Homer’s (the blind man’s) poetry as seen by helmut s.
Agamemnon, king of Argo, makes daily
sacrifices to Zeus the son of mighty Cronus.
He makes daily offerings to receive blessings he needs
now within his lifetime and he knows
how limited his time is.
Agamemnon knows that if he could just settle
his dispute about this woman with Achilles,
it will be much easier to take Troy.
The Argonaut’s king plans
to take the
home, to take
to take the gold,
to take the women,
to take them slaves
to take of which
there are plenty
behind these walls ahead.
Yet Agamemnon knows his time is limited
just as every mortal’s time is.
He watches a storm hitting the shore, where waves are crashing
against the cliffs in the strong Southerly Wind. White caps line
the horizon. Gales hit from every quarter, left and right.
Poseidon is having a bad cold, coughing up
this storm, and Zeus the god of earthquake
is shaking his fist at the northern god
Thor who just happens to
vacation along these
Agamemnon also knows that he is rich for he still has every day 24 hours to do with as he pleases, however not with Achilles’ girl, no !
<-: 7:44 a.m.
a bubble bath
…while in the tub, changing thoughts
“What is this Computerese anyhow” he asked himself
not too long ago the Spanish had brought
slowly submerging, wishy-washy
their language to this area and
AUTSCH! Sleepy tearing eyes fighting (soap-)scum.
Mexican was now spoken everywhere
excluding the pockets filled with
small waves accompanying the tide of
Korean, Chinese, Japanese,
the body a vessel of
Filipino, German, Russian and others
floating, grounded, floating, stuck
of Eastern and Western culture
leaving a dark high-water-mark
where once the bearers of the Spanish
just as the ebb lowers the water level
were making their lonely mark
he is rubbing his back with a terry towel –
having thoughts about the native tongue
ling between his legs
these Indians communicated in
and behind his ears
one hand on his scalp
he dries his hair.
…many vessels, many oceans,
typhoons in and out
of domestic bathtubs
at many homes
are still the most destructive.
8:-} 8:29 a.m.
He got to look at CMOS (see-mos) and MSD after C.
Angry twisting her switches he turned Sophia equally
I-O(On&Off). The deus of Luck was with him, so I see
for he limp-started her in a slow-mode and safely
up and running after SYSEDIT, scanning
batchfiles, back tracing over and over, coincidently
found the Novel’s old WordPerfect 6.1 was cunning-
ly, cutting off the Cirrus-board’s 256 frequently.
He solved the problem, pixels turned off, while
reinstalling his Novel-made writing tool.
Less angry getting back to his huge paper pile
The initial objective to be defined looked cool;
So he asked himself: “Why am I
doing this? Tell me! Tell me why?”
And her harddrive was humming, hum, hum.
Penciled on paper he did a worksheet
a rough sketch for the Wizards and some
for the Gremlins, to show them his need.
These creatures of within he reckoned
strung wires to the black hole we call Internet
Pulsating at 50,000,000 beats a second,
that’s a slow processor someone had said.
Sophia instead of a heart, was having a CPU
pinned into the old motherboard, holding ROM
and RAM and busing information on and to
beyond wildest dreams. The precious material from
what much of her switches were made of pure
cheap sand, silicon from the valley up north.
Deity-in-the-box thought in small fractions
zeros or ones, controlling her actions,
his Sophia was connected to all known
knowledge on this our earth by modem and
circuitry at mind-boggling speeds. She alone
was a brainteaser hard to understand.
Madly in love with her, thinking he was:
A new CPU would rev-up her heart beat
to 200 Megahertz. Because
200 million I/Os a second, were neat.
“How wonderful but would and could this
mother (board) handle it?” He surely would miss
the old reliable set up — taking a look
from a keypunch away — just vis-a-vis
from the square box’s clatter he shut the book.