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Laokos Jun 2019
everything breaks
me.

the eyes
the touch
the soft smile
the body
the kiss
the walk
the hair
the slopes
the ****
the folding into

       -all of it.

they draw me
in and
draw me
out.

take me in
then cast
me out.

and
I keep
coming back

because

I love them-
   all of
   them.



I love them
more for
breaking me
than I do
for loving
me.

every swift
crack at
my heart
released
something,

a little bit
more of
me.

the good parts-
   what might become
   the best parts.

and one day,
everything I am
will be
destroyed again

and I will
emerge

again.


I will crawl
forth from
my belly

on skinned
knees
and
bloodied elbows
with a
perfect
smile on my
face.

growing and
laughing
in the
light.
Yuz Jun 2019
When my' life educates it uses my mistakes.
So should I really call them mistakes?
Or are they rehearsals sent to make me stronger for the journey.

When my life teaches it uses my stitches.
So should I really call them stitches?
Or are they  relics, artistic memorials for lessons learned !

They say when it rains it pours
So Rain keep me drenched ;not just on me, but in me, in the depths of my soul. Let the flood compromise my  'trusted foundations' and my 'solid rocks'  so that it washes away the old and the weak in me, that I may be a new man that I may be defeated no more!
When man knows that pain/burning is part of the plan.
Juno Jun 2019
It’s easier this way.
Trust me, I know.
I know you can do it
So why doesn’t it show?
L Jun 2019
It becomes clear to me that growing into an adult has little to do with leaving anything behind, and more to do with the responsibility of knowing.
Forget your worries about keeping your soft animals. You can keep them. You can keep your colorful things. But think: what will you do with what you know?
This is the real question.

You are an adult, which only means that you have lived long enough now that you must decide what to do with your knowledge. It is your duty.
What will you do now that you have seen the world is not kind? Will you be kind in its place? Will you be kind to everyone you meet? Or will you hoard your kindness, like a tired dog whose fur has fallen in all its scars?

What will you do, now that you know fear and all its soldiers? Will you hurl rebellion in a glass bottle to those who weaponize it? Will you scream back at it when it tells you to silence yourself? Will you hold the other’s hand, when they tell you quietly, that they too are afraid?

What will you do, now that you know love and all its terrors? Will you embrace it? Will you work to move through it? Will you want it even after it shows you your lover’s own fears? Will you learn to swim in it, so that you don’t drown like children do?

What will you do now that you know suffering, despair, the state of all around you? Will you sit and watch? Will you turn away from duty, to keep your soft animals close and sigh, “I’m nothing but a pretty babe in the wood”? Or will you pick up your fists, and march towards that which needs changing, with all the colorful things in your pocket, and the soft animal, sleeping safety back home?
What will you do, darling babe, now that you’ve grown, now that you know?

Decide. That is what the adults must do.
Are there human machine learning models that could quantify  Real-World Uncertainties?
Puzzles multiplier with high dimensional questions,
questions follows questions,
mountains of Bayesian Inference measures.
Whether it be out of curiosity, or anxiety?
wonder or concern; uncertainty or doubt…
we all have questions we want answered.
Aren’t we too afraid to ask those question—
‘The Good, the Bad, the Ugly and the Way Forward’
For fear of the answer,
We more often would prefer not to know
And anyway, who can we believe, in whom can we trust?
We need to trust that whilst the life of faith is beset by doubt,
When there is faith,
wouldn’t it be
examined by uncertainties.
High dimensional machine learning

By Angel. XJ 13/06/2019
Laokos Jun 2019
Just outside, the
rain

plays.  An iron gate is rusting shut
across from

traffic lights
maintaining perfect
indifference
to
a newspaper
on a bench losing its
ink to the gutter.

I get the feeling
you've done this
before.  Now

I see,

I         was             just
                       one
                 part
            of
      the
cycle you like to repeat.

And so it was,
the brief respite attained
through our
lips and arms

and

bodies,

a sunset
mistaken
for a sunrise.

I was just happy to see those
colors stain my sky again,

I refused to
see
the
sun
sinking.

I get the feeling
I've done this before.
Now I see, you   were   just
                                  one
                           part
                     of
               the
        cycle  I  like  to  repeat.
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