I tried to protect you by not remembering when the rabbis were teachers
and preachers we're on the beaches
Wishes were had in between sheets
Catfish spoken riddles but truthfully
Beautiful ripples in *******
So I was going to invite you over for txgiving but all pathology from the dsm-5 was represented. When I say over, I mean to KFC-
cousin Larry had to work but all the coleslaw and breadcrumbs you can swallow. How bout you did you get stuffed by the poultry-geist?
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 10:17 AM UTC
?Who is the stranger in the dark?
?Sharing your bed?
?Keeping the shadows at bay?
?Holding you behind their eyes?
?Do you hallucinate them?
?Did they hallucinate you?
?Does your body hurt?
?When they are not touching you?
?Does reflection of their eyes?
?Change your mood?
?Did you already say forever?
?Forever in your minds eye?
?Did you say it out loud?
?Did you scream it?
?At the top of your lungs?
?Did they leave anyway?
?Did you smell their clothing?
?Did you hallucinate again?
?Did they find a place in your brain?
?Who left whom in the dream?
?Was there a place where you went?
?Was there a moment in time?
?Did you consider yourself a victim of crime?
?Did you play the ancient roles?
?Was there a moment you knew?
?That it was a tragedy not comedy?
?Did the two voices argue internally?
?Was one of you right was on of you wrong?
?Did you find God together?
?Was it that kind of dance?
?Did you lead. Did you follow?
?Did you follow the cultural norms?
?Was there a hero and dragon?
?Did you slay I together?
?Did you save the princess?
?Did she know she was saved?
?Was there good intention?
?Did you give of yourself?
?Did you ever stop trying?
?Did you give up?
?Was there cake?
?Will there be cake?
?Do you want cake?
THEN DO NOT FIXATE ON ICING
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 7:12 PM UTC
One day you awaken.
Hit like a bolt of lightening or an earthquake.
The relief of you not being you.
A flash (like any other passing moment)-
it awakens.
Disassociated from your memories
you float with the bliss of knowing.
You can model everything.
You are aware in a moment of space and time,
chaos and order intermingle, and time seems to malaise.
Not in forks of circumstance
but depressed and flat.
Visibly slowed down.
You realize that they are one and the same,
that it was all a waking dream.
Only you can't figure out if you were born
or if you just woke up.
And in that case, who were you before?
You know that you were born
at such and such an address
in such and such a hospital but that was the dream,
horrible and beautiful, there is nowhere but everywhere.
Jul 12, 2013
Jul 12, 2013 at 2:10 AM UTC
Pixelated space,
Unspace,
Speed of the slow down-
Timeout.
Automatic space,
Hyppereal pace,
Nonspace,
Pixelated room,
In an 8-bit mansion
Mario and Princess
Zelda and Princess
Platform Romance
Pitfall jumping
space to space
Electromagnetic Consciousness
Conscience and Love
Compassion for the pixels
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 12:56 PM UTC
Learning what we thought before;
ceasing to think it anymore.
Observing past Observors;
ashamed and change.
Never to be alone again.
Observing the observor with more complexity.
A humanoid radio.
Somewhere in the nexus of observation,
a tiny event, a mini, invisible lilliputian occurs.
A result- self emerges but never stays.
Interference on one city frequency.
Happening as an impossible longshot.
Straight flush losing, to another, a higher.
A space between invention and deterioration.
We, highest expression of what we know.
Sleepwalking.
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 12:34 PM UTC
Constructed from a Wikipedia article about ‘oneself’ across many cultures at random. Wondering if an algorithm that constructs poems from internet content and learns from human reaction, can be considered soft AI.
“The best things are nonexistent”
我给他我自己的书
Jeg beskytter ham.
Ŝi legas siajn librojn.
Beszélek magamról.
Io mi lavo,
Он поранил его.
Vós nunca vos machucais.
Vrata su se otvorila-
nosotros nos lavamos.
“The best things are nonexistent”
I gave him my own book.
I protect him.
She reads her own books.
I talk about myself.
I wash myself
He has wounded someone else.
You never hurt yourselves.
Door opened-
we wash ourselves.
Mar 30, 2013
Mar 30, 2013 at 8:04 PM UTC
Don't squander loneliness.
Can be your greatest ally:
be an alien,
be a witness,
be an outsider,
an on looker,
just don't squander your loneliness-
your greatest ally against human trappings.
In fairness, she won't keep you warm at night.
Her icy whisper can make you dance.
Which in turn will keep you warm.
Oct 4, 2012
Oct 4, 2012 at 1:51 AM UTC
ghosts I have known
lecherous dream beings
who curtsy with disdain
folly for their nourishment
a requiem to their ***
whispers of pluralism
seeking audience second advent
astrally disembodied onlooker
we shared some wine
flinched at entanglement
she asked me to stay and I did
we bumbled and the night lammed
forks in time birth specters
spooky children dally unquenched
suffering fools with great ease
because childhood is make-believe.
Oct 4, 2012
Oct 4, 2012 at 1:44 AM UTC
I, the self, saw small subsidiaries of larger rivers.
Then I joined the water and sank deep in its hug.
As if chaos wasn't chaos.
Many simple and small expressions on the cusp of a monstrous wave.
-truly random randomness is absurdity
and absurdity folly.
Until oneself awoke to fleshy folly.
In every satirical ebb and flow
it creates neither order nor disorder because both are illusory.
There is no science of history just the insanity of hounds who trough
luminescence enough
to be dangerous,
gnarling their fangs at me.
In the distance they appear as beacons
but they are only ash now.
Electronic flotation device hovers above the memory,
kinetic nostalgia.
I the oneself can never be a memory
One has to become an objective entity to become a truly subjugate oneself.
-to reject it all,
discard all the objects,
to unplug,
to disconnect.
-reconnect to awaken to divine folly:
Contracting and expanding with the confidence of understanding with wives and
government.
The self thought it was him.
The self, a pariah, forgot the boy.
He became the whole self, the oneself,
and then forgot the self
to gain the self.
The warm plaster mold cracking.
Diseases and the cures both wear masks.
Plagues and reckless panacea are memories that only sort-of work backwards.
I the self,
poor masked sort,
felt the universe's tendons,
felt its flesh.
The oneself waits awake-
amidst the tearing of realities tissue.
Ossifying skin to bone,
to stone.
My muscles remember being metals
molten and dumb
like an Olympian.
Oct 4, 2012
Oct 4, 2012 at 1:42 AM UTC