The Cloudy Clock of Clay

[Note from the next day: I would like to point out that it is clearer to anyone who somehow makes a living from such speculations- that the quasic theory also works to explain some of the dynamics and not just the observations and computations of quantum loop gravity as well as string theories where we make the essential change from point-like things to things that appear point like. But I have no deep thoughts to post separately for today save a poem perhaps- one that in this supersymmetry idea of a world is more a diffuse or blob of a universe that artfully should achieve quantum gravity ideas- essentially we need a better handle on the idea of such scales of things as these are intrinsic to the design of the quasic grid. We are not simply talking about logs here in the computations nor on what level may we show by virtue of generational shifts how we may create something that makes turbulence and chaos from our deep particle probings on some idea of breaking scale. The Pauli exclusion is a restrain that applies as a matter of limitation on quanta cloning- but we should understand we are well beyond quantum formalism here.]


The Cloudy Clock of Clay L. Edgar Otto 03-04-10

Full of dust and water, crystals and rainbows
a dollop of airy holes, clods boiling, freezing
This universe and yet on a rock sitting, his inner plasma
at noonday and sunset, the cave man awakens
In his consciousness, he and the sun secure in both
the plane and perspective, and the ideal points at infinity

An amoeba that resists becoming a resting sphere
arms reaching out into unknowns, trying to touch
The untouchable, retracting fingers too near sunburn
a parent that splits into two, yet quantum steps stay one
Consuming, jettisoning its better dream half of children or sharing
fading entropy the zen artist paints a lifetime his choice of circle or line

In the breadth of double centers the spinning Dervish keeps n-ply time
Where the gods dwell and race each others image, Zeno's zeros at a distance.

* * *

Alas, I cannot resist your quintessence, nor bear
not to view your slice of light in the windy aether
No matter what differences, immeasurable many moons, our seasons
such art is beyond all springs and autumns painfully distant
Our love strawberry milkshake insatiable fresh from the blender

Why do we string ourselves along - I can never share your baptism
quite reach you, goddess, outside of time
I cannot share your glass of wine, nor your wounds bind
transform your pale wheat milled skin into a host a living ghost
Nor chat with you about your self-help book of flirtatious solitude

I am so far away though close, and when close so far away, your street
of city sidewalk checky grids mundane, but our true loves homeless
I love you beyond the abstract and realism, pixels pointillism unclear impressionism
beyond the hourglass and lampshade saddles I ride the new art of your light.

* * *