Mechanized

Todays' theme: Machines.

The first picture: "Dynamatronic". Second picture: "Enigmo". Third picture: "Strange Gears". Fourth picture: "Asymmetric Spiral" (I include this picture because it looks like computer circuitry to me). Last picture: "The Geometry Of Clockwork".







Then This Dynamo
-----------------

Impressive is the hollow knot, for it is made of both
Upright salt and horizontal water. In the compartment
Quadrupled is empty destiny tilting. And around
The concave column is wound that wire, a coil
Made electromagnetic but yet shapeless. Thus,
The voltage exhales, transforming that air
Into truth extracted. Then this dynamo
Thunders, waking the night. And we rise,
Mumbling haphazardly, although we cringe. Oh,
The chamber made of vast actuality, it
Stirs and cuts into such eruption. Yet, this
Machine rotates in all hyperbole. And its
Armature grasps at that energy, at that
Prolonged depiction of a mandala of flames, grasps
At the symmetry we exploit, that we darken
So as to salvage those metaphysical parables,
Each forceful, each angered by consequence,
Each quite a wondrously purposeful ultimatum.

===============

Ornithopter
-------------

This is the contraption epitomizing all
And its eternity, epitomizing zero and its finitude.
This is the mind's wing, is the intellect's ascension,
Is the ornithopter both delicate and artificial,
Neither truthful nor inarticulately imagined.

This is the machine that flies through the sphere,
Is the strange tableau of wires and cloth and
Stone inept in its hallucination. This is our
Human entitlement, is our dominion raised
To believe in that which is above us. This is
The air engulfing our shape, is the redemption
Of our previous failures. And I will depict
My verticality within the wisps I create. And
I will finally be what no one else can be,
Will finally float upon our reality, float as but
A remarkable bird, as but the metaphor I transcend,
As but the certainty seen in our sky, as
Our presumptions of surrender denied, our presumptions
Of every chasm overcome.

+++++++++++++++++

Disassembled
---------------

Disassembled is the contraption, is the concoction
We sip then digest hungrily. Disassembled are
The minds we comprehend, that we have preconceived
Despite our aura's unimagined thirst. Oh,
Disassembled is the skin within us, is the shell
We enclose yet silently inside each exoskeleton.
Oh, we miscalculate, we shatter this machine.
We withdraw each cog from each wire from
Each synapse and neuron provoked. We distract
Our sober glow from these crumbs of what
Use to be our purpose. Severed again is the
Water from the lust from impure extraction.
Disassembled again is our madness, is the certainty
We once knew to be apparently unconnected.

.......................

Concave Gear
-----------------

Underneath this concave gear is
The soothing soul of sleep, of waking,
Is the epitome of each cog rotating, of
Each wheel made curved, made godless, made
Into that still linearity. And these haphazard
And seismic machines become their emissions,
Become the light of ambiguity, become the image
Of circles with edges, with each pivoted radius.
And the turning mesh transforms its crescendo.
It cuts into those definitions of such entwining
And intermingled grooves. Its purpose is yet
To exist, is again remarkable. For this tableau
Of cylinders and disks remains,
Remains hardened and intricate.

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

Shimmering Machine
-----------------------

The shimmering machine angers itself via this,
A tainted and fading loop engrossed.
It spits onto our obvious detachment, saturating
This saliva with its tempting calculations,
With what have been my stuttering dreams.
It descends diagonally, then despises
Our sharpness cutting the dull emptiness.
Therefore, it seeps above this groggy distance,
Sleeps underneath the randomness we entice.
And so I redeem it, drawing its surface
Into the form of each center, into the matter
Which itself is bloodied, is viscous and scorned.

********************

The Design Here Within
------------------------------

Within the wires making this design,
The electrons fuse and focus onto
Our saintly gash to which we succumb,
Onto our light and desires once
The very machine we now laugh at,
Once the very circles we now taste.
And within the switches and buttons aglow,
We find our fate rotating, oscillating,
And turning into one image again,
Forming so the design here within.

ooooooooooooooo

The Device Unremarkable
--------------------------------

Every integer existed once
Inside the clock, upon its face,
Among its representations
Of every space-time reality,
Of every justification assumed.

Every unambitious point
Existed once inside such beauty,
Inside the gears and springs unwound
(Never rewinding), inside the lines
And circles cut by our entropy.

And rotating imperfectly, this very truth
Has been perfection, has turned
In a clockwise-wise manner, has
Turned into its spiral imploding
To escape from and remain bound by
The device unremarkable,
If as an integer painted free-hand
Upon the face of a bizarre clock,
Mysterious, yes, but only because
Such numbers are so poorly scribed
As to be certainly unreadable.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Mechanical
--------------

Mechanical and reverberated;
For every spring and sprocket entwines,
Transforms into the revolving motion, the inertia
Of clocks about this world lobotomized,
About and into and within the line-segments
Scrawled as imprisoned dots, as points unmade
And intersecting --
Mechanical and resurrected
And impending, each gear, each notch,
Each wire knotted and never knowing,
It completed itself by being incomplete;
It understood every truth by being confused;
It turned and remained straight still.
...Mechanical and of ourselves,
We saw it once expressed,
Implied from inside an unread textbook,
Implied by the sacred writings indecipherable,
But yet never alluded to, never explained.


/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Clockwork Made Strange
------------------------

Disjointed are these wheels and gears of such
Clockwork made strange by its angles drawn,
By its arcs and atoms placed darkly into this
Rhombus, into the swirling prongs of our
Pernicious hallucinations. The trapezoid has
Been subdivided so as to be perpendicular
And substantive. And it ticks in its form
Of horizontal diagonality, in its forms seen
By time ascending into sterile asymptotes.
And turning are the cogs, are these spindles
Inside where we have mutated. Turning are
The uncounted hours, each devoid of revolution,
Each rotating ambidextrously the assumptions
Of truth afloat among the wires, yet among
The geometry of those complications, of that
Causality encircled by the permutations of
Thoughts asymmetric and coarsely intricate
But undisclosed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Leroy