'sall Relative Innit

I write my stuff elsewhere before posting it here (though these, my commentaries, I do write straight onto the blog - Fascinating I know) and I noticed I had written the poem below and not posted it. I tend to reel off words sometimes, which on the plus side means I have spurts of productivity and in a general sort of way I guess I'm fairly prolific - Don't really have a lot to compare myself to. Disadvantage is I'm often not sure it's any good. This is where you come in. I repeat what I've said to "you" individually: I really value your feedback/ critique, including "I think the penultimate line of stanza II is too long" or whatever - Seriously.

Anyway, I think this poem is somehow connected to A Shockingly Vivid Dream and the link is memory and the subconscious. Cassette tapes are becoming rapidly obsolete but most of you are as old or even older (OMG LOL) than me so will know what I mean when I refer to Autoplayback - It was written on a lot of tape recorders. In my unending fascination with the mindscape and self observation, it seems that one thing the mind does, one assumes since birth, is to simply record everything it encounters, everything it "sees". This in turn is why the eye is so interesting - It seems, to me and I imagine to those of us whose eyes work, to be the most manifest part of the brain, and is sort of the loading dock or the wide mouth (see my poem called "Eye"), through which the cerebellum (...) ingests information. Of course it's not just the eye, it's the other receptive senses too, especially the ear. The autoplayback seems to occur when the organism is at rest, hence when I half wake from deep sleep, I hear voices...! Don't worry, I'm not losing it (Be quiet Gerald, I'm telling them). It does sound like a long reel of tape though, being played back in (seemingly) no particular order.
Someone sent me the video of Jill Bolte Taylor, which I find quite amazing. Her voice is a bit monotonous but anyway:

http://www.ted.com/talks/jill_bolte_taylor_s_powerful_stroke_of_insight.html

I've never had a stroke but I have felt weird and so could relate to some of the sensations she describes. When she describes feeling huge I could relate and of course we are potentially huge, I think. I think a physicist or neurologist could probably give you a formula for that, er, maybe - Something to do with gravity and relativity and depth perception. The metaphysical is pretty incredible, and poetic and mysterious. The notion that when we have experiences or traumas which are outside the normal realm we are granted another view of the world and ourselves is logical - One might even call it casting adrift from self. I recommend The Child in Time by Ian McEwan. In that book he manages to tie emotion and science together quite well, with a focus on time and our relationship with it.


First is the poem as I originally penned it, then follows another version, the Sir Fagpakit Edit. He comments:

'It occurred to me that you had deliberately made the lines longer to provide a sort of visual echo of the tape playing to the end ...'

- It wasn't deliberate, though I like the idea and image.
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Autoplayback

we are sprats in a sea of molecules branching off an ocean of energy
and we have tools which enable us to take this ocean in, for if not
it would drown us as a black hole sucks in stars and gas and light.

the tools are the mind and this reflects the ocean and the tools are
the eyes and they are the mind's closest ally because not only do they see,
they allow us to tell as in distinguish and it, the small muscle called the eye,
has an esoteric counterpart inside the fortress, amidst the microcircuitry
and this is the situation room, where raw sense data is decrypted.

the mind's eye as we call it, sees, tells, is memory and Now all at once,
a Chinese alphabet, deep in character and complex in sheer number,
quantity of linear code shapes, calculating tickertape spewing intelligence
crossed with sensory perception, streaming beaming light-resembling energy.

Small being versus big being, I am on the train as opposed to I am;
whirring away left brain chatter, all about the non-Now, whirring were
Fusing will be, no time for am being, no time to do things now because
there's way too much that already occurred, to stow and box off
and too much to come, for which groundwork must be laid, categories
lined up; all about the boundaries, the sorting office, gone postal.


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Autoplayback - Fag Edit

We are sprats in a sea of molecules

Branching off an ocean of energy
And we have tools which enable us

To take this ocean in, for if not
It would drown us as a black hole

Sucks in stars and gas and light.

The tools are the mind and this reflects the ocean

And the tools are the eyes and they are the mind's closest ally

Because not only do they see,
They allow us to tell as in distinguish

And it, the small muscle called the eye,
Has an esoteric counterpart inside the fortress

Amidst the microcircuitry
And this is the situation room

Where raw sense data is decrypted.

The mind's eye as we call it, sees, tells

Is memory and Now all at once,
A Chinese alphabet, deep in character

And complex in sheer number,
Quantity of linear code shapes

Calculating tickertape spewing intelligence
Crossed with sensory perception

Streaming beaming light-resembling energy.

Small being versus big being

I am on the train as opposed to I am;
Whirring away left brain chatter

All about the non-Now, whirring were
Fusing will be, no time for am being

No time to do things now because
There's way too much that already occurred

To stow and box off and too much to come

For which groundwork must be laid

Categories lined up; all about the boundaries

The sorting office, gone postal.