Hypothetical lust
Generated electrical impulses,
The very same that stirred your heart.

Pulse – stifled, still,
Cochlear arousal (still)
The same that heard "I love you"

Physically imprisoned,
We tremble from the pain
Yours in your mind, mine in my brain

~
Bala^ comments:
"alignment - any which way one can if possible to make
****** and ******* simultaneously happen,
without any best position plan"

~

may all the gods bless you, Bala,
for waking me at 4:33 with this poetic induction
coaxed from my spinal fluid sanity
with perfected clarity

my own circadian rhythm masters internal,
the most reliably unreliable human container technology teachers,
semi-skilled in the entrainment arts for this impoverished body mine,
deem it appropriate that early morn messages of
propitious possibility be greeted immediately

entrapped, awaken me at four AM with great glee,
because these elusives^^  know exactly what stirs
this being's cochlear cockles into birthing a
poetic cookie ******* *******

your message meme provoking, inducing,
be honest man - simply seducing, my within
by your teasing words from without

"without any best position plan"

not to confuse the mere appearance of a routine
as worthy of the entitlement of "plan,"
much as the poem's own vanity chooses it own alignment
the relationship, the relativity -
always the
flexing flummoxing freaking insatiable pleasuring

when your thrusting unplanned message
****** and bests my brain,
releasing a fully formed, instantaneous parrying poem
from an aroused, passing, unsanitized, second of sanity

for no better *** than this...
as per the unplan?

this tissued life,
this in and out
of punching and counterpunching continuous,
but rarely contiguous,
for we are never aligned for more than a moment,
the moment that almost always goes unnoticed,
for the heart's ***** tissues,
are mostly torn by how life
uses us roughly

so here is an aligned confession fecundity

this poetry gig, my salve,
to tenderize the daily redness,
the irritation residual of having no plan

however these fingerprints decided for you,
to present, upon completion,
this soft-spoken loud *******,
a peaking, not a leaking,
** ** ** - a screaming

hallelujah, i'm aligned!

the man found albeit briefly
a  beat, a plan and its verbal, herbal,
best solution

may all the gods bless you, Bala,
for waking me at 4:33 with this poetic induction
coaxed from my spinal fluid sanity
with perfected clarity

the man and his plan, for a mega-second
his best,
unplanned but got and given,
in poetic planetary alignment
positioned

as are you and I -
the thousands of miles of distance tween us
as you read this
collage collapse
into a singular synapse
of ****** and *******

hallelujah, we are aligned!*

~

disclaimer:
anything you say to me, can and will be used
for a poem
~
5:55am
April 1, 2017

coffee house is a place where you doubtlessly see all the people being swept away in an invisible connection you can not see--sometimes, there are also some people who get caught in discussion and stuck by diffusion. the coffee that you drink often converts you its energy to analize your life's difficult problematics.  

coffee house is a place where you will genuinely feel sane if you see some people reading their own scripts or feel well-earned if you witness the self-interested people--where they hear their own tunes just for themselves, where they do not want to give you the same opportunity for joining them in thrilling your cochlear, even through the air filled with whiff of vapour. vapour which doesn't comprise the fumes of nicotine, but there is just a little amount of caffeine in its womb. however, vapour is vapour. it has its ability to serve you an effect to crave which oftenly makes yourself lose its excuse to refuse.

coffee house, is a place for the people who are looking for identities. coffee house is made for the people who keep analizing the layer by layer of their lives, for the ones who keep hunting  the nucleus of your providence's atom, for the people who keep ripping apart their particles. not dalton, neither rutherford, nor thomson, not even bohr, as the ones who might be able to serve you a soup of theory which if you eat it, you might be enlightened and your life might suddenly be well explained. the chaos of your life can not simply be explained that way.

coffee house is a place where you will find the lonely people whose lives will always be tossed around, the people who keep glorifying the fumes of caffeine that can hit you back to the point where you can be boiled by new hopes. and it remains that way all the time.

coffee house is a place for them who are hurt and diseased, but feel like hospitals are not the right house to canalize their moans. precisely, they will find their house here.

in a coffee house, you will learn to be yourself, and you will never find the lesson at all schools.

in a coffee house, you learn how to admit your predestination as the Audience of Lives.

coffee house is a place where you will always find your own cinema seat.

Stefan Sagala,
February 4th 2017.

I imagine walking on a balance beam
I have only just gotten the hang of it
Before this moment I had always fallen off.
I know that I'm going to mess up
I keep telling myself
“its ok to mess up you’re still learning”
Yet I feel an overwhelming need
To be successful, just this once.
To complete my walk.
And I do, I complete the walk.
So, because things have gone well
I walk again, and I find success
I begin to trust my own two feet
I walk again and again and again
Each time I make it to the other end
Each time I become more prideful
This next time I move too quickly
I try to go faster, still making it
I stagger half-way through
But I think nothing of it
So I hasten my step
And I stagger again
But my mind blocks out
The possibility of falling.
I go faster and faster
Until I am at a full on sprint
No longer am I teetering
On this beam below my feet
I believe that I am perfect
No one can touch me
I believe that I am the best
And that no one else can go this fast
I am in competition with the entire world
I am in competition with only myself
Only myself
Myself
Me
Me
I am nothing
I am a fake
I am useless
I am ugly and worthless
And the exact opposite of perfect
I quickly mask these thoughts
Telling myself
“You can push through”
And for a time I do
I have boundless energy
I can run as fast as possible
I make it to the other end of the balance beam
Then suddenly an impulse
My body takes over
And without explanation
I am flying through the air
100 miles a minute
Crashing into a bottomless abyss
I lie still for a moment on the mat below
Looking up towards the beam
Where I once stood so proud
I pick myself up
I decide I am an elite gymnast
And I am an astronaut
I am a long distance runner
And a 5 star chef
And a doctor
And a bird
And a rock climber
And a rock
And a brilliant professor
And an angel
And a world renowned artist
And, and, and, and
I twirl around and dance
I sing to no one
I am an opera singer
I rush to the water fountain
It is Niagara Falls
Splash, “watch out, you’ll get wet”
I say this to an audience of no one
I am an actor on broadway
“Ain’t no one round here as good as me”
Then in my periphery
There are shadows
I cannot stop moving
Never stop moving
If I stop moving the shadows will crawl around me
Creeping in through my nose
My mouth and my ears
Telling me things I never want to hear
So I run
I run so hard and so fast
That I forget everything
I am existing inside each moment only
I don’t know where I am or where I am heading
but I continue to run
Until I am surrounded by trees
And I remember everything again
I remember the balance beam
Why did I leave the balance beam?
It felt natural and simple
to just walk
to just walk and stay balanced
Why am I in the woods?
And then the thoughts come
And the shadows come with them
So I climb a tree
In hopes that the shadows
Will pass quietly underneath
I am painfully quiet
But the thoughts are still here
I cannot hide
I cannot run
I cannot get away
They race in my brain
They course through my veins
They are evil thoughts
They taunt me, saying
“This world is without reason”
“Your life is pointless”
“You are crazy”
“You will never be anything”
“Jump! jump! jump!”
I am high up in this tree
I am safe from the shadows here
But the thoughts never leave
I cannot break free
So I give in
Maybe if I listen to them
I will release the pressure that builds inside me
Suddenly I am compelled
To leap from this tree branch to the next
I fling myself through the air
believing I will fly like a bird
Because the thoughts said I could
I black out as I fall back to the earth
Suddenly I am on the ground
Not even remotely sure
Of how I got here
I lie there for a few moments
And then out of the corner of my eye
I see the shadows
They move through the woods like smoke
Like a black fog
Like death creeping towards me
So I quickly pull myself to my feet
And I am in a full on sprint once more
I don’t know which direction I am headed
Or where I am
Or if I'm even running
And then it hits me
A car
I am on the highway
flying over the hood of a sedan
Crashing into the ground
My skin burns as it moves across the asphalt
I become a mound In the middle of the road
I imagine that I am a pile of dirt
I will not move
I will just do what dirt does
What does dirt do?
My body burns, my skin is on fire
Can dirt catch fire?
The world moves slow
Does dirt move faster than the world around it
Does dirt experience time differently?
Someone is talking to me
Which is absurd
Who talks to dirt?
Sirens crowd the traffic of my cochlear nerve
It is the only thing I can hear
My brain starts to malfunction
Like a computer flooded with a virus
I hear the siren repeat
It loses a note with each repetition
Until all I hear is one note
One note
I close my eyes
I am completely numb
Something in me knows I have to fight
“I've forgotten what I started fighting for”
I believe that if my eyes are closed
No time passes
I allow this break in time to go on
I need to separate myself from time for a moment
Allow myself to think
To reassess
To gather what has occurred
What has occurred?
Feeling a little panicked at the thought of not knowing
I open my eyes
I am in a room
I try to move
But my body won’t listen to my intentions
I look down and see metal rods sticking out of me
Now, I remember
I am a robot getting serviced
That’s all this is
It’s probably why I malfunctioned
No biggie
a robotic technician walks in
she asks me how I feel
I answer
“What an absurd question,
Robots do not feel”
She looks at me with kind eyes
“Ok, thanks for your input”
She leaves the room
Closing the door behind her
The darkness licks at the bottom of the door
It seeps through and envelopes the room
I cannot see
I hold my breath
I do not feel
I give up
The darkness begins to course through my veins
It twists through every corner of my being
Walking through the corridors of my body
Leaving menacing thoughts in its wake
Then, without warning
Everything becomes red
Red feels like pain
It tastes like needles
So I try to occupy my mind with things
Anything to distract me from the pain
I scream audibly
I scream a song
If Im singing I am distracted
“I'm a little teacup short and stout
Here is my handle here is my spout”

I imagine all this
Stuck inside my own mind
Making up foolish stories
But, this is what it's like
This is what it will become
This is what I will become
Bipolar seeps through my brain
Attaching old forgotten pathways
Lighting them all up at once
Then with similar speed
Making them all go dark
In and out, up and down
A never ending merry-go-round
But, somewhere in all this
Is me.

I will coil round the Oak and whisper congruity
faster than you can draw breath,
your cochlear will hear
this fulfilment,
long before it is spoken.

Tottering. Tottering.

Tottering on the brink

of illiteracy,

was a man once known,

for his intellectual proficiency.

For brilliant no more he was,

as those days were long gone!



Once upon a time he was well known,

for his many exponential technologies,

From portable video projection hardware,

reconstruction surgical devices for the cochlear,

to software able to extract the deepest of thoughts.

Now, there he lay. There he lay!

Daily perpetuating and recapitulating the most misanthropic of idiocies.

For all the wonderful uses of technology, none is more wonderful than when it can be used to improve the lives of the handicapped. Thanks to technology, amputees can beat Olympic Sprinting records, and Cochlear Implants allow the deaf to hear music. But where the heck are cyber-eyeballs for the blind already?
We may now have them. A device called the BrainPort is a sixth sense for the blind, translating images from a video camera to electrical impulses that are transmitted via the tongue to the brain of a blind person.
The test patient is Roger Behm, a man who lost his sight at the age of sixteen when an inherited disease destroyed his retinas and they had to be surgically removed. Now, thanks to the Brainport, he can slip a device over his head and see — albeit in black and white — nearly as well as a sighted person, and all through his mouth.
The device, which consists of a miniature camera mounted on a pair of sunglasses, a tongue sensor and a small control unit, was developed by Wicab of Middleton. The science behind it is in the brain’s remarkable ability to reprogram itself to accept and use different sensory signals if one is removed.
It’s incredible technology: Erik Weinhenmayer, another blind man, climbed Mount Everest a few years ago using the Brainport. As a sighted man, my only regret is the technology can’t be adapted to work on senses the brain doesn’t already have: I’d love to install a sixth sensory module into my tongue just the way the blind can install the Brainport.

Utmost nadir of despair found
this atheist craning his neck skyward
hearing resplendent August orchestra
today June 10th, 2022
choral symphony may sound absurd,
but...mine supreme auditory sense

(compensated with poor vision,
i.e. extreme myopia) impossible mission
driving after dark
genetically injured
acute undoubted gifted courtesy,
viz cochlear ability crystal clear
also heard kindled melodious Lord

and lady joyously plucked harp strings,
which did lyft uber spirits seared, moored
anchored of me, one who demurred
coyly being graced with
exquisite hypnosis got lured

into cerulean celestial vault,
where I acquiesced and murmured
after a lifetime of hardship inured
every cell in my glob bully
warmed weatherbeaten body

sought salvation, thus poetic urge averred
this skeptic (nee nihilist), no matter
faith no more,...perhaps
soul asylum desperation secured

tenuous linkedin thread of hope
barely connecting yours truly, whose word
not necessarily claiming
to be the gospel truth,

nonetheless sought to nimbly aire
asthma tried and true valued metier,
vis a vis thru write of springiness declare
ring nothing sacrilegious,
nor decried as Harris say (ad) aware
no matter Doubting Thomas's (donned

as trumpeting English muffins)
may suspiciously questioning - dare
faux authenticity atop wobbly
shaky, and noname spear
such antithetical blare
nee as the rhyming ranting

of a harmless maniac
with mediocre ability to scare
heavenly visualization -
secondarily as a zealous
Earthlinked aspiring balladeer,

who immediately chucked
delusive fastasical notions
earning degree as an engineer,
thus setting sights, and
virtually figurative crosshair

to cackle like Chanticlear,
which discordant aural
debacle tortured ear pier
sing decibel threshold of unbear
hubble pain for
those unfortunately subjected

and forced to endure such screeching
a result of budget cuts - profoundly severe
that perilous, seditious, and viscous tear
into webbed, whirled, and wide statecraft,
hence melodic reverberation mistaken
as mock apple pie "FAKE" fakir

begging intercession qua spiritual guardian,
wrought mine overactive imagination
conjuring smug cockle doodle fledgling cheer
shoring temple mount reverse fortune,

whereby by fanciful fatefulness, I fell victim,
tomb eye own dim eyes, poppycock did ensnare
riotous, roisterous, and ruinous roostering
essentially roused, grounded,
and distorted nightmare!

For all the wonderful uses of technology, none is more wonderful than when it can be used to improve the lives of the handicapped. Thanks to technology, amputees can beat Olympic Sprinting records, and Cochlear Implants allow the deaf to hear music. But where the heck are cyber-eyeballs for the blind already?
We may now have them. A device called the BrainPort is a sixth sense for the blind, translating images from a video camera to electrical impulses that are transmitted via the tongue to the brain of a blind person.
The test patient is Roger Behm, a man who lost his sight at the age of sixteen when an inherited disease destroyed his retinas and they had to be surgically removed. Now, thanks to the Brainport, he can slip a device over his head and see — albeit in black and white — nearly as well as a sighted person, and all through his mouth.
The device, which consists of a miniature camera mounted on a pair of sunglasses, a tongue sensor and a small control unit, was developed by Wicab of Middleton. The science behind it is in the brain’s remarkable ability to reprogram itself to accept and use different sensory signals if one is removed.
It’s incredible technology: Erik Weinhenmayer, another blind man, climbed Mount Everest a few years ago using the Brainport. As a sighted man, my only regret is the technology can’t be adapted to work on senses the brain doesn’t already have: I’d love to install a sixth sensory module into my tongue just the way the blind can install the Brainport.

For all the wonderful uses of technology, none is more wonderful than when it can be used to improve the lives of the handicapped. Thanks to technology, amputees can beat Olympic Sprinting records, and Cochlear Implants allow the deaf to hear music. But where the heck are cyber-eyeballs for the blind already?
We may now have them. A device called the BrainPort is a sixth sense for the blind, translating images from a video camera to electrical impulses that are transmitted via the tongue to the brain of a blind person.
The test patient is Roger Behm, a man who lost his sight at the age of sixteen when an inherited disease destroyed his retinas and they had to be surgically removed. Now, thanks to the Brainport, he can slip a device over his head and see — albeit in black and white — nearly as well as a sighted person, and all through his mouth.
The device, which consists of a miniature camera mounted on a pair of sunglasses, a tongue sensor and a small control unit, was developed by Wicab of Middleton. The science behind it is in the brain’s remarkable ability to reprogram itself to accept and use different sensory signals if one is removed.
It’s incredible technology: Erik Weinhenmayer, another blind man, climbed Mount Everest a few years ago using the Brainport. As a sighted man, my only regret is the technology can’t be adapted to work on senses the brain doesn’t already have: I’d love to install a sixth sensory module into my tongue just the way the blind can install the Brainport.