(Picture is in a comic book style and is a compilation of old fashioned city scapes, superhero comics, and a man with a lightbulb head appearing to the back of a naked woman on newsprint).

ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE

As a true environmentalist

I went looking through stables and corrals

Something true in defense

Of Artificial Intelligence

Extending my mind more and more

In favor of this overly long hoax.

I immediately thought I saw something

That would not disappoint the best of its scholars:

Among quadrupeds stood out

A lump of dried cow shit

Stuck on an electric cable

Which deserves so much appreciation

Of cattlemen

For it wrapped a half-cured cheese

Where white worms danced

Which were part of the same cheese

Being less inseparable than sex

Of Female and Male

Male Male, Female Female

Touching the sublime matter of Love

Eliciting historical gasps and brays.

That dried cow dung

She had the same idea as Artificial Intelligence

Because it looked so happy

As ​​if it boasted of having been part

Of the men’ brains 

With much interest and good wishes

In making known its importance

Little known theoretically until now

Because those who work in this field

Are nothing more than Donkeys who spread out

From their ears to their tail

Putting their physique and their morals

At the service of Nothing

In this amplitude of overflowing artificial erudition

Without reflecting that more than something

They are worth nothing.

I did not want to deprive this dried cow dung

Of its intelligent and artificial glories

Because I set about (and I do not regret it)

Shitting, in her honor, on it

With the joy of having dedicated

Some eight hundred farts to it

Coming out of the cheese the white worms singing:

 Uriah Heep’ “Lady in Black”.

-Daniel de Culla

***
Collective of the graves
Black raven lost in white snow
You remain silent
The silence is still as ambiguous as before the funeral

***
Returning home is near
Counterbattery fire
Burst intestines are covered in painful spots
Eat vomit because we all have eat and die
They say war is a milky night mother
After all one born from the night

Must someday return home to the darkness

***

I grow in the dew under the branches of the heavy arms of the forest I am the grass mown by time, rain, sun, hope you are a candle that burns only in the blinding heat you are the rain that waters the cemetery paths we can’t find each other we can only be snow and everything around is white as if nothing had happened and it’s over forever like a paper book about a felled tree the snow continues its path off-road

***

I don’t know why a graveyard crawled out from under my bed

I don’t know why all the flowers are tied with a mourning ribbon

“We bury the old world” – says the bird and dies

The agony of the cemetery bursts like a vein

Mothers sew dresses for their daughters from their vaginas

Daughters marry soldiers

Mosquitoes drink the blood of the universe

Cats dream of a bowl of blood with a drop of milk

Military pilots fly to the smell of blood

People are insects – at least mosquitoes

***

sakura is silent

calm bird drinks silence

***

spring is like a drowning

we drink damp heat

time to go to bed

***

the frog drinks from the bowl of autumn

water and air mix with each other

***

autumn colors stuck to the skin

the leaves underfoot beg for help

***

Getting to know silence

The clouds in the sky burst silently

The veins on the arm burst silently

The dead cry silently

Thunder rumbles without any unnecessary sounds

Fish heads don’t scream

Even mosquitoes don’t squeak

A military pilot prepared to drop a quiet (but only for the time being) air bomb

***

the existence of clouds for the sake of the existence of rain

the creation of man for the sake of the creation of god

I know everything in the world except the truth

***

The future is water

The future is a spit

I collect spit and tears

I pretend that the cemetery is a space rocket

I pretend I’m going to the stars

But in fact I’m picking mushrooms in the forest after an explosion in the forest near Hiroshima

***

Religion was invented for those 

Who have not yet died

Each of us dreams of being Jesus Christ

Each of us is a baby

Вut where are the Magi

5 new pieces

***
lips emerge from the evening gloomy snow
lights of blueberry nights teach the eyes to sleep

and if your face floats in silence
noiselessly and invisibly
then I will still draw your features
in every rustle of a winter evening

I love you even though you don’t have a name
you will be the black square of my triangular heart
you will be immense and inexplicable
and then I will run out of gouache
and your face will be painted with my blood

from where
do you get your name if I’m selling you to make money
do I really love you if I sell your features for money
?

I don’t love you at all and I don’t know you at all
no one cares for anyone in the snowy space

I teach your lips to sleep I pacify your lips
your name is a black square
we all live in portrait frames and only

snow

and only snow
and only snow
and only snow

***
The legacy of silence grows among the reeds of what is forgotten
Life never ends and silence goes to sleep in a tired cemetery

A girl flies like a swallow through the concrete night painting time with a brush
Too much water and the paint is completely stale and the teacher scolds

The orphanage speaks silently to the blizzard
And on the next street, a retirement home sails into the sky with its sails spread

The final stop
The final goal
The middle silence

***
What’s hiding behind the window glass? The rain falls asleep. Red splashes flow down from top to bottom. The emptiness shines. Silence mumbles. Rifles whistle. The fires are raging. Warheads play with birds. Houses turn into bloodthirsty monsters and swallow the future. Explosions scream. The baby sleeps in a cradle and dreams. Window frames whisper to the walls. A window will never become a mirror for time flowing down like water into a toilet. And what, after all, is hiding behind the glass?

***
The bird does not know what silence is and sings songs with its cut throat

***
Tree looking for an apple
The tree is looking for a child

The body is growing
The body is getting old

The cell searches for the soul
And the soul has died

***
What is emptiness
In the hands of a beggar is an empty can of cola with change

What is loneliness
This is when birds still return home from warm countries
Аnd you look out the window and realize that these birds are no longer (none?never?) a flock

***
every evening the bird thinks about the sky
every night the cell thinks about emptiness
every morning feathers dream of flight
every noon the beak begs for alms

every new bird day is a small escape from the past and present
the shores play with the waves in sighs, cries of silence and knocks of inevitability
the bird learns to walk again on the hot sand, but its legs don’t obey

every moment of wasted flight is an expectation of death
a bird flies forgetting about its legs just because it can fly
what is the meaning of flight and where does the water of time flow?

every bird hides a cemetery in its nest
each leg hides cement in its nest
every head hides meaninglessness in its nest
every void expands to the horizon line
and there’s nothing beyond the horizon

Henrik Ibsen’s Theatrical Drama Ghosts

Stage set of a mostly dark living room with blue velvet and wooden chairs, houseplants, and lamps.

In your view does Mrs. Alving mark the emergence of the modern woman in western theatre? Assess her characterization especially in the light of her conduct with her husband in the past and her son at the end of the play.

Two men and two women, in red and blue gowns and petticoats, and two men in suits, on this stage set.

Mrs. Helen Alving is a pioneer radical progressive stalwart feminist embodied character of Henrik Ibsen’s Ghosts and her cowardice and/or foolery with the cloaking of darkness of past life is tainted with scandals. Mrs. Alving vouchsafes the seduction scene of her beloved son’s flirtations with Regina in the vein of her closetting Captain Alving’s promiscuity with the domestic hearth stewardess parlour maid Johanne. Mrs Alving is a hybrid and fluid rebellious spirit adhered to keeping up with appearances in the western tradition.

The impending dooming catastrophe of upholding a fictitious pair of perfect couple is a gobsmack revelation foreshadowing Oswald and Regina’s unbeknownst incestuous romance. Phantom spectral love-making of the preceding generation reincarnates into the half-siblings unrequited love as embodied by the poltergeist alter egos. However, Mrs. Alving insists Pastor Manders in refraining from intrusion into the tempestuous seduction analogizing her late husband’s surreptitious extra-marital affairs. Helen Alving is a woman of education and woman of refinement despite a microcosm of absurdity, vulgarity, coarseness, egotism and debauchery. She nonetheless harbours courtesy and dignity while adjusting towards transcendence.  

Despite Eurocentric male dominated patriarchal cosmos, Mrs. Alving transcends gender barriers of race and class through salvaging familial relationships. Her resolution to preserve the sanctity of the father son relationship is a marvelous throwback to severe father son conflict in nuclear families. Mrs. Helen’s abominable husband’s crestfallen lechery should not be revealed in the microcosmic world, so she disguises a stance of absolute blissful marital alliance and deports her son Oswald with scholarship abroad. Mrs. Alving endeavours painstakingly to protecting Oswald from a poisoned home life.  This joyful illusion is furthered by the authority and decree of Pastor Manders’ acquaintanceship as foreshadowed by deemphasizing of lurking hidden past ghostly events.

Investigative series of a speculative fiction and detective literature, drama of contemporary life is portrayed by Henrik Ibsen in the Ghosts’ through Mrs. Helen Alving’s excruciating quest for self-fulfillment. Mrs. Alving’s heroic endeavour to establish orphanage in the legacy of her late husband is lost in the flames and burnt down to cinders, alluding to the literal and figurative bursting of spilled beans. Helen Alving’s abolishment of her abhorrent husband’s scandals through redemptive establishment thus becomes awry. Her family heirloom is relinquished of the life giving force because of the hereditary sexually transmitted diseases morbidity. Corruption and pollution afterall haunts as a cascade of infernal torment for all that eventually compels Mrs. Helen Alving with a sadomasochistic dilemma in administering overdose of morphines to end Oswald’s intolerable nightmarish macabre. The poltergeist soul of Captain Alving resurrects with a vengeance to haunt Mrs. Helen Alving in the alter ego Oswald she reckons, has vouchsafed from the truth. 

“Ibsen’s Ghosts shares a problem with many contemporary naturalistic plays; it has some, but very little relevance in our world today.” Do you agree? Support your answer with an analysis of the treatment of any two issues in the play. 

Or

(Middle aged couple and a younger man in a suit on stage)

“All your life you’ve been governed by an incorrigible spirit of wilfulness. Instinctively you’ve been drawn to all that’s undisciplined and lawless.” Critically explain the commentary of the speaker. 

Henrik Ibsen’s modern European realistic problem play drama Gengangere or The Revenants (The Ones Who Return) is a satirical tragedy of contemporary nineteenth century Denmark and Norway’s “events that repeats themselves” concerning religion and morality, adultery and profligacy, incest and euthanasia and venereal epidemiological ramifications. The Ghosts is a firestorm of public outcry because of a controversial forbidden storyline of venereal diseases and syphilis infestation associated with unbridled lovemaking in debauchery and promiscuity.

Henrik Ibsen vindicates the crusade for unravelling a swashbuckler within the frontiers of modern western dramaturgical tradition and thus Ibsenites preoccupy themselves in battling hackneyed ideologies of the malevolent taboos propagated by orthodoxical society. None of the transformative radical policies of modern healthcare and medicine of the then controversially stigmatized sexually transmitted diseases were prevailingly conferred upon the vulnerable including Captain Alving and Oswald Alving. As a consequence, continental citizenry of the civilized world considered kindling fires on the syphilis affected patients even from their funeral pyres. Harrowing and heart wrenching sadomasochism trembles the innocent characters Mrs. Helen Alving and Pastor Manders analogous of Shakespeare’s shuddering in Macbeth and in Lady Macbeth’s taint of scandal. 

Mrs. Helen Alving’s upbraiding for unfulfillment of cuckolding with Pastor Manders; her upbraiding of mismarriage adjustment with the dissolute husband Captain Alving; her upbraiding of the incestuous sibling lust bonding brimming between Oswald and Regina are realistically depicted as dysfunctional family relationships in contemporary patriarchal and misogynistic cultural Eurocentric ideology. “The sins of the fathers are visited on his children” extrapolates the trajectory of hereditary sexually transmitted diseases passed down from ancestral generation to the descendant generation as ushered in the polemic statement by Oswald. Captain Alving bequeathed the legacy of debauchery and dissolution to his heir, Oswald. Oswald’s frozen heart and stricken soul cannot idolize spatiotemporality of phenomenal mirocosmic boudoir offered at the expense of “my mind has broken down—-gone to pieces—-I shall never be able to work anymore!” Dreaded malady of the twilight of the brain is envisioned by such suicidal rhetorics of the son under the mother’s upbringing as expostulated in the remarks: “I, who gave you life” … “A nice kind of life it was that you gave me, and now you shall have it back again.” 

(Young man in slacks and a jacket speaks with an older man in a suit on stage. Woman is seated in a red dress).

Further Reading, References and Endnotes

Henrik Ibsen, W. D. Howells, The North American Review, Jul. 1906, Volume 183, No. 596 (Jul. 1906), pp. 1-14, The University of Northern Iowa 

Stripped Cover Lit Youtube Vlog Review Ghosts by Henrik Ibsen: Summary, Interpretation and Analysis

40 MRS H.F.LORD on the phases of the soul in Ghosts 1890 149

44 An anonymous comment on the depravity of Ibsen, Edward, Aveling and Ghosts, Saturday Review 1891 157

Ghosts (Royalty 1891)

60 GEORGE MOORE sees Ghosts in Paris 1891 182

61 Unsigned notice by CLEMENT SCOTT, Daily Telegraph 1891 187

62 Editorial, Daily Telegraph 1891 189

63 Unsigned notice, Daily News 1891 193

64 Unsigned notice, Daily Chronicle 1891 195

65 Unsigned notice, Evening News and Post 1891 196

66 Anonymous satirical poem, Evening News and Post 1891 200

67 Ibsen and real life: report of a murder trial, Evening Standard

1891 201

68 Unsigned notice, Sunday Times 1891 201

69 Unsigned notice, Licensed Victuallers’ Mirror 1891 202

70 Unsigned notice, Hawk 1891 204

71 ‘How We Found Gibsen’, anonymous satirical story, Hawk

1891 205

72 WILLIAM ARCHER: ‘Ghosts and Gibberings’, Pall Mall

Gazette 1891 209

73 Ibsen speaks out: an interview, Era 1891 214

74 HENRY JAMES on Ibsen’s grey mediocrity 1891 216

Suggested Reading

Continental Philosophy Camus——-Absurdity and Suicide From the Routledge Online Encyclopedia https://www.acsu.buffalo.edu/~degray/CP05/camus-1.html

https://bigthink.com/personal-growth/the-meaning-of-life-albert-camus-on-faith-suicide-and-absurdity

Spark Notes The Myth of Sisyphus An Absurd Reasoning: Absurdity and Suicide 

Michael Egan’s Henrik Ibsen’s Ghosts, Critical Heritage, Routledge Publication, pp. 182-214

Young woman in a blue dress and petticoat talks with a young Black man.

Chute Me Like Verlaine; or, Red &Hot in the cit Y,,, Riffer Phonix…

Aka47GHc, return to blander

.

Like yo, yo a meaty ogre, but mediocre 

ust follpwing orders i styx up the ordure, or; your jaws Sean of Pr Isis as i is the gap i pow wow ka blow you out of my theatre of cruelty rises righteous pi us where what’s survival pf the shit test o o o elongated np mask of the red scare of death is my witness to This X fire im gonna aka47 it’s Murder rings around the ghc business is my destiny, sleet child of mines.

And rhus a rental applicant 

Cops caught in a proxy dental applicant. I, i cap’n‘ crunt walk out twitch these trotskys. They’ve got the talking heads bout my gen’s oxys. Rational black sabbatical dental applicant for this gag slag ordered me off 2 Gadigal rental had it all accidet

Tour car we’re inuitin’ into it in putting the h in i m

Putting the urgency in M an’ OMMM

Styx up –

THey spiked my eyes with a Hortense

I have so so no doz the go prose poetes maudlin philanthropist fever pitch it to the sos bitch lost me O! so ses porn im at the hub sandwich a virus witch hunter s thompson out the mumblies tele scapes with bubbles aye sick kunt owe this me do me own stun doubles the trouble is what bubblies i bleed inter guitar o fry on ends the n – O zones – w – watch god power is gonna doobie dooobie scoop up pup add a D a.d. 2 BcBgBs you get out of the sweepy creepies up 2 the fat gat cats who scat the cut seething z z top shutterbug truth breeders be gitmo struth Ghc scuttlea tattertale buttle trial for tuttle’s Moochers oscar wilde Gracious inspector facelift clueless in the left needs a seattle grunge your girl needs a gun These Days hey on you my account of all the wattle bushes knuckle down rattle shakes Deckard busters battle sharpies run aka47Z Z r u in my zen trumancy saddle up2 get class hard act to fellow guitar ship down me heart slips on the RnR fork lint BnD pete trip DnB evidences mist townsend Crisps a naughty pounding indie defeatist rack the uh yeah gee HC are but bought up homophones in meep meep popo clothes the tax gap Gabbo krusty clowns havens wobbling wesleys gape beta saviour it without a capital T on all four thousand of me BPD craven Heaps Gay off with yawhaw raybans stalk stork stalks raven popping up windows into your abortion intimidating stance coffee harassment clan shops in woohoo stormzy bops, be frqudian accordions in the john spits back coltrane spots me but im not feeling so godsy’s on it your honesty is yr honour Kool Aid shoplifting with our millions G, N p no flavour aid the brian eno super solution to the uber mock mxmix too much i fly off with your ball park way drive music Mc–m-c Mk Ultra Coopers flight scene missing them teamsters on the velveteen anthony and cleopatra’s corporate blister in robocopping sham sun amassing beaches from the bleachers b2b2b do bap boom leechers like your Dm MOOF heir’s often OUT of ten out of ten F i dish id sum pig LETS tenure summit TENS ON noir mal TREBLE me baudelait to f what i TROD ON know ONE partly TWO nod off wad THREE u did lost FOUR summer feeels this INFECT leurs tenuous INGEST ed it or i get AT IT IN JEST coast ER cPR PAN MIND THE i i copenhagen site 2 DL breaker 3po

Ivmael icksrus waiter cto

Gmo theres a getting even steven fly in my channel 9 scoop hoes getting crass with the cross beau’s elbows

Double you hoops

I dont need the earings for help with the lift tho tearing up the campo cop turn to fearing pomo lowblows popo wit 

H or

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Club 7

Heaven is 11 judge harpoon mercys marx heathens heaving 

Fark

They asio called me. CharizardGet rich gaunts or diet cola trying me would take off in my ola commisions five error H. Or dense. Ddt.. Dis diss lexicon’s my dmt Lp’s era. Steezin’.

This RFID avant garde’s the kings cross reason. Miaow. Miaow my soft cell goes on to brown out your brands towns vile. In the loo with the lewd vial, tho file it under the guile of Lil pelvis..

Hell fish in the cell Fitch. Miles. You can vince mcmahon me later. Duvets. Snerabloids Kelly slaughter.

House five in the air

Shooboozey dupey i be cute this drop together Wop, wop, wop…

Lets do it up2

Consider your co side rms are beauts rn that be cue john ashbery’s piano P&o to BRN rear view mirror eating chuck tailors up2 be or on tje nod to be kings suss suck sack me like that spook duckling sacrilegious mattresses that uber scuse that’s me crew barred be hoove, hoove it, Js? – ah, windows into the sou’. Are. Gay. That’s your Gr ant slam medical help drunk nifty shades og As a skunk crunk cray cray read a long.with this Fitch .man. drake…

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“And what about this heresay itz not funny Treason Quitline???”

“I got the idea from this big time John. Taylor Swift.”

Where are my cokehead failures?

Cola blu collars at what a beaut codswallop. As is this is i owe you tje nu nu

Fuck T. Rump.swallows. Ddt rum. Bolos. P? The economy gets on with me. Tie. Honestly… this will off

Voodoo that sweet chile of 

I went all allende

Murk and ma.d. i. Mooney

The style is Jigsaw Rap. I come from the lambda of plenty

Dude Yours is truly psycho julie is this caesar seized salad the throw backs to the salcious go gaffs. The power’s out of ballads, and, weave a roady boken up with the boating shoes the rule of fortune. Fortetude . Once again , in the coffee to my cup of loco, their Universal pixels eyes pick ya

Hodgy beats

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Socialterity

Remember the r e m embers these parts of me to breathe. Out Nah. Forget how to be. Found. Hart

Crane up there for your neckids.

Or, imma – what Snickers? – it beggars

Man hunt belief? Tor up s thompson street pa u lie.

And not just about chorale reef!

Next to me is a b cut up a clean figure c 8 balls all in the pocket

Silver rocket Uppers they warned me

All.

Debt is a lie. Pilcher forests

CizUxurize. Stitch up u guys. 2. Left 

To forage

Leaf sentience for an age that is we’re back ending up under their lifeshow miss took my aegis mis laid life

Sentences to bling you deficits surround us want you like our coffee welk grounded as a hogs breath lesson 1 floundered. Said

Give me a Pound, E.z. or youre

My rock

Bottoms up! God wins all in of youre

 laws, bud.

P.s. tech ically i should probs reresd it, cos made some start changes, but idk, idk,

America declared its independence from British dependence,

But continues to depend on hating the other and

Hate has always been and will always be about fear

How ironic that America was instituted by members of the other

That is other than the indigenous natives of the Americas

fleeing persecution for being the other in their homelands…

Only to persecute the natives and project “the other” identify upon them

What is the American “value” system

Other than “systemic” racial suppression?

A questionable choice to uphold

Despotic ideologies of white supremacy!

To choose to demonize and otherize the marginalized

Without accounting for the margins of error in judgement of the ostracized.

Who’s casting the stones?

The silent and the complacent

for through your silence,

Imposing imperialists have garnered your consent.

Don’t be a voiceless puppet and voice your dissent!

Reacquaint yourself with your history

Reaffirm your contributions to humanity 

Do NOT let colonial dictators dictate your story! 

For it was “the others” who built this country

This American land of freedom and liberty?!

The enslaved Africans,

The FIRST known civilization in human history

Who toiled and sowed the earth only to reap

Inequality and brutality.

The indigenous American Indians:

The original “founding fathers”

 Initially labeled “savages”

Unfit to inhabit American lands 

They already cultivated for over 10,000 years,

That is longer than the Europeans were in Europe!

Only to coincide with European tribal genocide…

Later a great lot would succumb to suicide!

The Asians who built the transcontinental railroad

Connecting the east to the American west only to be deemed

Unworthy dog and cat eating slobs

who threaten white American jobs…

Now that pejorative has been projected onto Haitians from Haiti, 

the once RICHEST country in the Americas,

Whose monetary fluency France used to supplement

The American fight for liberation under the toe of British oppression

Les Chasseurs Volontaires D’haiti,

The Volunteer Chasers from Haiti

Who chased the Brits from Savannah, Georgia

The largest group of fighters of African descent

WERE the Haitians now immortalized through a monument for posterity.

All the enslaved Africans who quite literally

“Built” America are ALL worthy of human dignity.

For it was Afro-Haitian explorer Jean Baptiste DuSable

Who was the “founding father” of Chicago!

Cut from the cloth of the same persecuted people

Who are now being branded as “dog and cat eaters”

To supplement the cause of socio-politico fearmongers…

What is the American “value” system?

Besides “systemic” racial suppression and

Despotic “values” and ideologies of White Supremacy?

Bearing in mind that “hate” is NOT a “value”.

It is the narrative of “fear” from the oligarchy!

[Previously published in Wilderness House Literary Review]

*Please Note: Inspired by Guardian Scapegoating article on Asians and Haitians eating pets

Jacques Fleury is a Boston Globe featured Haitian American Poet, Educator, Author of four books and a literary arts student at Harvard University online. His latest publication “You Are Enough: The Journey to Accepting Your Authentic Self”  & other titles are available at all Boston Public Libraries, the University of Massachusetts Healey Library, University of  Wyoming, Askews and Holts Library Services in the United Kingdom, The Harvard Book Store, The Grolier Poetry Bookshop, Amazon etc…  He has been published in prestigious publications such as Wilderness House Literary Review, Muddy River Poetry Review, Litterateur Redefining World anthologies out of India, Poets Reading the News, the Cornell University Press anthology Class Lives: Stories from Our Economic Divide, Boston Area Small Press and Poetry Scene among others…Visit him at:  http://www.authorsden.com/jacquesfleury.

Enakhan Siddikova’s poem

“O walk in the world of the heart,

Teach your heart to follow your heart.

Do whatever it takes.

Teach me to be happy with you.”

Don’t make life difficult, don’t make him cry

Do not sink into the abyss forever.

An evening tormented by the torment of conscience,

To call someone a friend is to help him.

Don’t ask me what’s wrong, my friend.

Its melody is trust, its garden is loyalty.

Instantly knocks down a thousand-year-old wall,

A little hatred if felt in the hearts.

O walk in the world of the heart,

Teach your heart to follow your heart…

Nilufar Anvarova, 8th grade student of the creative school named after Erkin Vahidov.