can even remember the slightly rough touch of the cotton bed sheet and the tender fluffiness of the woolen blankets which I liked to mindlessly caress with my small palms and feet. In the mornings when it was raining, I would nestle inside the embrace of the thick, soft blankets as the blurred cacophony of raindrops hitting against the roofs lulled me back into my nocturnal dreams. Some mornings, I would quietly read a book or a cartoon journal that I snuck into the room previous night under the poor white light of the room alone. However, some other mornings, my cousins who lived next to my house would sneak into the room and then we would have pillow fights and wrestle among the messy blankets as we laughed and shouted in silly voices. When I was sick, both of my parents would stay inside the room with me and I would crawl into my mother’s bodily warmth as I was listening to my father telling me stories he had read in the books.
Whenever I think of such memories, I can taste the bittersweetness of them for I know that I will never be able to recreate those memories ever again during the remainder of my life as much as I know that such is the very thing that makes these memories precious and special. Nevertheless, at least, the room with its memories will always be a haven inside which my inner child can snuggle up among its wrinkled bed sheet and piled blankets whenever I want to escape from the overwhelming hustles of life no matter how many years had passed.
ChildJoyRide
A crow with uneven feathers at its wings Took flight Like a kid in delight fly a kite With a kitten by his side Oblivious to all things aside Obliged not to any adults ‘coz he knows not wrong or right Fight for his own joy wherever he might Till he finds in a park, a slide Much of oozed joy, what a ride!
MarsDust, 8:09, 30 June 2021
M.
In the screened porch
The paradise of inside
for a stray
cat,
what’s in there but
clammy solitude?
O the world is yours,
unowned feline.
Why gaze through the window
into the emptiness of the
human
isolating; what desires
Are to be believed fulfilled
in these animal cells?
Your fur is dusty,
clinging cobwebs from repose
in a shadowy nook.
Your tail curls up in
the window reflected.
Did you find your worms
that ate the rodent,
little bird?
A.
Insein the panopticon which shades our brains like a Giant-Eye Defiant individuals slain behind bars Yet asked the remaining freedom-lovin’ ones: How far?
How far is control willing to go to punish defiance, making those who fight to be free or those who wait and see believe they have it already, lining their prison cells the idea in the punished brain, “I am free,” those who fight against it will Punished be. Pen fished in papers and questioned the heated brain to the punished and the murdered: is it near?
Distance seems to blur, the pen seems a sword of power dangling precariously above my head, my thoughts are they near to the Truth I seek, or does this Image on the screen pull me deeper into the Money Magic Machine? Funny tragic “Kaching,” pulled by slick billionaires with pandemic states of minds, sick frisked in time and we still know what we are deep down so tell our selves: fear not dear. . .
Hope but not the phony Wall Street Obama doin’ drone strikes on our brothers and sisters kind, pardoning Chelsea Manning who sits in prison again, how not gone Insein Assange deprived of his mind 24/7 and thank you Mister Trump! While I can feel it, the souls of the murdered Became an image, a memory, this has happened before O to all the young & old proletariat, Freedom Fighters committed to nameless graves or Numbered of an asylum Still Kaizen is what drives ’em citizens be citizens in responsible selves and despite laws flouting itself though times are tough; then ask our selves: how well can we preserve what we value while still holding our lives on the line. . . .
O the flower of life worth preserving, O everyone creating resistance to Tyranny & beauty in their life-lines of Art & Poetry O get me out of this Pandemic State! of mind, of body, of Soul, Your sickness generates more profit & control part of like a global chessboard Monopoly game, I’m going Stateless, son we all Live under the holy light of yon up there Sun, O light which shines the disinfectant of All Peoples working together in global cooperation Not your sick Corporations, son! Bits of demonic gold rain down from the crimson sky and will we clink the clank or will there be any fair trade of pure air for gold just for us to breathe? Metallic breezy evening carried with it an eerie helplessness. . . still hope ablazed. Burning. . .
Seas rise like the Creek, will We? Breathe. . survive. . . thrive. . . build we hives fight not caused till all our wits lost, cross we boundaries of thoughts at times. Blinded and fold ‘fore we go, into the hell hole boldly some gave lives, some gave others hope. . . some survive. . . but mostly hope.
A & M.
Nmko
Thy smoked finely wrapped tobacco Chewed in red nuts packed in betel leaves Breathe in moist air on the bridge across the green creek fecund with different breed of fishes & birds Then walk thy across the street deliver looks of fury on thou betel chewing visages Yet laymen choose their attention in turning the pages which seemed to take flight by rages of flapping wings above still water Why ask we not ourselves to reason out of blind faith paying homage to only the creator within us, without breaking trust to our own selves? Take a deep breath.
M.
(a) The illusion of progress is a carrot on a stick that masks the possibility for immediate justice in the present.
(b) Life has no meaning in words alone. For only words can mean, whereas life can merely be. And yet being has a meaning singular to itself. Hence all words are a metaphor. Language has precisely the same function as symbols do in a work of literature.
A.
SnotBoogerStickyMaskBabe yelled at BlurryDirtyWrinkledFaceshieldTom when he was about to go for groceries shopping: Don’t forget to put on your NewMaskWithFaceshield so you won’t die!
M.
Got anything to contribute? Contact Marshall at Heuristic Halo, or Alex at [email protected].
Today’s dispatch includes a contribution from new author Maung Pyae, whose attribution is P, below, collaborating with Marshall (M) on “Mysterious Pines.” Another guest author is a former student at Heuristic Halo, Marshall’s school in Mandalay, who goes by Eric (E) in collaboration with Marshall on the poem which begins ‘Cold shower bleak weather blizzard. . .’
Language is like a conquest of information.
NeverAttemptShitYouNeverTried and DareDevilMotherfuckinDickhead watched a documentary named HowToSuckBallsLickPubicHairStubs&SellBullshitOnline and have a brainstorm section afterwards and come up with an innovative idea named “ButtStuckInFrontOfDeviceAndFartAerodynamicProducts.” They then asked FamousPlushYoutuber called BallJuiceSipSickPrick for feedback on their idea and the CelebratedBallsyYoutuber said: Don’t go out and get you ass dry or you’ll waste shit to sell.
M.
On Speaking with my Buddy Marshall after the Video-phone
A laugh can settle the disturbances of bygone years Shaking up joy from the belly, my old friend; Overhead the hum of war-crafts, the gasoline scent of mown grass, the stillness of centuries-long enforced domination; Though I still have my laugh with you and my soul is settled,— The hopefulness of being humans who do not sacrifice truth, even when the weight of corruption is heaving its great mass, smooshing like a glorious wildflower the People’s Head, Smashing the people down, robbing the soul of its humanity;— No, for a moment we laugh, but do not forget our duties to future generations; Our soul-words like a banner, our laughs like a weapon which we shall wield in vigorous honor to the end of Incarnations.
A.
JollyGiraffeBond, GenerousCatSally and FabulousChimpJenny talked about how to fish in a pond and MightyBruteAlligator suggested them to go deeper into the water.
PurchasedTwistedMedia shouts in the sea afloat when it sees SlyFoxPickBucksBags on a nearby island and asks for help. All of a sudden Kim’sTestedNuke just annihilates both including the island.
M.
Mysterious Pines
Faint flight voice up high the night when insects delight: dark yet bright, plain sight— blithe
Night light bring the life into being, feeling the dull side of life
Lulled by nature, walked I onto the grass scattered with leaves and gazed up: misty, moonlit sky of foggy texture
Fulfill the mind with light ciggies, seating on the cozy iron, musing the peaceful gift underneath velvet sheet
Kites of streamed thoughts drifted with the humid breeze yet wondered the beast beneath the tree smokin’, see nothin’ but life’s miraculous blessed beings sounding obscure in the vicinity of stark dark illuminated by yellow bulbs
Track through the windows of eyes: haul the deep thread of sophisticated minds, found the descend of painful asphyxiated lines.
Brine contemplation sought outta timed compilation— fine revelation seeps into the ears of kind personification under the pines’ chilled decor. . . behind hill hectares. . bind ill scepter. A fine spilled factor made of ancient lacquer. . . bittersweet nectar.
M & P
FakeNewsMedia and FuckedUpInternet talked to MindlessProleDumbShitsPublic about how the world should be and everybody went nuts.
PervertedGoatInBeachPants asks BeautifulSheepInSwimsuit while they’re relaxing at the beach, “How do you choose a sexy bikini?” and she reply, “Why don’t you Go Ogle it?”
M.
Garbging Trhgi
Search birth certificates online at
the mark with blue “f”
Sagged lives with brag rights pass
gas of sad pike swinging rich flat
plight on websites
Everyone’s on a heist for attention
Anxiety rises the web delighted
Beg the kite of hope for an
optimistic dive
Yet it hit the little high tree
destroying the home of bees
Hive lost
Yet the resilient insects still find
ways not halt :::::::: the narcissistic
show, not stop.
M.
Cold shower bleak weather blizzard Discarded dreams still stream at heart Fire of youth is all but ash Yet from the cinder lies change Fame clouded while young, life’s blurry Flame youthfulness built families named uncertainties Youthfulness paved way for rushness Dreams built upon emotions, heard only void Sight not in void, dive lost in divide Kites fought in flights yet slight thoughts in might of a young child’s mind in delight With every fights reward a scar Each scars disclose signs aiming for the stars so very close, yet so far away Bay and the ocean touch yet there’s a shoreline Define, “far away,” asked the bay to blue water from ashore & the water said, “Ask the ocean floor.”
M & E
Is it evil,
Literature,
in the best
sense of the word;
Aye, when it
resists!
It’s not about immortality
or nothingness
but merely
the will
to carry through
what you can’t
give up on anyways.
Never trust anyone with a profit
motive, I always say!
Yeh the Romantic is simply one
who sees in the Satanic
rebellion against God
the affirmation of the
original sanctity
of Nature.
God is an illusion
of the reality of Power.
See the creation of God
like Ideology
is the accumulation of Power
behind a veil
of secrecy.
The modern World
is shaped by the Philosopher’s
Will; civilization
or the State is the Power
of ideology.
This is the World of the Philosophers
conceived during the Renaissance
like in ancient Egypt,
a creation that echoes
like the Godhead of the future
from our distant
past,—for
Time is a place.
(Suns)
Hierarchies are
the establishment
of systems through time
that preserve a transformation
of space.
Ancient history
as the far distant future
of another race.
Though to separate the human
from inhuman is to make
a hierarchy of life.
Creating shadows to fear
out of a flame
that binds us all the same.
29 March 2021.
A.
Contribute to Heuristic Halo Press, send ideas, expressions of all kinds, poems or prose, to [email protected]; the project of Investigative Poetry is that of all citizens of the World.
Universe become a black box like the individual human experience, our
Souls delimited into a control system
. Rather than each individual being a part of the whole universe, we are subjects of a control system, the environment is excluded from the cybernetic mind; becoming a resource to be exploited like human consciousness becomes an energetic mine.
M.
Texts flatten youth, like possessions use the classes their rulers make up.
A.
MOOnshine
Mooned by full moon, dark strikes not the bright light Up high in stark quietness obliged Not by the divinity of any holy ghosts spirited in wind, swiped Pipe smoked the devil stashed tobacco, debacle beneath hide Fleas bite the imaginative corner of totalitarian dream, might Does not make right of fleas bite into an alligator strike For the people, not blind By the people, odds dined Of the people? . . . . neigh Find cosmic rhymes in dictatorship: a butt-kiss sick sign {-}
MarsDust 25 June 2021; 1:12pm
M.
The golden apple is the struggle for immortality, power and knowledge. It is hierarchical permanence or more precisely its striving forth which drives all conflict.
A.
iLL-tRANSCENDENTAL
Beauty, easy to say yet gorgeousness boundless on earth neither heard nor seen by the herd. . . Birds flitter wings of anxiety amidst the dark clouds of perplexity, rushing home to their families for the lightening brings with it the thunderous roar moments before the downpour, no mercy at all. . Bald mountains slowly take shapes, like monsoon green cakes, here and there we see emerald flakes, rocks of dark crimson lay awake down from the peak creek, deep not the crystal water clear albeit the top it’s near. . Flocks of flight dotted the sky: draw lines, take shapes, rainbow curved up the eastern horizon coloring the ranges, river to the west reflects sliver though sometimes the silver-lined clouds cover the setting sun. . Bountiful gifts of nature nurtured not by citifying but by dumbing all of us to natural state of minds blinding a bit at times.
MarsDust 12 June 2021
M.
General Strike as a State of Mind, for The Market is all your Life has in store. The World is War, all the Time, war.
A.
We want you to contribute to the transformation of INVESTIGATIVE POETRY into a movement that transcends this website and all websites, for this is our world. Shall we imagine it better? Send your poetry, articles, essays, cartoons, photography, illustrations, jokes, to: [email protected].
One can no longer simply be in the world without complying with the System that governs how to be in it.
Religion is the conservatism of spirituality, meaning that it is directly connected to power politics and defending the status quo.
Tough Raw Confectionery in Sky Lane
Flow of clouds amongst the crescent cake float in sky lane
wrote the wolf to wildflower “Jane”
Rain not today yet cloud & wind play drought game
Pain in Jane, unable to enjoy wolf’s cake
For the other beauties in flowers the tamed take
the idea that Jane’s malignant breeding hate
baked bread and cake in underhanded deceptive drape
Nonetheless, what matters to Jane’s not other flower’s idea
but some simplest question from wolf as in: Why, dear?
That moment, moon, cloud & the dark sky on a windy day disappear
into the next dawn of hope to see fear more clear
feel dear more near
heal tears for years
Tyrannizers, no matter who or what, here Jane & Wolf clear
Look back at thousands of years of histories & humanities the smear
always get backstabbed of all your blood, sweat & tears,
my dear all my dear
were closer with each step and the
End
is
Near
Mars Dust
19 June 2021
22:47
M.
Soon It Will Be Midsummer
I let that bramble star flower go,
O lily of the Lethe
I wanted to trade you for an apple,
that peach-tree blossom;
With the sun pouring over the hill,
egg-molten.
Pan the crow,
peter-bird in the Rodeo.
In a trash bag of leaves.
The mush of pomegranate.
As the severed head was lured back
into the lair of the incubus,
The astral flight became like
a circumcision of my soul.
And I began to wonder, do those
who love God, love people less?
Do those who love God
love less?
20 June 2021
A.
Beaten and shocked by the professionals
A young brain morphed
Into names of unimaginable thoughts
Lost not in solution of whatnot
Professionals got caught
While performed under the poorly taught
Wrought not the knife for a knight
Like a street vendor would make kites
Fight not the obliged souls
For warm hearts in ‘em won’t turn cold
Fold not to injustice like a dream
For your dreams gotta come clean
Flights taken to heights of heights
Yet down to earth here I stand upright
M.
The crystal lucidity of the sky
framed at geometric angles in time,
By the shape of trees spangled with yellow-green
that differs now and than from what it means.
The TV cackles like with a signal,
Wondering about the ring of Saturn;
On a day that recurs with things we’ve learned,
An anomaly like a silver ball?
A.
HAVE A COMMENT TO CONTRIBUTE TO THE TRANSFORMATION OF INVESTIGATIVE POETRY INTO A MOVEMENT THAT TRANSCENDS THIS WEBSITE AND ALL WEBSITES, INTO IMAGINING A BETTER WORLD? GET IN TOUCH: [email protected].
Introducing Dispatches from Heuristic Halo Press, founded in 2018 by Kyaw Zin Myint (“Marshall”) and A. Scott Buch (“Alex”).
Today we are featuring two poems by Marshall and one by Alex. Please feel free to share this Dispatch, or even to contribute your art, your poetry, your thoughts and words, in the future. Send them to [email protected].
M.
Dog-Hare of the Firewater
I see Maung Maung again in Thailand
Not Maung Maung himself but the spirit of Dionysus
A ceremonial den like a cow skull,
The holy mischievous law-breaking that is
As much of Karma, especially in the Abyss
That we must in tantra have
Subtle wind through our bodies
And the blood of a god intoxicates
Us, who see in the fabric of a day
A great pattern of ecstasy like silk lingerie
Who wore out our bodies like clothes
Until there was only mad spirit left,
And there you glared at me—you rascal!—
Until I became old dust,
The distillation of existence
Pounded out of the Milky Way!
A.
Petals of roses red whizzed by a gust
Flat on dried earth spiraled touching gently on the spikes
of branches, no thrust
kissing the primitive floor of nature
Fertile soil mothering thorny stalks beauty on top
Crossing everyone’s sight: delight
Obliged not regardless of whoever the gardener be
Fantasy of a magic garden still in every bees’ instinct, beautifully
‘fore all the delicate parts rest beneath earth.
Water flowing down from the north to the hearts
Of the plains nourishing, growing and multiplying more plants
Blooming not only exotic flowers but bearing heavenly fruits
Regardless, as bees don’t fly around instantly causing flowers to bloom
Who are we to yell at seeds to grow trees
Let alone what those tree might produce
Till, individually, we improve. . .
M.
HAVE A COMMENT TO CONTRIBUTE TO THE TRANSFORMATION OF INVESTIGATIVE POETRY INTO A MOVEMENT THAT TRANSCENDS THIS WEBSITE AND ALL WEBSITES, INTO IMAGINING A BETTER WORLD? GET IN TOUCH: [email protected].
Largest book in the world is contained here, at Kuthodaw Pagoda (ကုသိုလ်တောဘုရား) in Mandalay, Myanmar.
Dedicated to my friend Marshall, my friend Dennis, my friend Leo, my friend Stanley, my friend Maung Maung; all the friends of Myanmar, especially every single student that I ever taught.
Folks of the Ayeyarwady River (ဧရာဝတီမြစ), near Mandalay, not far from Sagaing.
Intellectual property establishes a dominion over time in the way property does space. This is because concepts unfold in time in the sense that language is syntactical.
Modern science corporatizes intellectual property. Establishing an interdependent relation between power and knowledge, this is analogous to the interdependence between political power and wealth.
Concepts are a reflection of illumination, a consequence of the conditions for existence made up of electromagnetic gravitation in a void; the emergent property of consciousness in a system; or the complex order arising out of chaos, making up a whole composed of parts. This is precisely intelligence, the ordering, the structuring of a vast infinitude of data.
Ownership of intelligence implies an individualizing or atomization of intelligence which is specifically human insofar as the human being creates hierarchies out of its understanding.
The problem with this is existence or the world as an environment, gets excluded from the system of understanding that informs our understanding of the world. In other words in order to create a system out of something one must isolate a part from a whole, effectively complexifying that part into its own whole. For instance, in the structure of language that is a system of communication, this system effectively becomes a parallel or mirror reflection of the world it enframes by signifying. Signification itself is a mere reflection of a state of affairs; and explicitly not that state of affairs in-itself.
And yet, in being a snapshot of a state of affairs, it does manage to be an illumination of conceptual knowledge, knowledge being not intrinsically separated from the power that it mirrors, its absolute existence as energy; existing under the relative conditions that make it perceivable as matter, distinctly reflected through an apparatus which has evolved over time to be sensitive to light in specific ways that create perceptions.
Trying to “own” something as evanescent as this is the very definition of illusion. For to “own” it implies that it could be grasped once and for all, and preserved in a specific state. Which is not only impossible—for it is impossible to grasp one’s own reflection—but also betrays a deep delusion to think that the reflection has existence in-itself, in the same way that it is a delusion to think that language is precisely reality, or that these two things are necessarily separated by an absolute border.
That border is purely conceptual. And this is why knowledge cannot be “owned,” for it betrays the fact that this flows equally through everybody.
Reflection of the Moon
The universe is like a piece of paper, A bounded infinity with determinable shapes.
The world is like a constellation, made out of fixed stars that the mind Connects distinctly at places.
And if a concept is a reflection then what’s reflected is light Like sun energy shining on the moon; As matter condenses because there is shadow I can understand, you.
