black + white ∙ Stan Strembicki ∙ FL14





“The Policeman’s Beard is Half Constructed”
Computer Prose and Poetry by Racter 
RICHARD. A week is obscurely like a night.

BUCKINGHAM. My Lord, chicken is like lamb.

RICHARD. Yet weeks can be killed as can chicken.

BUCKINGHAM. Tis true, my Liege, yet ambiguities adorn our pain as ambiguities broaden our issues.

RICHARD. Sweet Buckingham, thy commitment, decorated with Joy, begins to speak briskly

to my distress. Spy me slaughter my

distress tho' it take a day.

BUCKINGHAM. Noble King, you chant weeks can be

slaughtered and yet assassinating chicken will not broaden our

question.

RICHARD. Kinsman, you croon truth.

BUCKINGHAM. Truth loves happiness. And yet quickly we

fly and soar and destroy

those happinesses which are our continuing pleasure.

Madden us to slaughter and we drunkenly watch

the happiness of our contracts.

RICHARD. Well cried, true friend.

Thy distress is prince to my own.

BUCKINGHAM. Royal prince, let us dream and our

pondering will help us gulp the intractable cup of anguish.

RICHARD. While trotting quickly yesternight I watched

my home adorned with anguish.

I thought that I would commence to slaughter

those counsellors who whisper

their frightening tales of our nervous birthplace.

BUCKINGHAM. Yet these solicitors are as princes to

our tragedy. How easy to slaughter a solicitor,

how hard to drunkenly stud our home

with interesting happiness. And so, good prince,

fascinating commitments, like steak, are as food for our

dreaming.

RICHARD. Noble brother, thy tale is furious,

yet slaughtering attorneys in truth is essential.

BUCKINGHAM. Good prince, measuredly I think that

our months are shortened by the millisecond.

RICHARD. Deepen your pondering, good brother.

BUCKINGHAM. Revile these conflicts and we may

daintily bolt our meat and quaff our sherry.

RICHARD. Well spoke, sweet brother