Tuesday, January 6, 2015

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Canto 8 - Dante and Ciardi


To you know formulas?
I will tell you One that you do not know
Is the stuff off life.
It is the difference between the gravitational constant and the Planck Length
And it is the stuff of meaning.
Because the length is in four dimensions,
but the gravitational length is smaller than that.
And it is exactly this when that it will be found.
Trust me on this one, I am right.


It was yesterday, in that days where yesterday was many moons ago.
Even then you, I am speaking of that you which was someone specific,
you were antique, and yes that's the correct word for it,
and in your skirt, even then you were old,
and frail and thin, but with a mind that pointed
to every one in the high school class,
somethings they did not want to hear,
but you made them here then anyway.
It was about Dante,
not some other person dressed up as Dante.
With his close somewhat modern behind a façade
that was made to look like just the beginnings of Renaissance.
No it was not a Dante out of 1950,
but the real Dante that you explored,
and reached out to make it understood that Dante was letting,
and his smallish cousin was going to be dead.

I did not know then what I know now,
you were right, you were Dante, and the translator sitting on the stage,
was not. Forgive me, I do not know then.
What I understand today.


It grinds us down you know.
Once they didn't understand the message,
and as is often the case,
they ranted and railed against it.
But now they know that they simply have to lie,
and let then lie some more,
because six generations on, what passes for liberal,
is a conservative who just doesn't care,
and leaves us in the dark with an aching foot,
to fend for our selves.
And count the ridges which were so cleanly stolen from us.

I don't know what they want,
and I know that they will not get it.


Do you know that I cannot get upstairs downstairs?
Only this rendition which warps the brain,
and calls it downton abbey, Which really makes the brain,
and cause it reformed, because it's conservative in its message.

It has a character, who is black, blacker than the sun,
and he also played a character on “Foyle's War”
a bit character but he shined in his tiny role.
It may be that World War II is also conservative,
though it may not be the conservatives that Conservatives want.
They are a mean lot, now.
And the character needs to play his little part
against the sound and fury
of his moment in the sun.

because I am writing from beyond the grave
he may be, if ever, my time somewhere in the future.
But the has but one chance to act upon the stage,
however merry is chance may be.
It will never come again.
So be he Tory or labor it does not matter,
because time is what it is, now,
for all times.


It comes down to this
even then you cannot help but insert the
when there is now the to proclaim upon.

And a doublet, redoublet, how quaint it is,
this is not music from English as violin,
but a scratching fiddle of your own composition.

John Ciardi you have wronged at last,
up until the last Canto, and remain beyond the trees.
How could you do such a thing?
Out could you be so blind as to put in a a doublet.
When in its place shines bright and clear
the noble lines which mankind has never
though it may have duplicated them from time to time.

A l’alta fantasia qui mancò possa;
ma già volgeva il mio disio e ’l velle,
sì come rota ch’igualmente è mossa,

l’amor che move il sole e l’altre stelle.

And you don't even know what I'm talking about.
Yes you, the tawny reader behind the page.
If you are even there,
which somehow I doubt,
particularly much so today.
When the words cry out to me,
l’amor che move il sole e l’altre stelle.

At least you will be fallen dead,
and ashes curl up, and no one will speak the name,
I even defended you in seminar,
but this last breath you have taken away any pity,
and left a dry desolate in its place.
l’amor che move il sole e l’altre stelle.

The love that moves the sun, and other stars.

String Quartet X - I

Canto 7 - 1815

We should start at the beginning,
and circle around until the end.
In the first section,
we look at climate change in the very late pre-human intervention.
We should note that this is not to prove human interaction,
since 1815 is part of normal cycle.
This does not mean that the post human
Period works entirely under different principles,
merely that those principles are not established yet.
This paper makes assumptions that in
1800s are different than they were in the late 1900s
and afterwards.
In other words just because there is climate change
does not mean that we can disregard all of things which happened before.
In this case,
it comes clear that
pre-human climate change
could be enough to change the climate,
by thoroughly natural conditions.
What it does prove is those climate changes,
which are natural, can do a great deal of work.
Again this does not mean that artificial changes do not happen,
but instead we can see how they happen.

Then we looked at changes
which were pointed to by natural climate change,
which were not present in the record.
And we found that there are numerous discrepancies in the past.
This means one of two things, e
ither that we were wrong in assuming natural climatic variation,
which would mean that human intervention could be diminished,
or it means that we should resynchronize.
Checking this against one event,
the 1600 BC Thera eruption, t
here is great deal of scholar weight that this corruption occurred in 1500 BC,
not succeed hundred.
This is a quandary,
either the corruption occurred later,
or the theory is wrong.

Fortunately, there are people who have tested the
eruption, and found it is the former case,
that is the corruption occurred a little bit later than is supposed,
and the results is a slip sliding updates, which will annoy certain people, but keep the tracker record current. In other words, people will have learn to get used to certain things changing in place, and we have proven this by this one example, though there may be others. This does not change climatic factors, it instead improves climatic factors which are naturally forced, and makes artificial factors more clear. It does mean that people will have two go back and check what till now has been seen as being on the table. Artificial factors are not just 50 years, they also change everything that we know which is natural.

We do this process in reverse order from the 1800 A.D.
Before we took a climate change which was known about,
and saw what would happen.
The 1810 AD through 1815 AD
was discovered in documents,
most particularly the cooling in summer in the north latitudes.
It was found that two things which were artificially formed before,
were actually naturally occurring:
the climate change resulted in dramatic differences that would have to be factored in.
in other words,
this small interruption in climate was not unnoticed,
even in the real world.
Civilizations were tilted by it.

Then we looked at something else entirely,
what can we determine about climate and natural forces,
when two have different cycles?
In this case we have an exact climatic events which has been recognized:
the eruption of Thera is not fixed in time,
but is flexible,
even though that is what is reported to others.
Last date which is current is
[] ,
date that is fixed by the moon,
which is in itself
a great finding.


Who ever just got pushed off the liberal train.
Prosperity still a whisper on his lips.
Days will go by and still he will think of the moment,
when he rode the world,
money rolled in.
And all he need to do was to pick which toy to buy.
He shows up on the internet,
and tells everyone it doesn't have to be this way.
But it does.
Because there aren't enough of him at any one time.
The working class went down,
and the programmers and lawyers fed on him.
The programmers went down,
and the land bubblers feasted on them.
The land bubblers went down,
and the government workers feasted on them.
Now the government workers are going down.
Someone will feast on them. For a while.
Then when that meal goes down,
then there will be a bitter cold within.
Yes, we're in a can.

“All we have to do...” he'll say.
Except that it won't happen.
It doesn't matter what can be done,
it matters what will be done.
And what will be done,
is to look at the next dying soul on the raft of the Medusa.

I've often been accused of being hard to follow,
but that is because there are
It rests on the fact that there is a small gap which is directly
accounted by the small variations.
The variation in question has to do with the slowing down of the moons orbit,
which is visible even at the scale


Then there none.

It was some unique.
The understand was not because madness was in the air,
and it made ever special.
It was unique that every thing specific
was crowd with thing with others were ordinary to one.
This is because it to was specifically valve.
Take a diamond, and scattered with thing that look it,
but are not.

In 1914 a boy wrote
on the cover of exercise book from high school.
What he wrote was not important,
it was the idea which was.
This was the first deal of the Iluvatar
and the beginning of what was not history,
but an unreasoning attempt at creating non-history.
A novel, as we knew it,
was about to be a standard.
Many people had written texts which were not history,
but JRR Tolkien was about to add a single gift to his world:

He was the first one to sketch out words which were like real words but different.
They were different because he wanted to have elves
and other things which were real as
opposed to imagined by half drunk narrators.

Iluvatar, think on this word,
Ilu and Vatar,
think on this second word, and realize it's German
for “father”, and the second word is for “light”.
And this from a word that does not exist,
a breath, held for a second and then released.
I thisllusion, but with only one syllable,
there is waiting in that one word,
something special which a boy
waiting on world war one

will find a story in.

Canto 6 - Agni

 I dream world that a dream
 without form or substance,  without a stream,
 that leads me bare,  without a thought

I dreamed a dream of
 what it was like
 if I spoke nation language  which was 
 akin to  Sanskrit,  though 2000 years earlier.
 and it began with:

With breath of air the horse and rider floated along the fog.
Dawn was still fighting with night to hold a piece of the sky,
and so the light infused the swirl of motion.
The clatter clop of hooves ran in three beats against a long space.
Clopta pause, clopta beat, clopta pause, clopta beat.
On the mark, off the mark, on the mark, off the mark.
To an on looker from farther down the road
that cut the course between two slag heap reams of hills,
it was a moving darkness, darker than the folds around it.
Only the tips of distant white capped mountains,
that gloomed over land,
and whispy clouds that stood straight up,
had been kissed by orange-vermillion.
It was night, but not night of night,
it was twilight morning,
but only lit from reflections and the last flickering of two torches
standing silent vigil on the verge between village
and stone covered land.
Usha's first arm had swung, but not her luster.

The inexorable progress came quicker as it came.
The girl, waiting under the shadow of dawn looked. Her mouth formed syllables, and the syllables formed words, and the words formed lines.
“Indra is coming, coming to smash enclosure,
to break the walls of night for coming sun.”
But she sighed and looked at the horse, the horse and rider,
before glancing at the tips of the row of western rill,
for the first sliver of orange light on them.
She bowed twice and took the cap and snuffed one torch.
Then again, and released a prayer of thanks to Agni
for guarding against the night and the demons there within.
She bowed again, and snuffed the second torch,
whose death poem was the curling twirl of smoke, and gasp of charcoal.

With breath of air, the horse and rider closed,
leaving behind the swirls of mist.
The line of dawn slashed along the tip of the hills.

The girl could see his riding garb,
which was pale in color, but stained with mud and dust.

Caked with the thousand thousand paces he had passed.
His face was round, and his cheek was pale,
he did not fit in his clothes,
but swam in them, a broad reddish scarf covering his neck,
and a loose flow of linen over his body.
Only his boots were steady, fit, and firm.

He stared at her, then, thinking of it, bowed clumsily.
The girl offered up a pouch of leather.
The boy bowed again,
less awkwardly, and took it from her hands.
He thought, and offered it back for her to take the first drink.
The girl smiled, that brightened her dark skin, and softened her hawklike features.
She knew then, that he had been to the villages before.
She took a token wetting of her lips, and then offered the pouch back.

He leaned back, and guzzled.
Breath frosted as it shot from her mouth.
The boy stopped in mid glug,
realizing he was supposed to go through names and pleasantries.
With this, his body whipped forward, and he stood taller,
his eyes were only slightly above hers.
The girl smiled at his look of surprise –
and then tilted her left leg out behind the folds of her linen dress,
to reveal that she stood on shoes with high platforms of wood,
adding many inches to her height.
She looked down to maintain balance,
and then stood up again to look at him.
“You have a name, rider?”
He said Bandin. Herald.
She laughed and the covered her mouth with both hands.

The girl was able to hold in enough of this laugh to become a giggle,
though her hands again went up to her face to cover her mouth.

He finally steadied, and looked directly at her,
with a ferocity that made her straighten.
“Indra follows me not with soft words, but with strong promises.
Agni comes before me, not with smooth verses,
but with harsh ones.”

She twirled on one foot,
at first smoothly, and then she wavered,
and felt herself falling,
but then the falling stopped,
and a warm locking around her waist suspended her,
it was his arms, and they were thin to cut through the layers she wore against the cold,
but strong and supple.
She rolled back to equipoise,
and without looking back,
walked forward.
He did not move until she was three steps ahead of him.

She took each step along the beaten down path more carefully,
passed the rows of sticks that pointed upwards their ends sharpened,
crowded together, and braced by other sticks,
pass the huts of straw that were burned and
remade after the monsoon,
and to the stone ring that demarcated the inner from the outer village,
within which lived the priests, and head women,
and those who lived within all the year,
rather than scattered to forage in the dry times.

With each step she called a hymn,
to pacify, to call forth to wish for sacrifice to Agni,
might he swallow the rider, rather than the village,
might his mouth open and cast into it their horses behind him.
That the storm clouds might gather in their path.
That the rains might pour down the sides of the hills,
and slide an army of mud, a sea of destruction,
that would eat them like a serpent of the sky.

But each step,
she felt his eyes on the back of her neck,
on the back of her legs,
on the back of her hips.
She felt them stab her,
pierce her garments,
and strip her naked with their probing.