Wednesday, December 20, 2017

Stone South Wind - 12

Lightning Strikes Twice

The Death of the Ball Turret Gunner – Randell Jarrell
From my mother's I fell into the State,
And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze.
Six miles from earth, loosed from its dream of life,
I woke to black flak and the nightmare fighters.
When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose.

Deep runs the inevitable time – a time of modern war, the first, we hoped the last – though it seemed not. Heard of the firestorm over Dresden – clearances made us aware of events that were not in the newspaper, newsreels, or on the radio bulletins. There was some paper or other that we had to sign for this, but I do not know which one. The horror was palpable through every minute at work for at least a month – but no one talked about it, because we did not know who was cleared and who was not because you had to whisper in case someone who was not cleared walked in on the hushed manner which was the default tone. The default tone for things that cannot be talked about. There was also the strange sense that someone was listening – we did not know who, but there was – just around the corner of one's vision – a spy, Russian or German. Think of Japanese, because all of the people were either white. There was still a struggle to get even black people, know eventually that would in fact be.

Floor of the shop was Enormous, both in length and height – but not breath. It was 14 feet tall, and had rickety old machines every 6 feet – with 2 men working on them. There were barrel rollers, and stock frames – and each one turned out just one part which would be dropped into a slot on the machine. Every so often a man would come up take the finished product out of the long roller, and deposit it where it was to be going – but the 2 men in baggie white shirts which were rolled up to the elbow and extremely loose on each machine did not notice is coming and going. Every moment of their time was spent drilling or smoothing or notching their particular piece of the weapon – which was the M1 carbine. The only acknowledgment that they did anything for anyone was the slicked back here that each one of them wore – as if it were part of the uniform.

They were busy rolling out one more part, against the rollers which were attached to a pulley that ran through the top of the hooklift ceiling, with a wrapped around drum, and strapped to iron beams running through the overhead – where it was aligned with another hoist. Sometimes it would be done several times, to produce mechanical advantage. Even if you closed your eyes you would know that men worked here by the sweat. Not perspiration, sweat. Which ran from ceiling to drum on the machine, this Ran in what seemed like an endless succession – because the work floor was a quarter mile long, and every 18 feet had a new machine.

Can remember this when a photograph of the shop floor – from 1941. Somehow it is the site of a wheel with several groups in it for different types of barrel cylinder. Particular sense that the men were cutting things, occasionally adjusting them on large wheels attached to the machine. Remembering the grease and dust in the air, which would only clear out between shifts – and then begin to clog everything up when the new shift got down to business.

When the wheels became running, the wheels became running, wheels became running, wheels running - machined by a touch until smooth. And one could no longer see a stopped wheel anyplace.
All of the management turned away from this, it was there living – there life's blood. But they did not want to see it in action with real people doing real work. Men worked, engineers adjusted, physicists measured, management made money.

One time when I turned away, MaryLou came up to me on the veranda which separated working from observing. This was unusual, she was the only woman on the floor in any capacity – and she knew this because her face was determined, it had a bit of a scowl on it as well.

“I need to talk to you.” This was like hello to any other person. Succinct, abrupt, matter of fact. In that low tone of voice that she had mastered extremely well.

“All ears.” Trying my best to put at least a bit of levity, it was a habit which I held from Missouri.
“It cannot be discussed here. Call me when we are out of the complex.” a complex which was an entire block in itself, made real by brick and mortar. Normally, she did not come down here – preferring instead to remain at the shooting range, which was above. Though one could hear it from the fast parking lot.

“When will that be?” Neither of us worked 8 hours at any time.

Delicately a fragile watch was displayed upon her wrist, and she looked down at it, and then up to me. “I will be finished with today's work in 12 hours.”

She left, leaving me to think about what she was going to say.

Up in the parking lot, it was already night – and the summer stars were overhead. The sense of openness came closed around us, all of the traffic had gone – everyone was at home, at play, or on the night shift. There came the eternal smell of gasoline engines – even if the cars were gone. We were standing in front of my car – and feeling the wind from the north. From the South it would be a warm wind, and from the north in summer – it had a tinge of woods, and forest, and lakes from just over the horizon. I waited for her to announce what she had to say:

“Normally I do not pry into other people's business.” This was a warning shot.

“That is rather nice of you - or rather good of you.” My lips hesitated, just a little bit open, because I knew that there was another clause.

“Which is why I must be the one who will tell you this: I saw your wife with another man – and they were far too close for comfort. I am sure – very sure – that they are having an affair.” She never blinks as she this.

With anyone else, I would have objected. But with Mary Lou, it was like a commandment from God – in fact more so, because I do not believe in God - except as the creator of Newton's laws of physics and the theory of gravity.

“What do you suggest I do?”

“Who and which and what, are not my province. That is your problem – I am just the one - who will tell you when no one else will.”

Waylaid, by leaning against my car - and thought for at least 2 hours.

West was my compass.

The stone faces of the gods pointed there.

Friday, December 15, 2017

Stone south Wind - 11

White Coral Bells
Upon a slender stalk
Lilies of the valley deck my garden walk
Oh, don't you wish,
That you might hear them ring?
That will happen only when
The fairies sing.
Traditional American Song – East Coast

Song, oh, song – why do you run through my head? But I know the answer – and she is married, and she hums it constantly. I once asked her what the words were, and the next day she handed me a little songbook with little words – but did not tell me the name of the song. It was not difficult to figure out if one knew how many syllables it had. SYLlable. sylLABles, syllyBLES.

Having only been at Winchester Repeating Arms for a few weeks, but I knew that something was wrong with the drying process - among many other things that Olin had problems with. That is the point where the powder is wet with moisture, and needs to dry in a hot oven. The way things were done is piling up the powder in a heap – and the powder dried very slowly. Then I got an idea while humming MaryLou's favorite tune – the problem was that the gunpowder was piled in heaps.
But remember, I was called a physicist – so proof was to be required. Thus began the hunting around for a light microscope – more powerful than the ones one used in high school, though the principal was the same. The lady chemist – called Mary Lou – made up slides, to a diagram, and sent them over to the physics lab. We had just gotten the powerful microscopes ready, and since 1 did not need a tome – we could slide them under the microscope instantly.

Dividing the slides by time – was that the grains of powder did not dry evenly, but instead, a few areas dried instantly, and then grew outwards from theirs. I also found some high resistant thermometers – which were similar to, but much hotter than, the kinds that one uses in one's kitchen. Again we found that the heat radiated outwards from a few points, and because the grains were piled up like a pyramid, one had to let it dry until all of the gunpowder was dry. Unfortunately, that meant that the outer grains were too dry, and had to be discarded.

It was at that point that we set machinery in motion – and made up a series of trays to hold the gunpowder in a fine film. We also made the trays rather loose, rather than the normal way of having the wheels tightly locked into the tray. It was only a simulation, but we could make more when necessary.

Today's time I was called in to the head of Winchester Repeating Arms gunpowder division, and I looked at him. He was the 1st man that I saw who was chubby, all the rest of us had had a great depression to thin are bodies down. But not him. He was much shorter than I was and had an accident that came from the deep South. I also noticed that he was at least the 3rd generation, probably more. He probably had gone the job from his father – good work if you can get it.

The course that I had to listen: “It has come to my attention that you have thrown together a series of trays, and testing them on gunpowder drying systems.” Did not speak, I just nodded.

“Do not you know that every time the upper management comes in, and asks me what I need, I tell them that I need more drying equipment, for the powder? And you come along, in only a month's time, and prove me wrong – with slides and thermometers. They have little handwriting on the corners which states that it, not the drying, equipment - it is the way the grains are heated. And then there is a slide showing a drawing, that it says will fix the problem.”

“Seems to be working.”

“I do not care if it works, what I care about is that - I know what I am talking about. In this little slideshow says: I do not know what I am talking about. That means that the slideshow has to disappear. Though I will have engineering do their version.”

“But their version will be wrong, because they will want to have the wheels tight rather than loose.” That had been said in the slide.

“That is my concern, you just do experiments – not testing.” I tried a few more times to explain that the looseness was essential – because a few of the grains would gummed-up the gears, but I got nowhere. And he shipped me out, with a note to engineering to make their version of what I had done.

And it did not work. So the director copied off a letter saying that the new drying process did not work – and asked for more drying machines instead.

One day at the cafeteria, a large white room with only a few dishes that anyone could handle, was sitting alone and dejected – when what to my wondering eyes did appear but Mary Lou. My thoughts about her in ways that were not appropriate.

But then she said down across the ivory table in a plastic stool, and announced herself by clearing her throat. “I helped your tray project along, and there will be some small changes. But do not tell anyone.” Before I could answer, she trooped away as if she had been announcing that the weather was cloudy.

Spiraling into that  instant,  as if a matter of happenstance,  he realized just how -  even beautiful was not enough to describe the word -  but he and she were not they,  each married to,  for at least pledged  to, another - for a moment in time decreed by grace -  and mounted by the state that they lived in; in happenstance, perhaps some other  juncture would be different in time and place and rupture,  as if the onamonapoetic  would join  in different combinations with different results.  As if the sound reached for a different plane entirely, truth be told.

Then a week later, the director was moved to a new position – while the pay was the same, he had no people underneath them to order around. The new director was his cousin, but had been warned that the small army of the past was going to stay in the past. There would be carriers, and artillery pieces, and tanks, and machine guns, rifles, and other weapons which did not have a word, yet – and all of them would need gunpowder. So he would have to place in all of the improvements that his physicists came up with, immediately - if not sooner.

My simulation of trays was put into place, and new ones were installed which were like mine - rather than the engineers' 1st attempt. They had learned, as well, to take directions from the physicists. Not the engineers.

It did not help me in money: stayed an assistant physicist for the duration of the war. But when if I said “My latest proposal needed to be a certain way,” – it was. So I had power, but not the pay to compensate.

Thursday, December 14, 2017

Stone South Wind - 10

Going to Winchester Repeating Arms

Between 1934 and 1938 the New Haven took delivery of 200 lightweight, steel coaches and 5 grill cars built by Osgood Bradley in Worcester, Massachusetts. These streamlined cars became known as the “ American Flyer” , cars after the New Haven—based A. C. Company's models of these cars. To keep up the streamline era, the New Haven, with federal assistance, acquired the three-car streamlined, built by Goodyear Zeppelin. Peter E. Lynch New Haven Passenger Trains

You are not tired until you board multiple trains, ending up at someplace you do not know: Winchester Repeating Arms; it was a slow affair. I do not think many of you realize that there was a time before superhighways, when the fastest way to go between almost any 2 points that were connected by a train track was to figure out what the schedule was. One did not leave at any time one liked – one left when the train schedule said that you would leave. The freedom of the car, post-World War II, was a huge expansion of freedom – before the war, the fastest of cars would now be considered slow. I am sure that I could bend my mathematical friends ear and have him work on a proof – that is what Herman von Schelling would happily engage in, with swirls of equations knotted together.

So going from St. Louis back to Springfield Missouri, to say goodbye to my mother mostly, and then back to just beyond New York – that took a great deal longer than it would now. And one did not have to pay attention, as one would if one drove a car. One therefore looked out the window, whether day or night. The main difference is that day you could soak in the wheat fields, the foothills with oak and maple trees, the wide bayous of the Mississippi – where as by night, one could only see lights – and those occurred only near towns.

It was not yet the time of the night blackout – upstairs in Washington many of the moguls were trying to convince FDR that the lights should be left on, because they wanted shoppers to spend rather than to hide in there tenements. Eventually some people in the naval department – this had been told to me by von Schelling, who worked there as a mathematician – showed that the cost of keeping the stores open was dwarfed by the cost in allied shipping sunk by U-boats. After that, some few months beyond my trip, night descended without city noise to keep it at bay.

On my way from St. Louis to New Haven Connecticut, we stopped 1st at Chicago – then Cleveland, Buffalo, and then turned south to New York in a small capital of New York known as Albany (I did not realize how large Albany -and the small town near it known as Schenectady - would be in my later years.) We spent nearly 4 hours going from Albany to New York, and I had to wait 2 hours to change trains from New York - to a different line that would take me to New Haven. In a tweed brown suit - had not been made aware, yet, that brown meant Midwestern – New York had only pinstripe blue suits or gray suits. So I must have stood out like a big neon sign – that said “Not from around here.”

Was waiting on the bench for the up train - the were only two lights visible and I curled up my brown suit because it was cold – even underground, there was no heat just cold concrete. The area of light was only around the sockets – the rest was dim dark. The trains running to New York were almost like missiles – a nod to the airline style design. These are the things one notices when one has nothing but time on one's hands, even the rivets and nails become a thing of interest – and a lot of them had been drilled in recently. America was beginning to wake up.

It was at that point at at least 4 o'clock in the morning, when 3 white young men, covered by the slabs of wall and yellow bulbs – 1 in a naval enlisted uniform – were harassing a black family on the other side of the tracks. The mother was protecting to of the children – one was a girl I did not see the other other person's gender – and the father was begging the men to go away – he was not planning on getting on the white car, or at least so I heard. In those days – particularly in the South – races were divided between white and other colors, particularly black. But this was true all over if anyone complained to the conductor.

At this point, something launched me in to action – and before anything could happen, I charged forward and was up in one of the white man's face, raising my voice to have him sit down. Clearly none of the 3 white men expected anyone to defend the black family, and immediately sat down on the next bench. Slowly the New Haven train pulled up to the station, it was still dark and that was the only thing that we could see – I was going to go back to my place because this was the engine which would pull a car containing me. But then the thin black man stopped me, and he reached out his right hand. “Thank you very much, I was worried that something dreadful might happen. And I wanted to get my family to Schenectady.”

“Just from up there, you only missed the train by a little while.”

“I know, we have been dodging to groups of people – wanting to be sure we got on the right train. Oh, by the way, my name is a Newberry.”

“What a coincidence - so is mine.” At this a smile came to my lips, it was very odd that any other family should have my last name. I guessed they would be from Newberry, South Carolina - a place where my ancestors 1st settled in the United States – but it was a colony at the time. He had the accent of the Carolinas.

The black man joked: “We must be related. My family is from South Carolina, where are you from.” He did not know from my face that that had been my guess. And he would not have been so informal, except that I had been friendly.

“Missouri, but it's unlikely that paths will across. But will give you a shout if time has a different idea.” We shook hands. Then rushing to the upper bound, almost forgetting to grab my bags, the train was just stopping.

Fate must have laughed - because eventually the only work available would be to go to work at the GE plant in Schenectady – and would raise a shout to the Newberrys from South Carolina. It was only polite, and all Southern people – for all of our failings – maintained a veneer of politeness in most cases.

Wednesday, December 13, 2017

A reminder

Winnie the Pooh was never spanked, Be like Christopher Robin.

Stone South Wind - 9

Why Evolution, not Ultra-Darwinism

The development of mathematics in the direction of greater exactness has – as is well known – lead to large tracts of it becoming formalized, so that proofs can be carried out according to a few mechanical rules. The most comprehensive formal systems yet set up are, on one hand, the system of pink Appia Mathematica and, on the other, the axiom system for set theory of Zermelo-Fraekel ( later extended by J. v. Neumann). These 2 systems are so extensive that all methods of proof used in mathematics today have been formalized in them, i.e. to a few axioms and rules of inference. K. Gödel On Formally Undecidable Propositions of Principia Mathematica and Related Systems

In America, it all comes back to our forefathers – and I would add our foremothers. They said everything better, or at least 1st. Take principal first made a witticism by none other than Mark Twain - “a lie is halfway around the world,  before the truth has put on its boots.” Their people said it earlier, and there is probably some version in Latin, either classical or the later sorts which are barely classical at all – but Mark Twain said it succinctly. He must have had in mind something truly grotesque – as I do when I talk about why memes are an idea which is just plain wrong. One can see why it gets started – after all it people are hypnotized by the word “memes”, then they will believe anything.

Why is “memes” such an awful idea? At its base, it says that the idea of means is the same, or at least similar to, the word genes. And a lot of people want the stupid people of the world hypnotized in this way.

What is wrong with the word? Because genes work differently in a different context, then do memes – and the confusion is reaped by individuals which know better.

Several reasons why, but we can focus on 2 of them. One is that genes spread differently then memes. The other is some traits which are not like genes crop up anyway, and it shows the difference between the 2 ideas.

Gene can vary, but it varies by a code which boils down to GCAT – the fundamental letters of amino acids as represented by DNA. There are multiple sets of amino acids which are not represented, and occasionally it needs to perform some sleight of hand – but generally, life does not need the world of amino acids which are not represented by DNA. But memes do not reduce down to a universal form, instead, they change forms between languages – and that makes memes harder to spread in some languages than others. This is different than genes – who can change shape regardless of which organism they are present in. Memes are represented only in human beings – no other form of organic life has them. The reverse is true as well – genes only crop up in life – but we can hardwire certain behaviors associated with memes in silicone. The 2 areas are not overlapping.

Other problem with a joining of genes to memes, is that a gene generates in only a few contexts – and in a large case only when the animal is being formed, though not always. Memes can come about with only imagination, and have no connection with anyone else – you can be infected without any other holder of the idea. For example, if you have a gene, then you must have had contact with another who also has the gene, and most likely from your parents. But a meme does not have this restriction, you can think for yourself and create it out of whole cloth. In that way the analog for the idea is not “gene”, or the idea of “trait”. Memes do not recognize this difference, but genes and traits are well recognized in biology.

Trait does not mean that similar genes are involved – they come about only because an outside force produces the same effect, and discovers that they evolved differently. In other words, no gene had anything to do with a trait – they evolved separately. Just as an idea involves separately. Genes then form a line, usually from parent to offspring, were as ideas can form without any connection. For example – no one suggests that similar genes are involved with bumblebees and bats flying. But they do have the same trait.

Reverse is also true – things such as sickle cell anemia, are joined by genes to many things that do not resemble them. There is no such relationship with memes – everything which is similar looks the same. But genes work because of the odd differences.

So why does “meme” still hold sway? Because while it is a wrong idea based on wrong assumptions, it still seductive. A person who wants to believe that there is some connection between genes and ideas once to make it work. People who are gifted with the illusion that memes have power, can be given money – and money to human beings is a very powerful inducement. But on the cosmic scale of things, the money that they are given is actually very small compared to the willingness of people to be ripped off by a belief in a fictional object.

If you want to be liberated from the idea of memes – stop using it. And think instead of an idea, which has its own way of working. After all, genes work whether or not you speak the same language, but memes require an external language to function. And the other point is why was it evolved – this language of memes? It was evolved because a few biologists wanted to defend Darwin as the only form of selection. They were inspired by the opposite numbered “creationists”. Both be altered Darwinian and creationists forces wanted a structure where mutation was only Darwinian – because both of them felt that this would be an advantage. To creationists wanted it because there are problems with ultra-Darwinianism, and they thought that they could then argue “ since there are problems with evolution, the alternative must be creationism.” The altar of Darwinians did not want to tackle the problems which they felt were in evolution – so they also wanted a paradigm which said “Everything which is not ultraDarwinism must be creationism.” For a long time, this paradigm of the debate held.

There is an alternative – it rejects creationism outright, because the creationists argue that they can solve problems which are at least 1 billion years old, but cannot solve problems which are immediate in nature – such as which insects have been altered by humans and which are altered by nature. The entire line of their reasoning is bankrupt. But that does not mean that ultra-Darwin is the end of the discussion, it only means that he is the beginning – and while he is paramount to understanding the mechanisms of evolution, there have been other contributions – for example Woese and Kimura – Which extend Darwin, not replaced Darwin.

In a sense it is like Gödel – a gene presupposes some axiom which makes it possible, whereas an idea can come from any place. Like the idea that Gödel – Turing - Nash is to entropy like amper - volt - ohm is to battery: obvious once you think of it.

The example I use is the idea of race superiority, many people are born into families which belief in the idea that one “race” - whatever that idea really means – is better than all of the other “races”. If it were like a gene, then it would be hard to get rid of – and only through intensive means. But the idea can disappear as easily as it appears, and with new other inducements. You can see something which cannot work in the racial superiority, and then it just disappears – never to be heard from again. The same is true in reverse – some people need an idea, which however false, brings comfort into there lives. That is why I think of white, the sense of skin color - and whyte, the sense of racial identity - as different things.

Mark Twain explained: a lie is halfway around the world before the truth can set people free.

Tuesday, December 12, 2017

Stone south Wind - 8

Washington University at St. Louis

“Rationalistic optimism” is the view that there are no mathematical questions that the human mind is incapable of settling, in principle at any rate, even if this is not so in practice( say, to the occurrence of the heat death of the universe). In a striking observation about the implications of his incompleteness result Gödel said...

Computability : Turing, Gödel, Church and Beyond

Eluding something as vague as rationalistic optimism: Masters was completed, in Washington University, my main professor called the in to his room – which was small, and built quickly out of temporary slabs. He did not look down even as I sat in the only chair which was not covered with notes, papers, and journals. One by one with his right hand he was grading papers, but he was aware of my existence, and started directly: “Do you know about politics?”

“No, I have been even been down to the political science area in my time here.”

“You may not have heard that the war in Europe and in Asia is going to sweep America to a battle ready sense.”

“I have heard that much.”

“Then you have a sharp choice, close the door and we can speak about it. This is not something that everyone should hear – in fact, we are not having this conversation, on the record.”

“What is this about? You have never been secretive before.”

“That is because I received a phone call – from a source inside the War Department. And you have a simple choice – and one of them is not signing up for military service.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“My secret: there to be a project, and its object is to build a bomb which is several times, several thousand times, as lethal as any other.”

“That would have to use atomic power, and no one has any idea of how to do that – we heard rumors of an atomic pile, but that is small.”

“The atomic pile was built in Illinois, and actually it may just achieve the goal of a self-contained fission. 1 atom will split, triggering 2 more – and so on. Eventually they plan to achieve criticality - The atoms can only be of 2 kinds – U235 and one of the plutonium atoms, I am sorry I do not know which one it is. That will cause a chain reaction – though they have not yet done so. It is however a matter of engineering.”

“Do you want me to work on this project?”

“Actually, no. But the other choice is to take a job as a physicist with Winchester Repeating Arms – solving whatever problems they are getting into. Between you and me, they not that bright. I was hoping that you would step in.”

“I can see why you are saying were not having this conversation – a lot of people from that lab were recruiting diligently.”

“With the bomb project, they need to find as many bright physicist and chemists. Because going in to uranium or plutonium is a ticket to wall to wall employment.”

“But, not interested in the heavy elements.”

“Or the physics involved in that. You dream of inventing an x-ray microscope – even though I say it will not happen. I know, which is why I think I can get you into the lab – and actually make improvements almost immediately.”

“Are you sure about this?”

“No, but I am reasonably sure. And that is the best that I can offer. I just do not want to to go down to the recruiting office, and get your fool head blown off – when there is actual knowledge accumulated.

It would be impolite.”

“Send me to Repeating Arms, and I will make my way from there. My brothers like to shoot guns, so they will be happy.”

“And you promise me not to sign up?”

“Some of my brethern has already gone.”

“Promise, not avoid the question.”

Thinking for a minute, and then raised my right hand, like taking an oath: “I promise.”

That is how I wandered into the commercial laboratory, and on my way in, met a woman – who was the chemist, and often shot test rounds, herself. It was not a good start – and to my mind she was icy to me. I later found out that she had a husband serving overseas, and had made arrangements to move to Mexico city after the war. Her beau was actually serving with the British – so eager to get into battle. I met him only twice, once when he was on leave – and nice enough. The other time was after the war – and things were different with him: he had the “million year stare”, and drank until there was no tomorrow.

Something needed to be done about that, and I suppose I must have been nominated by the man behind the mirror.

Monday, December 11, 2017

Peepee – poopoo - And the Universe of Battle - II

    -2 -
    Home-again Home-again Jigity-jog!

    I am the Lorax Ishkabible! I speak for the younger eddas in lullaby-land! Amid a different shade of white heard in wondrous stories– in a whiter shade of pale – a white that is all about an apartment, with that one stellar cremeist which is made for living - these words played out in sarsaparilla exaggeration from father to child. Far from Kerouac – in his Lowell den – and nearer to the imagination land of Tasha Tudor and A. A. Milne - or so says Winnie-ther-pooh. It is a darkened land - which comes up brilliantly with the sunrise, here it comes - and sleeps by gentle portrayed by the D'Aulaires' riffs of myths - from the Greek into Norse – now at last Pan was loose upon the world. Oh! Brightly take this hourglass and welcome the walrus. Goo-goo-ge-jubb at Paddington Station spectral.

    Love is like oxygen – giddy to excess, enough so that you are going to fly. The sneetches cry at a noxiousness to the child – which had formed a parade on Mulberry Street, fanfan to express the hidden meaning of the dimmish caress. So to take their measure for measure by dying away down the rabbitousness hole. O frabjous day, and chortled in three squander. Triptomeier in dulciselses! Iambic amateur motor against trojic hexameter - as the Two Poets explored in a symphony - l’amor che move il sole e l’altre stelle, in paradise lost.

          it is the ABCs for young readers, and old readers, alike. First the vowels and then the consonants in those tongues which are Alphabets rather then Abjad or Abugida – or further encased in Logographic. Apple and aardvark lead this of namedthings – though alligator flows close behind. The wide mouth grimaces in the stream – green mist oozed over scales, and the teeth burble wide. Dr. Strangelove lies in wait on top an army of DVDs and Bluerays – the last physical medium that anyone wanted to purchase. The TV was on – but none watched it. Video was killing the radio star.

    But the baby does not care – giggly and gushing out praise from every esophagus which wide-eyed came into contact. Staring outward without focus, but with a toothless smile. Happy the pleasure all came to her-in-a-piece: eating, digesting, and manufacture of poo. Only a flash dismissal came to change the diaper – or, if you prefer, the nappy - happy-nappy papoose, the river runs murmuring by. Serene syringe suddenly serious – a crumple came to the madonna as she spoke on the iphone. SSID was required to complete the application for a birth certificate. Crumpled contorted in loose-fitting clothes – when the hurlyburly's done, she was concerned, about the run-a-round on Solsbury Hill, Mr. Blue Sky-y-y – but soon comes Mr. Night.

    Out the window from the bedroom, views a skyline on the American Alps, with nary a spot of turner tubes suspend in mid-air – with rifts and valleys, spires and peaks - and light beyond light, but not serve in heaven. Victorian brick engineering – to Jazz Age concrete – to international post-war steel and glass, and beyond, because the Alps were still accreting. The neon was scorn to advertise, acquaint, promulgate and divulge mysteries the infant would not know, like Anne of Green Gables 13 – and the madonna had ceased to care. Unmasked – a pair of adults, having become parent in split-year of time. Cirrus clouds reflected orange and pastel fluorescent gondolas that spat-out from the ground – the New York Times Metro section glomed events that miss the core paused.

    While my guitar gently Jesus wept.
Of distant atmosphere, it was the rain – and she stopped, to parlayed with the absent grandmother, who had swaddle her while her mother was a wreck of opioid addiction in her youth over youth as a Dharma bum.

Are you there, grandmama – are you there?

Among many, I am with you.

Language was imprecise – was it: Among many, I am with you, or Among many, I am, with you or Among many I am with you? Disturbances prolong the agony of unfacts, should we possess them. But she hesitated was reticent: and the plunge forward -

But you are not here, In any truer sense that I know.

I am but you in reverse - you never knew me and you knew me all too well. You are the dangling participle beneath my feet. A sense of shuffle maintained its view behind beyond before the deck of cards from Alice in Wonderland.

And then Peter got down off the wheel barrel, and her grandmother continued:

I am here now, because of until this point, you would not know the pain - the pain that brings the joy of a new life.

The madonna thought about this, in its many splendored glory - and realized just how much each detail could be eliminated and illuminated by this simple fact. She was different now, and the pain had disappeared into a haze, bought lied in weight around every corner. It was the pain on the tip of her tongue, which would not be recognized again - unless she tried another birth. Then the flowering pain would interrupt again for a few moments, which she would recognize the deaths head face for the moment between becoming to be, and the guidance of surrender.

Will I ever see you again?

Would you want to see me again? Or would you leave that to the chance that becomes birth? I know which I would want, and I think you would want the same thing. Not knowing is a supreme distinction which has surrender as its sortir.

With this trocher, it spun the madonnas vertex in place - and coming round the projects in Queens a profusion of piccolos and flutes began the sunrise, which all had rushed down the avenues and hurried along the boulevards - wonders and beauties were silent as a circle and a line (bent), and therefore touched each one a different way. The rulebook sounded rule 175389-I. And a flood of nouns carried forth from the text.

But then the velveteen rabbit hopped into view - as if a velveteen rabbit could hop - and scratched himself with the hindfoot and within to a dream. Realizing that asleep had overtaken; that everything was planned in accordance with the laws of slumber. Thus, a wave of her palm was all that her grandmother needed to say goodnight to all. Good night good morning guten Morgen good day and goodbye to the figment of her imagination which took the form that she recalled as her grandmama.
Waking instead, she felt by her the gift of splattering poo, which the infant ingloriously disposed.

Le petit prince – of une magnifique image, dans un livre sur la Forêt Vierge qui s’appelait « Histoires Vécues » - when it was 1st published, did not appear to be a parable du guerre. And yet it crowded on top, devant ne derrière, around her. She gasped for dispresence from the on disait dans le livre - a whisper of the French she use to know, and forgot in sadden torque of time. Children recognized only the story and not the subtext conveyed in paralanguage. There is a Foucault pendulum echo, from the depths of Deconstructive semiotics in phenomenology mode of post-modernism in a hermeneutics stance - with all the posts running after it.

Turning to her side, the madonna saw her significant other - once called POSSLQ, “and we will some new pleasures prove” in the sound and fury to be travel by the Donne - as she trudged down the golden wood - wouldn't chu know it's a lot like Christmas - floor to the kitchen, to pump the milk into little plastic cups, which would be demanded momentarily. The Renaissance masters had never warned of this requirement.

Butt the baby did not cry for the shambles excreta that she had made, absorbed into quilting du jour. Each moment it denied the adolescent attraction, it secured the maternal inflection - she was 1st and always madonna, in a pragmatics mise en scène, like The Doll's House, when it came the epoch to read Ibsen – when her progeny will feel like a The Prisoner in her own house – between horse-and-sleigh and Number 6, though count as Number Five by Marcel Proust – an involuntary conscious memory. The telly was still on. Bow Bow Bow – according to “Sound and Communication: An Aesthetic Cultural History of Sanskrit Hinduism”. But no Hindi was spoken here – though madonna imaged one in a dream, longago – a Hindu who spoke Hindi, not -a, -e, or -o.

Disposed of the container used to dispense milk – it had leaked – and with the posiciones of an immunologist, poured exact the amount from left-to-right and back again. Even the adventi looked like a machine from the past. It was training for the day, hours, periods of graduate school – an adult reminiscence of long ago, as the advertisingese went, last Thursday - and before that, five years ago. The telly was still on while the moon plunged above the cylinder. Then, as she straddles on the double bed, and gave the life-giving elixir of parental paradigm – not cascaded conjugation.

Coos and giggles, and then the burbs and burps began - and she put the baby of on her shoulder to expunge the gas, and then laid down to rest. There was a call-and-response, that leaned on a spiritual from african-american lines of jizz deaned Prohibition famed. Your train is here, Mr. Duke Ellington - and it spins a mood in indigo, on the 'A' Train at the Cotton Club (the best in the world - she fights anyone who says differently - it don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing) – dowa-dowa-dowa. Wah! Wah! Wah! Cried the baby in an attempt to ameliorate the resonance.

Distantly a march played in the key of F - and it was the sound of battle sophrosyne.
What colour was your rainbow, yesterday? Was it readied by the grey bleakness, or warm to the pattern swirl of autumn? Would that it be hiver, for to those who seek out the differences – the worn tetrachromat whisper sharp beudoin, is a warning of the red schoa points which glitter in of tower spare. And she sees the moon – but in a reflection – put it in an envelope, and send it to The New Yorker and make believer, it came from the deep and dark manifestation form of man – the older counter age of proof the God had human wish to walk upright on innumerable of innumeracy his – not her – limbs of flesh. A dark reflection of setting counter-terra there sitting in space. The madonna opens her milk, on fed and feed upon the nuance. To a child like this.

Heghogs grew from utter-nonsense, upon a pithy fractal of the xaos mandelbrot in self-similar gorge by Julia – and by Beatrix Potter claim, and stood awhile in thought. It was a seagull, or perhaps a turning tern, that wafted flat in 3 note on the key of E and thence to say in German “s”. More on this later Roth, you will have your time at the breast. Scrub-a-dub toils the Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle in her pot – pot becomes all nice and clean as a diaper folded by machine, as polyphony in a straight note sounds. But was it F – or Es? Whose to say – perhaps the Amphigorey, writing a tome on murder lisps - and Lisp - murmurs who. But that is Artificial Stupidity make cold reliably numbers fresh in a poly-Julia-language cast Python way. Watership Down has no fiver-characters! An author, who once was a child like this.

Baby crosses her eyes to find her mothers – to focus yet inexplicit and nonspecific way – O thesaurus we prey thee in synonymies mantra clasped. (Nominative, vocative – accusative; genitive: or dative.) Like raindrops on the pane, with vague distant building along the Baggershot Row w/cars, carrying the letters of a distant President. Who once was a child like this.

Baggage wail from infant to the world that wake madonna from half-slumber – stop and go – the red light answer back. And in their casting call to dancers, a chorus line was made, but remade every week, till the show drop to its end bisected. And each one, was a child - like this.

Eyes a flutter, and a news that spews into the cheeks. Every detail is memorized, because it is the madonna's child nonplus. The small suite tales of an old house in Paris that was covered with vines, where all was cover with vine Could not have been more perfect to her gentle stroking of the infant's chin, even the ears were straight and in perfect symmetry. Oh, what a child is this.

Of the child, with a child - was this. Because gradually everything grew hazy in the space of walking away down the corridor, as the baby grew to stages which eventually became an adult, and the parents had forgotten all of the falter which came with birth. Gradually, the child could stride within and without, to choose to select, to mention, to feel, what an indirect way - to reach maturity, that became, in time, a new life again. And all from a child like this.

Depression was its true name, in Paris 1919 after Childe Harold to Dark Tower Came – and it settled on her as a shroud, he jes' keeps rollin' along with a grin if ultraomnipotence - progress is a comfortable disease meaning The
Voice of Jesus – I, oh I of I in I of why, of course, oh why - the sponges made of misery Oedipus – calling out the Dead of Dublin. Il y a – the most important phrase in French – peu trop de femme in the Stone South Wind, in old dissembler. He who lives out slumbering sonmansance by Medea translated to English by some never was, but in the original koine subscribe to Euripides. She thought I would kill him – save the child's smell is partially his own- he must think the same of me. The night is beautiful, so the faces of my people – but there murder upon the obligate mouth-breather. Foul fare petunium canticle for Leibowitz. The sea has made face like a chocolate bar – not candy 100,000 dollar bar on Lennox Ave deferred. His solid flesh had never been away to Dixieland redux – Spainish is the lovin' tongue, look away Dixieland to Eveready to Chance. It is the grass, two roads diverged in a yellow cradle, not brown or tawny, wood where my life had been astray. What do you do to stop?Yes – go on with a Howl: because he saw the best minds of his generation destroyed by the madness limplike - a starving hysterical nude.1 – 2 – 3 – 4 stick around I'll tell more – if William Carlos Williams will allow it.

Outlandish gash - she turn with a pen transcribe with pencil stub, that was a drawer – with which are scissors that call her name. A slice, a pustulance smooth of vowel, in fleshy countenance of him. And wait for le soleil to touch his face, with a card double and redouble down, and fished above pisces poisson pescado geranium. If not he, then me. Mine, and all there is, faded to dew - and dust. Welter at the last stars of heaven – HA Rey deliver me from evile. [And the Velveteen rabbit to the win from Wittgenstein, who demanded that they play poker - in a dream. And hidden mythology, where each scolds the other to be my slave for an instant – and fear-smeardecker à la Dagwood – a chómp, chimp fazzle a la dashes in Garance to Clark by the church with a pistol. Such is your introduction to Monsterpiece, with bankrupcy on the corner in espresso-land, Yunus division. (From Middle French garance, from Old French garance, warance, from Frankish *wratja, from Proto-Germanic *wratjō (“red dye”). Cognate with Old High German rezza, reiza (“scarlet; purple; crimson; red; madder”), Old English wrǣtt, wrǣtte (“crosswort; madder”).) With a popsodacoke from the American slang dictionary. For further reading see le Trésor de la langue française informatisé. Seven is the number of copywritten in the world with notes on the collision. It was a dream, with the frames mine eyes have scene the glory of the coming of the lord – and how such cute eyes the baby had. Curious George had said so, and so it is! Yes - what glorious eyes you have you have! (Talking in babytalk.){ Tristan et Isolde hints without stating the I syllable – this was the creation of Wagner, who scorn Schoenborg – and the conduct form Syn-syn-dad-dee to New Yawk.} What the negatives Alt-right - cum Neo-Nazis - would do – chant there obscene caudraclashes in Virgina, land of the deeper South where Jefferson brooded over de Tocqueville with a toke, and Washington Address in anosognosia. ]

Sourcing of this fantasy was the madonna, of a dream perchance, as she watch the insignificant other across the table, grunting in his unshaven sleep. To be, or not to be – that is the question. Where tis merry melody, or silly symphony, to take, perchance to fornicate in last centuries rotten smear. Tis nobler Hammett easy Chandler with F. Scott Fitzgerald on the side - repetition, repetition, go easy on that old man river, that old man river - he jes' keep movin' along. All he did – was stroke his beard. And she vomited – and turn to infant, all swaddle with pamper gleaned from the suzerainty covenant by vassal definition on the bottom-lands - the wise man knows himself to be a fool.

It sneauxewd on Gotham.

L’espirit d’escalier patter patter fall – down on the street a woman, who want to be pregnant stretches up to grey clouds an takes in a snowflake rond de jambe en l'aire. A past forward pirouette through her most recent conversation with the deliver of sperm. Oh, what fools these mortals be. Somehow the prick of ears in the apartment rest the madonna on the very distant woman – because she knew the story all to well. And hated the way it came out for her. James Joyce was a man, an sexless infinity had no problems for his uglinesssex. Discombobulator in excelsioritas. The ghost of Future Imperfect Past Inconditional Aorist Organism trips tonguedly forward to tend back, and sticks out a blather form old saint nick, or so this mythconditional Charles Dicken act without thinking. He look over the shoulder of the woman, mist against mist: a city beautiful – but unseen, with Satanic Verses in composition; slowly at first. But then with a maniacal possession of lunacy, by the light – of the silvery moon, a midnight noon as it stole out the splendor – moon with snow in foreground, with a wedge of creamalicous odder nigha stratus-scape the hidden cliffs and valleys Chú Cuội wooing Nguyet Tien in the darkness of space.The word of God – let no fetus be aborted – in the name of pederasty, non-coscent, and rape, forever shiloh and ever – Amen. Attuned and appropriate in HTML 5.0 in potty yet to come – and soon.

Cuddle-cuddle arts in trouble, Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn, and cauldron bubble. With smastammers weight of rosy finger Dawn coming. Of the ravin'd salt-sea shark, from Pablo Neruda to breast nox breast from whence all milk and colostrum doth flow – the spice must flow.
And her eyes where such dominant blue! How could the madonna raise her hand against this? She looked over (as she breastpump whitey liquid with a meanstreak) and could not stiff her hand, nor even then spine. It was the source of too precious clock by days and years – from a date too sacrosanct too honour except with punyamay - sacrosanctum concilium in sacred liturgy. Holy, Holy, Holy!


And still the snow fall in the opposite of dusk – it is the East, and Juliet is the sun. Midmorning de Toulouse-Lautrec-Monfa, on September Morn in coffee mug splen. The ballard of the green berets – to of the charts in '67.

And what does it matter so long as our military is in power.

And all is all, and all is one, even as he drank turpentine laredo with a belt of marijuana - so long denied, because slavery was its profit. And Moore was his disciple. Crawling creeping to his finish line down in Alabama way, look away – Dixiecup land. (Koch. Bros. Product.)
Holly, Holly, Holly! The last time to Top 40 had a ring-ding-ding, save the ballard of, the green berets.

And Shiloh is a Hebrew word – for place of peace and violence – what wrong with a little violence? A little violence never hurt anyone.

And this we give thank to thee – Anti-Jesus the evangelicalturd. (Adult word comes splat in you face.)

And look central skyward to chase a snowflake – on eggalicious day.

Jerusalem, USA –



Why don't we climb aboard the starship?

America... why do you forsake me? Asked the madonna in a nightgown with a set of galoshes to run out into the silky mist – cold but smooth blanket from the West, of Great Lake ilk – the ilk of ilk, carried by his name on four corner-side. Koo-Koo-Ka-Job or is just Ko-Ko on the shiv. With wailing horns and no statement of the main theme? It is wet snow, and I jibe a 1946 recondition Broadway pick lines to make a sham-shim-alley Swing set piece. If you truly wish to.

Why did I listen to that man, when he said that it would be safe? Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone, time for this one to come home. But where is home on this wretched planet?Ephebophilia everyplace, and not a droplet to drink.

Mistress of the temptress barren is future past resplendent: the ferry across the ocean of Existence, but now the Raven was a prisoner's dilemma – unto he was said: “I have shown you this supreme beautifully shroud form, resplendent, universal, transgressive - and primeval to the daughter of the kingdom of youth – the world of human life, and portmanteau Finnegans Wake by a key. Every thing has a key. Even Harvard Business School on the make by way of Chicago semiotics.
America, why cant you do this? Or is it lost in lines from hello world?\n

Only genius cannot reply - the highest region of capture, and men were easier to ensnare: the doom lies in yourself, not in your name. Even though the fight creases, the burial is quickly over. What is leave, and left, and leaven loaf? All quiet on the Western front, almost glad the end had come to the Black Obelisk with cash aloof. She did not wait. Never wait – oh-oh. BM.

Born, not made – with the lack of the nuance to attune to others inner thought, into the Shadow's Left Traveller – the infant know nothing about this; she knows the bitty running drop that crowds in the the bathroom: they name is Norovirus, and splays form severe diarrhea in it Finnegans wake malaise stool. Enfeeblement is nodding so completely, because you did very neatly, ding-dong the wicked witch, is dead. The house began to stitch – some where over the rainbow, in world of pure imagination come with me, so many rainbow connections. If you experience paradise, there is nothing to it pulchritudinously Ragnarok, if wish you to be. (Two old guys commenting off of hand – because no foot was on overhead.)

A crater in the snow, catches her eye from below – a snowbell inured by a jolly 7 year old, who has moved along to other zither things - in the snow blanket Maria Remarquid (QID), in a Hero with a thousand faces way – told millions of time to the chant of saganic worship – billyons and billyons of years ago, as count by Pho Le.

Fantasia on a theme of Gini Coefficients of 1.

In front was the change – from soft coverlet to biting surfacelet on a wavelet, too smoke what is pleasiwana and not what is cloybacco – and never what is alchopoid. The truth, the bitter tonic lined with acid, how this spring of love resembleth and admission without any difficulty with a haughtiness that fueled her inner delight – she died while hugging her child. Stendhal rejected the obscenity of Racinian tragedy – on the mark evolutionist philosophies strange aphorism hitherto laid in the future-past, not on the past-future. It was how the Grinch Stole Christmas, afterall, on mulberry street – the land of morus before the spider, trailing a sinewed web behind the fall of Arabian Nights. Scheherazade in русский . Quod erat demonstanding go - Latinizing the basest of base movites. Which spelling is it?

I know, I know – it is a big world out there. And coo, and coo – hush little baby don't say a word. The baby gruntiling in mess – both overjoyed at have made, and desirous to have it changed. Superciliously - at the same and different clock strike second – as an older man young traipsed through Lucky Strike and found forgiveness in a bar ca. 1960 – when Nixon would be president – all the Madmen so decreed. Urine loves quackery on the bed – set to music, in style of my first title of time, and volume unobtrusive explained in verse.

Yes – yes – yes. Hoping their power over no - yes – yes – yes the terrible twos split infinitive in it's grasp. Yes – yes – yes. Go worry about the une enfant emmailloter.

Please extoll me when they come. But “please” was not a word that C-C-C-Claudius knew, in his Ἱστορίαι, even when Graves help him up, out to the morning's edge, damn he was with the Shakespeare versus Oxford Comma question. Sophocles where are you, on the day of rest? Asleep dreaming of Breyer Rabbit, it seems. (Fiver senses the things in hallucination and Dance, the apotheosis of movement's grace.)

Stared though the pane was the bright world, with dirty patches of grey snow, with sugar ontop – to Sleepbook, perchance to dream of then I must be thy lady. But I know when thou hast stolen away from Fairyland upon love the next live creature that it treatises complicity. With Glenn Smith on the promised rebound, to take note of the spectrum from Infra-red to ultra-violet, and every in between, bewitch – bothered; and bewildered. Ezra Pound in Cantos [like Dante] - who nastiness was bounded by obsession for the Golden Clause, and with tutoring the unloved loving hand - there is only the sound of a cricket, south wind in the stone – sepia and amber days melon navel waist of high secret beach beside Pi'ilani in sorghum shades – because, we were told, the only thing were to have to fear – is fear itself, nameless in it's desire to fix her eyes, and she could not lift them, until the spell was over.

Obligate mouth breather. Obligate mouth breather. Obligate mouth breather.

Mediative on personal website – whose name is forgotten by the smut which he published – it bloomsburies a new, though forgaring the genius of John Maynard Keynes, and his followers in Chinagkok Cheyenne Cherokee Sequoyah – IS-LM as John Hicks broke it down to symbol of Carter, as explained to Steve the other Hicken – portrayed by IS-LM-BoP Flemingizer way, with a translation by Krugman of liar fame. Welsh your bets – including the one at Death. Stoller – and begin again with the Lord of Analysis – by numbers and the signs. No place like London, for Steffi Moy foot tendu reproachez.

But the D'Aulaires' were not impressionist google DEC. Nor were AA Milne desirous of pursuing the Corgi night of blame boggarts bollix Bellatrix Lestrange Strang, King of the Air Climate Affirmer – the change that keeps on giving. And receiving with my love. No place like London.

The anachronistic axe sighs in its gerontoi fix, as if anesthetized on it brick and mortar foundation number 1, the encyclopedia galactica is its gaol. It comes from other regions, the other 99%, and is conveyed by other ministers, these seven years! captive, bound, and double-ironed little sphere mankind was my business, common welfare was charity, mercy, forbearance, and benevolence! One foot in last year, cistercians cry – hypnotic Wilhelmplatz yawp drum Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! There's no place like London, you will learn – there's a hole in it. Songs without words, sobbed Schumann. Who will buy, my red roses – who bloom for a penny in the Nth Circle of Emerson crackles Machisendersoot – with Haydn skipping rope with Jazz Age impresario Duke Ellington, podcast was coming from Lyndon in a jar from the Blogging of the Presidency through to the Connection, Last. Skip a rope with my love. Skip rope, skip rope, skip rope.

 We are starfish, every one.