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What is Hive Being, and Why the Name?

You have likely heard talk of a hive mind, where one global mind finds more or less figurative expression in various local minds. Such talk is common enough in nature documentaries, especially ones concerning ants or bees, and in sci-fi programs. Take that notion, at least a loose version of it, and broaden its scope. That will be a decent first step in understanding the title I have chosen both for my Blog and for the first five-volume installment of my magnum opus Made For You and Me, a fragmentary collection of minimalist stanzas from 2016 to 2020.

In alignment with Spinoza (the 17th Century Rationalist to whom I devoted my doctoral studies), I view reality in its totality as a grand hive Being: all entities are but pulsating manifestations of the buckstopping fount of everything, an ultimate being we might call “God” or “Nature” (so long as, out of respect for the capital “G” and the capital “N,” we limit it neither to some anthropomorphic cloud father hurling lightning bolts nor to mere wilderness untouched by human smog). According to the hive-Being view (where reality is one lone superorganism, a monistic—and we might even say unividualist—conception I defend in both my creative and academic capacities), each non-foundational being (each being, that is, whose essence does not involve existence) is an utterly necessitated expression or eruption or exudation of this eternal source—each is, perhaps better put, a mode or manner of being, and so a focal point through which is disclosed, what classical theists sometimes call “being itself” (ipsum esse subsistens): the realness of the real, the being of whatever may be, the sheer activity of being, the very isness of whatever is. This Blog, which duplicates my Substack, throbs as but one among many literary unfurlings of this self-necessitated foundation, this supreme wellspring, of which we—like black holes and broken beliefs, like fractal ferns and flickering flames—are the inevitable stylings.

My Journey

I am an academic who found himself pressured into early retirement by the rising tides of cancel culture. The illiberal scourge of censoring, silencing, and shaming—although always with us throughout our evolution—reached a local peak around 2021. That was the turbulent year my creative pursuits, which the old left once encouraged as a healthy outlet for the stresses of a childhood steeped in poverty and illiteracy, drew the ire of the new safe-space left. A small cadre of self-proclaimed victims and their allies, several of whom continue to berate me years later under pseudonyms as see through as their sexual infatuation, sought to erase me and my heterodoxy. They found support from a wannabe-woke dean, covered in the grand inquisitor robes of our decadent modernity (full-body tattoos) and just itching to signal his commitment to protecting “vulnerable populations” from triggering material (even if just, as it was in my case, off-duty poems “unbecoming for someone calling himself a teacher”). Although I eventually won my due-process case with the help of The Foundation for Individual Rights and Expression, I slunk away from a college that turned its back on protecting freedom of expression and from an institution increasingly intolerant of intellectual diversity.  

The wrecking ball to my too-comfy office in the windowless ivory tower came with a silver lining. From the ashes of my professional aspirations rose a phoenix of increased freedom to fulfill the literary calling I have pursued for decades. Reputation concerns never stopped me, even within academia’s sterile halls of conformity. Indeed, my unapologetic defiance, which has long baffled friends and family, no doubt chummed even safe waters—almost as if I were asking for it all along—until the cancel shiver grew too frenzied to hold back its blind thrashings. But now, now I piston the most forbidden territories of human thought with no longer even a twinge of conscience. The newfound freedom means extra time to hone my craft. When not assisting special-needs communities (a day job far more rewarding than freeway-flyer drudgeries), I pursue my literary mission with Dionysian fervor.

Call for Co-Conspirators

This space, my digital sanctuary, showcases the fruits of my mission. Think of my posts, even those linking to my publications, as works in progress. I want your input, unflinching brutality included. Each post begins with an invitation to action: “Let’s workshop this [draft about x, y, z].” Your contributions, whether through public comments or my contact page, help hammer scraps of ore into polished blades fit for magazine publication.

Your input is valuable, even if you are neither a writer nor a reader of literature—twin disciplines dying by the cyber nanosecond. Sometimes—even if at the risk of uttering banalities—an outsider’s fresh vantage can pierce the veils of convention to reveal what insiders miss. It often takes an outsider to make us even think to question our ingrained presuppositions and attitudes. I stand by the hygienic value of contagion. That is one reason I advocate so strongly for intellectual diversity and freedom of expression. And that is also one reason I was so harrowed by the anti-diversity swell of cancel culture in academia (an institution that should be the utmost caretaker of such values)—harrowed especially insofar as that swell masqueraded under the gaslighting guise of “diversity”).

You will witness the breathing evolution of my writings over time. To track these changes, I label each revision by round: “ROUND 2,” ROUND 3,” and so forth. Each piece undergoes continuous refinement based on your feedback and my own revisitations. Sometimes changes will mar the work. That is the risk of creative tinkering as a finite creature. I hope you will alert me to missteps. After many semesters of university writing workshops, one rule has impressed itself upon me: when someone senses a flaw, something almost always needs to change—even if, yes, the proposed solution misses the mark (which often it does). From a quick look into the archives, accessible here, you can see how much I have benefited from your feedback so far.

My Hope

Sharing drafts can be daunting. But showing you the ravaged and unperfumed real deal unfiltered by makeup (stuttering starts and falsities, awkward line breaks and clumsy word choices, grammatical errors and misspellings)—that not only makes my work more relatable, but helps me refine things through your input. I hope the unfiltered look at the raw process of fumbling, rather than just the polished product, also helps other writers develop their craft. Imperfect works often instruct more than perfect ones: whereas the perfect ones tend to have a grace by which they slip inside us without activating our scrutiny, the imperfect ones—especially the near perfect ones—show us glaringly what not to do.

People laugh at me, seeing—in my tilting at the windmills of literary excellence—a Don Quixote clunking around in Arthurian armor in a post-knight era. I am not naïve. I am well aware of the diminishing ability to read, let alone well: slowly and deeply, with gratitude. I am also aware that my style, which often nests subpoints within larger points, never waters down virtuosity for the sake of mass appeal. I watch readers stumble over my sentences, unable to unlock even just the music of the envelope let alone the semantic meat within, which—given my tendency to flashlight through the darker facets of human nature (the addicts, the miscreants, the abusers among us)—only adds an additional alienating layer of difficulty). Beholding these depressive scenes of even supportive family members getting bucked off my syntactic bronco makes me feel like a dinosaur who should get a hint and, if not succumb to the brain rot of skibidi-toilet speak, just hang himself already. Even though the decline in linguistic background and grammatical voltage makes my compositions seem quixotic in a world binging Netflix and TikTok, I persist—raging against the dying of the light—by some internal compulsion to celebrate the richness of language and thought.

My hope is that, despite social media’s unparalleled power to farm our attention, people never forget the unique power of writing. Beyond unveiling hypocrisy, teasing out complex implications, and detailing the commonalities between even the most alien phenomena, writing offers something we need today—trapped in agoraphobic cyber bubbles only thickened by the Lyme dangers of forests and the COVID dangers of cities—perhaps more than ever. Granting us rich access to the first-person perspectives of others (to how things feel to them), writing serves as one of humanity’s best tools for combating loneliness. It allows us to linger, broadly and deeply and at high resolution, within the inner lives of others in a way that other arts can only suggest.

What to Expect

My work spans a broad spectrum: from metaphysical discourses on free will and determinism and the ontology of holes to the ephemera of western culture (whether the childhood impacts of the hypersexual mono-image of black woman as squirting twerkers or Terrence Howard’s sham revolution of mathematics). Some tight and minimal, others free-flowing sprawls; some heady and abstract, others emotional and imagistic—my inkwell musings, which often blend scholarly rigor with a dark humor from both high and low culture, aim to capture the visceral intensity of our personal and social and ultimately existential predicaments.

By no means can I deny that drug abuse, sexual assault, and the tales of the broken and the damned loom large in the tag cloud of my work. My writing will never be a paradise of easy truths and comforting lies. It will challenge you, provoke you, and at times even repulse you. I offer no apologies for the monsters I unleash. They are as much a part of us, at long root scared rodent mammals scurrying in the shadows of dinosaurs, as our noblest aspirations.

But make no mistake. It is not all downer darkness. The archives are my receipts. You will find pieces exploring the pursuit of authenticity in a media-saturated world, the search for meaning in an indifferent cosmos, and the celebration of beauty in both the sublime and the profane. I locate much of my inspiration, in fact, in novelists like Dostoevsky and poets like Ted Kooser—writers unafraid to pursue moral agendas or risk Hallmark sentimentality in an age that often sneers at sincerity.

Be they satirical dissections of modern social dynamics or poignant poems about addiction or academic articles on moral responsibility, my goal is to provoke thought, evoke emotion, and foster meaningful dialogue. Fear has not and will not stop me from challenging humanity’s fundamental taboos (like bestiality and cannibalism) or self-reflecting into the dark chaos of the subconscious, even if that means exposing the Jungian shadows—the inner Goebbels—lurking within us all!

Expect posts each day, no day missed. Donations are welcome, but I impose no paywall: it feels wrong to charge for art, especially given our date with obliteration. Feel free to explore what amounts to, at the time of writing this, close to a thousand pieces of poetry and prose here. That should give you a sense of what awaits.

Join me—specula holstered—on this literary odyssey into the public and private nooks of the hive Being. Let us navigate the labyrinth of creation together, confronting our demons and even slaying our darlings if we must. Let us dance on the razor’s edge between the sublime and the profane in pursuit of an elusive literary perfection never to be confused—as it has been confused in our declining civilization—with the pursuit of popularity or likeability over truth.

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MADE FOR YOU AND ME 3: hive Being (Stanzas 2018--part 6)
Michael Anthony Istvan Junior Michael Anthony Istvan Junior

MADE FOR YOU AND ME 3: hive Being (Stanzas 2018--part 6)

"Made for You and Me: Hive Being (Stanzas 2018 — Part 6)" is the most formally various installment of the series, ranging across its widest tonal spectrum — from pure image to sustained philosophical argument, from domestic bathos to ontological vertigo — while maintaining the distributed intelligence that has defined the project throughout. Where Part 5 was the series' most philosophically dense, Part 6 is its most emotionally various: entries about grief, bodily humiliation, domestic intimate life, and the specific textures of ordinary despair sit alongside logical arguments about determinism and ethics, meditations on identity and echo chambers, and political observations about the mechanisms of social justice culture. The hive here is at its most fully human — which is to say, it is simultaneously thinking and suffering and laughing and noticing, all at the same frequency.

The opening entry — "cripple porn" — is the series' most compressed provocation, two words that do the work of an entire cultural analysis by naming a genre and trusting the naming to be sufficient. The entry does not explain, contextualize, or editorialize. It places the phenomenon in the hive's field as a datum, a fact of contemporary appetite, and moves on. The compression is the argument: that this exists, that it can be named in two words, that the two words are sufficient, is itself a form of cultural diagnosis.

"Enough empties fill the rusty shopping cart for a nice bottle of dinner" — the entry achieves its devastating effect through the precision of its economics. The rusty shopping cart of collected empties, the return value of those empties calculated against the cost of a bottle — the arithmetic of poverty and alcoholism conducted with the attentiveness of genuine financial planning. "A nice bottle of dinner" is the entry's most precise inversion: the bottle is dinner, and the modifier "nice" insists on the dignity of the preference, the maintenance of standards within constraint. The entry does not pity. It accounts.

"Wondering if your presence will taint the family photo since you are so soon to die" — the entry places terminal illness inside the domestic ritual of the family photograph with a specificity that makes the abstract concrete: the dying person calculating their own visual contamination of the record, wondering whether the knowledge of their proximity to death will shadow the image retrospectively. The family photo is usually organized around permanence, around the production of a record that will outlast the occasion. The dying person's presence introduces the counter-pressure: the knowledge that the record will be shadowed by what came shortly after it.

"Rejecting the best statesmen, but not the best brain surgeon, for cheating on his wife" — the entry identifies a specific inconsistency in contemporary moral reasoning: the application of private conduct standards to public roles with varying degrees of rigor depending on the stakes. The statesman's character is treated as relevant to his fitness for office; the brain surgeon's character is bracketed in favor of his technical competence. The entry does not resolve the inconsistency. It names it and leaves the reader to sit with the question of where the principled distinction lies.

"Is it possible to fear the worst without denominating what it is?" — the entry is the section's first purely philosophical question, and it addresses a genuine feature of anxiety: the way that the most debilitating fear can be structureless, without object, resistant to the naming that would make it manageable. "Denominating" — giving it a denomination, a specific value, a name that would make it exchangeable with other named fears — is the entry's precise verb for the cognitive operation that anxiety resists. The question leaves open whether such structureless fear is possible or whether fear always has an implicit object even when it cannot be named.

"Since everything has a sufficient reason (such that every agent's ways and deeds / are locked in place by antecedent factors), and since ought implies can, ethics — / normative at its core, concerned with what ought to be — has no ultimate footing" — this is the section's most formally complete philosophical argument, and it is compressed into three lines with the economy of a proof. The argument moves from the principle of sufficient reason — established in an earlier poem in the series — through the compatibilist pressure point of ought-implies-can to the conclusion that normative ethics, if determinism is true, loses its ultimate justificatory foundation. If every action is locked in place by antecedent factors, then no agent could have done otherwise, which means that the "ought" of ethical prescription has nothing to grip. The entry does not linger over the argument or offer its refutation. It states it as a consequence that follows from premises the series has already been examining, and moves on.

"Funding is available to preserve / only those endangered creatures / more conspicuously charismatic" — the entry names a specific and documented bias in conservation economics: the preferential allocation of preservation resources toward species whose appearance generates human sympathy — the panda, the tiger, the elephant — over those whose ecological importance is equivalent or greater but whose appearance does not. "Conspicuously charismatic" is exact: the charisma must be visible, legible to the general public's aesthetic response, to generate the funding. The entry is simultaneously a conservation critique and a broader observation about the relationship between legibility and resource allocation in any domain where scarcity requires prioritization.

"That navel-gazing posture engenders / the very protruding belly you loathe / and keep checking for: a human story" — the entry operates on its double meaning with unusual gentleness for the series. The navel-gazing posture — the head-down, inward-turning position of excessive self-scrutiny — literally produces the physical condition it is scrutinizing: the downward gaze creates the appearance of the belly it is checking for. The entry names this as "a human story" — the mechanism by which self-monitoring produces its own object, the way attention to a feared condition can generate or amplify the condition itself — and the designation "a human story" is both compassionate and diagnostic. This is what we do. This is what we are.

"Present the convicted with data, / and the clutch upon belief tightens; / tempestuous gestures are needed" — the entry names the backfire effect with precision: the empirically documented phenomenon by which presenting people with evidence contrary to their beliefs produces not revision but entrenchment. The conclusion — "tempestuous gestures are needed" — is the entry's most provocative move. It does not advocate for reason; it identifies reason's failure mode and suggests that what moves people is not evidence but the emotional force of the gesture. This is not a celebration of irrationalism but a description of human persuasion mechanics that the entry refuses to sentimentalize away.

"No one left to remember that event, you feel as if from some alien planet" — the entry names the specific alienation of outliving one's contemporaries, the way that shared memory constitutes a form of belonging and its erasure produces the experience of having originated elsewhere. The "alien planet" is not hyperbole but phenomenological description: the person who has outlived everyone who remembers what they remember experiences the present social world as a place whose inhabitants do not share their reality, which is the functional definition of being from somewhere else.

"The father commands the beaten child, 'Kneel now / and beg for God's mercy,' but with rage contrived / to hide from himself his talking mostly to himself" — the entry is the section's most psychologically penetrating portrait of a specific family pathology. The father's invocation of God as the authority before whom the child must kneel is identified as self-deception: the rage is contrived — performed, manufactured — to disguise from the father himself that the prayer he is demanding from the child is the prayer he cannot make for himself. He is asking his own beaten child to perform the supplication he needs to perform. The entry names this mechanism with a precision that is its own form of indictment.

"Remorse never directly alters the past, / anxiety sometimes directly alters the future, / but both spur us to achieve time travel" — the entry is a compressed phenomenology of the two dominant negative affects and their temporal orientations. Remorse is backward-facing and impotent with respect to its object — the past cannot be altered — but it drives a form of psychic return to the past that constitutes its own mode of time travel. Anxiety is forward-facing and occasionally effective — sometimes the anticipated bad thing is prevented — and it drives a form of psychic projection into the future that constitutes another mode. Both emotions are forms of temporal displacement from the present, which the entry identifies not as pathology but as a specific human capacity, painful but also a mode of access to times other than now.

"What is worse, pretending to be who you are or pretending to be someone else?" — the entry is the section's most condensed identity paradox. The first option names inauthenticity disguised as authenticity: the performance of a self one has constructed and mistakes for discovery. The second names the more ordinary inauthenticity of role-playing a different self. The question holds open which is worse without resolving it, and its genuine philosophical content lies in the implication of the first option: that pretending to be who you are is possible, which means that the self one performs as "who you are" may be as constructed as any other performance.

"Wanting stability enough that you hide from chaos, that which builds stability" — the entry names a specific avoidance paradox: the conditions necessary for the development of genuine stability are the conditions being avoided in the name of protecting existing stability. The entry does not moralize the avoidance. It names the mechanism — the way that the desire for stability can become the precise instrument of its own frustration — and moves on.

"Identity is merely whatever we insist it is (girl, black, Little Mermaid, God) so long as / we are not social creatures — and so the more we retreat into our echo bubbles (easy / with cyberspace) the more legitimate it is to say our identity is whatever we insist it is" — the entry is the section's most formally complete social media argument, and it turns on the conditional "so long as we are not social creatures." The argument is not that identity claims are illegitimate but that their legitimacy is a function of the social conditions under which they are made. In a fully social environment — one in which identity must be negotiated with others, tested against their perceptions, modified by encounter — identity cannot be simply whatever one insists it is. The retreat into echo chambers, however, creates the conditions of partial isolation in which the insistence can be maintained: the bubble provides the social validation without the social friction that would otherwise pressure the identity claim toward revision. The entry identifies the feedback loop: isolation enables the insistence, the insistence requires the isolation, the technology makes both easier.

"The urgency with which students imitate the social-justice protests of the 60s has them / convinced that dead issues are worth blind fury — if only such innocence did not stir / such evil: spoiling blacks into invalids and demonizing whites into told-ya-so backlash" — the entry identifies a specific generational mechanism: the imitation of historical protest movements whose battles have been largely won, the urgency borrowed from those battles being applied to conditions that are not equivalent, and the consequences of that misapplication named without euphemism. The "told-ya-so backlash" is the entry's most politically precise designation: the way that the excesses of one political tendency produce the conditions for the strengthening of the tendency it most opposes. The entry does not argue against social justice; it argues against the specific mechanism of performative urgency applied to misidentified targets.

"Shore returns of sea burials" — the entry is pure image, and it is among the series' most resonant. The sea burial is the final dispersal, the commitment of remains to a medium that promises dissolution without return. The shore return names what the sea actually does: it brings things back, deposits them on the sand, refuses to keep what was given to it. The entry does not say what it means. It does not need to.

"There is something extra unsettling / about female serial killers, and likewise / about female white nationalists" — the entry names a real phenomenological response without claiming to fully explain it. The "extra unsettling" is in excess of the ordinary unsettledness that serial killing and white nationalism produce in any form: there is a supplementary disturbance that the female perpetrator generates, and the entry identifies this as genuine rather than dismissing it as mere gender bias. The source of the extra unsettlement — whether it is the violation of gendered expectations, the disruption of the maternal archetype, or something else — is left for the reader to locate.

"Biological males should be allowed to swim against, / or even fight, biological females in athletic events, / but let that be done in its own mixed category" — the section closes with its most politically precise resolution to a current controversy. The entry does not oppose transgender participation in athletics; it proposes a structural solution that neither excludes nor conflates. The mixed category preserves competitive integrity while maintaining inclusion: a category defined by biological diversity rather than by the binary that produces the controversy in the first place. The entry's "or even fight" is the section's final comic note — the deliberate escalation to combat sports that makes the absurdity of the current arrangement vivid without requiring elaboration.

Formally, Part 6 achieves its effects through the widest tonal range of any installment in the series. The movement from "cripple porn" to the determinism argument to "shore returns of sea burials" to the transgender athletics resolution is not random but calibrated: the hive's intelligence moves through registers because the world it is mapping contains all of them simultaneously. The section's formal achievement is its refusal to let any single register dominate long enough to become a position — the comic deflates the philosophical before it becomes pompous, the lyric image interrupts the political argument before it becomes strident, the domestic detail grounds the ontological vertigo before it becomes unmoored. The distributed intelligence holds everything at once, which is the series' definition of attention, and Part 6 is the fullest demonstration of what that attention can sustain.

Meta Description

The sixth installment of the Hive Being series: the most tonally various section, ranging from determinism and ethical footing to shore returns of sea burials, from the backfire effect to the specific unsettledness of female serial killers, holding the comic and the catastrophic at the same frequency across its widest emotional and philosophical spectrum.

Keywords

Made for You and Me Hive Being Part 6, distributed consciousness, aphorism poetry, determinism and ethics, ought implies can, sufficient reason, echo chambers and identity, social justice imitation, shore returns, female serial killers, backfire effect, conservation charisma, time travel and remorse, close reading, Hypocorism, hive being series

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MADE FOR YOU AND ME 3: hive Being (Stanzas 2018--part 5)
Michael Anthony Istvan Junior Michael Anthony Istvan Junior

MADE FOR YOU AND ME 3: hive Being (Stanzas 2018--part 5)

Scholarly Essay: "Made for You and Me: Hive Being (Stanzas 2018 — Part 5)"

"Made for You and Me: Hive Being (Stanzas 2018 — Part 5)" is the most philosophically rangy installment of the series, moving between ontological argument, psychological precision, political provocation, and lyric image with a fluency that feels less like juxtaposition and more like a single consciousness operating at full bandwidth. Where Part 4 organized itself temporarily around the anaphoric catalogue, Part 5 returns to the series' purest distributed form: no sustained structure, no formation held, just the hive's omnidirectional attention ranging freely across every register of experience simultaneously. The result is the series at its most characteristic and, in several of its entries, at its most philosophically ambitious.

The opening entry — "a beer-can metropolis on the kitchen table each morning from dad" — achieves its effect through scale and specificity. "Metropolis" is the operative word: not a can or two but a city's worth, an architecture of cans that has accumulated overnight and greets the child each morning as the landscape of the father's inner life. The entry does not editorialize about alcoholism or its effects. It renders the scene as a child renders it — as an environment, as what mornings look like, as the given condition of the kitchen table — and the word "metropolis" carries both the child's awe at the scale and the adult's retrospective recognition of what that scale meant.

"When everyone around you is dying, it seems wrong — unnatural — to go on living" — the entry names a specific survivor's phenomenology with clinical precision: the way that mass bereavement in a community produces a guilt organized around the body's persistence, its refusal to join the dying, its wrongness in continuing. "Unnatural" is exact: survival feels like a violation of the pattern, a deviation from what the environment has established as normal. The entry does not offer consolation or reframe. It names the experience and moves on.

"Turning to the internet to be told that your want is okay — or, in its speak, 'valid'" — "valid" in quotation marks is the entry's most precise gesture. The word has migrated from logic — where validity is a property of arguments, not of feelings — into therapeutic and social media discourse, where it designates the conferral of legitimacy on desire or experience. The entry identifies the specific mechanism: the person does not turn to the internet to understand their want, to examine it, to determine whether it is good or harmful. They turn to be told it is okay. The validation is the product. The internet provides it at scale.

"Insecticide-soaked cotton balls in the nostrils of the dead" — the entry is pure image, no commentary, and its specificity is its meaning. This is a specific funerary or preservation practice, the detail so precise that it constitutes research rather than invention, and its placement in the hive's field without explanation or context performs the series' characteristic trust in the image to carry its own weight. The dead are being prepared. The cotton balls are soaked. The insecticide is doing its work. The entry closes there.

"Patience to pursue star crushes after they wash up" — the entry is the series' most compressed portrait of a specific masculine erotic economy: the man who waits, with genuine patience, for the moment when the actress or celebrity or public figure whose inaccessibility has been the condition of his desire becomes, through the mechanism of career decline, theoretically reachable. The "wash up" is not incidental — it is the enabling condition, the event that converts the star crush from fantasy into prospect. The entry does not moralize this calculation. It names it as a form of patience, which is what it is.

"Singing rapture into crippled forms to uplift them — if only by sparking a drive to dig / deeper — is construed, in a victim era of righteous mediocrity, as an insensitive taunt / against the marginalized (a supremacist ploy even) rather than as love for all mankind" — this is the section's first extended entry, and it addresses the specific contemporary mechanism by which the demand for excellence directed at those who have not yet achieved it is reframed as cruelty rather than care. The entry identifies "righteous mediocrity" as the operative ideology: the protection of existing achievement levels as an act of advocacy, the challenge to exceed them as an act of aggression. The "supremacist ploy" parenthetical names the specific accusation — the conversion of the demand for excellence into racial violence — and the entry's final phrase, "love for all mankind," insists on the motivation that the accusation erases.

"Ill-timed notes sung flat, twitches of the brush beyond borders preordained — in them / he saw only stains to be winced from mind instead of milkable breaks, muses nudging / the stream toward unguessed glory that could wind up crowning them lynchpin stars" — this is the series' most concentrated entry on artistic perception, and its argument is about the relationship between error and discovery. The flat note, the brushstroke beyond the border — these are the accidents that a certain kind of artistic intelligence recognizes as invitations rather than failures, as the muse's nudges toward something the preordained plan could not have reached. "Milkable breaks" is the entry's most precise coinage: the accident that can be worked, extracted, developed into something the original intention could not have generated. The entry identifies the failure to see this — the wincing from the stain — as the artist's deepest limitation, and it does so without sentimentality.

"It is reasonable to trust your gut when something does not feel right, but recognize / that your gut is shaped by outside forces (racist and otherwise): people genuinely felt / something was wrong — toxic — about blacks and whites swimming in the same pool" — the entry is the section's most careful navigation of a genuinely difficult epistemological problem. It does not dismiss gut feeling as a cognitive tool; it accepts its reasonableness as a starting point. What it insists on is the second move: the recognition that the gut has been shaped by forces external to the individual, forces that include but are not limited to racism, and that the feeling of wrongness is not self-validating. The swimming pool example is the entry's evidence: people genuinely felt it, and the feeling was wrong. The entry does not extend this to all gut feelings. It installs a necessary skepticism that the first sentence's reasonableness had opened the door to dismissing.

"However true it may be, do not say / that you will give her a kidney if need be — / at least not after just one bout of phone sex" — the entry is the section's most perfectly timed comic piece, and it earns its comedy through the specificity of its timing caveat. The problem is not the declaration of willingness to give a kidney — that may be entirely true, may reflect a genuine depth of feeling. The problem is the temporal positioning: after one bout of phone sex, the declaration cannot be received as what it may genuinely be. The entry is about the gap between true feeling and legible expression, and it lands as comedy because the gap is real and the advice is sound.

"Selecting how to feel before feeling that way" — the entry names a specific and underexamined psychological phenomenon: the prospective construction of emotional experience, the way consciousness can orient itself toward a feeling before the feeling arrives, shaping its own subsequent experience through the anticipation of it. The entry does not say whether this is adaptive or pathological, conscious or unconscious. It names it as a phenomenon and leaves the evaluation to the reader.

"The glazed eyes of the wizard point guard / dribbling down the court, his look riveted / on nothing but the dynamic panoply itself" — the entry is the section's most purely aesthetic image, and "the dynamic panoply itself" is its philosophically precise designation: the point guard's vision encompasses the entire court as a dynamic system, attending to no single element but to the totality and its movement. The "wizard" is not a nickname but a designation of the specific cognitive mode — the perception of the whole that makes individual genius possible. The glazed eyes are the outward sign of a consciousness operating at a level that cannot be described as looking at anything in particular because it is looking at everything simultaneously.

"Time would pass, so you imagine, even if / everything you were observing were static / because you, observing, would not be static" — the entry is the section's most compressed philosophical proposition, and it makes a genuine claim about the relationship between temporal experience and the observer's nature. Even in a perfectly static universe, time would be experienced because the observer — whose consciousness is itself a process, whose attention moves, whose neurological state changes — is not static. The experience of duration is a function of the observer's dynamism, not the observed world's. The entry is a small phenomenology of time in nine words of conditional reasoning.

"You can give a man everything without everything ceasing to be everything only if / you really give him everything: not just all of natura naturata but natura naturans / (the eternal arche) — turning him, in effect, into ipse esse subsistence: being itself" — the section's most technically philosophical entry deploys Spinoza's distinction between natura naturata (nature as created, the totality of existing things) and natura naturans (nature as creating, the generative principle itself) in the service of a claim about the conditions of genuine gift. To give someone everything in the first sense is to give them the contents of the world; to give them everything in the second sense is to give them the source, the generative principle, the arche — which would turn them into being itself, into ipse esse subsistens, the Thomistic designation of God as subsistent being. The entry is making a precise claim: partial gift, however vast, leaves something withheld. Only the gift of the generative principle itself would constitute the giving of everything, and that gift would transform the recipient into what only God is. The entry is simultaneously a meditation on gift, on theology, and on the impossibility of total giving within the constraints of finitude.

"Satire spotlights stupidity: not only that of those / who think it true and agree, but especially of those / who — despite concord with the author — are offended" — the entry is the section's most formally self-aware, and it applies directly to the series containing it. The double target of satire — the naive reader who mistakes it for sincere advocacy and the sophisticated reader who understands it but is offended anyway — identifies the second group as the more revealing case. To agree with the satirist's actual position while being offended by its satirical expression is to prioritize the form of advocacy over its content, to police the manner of truth-telling rather than attending to the truth being told. The entry is the series' implicit defense of its own methods.

"A society in which people see little hope / even in paying for the funeral of family / should at least invest in suicide booths" — the entry is the section's darkest comic proposition, and it earns its darkness through the logical structure of "at least." The society that has failed to provide its members with even the minimum of dignified death — the affordable funeral — should, by the logic of harm reduction, provide the infrastructure for self-determined exit. The entry does not advocate for suicide; it advocates for consistency, and the consistency it demands from a society that has already failed its people in life is the consistency of following that failure to its logical provision.

"A wicked script rehashed in college bars ('Whites ruin it all!') — a gaslighting script given / the enlightenment ideals and emancipatory norms of western civ ('Yuck!') that lift us / to Sagan stars, shelter the helpless, abolish monkey law (slavery), enshrine rights for all" — the section closes with its most politically direct entry, and it closes with force. The "whites ruin it all" script is identified as gaslighting — the psychological mechanism of making the target of manipulation doubt their own perception of reality — in light of the specific historical record of Western civilization's emancipatory achievements: the Enlightenment's epistemological revolution, the abolition of slavery, the enshrinement of universal rights, the scientific achievement that Sagan's name designates. "Monkey law (slavery)" is the entry's most compressed historical designation — slavery as the law of dominance hierarchies, the law of the strong over the weak, the law that the Enlightenment's emancipatory norms were explicitly designed to abolish. The "Yuck!" parenthetical names the reflex dismissal of this record with the onomatopoeia of disgust, and the entry closes by listing what that dismissed record actually produced. The section ends not with a question but with an inventory, and the inventory is the argument.

Formally, Part 5 is the series' most philosophically dense installment, carrying more entries that sustain genuine argumentative development across multiple lines than any previous section. The range — from beer-can metropolises to Spinoza's natura naturans to the wizard point guard's glazed eyes — is the section's formal achievement: a consciousness that can hold all of these simultaneously, that does not compartmentalize its philosophical ambition away from its comic instinct or its lyric attention away from its political nerve. The hive is at full capacity here, and the distributed intelligence it enacts is, across its range, the series' most complete demonstration of what the form can carry.

Meta Description

The fifth installment of the Hive Being series: the most philosophically ambitious section, ranging from Spinoza's natura naturans and the phenomenology of time to beer-can metropolises and suicide booths, with the series' most concentrated entries on artistic perception, gut epistemology, and the gaslighting of Western civilization's emancipatory record.

Keywords

Made for You and Me Hive Being Part 5, natura naturans, Spinoza, philosophical aphorism, distributed consciousness, wizard point guard, survivor guilt, righteous mediocrity, gut epistemology, satire and offense, suicide booths, Western civilization, Enlightenment emancipation, close reading, Hypocorism, hive being series

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MADE FOR YOU AND ME 3: hive Being (Stanzas 2018--part 4)
Michael Anthony Istvan Junior Michael Anthony Istvan Junior

MADE FOR YOU AND ME 3: hive Being (Stanzas 2018--part 4)

"Made for You and Me: Hive Being (Stanzas 2018 — Part 4)" is the most politically extended installment of the series, and it earns that extension through formal innovation: the "a land where" anaphoric sequence that occupies its center is the series' most sustained single rhetorical construction, a litany that accumulates its indictments through repetition until the repetition itself becomes the argument. The hive's distributed intelligence is here organized, temporarily and unusually, around a single grammatical structure — the rhetorical device of the catalogue — before releasing back into the series' characteristic aphoristic scatter. The result is a section that feels simultaneously like the others and like something new: the hive briefly finding a formation, holding it long enough to do specific damage, then dispersing again.

The opening entry — "'you know I woulda raped that pussy if you aint give it me, right? That asshole too!'" — arrives as direct quotation without attribution, speaker, or context. The quotation marks are the entry's only frame. The voice is specific and completely rendered in a single sentence: its vernacular grammar, its retrospective boast, its casual annexation of the second orifice as afterthought, its "right?" seeking confirmation of what it has just threatened. The entry does not comment. It places the voice in the hive's field and moves on. The reader is left holding the sentence, which is the point.

"Lottery tickets, just hoping the weekend will get here for mind-numbing sitcoms" — the entry names a specific configuration of managed despair: the lottery ticket as ritualized hope too small to constitute genuine aspiration, the weekend as the unit of time worth surviving toward, the sitcom as the analgesic waiting at the end of the survival. The three elements form a closed system of low-level endurance that the entry renders without condescension and without uplift, simply as a description of how a significant portion of human time is actually organized.

"Kicking that rock habit for sanctioned Red Bull in sleep-tight conscience" — the substitution is the entry's argument: crack for energy drink, illegal stimulant for legal one, the same neurological craving redirected through a channel the culture has approved. "Sleep-tight conscience" is exact — the person who has made the substitution can sleep, their conscience satisfied by the legality of their new habit, while the underlying compulsion continues unchanged. The entry is not about addiction but about the cultural machinery that designates which compulsions are permissible.

"The appeal of being unclear is that unclear arguments are not so clearly unsuccessful" — this is the series' most purely logical entry, a proposition about rhetorical strategy that is itself a model of clarity. The entry identifies a genuine incentive structure: precision invites refutation; vagueness frustrates it. The entry does not restrict its application to any particular discourse — it is as true of academic writing as of political speech, as true of therapy-speak as of theology.

"A cat pawing and flipping into the air its hobbled prey, wanting the hunt to go on" — the entry is pure image, no commentary, and it is one of the series' most resonant because it refuses the allegorical reading it invites. The cat is a cat. The hobbled prey is a mouse or a bird. The wanting the hunt to go on is feline nature, the predatory intelligence that finds the chase more satisfying than the kill. Whatever human behavior this illuminates — and it illuminates several — the entry does not say. It presents the image and trusts the hive's distributed intelligence to complete the circuit.

"If a stud oohing to the blowjob of her strap-on / is mental illness, the blind caning around / everywhere in public is outright insanity" — the entry applies a reductio to the pathologizing of non-normative sexuality: if the pleasure response to a particular sexual act constitutes mental illness, then the navigational behavior of the visually impaired — caning in public spaces, reading the environment through an extended prosthetic — constitutes a more severe disorder by the same logic. The entry is not dismissing concerns about sexual psychology but exposing the inconsistency and arbitrariness of where pathology gets applied and where it does not.

"Things can matter to machines / sophisticated enough; machines / can give a damn (like us)" — the parenthetical "like us" is the entry's pivot and its most philosophically loaded gesture. The claim that sufficiently sophisticated machines can genuinely care — not simulate caring but actually give a damn — is radical enough. "Like us" then raises the question of whether our caring is itself so different from what a sufficiently sophisticated machine would do as to warrant the distinction we habitually draw. The entry does not resolve this. It plants the equivalence and moves on.

The "a land where" sequence begins here and constitutes the section's formal and argumentative center. The anaphora is borrowed from the rhetorical tradition of prophetic indictment — the catalogue of a society's failures, each introduced by the same grammatical structure, each adding weight to the cumulative charge. What distinguishes this catalogue from its prophetic antecedents is its refusal of moral hierarchy: the entries arrive in an order that is associative rather than ranked, so that "a land where literacy and numeracy are considered evil expressions of whiteness" sits alongside "a land where 'subpar' gets autocorrected as 'Subaru'" without either being designated as more or less serious than the other. The sequence treats the comic and the catastrophic with equal formal weight, which is itself an argument: the culture being catalogued has lost the capacity to distinguish between them.

"A land where literacy and numeracy are considered evil expressions of whiteness" — the entry names a specific and documented phenomenon in contemporary educational discourse, the framing of academic achievement standards as racially coded, as tools of white supremacy rather than as neutral measures of knowledge. The entry does not argue against this framing at length; it names it and places it in the catalogue, where its proximity to other entries performs its own commentary.

"A land of criminalizing comedy" — the entry's compression is its precision. The criminalization is not literal but social and professional: the career-ending joke, the retroactive excavation of old material, the application of contemporary sensitivities to humor produced under different conditions. "Criminalizing" names the mechanism — the conversion of social transgression into something treated with the apparatus of prosecution — without overstating it as literal law.

The catalogue's most politically charged entries cluster in its middle section. "A land where the 'b' in 'black' must be capitalized, but never the 'w' in 'white'" identifies a specific asymmetry in contemporary style guide orthodoxy — one that the entry holds up for inspection without endorsing either the capitalization or its absence. "A land where trauma must be time-stamped, notarized, before even poets can speak it" is the sequence's entry most directly relevant to the book containing it: the demand for credentialed, verified, institutionally legible suffering as the prerequisite for artistic authority, which the entry identifies as a form of bureaucratic gatekeeping applied to the most ungovernable of human experiences.

"A land where we fetishize the primitive — indigenous cosmology on a par with physics" names the specific epistemological collapse of treating all knowledge systems as equally valid regardless of their predictive and explanatory power. The entry is not dismissive of indigenous knowledge traditions; it is skeptical of the political mechanism that places them beyond comparative evaluation, which is a form of condescension disguised as respect. "A land where all kindness is seen as an agenda (as it often is)" — the parenthetical is the entry's most precise move, conceding the empirical basis for the cynicism it names while identifying that cynicism's cost: the environment in which genuine kindness cannot be received as such.

"A land where Beyoncé and Sister Souljah surpass Beethoven and Shakespeare" — the entry names the specific cultural valuation that places contemporary popular artists above the canonical figures of Western artistic tradition not on the basis of comparative aesthetic analysis but on the basis of identity and political alignment. The entry does not argue for Beethoven's superiority; it identifies the mechanism by which the comparison has become impermissible rather than merely contested.

"A land where incest is rape" — arriving near the end of the catalogue, this entry is the sequence's most compressed legal and philosophical provocation. It names a specific position in contemporary discourse — the argument that the power dynamics inherent in family relationships make genuine consent structurally impossible — without endorsing or refuting it. Its placement after fifty-plus entries in the same grammatical structure gives it the same weight as the entries surrounding it, which is the catalogue's governing formal principle and its most unsettling quality.

The sequence releases back into the section's characteristic aphoristic scatter with entries that carry the full tonal range of the series. "Dope-sick mothers renting out / the vicious suckling of their newborns — / 'just the fuckin mouth' — to drug-dealer testicles" is the section's most viscerally devastating entry, and it achieves its effect through the specificity of the quoted speech: "just the fuckin mouth" is the mother's negotiation, her delimitation of what she is offering, and its presence in quotation marks makes it testimony rather than description. The newborn is present. The mouth is specified. The drug-dealer's testicles are the economic end of the transaction. The entry renders this without editorializing because editorializing would be insufficient.

"Those who, before going to war, / do not fuck like they are going to war / are not ready to go to war" — the entry is the series' most aphoristically concentrated statement about the relationship between erotic and martial intensity, and it works through the repetition of "going to war" across three lines in which the phrase accumulates different meanings. The first instance is literal; the second is figurative — the quality of erotic engagement as a measure of one's relationship to mortality and urgency; the third returns to the literal but is now inflected by the second. The entry is not advocating for war but for a relationship to one's own intensity that does not flinch from its own implications.

"Your desire to support her does eclipse / your desire to fuck her, but the proximity / that comes with support has you fuck her" — the entry is the section's most precise account of a specific mechanism of desire: the way that genuine care and genuine erotic interest, even when the former authentically outweighs the latter, conspire through the simple physics of proximity to produce the outcome that the ethical hierarchy had apparently foreclosed. The entry does not moralize. It describes a mechanism that operates regardless of the moral intentions of the people inside it.

"If you cannot criminalize a certain group (blacks), / have people link that group with a practice (crack use) / and then excessively criminalize that practice" — the section closes with the series' most compressed account of structural racism as a legal and political mechanism: the three-step process by which racial targeting is achieved through the criminalization of racially associated behavior rather than through explicit racial designation. The entry is an instruction manual for a process that has been extensively documented in American legal history, rendered here in the format of a logical sequence — if A then B then C — that strips it of euphemism and presents it as the deliberate procedure it has been.

Formally, Part 4 achieves its effects through the tension between the catalogue's sustained anaphoric structure and the section's surrounding aphoristic scatter. The "a land where" sequence creates a temporary organization — a formation — that the section's other entries do not share. The formation's dispersal at both ends of the sequence makes the catalogue feel like a moment of collective focus in a consciousness that is ordinarily distributed: the hive briefly swarming in one direction before returning to its characteristic omnidirectional attention. That the formation is organized around indictment — around a sustained accounting of a culture's failures — gives the section its heaviest political register while the surrounding entries maintain the series' commitment to ranging freely across every other aspect of human experience simultaneously.

Meta Description

The fourth installment of the Hive Being series, organized around a sustained anaphoric catalogue of cultural indictments — "a land where" — embedded in the series' characteristic aphoristic scatter, ranging from dope-sick mothers and structural racism to the epistemological collapses of a culture that has lost the capacity to distinguish the comic from the catastrophic.

Keywords

Made for You and Me Hive Being Part 4, anaphoric catalogue, a land where, cultural indictment, aphorism poetry, structural racism, cancel culture critique, epistemological collapse, distributed consciousness, contemporary American satire, close reading, Hypocorism, litany form, political poetry, hive being series

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MADE FOR YOU AND ME 3: hive Being (Stanzas 2018--part 3)
Michael Anthony Istvan Junior Michael Anthony Istvan Junior

MADE FOR YOU AND ME 3: hive Being (Stanzas 2018--part 3)

"Made for You and Me: Hive Being (Stanzas 2018 — Part 3)" continues the serial project of distributed consciousness that the earlier installments established, but this section carries a tonal register distinctly heavier than its predecessors. Where earlier sections moved with the aphoristic agility of a mind equally at home in the comic and the devastating, Part 3 has a higher proportion of entries organized around death, terminal conditions, and the specific grief of having arrived too late — to the father's body, to the dying wise man's bedside, to the moment before suicide became obvious. The hive is still buzzing, still ranging freely across registers, but something in this section has begun to feel the weight of its own accumulation.

The opening entry — "on your childhood bed after decades, the wake underway downstairs" — achieves its effect through spatial and temporal compression. The childhood bed and the adult body returning to it after decades, the wake proceeding below — the entire architecture of mortality, memory, and the body's persistence through time is held in a single prepositional phrase. The wake is downstairs: the dead are being mourned in the social space while the mourner has retreated to the private space of childhood, to the bed that knew the body before the body knew grief. The entry does not say whose wake or whose bed. It does not need to. The situation is total.

"A species for whom explaining is seen as losing, we were always anti-intellectual" — the plural "we" implicates the reader in a cultural self-diagnosis that the entry refuses to soften. Explanation as defeat, as exposure, as the surrender of the rhetorical high ground — this is named as constitutive rather than recent, "always" anti-intellectual rather than newly so. The entry is itself an explanation, which gives it the recursive quality of much of the section's best aphorism: it performs what it diagnoses.

"If no one thinks they have an accent, what else does no one think?" is the section's most compressed epistemological entry, and one of its finest. The accent is the standard example of the invisible norm — the way those who set linguistic standards are unaware of their own particularity, hearing themselves as accentless while hearing deviation in everyone else. The question extrapolates from this single case to an open-ended inventory of equivalent blind spots: what other norms are invisible to those who embody them, what other absences of thought are mistaken for the natural condition of thought itself. The entry asks the question and leaves it open, which is the only honest thing to do.

"Getting him back only to restore your chance to be the one to leave" is the section's most concentrated portrait of intimate bad faith, and it achieves its devastating compression by naming a motivation so true and so rarely admitted that its statement feels like exposure. The entire labor of reconciliation — the negotiation, the forgiveness, the reinstallation of the relationship — is revealed as instrumental: not a desire for reunion but a desire for the power of departure, for the restoration of agency in a situation where being left had stripped it away.

"Your tween daughter comes home from a sleepover / with a new coffee habit, like she is in Sex and the City — / perhaps just the tip of what the other daddy showed her" — the entry moves from the comic to the sinister across a single dash. "Like she is in Sex and the City" is the parent's amused observation of precocious sophistication; "perhaps just the tip of what the other daddy showed her" turns the observation inside out. The idiom "just the tip" carries its sexual register without announcing it. The entry does not accuse; it deploys possibility with a casualness that is its own form of indictment.

"Hypersexual and hyperviolent and tribal; remixing instead of being / the ultimate wellspring; regarding explaining oneself as weakness — / the black American shows us who we truly are, and we cannot stand it" is the section's most formally and politically charged entry, and it demands careful attention. The entry does not make a claim about black Americans as a group in isolation. It makes a claim about the universality of what is being described — hypersexuality, hyperviolence, tribalism, the preference for remix over origination, the equation of explanation with weakness — and identifies black American culture as its most visible and honest expression, while arguing that the broader culture's hostility to it is a function of self-recognition rather than genuine difference. The mirror dynamic the entry invokes is the same one the section names at its close: those who disgust us serve as mirrors, and the disgust is self-directed. The entry is deliberately uncomfortable in its framing, as the poem elsewhere names uncomfortable things directly; its argument is not that these characteristics are racial but that their most unashamed expression in one cultural context makes that expression a diagnostic mirror for the broader culture's own suppressed version of the same tendencies.

"Cancel culture, while it masquerades as self-love, is but the vitriol of our self-hatred / for being cripples hooked on coddling that cripples — and so to stab its heart is to lure / babies into self-love by inviting home varieties of the unsettling for them to overcome" — this is the section's most elaborately constructed single entry, and its argument is three-tiered. Cancel culture presents itself as self-love, as the protection of the vulnerable from harm. The entry identifies it instead as self-hatred projected outward — the self-punishing impulse of people who have become dependent on the coddling that perpetuates their helplessness. And the antidote it proposes is not resistance in the obvious sense but its opposite: inviting the unsettling in, exposing the young to difficulty and discomfort as the only actual path to the self-love that cancel culture claims to provide. The entry performs the argumentative complexity it describes: it does not simply attack, it diagnoses and prescribes.

"If you knew for sure it was God telling you to kill the baby, / your refusal to do it would amount to not understanding / that the being in question — perfect — knows what is best" — the entry enters the territory of Kierkegaard's teleological suspension of the ethical with the same compression it applies to everything else. The Binding of Isaac is here reframed as an epistemological problem: if the being commanding you is perfect, then your moral hesitation is not virtue but a failure to understand the nature of perfection. The entry does not endorse infanticide. It exposes the logical structure of any theology that attributes perfection to its deity while retaining the right to override divine commands on moral grounds — a position it identifies as internally inconsistent.

"Even if lions all of a sudden became peaceful, it would remain wise for finite creatures / like us to stay on guard around them at least in the transition period — profiling them / harder if their most popular music depicts them glorifying themselves as predators" — the analogy is the section's most politically compressed, and its final clause is its argumentative core. The entry does not argue for racial profiling directly. It argues for behavioral profiling — for the use of cultural self-representation as evidence about risk — while using the lion analogy to suggest that this is not prejudice but prudence. The most popular music is the cultural output the community has chosen to amplify; if that output depicts predation as identity, the entry holds that this constitutes relevant evidence for threat assessment regardless of individual variation. The entry is deliberately provocative in its implications and does not insulate itself from the discomfort those implications produce.

"How did liquidating yourself go, / so suddenly, from unimaginable / to the most obvious solution?" is the section's most devastating single entry, and it achieves its effect through the verb "liquidating" — financial, bureaucratic, cold — applied to suicide. The entry does not ask this question of a specific person. It asks it of the phenomenon itself: the way the threshold between unthinkable and obvious can collapse without warning, the way the mind can reorganize itself around a conclusion that would have been incomprehensible a week before. The question implies a witness, someone who watched the reorganization happen or found its aftermath, and who cannot account for the speed of the transition.

"Drawn together by trauma, the boy is down / whenever his father is down — but this day / a rollicking butterfly has drawn him away" — the tercet is the section's most purely lyrical entry, and its final image earns its lightness through everything that precedes it. The boy whose attunement to his father's depression has become its own kind of depression is, on this day, drawn away by a butterfly. The butterfly is not symbolic in any heavy sense. It is a butterfly, rollicking, which is a word that carries its own irresistible energy. The distraction is accidental and total and temporary and sufficient. The entry does not say whether the father notices or what the father feels. It ends with the boy's attention elsewhere, which is enough.

"Parents, mom too, heckling their kids / for reading: 'Look at this pussy-ass nigga — / reading a fuckin' book!'" — the entry names a specific and devastating form of anti-intellectualism: not the passive neglect of reading but its active punishment, the community enforcing its own intellectual suppression through the mechanism of shame. "Mom too" is the entry's most precise detail, insisting on the mother's participation rather than allowing her to be exempted from the dynamic by gender. The entry connects directly to the section's opening claim about explanation as losing: here the culture's equation of intellectual engagement with weakness is being installed in the next generation in real time, by its parents, with the tools of humiliation.

"Deathbed dying tends to come in such doses / that it is easy to persuade yourself, some / moments, that you might just pull through" — this is the section's most compassionate entry about mortality, and it is compassionate precisely because it is accurate. The intermittency of terminal dying — the moments of relative stability that the dying and their witnesses interpret as recovery before the next decline — is rendered without sentimentality but with a recognition of the psychological necessity of that misinterpretation. The persuasion is not delusion but the mind doing what it must to remain present in the room.

"The knowledge — unspoken on all sides — / that the Make-A-Wish teen wants pussy, / not videogames and a trip to Disneyland" — the entry is the section's most darkly comic, and it earns its comedy through the universality of the suppressed knowledge it names. The Make-A-Wish fantasy is a cultural institution built around the idealized desires of ill children: the theme park, the celebrity meeting, the gaming console. The entry identifies the gap between institutional fantasy and actual adolescent desire with the directness that the institution's sentimentality forecloses. The teen's wish is unspeakable within the framework that exists to grant wishes, which is a small but precise portrait of how institutional care systematically misreads the people it serves.

The section closes with two entries that function as a paired coda. "In realizing you are pretty much stuck in the home underclass, / for sanity you open to the beauty of those who disgusted you — / and so too to yourself, since they served as mirrors all along" — this is the section's most explicit statement of the mirror dynamic that underlies so much of its political and social analysis. The opening to beauty in conditions of constraint is not resigned acceptance but a perceptual reorganization: those who disgusted are recognized as reflections, and the disgust as self-directed, which transforms the social landscape and the self simultaneously.

"Making by hand invites, in the meditative clearing it safeguards, / ornamentation: self-amused patterns knifed into the pie crust / and penned deviations from the mono-style of the internet age" — the final entry is the section's most formally generous, and it closes the hive's buzzing on a note of careful, embodied making. The meditative clearing that handwork creates is the space in which ornamentation becomes possible — not the optimized, algorithmic ornamentation of digital production but the self-amused deviation, the pattern knifed into pastry by a hand that is amusing itself, departing from the mono-style not as rebellion but as the natural expression of individual attention given time and a surface to work on. The entry is a small argument for craft as resistance to the homogenizing pressure of networked production, and it lands with a quietness proportional to its confidence.

Formally, Part 3 of the series continues the ethical montage structure of its predecessors while allowing individual entries more breathing room than the densest passages of earlier sections. Several entries extend to three lines and develop genuine argumentative arcs rather than operating purely through compression. This expansion corresponds to the section's tonal weight: the death entries, the suicide entry, the butterfly and the boy — these require a slightly longer beat to register at full depth. The section does not abandon compression; it calibrates it, allowing the most devastating entries the space they need while keeping the hive's distributed intelligence intact.

Meta Description

The third installment of the Hive Being aphorism series: a distributed intelligence ranging across death, anti-intellectualism, intimate bad faith, racial mirrors, terminal dying, and the meditative clearing of handwork — heavier in register than its predecessors, carrying more of the weight of accumulated consciousness.

Keywords

Made for You and Me Hive Being Part 3, aphorism poetry, distributed consciousness, ethical montage, cancel culture critique, anti-intellectualism, terminal dying poetry, suicide threshold, Make-A-Wish satire, mirror dynamic, handwork and craft, racial mirror, Kierkegaard binding of isaac, contemporary American poetry, close reading, Hypocorism

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Visit my Substack: Hive Being

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Don’t let anyone tell you that real life is lacking in poetic interest. This is exactly what the poet is for: he has the mind and the imagination to find something of interest in everyday things. Real life supplies the motifs, the points that need to be said—the actual heart of the matter; but it is the poet’s job to fashion it all into a beautiful, animated whole. You are familiar with Fürnstein, the so-called “nature poet”? He has written a poem about growing hops, and you couldn’t imagine anything nicer. I have now asked him to write some poems celebrating the work of skilled artisans, in particular weavers, and I am quite sure he will succeed; he has lived among such people from an early age, he knows the subject inside out, and will be in full command of his material. That is the advantage of small works: you need only choose subjects that you know and have at your command. With a longer poetic work, however, this is not possible. There is no way around it: all the different threads that tie the whole thing together, and are woven into the design, have to be shown in accurate detail. Young people only have a one-sided view of things, whereas a longer work requires a multiplicity of viewpoints—and that’s where they come unstuck.—Goethe (Conversations with Eckermann)


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