Part III

Homer’s (the blind man’s) poetry as seen by helmut s.

“Iliad II”

 

 

 

book two

 

  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

city’s riches

home, to take

the horses,

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

scenic Turkish

shores.

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
splosh, splash,
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
bubble-bubble-bubbling
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.

 

searching

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?”

 

 

 

silicon
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.

 

 

 

Pentium

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.

 

ILIAD III

…and have a most beautiful day, every day!