Simple Theories

  Penny eyes sight breaking rock. On which field of endeavour, now rock dust of joy. Unpinned plan deregulated as need. Fire eats non-fire. More hostages than people remain. Sullen mobiles addressing disorder. Ideology has spare tire, no semaphore, no plankton surviving. The clatter comes at the expense of latitude, the circle remains broken. Umpteen circles represent. Serious questions fit slightly used shoes. No one survives without a fight or prefix. Stutter like hail, the times tell a different story. Story tells a different time.

  It doesn’t need to be said, it needs to be saying It lives in a space that we haven’t called It exhibits accuracy to the point of disappearance It seems like ranch dressing in the middle of the ocean where ranch dressing cannot be pronounced and only ocean can be announced It mostly presents a decrepit ideal It begins at the page before you looked, but looser No arrival can be proclaimed, but of course  “la mer”  defines the very middle You often think you had the time,  that  time

  Thousands of people, millions, then more as more have waited. They cared to exchange one for one, as if one were not the entire haul. Their place remains as sand, stories, additional sand, stories of sand, peopled sand, sand people, and just sand. The lord arranging this created ineffable as a function for dilation and emancipation. Are we not rocks at heart? Rocks were meant to say more by handsful of weight and mass, sand is just the proper easing encumbrance. Mass introduces a wider world, where impact and resonance pulse heavy and light. Even light grows heavy in its strokes of passage. Something said now remains said, the ever faithful sand. The saying remains in the buckling sand underfoot. More can be made less but sand endures.

  The next step: a row of balusters topped by a rail. In the fertile vial of early making, needs become effective as progress. Naming rites ensue.   The documented name Tiglath-Pileser (8th century BCE , you aren’t dreaming) left several important inscriptions of his reign. Deeds of greatness including conquering, shockwave shivers, enemy in fear, presentiments of pride, adumbration, who founded perplexity.  Language the first wall of city-state. Everything raises to purpose. City suffices in stating nothing but gathering. A time before no time existed. Murmur proclaims, or vice versa, as will. Breathless actions written in stone and clay. History before history equals people singularly ungrouped.  The Sumerians woke at the dawn of thinking about when beginning began. They discovered a fertile land between knowing rivers. If Figure A exists it would show a map with all possibilities directed by imagination, a splendid fireball of rigour.  Imagination always beco...

  The jocular Sumerians who tried hard. They ranged. They predicted Babylon, and that Assyria would be plaintive in outgrowth. We thought to look at writing but were visually impaired. We strove for the idea of striving while finding pieces everywhere. We read of prescient Gilgamesh and his rapt friend. Lethal strokes from the names of deities bedevil us. The quantum of that lasts years, vinyl memory, each as long as Buddha. All this nonsense of sense, we took turns. Those Sumerians at the bitter provoked cycles and drew words. Now there stands a dusted idea. Seasons flatter us with preservation and the idea we serve. Roots bottom out, tree rises high. Only now say words are poetry, only now grasp particular.

  Tiglath-Pileser III, home from stadia of distraction and machination. The last finality writ in field and effort as people. New world seems extreme step. He marched toward the Mediterranean, they marched. Beginning: weak king Ashurnirari V, in the form of change. Strong claimant, Pul, The Bible captures the name, later traded for what history wants to remember. History settles into folds that we call time. As befits a king of stature, Ashurbanipal sits in the imaginative primacy of big chair. Queen has a nice chair as befits aristo. We release ourselves to awe in the breeze of well swept fans for the royal comfort. Etch the terms of magnificence in stone. A pious gulp of wine, residuals of slaves, life is goad. We believe Hammurabi wrote code, an interesting aspect to the life. Hillsides green with vines, stretch as far as the eye can imagine. Prayers rise from the mind of mouth. Braced by the enormous breadth of endeavour that can only conjoin with other patterns, initiatives, b...

  It has the dead beat of future days… Whereas Sargon, in this particular dreamscape, wished only to perhaps become a brewer of fermented grains—or cupbearer anyway, let’s say—Ashurbanipal always knew from childhood that he would engage as leader of an early civilization and subject to historians. Images carved on stele attest that Ashurbanipal sat in big chairs. By new chances and all clerical errors the tune of history changed as present tense became more convertible, usable, irresistible, and just plain catastrophic. Sargon grew to world-bending Greatness two millennium before Ashurbanipal, ending his dreams of boozy influence. or whatever fulfillment he might’ve in the final concoction, but dissatisfaction could never die. Civilization fetched up these players and human gravity applied the force. You the consequence. Only grandness and title survives in the living overflow of nuclear spirit. Son of a priestess of Ishtar, who placed him baby in a boat for reason, twisted Sargon ...