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[Here are test runs of a verse form I've been playing with for a few years. A few of these appeared in a David Bowie tribute that Kevin Killian (or someone else whose name I can't remember) edited last year. I'm working on a less mystifying version of poems in this stanza form (which I won't describe, but it has to do with the indents) called What is Said to the Poet Concerning Flowers.]
Smooth green world
permitting axis grinding
neath a star
bulbous and mirrored
truth ache, comedy
of replicants deferring
ovoid, efficacious
maxy sheen
the love lost between selves
in crackling plastic
what one observed
through the rain
is a runner chasing countdowns
sadly forgotten
but for the gorgeous
challenge of it all
invisible -- insidious
connecting for vagrancy
the jawbone isolate
amidst streaming quarks
Using dem types of woids
to muscle support
is history
gracelessly, the pedestrian surrenders
difficult brilliances
the instinctual sham-o-meter, that
any given night
gives reason to pay the rent, that
reason, lost
pump fist over the castrates
from behind the gleam of armor
defecated by choice
republic -— these thoughts fancy across the water
of talk
the vandal in career
blemishes the tubeways suspiciously, courage-
ously, morphs the museums
where the discourse fairly sucks, sucks
sucks discordant channels
from the popery that will not smell it
The infallible bloke
deft with a lime
or a meter
barrage, twice times the second
wind fixture, gravity
cultural mushrooms
corrects the materials
in it
video heirlooms, the inauspicious
slanting out sideways
one of the great english voices
cut
up, three stories
robert wyatt
hum, incredibly danceable
now, to the new knowledge
accrued with friendship
such self-referential grease
provokes the dim readership
blatantly, by twisting thumbs
This, finally, my book
of philosophy
recollections, discrougements, lex
often reading circus
for humid terms
suspended in the wild percentage, moving
like cloud spots, frictions
of leg against leg
the music
this frantically the look
of seemingly improper moments, for the
book
protects, and then there' s abundance
to elevate
the mundane, to its
synaesthetic upper station
where white funk makes its play, for
emotion, pleasure, pain, simple
it seems — to the roving challenger
bored, quite frankly, of this
My adolescent skin gives me a bad voice
in the office
among the lazy
in determined activity
rhyme after rhyme after rhyme, no
poetry
as the fans are flakes
and the texts, half-baked
corduroy -- what pill has gotten in here
to
clean?
carpets auspicious as a brainwash, lux
causing sneezes
perfumorama debilitating lapdogs increases, yeah
that’s right —- policy
damns the underarm
and the underrated
in the cubicles and mail jaws
branding the chaos of the menial’s pines
quite consequential
So Brian Eno
fuck-a dis, fuck—a dat, sometimes
thoughtful people are confined
to wheelchairs
in memory
for the seven reasons punk died
plastered to the freeway
again, anonymous
with a seventy gallon haircut
sometimes bras make sense
hippie pennies contract
amidst the big sur cataracts
dungareed dudes with digeridoos
values every other muscle
pure
snowflake -- and that’s where the pastoral begins
the satire
offends, in case this ambiance is protective
it ain’t —- such somonex
clues us in on the big arrears
You are so casual
in the fuzz box, of
autumn
slants of light curtains
over deli materials, knoblauch, the smokes
occurring
so humanly, persists
this stifling warmth
that, shading the eyes from this sun, the
family
is auspicious
rents in the stratosphere
it's so possible to elevate
one's mind beyond the conditions
one struggles in a wealth of wait
productively managing the interior, who
complains (this is worth forgetting) is
thrown in
the circle -- stones are projected
venemously at the jolly roger
How it's going to talk
one out of her covert
operation, tag-to-tag
survival
in the mesh of vicinities, bar code
of
beer bombs, a
ball room, such
across that heat is
africa, crust
of issues, she
asks
and performs the marxist plug, in
toto, samoleans
are god, and the windows
under it, show unto
deaths, fields of destructions, pax
cassandra
asks about the poem
too overrun with humor
If the smoker takes one step back and observes
the shape of paint on squares
barely able to perceive the emotional complex, for the
rigors of
this reticulous democracy, and the
nerve net is glowing
apprehensively at first but then continues
this growing
of the werk on the werk in the indelible cellars
of culture
that would be a chapter
one would want to review further, this
gridwork, pile-on, path through the
forest -- paved out by yellow flares,
pylons, incredibly undeterred
by fear, insecurity, love, loathing hate
a cartographer's wet dream, who has
just returned from europe
clutching, from the drama of organic life
the sense of civility, civic pride
That gives us a pretty good starting point to understand a lot more about variables, and that's what we'll be examining next lesson. Those new variable types I promised last lesson will finally make an appearance, and we'll examine a few concepts that we'll use to organize our data into more meaningful structures, a sort of precursor to the objects that Cocoa works with. And we'll delve a little bit more into the fun things we can do by looking at those ever-present bits in a few new ways.
Posted by: Annabella at January 18, 2004 07:00 PMWhen the machine compiles your code, however, it does a little bit of translation. At run time, the computer sees nothing but 1s and 0s, which is all the computer ever sees: a continuous string of binary numbers that it can interpret in various ways.
Posted by: Matthew at January 18, 2004 07:00 PMWhen Batman went home at the end of a night spent fighting crime, he put on a suit and tie and became Bruce Wayne. When Clark Kent saw a news story getting too hot, a phone booth hid his change into Superman. When you're programming, all the variables you juggle around are doing similar tricks as they present one face to you and a totally different one to the machine.
Posted by: Watkin at January 18, 2004 07:00 PMNote the new asterisks whenever we reference favoriteNumber, except for that new line right before the return.
Posted by: Gerrard at January 18, 2004 07:01 PMWhen the machine compiles your code, however, it does a little bit of translation. At run time, the computer sees nothing but 1s and 0s, which is all the computer ever sees: a continuous string of binary numbers that it can interpret in various ways.
Posted by: Jeremy at January 18, 2004 07:01 PM