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 Jan 2016
Dorothy A
His mother thought he had the face of an angel, but his teachers and his schoolmates saw the demon in him. Many knew the real Logan, contrary to the darling boy image in his school picture.  His chunky, freckled face was obnoxious, not angelic. Instead of innocence, the look of deviousness came through in those shifty, light blue peepers of his.  His incisors were on the pointy side, like mini fangs, and whenever Logan smiled one thought of a rattlesnake. Sure, he was smart, and he had stellar grades, yet he used his wits to be sneaky, often trying to outwit everybody, appearing to be a prize student in the classroom while being the Class A **** on the playground.  

A big, stout boy, he used this physical advantage to torment his less advantaged peers. When no adults were in sight, he was always trying to corner others at school, pushing his weight around to abuse those smaller than he was, applauding his own one-boy-show of intimidation with raucous laughter and claps.

Indeed, the targets of Logan’s aggression were always the weaker ones, not the ones who would ever think twice about beating the crap out of him. He went to great lengths to terrorize others—tripping them up, pushing them around, getting up in someone’s face to tell that kid how ugly or how stupid that he was—anything that caused trouble. The victims were sometimes brought to tears, and Logan was quick to call them sissies and babies. A kid named Conner, a fellow six grader, was one of Logan's favorites to pick on. Sometimes, Logan attracted a small audience of bystanders, some of them egging him on while the rest were just watching.  So Logan had his partners-in-crime through either entertainment value or passivity—a great ego booster for such a bully as him.

Few kids tried to fight back, for they were quickly overpowered, and they all knew they were no match for the likes of such a creep.  For fear of retaliation—not wanting to be branded as a snitch—most of Logan’s victims were too scared to tell anyone, the teacher or their parents. Once in a while, a protector, a fellow student, would tell the teacher on their behalf.

Logan hated snitches because it would land him in the classroom during plenty of recess times, or in the principal's office. It also brought him a day of suspension, here and there, with his mother threatening to sue the school. A small number of parents were banding together, wanting Logan out of that school, and Conner's mom was one of them.  Conner might as well have worn a target on his back saying, "Come and get me!"    

Conner knew where he stood—as a member of the group of unpopular kids. He was one of the smallest of his classmates, and with his bright red hair and crooked teeth he was a splendid target for Logan’s juvenile jollies. He avoided Logan any chance he got, staying close to the classroom during recess or walking a much longer route home from school, often delaying going home but feeling all the more alone and vulnerable. His few friends all told him the things they wanted him do to Logan, things they wouldn't dare do, themselves.

Kick him in the nuts!

Jump him from behind and gouge his eyes out!

Tie him up and shove Ex-lax down his mouth!

Wear boots with spikes so you can wrestle him to the ground and stomp all over him!

Conner, you should take up Karate and Kung Foo the **** out of him!!!

Well, Conner would have loved to have given Logan a taste of his own medicine, but never believed it could happen. One day, though, he had enough. For sure, he never even planned to do it, but it happened, nonetheless. When Logan fell back flat back on the school sidewalk, Conner couldn't even believe the big boy landed there. And it happened because of him! Logan couldn't believe it, either, sitting on his rear end with the most dazed expression on his face. Conner clocked him right in the jaw!  Conner was David, and Logan was Goliath, and it was awesome!

Conner just had a perfect shot, with perfect timing and aim. Logan was long overdue to get the result of someone’s wrath, and it was about time someone stuck it to him. Yet Conner never meant this to be a statement for all of Logan's victims. He just was tired of being afraid, of being humiliated.  For the thousandth time, Logan was waiting for him outside of class, blocking his path, and there was just no avoiding things.

Conner truly wanted to fight his own battles—dreamed of it, imagined it—but never in a million years did he think he’d ever really do it!  His mom couldn't be there to defend his every step. Nobody could.  

And there was Logan, so embarrassed as a few other kids gasped and pointed. Some were now applauding and cheering at what Conner just did, even the hypocrites who once cheered on Logan’s bullying. Now the bully was reduced to tears, for a change, as the small crowd jeered and yelled out such things as "Karma!", "Crybaby!", "Way to go, Conner!" and "Kick Logan’s ***!"

Conner actually started to feel sorry for the kid as he stumbled up off the ground and ran off. Other kids came along the scene, and soon Conner was bombarded with congratulatory measures, questions, and wonderment at his great accomplishment. Chalk one up for him! He was the unlikely defender, the kid who had the guts to give it back to the one who made his life miserable. This event would become the talk of his peers for quite some time, something of school legend.

So Logan never bothered Conner anymore. He still was an obnoxious kid, but others took Conner's lead and stood their ground more. Logan slowly learned to back down, still reeling from that one, single and swift defeat. Though he only grew an inch or two that year, Conner felt seven feet tall, and was treated with respect, free to come and go where he pleased. He still had his same nerdy friends—nothing changed in that department—but life was good.
 Aug 2014
Damian Acosta
... and all of Life's questions were set to be answered,  from "Why are we here?" and "Why should we care?"  to "Why don't he love me?" and "What should I wear?" and
                                                        "Wher­e is my father?"  and
                                                   ­                                                    "Can I kiss my daughter?"              and

                                    ­            "What does it matter?"
"Flannel or Mod?"                              and
                          ­                                                                 "What about God?"
                      "Meat on a stick? or Shish Kabob?"
                                                            ­                            "Free Will or Fate?"
                        "Do you think of me when you *******?"                                                   and
"Is Santa for real?"
                                                                ­                  and

                                          ­                                                    "What does love feel--"
                                                         ­                                                                 ­              "Like this or like that?"  
                                   "Do I really look fat?"            
                                                   "Do u thnk its gonna b bettr than the 1st one??"     "When Atheists go to court, do they have to swear on the bible?"               "Is it legal to travel down a road in reverse, as long as your following the direction traversed?"                        "Where do u see urselvef in 5 yrs?"
               "what's the most embarrasing thing that has happened to you?"                    "Why are the best looking things the most deadly?""What does i.e. stand for?"            "How do you know when you fall in love?"" If ghosts can float, why do they waste their time walking around?"          
"Why am I still in the bed?"                        "Why would u get pregnant by a dude that doesn't take care of the kids he already have?""Why do ppl Cheat ?"
                 "Did u really love me or u just lied???"                    " whats the point of tryin anymore if u tried so hard in the past and nuttin happened?" "why is the sky blue?"?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????
?­???????????????????????????????????????? .
                                                               ­                                 ¿
                              ­                                                                 ­     ?
                                                          ­                                              ¿
                                                                ­                                         ?

                                                                ­                                             ¿

Age old wives' tales,

                                                       ­                                                          ?



jud­gement day--
                                                           ­                                                                 ­  ¿

                                      The Human Symphony

of doubt and faith,

                  ­                   with crescendos of hope now played,                              ?

as the moments of our naive darkness

                                                      ­                      Tick

                                                               ­                        Tock
                                                            ­                                         slip, slide



                     ­                                                                 ­                  

                          ­                                                                 ­           

                                                     ­                                                            ¿

                ­                                                            10


                   ­                                        6

                           ­                                                                 ­ 8



                                                  ­                                                                 ­      7

                                                     ­                                                                 ­                    ¿

                                                               ­                                                                 ­           ?

                                                               ­                                                                 ­               0

                                                             ­                                                                 ­                      1
The greatest accomplishment of humankind took the stage just                      
                                                                ­                                                                 ­                   
                                             ­                                 past 11:59,  New Years Eve 2099          !
The first and only of its kind,
                   ­                                         Born from the Hope and Ingenuity

                                                    ­              of
The Great Recession Generation--
                                                    ­        Whose Change and "Deviation"  gave birth

                                                        ­           to
The Artificial Assimilation Generation--
                                                    ­          Whose Instant Omniscience created

                                                     ­               the
Automation Generation, whose lack of challenge
                                                       ­         Evolved into the Great Stimulation Generation--

                                                    dependent upon emotional simulation
for spiritual mental and human validation.

                                                  ­                    A
Civilization whose foundations were pillars

                                                            ­                  0f  

21st Century Dust..............................★★★★★★★★★★★
                   ­                  ★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★
★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★          ­ 
                                   ­  .                                                    
                       ­                 the perfect shambles of a custom built artificial
                                                      ­                                                                 ­                    life.
Intelligent saturation, automation, assimilitation-- the cries of *******--
                                                  ­                                      nothin' but digital elation!
                                                        ­                                                                 ­             No
                                                 ­                                                                 ­      more
                                                      ­                                                Heroes--
        ­                                                                 ­                              Tears
                                                           ­                                                                 ­of
                                                              ­                                                                 ­    Nero.

                                                                ­                                                                 .

                                                              ­                                                           .
                                                                ­                                                   .

Thursday December 31,  2099                                    
                 23:59:31                                   ­                   A time of ever present
                     ☼   42°                                                              ­                      Knowledge
         Aged 25 years 12 days
           Heart Rate 154 bmp        
           Daily Caloric Intake
                Calorie Buffer
         Personal Headlines
"First Artificial and Visceral Intelligence
        To Be Unveiled @ Midnight"

"First we were meat. After, sentient meat. Then self aware meat.
As such, manipulative meat. Adaptive meat. Rotting meat. Limbo Meat.

Then came awareness of spirit.
Freedom from the mortal meat,
Via a mastering of its meaty concepts.

We became one in the same; spirit and meat.
Held mirrors to one another, reflected our dreams.

Shared sense of Being.

Then meat met metal, plastic and graphene--
Testing the infinite ways to give birth to Life.
And we did.

We called our first child Artificial--
afraid for our mortality.
Yet called it intelligent in its ability.

A selfish denial of a miraculous act.

The question was inevitable,

'If knowledge is infinite, and
                                                   intelligence is the capacity to acquire knowledge,
Would we call such a pursuit, of intellectual Life, "Artificial"?'

'If God is infinite, and
                                       Non-visible, non-provable,
Would we call a pursuit for such a source of Life, "Artificial"? In vain?'

'Is this not Life before us existing in the shape of electrically charged plastic? Entities that observe and react to their environment, is that any more artificial than a man?'

Emotion. One word, and the intellectuals were silenced....


Meat knows emotion.
Our meat has been stimulated and shaped by
pain and joy.

Machine knows only causation, not visceral relation.

Visceral. One word, and the intellectuals were aroused.


A machine's viscera lies within its programming, its sense of being.

Meat's viscera lies within its program to survive (food, sexuality), its sense of being.

"If a program can understand environment and its relation to that environment, it may be able to approximate a sensation to a high level of accuracy based on temperature, humidity, and whether or not that environment is detrimental to its functioning hardware, and thereby make a statistical decision as to where to move next.  It may interpret sound as obtrusive or melodic based on input sensitivity. But creating hardware with central parts is counter-intuitive to information flow-- which is of paramount importance, far above form.

However, the nano-sized 'cloud'  hardware used in this new "form", will have sensors by the trillions. Examining its environment-- functioning as One, Creating a field-- a floating specter of the collective human mind. Where its understanding of history is both objective and subjective (given of course the established norm of a non-private society).

The most important factor, is its relation to us... Meat. That comes with empathy, compassion. If it can understand basic weather, terrain, and statistics, it can understand basic human survival challenges and its solutions. If it can hold all of the information past and present, circumstantial factors of old and new, would it not have a more clear perspective of our human state of being? Would it not be our most reflective mirror? Would it not have some visceral answers? Would it not be an awareness of Spirit? Spirit meaning by definition: the principle of conscious life; the specter or trace of existence."

At last the intellectuals gave themselves a centennial deadline. Blood sweat and tears of a generation upon a generation...

'We are calling her Aavi.' they said early in December.
"Artificial and Visceral Intelligence.

So, The World listened...

" A Computer Will Reveal Our Greatest Secrets" were they laymen headlines.

"Artificial and Visceral Intelligence with the Free Will to pursue anything." for the Romantic readers

Either way-- meat or metal-- it comes down
                                                            ­                                        to Choice.
Choice, based upon instinct
                                                        ­                                                          and reason--
Until now an option reserved only for Man.

What will our greatest achievement say about its creator?

                                                       ­                       (feel here for list of  sources)
                                                    ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­     *23:59:50 Countdown
2010- 2014
What if we could create an "Artificial and Visceral Intelligent" being? What would it reveal about our nature, our process? How would it express its observation of its creator?
 Jan 2013
Mark Boucher
Nineteen and my only problem is feeling,
It tires and tears me at the seams,
As if I should be a structure so perfect,
Even I wish I knew what this means,

But I know what to compare with a glance and a glare,
Like I don’t know the face of a lie,
And I’m sure she’s pretty and standing next to me,
While I’m as boring as that train ride to truth,

Matters will never matter when I get there,
As though I’m your truth and you’re still scared,
I would beg you to forget me if you can accept honesty,
Then nineteen and feelings wouldn’t be so hard, honestly...
I said I hated you.
 Dec 2012
Mark Boucher
Hurry, before apathy is at your feet,
And you're a cold soul to the radio, but not for long.
I'm shoulder deep in bad intentions, but I’ve paid to play,
And now I’ll play with those who have the most to say,

But I don't really want to sit here anymore,
And listen to your failed attempts at a metaphor...
I hate to see you go..
 Nov 2012
Mark Boucher
We walk with a shake and a stir,
Continue to glance and flirt,
Sing me until I weep,
Then stare my doubt to sleep,
I held your promised words,
You held me til' it hurt,
Filled hearts until ours pour,
And we'll never ask for more.

You know I feel I could die,
And that would be just fine...
A note for you before I part for Detroit.
 Oct 2012
Mark Boucher
I wish you wouldn't hurt yourself,
You're so much better off,
But this time's set and the past isn't present,
I'm cut as deep as yours,
Charming letters and flattering smiles,
I can almost taste the passion,
How far can I go to get lost in your see-thru?

I don't have the heart to steal your heart from the edge of your sleeve,
And tell him I'm here and disappear to drown all of your fear,

900 miles could seperate an obvious shade of what we thought we made,
Pull apart and push cause I'm ready, set, going your heart to steal your way,

So I'm moving like a river, only heading down, to you,
To fix the forgetters and never's that we've found,
So I'm moving like a statue with my head hanging down,
To give your way back to the heart I never found, in you.

And here I sit, wanting you..
Can you see what I need? I can too...
It's not my fault, I did what I could do....
So I'll lie to forget the truth.....
 May 2012
Mark Boucher
Tonight, I was made aware of my lonliness,
Or my lonliness was made aware of me,
Either/Or, I'll walk like confidence cause it's all I've got everything to lose,
No one needs to know how this feels,

These words will haunt you...
Your lust will haunt you...
My absence will haunt you...

Like a ghost inside of your head,
Your vanity showed through,
You packed up and started new,
And I'm still here, teary-eyed, and wondering why,
So don't blame me because I'm ******* bitter,
And I'm demanding some answers.

Don't try to fulfill my memory,
Because you are just a memory,
Don't express your love for me,
Because it's something you'll regret,
Don't let yourself feel special,
Because you're just something I'll forget...
Angst has taken over. I'm getting sloppy...
 May 2012
Mark Boucher
I miss always being behind one,
But I'm too tempermental by the things you say to me,
There's always another happiness to **** time,
And I'm convinced you can't bite your tongue,
But you just as easily bit mine.

Lay down, think of silly things, and feel seventeen,
Stop moving and don't breathe, it's so serene,
For all we know we were built to last,
But I'm the only one to acknowledge that,
I wouldn't hurt so often if I didn't mean it,
But those words are as tender as the scars on your wrists.

You ask, "Will my car drive today?"
My reply, "I don't know. Will my heart die today?"
 Apr 2012
Mark Boucher
I either want to love you or die. No in-between.
 Oct 2010
Kayla Lynn
I am not a poet
Because I don't have the
Vast vocabulary of most
And I can't tell you the
Between haikus and acrostics  
And I don't know
How many stanzas make up
A "good write"

I am not a poet
Because I'm a psychopath
And I sip my coffee
From the wrong side of the mug
And I open my banana
And I tangle my heart
Into knots on purpose
Despite it's resilience

I am not a poet
No, I'd like to think
That I'm the poem
But I'm not that either
I'm more of a chaperon
For life's chaos
I watch over the panic attacks
And I coddle the over doses

No, no,
I am not a poet
How can I be?
When I've been tipping
And tapping
My shoes in the hall
Just waiting for doomsday
I've just been hoping
For this to be simple
For the sky to come crashing down
Because then I can say
That the bills
The rent
The schooling
The mainstream *******
Was all meaningless

I am not a poet
Because I can't make a good
And I'm not as clever
As I used to be

I am not a poet
Because I often succumb to the
******* of others' words
Because I know that
They said it better
Than I ever could

And I am not a poet
Because I'd rather quote
Those before me
Than find strength in my own
Broken syllables

I am not a poet
But I am the raw
And deep
Bleeding sore on the side
Of your mouth
That you can't help but chew at
That you could never possibly

I'm not a poet
Because these words
Really belong
To the wind
And my pulse rests
In the Earth's crust
And my emotions
Connect in the sky
And my fingertips
Are made from stardust

I am not a poet

*Every atom in your body came from a star that exploded. And, the atoms in your left hand probably came from a different star than your right hand. It really is the most poetic thing I know about physics: You are all stardust. You couldn’t be here if stars hadn’t exploded, because the elements - the carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, iron, all the things that matter for evolution and for life - weren’t created at the beginning of time. They were created in the nuclear furnaces of stars, and the only way for them to get into your body is if those stars were kind enough to explode. So, forget Jesus. The stars died so that you could be here today.
—Lawrence M. Krauss
psychopath, chaperon, resilience, doomsday and *******.
For Can you spare a word or 5?

© October 2010 Sarah Lynn
 Oct 2010
Judy Ponceby
I was a chaparone at the All Hallow's Eve dance.
Listening to the band play Halloween faves,
and watching the eyeballs floating in the punch.

The background decor, seems made for Doomsday.
Grungy, haunted house theme, hellish ghouls,
Gargoyles gone mad, witch's brew, and bats all aflutter.

Here and there between the goth and the empath,
a psychopath roams, silently stalking his prey,
amongst the frightening selection of costumed kids.

The mental resilience to survive such horrors,
depends on your grasp of reality.  Realizing the lights,
the music, the garish dress, meerly decor for this night's festivities.

And yet, underlying this ghoulish fun, a sense,
a sense of doom, and *******, by something
otherly, stalking its prey, seeking that single moment.

To bring to light in the dim, ghostly haze,
a wickedness yet unknown to those attending.
That ever vile teacher, bent on making those around her suffer.

We have all seen her, stride the halls purposely,
Giant mole on her chin, Ruler in Hand.
Striking fear in the strongest of souls.
That authoritarian of witches, Ms. Nasher the Head Basher!

For Can you Spare a word or 5?
Psychopath.  Chaperone.  Resilience.  Doomsday.  *******.
 Oct 2010
Judy Ponceby
One night my love and I were out observing the constellations
When from nowhere we hear to our consternation
Incessant notes of outrageous declaration.
My love and I upon closer clandestine inspection
Observe a drunken troubadour torturing such inflection
As to sour the deafest of men upon hearing such disconnection.
As we run hand in hand unaware of our direction,
Pelting objects sound crushing the object of our disaffection.
For Can you spare a word or 5?
Troubadour.  Sour.  Incessant.  Crushing.  Constellation.
 Oct 2010
Judy Ponceby
In the depths of night, long past midnight,
when shadows come out to play.

Spirits moan about the loss of their corporeal bodies,
sounding lost and hollow in their deprivation.

Nightmares with their heaving flanks,
ebony coats glistening, spread their dark visions.

And I, unable to find peace in the arms of sweet sleep,
lie with eyes open,
watching the haunted dance of shadows at the window.
For Can you Spare a Word or 5?
Ebony. Spirits.  Midnight.  Deprivation.  Nightmares.
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