Empty as Everywhere, Plane as Gamed
From Neoism
or, Brushing a Stranger
What is empty is everywhere
A dull ache of white in echo’s wake
I am not
A chalk of icing on your
Metaphorical cake
I am not an absurd twist to your mistake
A dull ache of white in echo’s wake
I am not
A chalk of icing on your
Metaphorical cake
I am not an absurd twist to your mistake
Ring and pull your tongue to wind me
With a startled trip I’ll quip your expectations
What is inverted is evidence of absence
With a startled trip I’ll quip your expectations
What is inverted is evidence of absence
Midnight’s telephone becomes a seed pearl
In the stainless bracelet which reminds me
My cupped hands carry the quarried core of you
As intervals ferry my dissapeared lap, almost exactly
In the stainless bracelet which reminds me
My cupped hands carry the quarried core of you
As intervals ferry my dissapeared lap, almost exactly
Purr and flick your tongue to bind me
What is invented is inverted absence
Comb the minutes of our conversations
I have no parity for your reason’s recompense
I am not an inside joke at your expense
What is invented is inverted absence
Comb the minutes of our conversations
I have no parity for your reason’s recompense
I am not an inside joke at your expense
Unless I am, but then we all are, Juan
Ergo Sum and
Laugh, I’ll put it on your tab
It won’t accrue; the sleepless drug of day
Will always manage to wash you smooth
Bleary, addled, virgin-eyed and
Wrong, come each and every strident, Puritan dawn
Ergo Sum and
Laugh, I’ll put it on your tab
It won’t accrue; the sleepless drug of day
Will always manage to wash you smooth
Bleary, addled, virgin-eyed and
Wrong, come each and every strident, Puritan dawn
Everything is a mockery of nothing
Read as intigers of imagined presence
The plane expands from where we call ourselves
And bends from the groaning of our ornate playgrounds
Into an eye that does not see but winks elliptically
A cusp we misname horizon
Even as it slips through orphaned fingers
Read as intigers of imagined presence
The plane expands from where we call ourselves
And bends from the groaning of our ornate playgrounds
Into an eye that does not see but winks elliptically
A cusp we misname horizon
Even as it slips through orphaned fingers
From muddling, black and white
Revert to fleshy dun
You say you prefer silver and espresso
We add, we take away
In wist and smoke and rattling foil
We babble Babel babble
Yet there is no weight
No born or borne
No cake, no shape
Revert to fleshy dun
You say you prefer silver and espresso
We add, we take away
In wist and smoke and rattling foil
We babble Babel babble
Yet there is no weight
No born or borne
No cake, no shape
Try or do not try, there is no done
I looked at the Neoism site. It reminds me of plazotz. Plaztoz is a game, a series of games, a philosophy, a Way, a Tao, that we — all of us inside the Magic Circle of “People Who Matter” — invented in High School, and have worked at and perfected over a lifetime. We no longer even refer to it by name very often. No need.
Plazotz is closely related to the concept of “foo,” which is not the one you’re thinking of right now.
Plaztoz, at its most fundamental and physical level, is simply a game. The first game of plazotz was the variation “Field Plaztoz.” Played in a field, with a variety of implements of destruction (balls, bats, Doritos, rakes, frisbees, hats, a crutch, several empty cigar boxes), six of us (who knew the rules in a genetic way, requiring no actual conversation or discussion), simply played. Until Jim sat down on one of the frisbees and won. Selah.
Other forms came into existence over the years. “Royal Crown Plaztoz” is played with cards, often on a bus. “Oracle Plazotz” is used to answer any question on any subject. “Plazotz Plazotz” is not mentioned. Ever. Except this once.
The points? There are 3.
1. To play
2. To improve our abilities to play
3. To segregate and determine who knows how to play. How fast you can learn. How well you can observe. Are you “in” or do you have potential to be “in” or are you an idiot, and to what extent.
Second Life, where I’ve been spending some time, is highly plazotz. You can tell, often within seconds, from the choices in avatar creation, how well someone types, what they choose to say, their use of emoticons, etc… whether or not they are “in” or just “there.” The visual cues really do help. Not as much as in real life… but in some ways, even more. If a person chooses to make their in-game representative, their avatar, look like a vampire… that says something. If they do so and then, upon meeting you, begin to chat solely about gambling and porn. Well, that says something, and the comparison/context of that choice, along with other cues… well, CyberPlazotz is certainly a fun game.
I enjoyed the poem, too. And I agree with the last line. Partly because it is true, partly because Yoda is such a fake, pseudo-gnostic, un-wise, dimwitted excuse for a mentor. Blech. Meh. Feh. I’ve coughed up hairballs with more sound advice.
Comment by Andy Havens — January 1, 2006 @ 5:17 pm
Games which are games about gaming are my favorite games. Games which are not games until you game them are my second favorite sort of games.
For instance, I’ve always enjoyed The Shopping Cart Game to an extent because I always begin with bonus points for color-coordinating my groceries. The most interesting result I’ve gotten, however, came to me one night when I looked down into my basket just before checkout and realized it’s sole contents were:
— a new pen
— a pad of note paper
— a six pack of beer
— a bottle of sleeping pills
— a 4 pack of razor blades
all color-coordinated in pleasant shades of lavender, bone-white and silver.
Games in which Andy tells Jen that she is thinking of the wrong sort of foo are, of course, games for Rosicrucians.
What gave me away?
Comment by Jen — January 1, 2006 @ 7:25 pm