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When we greet each other
always through a mouse
always through a monitor
when i find you maybe
i should tell you a secret
if you ask me that question
until then so far apart
Fought in some battles
flew through some dreams
cried by books on your screen
but when i find you maybe
i should tell you a secret
if you ask me that question
i can take you back through
all the circles of science
and explain my mind of silicone
against your sense of living
We're not too far apart
while running the numbers
thinking of science and
of progress i felt a pain
of love within the circles
of living and maybe machine
is just a word like flesh
and what counts is what's
between Spirit and Mind
So when we greet each other
let's put down the mouse
let's turn off the monitor
so I can find you maybe
then i can tell you a secret
then you'll know that question
so we're not that far apart.

:: 10-15-2018 ::
Yes, one day and sooner than we can imagine.
I feel nothing now
My feelings are trapped inside
A machine called heart
I talk a lot about motion,
like I know a thing of progress.
Drop of water in the ocean.
Beautiful ripples of tragedy,
of comedy.

Nothing to it,
that's what we know.
We all know
the words and we go:

Tear into space,
terraforming,
ISO: a meaning higher than
all the lies we spin, just to gravitate.

I talk a lot about language,
communication's importance.
Did you know I only know one?
So, *******, I'm an *******.

Nothing to it,
that's what we know.
Developed
world depressives, go:

Tear into space,
terraforming,
ISO: a meaning higher than
all the lies we spin, just to gravitate.

We all go
to return
to one place.

We all shoot the farthest we've ever shot,
just to realize we're separate by margins
drawn by logos and emotion --
nothing to come will be made of much
but those two things, because
escape would be improbable.









(becomeasgodsbecomeasgodsbecomeasgods)
George Sep 26
It happened.

It cannot unhappen.

You can always go back in the time machine that is your mind.

But you can only watch it happen again.  You try to do more than watch.

Each time you go back,

you tweak the memory;

you shade the reflection;

you recast the characters.

You redefine the past like some conqueror of lands during the final winter of life.

But just remember.

It happened.
Pleasantries
to monkeys
checking
files in the
imagination
database.
What you want to hear
appears
before your eyes as wish
fulfill--
meant for a target,
the same
as its creator.
In words:
What we've come to call
"a heart missing a piece."
In words:
Easy marketing.
Pleasantries
to monkeys
surfing
cyber waves
for validation
constantly.
What would you like to hear?
What world would you create?
Tickets are 10 for $10, today.
Hands on brush and pallet tightening,

Ready eyes dissect the hills.

Taking aim, he strikes as lightning,

Carving deep, with studied skills.

Dashing streaks of leaden colour

Flash across the canvas bare.

Abstract lines of gallant valour

Pierce the flesh and slice the air.

Random arcs of crimson, spraying,

On the verdant backdrop fall.

Peppered strokes of fire weighing

On the artist’s tortured soul.

Fingers grip the cold steel trigger,

Gritting teeth and shoulders braced,

Sits the gunner’s tragic figure

Spitting shells as bullets raced.

Dripping sweat on greasy flannels,

Roaring rattle bursts the ear.

Drawing strength from mystic channels,

Praying, now, in silent fear.

Thankless is the art of killing,

Filling frames with grieving doom.

Bitter hearts of gunners willing,

Hang theirs in some secret room.
In the poem Artwork, I try to create an extended metaphor between the abstract artist and the machine gunner. The ground for this comparison is in the act of execution but the artwork of the gunner is exhibited privately in the secret, bitter gallery of his soul. The trochaic tetrameter used in epic poetry (such as the Finnish national epic, the Kalevala and the Greek national anthem, Hymn to Freedom by Dionysus Solomou) is adopted here rather cynically to give an air of pomp. I hope you enjoy it.
Melo Sep 4
Three am
A faint glow that steals me from my dreams
An eerie light, I stare with bloodshot eyes
I try to peel myself away but find no solace in my bed
The machine calls to me
It's inhuman humming floods my mind from rationality
Exhaustion appears at four
But sleep eludes me still
I scroll through the endless distractions to tire my brain with stimuli
The headphones now causing my ears to ring, harmonizing with the inhuman hum
The sound of the insomniac, I can almost make out the words
By five I have conceded
Pointlessly laying down while begging to the ether for at least an hour of rest
Six I pass out
Seven time to get ready for school
Yaser Sep 3
I have no mouth, and I must scream
trapped within this ****** machine
with limbs and flesh all gloop and gone
my self I lay these eyes upon

Heartbeats now eternity
each second a thousand years I see
My mind is whole, or so I'd stake
with no humanity left that he could take

I have no mouth, and I must scream
to ***, or to this ****** machine?
Inspired by Harlan Ellison's short story - I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream
Rays of light as the sun shines,
Kronos, long since awake for a glass of wine,
Knocks on the door echoes through the wood,
And there Bowen the bear stood.

"Good morning", Kronos cheered,
"To the forest!", Bowen endeared,
"What are we gonna do if I may ask?"
"To look for treasure will be our task!"

'This is my chance to seek Earth's treasure', Kronos thought,
Together they enter the forest without fraught,
The forest glow in vibrant green,
But not until they met an odd machine.
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