Why I roll my eyes at rhetoric

I recently read the published findings by neurophysiologists on tests and experiments they ran on human memory on the brain’s function in recalling the neuron which contains a specific memory and how in the mechanics of the brain the neuron didn’t contain the events as they actually happened. It had nothing to do with externalities, sensory perception or even that the event was so horrific the individual didn’t remember the event in such a way as an act of self-preservation. Although these do influence memory the findings revealed that the brain is not wired in such a way that the memory is recalled on a functional level as it transpired as this is not how the brain works. When a neuron was mapped during a specific event and later that neuron was stimulated to recall the event the memory was incorrect, inaccurate or at best incomplete about the events that occurred as documented on film with regards to what actually happened. The argument was mainly to point out that eye witness accounts should not be allowed in a court room as they are not reliable simply because brain functions do not work in such a way as to accurately recall any event. I walked away once more confident to say our thoughts are not real, there is no justification for using one’s mindset to bludgeon with the condemnation of absolutes other people’s differences when one is physiologically incapable of knowing the truth about anything.

 

***

egoistic ecosystems

(“One is still what one is going to cease to be and already what one is going to become. One lives one’s death, one dies one’s life.” – Jean-Paul Sartre)

 

from realms of rectification

i took extended vacations

i’ve lain to waste the cut and paste

and did so without any haste

 

i hoed the row with gilded spade

and journeyed deep into the fade

i held soft hands without a plan

and drank the poet’s one night stand

 

i’ve watched the sea extinguish suns

with california wild west guns

my home was there if home’s a word

we name the place we are interred

 

fact or fiction simply diction

faith requires crucifixion

i finger fucked the fallen duck

then threw its corpse in garbage trucks

 

i’m never writing to offend

confused why you can’t comprehend

the words i write as clear as ghosts

this isn’t travel with signposts

 

just stagnation without swirls

and i recite the lack of twirls

close your mind or open it

either way it’s all just shit

 

and after all is always shared

the kernel truth is no one cares

causality finality

there is no you in the word me

 

***

 

of all of man’s inventions nothing is more meaningless than words

          (“Meaningless! Meaningless!”   says the teacher.

          “Utterly meaningless! Everything is meaningless.”- Ecclesiastes 1:1)

 

the forest green and ocean blue

have told me that i am untrue

to nature and her sacred ways

when on the dark streets of decay

 

but i don’t care, don’t give a shit

i light a smoke and take a hit

sip my whiskey, schnapps and beer

go fuck yourself if that’s not clear

 

her name was suzie, maybe kate

so many nights i alternate

but then they ask about my flask

in ignorance take me to task

 

it’s not my fault they haven’t read

the words i’ve taken to my bed

don’t care enough to even try

no clarify will satisfy

 

not even waves crash with purpose

there is no me, no you, no us

what you perceive is in deceive

no mortal mind can quite perceive

 

no memory is ever true

your thoughts will only misconstrue

what is, what was, what may well be

your mind can only disagree

with what we call reality

 

that is just the way it functions

only is it a malfunction

when what you want you pass as truth

fuck this shit where’s my vermouth?

 

these days i find i barely write

i drink and smoke what i can light

nothing is real, do as you feel

no higher court will hear appeals

***

above all else, guard your heart – proverbs 4:23

sentences swirl

an army of procreation

 

in an apartment in paris

with a bathtub coffin

was a hand written page

of morrison’s last poem

the final line

“last words, last words out”

 

do the dead care that we mourn?

are there ghosts gathering sentiment?

angels that weep with sorrow and joy?

or just a universe that deploys

evolutionary life forms

that swarm habitable planets

 

on this granite

we have always partaken in commerce

the glue of pinnacle civilizations

making me wonder if evolution

is synonymous with advancement

or just the same old same old

story told

with each generation knowing

sturdier structures

which are ruptured by wars

natural catastrophes

the name of progress

or frayed by the dissidence of decay

 

when the moon is a sliver

hiding the rest in a quiver

those outside shiver

while some kneel bedside to pray

some in taverns play

either way

we contain

a construct within our consciousness

that engrains

a harvest that is a reason

for the stars

cars

bars

all those pennies in a jar

that will never be rolled

 

i have not looked under every bridge

so i do not know

if under one there is a troll

like we were told

in fairy tales

meant to curtail

adventurous behavior

 

i weary of the flavor of words

enacted as saviors

meant to stem the tide

of what’s inside

better to hide

and deride who we are

a collection of scars

from words that cut deep

 

some leaving wounds

that will never heal

we daily reveal

these festering sores

in a personality

unique to you and me

 

behaviors others disdain

injecting the veins

with a profane

that disrupts the

healthy flow of

your corpuscle purpose

in the constituents of commerce

 

you will be measured

by what you treasure

on your day of leisure

justified by being like the other guy

who can only enjoy the sunshine

in a vehicle whose cost

could feed a family for fifteen years

because with the press of a button

the top can come down

 

i drown within the sound

of all that is around

while sifting through

my own silences

and the field i am forced to seed

and battle the weeds

because, come the season,

everyone must harvest

and reap what we have sown

 

as we venture into the unknown

we cannot return to the before

let others know what is in store

an eternity of listening to the dead snore

or preening the wings of angels

 

***