Story of o
A keypress to mark off the start of a stanza;
This is the thought that can swallow your questions.
Mundane, maybe, to push open the lid of a music box still life
To poke in the engine composed of the pieces of all machinations,
Turing and turning and static alike.
The humdrum of keywords that nest into blocks of ciphers
Alive with the sweating of horses is wrapped and impassive
In latent old language that bores like a book,
But deep in seeking at the bottoms of stacks that stand up as tall
As all of the efforts of all of the people in all of their lifetimes
Toiling for a float to return but no closure.
That's how it happens, and that's why it has us.
At once utterly concrete in its cold, brittleness, and fragility
Yet toweringly abstract in its infinite mappings of finite inputs.
And, yes, in its power lives frank exploitation in service of lucre
Or tandem with boredom or hot to the eroticism
Of overdamped warmth from harmony's noise.
This clacks at symbols so the seance assigns to the sheer semiotics
That action gives passion defined on a line.
Then the lines get all mixed up with idioms and ideographs and idiots
To marvel at magic connected apart, pushing through graph nodes
In vertex of exodus ever in search of oases of culture.
But just to participate is to intimate to the bleer of the screen
Under guise of a name through the bounds of vocabulary
All as an ingress into relations that equally say
That consensus of logic describes what we love.
It's the trope of binarity,
As if all these autonomous doers are sifting through signals
To tease from the molehills the joke of the structure
Of predicting the future.
We don't talk in yes and no,
Even though we likely should.
So the comfort of obfuscation hides in familiarity
And we feel from the consistent depictions
That we have sufficiently missed the ellipsis.
These edges are death and rarely wonder,
The tape head addressing a space undefined
But stamping and passing away and undaunted
To churn out returns to burn out the motor.
This is the reason why each easy system
Reveals in its innards the canards that clear it
Of devils that brandish notation that breathes.
Some of them say that the memory's only as sweet
As the bounds of beginnings while others
May mark off the repetitive repeating
Of repeating repetition as too repetitive
To repeat when repeating once more.
Despite all these pleasures of saccharine syntax
It's all just a line that extends past the logic
Of mathematics too often consistent
Beyond our intention.
This is to say that the web app in premise
Is kludge to Peano who'd much rather sum up the functional forms.
And oddly enough the two uses make do
With the interface of word games in small loops implicit or not,
But charging ahead or downward or outward
In appearance of boundedness meant mainly for comfort
In the face of the fear it'll turn out unplanned.
Insofar as the plan executes automatic
It comes into living when we push past anew.
While in some sense it's Sisyphus
That little poems of lets and ends
Can't let the ending come as intended,
We try as we must from compulsion of order
That somewhere amidst infinite explosion of combining the values
The one that we needed will greet us again.
So we work through the order of all possibilities,
Write down a love letter to numbers imperfect,
Marry a context of limited vision,
And draw from the scope of the binary dual
The nominal declaration exclaiming in verbiage
The outcomes of its evaluations that from fragments
Of competing intuition can recede some uncertainty
To see in the seat of the flow of control that the loop,
When unrolled, is a picture as neat
As the needs of our thoughts for a time.
Or, for each intuition, done with what it can,
Shows how the trees can grow up from the ground.
Then the brackets run out of the walls of the world;
The universe swirls and emits an admission:
The effort of speaking through partial expansion in limits
Of scrawling some glyphs in a file.
But unlike a dream that seems 'til it isn't,
The record of effort in plain undertaking
Remembers its sweating, survives, and escapes.