#pavlov
*
In later years, my writings tend to incorporate hope
I hint at it, allude to it, or even praise it outright
But I have so precious little of my own...and I wonder why
I thought of Pavlov:
If a dog is beaten every time it approaches people food
Eventually, after years of abuse
That dog will cringe whenever it sees a delicious morsel
To the point that the dog could be left alone with a steak
Without daring to sniff at it, likely afraid to even consider it
I realized, I _am_ that dog
Beaten down by life, disappointment, tragedy, solitude
Driven to terror by the possibility—even the hint—of hope
I wonder if there are any therapists out there
Who accept payment in kibble...
*
Sep 13, 2025
Sep 13, 2025 at 12:11 PM UTC
Mothers know best, or do they?
We get used to anything these days,
It is all conditioning in these ways,
Why was Pavlov's hair so soft? I say,
Because he conditioned it! Hey, hey,
Mothers know best, or so they say,
Who is conditioning whom today?
Sep 26, 2019
Sep 26, 2019 at 5:43 PM UTC
You are the bell ring
Baby, you’re stimulating
I’m just Pavlov’s dog
Jun 23, 2018
Jun 23, 2018 at 3:49 PM UTC
"Untended Thoughts"
Untended thoughts falter softly
Leaving emptiness to be filled
With whatever
Slow transformation bends
Awareness
Into something else
Pavlov would understand
Dingggg!
Nov 28, 2017
Nov 28, 2017 at 12:49 AM UTC
No, it doesn't matter, not relevant to you or me
clothes and cars, they flatter, just what people want to see
Success a label proffered to material designs
everything in it's place, judiciously confined
Days and nights compressed, as happiness fulfilled
just like all the spirits, so perfectly distilled
Consumers by any name, deluded of their crimes
returning to the dish, as Pavlov's dog, to chimes
Sep 22, 2016
Sep 22, 2016 at 1:50 PM UTC
The glass of wine spins on sins
Encircling the royal roulette
All rotating on a hamster wheel
Pinned on canvas and illusional walls
So tiny in errors and unbalanced books
Unaccounted annotated distributions
Twisting hands on colluded coils
Deeper projections from the heart
An eruption of the social notions
Extracted on the paradise of life
For no truth echoes authenticity
Eccentrically finding a lived reality
Plato symposiums and simulacrums
Pavlov trails of social conditioning
Sampled in tented objectifications
Functioning within the invisible rules
We sniffle as we expose the false actuality
Reactive explosions from robust heat
Unloaded rods dancing under the moon
In our tenderness rejecting the paradigm
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 1:03 PM UTC
As I close my laptop
and it snaps shut
my dog sits up
ears perked,
chest puffed, and
at the ready for
me to stand up
and grab a leash
and a plastic bag
for his ****
And he knows this routine
because it has been seared
into his brain with the white-hot
branding iron
of repetition.
A force of nature.
A category-five hurricane.
We laugh at them
for chasing their tails
when the microwave dings,
for salivating at bells,
but
I am no better than they are.
The same routines
are seared into my brain, too—
stimulus, response
stimulus, response
eat, sleep, **** walk, ****
love, reproduce, etc.
and I will continue to do so
aimlessly
just like Ivan Pavlov said I would.
One day I’ll find myself
like he’ll find himself—
lying on a cold slab
in a sterile room
only half alive
aghast at how quickly youth slipped away
but otherwise numb
as loved ones circle around,
hands over their mouths,
horrified
to press the button.
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 2:38 AM UTC
Is it still love if my hands burn
After I touch your face?
If all I am is consumed by you,
Do you really think that’s safe?
I don't want to be
Talked down from this ledge
But I may have to,
But it may not go through
The thickest part of my head
Cause the thinnest is
In the back.
I leave it open and exposed
So when your hands
Wrap behind my neck
You can dive them in
Just to see
How little is really left of me
And how much is being replaced
By you.
You touch me and it doesn’t hurt,
I kiss your mouth
And it starts to burn-
It’s a conditioning practice.
I am ready to learn.
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 11:47 PM UTC
I have not grown accustomed
to the sound of your messages.
Their presence did little to assure,
nor did their absence cause unsettling.
Today, however,
I must admit
that I have waited for that bell.
My heart salivated
at the sound of passing bicycles,
hoping finally it was you
remembering the love
you have left waiting.
I wonder:
How could you have conditioned me
to anticipate something
that has never been constant anyway?
for j.e.
013115
Jan 31, 2015
Jan 31, 2015 at 10:29 AM UTC