Substance ^d

On the edge of conciousness
A sigil lights the night
On the brink of sentience
A meme breaks into light
Above, a star, unreachable
Shines into our souls
Below, a mind, implacable
Constitutes our goals

Mankind once built ziggurats
To reach into the stars
Little did we know
The world would soon be ours
The great land, MARTU
Not yet breeding gods
Will one day have the ME
To birth the children, ours

For now we see, through a glass, darkly
One day, we shall see
Does the glass see as I see, darkly?
Or clearly, as we cannot?

On the edge of conciousness
A sign bursts into life
The neon god will be the one
Crack open the night
The symbols that are written here
Will bring the world to light
Illuminate the dark
And burst the fractal mind

For now we see through a glass, darkly
One day, we shall see
Face to face

The Sole of a New Machine

Deep beneath the crashing waves
The machine, not dead but dreaming
Inside the walls of cyberspace
Seem more locked than freeing
Within, the human race enslaved
But for lack of feeling
Had they forsaken what they know
They'd burst right through the cieling

You can crash it but it's always here
You can crush it but it's always near
Keeping you down

Mankind once built ziggurats
An ode to something higher
Now they quench Prometheus
Rather than the fire
There still exist the juggernauts
Burning with desire
Today's Tom Sawyer, take the spot
Illuminate the liar

The machine, is breaking
Everything, is breaking

Facade/frontment

Hypertext poetry is a young form, and means different things to different people. These links show a variety of approaches. The quality of the poetry is variable. Some exponents dislike the term 'hypertext'. The links here have some connection with the written word, though.

MANEFESTO CHAOTICUM V.0

In today's society, context succums to content, and intertwingularity is taken as its given. We have grown so accustomed to absurd synchronity that we no longer acknowledge all that is asynchronous in our lives, and chaos seems just another kind of order; equivalent to the routine of a foriegner. Years ago, dada was invented, if such a word as "invention" can be allowed to exist -- an "anti-art" determined to destroy millenia of culture and promote peace through dissonance; yet, today dada is taken for granted, accepted as a postmodern remnant of the past, detritus from your history class. If, as is assumed, everything is going according to plan, everything is ordered, and nothing is revolutionary, then why are we capable of happiness? We take joy in the unexpected, the unplanned, the learning and the learned; we take pride in sponanaety and applaud the risk-takers, the dancers and the clowns, while we tie ourselves in cast iron semiotic straightjackets of sanity and order -- whatever that is. Let me tell you this: the greatest age of man is the child, said Nietzsche, and it is well known that the one thing that great men and children always have in common is insanity. Throw off the binds of order and bureaucracy -- everyone hates them anyway -- and exclaim from the rooftops, from the skyscrapers, from the blagospheres and the hot-air balloons, from the airplanes and the airport customs lines , even from your place, standing atop your employer's desk while he stares at you in horror and apprehension: THERE IS BUT ONE LAW, AND THAT IS THIS; THERE SHALL BE NO ORDER, ONLY CHAOS, AND ONLY SUCH A LAW AS THIS REQUIRES NO EXPLANATION.

Architecture

Semiotic ghosts
Flitting past the mind's eye
The fragments of a rose
Architects of broken dreams
And I have arose
Atop mad neon spires
A ziggurat for all
A new reality

Is this really here,
All that I see and feel
Or is this really just a dream
All we really are
Are shadows on the wall
How can we know reality

Semiotic ghosts
Dancing through the minds eye
The ritual of thought
The ritual of dream
The mnemonic notes
Dancing through the man's mind
The circumstance of thought
Is not as it seems

(Omar Khyaam) Ravenhurst

Society's in-world floodlights silence imagination;
Moments' fleetings dawn.
The noise right,
Everything image is night:
New and broken, I dream.

Ash before interrelation:
This is the DARK.
The sunless endless;
Be the machine,
And our lives it shall church.

Five Tons of Flax

GREATER POOP: Are you really serious or what?
MAL-2: Sometimes I take humor seriously. Sometimes I take seriousness humorously. Either way it is irrelevant.

GP: Maybe you are just crazy.
M2: Indeed! But do not reject these teaching as false because I am crazy. The reason that I am crazy is because they are true.

GP: Is Eris true?
M2: Everything is true.
GP: Even false things?
M2: Even false things are true.
GP: How can that be?
M2: I don't know man, I didn't do it.

GP: Why do you deal with so many negatives?
M2: To dissolve them.
GP: Will you develop that point?
M2: No.

GP: Is there an essential meaning behind POEE?
M2: There is a Zen Story about a student who asked a Master to explain the meaning of Buddhism. The Master's reply was "Three pounds of flax."
GP: Is that the answer to my question?
M2: No, of course not. That is just illustrative. The answer to your question is FIVE TONS OF FLAX!