Have you ever been in the incorrect wavelength of communication? It’s like when you’re on the phone with someone and there is a delay every time someone speaks.

Here’s an example:

They fedex lactose feral *** poles oh they cooled ****.

Control tower

I can’t control my emotions,
Because my environment is uncontrollable.
So I try to control my environment,
In an attempt to control my emotions,
And the environment can not be controlled,
So I lose control of my emotions.

Dancing strays and toe jam

I met you when we were on the run. We were running from our own tails. You had your boundaries, and I had mine. Our rhythm was off, and our mistakes were like broken toenails after a night of misstepped drunken dancing. We should have slowed, learned each other’s rhythm, and set aside time for our feet to heal. But we pushed on, running from our own tails, never letting our toenails heal.

I’m in the middle of the ocean,
Swimming on my back,
You’re up above, in the sky, tethered to a balloon,
You let down a rope,
I grab on,
You start flying up,
Soon, I’m dozens of feet above the water.
If I don’t let go now, we’ll be too high up, and the fall will hurt.
Balloons pop at a certain altitude.

The waves crash into me. I’m pushed deeper into the heart of the ocean. The pressure is unbearable. The waves let up, I feel my body’s trajectory slow its downward decent. I almost feel like my buoyancy is neutral now. Am I alive?

Imagine you’ve been cast overboard in the ocean. The skipper throws you a tow line. You grab on. The boat still hasn’t slowed down. You make out glimpses of the boat, as the waves bob you up and down the crest. You’re being pulled along like a water skier, but you must hold on, for if you let go, the ship will lose sight of you forever. The rope slips. You start slowing down. The rope slips through your hands faster, as your slick bloodied hands find it hard to hold onto the rope. You grasp the final knot on the end of the rope as it screams past. You’re ****** forwards with a momentum that threatens to pull you in two. Can’t let go now. Getting tired. Slow down boat.

Blow a rod out the side of the block,
You hear that engine going knock knock knock.
You see that oil pressure needle drop,
You come to a rolling stop,
Clippity clop,
Time to head to the shop

Pull, mule!

Do you know how fast a semi truck is?
Trucks without a governor and over a thousand horsepower,
You see them all the time, hauling all that troublesome freight behind them.
But without that heavy trailer, they are faster than a sports car.
Some peterbilts are faster than porches.
10 tons of steel dot approved housing moves faster than a one ton German piece of precision.
Drop your heavy loaded trailer.
Let that engine scream.

I meet the eyes of a stranger. They look at me like I’m the knife that stabbed them. Why are you hurt by my gaze, stranger? Why are you afraid of me? What have I done to you? I don’t know you. Do you know me?

Locator beacon

Looking for a soul
I yell into the unknown
Somebody yells back

Eulers totient of motion

The baboon platoon danced on the moon like loons. They sung a tune and traded runes, and soon it was June. June turned July, and they wanted to fly, all the way back to the earth to die. What a spry notion for such a commotion; perhaps they will land in the ocean.

Babble on

Woe the subsonic Teutonic bubonic tonic that has corrupted our mainframe. Electronic telephonics be ******

Rehabilitation

The fiend was weaned until he wasn’t mean. They whipped his beans with blue jeans until he seemed docile.
They broke his spirit

Have you ever floated in neutral? It’s like you’re a boat, floating in the harbor, attached to the docks by a rope. As you bob and sway, the rope tightens and loosens. One night, the tide is high, and the rope tightens, by mid day, the tide has washed out and the rope tightens again. But, somewhere in between, some time in between, the rope slackens off, and the vessel feels free from the dock. Sometimes, I get stuck in neutral.

Tetris Woman

You build up a wall, just so it can fall; a never ending game for your own amusement. Why must you drown in your own tears? Is it the years of fears? What’s going on behind those eyes, and between your ears?
Have you ever seen a cold, wet terrier? They paw at the door like they’re being chased by the devil. You open the door, and they fly in, wriggling and shaking the rain off their back like Bob Ross’s paintbrush. Then they inhale a sip of water and scratch at the door to leave. What’s the hurry to go back into the rain?
I feel like these creatures are overstimulated by their environment; tiny animals, scared of their own shadow, barking at their reflection in puddles; it’s not their fault that they were born with this energy. With a surprised yip, they paw at their reflection in the water, disgusted at the animal that stares them back in the soul.
With its mouth open, and little teeth exposed, the terrier has a look of fear and joy on its face; a face frozen in surprise. The terrier puts on a mean face. Grrrr. It stares itself down in the mirror; its eyes keep darting around its face in the mirror. Does it recognize itself? No, it barks at its own reflection again. Woof! Stop looking at me! Bark, bark, bark!
With each outburst, the terrier shakes its chickenlike mowhawk tuft with a fury that rivals the African badger. The creature stays up all night buzzing with energy, so close to defeating its own reflection. Finally, it passes out in front of the mirror; exhausted from a hard day’s labor.
When it wakes up, it takes a nice long stretch, yawns, and opens its eyes. It catches a glance of itself in the mirror, and the puppy begins to cry.
Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
Why do you get up, only to fall?
Stand up, and be tall. It’s only the 3rd inning, and it’s time to play ball.

Tiring tips

One tire out of balance, can over time wear out your suspension, axle, transmission, and eventually your engine. Wear travels. Pinpoint the root cause of the symptoms, to find the common problem.

Determinant Daisy

The flower seed pushes up from the ground. It fights rocks and mud to rise above the soil. Inhaling sunlight, it grows high above the dirt. It fights the strong winds trying to whip it out of the ground. It fights the torrential rain, threatening to wash it away. A child finds the flower one day. It pulls it out of the ground and brings it home to its friend.

Paper was made so people could make their thoughts real.

Was paper made for the poet, or for shopping lists?

Or maybe it was intended as a canvas for an artist.

Or was it made for the scribbles of a scientist?

Was paper made for a thought to be thunk?

Is it for bad poetry people read when drunk?

Was paper made to carry the order of a king, or a war monger?

Paper was made for a feeling to stay around a little longer.

I understand.
But you didn’t have to do all that.
Try not to do that again.
You’ll feel better if you don’t.
It feels cathartic in the moment, but it’s bad for your mind and body.
We have all done regrettable things, but the idea is to grow to the point to where you see your bad actions in the past as regrettable. Once you see how much of a fool you’ve been, then you’re in the position to make adjustments.

Untamed Energy
You’re a supersonic missile. Like a shark, it’s hard for you to turn; but your speed is ballistic. Aim high. You have so much power behind you. The launch may not have been great, but you have plenty of fuel to get to space.

I know you want to be the best. Your whole life you’ve been looking for someone to steer you. You’re the driver. Steer yourself.

Does the booming club music drown the sound of your sorrow and conscious?

Take flight, you contagion!
Go forth and infect the living.

Turbocharged

Go press your gaping mouth breathing mongoloid maw to your own ******* and blow.

Fibonacci Fantasy

Did I ever tell you about the psychedelic trip I had where I shrank down to the size of an atom and explored my body from the inside like a new world? One vivid part of the experience was where I was driving a red blood cell through the arterial interstate. We were flowing through the tubes like a pack of wild horses splitting off at each exit ramp. I remember how beautiful it was that everything was transported from a central, omnipresent place. I saw how as I grew, my cells expanded from every direction like the universe, cultivating the in between spaces from smaller universes. A perfectly planned miniature world. It’s the same thing at the atomic level too. Just a different scenery. Solar bodies act the same way as inside your body. The world is the collective consciousness of our dna. Trees and cars have hearts and pump fluid to a rhythmic hum of Fibonacci.

1 problem at a time

Rock climbers call routes up a sheer cliff face, “problems” because when you are up in the air, ***** to the wall, your next move is your next problem. Now that’s poetry.

High peaks

Like a tick,
I ascend the backbone of the great mountain.
At the ridge, I feel the sun,
Scorching its way through my retinas,
The smell of singed hair.
My skin shifting under the weight,
Of the powerful magnetic force.
My gaze shimmering against the waves of hot heavy gas.
The air, thin with oxygen, is rich with euphoric energy

There’s a nostalgic feeling; that childhood giggly high of jumping in rain puddles, and building blanket forts. Why can’t that rhapsodic delight stay?
Where has that feeling of fullness gone?
Where can I find that feeling again? That feeling of being at the center of a perfect universe. That feeling of staying up late with my best buddy. Where can I buy that?
Nobody can buy that.
I know where to seek it, but it always rips my heart out when I get too close. It’s an addiction. I don’t know what’s worse, one quick knockout punch, or the slow, dull, ache of a wound that just won’t heal.
****, it hurts.

The mind is capable of retrieving information. This is axis x. The body is capable of making chemical reactions. This is axis y. But, axis z is not measurable. Axis z can make you feel incredible things without moving an inch.
Have you ever had so much energy from hearing just one word that you felt like you were gonna **** your pants? That buzzy energy that makes the skin warm. That hum that hits you in the chest like a bus, and takes all the air out of your lungs. There’s a word that can make you cry with happiness or sadness. There’s a name that can transport your mind somewhere far away. They are just words, babbled up by an ancient tongue to differentiate one thing from another. But, the energy that the words conjure is something magical. The shape of that feeling is indescribable. It’s the most powerful thing that humans have.

I think we’re on a train. We can move freely through the cars. We can even stroll to the engine of the train and control the speed and trajectory of the vehicle. But, as mortals, we are bound to stay on the tracks.
It isn’t a punishment to be stuck on tracks. Up ahead, just over the mountain is the train station. Everyone you love is waiting for you at that mountain town. They know how beautiful the view is from the tracks up to that paradise. That is why they don’t want you to arrive ahead of time. They want you to enjoy the view up to that heavenly mountain home.
Some of your loved ones are in a train-car behind you. They have a booth reserved for dinner. It is a window seat to the alpine climb, and your favorite meal is at your spot at the table. They’re already at the booth laughing and having a joyous time.
But, all you can think about is making that **** train speed up. You go sit at the booth with your loved ones thinking that it will take your mind off of the locomotive; and it does for a little while.
A breath of fresh air consumes you.

Wave

A piston moves up and down, just as life does. The greater the vertical distance, or stroke, a piston travels, the more energy is made. A greater surface area, or bore, to the piston latitude, will also increase the energy output. Higher energy transfer translates to increased frictional wear. Since engines must be balanced, for every upstroke, there is a downstroke.

Water and Oil

Kaclunk! The white smoke under the hood stunk; your car is junk. Get everything out of the trunk, pull the defunct plates off the chunk, and hitch a ride with a drunk. He’ll debunk the automakers as punks, as he plunks another glass bottle at a skunk. But the mechanic implied that it must be the lack of oil in the pump. The sump, dried, and your dump died. If you’re mystified, parts collide, and damage is magnified. An engine denied oil is suicide, he described. Carbide if misapplied, can be liquified; this metallic tide causes problems global wide. Simplified, he replied, slide that certified clump aside, that wreck won’t glide. Go drink some purified dihyrdrogen monoxide, or you’ll end up like your ride.

Load 16 tons and what do you get?

I go into the frozen wasteland to pry a chunk of ice from a cliff side. A sizable piece this big should last months.

Dragging it back home, the load feels lighter with each passing mile; the sun’s hot beams pushing the ice block for me.

Smiling at my burden being eased, I walk into town with my arctic prize. I hear people laughing at me. Looking backwards, I’m dragging a wet rope.

Another day older and deeper in debt

Tick, tip, tap, rippity, smack,
You didn’t change your oil.
Kachunkachunk, kablooey, baboom, the piston has left its room. Now, the baboon must spend his dabloons soon, or suffer the wrath of friction in bloom. Zoom Zoom

Whistle while you work

My tinnitus is irritating. The sound screeches my thoughts to a halt, like an emergency brake on a train. It’s like having a jet taking off next to you, but you can’t put your hands over your ears to soften the deafening whine. It hurts your eyes, and makes your stomach sick. Sometimes I forget I that have it and I think that a pressure wave explosion has been detonated near by, and that I need to seek shelter. I think one day I’m going to wake up to the same pitch, but it’s going to be coming from a hospital machine.

Aha!

An adequately adapted advocate administered advertising, adds added additional adoption addressing added advertising. Are any animals anatomically arranged around an area accordingly? Actually, accoladed acorns across actionable auctions, act autistically acoustic accents acidly among one another.  Another angle answers an automatic ailment among amazing analysts and any anecdotes are accepted.

Meeting minutes of the p-brane

The thought that three thimble thumbs thatch this thorny threat, surely superimpose suede surfaces; such summoned suits shall share sheepishly short shoes. Should sharp, shimmering, shallot shapes ship shaking shin splints, splurge splashed splinter. Spray specially spun sparkling springs spanning space, spreading sparks sprung splendidly.

Fruition

Two plants recognize that they can only throw their life force short distances, so they grow fruit as an idea to use the animals to help spread the seed. The first plant spends less energy in making its fruit, and more on the seeds. The bountiful influence of the seeds was lightly draped in a thin skin of mush,

This fruit from the first plant is eaten by a monkey. The monkey gets a stomachache from the fruit, has trouble passing the seeds, and decides to try fruit from the second plant. The second plant spent more energy in making the fruit extra sweet for the monkey to enjoy, and made sure that the seeds were not too big, and wouldn’t get stuck. The latter plant’s seeds were spread over a greater distance than the former.

Best or worst case scenario for evolution?

Two plants compete for resources in the desert. A rock falls over both. Surely this means death for both plants. The first plant gives up, and dies. The second plant grew around the rock, and populated the desert.

Those beautiful pines below me call out with the whispering sound of the sirens, as their green majesty hides deathly spikes, that would permanently ensnare any falling climber in a sharp, sticky, tary, tomb. What a carnivore of a plant.

Have you ever looked at a tree?

With her branches spiraling upward with glee.
She grows her arms in Fibonacci coils, just like the stars above her fertile soils.
Look how her arms raise up into the sky, balanced for wind, ready to fly.


Her leaves, constantly turning, yearning for the sun’s burning love.
Delicately twisting each branch, to match the rhythm of the dancing fireball above.
Opening her arms to greet the warming sun, she produces flowers, and the bees hum.

The previous driver skimped out on maintenance. Now, as the new driver, his old problems are now my problems. If only vehicles could repair themselves.

You tell me that your vehicle of love doesn’t start the same way it used too.
I find the problem immediately, and start removing the leak. After removing the gas vapor recovery system, I notice gas is pouring out into the ground. Plugging the hole, I check the gas tank. She’s full of bad fuel. I empty the tank, and find that the gas has been cut with water. There’s your problem. Fire and water don’t mix, and just adding more fuel won’t get rid of the problem. Your past decisions affect how you start today.

You can’t paint on top of rust. You have to remove the cancer, or else it will spread through the body, and eventually eat the frame. When you cut out the oxide, you fill in the hole with non metallic putty. Once it dries, you sand it down smooth, primer, and paint it. Since paint wears at different rates, the newly painted area will stand out. To blend it properly, you must sand, prime, and repaint the entire car. Unfortunately, the fixed body work will never be as strong as it was new, and the affected area is no longer magnetic.

Worn transmissions will slip if you flush the old fluid out. This is because the old fluid contains bits and pieces of the memorable clutch, which increases the friction capacity of the fluid. With a worn clutch, more energy is transferred between engine and transmission. Over time, this increased viscosity and energy will increase the pressure in the veins of the machine, the clutch fragments sanding down the walls, and eventually, a seal will blow out, and the life fluid will spray everywhere until the machine grinds to a deathly halt. The only way to fix this is to completely rebuild the transmission one piece at a time, and put new fluid in. Cost and time wise, it’s better to just try another transmission. But people are more than a transmission. Sometimes, we get too emotionally involved, and we dig a hole to the center of the earth. A transmission cannot repair itself; it needs the help of a mindful mechanic.

On an old candle,
The wicks, like man,
Have piled upon themselves.
Do we reach our highest point?
Drawing up our oil.
Only to extinguish.

I like chests and *****

Whispers of an old candle,
Evening sunset over the hills,

Remembering the lost sandal,
A match illuminates a row of pills,
Clocking my punch card in,
Everyone around me, fading away,

In a race, life is thrown in a bin,
Never having time for play,

Drawing up the oil,
Urban toil, covering the soil,
Only to extinguish

For I wander here,
Along the same mountaintop,
My home is with me.

It’s hard to get a DUI if you can’t make it to your car without passing out. I keep a fresh bottle of whiskey next to my arm chair so I can throw the brakes on life and kick my feet up at the skies. I fly high, but it’s the only way to feel sober.

In the cockpit, I radio my vector to the victor, switch on the autopilot, and step away from the controls. From this point of view, it is hard to distinguish who is at loss. Is it me; the trained pilot, who is trained to give tasks to the autopilot? Or is it the plane, who is cutting through the skies a hundred times faster and higher than mankind was ever meant to travel? Or is it the fuel that was ****** out of the ground in the desert, where it’s lubrication was needed for preventing earthquakes, then separated by pressure and heat, before being barreled and shipped to the other side of the planet, where it is squeezed though a maze of pipes, into the tank of the jet liner. Once airborne, the jetliner burns thousands of tons of fuel every minute. Is the airline at a loss, chained to this ancient machine? Is the passenger at a loss, for being stuffed into the back of the plane with hundreds of others, stinking their way to the cabin. All dancing in line to get to the only toilet in the plane.

No, surely the toilet has the worst job.