Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Post 165. A repeat. A Poem about the Zeroand its Analogical Relations.

A Poem about the Zero and its Analogical Philosophical Relations.
Of Gaseous Clouds, Walkingabout, the Nullarbour Never Never Wastes, etc...............

( dedicated to David the Gaseous Telstra-Blog-Bard, Timothy the Heckler and Pecker or Haystack-Staker, Grotty Yaughty my disappeared bovine-ice-bleue-eyed, blonde, bleu-jean-tight-on-the-crotch-toting, alluring, strongest Fan, probably sunk off the Queensland Coast in her live-in Yacht, to whose memory I dedicate a contrite Requiem In Aeternam......, Yamarka the Scottish-Aboriginal Winger, The Ten-Canoe-People, Salem's Cafe' and its Comedies on TV, Douga the Eternal anti-Catholic Doubter and the sodomitic Anglicans, etc. ).

Sometimes I sit and wonder,
my thought
in analogies drifting
like smoke does,
in its upward
random twirling,
like a fat gaseous cloud,
in the sky sitting,
slowly drifting,
patrician looking, all white, but unlike a cloud,
humanly and patchily bald,
with just a twinge of grey,
that carbon emissions betray,
to better contrast the immensity
of the bleu sky around,
in contemplations immersed
of self-possessing doubts
watching the red vastness
of the Nullarbour plain below,
as seen alike in my memory,
by a passenger,

sitting tightly in the economy seat,
on a Flight of Virgin Lines,
going from Melbourne to Perth
or vice-versa bound,
wonderously it all contemplating,
yes the Nullarbour Plains,
of Yamarka and of the Ten Canoes-people
the incomprehensible delight,
resulting from too much sunlight
on bare headed skulls
when still young,
for the want
of a good bush-hat I guess.
Strangely enough
my everlasting obsessions arise
of how the Arabs for Salam Cafe’s
now highly noted and
in even greater repute than ever before,
could have had the brains to discover
of the big Zero,
the vast array of virtues and uses,
without which zero
neither God,
Who is reputed to have created everything
out of nothing (nihilo) or Zero,
the One with a Capital Zed,
mind you,
nor capitalism,
which would have been limited
to a jewish abacus to count,
could have prospered at all.
Bill Gate himself
would not have had a PC
to play around with and
the chance to invent
Window Microsoft to boot.
Especially I, the gaseous cloud
which aforesaid I talked to you about,
rememberst thou?
Even I wonder of why,
while the West chose the Zero
to appear as a big Capital ‘ O ‘,
like a big holy halo
or to be more earthly bound,
even like onto the large,
bovine, arctic blue eyes of G.Y.,
extolled and sung about
in greek ladies,
by even the great Homer himself,
in his famous Iliad and Odissey,
through which, looking up at you
as if in eternal and innocent wonder, struck,
who is to know?,
even this being the result perhaps,
of some superhuman orgasmic feat
she may have indulged in,
in times memorable, bygone and past,
halas!
( don’t you be fooled by them, o stranger ),
gently stirring your innards
like a gallon of olive oil;
how the Arabs decided,
perhaps more wisely and fittingly than the West,
that the zero should rather be shown
as a fig-shaped, twisted, squashed,
long suffering small ‘o’,
an ‘o ‘ that has been traumatized
by some sodomitic experience,
or perhaps just piles, or even both,
God may forbid, halas!
all contracted, twisted and anorexic-like,
perhaps to improve the picture slightly,
perhaps as being otherise too dry,
even like the little 'o'
a de Laurents model
would probably sport,
as if just out of a sodomitic, spasmodic and spastic
orgasmic gasping,
or, just after an aggravating cracking
induced by vigorous farting, in turn
induced by loud laughing brought about
by Salem Cafe’s poor antics,
not to mention
the more subdued and discreet ones
resulting from effeminate
oxfordian and cambridgean,
pseudo-Gregorian
Anglican chantings
Honny Soit Quy Mal Ye Pense.

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