Therefore, I Think: (Science and Philosophy Poetry)

THEREFORE,

I THINK

(science and philosophy poetry)

gabriel leif bellman

Copyright © 2003 by gabriel leif bellman.

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Contents

INTRO: SCIENCE AND PHILOSOPHY, SOPHISTRY AND SOLILOQUY

DEDICATION

For Henry and Richard, For Betty and Cynthia, For Molly and Eric, For Joan and Ancil.

You always encouraged creativity in thought, And abandonment in emotion.

What a group!

Also by the author:

novels:

An Apple in My Back

Sleeps Never That City short stories:

Sum Swerve

Flatbush Fiction

Spoon Me

Coast Left Past

More Coast Left Past poetry:

Bodies of Waste

INTRO: SCIENCE AND PHILOSOPHY, SOPHISTRY AND SOLILOQUY

in another life this book might have been entirely different. In fact, it may still become that. a beautiful eastern philosophy sentiment is that we are put on this earth to learn lessons, and that we will repeat our mistakes until we learn a karmic lesson and choose to break the cycle. obviously, one wants to break the cycle, because even eternal reincarnation can be frustrating when all you do is screw up again and again.

this book is not about that, i hope.

this book is about western philosophy and science. of course, most of these were probably stolen from the east and renamed. Not to get too political in the second paragraph, but burn this fucker down! okay, that’s not exactly what i meant, but westerners have a well documented tradition of thieving.

it is from this thieving tradition that i now borrow. is that legal, you may ask. yes. art can do whatever it damn well pleases. which is why it is incompatible with science, and a cousin to philosophy. of course, science can do whatever it damn well pleases, also.

in fact, anything can do whatever it damn well pleases, but specifically this book is about the things we think, the things we think we think, and the thinks which are things and things which are thinks that we don’t think we are, or at least not admittedly.

what is my justification for spending my time and energy on this project? how about this: what could be more important that thinking about the world? of course, you might answer ‘how about living in the world?’ and I tend to agree. these are just words after all. you can’t put a fork in words. you can’t melt words on a stick over a campfire.

there is this however: these words, whether or not you read them, will continue to speak. in the void, they will shout out. All they need is a pair of eyes to give them lungs. so in a sense, these words are my ticket to eternal life. that’s mostly why i’m writing them.

death may beat us, but not for lack of trying. as the new pharmaceuticals hit the market and the percentage of daily riboflavin intake become more and more mapped out, we continue to drop stones into the well of death. it doesn’t look like we’ll plug it up, but maybe we can raise the water line a little bit with each generation.

and how about this:

no matter what happens to the well,

you can’t deny that those stones are in there

for whatever it’s worth.

so, for whatever it’s worth, here is therefore i think.-

so what happens now?

twenty-four years after existence

and now i want to talk about essence?

existence precedes essence

sure but i got to start building my essence

"no, it’s not so depressing because all existentialism does, sure it

kept me awake all night pondering everything in the pit of my

stomach, but it was like oh shit! there’s nothing out there, but

at least this is REAL, at least this is TRUE, and it was like . . ."

(and now we can create our own meaning)

you get in the subway grab a banana from the wind torn hands of a mustached smiling

hat give him a quarter (every day)

up the elevator in the place with the long faced cufflinks and the flashy marble floors scuffed with italian gator skins and the doors open and close and feet scuffle shuffle

" . . . and so she says she likes it there

" . . . based on that, you’d think it wasn’t an offer, you’d think he

wanted to BUY the show . . .

clasping hands on tailored backs smiling fake let’s-do-lunch

laughing love-your-haircut

and i get up to the top

where i sit and look out the window

concrete valley below

peoples down there

peoples down up here, too

my peoples, my peoples

what?

give me a sign because the schizophrenic on the sidewalk with sunburned cheeks yells at me

(this is true)

TELL ME TO HAVE A NICE DAY

TELL ME

TELL ME HAVE A NICE DAY

and i say sure have a nice day

and she shakes her head

like she’s disappointed

because she can tell

she knows

i didn’t mean it

and so looking down

yellow cabs and umbrellas

i flip over and over

on the grill of my brain

why didn’t i mean that?

why don’t i care?

and i got no answers

but the paychecks are good and the girls touch my arm one time extra when they meet me

as i introduce myself

as MR. SOMEBODY

and try to live up try to fill up

the sum

of this

body

yeah, and the fucking Romantics, i love them, man, it’s like this big unshaven beast (Rousseau) looking at a bush and like, he’s saying, do you love that bush, man, i mean, CAN YOU FEEL THE LOVE when you look at that bush? and everybody is like, okay man, just, you know, chill, do some math or whatever, and he’s like THIS BUSH man THIS BUSH is like THIS IS IT all the stuff we need is like RIGHT HERE TAKE A FUCKING LOOK AROUND YOU THIS FUCKING PLACE IS BEAUTIFUL AND WHO NEEDS GOD WHEN YOU’VE GOT THIS INCREDIBLE FUCKING BUSH! Man and the people were like, DAMN, this guy needs to shave sounds cool

yeah, so i’m like, no longer afraid of death

really?

no.

oh.

but it’s still cool

now you’re talking straight.

The path of least resistance

seems to be the one that ends up with me in front of the television set

milky hours slipping into the early morning

so i wake up with dry eyes and a headache

you need more sleep

you shouldn’t watch so much t.v.

i can’t live like this, there isn’t even a person here with me, it’s just this t.v. watching-food eating monster

the path of most resistance is to try to understand another person to listen to them

and resist the screams

of the ego crying to come out through

my good looks

and clever wit and win me over the understanding that i never went to be early enough to contemplate contemplate tear a pig open descartes’ book of pig entrails hi mi nombre is leonardo davanci the right hand for me knows not what the left hand does

but in this case the right hand is painting mona lisa the left hand is building a helicopter and the whole time the mind is thinking ahead to building bridges and submarines and figuring out a cure for the cobblestone blues that strike in the night and leave you smiling like mona lisa does knowing that life isn’t an equation you can’t plug your numbers onto your tombstone and expect the dash in between to mean something

other than

‘he did it’

one time hens laid eggs maid of gold

and we cut them open to maximize profits

who wants to play the waiting game?

not Progress we’ll chop and spill and burn our way into the record books

somehow

(he that controls history controls his story)

we’ve got a story to tell i know this guy who thinks too much who wants to much for the world to make sense so he draws all kinds of stuff from the foibles and mishaps from the human lifeform anomaly he tries to make sense out of it that’s his story writ by the victors so in the end he dedicates it to himself and grabs a crown from the pope and waggles his tongue like michael jordan and smiles for the camera and proclaims

(you need proclamations at these sort of events)

that god is dead that thought is real that science is truth that nature is powerful and laughs because it’s all a game and he’s a rich man and he sleeps well at night and

man is gullible

It was the best of times it was the worst of times . . .

Have Hat/Will Travel

he opens the bag

a red wool hat

only worn once, 10 dollars

scrawled black pen marker

and it’s stapled to the hat

(did he buy it or is he looking to sell?)

he opens the bag

pulls out a vitamin bar

cracklin of wrapper

takes a bite

looks around

makes eye contact thinks to himself-you got a problem?

doesn’t say anything though just chews on the vitamin bar-tastes like peanut taffy

puts the wrapper in the hat (a throw in)

he opens the bag one of those two-pack night time Tylenol free-samples that you

get in the mail he looks inside the hat (yep, the vitamin bar wrapper is still in

there)

he opens the Tylenol with his teeth

yes, it will make him sleepy

maybe if you wait a little while

maybe you can offer him 8 for the hat with the vitamin wrapper still inside and before you get off the subway you can warm your ears the ones you don’t hear

-excuse me

-sir got a quarter with these days i’ll stay here until the candle burns out

next to the hiss of the radiator chirping crickets in the tank with the lizard behind me

cool air pushing through the open window past the dense winter

heat a little bit of cool

then hot again and tired and hot and trying to think . . .

i’ll stay here until the candle burns out

bound to think of something by then raindrops just started (literally) bouncing off the window pain the counter is a little bit wet the window is a little bit open the cool air is a little bit invigorating and the candle is a little bit closer to burning out since it started raining (literally)

since i’ve been here still here

yes i am

raining still

yes rain almost blew the candle out with its dripping swarm of hydrogen doubled up on oxygen

(my breathing is at a steady rate-take a deep breath, we’ll get through

this)

the staircase, noise

a key in the lock

another person is home i’m leaving now why would i stare at a piece of paper when i can look at a face?

eyes sparkling cheeks twitching mouth bending around the edges sounds coming out laughter coming from me a hug you don’t get that from a piece of paper

you analytical fuck

yeah i’m talking to me!

i don’t see anybody else here!

there is something more

this has to be

just a piece of something more

that cannot be

only what it looks like it is

we must try for