#automatic
Our character, not reputation, is made by what we might believe and do.
I'll lose nothing worse than the integrity, and the community I knew
My first point consisting of lines 1 and 2, each gathered aloud and stuck here-
10 couplets replace my midterm critique points, decisively sincere.
By forgoing my 5 actual presentational points, there’s something to gain, (and of course, somethings are lost-)
but now, there's this immediate, specific task at hand:
& a finish line to cross.
To communicate initially, I think not, to anyone who'll hear word's plain, is to admittedly, be victimized- in my 8th and final year,
like the children who began their march, from grade school right through here.
Would be like reporting the act, back to the top,
somehow extrapolating the embarrassment’s thought.
The pain of understanding, in this dismal horror-show's play,
we notice, pain, well, just isn't a real emotion,
although it's experience feels that way.
new arts are born from thievery, despite my forsaken property-
the call I heard, then rose to serve- was stupid with tenacity.
10 stanzas worth of couplets, engulfed like flames, the page
This digital bleakness in which we all dwell, stained white with expressionist rage.
sometimes anguish comes, and then sometimes, sorrow stays-
but even now when I think of you- trouble goes away.
Oh, how these days mimic the Night,
In their dizziness- at freedom's height
Tethered together- do they placate or testify?
Primary anxieties intensify.
Sep 16, 2025
Sep 16, 2025 at 3:56 PM UTC
hammer and the tongues of gods
the meat of our play
breaks all membrane restriction
an explosive pushing out of our ***
Apr 29, 2025
Apr 29, 2025 at 3:45 PM UTC
x
Narcissistic -
Empathetic;
Automatic
Narcoleptic:
To the dreamers
Divine deceivers
A Sublime message,
The faith's receiver'
Understanding lonesome
Psychic sleepers;
The Destroyers'
Disguised Defeater.
Naturalistic,
Apathetic -
Neolithic?
Unrealistic.
x
Jun 16, 2023
Jun 16, 2023 at 10:48 AM UTC
verily as i sit here
an exercise in automatic writing
in the vain of all those dada artists before me
i sit
and compose
and i wonder
oh how lucky i am
that amongst the marvel of the present
amidst the bone and sinew of my hand
i possess still the ability to type
and to see the beauty
in the real and in the unreal
like those many in my past
oh how lucky i am
and i wonder
just how many before me have loved
in that same way that only i
have loved
loved the feeling of fingers and keyboards
and of cookies in my mouth
and of music in my ears
oh how lucky i am
to be in love
with a woman
a woman as real as me and you
and although she is not here
with me
in this moment
she exists as i imagine her
like the fleeting image of a siren in the sea spray
and i write
oh how lucky i am
and i gaze past my bare legs onto the floor
the floor of my room and i wonder
oh how lucky i am
oh how lucky i am
in love with the image of a coke can
like so many andy warhols before me
and i stare into his sunglasses
on the poster next to my bed
that i got at the art institute of chicago
and i wonder
oh how lucky i am
Feb 4, 2021
Feb 4, 2021 at 8:55 PM UTC
are you actually laughing?
did you fall of your seat because it was that funny?
or was it just a silent filler,
filling those awkward pauses just so you can start another conversation.
was it just an automatic response that doesn't have real meaning?
did it make you LOL
or ROFL?
i didn't think so.
it wasn't that funny.
-D.L
Dec 24, 2018
Dec 24, 2018 at 10:35 PM UTC
These days
It hurts less to be away from you
The pain is more like a
Gentle sting
Several seconds after
Pulling off a plaster
It’s still there
And it still hurts
But I am beginning to see
The light in all things again
Tequila tastes no longer
Tastes like desperation
Flowers bloom with a delicate scent
Mornings are an opportunity
For fried breakfasts and
Coffee warms more
Than just my hands
Forgetting you is impossible
But seeing you
In every day things
Feeling those tingles
Along my spine at something
Other than your touch
Gives me hope
And that is all I can ask for
These days
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 6:48 PM UTC
You might as well ask me
Not to take another breath -
To climb to the top of Arthurs seat
And not stand with my arms outstretched –
To stand in the middle of an icy street –
In the depths of midwinter
And not gaze with wonder
At the cloud of unspoken poetry
Pouring from my lips
Utterly failing to warm my hands –
And ask me –
Why do I continue –
Look in awe upon something –
So natural, that gives me
So little pleasure in return
And yet enriches my life -
So indescribably?
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 4:51 AM UTC
I'm so unique nobody could be me.
The words I say reflect what I see.
I know you; I know what you're thinking.
I see the light, but I don't know why it's shining.
Sometimes, I know, I get too upset
When wrestling with the puzzles that are in my head.
My heart could love, if not for the dread.
It's like a blade that's doing me a chining.
But I can't blame it on the rock-and roll,
It's the only thing that keeps me whole,
Lord knows, it's the only, only thing that's holy.
No you can't say I'm like the other guys,
I was living large before it was fashion wise.
You know, the angels treaded far behind me lightly.
The gossamer was endless and nestling to all it neared.
The tingling within the earth let usher forth a worthless beauty to every person of it's time; but which was to be unknowingly priceless to the lives yet to come.
And the prophet cried before the day he realized he was to die, the hour before he was to find...
Relief.
The automatic writing happens when you give it up,
And you never even know the meaning til it comes to pass.
But divination is a gift, even as the gossamer blinds your eyes.
And the fiber dissolves into the nullity.
When then spasm has become as the tapered wind, there is left but nothing.
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 3:20 AM UTC
Spirits in animal skin
blind to what they truly are
tearing apart what once was kin
leaving in wake an open scar
spirits shed your animal skin
remember what you truly are
the time has come to join your kin
and mend a deep and open scar
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 11:21 PM UTC
There is a golden chalice
far beyond the pale
where you may drink of all your dreams
if you can lift the vial
There is a place of time untouched
where unkind blade will never meet you
Tread the path of blinding light
to find this place is pure and true
There is a fire of untold heat
to lead you in this sacred quest
cast your self upon its flames
consume the body, and leave the rest
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 11:20 PM UTC
On top of a tree
between heaven and hell
was a beautiful bird
and a magical bell
when man came to be
the bird rang its bell
and from the great tree
many gifts fell
On top of the tree
between heaven and hell
man sought to steal
a bird's magic bell
when man got to the top
of this mighty tree
they stole the bird's bell
but the bird had broke free
In the ruins of a city
between heaven and hell
wan will re-discover
an old ancient bell
And though it has been long
since man did this crime
it will pain their heart
when they hear its chime
Where there once was a city
between heaven and hell
will grow a new tree
from the tears that had fell
the tree will replace
man's greatest mistake
and those who still sleep
the tree will awake
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 11:19 PM UTC
deep within the forbidden forest
past the crystalline tree
there is a lake that reflects the sun
and that is where you will find me
Dive deep within its waters
let them make you clean
there you will find a treasure
that man will rarely see
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 11:19 PM UTC
In the window of dreams
I showed you a sword
to wield as a peasant
and not as a lord
a sword that is not weapon
a sword which is a tool
to empower the wise
but burn the hand of a fool
In a time not so distant
when you open your eyes
wield this sword as a gift
but not as a prize
for this sword
that is trusted with you
should guide you to light
and save what is true
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 11:18 PM UTC
There once was a scorpion
who lived under a rock
who dreamed every night
that he was a hawk
in dreams he would soar
through the night's skies
searching the seas
for his most wanted prize
there was always a scorpion
who was truly a hawk
but at the end of each night
he would crawl under his rock
He would continue to do this
until he got his true wish
that someday he would catch
a lightning like fish
There will be a bird
who once was a hawk
who lived as a scorpion
under a rock
a bird so colorful
because he got his true wish
that one day he'd catch
a lightning like fish
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 11:17 PM UTC
There once was a king, a prince and a Queen
Who lived in the time of man.
The king could not hear the cries of his land
for he just did not understand.
So the queen took his throne with the cast of a stone
and devoured all the gold in the land.
But the prince wanted peace, so he took on this beast
without a sword in his hand.
The battle went on, no victor was named
for that was the time of man.
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 11:15 PM UTC
Step into the 9th house of light
grow towards the love that is beyond earthly boundaries
and understanding enter into all joy,
and do this without judgment,
and without selfish burdens fear is without faith,
and jealousy is without understanding or respect
enter the 9th house of light,
and all beauty may be tasted without limitations
what you may see as a test, is not you can not fail
it will show you the way to the 9th house of light,
and is not a test on your worthiness to enter
all are worthy in the 9th house of light
where shall one enter?
without judgment of others, without judgment of self,
without stigma or taboo
this is the key to limitlessness allow yourself to become unrestricted open to all that is within you
without fear of judgment
let flow the truest love from you
within the 9th house is the secret to the truest, formless, boundless love
the heart of creation all were meant for this realm
to leave behind doubt to leave behind judgment
to leave behind fear seek others who dwell within the 9th house, and invite others to enter all are worthy
There is no part unworthy all is made whole
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 11:14 PM UTC
Stuck in a life full of tragic
She wants to leave
And find her magic.
No, she’s not erratic.
Hides all her pride inside the attic
Of her mind
It's all just static
No, she's not dramatic.
She slips again, and starts to panic
She’s sinking fast
Like the Titanic
It’s just a habit, it’s automatic.
This isn't fairy tales that you read
It's ****** her dry she can't even bleed
She’s falling apart all over me.
She's in her room on the phone
Crying to me
That she's alone.
Her mind is stuck in traffic.
A pile of dreams under the bed
Once full of promise
Now torn to shreds, can’t admit it’s dead.
She tells me what she thought it would be.
Like it is on tv.
She’s no longer in the scene.
She picks it up right where she left it,
On the floor, she can't forget it.
This isn't magic.
This isn't habit.
This isn't tragic.
It's automatic.
Jul 17, 2018
Jul 17, 2018 at 4:15 PM UTC
Movement of time collides
with tear drop melody
darkened angel
to final day symphony:
gun blasts in homeland
enter familiar flesh-
different tongues conceal
common threads that makes us
wounded souls call for God
in bomb dimpled lands-
far from American eyed reach
and inside
amidst spiritual sands
Treading with foot print patterns
around rock’s pure holiness
meditating in temples
laden in gold tributes
seeking truth’s distant comfort
guns blast in homelands
families wonder why-
pain embraces consciousness
dripping hints of salvation
into thick Iron pools
of Christ’s calling
red horse not so distant
seven seals awakening
run back to one
it’s time to find love
Feb 24, 2018
Feb 24, 2018 at 12:31 PM UTC
I was fixing some of my poetry,
Just now.
I went to type something.
But autocorrect somehow works like fate.
I figured it would be something simple.
Like changing a few letters.
But I didn't get just that.
It auto corrected to your name.
And I miss you.
So much I can feel the empty cavity
Where my heart isn't simply because...
It belongs to you.
I keep feeling this pain.
And sometimes I wonder why.
Why you aren't here,
Why I can't see you.
I wish we could facetime,
Or text or relay
Messages through friends
So I could talk to you again.
But I have seven and a half months
Yes. I've been counting.
In my head and out loud.
On the days I need grounding.
And I miss you
I miss you
I miss you
I miss you
I miss you every day
All the time
And I don't know why I can't seem to stop.
...
Stupid autocorrect.
Dec 8, 2017
Dec 8, 2017 at 5:53 PM UTC
A plastic bag is snagged in the branches where I can't reach to stop its crackled song. The bag is an organ—its kidney? Stomach? Heart?—of the thing that's dying. The thing's given pills and powders, and graveyards are robbed to replace its parts. When it dies, it'll be brought to the taxidermist to be stuffed, and its stiffened corpse will be strung in lights—a beacon for people to arrive, two-by-two, and scoop out the void from behind its glass eyes. And when the void has been doled around, the dead will shuck, jive, and shuffle step to plastic song.
Mar 25, 2017
Mar 25, 2017 at 4:56 PM UTC
My name is Atul Kaushal.
Atul has 4 characters,
While Kaushal has 7.
This was the reason,
The reason to dub me AK47.
Feb 19, 2017
Feb 19, 2017 at 12:08 PM UTC
A universe and me.
The meaningless broken ideas of the world and me
No forever and me.
The end and me.
You who are the meaningless.
You without the breadcrumb trail to completion.
You of whom without, would not make any difference.
You, are but a thought.
Without hope, bound and held in rope.
Surviving within that straining rope.
Breaking, slicing and cutting the rope.
Hanged at noon in a noose made of rope.
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 11:44 PM UTC
Another sleepless night
With my last cigarette
Coming to an end
And darling
Believe me
I was thinking about you
After a thousand times
I told myself not to
I inhale my last drag of the night
And pray to God
That the sunrise will be kinder
To me that always hide
In the shadows of my feelings
Sep 2, 2015
Sep 2, 2015 at 2:06 PM UTC