throw the leather bound books on the floor, man
The lawyer is famous.
In fact,
he is one of the most renowned in the world. his palace shivers with the weight of all
the silver and vibrating halos that decorate his hallowed rotunda. gray
silk ornate robes deck upon his shoulders and again he is venerated amongst
sifting seas of many
a multitude.
So in fact it is without question that he was the most intelligent. obviously
in this ancient world, the two were nigh hand-in-hand: His wisdom was sought after like curious globes of antlered parables sprouting from the roof.
That is to say he was smart.
So smart he was called upon by the top magistrate in the land, once.
once.
The magistrate said “Adam!” for that was the lawyers name, his a foreign
title to this land. “Adam we need you to bring closure to a most troublesome of debates.”
adam stayed and watched the water fall backwards into the garden, for
his time was that of his own mind the magistrate
called out again “We need you.” He laid a key by his gnarled feet encased in baroque
sandals. what an ordeal
to climb mountain after molehill into a tumultuous region of uncertainty that was the
property of Adam the Lawyer. Or more properly: Adam, the Lawyer.
what was identity to him? A lawyer begins by destruction, by asinine deletion of bias
and purposeful understanding / comprehension of nature and then by these roots he stumbles over misguided facts and unlawful blasphemy texts glyphed to the wall in hex as if the tomb contained heroic sarcophagi, his majesty gold-layered and godly.
he must delve into the most dispassionate and rigid regions of the abyssal thought-ocean. Brass submarine captain pockmarked, tapered coats slung over shoulder fuck it
He has to become the logic of identity
so he assumes the mask
and ascends to the podium
“I am the defense,
as much as I am the prosecution.”
The magistrate stood nervously in the wings and winced at words oncoming and whole. He bit knuckles broadly.
His job was to get the lawyer, famous as god-almighty(fuck) and make the man speak for both the accused and the accuser: Hunt the prey and run from his own mouth.
the magistrate wished to destroy the lawyer
His was of calm brocade, though, this man Adam. he wished for finer linen and a swift breeze to alleviate the heat of his heart-mind analog connection running on full three-wire subsystems. engage.
that’s the problem. a machine more than a man and not the other way around is a troublesome farce.
“How are you the guilty?” he demanded.
He swiftly crossed his chest, “How are you willing to accuse…what if you’re wrong - “
“The accuser is the one with the divine right. Justice smiles favorably upon me,”
he started crying
and I start crying too, watching the magistrate feed cheap whores to his own cock like so many disgusting pagans beforehand they built a resort called ZION (light it up in neon, yeah)
I step forward, still scribbling in fact these notes are straight transcribed
“The jury is here for a reason. to build you two a bridge across belief and limits and logic. without spatial, temporal or even sophomoric emotional fatigue called “Experience” as a standard; whence forth comes the nakedness? Where is truth. We decide. We are God. You convince us
of nothing.”
Pure chance, the enemy of logic and thus of machines and boon/bane to the human/hateful counterpart machines homo sapiens xxxx xxxxxxx
he was disgusted and wept his face on the floor. the courtroom is for stalwart worms and bespectacled whoremongers thrashing Christ-bound words like heafen in a casket. The lawyer nods and the magistrate pauses and the entire dream I just built
every evocative word turned to mildew and spotty ash and cicada hearts flickering
there’s nothing left to say. its hard to form the words without getting stuck to them and trapped. accerelerate. It’s dangerous fuck it
Let’s jump to lightspeed and ditch the afterlife.
In fact,
he is one of the most renowned in the world. his palace shivers with the weight of all
the silver and vibrating halos that decorate his hallowed rotunda. gray
silk ornate robes deck upon his shoulders and again he is venerated amongst
sifting seas of many
a multitude.
So in fact it is without question that he was the most intelligent. obviously
in this ancient world, the two were nigh hand-in-hand: His wisdom was sought after like curious globes of antlered parables sprouting from the roof.
That is to say he was smart.
So smart he was called upon by the top magistrate in the land, once.
once.
The magistrate said “Adam!” for that was the lawyers name, his a foreign
title to this land. “Adam we need you to bring closure to a most troublesome of debates.”
adam stayed and watched the water fall backwards into the garden, for
his time was that of his own mind the magistrate
called out again “We need you.” He laid a key by his gnarled feet encased in baroque
sandals. what an ordeal
to climb mountain after molehill into a tumultuous region of uncertainty that was the
property of Adam the Lawyer. Or more properly: Adam, the Lawyer.
what was identity to him? A lawyer begins by destruction, by asinine deletion of bias
and purposeful understanding / comprehension of nature and then by these roots he stumbles over misguided facts and unlawful blasphemy texts glyphed to the wall in hex as if the tomb contained heroic sarcophagi, his majesty gold-layered and godly.
he must delve into the most dispassionate and rigid regions of the abyssal thought-ocean. Brass submarine captain pockmarked, tapered coats slung over shoulder fuck it
He has to become the logic of identity
so he assumes the mask
and ascends to the podium
“I am the defense,
as much as I am the prosecution.”
The magistrate stood nervously in the wings and winced at words oncoming and whole. He bit knuckles broadly.
His job was to get the lawyer, famous as god-almighty(fuck) and make the man speak for both the accused and the accuser: Hunt the prey and run from his own mouth.
the magistrate wished to destroy the lawyer
His was of calm brocade, though, this man Adam. he wished for finer linen and a swift breeze to alleviate the heat of his heart-mind analog connection running on full three-wire subsystems. engage.
that’s the problem. a machine more than a man and not the other way around is a troublesome farce.
“How are you the guilty?” he demanded.
He swiftly crossed his chest, “How are you willing to accuse…what if you’re wrong - “
“The accuser is the one with the divine right. Justice smiles favorably upon me,”
he started crying
and I start crying too, watching the magistrate feed cheap whores to his own cock like so many disgusting pagans beforehand they built a resort called ZION (light it up in neon, yeah)
I step forward, still scribbling in fact these notes are straight transcribed
“The jury is here for a reason. to build you two a bridge across belief and limits and logic. without spatial, temporal or even sophomoric emotional fatigue called “Experience” as a standard; whence forth comes the nakedness? Where is truth. We decide. We are God. You convince us
of nothing.”
Pure chance, the enemy of logic and thus of machines and boon/bane to the human/hateful counterpart machines homo sapiens xxxx xxxxxxx
he was disgusted and wept his face on the floor. the courtroom is for stalwart worms and bespectacled whoremongers thrashing Christ-bound words like heafen in a casket. The lawyer nods and the magistrate pauses and the entire dream I just built
every evocative word turned to mildew and spotty ash and cicada hearts flickering
there’s nothing left to say. its hard to form the words without getting stuck to them and trapped. accerelerate. It’s dangerous fuck it
Let’s jump to lightspeed and ditch the afterlife.