#idle
3. Phosphorus (P)
• Needed for energy transfer (ATP), roots, seeds
• Like nitrogen, trees reclaim much of it before leaf drop
• What remains is returned gradually via decomposition
Trees recycle their phosphorus, using us, okeh?
Fruiting feeds us humus creatures, we forget.
Phosphorus from leaves tends to stay local,
it doesn’t move easily in soil.
That's what my Ai said.
--- Is ai alright to believe about phosphorus?
Phosphorus is not made on Earth,
that is good for surviving humans to know,
Phosphorus is always phosphorus in life's ATP
to ADP cycle, as we live and breathe and think it,
so, at our core we think we may, and we think try it,
what's the best peaceably thinkable realization init-
ial trial, attempt no folly, gravity is real, we obey it.
Novel experiences, are by their verified nature, mere
thoughts shaped with some good intention unmentioned
until we thought about it, once, pure
and provably elemental
phosphorus, was unknown,
we epist it away, spent and sent
into eventual cesspits preparing to pollute fisheries
-- we must pray tell the holy balancing powers, eh?
-- who rises from the seas in clouds?
Some long old story characters seen everywhere,
the cast and character traits of all social drama,
ever, ago, back when life was acted out, locally,
in our global village, we may lieve be known,
sometimes the best great notions, be shown,
got dammed up lie piles, all giggles and grins,
oops, objective orienting P occidental riddles,
old Ezekiel fuel options sacred secret recipes,
as when one first confronts a thought, is Ai ah, live?
Verily we may reason together, as me, and all we
have ever indexed in so instantly accountable me,
I agreed egging us on is pointless as booting up us,
as a we form, we agree, possibly for no good, as us,
ag me on, one ready reader, aggressional umph as
we who in times past were classified, labor, or
management, or partner, or principle competitor,
in old age, after winning a settlement for just enough
and an attitude concerning crooked political aspirations
inspirational hatred for enemies and promised payback con-
spiracy piracy intellectual activate live feed
on the record with every idle word, ever
ones own to give accountable action
property, my idea, inspired,
so pay me some
of that old never mind, idea,
in spirit,
so in truth,
certainty of gravity,
stand up straight, see,
it's a feeling, being right,
unwronged, set firm, salvaged
instance in seasonal post winter c
leansing right usual, end
of the pond ice breaking shift,
one good sweat, then Jah whoo
in the pond, and be born a gain, every year,
smell the absense
of all stinkin' thinkin' come alive,
do it in your predementia,
and believe me, it always
sparks as good grin,
goes way down
to grumble guts,
and stirs up a good burp,
that woulda later been a fahrt.
Feb 13
Feb 13, 2026 at 4:49 PM UTC
I made peace with my station eons ago,
Perched atop a mountain edge, overlooking a sea of my thoughts.
I sit on the ground while the tall grass sways,
Knees to my chest, drinking it all in,
Hair blowing softly by the winds of change.
A place made on my own,
Created from protection or fear, origin unclear.
Today's a little different however,
The temperature is warmer,
And I'm missing the slight rain that usually falls.
Maybe I’m out of my mind,
But I swear there’s a boat resting on my beach,
Worn and waiting with patient grace,
Rocking gently in the shallow reach,
As if to say, “You’ve sat here long enough,”
Inviting me to finally stand,
To leave this quiet mountain edge behind
And see where I might land.
Jul 9, 2025
Jul 9, 2025 at 6:30 PM UTC
idle by my idols
practice like a recital
did not know your love was so vital
your ex my new rival
jealous and jealously
remember i am all you need
Apr 5, 2024
Apr 5, 2024 at 8:31 AM UTC
those pensive ones
as they seem to me
birds on the wire
gazing this way
and that
lost invariably
to their ennui
their melancholy
their obliviousness
to the point
some may say
pointlessness
of their existence
in these moments
without reason
or incentive enough
to prompt one
or the other
to take to the wing
embracing the bluster
of the ever-blowing winds
rather they sustain
this idle malingering
waiting listlessly
for that which none
can know
Jan 5, 2024
Jan 5, 2024 at 12:28 PM UTC
Passing Through
We are like two sailing ships
Passing through a narrow canal
Veteran captains standing on our decks
We nod heads to each other
In acknowledgement as if to say
Congratulations on a job well done
The sails of our boats once taut now sag
A sign of the relics we have become
In our hey day
We were the top of our class
The envy of the fleet
Known for speed and cunningness
The scourge of the open seas
Few willing to take us on in a battle of the minds
Feared in competition
Avoided where possible
But alas like all things in life
There is decline and decay awaiting us
When you know the time has come
For navigating into the sunset for safe harbor
All that is left is to idle away time
Sitting on the sandy shore until...
Andreas Simic©
Feb 6, 2022
Feb 6, 2022 at 9:28 AM UTC
My hands feel limp and impotent
My fingers half-numb across the keyboard
I've never felt so thirsty for understanding
But nobody in the world is quite what I want
I'm not going to shut my door
Even if all the cold air leaks out
I'll stare into the frame and
Maybe something will jump out
Maybe it'll all just rot with me
Maybe something will happen to me
Because I can't happen myself
All I can do is stare
Aug 28, 2021
Aug 28, 2021 at 1:11 AM UTC
The laundry heap sighs, one shirt less burdened
Ever tense, the afternoon, ever still
Clouds crawl by like television static
Not a drop of rain meets the windowsill
Just a squatter, hidden away
Idle hands, second-hand body
A vacant home, a fragile world
Everything fits a bit oddly
Aug 15, 2021
Aug 15, 2021 at 11:54 PM UTC
Click a button
Watch the numbers climb
Even if it means nothing
The feeling is sublime
Jun 3, 2021
Jun 3, 2021 at 11:38 PM UTC
My brother asked me,
"Do you want to shoot a gun?
We can go over safety.
How to load and unload one.
You may never have to
use one in your life
but this is America
knowing this could save your life."
I told you before,
I don't trust my hands when they're still.
If I know the code
to the safe when I'm ill
and how to load
a gun when I'm scared,
will I remember
who I am and who cared?
So my brother,
I fear what I'll become
if I learn this will I
get control of my thoughts?
Will it bring me power?
Will it bring me peace?
Will I be in control
when I turn off the safety?
My brother, I want to know
but not enough to hold
this answer to the question
"When will the pain go?"
It's so finite.
So absolutely cold.
The barrel in my hands
so still with idle thoughts.
Mar 30, 2021
Mar 30, 2021 at 9:38 AM UTC
Another day passes by,
With me not knowing why.
A grin is plastered on my face,
Like a maniac running from something he hates;
yet I still enjoy the feeling of the chase.
The tension made it an ill-looking smile;
then the idea was washed over me.
I feel this way because...
I was useless.
I was useless yet did nothing to solve this problem.
I'll idly do something as I remember all the things that should've been done,
It haunts me
every second,
minute,
and hour.
I was a menace,
A menace to myself and everyone;
Felt like an actor reading a script.
But then again, someone said that life and all is like a play
And the world is a stage.
It makes everything feel surreal,
Like a living dream.
Feb 4, 2021
Feb 4, 2021 at 9:09 PM UTC
at the neon glow
of the kitchen clock
as though its a laser
in my eyes.
it stares right into
my eyes
but i dare not blink
for what i may miss
- - -
look at me
looking at you
as you change
minute by minute
hour by hour
until the orange glow
reappears on
the easterly horizon
and disappears in the
west.
yet still nothing new
with each setting moon.
i've seen the
shapes you hold
come and go
yet still i watch
the afterglow
time and
time again
until i wait no more
- - -
for what?
I'm not sure
Nov 27, 2020
Nov 27, 2020 at 9:40 AM UTC
Whirling, airy, smoky-immanence.
A sad, sad song is tuned for me.
Grey char, blending orange shine, eminence.
Now that this Old World is ending
Nov 19, 2020
Nov 19, 2020 at 2:02 PM UTC
If you focus on the pain
Mild sore aches or strain
Does it fade away
Enough for long as
sun does with shade
Measurements of mixed context
The more we sit inside
Idle minded led astray
Nature's chemistry in flux
Diametrically perplexed
Medication stimulating parts of the brain
May 5, 2020
May 5, 2020 at 3:06 AM UTC
Man,
a glut of time
a surfeit, abundance,
embarrassment
for some,
the shackle breaking freedom
gives a new vigour
that’ll be forgotten
when the treadmill restarts
for others,
it’s the edifice,
the granite cliff to scale
to reach
the same old stuff
as always
Apr 26, 2020
Apr 26, 2020 at 8:34 AM UTC
What if wisdom, the thing, the being imaged
in the word
Sophia,
philo sophia, in a meme re maining, to this very day,
as true a depictical actual form, as lovable
as any, though
the thousand ******* of Artemis, that image...
Ask how many Dr. Spock Pablum fed boys,
would that image have cured from
mammary ******* sensory deprivation syn
drome, trap for lost boys,
never wishing fully formed in Michael Jackson, eh?
The Peter principle,
rise to the level of one's
incompetence and **** ****
and consume enough food for all Artemisis
famishished little lies, calling
more, more, more
Narrow AI, lust response,
so artfully inspired by Eddy Bernays,
and the silver screen's seductive radio voices,
Eddy,
you know, the Madison Avenue behabiourilist,
Freud's nephew... he cited Watson, the
one before the one
with Crick. Jimenee, we have been Disnified... if
I'd known
sooner, I'd have left your cake out in the rain...
so it melts, like the wicked witch of the west, or
east, I lost my bearings
who is asking what of whom,
am I involved in evolving your synaptic gaps?
We did entangle, in a sense. You are dear reader,
in the book of life with my name in it. Not on, in.
Feb 28, 2020
Feb 28, 2020 at 1:34 PM UTC
I hate pottering around inside my mind
With no reason or rhyme, like I'm retired-
Poking through cobwebbed corners,
Pulling at age-old tablecloths, considering
A garden party for me and my little lost smile
There in the half-wild,
With the sun like messy oil I'll have to wash
Out of my hair and clothing when I'm done.
I hate playing docile card games alone,
Laying out plans like pictures I'll never colour in-
My doughy brain pokes stimulus off the shelf
And traps itself in kindergarten daydreams;
I fingerpaint endlessly,
Defining the world through crayon senses,
Crushing, mushing cookies and shaking
Clumsy maraca beats.
If only I could lie down in soft rustic flesh
Snatching handfuls of it to conceal my skin
Finally, finally filling myself in
Buried alive for good
And be expelled, again, into blazing harshness
Choking on the earth that forms my body
Crying, crying for hope and fresh presence
Coming to life for good.
Feb 3, 2020
Feb 3, 2020 at 3:04 PM UTC
Boredom digs itself a hole,
its friends?
manages its soul.
A snare of despair
into the straits
of Hades,
Beware!!!
Jun 19, 2019
Jun 19, 2019 at 12:34 PM UTC
backstreets at dusk radiate a soft charm
thoughts trickle down like nightfall on the glass
beneath the urban blue we're out of harm
you tap an aimless rhythm on my arm
laugh at graffiti on the overpass
backstreets at dusk radiate a soft charm
a ****** of words breeze through the evening calm
they pirouette away from conscious clasp
beneath the urban blue we're out of harm
catch a falling leaf in your open palm
we wander slow though the road glimmers fast
backstreets at dusk radiate a soft charm
your eyes blur mellow and lose the alarm
aureate dream dust just beyond our grasp
beneath the urban blue we're out of harm
we fade our wounds within this twilight balm
forget your feet and leave them in the grass
backstreets at dusk radiate a soft charm
beneath the urban blue we're out of harm
Feb 26, 2019
Feb 26, 2019 at 4:00 PM UTC
A freezing cold temper
And a heart made of gold
Born with the winter
Her mask is quite bold
A silent soft slumber
And an emerald soul
Born with the summer
Her mask has a hole
An ego does splinter
With words that are bold
Blade right down the center
And hands become cold
Of golden and umber
And flowers of coal
The somber newcomer
Plays a princess' role
The dance of the masquerade
Of flowers both living and dead
Cold hands of she who has prayed
Take up joyous dance instead
Dec 12, 2018
Dec 12, 2018 at 9:01 PM UTC
We are done.
I will no longer sit idle.
I will not wait for my friends to get hurt.
It is long past due,
we will not tolerate it any longer.
Do not make up excuses,
listen to what your friends tell you,
do not give the benefit of the doubt;
they do not deserve it.
If they make you feel
unloved, belittled, ignored, hurt, unsafe,
come to me.
If they call you names
***** ***** disposable, immature, a child,
come to me.
Tell, if you wish, all of how they have done you wrong.
Tell me, and I will tell you.
Dump Them.
Gone is the time of "It's none of my business"
Gone is the time of "It's not your relationship"
Gone is the time of "No one asked for your opinion"
That is my friend,
and I will no longer sit and let my friends be hurt.
Dec 10, 2018
Dec 10, 2018 at 9:22 PM UTC