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The brain taints everything it brings to us
with its limited apparatus, its precepts,
all the things it thinks it knows.
It is the ever-unreliable narrator
of events it sorts and remembers
for you, for it. Its orthodoxies make
a complex construct of pure distraction
from the world as it really is. One
must trick it with cameras and equations
into knowing much of anything at all.
with its limited apparatus, its precepts,
all the things it thinks it knows.
It is the ever-unreliable narrator
of events it sorts and remembers
for you, for it. Its orthodoxies make
a complex construct of pure distraction
from the world as it really is. One
must trick it with cameras and equations
into knowing much of anything at all.
Get to be my age and it's a blank slate. *
If Lauren Berlant wrote poems, I'd imagine them looking like this.
The opening line is the grand truth of life. Good piece.
A very true poem.
Damn, Gary--
LOVE the music!
Thanks, Jake. Blank, clean- pretty much equal, right?
Had to Google Lauren Berlant. Thank you, Amanda!
Without it, we understand nothing. With it, we misunderstand everything. Thanks, Sam.
Thank you, Neil.
Thank you, JB (wink and a nod).
Like this very much. (Mis)comprehension, (mis)understanding. It's all there. I like the way it winds toward the ending.
*
I love this! We're such vulnerable machines*
"must trick it with cameras and equations
into knowing much of anything at all."
Thank you, Michelle and Jen.