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PJ Poesy Dec 2015
Poetry and binary codes confuse me. One speaking in affects of numbers, the other in numbers of affectivity. If one could break the code to love, unrequited, divinely impassioned, or other obscure mixtures of, I could only see a cryptic deepening to such woeful confusion. Could one assign sequencing to the untangling of emotion, so that naive lovers might surpass calculated risk? If so, should it be done? I insist, it should be done at once. Assigning bit strings of zeros and ones to compute perfect poetry in which a reader might be forced to fall in love by measured affectations, algorithms deciphered to personal tastes, then subjected by power of suggestion encoded in grandiose pairings of words, suited to the individual reader, ah thus, I begin my army of love slaves. Are you reading my subliminal messaging? You see now, that didn't hurt one megabit. Did it?
If only it were that easy.
kat May 2018
perhaps it’s not the way she craves love or affliction—or any affectivity for that matter. maybe it’s the thought—the appetite of her colorless imagination being filled with saturated color in which excites her.
the way she can almost taste the colors on the tip of her wet tongue, almost as if she’s been tasting such firmament her whole life: like cinnamon being stuck to your throat or strong whiskey in the morning.
life always throwing punches, the pain becoming habitual and anything different fills her lungs with roses; bittersweet suffocation.
each color has their own analogue, making their way to her mind and she yearns for it. for she has been painting with the same shades for too long.
the blandness and distastefulness makes her almost angry, as her heart colors with red.
however, she knows even if her tongue is dry and her throat becomes closed—those colors shall not come close. those colors—forbidden in her life.
too used to being fed white and black, actual color becomes a stranger who she could only lust over in the twilights nice.
Travis Green Aug 2021
I live in this fantasy land
Where his enigmatic, fantastic
Masculinity drenches me
In his aestheticism
Where I feel so blissfully happy
To be in his sweet, saffron presence
Relish his adoring enjoyments
As the sunset shimmers
Over his dreadhead elegancy
Bringing perpetual affectivity to the surface

— The End —