Liberties There's nothing Artificial about our Intelligence

I. All time indeterminate now so this might be late or early and hardly a day in itself. Call it infernal nevertheless with my first move a descent into air thick with lamentation. I mean tension in the clock as it works towards sunrise and fear becomes natural law. * Starlings in the tree opposite are ghosts from hollow graves and green leaves denote death. Any loud chorus no longer is natural breaking such deep hush and human greetings anonymous. Forget also courtesies of touch its delicious extended sentences and bracing diamond texture. * Which reminds me to make clear after speaking droplets of spittle will stay airborne eight seconds. Long enough anyone might think to question what does and does not remain subject to our attention. If I mention my old man’s hands with their liver sots and arthritis is that worth the risk of expression. * Interest does inflate a little in the novelty of insults inflicted eg cuticles cracked with washing. Or specs fogged with breath funneled behind the face mask and if oniony never that good. Not to mention regions destitute where the homicide rate holds up that being too important to fail. * There is still noticing however. there is the shining eye-machine in the quiet remnants of life. Impatient I might be elsewhere but still favor neglected things and continue democratic in that. Littleness being one form of life on the bleak shore or otherwise inclined to seek the silent floods. 2. Midday purgatorial stroll allowed and today’s high tide a black cut-out the harbour at this time exactly fits. Matching forms and the cormorant also adaptive in its timely practice vanishing then bobbing up well fed. An angel too it goes without saying there is one skims the silent flood inviting me on shores unknown to lie. * Which leaves things where exactly not a real down and dirty sandal puckering the pure water mouth. More likely a lavender yoga nut head-standing by the dry dock her world knowingly upside down. While current in the deep down never knows what odd beauty or obstacle might strike it next. * The port of entry long since gone hands pressing for free passage reefed sails and wonderful land. Now wind over the harbor it is and gusts worrying on hastily torn dull troughs and avid gleams. Meaning in point of fact waves lap-lapping to amuse themselves while higher levels bide their time. * Fresh out of sympathy cards things are that bad but easier than life with no horizon line. Although most it is true persist who never did master their iCal and here remain watchful enough. Except to be honest why bother every damn thing is wiped off in the re-sale eventually all of it. * At my back a peopled city made a desert place it is alas too true and DC remains just plain shite. Still I might point out that tanker in tune with old times at its berth accepting the Domino Sugars rush. Muscly as hell I don’t doubt it and at worst the harbor water opposes only mildly disparaging. 3. Evening falling well that is still reliable although no bird tonight presumes to steer his airy flight. The heavenly host instead rises from fiery beds to speak to me but I would say that wouldn’t I. Fireflies that is courteous lights albeit mad dogs in their fashion frisky through the dusk advance. * Call it paradise lost or more like paradise impossible when claws scrabble to open my skylight eye. Also that dry note like cobwebs coughed into the boiler’s throat on the dot as darkness settles in. Until hello as usual the future meets me with low intelligence in the first two inches of gin. * Occasionally an ocean breeze stinking of fish could be worse just think of Gorilla Gang turf. I might also mention there are green peppers frying in the pan and notice one losing it to gold. But come on! That might well be enough to contemplate in one day before shutting down entirely. * Avernus which means bird-less a sulphur lake in all probability although not here so far as I know. Here birds doze on black water or blindly scavenge steered by piratical scouring of the Earth. Here my cat sits in the holly bush with her mouth already wide open to snaffle the wings as they unfold. * My country gods I left behind my soft approaches also and my dreams that fly the day. What hope remains my death must give and that is not to exaggerate in the slightest. Meanwhile I must fatten myself on forms without their bodies and if feathers and dust so be it.