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Hot Ether

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Spirit Soaring

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Universe Rattled

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MY POETRY HOME — trespassers welcome

wrecked car End of Discussion:
The Accidental Test
Written at HQ, Nig. Police (Traffic Div., MTD), Zaria.
(Monday, August 01, 2011)

Before you read, you might be interested to know that I composed the first “draft” of this one on the SMS text editor of my old (almost expiring) mobile phone in the dead of the night while at the Police Station waiting endlessly for the offending party to arrive after that near-fatal car crash on July 31st 2011 wherein a drunk driver collided with me head-on. . .


I
“Some mortal souls collect stamps,
while others not less mortal collect gossips,
but you have been collecting thoughts,
and you were thinking so deep all-week,
and with so much stately poise of late,
as though you are already of us in this
Higher Orb of astral governance.”


So begins the Discussion as my
duality approaches the
pearly gates of the celestial court.

Just moments earlier I was
an ontological totality
streaming the maze of moments
in a wide-arc Orinoco flow;
but now reaching the Junction,
I have to abandon this
earthly contraption which
is now but a hopeless wreck.

First was the whitened van,
and then a blinding light did flash,
followed by this dreadful bang.

II
Silence.
A loud, deafening silence.

And a void.
A slippery, sucker-cup void.

I guess I have become a
categorical imperative and
I am now “gone to the Max”
(whatever that means).

III
Now the lousy dust has cleared;
so I pack my shattered thoughts, put my
serialized initials into my pocket,
and within this single heartbeat
the phantasmagoria begins
from this new vantage point:

Before me now, as you can see, is an
octopus-ey whirl of twisting roads
full of many tentacular options,
and I am obliged to have a
quick walk of life along any of
those roads one way or the other;
for now is the time for a near-dead
Poet or Programmer to take the Test.

But everywhere I turn to ends a
new beginning and neither an end
nor a beginning can I figure out.

I walk to the horizon
and there I find another;
I hazard a foothold on the
dunes of Dasht-e Lut but the
salt crystals won’t align either.

With this burdensome obligation to
walk my walk and with all
options now so unforgiving,
I am opting to enter the matrix and,
if you will spare a moment to glance,
you can see me jumping over a
number of parameters by reference
as I traverse a forest of uneven
array pointers full of
many a leaky abstraction.

I have picked my path and
there is no going back;
I look up to the heavens
but night has clouded over and
there is no guardian angel in sight.

Stumbling upon some deprecated
relics of browser-specific tags, I
follow the echo of my legend
only to fall every now and then
into ditches of broken JavaScripts
and careless W3C non-compliance.

Lord, I think this is my
familiar code-littered, dreary road!

A sexagesimal fraction of time
relapses as I wonder if the
motherless goddess who was
once a true love of mine would
ever let her light
shine enough for me to follow,
only to see myself presently merging
into another larger scheme of Viva:

IV
Far far away, behind the acronym “NDE”
and beyond business at the speed of thought;
far from the platform flame wars and
not anywhere near the geeky apple tales,
here am I standing in motion;
a non-idempotent bookmark,
living and post-marked
“Poet-Programmer XOR Programmer-Poet”.

Separated from the colloquial amplitudes
of the IT establishment and the
certification noises notwithstanding,
I am now afloat on a
larger-than-life language ocean –
a warped whirl of the crazily
symbolicated programming world.

And in this warpy sphere of a state,
my binary metonymies are
still Germanic and circuitous, while
other people’s hexadecimal synecdoches
remain terse and expressive;
but even as their eloquence
escapes me and their logic
ties me up and befog my mind,
there still remains an abundant lot of
Turing-complete machines and
meta-languages keeping my
boatful of karma afloat.

V
Looking up yonder by the northern
vista of life I see a small river named
Google flowing unassumingly;
and probing its course, I see it
leading to a vast, wild and untamed
para-dynamic country of web bots,
in which nicely barbequed
chunks of info-twisted oddities
actually fly into your mouth
for free and for fair; though
without credibility for certainty.

I am following this googling river
not knowing the turn I have just taken:
I might be just beginning or
I might be near the end.

But then, the uncertainty
notwithstanding I think I know
this to be the domain of Hades.

VI
And now I am meeting this small
line of a mysto-power text by the
inscrutable name of Lorem Ipsum,
and this is where I am deciding
to pause and ask for directions
concerning where this supposedly
brief walk of mine is supposed to
be walking me to.

But as it is turning out now,
this Ciceroic little text knows nothing
very exacting about my own walk of life;
and all it is telling me is that
every individual walk of life
is a unique promise to be fulfilled.

But if I should rest on that,
then I must only be dreaming.

Nonplussed, a rhetoric question
that cannot be published is
running over my mystified mind and,
exhaling a sigh, I am continuing
my sail to whithersoever the winds
of adventure lead me.

And wait, who is this pretty
nice copyright on guard at
a fuzzy logic gate?

Tattered flags of propriety ownership
are waving as I draw nigh to
her unfenced borders and it is
at once written in plain secret
(or is it all hidden in plain sight?)
that she posses no real defence after all!

I go there I lose my way,
she goes here she’s not in my way,
and if we stay here we’re not together.
In this looping dance of patency
I have to ask my question:

“Whose sweat are you sweating
over to defend so laughably?”


And you can hear her lame answer:

“You might get the idea that I
am qualified to put on the breastplate
of valour and respond with certainty;
but I am in this affair a weak party”.


VII
And all the while that these
post-mortem theatrics are playing out,
the gloomy Aidoneus had been
sitting besceptered,
amusing himself with the sighs
and tears of lost Mankind
groveling on Terra’s lost paradise.

My persona now draws his
attention presently and swiftly
proclaiming, he is saying to me:

“It is all hidden in plain sight,
(or is it all written in plain secret?),
that there’s only one natural death,
and you are not yet qualified even for that,
for you can see that Azra’il is
nowhere around to close your port;
but you may wish to visit the
pearly gates and espy the
Custodians of the Hourglass.”


And this is how I approached the
pearly gates a while ago,
which precipitated the
discussion about my affairs.
But with the discussion hardly
started, Halaliel the lord of karma
appeared from the orbital sidelines
galloping on winged chariots,
with blinded eyes and double-edged
sword drawn, announcing to me,

“You have been on the test road
leading to Enlightenment,
which must be travelled by
all mortals in one or multiple dualities;
in order to transform from
Journeyman to Master.

But yours was a cosmic joke and
an accidental test;
so you now must retreat and,
while circumnavigating your
paths back and forth,
you never must stop
questioning, never stop living.”


End of discussion.

And then the Lorem Ipsum
once more re-appears,
followed by a whitened van in tow,
followed by a non-blinding ray of light,
and the case file is herenow opened –
to begin discussing and recording
the details here at the police station.

© 2011, M-Auwal Gene III. All Rights Reserved
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"How vain it is to sit down and write when you have not stood up to live!."