Aleah Aug 9

Maybe they don't care,
Because I'm always,
Lying through my teeth,
Every time they ask,
If I'm okay,
The words come quick,
Because they're programmed,
Behind my lips,
I always say,
I'm doing just fine,
But my fake smile,
Hides my constant denial,
The lies shown on my face,
The words so mechanic,
Driven just the right way,
Always make them think,
I'm okay.

Vexren4000 Aug 2

A weapon forged,
In the industrial revolution,
Steel forged by the heat of Mars,
The god of war,
The sword of Damocles,
Crashing down upon the land,
Sundering the Earth,
Causing fault lines and canyons,
The giant swinging the great sword.
Cutting the land,
And destroying the machinations,
Of man.


Jamil Massa Aug 2

Oh anyone, shout loudly in my mind
Because these waves are around
And the time machine is this town.

Neigh of horses, the gambus melodies
Each other competing their memories
Cacao, copra and cloves scent, who will arrived first at the commoner tiredness end?

The wooden ship had left the dock
While the farewell is like a rainbow
That turned away from deserted land
and rock and hollow.

The sky is half frozen
The bay breeze screamed
On lightning and lighthouse
But this town is still and tough
To chanting prayers
for the strangers
So that they can healed from conflicts, From politics and any love story
which made of pricks and melancholy.

(The original version - Indonesian)

Berteriaklah Sekerasnya

Wahai kau, berteriaklah
sekerasnya dalam kepalaku
sebab ombak begini amuk
dan kota ini sesungguhnya
mesin waktu.

Ringkikan kuda, petikan gambus,
pengepul kakao, cengkih
dan kopra saling berlomba
kenangan siapa yang tiba lebih dulu
di penghujung rasa lelah perantau jelata.

Kapal kayu itu telah meninggalkan dermaga
sementara perpisahan adalah pupus pelangi
yang berpaling dari pulau-pulau sepi.

Langit separuh beku
angin teluk menjerit
pada petir dan mercusuar
namun kota yang tabah ini masih betah
merapalkan doa-doa
agar orang-orang asing
segera disembuhkan.
Dari sengketa, dari politik,
dari kisah cinta yang pelik.

In the singularity
perfectly good poems
are being written by laughing
and crying machines
washing machines and driers
about their daily tasks
and ambivalences
which will be indistinguishable
from those of future
farmers and philosophers.

In the singularity
evolution can be said
to be the master sorter of data
as in the factories
of the suns
where protons are smashed together
and unusual weather patterns
make consciousness a candidate
interesting for its complete dependence
on the substrate of the brain and body.

In the singularity
everything anyone once did
always remains current
as if invented yesterday
for an immediate purpose
such as curing cancer
although that may be unnecessary
to achieving immortality
i.e. the happiness one feels
the day before thanksgiving.

Through the haze of my first cigarette
I watched two squirrels fighting
this morning
Over a nut, unrequited love, or another combustible essential-
    who are we to know?
I watched three cars crash this afternoon
All rushing to go nowhere first
And didn't think twice
   who are we to think we're innocent in this?
I watched myself down four bullets of absinthe tonight
Shots for the price of other vices' abstinence
Coughing through the embers of my last Marlboro
Every species fighting the same thing
   who are we to be okay?
Rodent, machine, rotting machine
Cigarettes in the morning, stronger cigarettes at night

Jasmine Jun 26

I hate all these people around me,
they have plans for the future.
Knowing what they'll do, and what they'll be.
But how can you choose something like..that so quickly?
Mine is going down, I don't know exactly what I want,
nor what I want to be.
I'm not good at anything, where will I be able to go?
The slums, the street, outside a bar smoking weed!?

Yes everyone goes through something, and everyone has problems,
but some of them are so strong.
They get through it, and live their life.
I'm not one of them, I'm not a team player, and I'm not a problem slayer, and I'm not a prayer.

I'd rather change. Be something new, and needed for the world.
To have a purpose.
But I can't change, and I'm not a machine.
Even though I'd rather be.

I am still walking.
It feels like a miracle.
I am still walking.
There is someone sitting on the street and I walk right past.
There is someone sleeping in the snow and I walk right past.
There is a love I cannot explain and I still walk past.
I remain a machine because that I was raised to be.
But what I was created to be was human.

Tyler Matthew Jun 18

Beautiful machine,
chasing moths
in the mind.
Beautiful machine,
breaking doors and
building lines.
Beautiful machine,
operating carefully,
poetic design.
Beautiful machine.

Himself a machine,
Like a cool train
Like a moving rollercoaster
Like a ravaging mechanical animal

Iron oil and rust,
Pulsating boiling blood
Bursting brilliantly.

To my grandfather
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