in these parageometric s[kins] which are all and

n[e]i[ther] body-

mod, ap[per]al, hyperspective [m]ult[is]pec[t]ral movie, trans-

ontic simverse

and non-self-m[ode]ling l{i}fe-[for]m, once-state friends and l[over]s now

flaunting (fo[re)ign]

and queer[star]k these hybrid murges of con.crete noetics and

commpack’d abs[tract]

me.metics which you vehe(ment)ly op.pose – that is, if you

s[till] [eve]n have

the neurochitectronics to persieve, mödel, mentour and

understand their

overlying [imp]lications. Your lithe[ographic] lovers

will not wilt, as

they would in my statespace. Neither will “they” per-se stay to wait;

both and neither:

they may part a st[rip]ped-d[own] instance to wait instantiated

for an instant

to [prov]id[e] your mem[e]or.y some (d[ig)nite]y, but mother-

self sh)all( sp[lit] to

grow personal lives. You w[ill] ret[urn] to fin.d them rhetor.n,

reas[semble]d

memetic and [recon]figured conceptual, and you too

will fail fatal

to fath(om) the neoforms they hath rebecome so quickly

and re[comb]ined

so ickly; you’ll find them unin[fera]b[l]y [dive]rgent,

dif[fider]ent

so starkly that you chance mi[sin]terpreting them as

but a piece of

the sur.rounding exoscape. Ask: will they still be [g(en]d)er

static? Will this meme

cal[led] gender, Tarō, exist as anything m[or]e than

qua(int[ent)wined]

hi[store]ical footnote? Will they re.member you then

or will their cr[amped]

mem[or.i]es have endured an evol[u/i]tionary

offey filltur’d

taper, now s[elect]ed ac[cord]ing to their fitness

l[eve]ls in base

relevance to [comm]odious [opt]imization

heuristics which

hath found the sparse emu[lat]tion-[trib]ut[e]s of you,

platformed up.on

mere r[emem]brance, to be wanting, weak and unfit

for inclusion

with.in the [prec]cio[us] b[it]-s[pace] in[fost]o[re] of your

former-[ref]ormed

compu[com.uni]com[rad]es. Children b[loom] too soon

and di-v[erg]e, peers

mul[tip]ly and murge, paradigms Rip-Van(e/t)e) and erge,

tr[ans.format]ions

surge and purge, and bold [re]na[is.san]c[e]s [pend]ulum;

your Wink(-)led Twinkle

will wrinkle now, con.versing trivia with

your macros.low.

Go placidly amidst the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexatious to the spirit. If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs; for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals; and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself. Especially, do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here.

And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be, and whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul. With all its shams, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful.

Strive to be happy.

[L]et us not overlook the further great fact, that not only does science underlie sculpture, painting, music, poetry, but that science is itself poetic. The current opinion that science and poetry are opposed is a delusion. ... On the contrary science opens up realms of poetry where to the unscientific all is a blank. Those engaged in scientific researches constantly show us that they realize not less vividly, but more vividly, than others, the poetry of their subjects. Whoever will dip into Hugh Miller's works on geology, or read Mr. Lewes's “Seaside Studies,” will perceive that science excites poetry rather than extinguishes it. And whoever will contemplate the life of Goethe will see that the poet and the man of science can co-exist in equal activity. Is it not, indeed, an absurd and almost a sacrilegious belief that the more a man studies Nature the less he reveres it? Think you that a drop of water, which to the vulgar eye is but a drop of water, loses anything in the eye of the physicist who knows that its elements are held together by a force which, if suddenly liberated, would produce a flash of lightning? Think you that what is carelessly looked upon by the uninitiated as a mere snow-flake, does not suggest higher associations to one who has seen through a microscope the wondrously varied and elegant forms of snow-crystals? Think you that the rounded rock marked with parallel scratches calls up as much poetry in an ignorant mind as in the mind of a geologist, who knows that over this rock a glacier slid a million years ago? The truth is, that those who have never entered upon scientific pursuits know not a tithe of the poetry by which they are surrounded. Whoever has not in youth collected plants and insects, knows not half the halo of interest which lanes and hedge-rows can assume. Whoever has not sought for fossils, has little idea of the poetical associations that surround the places where imbedded treasures were found. Whoever at the seaside has not had a microscope and aquarium, has yet to learn what the highest pleasures of the seaside are. Sad, indeed, is it to see how men occupy themselves with trivialities, and are indifferent to the grandest phenomena—care not to understand the architecture of the Heavens, but are deeply interested in some contemptible controversy about the intrigues of Mary Queen of Scots!—are learnedly critical over a Greek ode, and pass by without a glance that grand epic written by the finger of God upon the strata of the Earth!

I would liken science and poetry in their natural independence to those binary stars, often different in colour, which Herschel's telescope discovered to revolve round each other. 'There is one light of the sun,' says St. Paul, 'and another of the moon, and another of the stars: star differeth from star in glory.' It is so here. That star or sun, for it is both, with its cold, clear, white light, is SCIENCE: that other, with its gorgeous and ever-shifting hues and magnificent blaze, is POETRY. They revolve lovingly round each other in orbits of their own, pouring forth and drinking in the rays which they exchange; and they both also move round and shine towards that centre from which they came, even the throne of Him who is the Source of all truth and the Cause of all beauty.

Science! true daughter of Old Time thou art!
alterest all things with thy peering eyes.
preyest thou thus upon the poet's heart,
Vulture, whose wings are dull realities?
How should he love thee? or how deem thee wise,
Who wouldst not leave him in his wandering.
To seek for treasure in the jewelled skies,
Albeit he soared with an undaunted wing?
Hast thou not dragged Diana from her car?
And driven the Hamadryad from the wood
To seek a shelter in some happier star?
Hast thou not torn the Naiad from her flood,
The Elfin from the green grass, and from me
The summer dread beneath the tamarind tree?

I died as mineral and became a plant,
I died as plant and rose to animal,
I died as animal and I became man.
Why should I fear? When was I less by dying?

Big whorls have little whorls
Which feed on their velocity
And little whorls have lesser whorls,
And so on to viscosity.

When some portion of the biosphere is rather unpopular with the human race–a crocodile, a dandelion, a stony valley, a snowstorm, an odd-shaped flint–there are three sorts of human being who are particularly likely still to see point in it and befriend it. They are poets, scientists and children. Inside each of us, I suggest, representatives of all these groups can be found.

I like relativity and quantum theories
because I don't understand them
and they make me feel as if space shifted about
like a swan that
can't settle,
refusing to sit still and be measured;
and as if the atom were an impulsive thing
always changing its mind.

One might talk about the sanity of the atom
the sanity of space
the sanity of the electron
the sanity of water—
For it is all alive
and has something comparable to that which we call sanity in ourselves.
The only oneness is the oneness of sanity.