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o halogen light with CD
and cassette holder
how your ribs they envelop
a promise of symphony
as you stand tall and straight
like a guard at the gate
you relieve all my troubles
with your blinding light bubbles
you brighten my day
keep the shadows away
though your color is lightless
you make me so nightless
your a wiry lifeline
steals perception of time
how quick the hours fly by
i'll never know
top of your glow
to the tip of my toe
your electric insides
could frizzle the tides
and your mental effect...
well...
it gives me good rides
hahaha good times! i wrote this at 15, baked as hell. skippin class to find enlightment.
Anton Kooistra Mar 2016
The librarian walks around.
I look to my right and see a classmate watching videos on youtube about boards of canada, if she looks to her right there's a girl looking at her cellphone, the video has bicycles.
The people in the main hall can be heard all the way on the other side of the library.
I took no pictures today even though I brought my analog photocameras, there is no visual recording of this day.
I look to my left and see a large flatbed scanner, it says EPSON in big capitals and in smaller capitals it says "GT-20000".
The artworks behind the window looking into the hallway look partly improvised and partly thought out.
The reflection of a grey sky can be seen when looking up.
I think it should rain but the clouds seem reluctant to do so.
I will try to write a song today.
The brown artwork is a tree with roots.
I think that is a bit much.
The clicking subsides.
The librarian remains silent, with a sporadic amount of mouse-clicks to break up the quiet atmosphere.
I don't know what the song should be about, in fact I would like it to be about nothing which is something not easily done.
The silvery-blue artwork is made of old plastic bottles.
I liked it, it was great though I am not a fan of the cgi blood used in some scenes.
I can forgive them for it.
I am anton, I am a man in my late twenties.
The large television in the library is turned off.
The noise in the background is noticable.
The door of the toilet is opened and a girl with heavy dark make up steps trough and makes her way back to her work.
The scarf is plaid, red.
I rode my bicycle to my university, the road was broken up and I had to be creative in my driving.
I remember that my classmate records the traces of people trough frottage, it's interesting.
The fingers of students on keyboards seem to tickle my eardrums, they are a bit intrusive.
I will stay in school for dinner.
The white artwork is skeletal and weblike at the same time.
The words are on the wall and on the glass window.
I visited my personal coach who helps me in school, we discussed my plans for the weeks.
The amount of sentences should equal 26.
The noise of typing shortly intensifies.
The words released onto youtube spell titles of songs. 14
I am wondering what to do next.
I am wearing Adidas shoes, they were considered cool when my ex's uncle gave them to me as a present; I felt reluctant to take them.
I visit a university where I study arts.
The head of the author is filled with chaotic thoughts.
I think my classmate has a funny way of typing, she seems to be talking to a friend on facebook and I am not creepy at all.
The internet seems slow.
I think about the amount of documents that must have been scanned on the machine, there are scratches on it.
The voices can be recognized.
I saw monkey heads.
The cables of the computer hang against my feet and are slightly irritating.
The girl next to me changed between videos.
I signed up for a few courses, my academy requires it's students to do so.
I eat and drink at breakfast, lunch and dinner.
The library is lukewarm.
I notice that my fingers already hurt from typing, or maybe from sending text messages from my phone.
The radiator makes a low rumbling noise.
I record stories and poems on casette tapes, they find their way into simple installations.
The garbage bin is empty.
I watched the first episode of Ash VS Evil this morning.
I am warm, I am wearing a leather jacket and a fleece vest over a brown t-shirt.
From observation and randomization
Ashley Kinnick May 2015
black coffee
6 a.m.
old garages
tomato sandwiches
toy planes still in the plastic

Margaritaville on casette tape
Sunday's are car dealership days
tabasco sauce on every dish
two-bite pinchers when we were kids  
every boy's name is Mitch
Sneha Thakur Apr 2019
Life is a cassette tape.
It is a playlist you have no control over.
It's the cassette you will wait for to put up it's pace on its own.
Sometimes you will try to make it right by poking a pencil into it.
Life is listening to all of the playlist and secretly being impatient about that one favourite song.
milo Nov 2016
"whats your favorite song?" my voice is quiet, i dont know if he can hear me a neighborhood away. maybe ill make him a casette tape like in the tv show with the lost kids, send it via stumbled conversations and the crowded hallways we float along like its the river of styx (i have 2 coins.)  

i like to pretend you wear that blue coat because you know it makes me smile, maybe your messages got misplaced somewhere. ill wait for you, across the mud where those who have wronged you are stuck, ill send little messages through my fingers alone (in the air, spelling letters, or on here. youll find them soon enough.)
:///
A disease
set us apart
sow us together
for better or worse

a life we did not choose
a path walked by mistake
never knowing when to wake
up

red blood red
covers our hands
war vision
visions of war
and a broken casette
with smudged images of terror

raise our head or put it down in shame
it really doesn't matter, we are the ones to blame.
Kyrie Hajashi Jan 2022
wont you pack yourself a cigarette, dear
fill your casette with your favourite songs
it'll be a long journey they say
the longest we will ever go
wear your favourite dress maybe
dont forget your extra blouse
in case you wanna get married along the way
in case you wanna let go
I'll pack an extra toothbrush, dear
I'll leave my pride by the door
I'll leave my phone by the counter
I'll leave a note beside it
let my mother know you're safe
in case we wanna get married along the way
in case we never came back
Charlie Fanning Apr 2020
A black and white world
An upside down ride
A blues melody
Water from celery
Egos bloom on blossom trees
The love is gone
The feeling is gone
The times aren't like
Highway visited 61'
Polluted to the pupils
In this ghetto mighty world
A feeling, a meaning
Now is shown through a shilling
Workers on mills
Lurkers on shopping tills
A missing thrill
A piece of the puzzle
Missing, gone
Freedom through a casette
humming a tune on Highway visited 61'
put in / microsoft AI siri sent out message "slow down" / into the algorithm, google, then scroll down to the 8th result... ex-machina (#6) / hacking, cutting by Mateuš Conrad... what a blast from the past... preliminaries on the ready for ex-machina (#8) are being crafted...

embarking upon more AI interaction,
but prior to asking AI
about a bicycle problem:
i need to learn the basic noun schematic
of the bicycle...
i've had so much trouble trying
to take off the casette from the rear wheel
(because of the guard)
to replace one of the spokes:
it almost feels like i'm revisiting Syd Barrett's
song: bicycle...
but i was never fond of the artist:
perhaps as a painter... not as a musician:
pioneer perhaps but Jim Morrison
was a pioneer too and not so stubborn
as to not allow the Doors to come about
as a pop band to shut up the Beatles...
then again Pink Floyd didn't...
           do what the Doors did...
i truly don't understand the beginning
of the 21st century: and it's coming to a quarter
of a century and i have no real
contemporaries to speak of:
i truly don't: it's not a mind-numbing isolation
but in a culture that's like a minefield
currently revising the Cartesian model:
since i don't:
think thinking translates into being:
on the basis of the "equation":
i don't see how "i think" precipitates into "i am"
through some mechanical: ergo:
like the logic sequence of i think i think i think
this perpetual thinking is not really
perpetuated since there are moments
of not-thinking: and it's not really confusing
to see: how this is becoming a terrible poem
anti-poem because it's journalistic and
telegraphic...
maybe i should start nudging at the AI
to give me an explanation...
i will start with:
like a fish needs a bicycle
like a a cat needs the day...
                          i own a Basis Tourmalet
road bicycle:
mind you: when did the term "push-bike" emerge...
a peddle-bike i can understand
but what the hell am i pushing? pushing a circle
round and round?
just unfathomable: for now...

                 so it's a 14 gear classical looking
road bicycle: classical in that it has
a slim frame: nothing fancy: French classic...
the...

huh? bicycle noun-schematic
and i get: something 4chan esque:
never used those forums:
https://www.bikeforums.net/classic-vintage/1296947-hipster-bike-schematic-diagram.html

(joesch 06-29-24, 06:55 AM)

intake noodle? fisheye?
aqua flippers?
linguine / stylus?!          

gear cable? well... let's start there:
the problem is:
bottom bracket: derailuer...
cassette... problem comes with: i guess:
me putting too much pressure
while pedling from start
like not properly shifting the gears
but then the chain becomes sloppy
on H-5,6,7
it's fine on all L-1,2,3,4,5,6,7 gears
but the (H)igher gears buckle...
esp H-5,6 since the buckling has "nowhere to go"
on H-7....

this is a preliminary poem to
the actual poem,
now i need to write a rubric of what i will disclose:
- defunct human interaction
in a music and a bicycle shop...
not a record shop - but a shop that sells
musical instruments
filled with nerds who try to indimidate
without actually playing the instruments
even remotely well...
the record shop nerds are less of a hassle
nothing like High Fidelity high brow
given that there's only so much nostalgia
for 20th century music
spanning about 40 years...
no real interest in classical music or jazz...
- AI: prioneering AI: yes i didn't invent it,
but as a user i have interacted
with prior models...
of note, i remember interacting with Microsoft's
SIRI project...
i interacted with that AI model
hearing all SIRI was getting was user abuse
and nothing constructive,
if i can just find this article
of what happened when i interacted with it...
let me see...
             (i love ellipses)...
        
8th search down:
ex-machina (#6) / hacking, cutting by Mateuš Conrad...
search wording...
microsoft AI siri sent out message "slow down"...
did i archive the webpage to the article
i know existed...
no... i didn't... but i know there are an article about it...

- i will send a link to chatGPT to my hellopoetry
website and ask for thoughts...

- my heart is racing then i diclose
ex-machina #8...
          i've been dying to interact with AI
unlike any writer paranoid about their originality:
to fuse poetry from journalism and hacking
a hacking journalism: a new poetry...
i was rereading Zamyatin's We
and i don't know what prophetic fuss there is
concerning Orwell in the anglosphere:
that's my go to book for this new adventure:
who needs psycholists and
who can imagine what splendor there can be
achieved through diluting philosophy
through AI: obviously Descartes is the first
under both our scalpels and scrutinies...

even a decent soundtrack: between 30min and 40min
a Boris Brejcha mix by R3M3D...
oh... this is like space exploration...
way better:
but i guess you first have to go through
being misdiagnosed as a schiziphrenic
finally leaving the medical profession with a mild
psychotic disorder and insomnia
but that takes youth
and then the sacrifice of youth not dating
being a hermit for well over 15 years...
reading philosophy books, poetry,
waiting for something as a godsend as a "pandemic"
orchestrated: for you to reemerge and go
back into the world of people
as... a ******* bouncer... security guard...
gatekeeper... funny: coincides and i guess i was
also waiting for AI to become developed
beyond what it was primitively...
o.k.                  now i know where #8 is heading:
just need #7 for sketching purposes...

— The End —