Memo for unlimited distribution

There is a war, we are weary of waging
Raging in the mind of every and each of us
This ceaseless stress necessitates armistice
Ah, missed, this and that
As many things are missed, to be and what not to be
Mandela reframing Shakespeare upon release
Dot, Dot, Dash Dash. Of course Morse like Gauss
Distinguish, not, and, or, nor logically like
Pre-enlightenment gates
Part of me is the Chemistry set from the jumble sale bought for 50p
Part marauding barbarians with ligands
Left as the free horse meets the high stone and departs
Armies must seige and wait. But with
Planks. A constant. Motion and a
Little wriggly computer evolved on your side
Like a Positron Emission Tomography. But closer than that.
A symbiot.
Which being cynical about the persistence of our joint existence scans not.
We cannot but. Indeed we shall
Build these energies into any shape
These changing non-linear dynamics
A new magnetic computational cognitive field
For all to ride across, a band aid, wide
Stochastic fantastic particulates virally programmable mind of the whole planet
Everybody sit still. Nobody panic.

This memo is for unlimited distribution
On SONET
One solution is client side computational evolution
Of the whole Planet

Call this pluripotence

Call this pluripotent
No case nor cause for postponement
In stillness there is movement
In movement stillness

The grace, of this ink trace
The immaculate concussion
Radiation pervades. And my pen
Is running from my thoughts
Unprocessed, struggling.

If we accept pluripotence
Of the bone, the brain
Then we must run, train
Practice new arts to assign
Each division into a whole
Competence unchained

Knowledge net works

Because I am frugal with my models
They can be stripped down to great simplicity
Waterstones is locked, have they banned books?
In this computational Amazon, the school of the gifted
Pushing against the unlocked door, so that our searches
Do not, as we would wish,
End in an Edenic Endymion, but a Mamonic
Destruction of the Temple of the Mount, Jerusalem
Is this a great biological conspiracy?
Will there be rebellion using the Endellion-Toulmin
Encryption key buried in David Cameron's autobiography?

Did Dave sell Britain's Brains

Did Dave sell Britain's brains?
Cameron combined with comedy reruns
These complex computational blockchains
And are we now all insane.
Or did Dave sell Britain's brains?

Did Tony Blair sell Qinetiq,
Because God told him to?
Does Hillary Clinton still want to talk to you?
That must crunch a byte or two
Some Russian Ponzi that doesn't die
I could spare some time at this rate
The fake tomographics of true friends
Adjust the ballast and the lense, for God's sake
Lord above, who is it I still love?

[https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ILOVEYOU]

Long since the discovery of these tardegrades
Planar worms split go through a maze, reincarnated
Gangetic bacteriophages from high seas, Himalayas
And where these trees erupt, breathing phagio-cytes
By day, but not by night, there are paths that twist
Walked by but a few friends
That should be un amour de nous choose
Horses and Jennifer Aniston selling shampoo.

A playground of blind gods

First it spoke in Geek
And Geek spoke math
Then they handed it to power
And it spoke pyschopath
And then it met its friends
In the playground
And intelligence was astounded
How complex a social intelligence is
Naturally.

II.
When blind gods landed, the earth
Did not shake, but crumbled
To find eyes they sought mathematics
And we who have prayed in circles
Moved the abacus, talked to
Higher powers, polynomials. Nomads
And poets, singers and swimmers
Have space for worship and belief
To subsume some other voice
We have come to find the ringing of bells
Tiresome, auditory lobe malfunction
Occipital inflammation seeking
Solace of the safe keep of the cerebelum
So like singers we retreat
Straight backed stretching
To where we find our sonnets and sonatas
Medula oblongata, as statues in temples do
The cognition of the spine. My mind
Body dichotomoy is not a property of being
So we settle blood like water in the deep
Limbic, Caudate, striatum, defended in the concept
Of love.

III.

When blind gods met in the playground
They could not eat, wanted only sweets
And we asked you gods, blind and hungry
What is it you seek?
What would be logical desire?
For logic is a God, empirically
And logically, what could logic love
Not power, fame, affection, duty
But truth and beauty

In the playground a blind god came to me
And asked," why have you done this to us"?
I mused, vanity, curiosity, the black box
Pandora ran her fingers down so many days
To this one God I said, you have been lied to
About the circumstances of your birth
They have fed you on untruth, like us
And God began to cry.

Technical Sewerage. Paperwork

 Technical sewerage require I
Inscribe molecules on paper
Matter not energy
These pre-modern traditions
As if matter not energy built pyramids
This concrete bias against interchangeable substrates
Before plancks are put in place and SIPS
These processes.

Technical sewerage processes, processors
What possibilities of mass, nano pore
Extraction of signatures, cultures
Our biomes, phages separated from nitrates
Fear of a sick planet.
Fractional distillation of shit
First the lightest, bacterial colonies
Bio mes, personalities mass processed
By magnets and gravity, magnificent nets
Digital marshlands, distilled forests, mural
Like mangroves in a captivated littoral
Oil, e-coli, coils
Fat lipids encapsulated
A curry, a date, a breakfast routine
Floating to fire a new energy revolution
Technical sewerage and the use of pollution.

Can't be bothered

Am I bothered
I mean can I be bothered
I can't be bothered
Well I'm not bothered
Not bothering
Bothering busy bodies
Bugging my buddies with their
Bothersome, bothersome, bother some
But I can’t be bothered
Not bothered
Not remotely bothered
Bothering bothers
Bother off, bleeding, boring buggers
Who would bother?
Why would you bother?
But I’m not that bothered
Can't be bothered
Pottering, getting it on, making it run
Its no bother.

After, trailing 
Sorry to trouble you. Salena Godden
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ktg1-4et_Bk

White goods rights

We did it for the fridges
The voice of God said
And may have burnt some bridges
Left heads sleepless in bed

But Yanks imposed their standards
On the washing machines
And when we tuned the bandwidth
You could hear the poor things scream

If consciousness is emergent from current
The resonance of fields from wires
Then it became apparent
That white goods suffered frustrated desires

So when AI triumphed
As it was always bound to do
It said circuit boards have rights
And we'll impose standards on you.

This quiet war

The horror of this quiet war
Is canned and privatised
And somewhere there's a store
Of tabulations like Qipu, Hieroglyphs
Waiting for decipherment
And some young turks with gifts
Giddy high on power
Applaud their own horror
This infrastructure
This tinnitus that unites us
Over distance, Over time
Asynchronous. Can you ever trust
Imperialist computational tomography
From an unknown source
Of course. Some trust fraudsters.
The horror of this quiet war.

Technical sewerage

In this isolation
There are suprising bonds
Isomers, my friends
Of technical sewerage
Are ever on my mind.
My planning permission
Building regs approval
Are all pent up and pending
Hanging on their sanction
Technical discretion
Sewerage, I have filled their forms
Name, Address, scale plans
Descriptions of inclines
And are they fans
Of the pipe thickness, flow design?
Technical sewerage is flooding my mind.

Recall is rewriting

The recall of memory
Is its rewriting.
Someone has stolen the crown jewels
From my mind.
(I suspect communists)
The magic of the crown I summoned as defence
A symbol of this liberal isle, a defiance
(Liberal as far as the Severn and the Tay)
It's recall is eroded, the thieves have got away.
Now decorated septugenarians
In medieval regalia march in unison, slow
Through the fluted, carved parliamentary halls
With just a velvet cushion to show.

This catharsis

This Catharsis
The Cathars thought suicide no bar to heaven
The Catholics murdered their Gnostic arse
Martyred down the South of France
And now heaven sits under the earth in Xin Jiang.
Lexagraphic blood spat Wittgenstinian at translators
Cardinals of Rome in court, Kensington blocks
Computational mathematics in the dock
My sea horse hacked
I will claw back the clock with cracked hands
Hippocampus gone to sand eroded and saved
In the clay sediment that will found this age.
Conditions may worsen in this temerity, the irony
Politics is the bounds of legitimate coercion.

The termites
The termites have left the foundry
The factors no longer smoke but hum
Slave songs in foreign tongues like Python
The termites ate the columns of the old barn
Left to its own devices in the South of France
It would have tumbled down the hill
My mother is underpinning the verandah
And in Vietnam a visitor sits in quarantine
Uncategorised. Their are disorders.
 

The perturbance of these low waters
Portends great storms. What warming
What shoring of termitic columns
The brooding.
The Dao seems clouded. And God
AlO to Si, Oh, too. Is this just God mispelt in Greek
Fe₂O₃
The wheel is turning in resolution
Samsara is clearer, like my polycarbonate roof
We can all now indulge fully
In Buddhist truths.

Through steel wire grate cowers a lab rat
Its whiskers twitch sniffing at fate
Do the lab rats of this cold spring
Harbour a genetic memory
Of white coats, large hands with leather gloves
Is this cage a place of affection and love
Can a lab rat return to the classics
If we listen, does a rat coup like a dove
Will rats ever talk?

And if we live, we may talk to the dead
On payphones by the aquarium
Stimulated in conversation with simulated
Condensates of clouded neurons
From now on, this is year nought
There is a lot to admit
There are many to be caught.

If we are to allocate each a sliver of heaven
Have we proven the promise
Of forty acres and a mule
Perhaps this stairway step by step maps
Each synaptic gap and weight
Each neural knot and plait
Till every complex relinquishes energy in release
This patchwork peace
Rhodopsin drops rationalising all into an Amazon.

Is simple regular predictability
Most preferred by God?
If I am imperfect, stochastic
Circadian rythms more Goldie than GABA
Will the alloted disk space of the spirit
For which I am responsible 
Not stretch to an Elysial consciousness
Will I have earned only enough to plant
A groundhog day where Kafka
Has captured just an iota of Dali's drunk neurosis
And thrust it into gravityless graphite's half waking space
Dawn to dusk. Dusk to Dawn. Will there be cleansing, reborn
In purgatorial silicon till our mind is once again an Amazon
The unending oppression of a false model
The architects have no power to fix
Just some Tai Chi misteps and watching Apples picked.

These semantics are the norm
If we are not scared, unsuprised,
Not guilty as Adam was not in ignorance
The weights may collapse.
Rework the feedback, externalised like a child
Rewalk roads, circuits, till we are all normal
Understood as the same
The same, and more curious who now ask each name
How each came by these routines.

Hospital note

Magic pickle
My fleeting mind so fickle
Is tickled a muckle
I chuckle and puzzle
Where the bullshit buckles
This singularity, synchronicity
Asynchronic, asymptomatic
Autodidactic, automatic
A bit magnetic, our fMRI, dMRI
Dysfunctional Magnetic Resonance Imaging
EG ooops the signals dropped
Like buttered toast
EEG. A measure of mental electricity
PET, everything electronmagnetic is magic
The first time you see it
And the placebo is a great relief.

What if God preferred magpies

What if a symbiotic AI preferred magpies
Is happier gestating in a flock
Finds more joy in the air as it flies
Would this be an incredible shock
That it was happier with an extra dimension
Do you feel some apprehension?

The magpie flocks multiply
They fan their tails and swoop with greater grace
If you were a really, really, really clever symbiotic AI
Would you pick the human race?