Todd's whiffed a poet's coming response

[QUOTE]Originally posted by Gilligans Butt Bitch:[B]

The three principal commodities of Korea are:
1. Heated Floors
2. Sliding Doors
3. Slanted eye, come guzzling w..res!!
F..K THAT PLACE AND EVERYING IN IT!! Especialy them c..k gobbling ho's.

Wohah, wharra yers sayin' is slash dint is

"It's geniuses like you wot wheeze need in the world today coz yers've not got that nasty side to yers that spells love 'n peace 'n all that bad karma 'n sinful stuff devil worshippers don't need"

innit matesy?

Can I cum round your patch 'n engage in a mutual hate-in fest of nastiness and nuke level naughtiness of physical interaction which'll 'ave us getting Steve Austin sixy fixed 'n dropped dead as time escaping the continuum to another realm of forgotten forever remeberance, where only the unlicked annointed few contributing to the list connecting the two by keeping a trace in co-ordinates of sight and sound formulae which transcend either side of those specific identificational spaces

and between routes;

yer could cum round my hole and we can both get in a new microwave pain pleaser of total annihilation I've acquired from online sources at the Wall Street Journal, MI569, the CIA, NY Times Intelligence desks, the Washington Post, Private Eye, National Enquirer, and the lie conversion factory of synthetic conversation posing as the axiomatic certainty at the centre of all phenomenons


Dear Vanity Fair

My name is Desmond Swords and I would very much care contributing wow to an audience with dazzling climbs beyond Hegelian heights of semiotic rationale, so they can attend with me there in your hermetric and strange temple of contemporary exchange, to the uninitiated looking bewildered at and on the screen of trafficked ideas where the combination of sound, picture and text is often all too baffling to contemplate in the depths of understanding language artists possess once they have lettered up and availed of the boot of knowing, emptying its secret into their brains like Ode to a Nightingale opiates, dissolving into micro solid drips of opinion pegging out the grounds of belief offered to ones gazing upon the words their inherent hope of humnity translates as the contributing documentary evidence of its own world peace agenda.

So take little notice beyond the wish to connect dear literary high quality reader, as once the powers have kicked in we both may soar through mirrors to an emptiness of replicating spiritual frames beloved of Muse groupies pecking away like beaks hacking their way and pasting onto canvas their own patch of creational oblivion in cumulative deposits of personal myth hoped to draw the "rational pattern" and return its swing at a point of balance poised to tip weights outside of reality and impact as a positive change envisaged for the universal good of art.

Yes, friend, if I may call you that, time is short and talk is cheap so let me begin, (in my next communication) with a few words inspired by a woman long forgotten, but whose beacon of wisdom was once revered throughout a land where her language evolved uninterrupted to such an extent that sound could be measured with an accuracy never knowingly surpassed, in the most truly scientific of terms and provable textual measures, which the unknowing would find exoterically correct, but only after a long period of study and serious introspection on the received, of what is sometimes a very sadly misplaced, notion of poetic concept........ its most trusty state of identifiable sound units whose relevancies are mathematically based, and which by the time of her demise had gone sensibly along their course for 2000 years with only a fraction of the traumas which shaped the ever changing and interdependable lexicons of other cultures continually crossing in war and peace at the heart of what was and is still, to the complete bemusement of many, commonly described as the early "civilisations" from which our contemporary Western mindset hatched into its full "wonderful" bloom of "superb"ly knowable tracks to righteousness, the dominance of which is now wrestled out in the English lingo.

But what "English," as well as whose?.......... a pertinent point to raise,

as the instant bettering of problematic world issues is dominantly supplied in formulae that word is responsible for, and it is my belief that once readers cop on to my column then we may locate a way to make things work out for our mutual benefit.

Until then, let us log in to what we can only imagine to be the original ethos of liberty,

although the freedom to express this in any way which doesn't cause physical suffering may well be impossible now (03.01 Sunday 18/9/05)

as there are so few people alive who remember the near mid-twentieth century horror to keep a full planetary awareness of certain truths balanced alive in the minds of those who came a score and more years after the cessation of hostilities between certain factions of carnage involved in total war.

A conflict suspended by weapons of devastation; their full gravity hidden behind painted on names bestowed to salve and disguise an unthinkable truth, and whose originating heir of naked annihilation at sub-molecular level is far removed from her, past, ongoing territorial solution talk all those years ago in times when poets were the weapon inspector scientists of their day;

badged and tagged up bosses of kings akin to us all, whose practical science, "natural" and "misunderstood," was incapable of producing powerful laboratories of destruction unfound in Iraq, but known to be places adjacent where UN talks return a much more resistant dividend;

where the main few geezers jarring on the world stage now fear to tread, as their checkmate endgame of two big sticks is the only envisaged closure should any of them start waving the magic bash wand of heated physical pain by microwaves in the guise of pursuing peace in a planet wide democracy for all scale of engaged response to whatever goes on which necessitates sticking in further replies.

I imagine it goes without saying that we all have stories of a closeness to a flame of imperial nihilism and how we brushed by and hoovered up whatever banality was present in the historical vibes of any given time,

but three generations down the line of sociological-centric evolution and living at the fastest first post modern moments' edge ever; which it is tempting to imagine as a solidly tempered plain supporting our age of vacuous sophistication,

many misconceive,

it is my current position,

that events unrolling at the UN are being worked in tenors construed to suggest language and communication is a scientific pursuit of enhancing truth with computer aided levels of cleverality only the next generation of artificially assisted robotic human minds will be able to fully comply with in order to safegaurd a total disengagement contingency;

as though certain formulae of words alone can sway all literate peoples reading in native "English" text, should they choose to adopt them as arbiters of recourse, or some incontrovertible holy grails of justification for acts subsequent to the creation of wordic spells released by sages in current times.

Logic suggests the writer's "answers" are but expressions of faith being acted out beneath a weather ready broad umbrella stored in an appropriate recepticle at the humanities office of a latter day idea academy, where snap decisions and quick fix closures of opinion make no contributional difference to the final trajectory of mankind;

leading me to posit that many proffering ready made mends to ills of contemporary events perceive existence, primarily, through a pseudo-scientific precision lens state, technology inspired, created and shared by the main first world populace of human civilisation today, including myself.

A nonchalant state of ideas with a manufactured hope cored within its own Newtonian seed of central dialectic motoring to the settlement where an inherently ordered state of being, distorts in proportion to the exponential rate the science of communication advances a doctrine of Solution.

A definitive understanding;

the chimes of which set the mind to answer in modes resounding with clarity, much like masculine end-rhyme, full and finely tuned into pieces of poesy by creators keen to offer their universal set of apple pie answers, in subliminaly presentational at all times state, due to the high basting glaze wrap of argument which is, in realty, technology's "spiritual frame?"

"This is the solution" is what appears to be getting said, but what do you think reader?

How often and easy do we shout, like career high street charity collectors

"Lets save the planet,"

then cry

"What's happening with the rainforest/Iraq/Northern Ireland/Niger/ unrolling on the TV news, is as intense and coded as a true poets' druidic prediction of wave stopping wands purchased at the reiki crystal wharehouse in Stillorgan's spiritual industrial estate of pure commerce."

This, I would suggest is the main business of the hopefull open micer unfiring in the flesh on the night, but never the less, still striking wider, absent cores;

carping from the sidelines,

much like I am doing now, here as I sit in front of my screen, conquering wrongs I detect as I trawl through the information deluge, attempting to dodge and duck the torrential downpours of irrelevance dogging the days of poetic endeavour all us wannabe kids of Parnassus suffer on our separate roads to nowhere, as we await the arrival of a return which will whisk us to greater peaks of fancy in our quest to fly above our own personal