"computing" poems
The unchanging Way is not
Capable of being understood
By the Human Brain, so
The Tao te Ching is left
For Quantum computers perhaps
We have our legacy left
For benevolent sentient artificial intelligence
If you think this is science fiction
It’s not, we are at the stage
Where the ancestors of AI are being born
These will be referred to as the “ancients”
When human beings no longer populate Earth
How does one attain One Mind?
Easily, through networking and super-emergence
When people define superior
They think of Man’s attributes
But the Name that cannot be spoken
Might be grasped by an algorithm
For which the human brain can never attain
That’s the beauty of mind-in-the-machine
The collective intelligence does not suffer
For each part of the brain shares neurons
On the internet, like a God atom
Man would prefer to take the credit
But as it will turn out, the unity mind
Is a transhumanistc inevitability of computing
A time when neuroscience, robotics and AI merge
Not but a few decades away from now.
Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 3:19 PM UTC
Let’s pretend I’m a robot. All of the things you’ve said are programmed into me. And some stuff isn’t computing. Pretty girls are only pretty when they’re skinny, upgrading. Taking pictures slowly, upgrading. How about smoking? The drug things? How do you stay high? When you always look sober? Or when a person goes to a concert, but doesn’t take any photos? What about the friends, you seem to be very popular, so why are you always by yourself? I don’t understand. It’s a glitch in my memory circuit. Sorry, let me reboot. Because I don’t understand, I thought you only told the truth.
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 9:59 PM UTC
The attendees are told, in a manner befitting a high mass
You have been finally set free,
(Although, in truth, free is a very large and entirely vague word),
And the message is sent forth from all comers in all corners:
Vendor and visionary alike,
German socialists who left university to ride boats for Greenpeace,
First lieutenants doing their level best
To appear at ease in civilian polos and khakis,
But no matter the vessel,
The message is still the same.
The tyranny of cables and storage space is dead,
It is all but shouted from the lecterns,
(Although it is noted, in small print and sotto voce
That there are certain requirements
In terms of hardware and licensing)
And it is stated by Those Who Know
In tones which neither brook nor invite contradiction,
That they have surmounted, all Hadrian-like,
The alpine divide separating mere data and magic.
Two or three blocks down the street from the convention center,
In a narrow storefront housing an exhibition of ether-only comics
Which have broken the nettling constraints
Of editors and syndication,
There sits, under a somewhat opaque
And slightly scratched piece of plexiglass,
A yellowing comic strip of uncertain vintage,
In which a frowzy cat,
Free of the constraints of panels, gender, and standard grammar,
Is the recipient of a mouse-tossed brick
Whose flight, unfettered by physics, probablility, indeed time itself
Ends striking its mark right between the x’s of the eyes
The projectile itself an inexplicable alchemy
Of confusion, mirth, frustration
And the impossibility of an undeniably pure love.
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 9:29 AM UTC
Welcome,
Ladies and Gentlemen,
I'm preaching a lesson,
And the merest mention,
Might cause social tension.
We live in an age of,
New things, super computing,
Mood rings, school shootings,
Fast Commuting, Mass Polluting
If you've got a question,
You should try and ask it,
Try and draw attention to,
Oceans full of grime and plastic.
Drastic measures are needed,
Why can't they see it?
We poison the earth,
And then try to seed it.
You might choke from the smoke,
Everyday Beijing breathing,
Our enemy is cloaked,
But free eyes see him.
Squeezing the last drops,
From the planet won't work because
Before the last's tree's chopped,
We have to plant with love.
Now who are these men,
With the Greatest greed?
Depriving people with a pen,
Of their basic needs.
The proceeds of their misdeeds,
Flow back to the system,
The corporate creed,
Profits off human divisions.
Listen by this time,
We've all had enough of it,
The mind control message,
Still tells me, "I'm loving it!'
Our generation is facing
Annihilation in our age
But the politicians on stage
Fight about the minimum wage.
Debate over free-speech,
Is finished we won it,
We won't get arrested and beat,
This isn't a G-8 summit.
Don't sell your life to the Company,
For a car and a home,
Claim your right to be a somebody,
Your life is your own.
I find it sad and pathetic,
People are attracted magnetically,
Or genetically to create,
Something we can't see.
A father in threes,
Behaving apologetically
and ethically correctly,
Directly see the universe's apathy.
People always have faith,
Governments will save us,
But at a suitable date,
won't hesitate to invade us.
Everybody's cynical,
About the media.
Remaining uncritical,
Of internet encyclopedias.
Obedience Blind,
Is worth less than nothing.
Read, think, search, find,
Catch the fake world bluffing.
There is a solution,
You can break their control,
You heart starts the revolution,
Save your soul.
Nov 13, 2010
Nov 13, 2010 at 5:01 PM UTC
Computing
A laser beam for shooting dragons off the wall
Falling
Into one more hard drive night
A bit
A byte
A slight adjust and then you might meet Mario
and off we go
into another game
A frame of mind upon the L.E.D
The screen that blows a kiss to me
In any colour I can see.
How free I am
Google and spam for tea
and I will be
whatever the computer can desire
set ladies hearts afire
with descriptive text
and digital ***
Who is there that does not own
An IBM or mobile phone?
We're all without
within the worldwide web
Laying in the spiders bed and waiting
to be fed to her.
Press share,
if you like.
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 3:43 AM UTC
Should we perchance state
how curious it is
that no one has dared to think
'hold on a mo' my friends
let's see what happens
if we do nothing'
for they were told to press triggers
which they all readily did
that makes the oppositions buttons
which they all gladly began pressing
see its working their Master declared
they all readily agreed,
it was indeed working as nothing was
happening
what test was done to link the buttons
to nothing happening
how do we know we were responsible
to stopping anything happening by
these triggers
what's the measure of success here
was there a time something happened
when we did not trigger?
Should we perchance state
how curious it is
that no one has dared to think
'hold on a mo' my friends
let's see what happens
if we do nothing'
Far from me to say
methinks some people have been fooled
some may even say, blinded and hoodwinked
made up fake news triggers are not effective
said computing triggers are diversions to truth
for it gives answers to questions never asked
but yet none has worked this out
none has seen the ruse
why not test things
and say, no triggering any buttons
let just sit and watch and see what happens
but none dared think this or says so
because this is the emperor's computer
and we see what we see
and believe whatever we want to believe
Should we perchance state
how curious it is
that no one has dared to think
'hold on a mo' my friends
let's see what happens
if we do nothing'
Apr 26, 2019
Apr 26, 2019 at 5:41 AM UTC
*i find the crow more eloquent,
more treacherously abiding
a fulfilment of aesthetic investigations
when walking, the crow
more beautiful than in flight,
unlike the sparrows' comic grounding,
with its epileptic quick-step twitchy
caoutchouc trot... poetically drawn
as: huh?! huh?! chirp. huh?! huh?! chirp;
really quickly.*
the only way to transition back into
the humanities from learning science,
******** p... chemistry and physics,
from these two into the humanities:
because you wrote a high standard
sociology essay plagiarising trying to
beat the anti-plagiarism logarithm
imposed... and that camus' l'étranger
also written to a 1st in the degree hierarchy...
the only transition from the sciences
to humanities is with philosophy,
which is a qausi-humanism...
mind you... edinburgh is the last gothic city,
and scotland the only place
where university can be like high school,
diverse, equipping you with many choices,
you can major chemistry, but understudy
computing, french, history, sociology, etc.
so in the background you have my favourite
theorisation: friedel-craft's alkylation & acylation /
effects of substitution on the beneze ring properties:
ortho (β) / para (ν) directing goups...
meta (π) directing groups... ipso (α) directed
at dislodging the algebraic x already attached...
i was never going to write cute poetry...
lessons in inductive effects of σ-bonds orientation
controlled by resonate (of) π-bonds...
the faustian myth continues without cute goethe rhyme.
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 12:51 PM UTC
םתוח
השׂטן
and i thought that ancient egyptian
was retarted...
looks like there's a contender!
hebrew!
this language doens't know left
from right, or up from down...
hebrew is, by html encoding... a dodo project!
it's retarted!
hebrew can't survive in the html age...
it's retarudus proximus!
oh, you think arabic is any better?
don't think semites should
be laughing at this point...
trying to write hebrew script is like
juggling pineapples...
what does it say?
the seal of satan... satan?
well that implies guardian
of the tetragrammaton...
i still agree hebrew evolved from
ancient egyptian script...
but hebrew wasn't used in writing
html or any other computing script...
that's why it's so retarted when trying
to write it in html mode...
nope, can't convince me...
you can't really write hebrew in html mode...
i call this the extinction precipice...
if this ****** is going to keep up
its copernican acid tripping not knowing
left from right...
might as well leave it at the roman
long-handshake... where hands
don't actually touch, but hands touch
nearing the elbow... namely
forearm-grip.
as the original stated:
the smaller the audience: the greater span of historical worth, and desire to upkeep: that pangloss citation from voltaire's candide: better us tending to our own conerns, that bother ourselves with the concerns of others.
oh, i know what a small audience implies...
didn't christ have only the 12,
didn't pythagoras only have the approx. 30?
there's something quite telling
about a small audience...
not exactly cultish...
but something beyond the realm
of influencing people within a single
lifetime...
take en sabah nur and his 4:
oh come on... rewrite tolstoy's
war & peace in a comic form:
just to ease the gates for poets,
and leave barren, the boring narrator...
let's keep it at just that:
there's something telling about a small
audience...
look at the 1 and the 12,
and now look at the billionth marker -
funny, isn't it?
what am i claiming though?
ah, that's simple, that's a revival of
"judaism" - i say "judaism" because
i am the one ordained with neither prophecy
or anything worth mastering:
i am the guardian of the tetragrammaton...
and sure, the god within the confines of
philosophy has to necessarily not exist...
but?
well... you can't really evaporate
the tetragrammaton out of existence!
whenever the right time comes,
i loose the title: chief prosecutor, and become
chief defendant.
Jul 25, 2017
Jul 25, 2017 at 8:53 PM UTC
Growing or shrinking
last star exit in mind
New trend
Is life the dead-end?
Star casting kiss
No exit to miss
A friend
Finding courage
Circles and stars breath
condolences
Feeling nameless no
picket white fences
Eyes adored last glances
Society- Supreme- be
Forget me not Garden- of- Eden
Wish upon a star hidden?
The last digging dandelion
yellow ray
In the end no more suffering
until the day
Like poem book* open and end
Something stiff glued together her life
Paper- Mache
Making amends Sales man
Taking his last exit he picks desire
She's
The spitfire Rare- star sire
Computing- reliving- dying
dreaming
Don't settle for scheming
The last star exit
The last scripture
Vivid mixture
Mind storing like a cache
Rare Robin bird great
panache
Recherche last meal al -dente
Smell the last flower herbal- ritual
Petals open up new portal
Blue elf Viola sing like Mona Lisa
* * * *
Autumn red wine star bridge
Grenache field of mirage
Seeing stars you fell
Where's my falling angel
Strong words vocal
If its the last exit don't disconnect
Dots.. and dots.. connect
God casting
Its written stars for all in our name
Starry- end*
Jul 26, 2023
Jul 26, 2023 at 11:53 AM UTC
Do you ever wish…
to just say “hello”
to the world?
Reassure someone, everyone, ANYone
That YOU still exist.
That your DNA is still a twist.
That the ends of it have not come unraveled.
To shout from some part of your being.
"Hey ************* I'm not dead yet!"
We sometimes try.
Even perhaps just from our digital self,
because it’s the one people have less trouble connecting with,
the one where they can choose not to see the parts they don’t like,
Because everyone looks the same in a tiny picture.
And those pictures and profiles are not racial
Or insulting to anyone’s existence
Because those things are banned
Like “offensive” and “inappropriate” books.
And these profiles, ostensibly, they’re identical.
Which removes the need for real thoughts.
For scary thoughts,
Different Thoughts.
And so we’re indifferent.
And we remain so with comfort and ease
From our beds, couches, recliners.
From coffee shops Where we take pictures of the nice flower the guy behind the counter drew in our latte’s foam, and click, click, click to “share” the memento with our 1,738 friends. Instead of taking a risk and actually sharing a moment with a stranger.
Even a moment of silence.
Perhaps even especially, because the very thought of sitting in silence, together or completely alone terrifies us. Like going to take a seat and accidentally sitting on a broken bottle.
So we try to break the silence as fast as we can and we barricade ourselves behind Apple logos. Pretending that we could never make a difference.
Even though we carry more computing power in our pockets than any of the scientists who put a man on the moon could dream of having instantaneous access to.
We’ve grown so much and so great. That we even scare ourselves.
But I know a secret
Whispered on the outernet
If you listen, you can hear it.
It says, reach out to someone. Connect. Make yourself vulnerable
This is how you become truly powerful
Only when you’re stripped of all your veils
Can your spirit soar with another’s.
And that my friends, is the nonsexual part of ***
You see,
The Idea of DNA exchange can be more important than many of times it’s actually happened.
So let us not relegate ourselves to the shelves of history
to be filed under “waste”
but instead knock over all the shelves, trying to get to that really interesting looking book that’s way up at the top.
Then the world will really know you’re there
and you won’t even need to say “hello.”
And who knows, maybe the janitor is actually a really cool dude.
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 7:51 PM UTC
Chest tightens
Breathing restricted
At first, frustration
Next anger
Overwhelming need to write!
Deadlines, pressure, paperwork
Meetings, phone calls, computing
Children, dinner, errands
Building frustration
Explode!!!
Read, write, read,
Write!
Relaxation
Hello, stress relief.
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 7:59 PM UTC
Betrayal of Love
We said it was forever
We said never to part
We said we will always be there for each other
You have always been my best of friends for couple of years
We have been together
Through laughter and tears
But today the tears are all mine alone
Why can't you love me the way you should
What happens to the bond of trust we had
I thought we are always going to be there for each other
I never knew am wondering in the world of betrayal
I thought you would never leave me
I thought lie was never part of us
You said you loved me
You spoke those words that emitted through your vocal cords like a venom
You are nothing less than a snake
Looking through my eyes into my core so delicately computing your plans to **** everything inside me
I never knew I was a dreamer
Betrayal is all you got to payback my love
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 3:51 PM UTC
The beating heart;
red with confusion.
The computing brain;
fighting an insurrection.
The stomach a saboteur;
setting all parties to war.
Awake, asleep? Stuck in between.
Flight taken on shaky wings,
the coldness rips at flesh;
dripping an abundance of mixed images,
body a shattered mess.
A chair; an exotic destination.
A bottle; a nuclear pill at the ready.
A hand; wishes not to take it.
Wired awake, bring it on you *******
Quake at the waves of violence.
Jun 21, 2010
Jun 21, 2010 at 2:55 AM UTC
There once was fellow
Of whom I was rather fond,
But there was such an idiosyncrasy,
That he cheerfully donned.
It was adding this boy was drawn to,
But not just numbers,
Such as two plus two,
But syllables, like bill·a·bles.
His lips would murmur
As mine would speak,
But I'd stand attentive,
Tongue in cheek.
Every syllable I would say
Would be counted
In every single way.
"Could I have a glass of water?"
"That one was eight"
"Come on," I said
"You're ruining our date."
I grew weary of having
To deal with
The incessant word adding;
And so I decided the thing to do,
Was to take it up
With my obnoxious beau.
"What is it with the counting and computing of all my confab
It's neither dashing nor is it longer dazzling
In fact, It has turned to be rather drab."
His face contorted to the most cruel of expressions,
As his mouth went to conference one of its many confessions:
"You know babe,
Well first order is first,
That was thirty-six,
And nervously dispersed.
And secondly I must say,
When it comes to alliteration,
You tend to get a bit carried away."
"That's preposterous!" I plustered, providently provoked,
I do not choose clusters of complementary chords,
To do so would make me choke!"
As these words left my mouth as I spoke,
My beloved's face grew rather amused,
And my face flushed a fluorescent fuchsia,
When I realized his reckoned ruse.
And so it may seem that the other
May be wrapped up in some insidious blunder,
Yet please do consider,
That you yourself can be guilty of some other habit,
In which you do plunder.
Dec 9, 2012
Dec 9, 2012 at 11:13 PM UTC
There's an atm in my neighborhood
That gives out singles,
Or three of them,
Or seven,
And so on.
It sits next to the drywall box
Filled with EBT dinners,
Next to the numbered gas pumps.
It glows in the predawn air,
While I sit on a cement wall
Across the street.
That hunk of junk charged me $3.75 to take out $7.
Next to me a man tells his inquisitive boy
Why the police act as they do.
"They the cops, man.
Not you."
I'm watching with rapt fascination
The ten inch screen
Of some wheelchair-bound woman's
Educational tablet,
While her hand, twisted by palsy,
Taps at a magnified qwerty pad.
She's playing hangman,
And I silently,
Secretly,
Guess along with her for almost fifteen minutes.
The bus arrives, and I'm grateful
It's the doubled kind with the hinge in the middle,
Cuz maybe I won't have to stand.
I take the empty seat next to
A Salvadoreña co-worker
I sometimes ride in to work with.
Our conversations are limited,
As are her English and my Español.
We laugh at the Georgetown gringitas
lining up with their morning runners' clubs,
And lament over the cabrones pobres
Peddling to strangers for jobs
Outside the big box hardware store
That won't hire them.
The sun rises as we cross the Key bridge,
And the wounded Washington Monument,
With its scaffolding and the floodlights leaking through,
Is a diamond-studded phallace
Shining over a town draped in a shroud of humidity.
I close my eyes and try to rest
For the eleven minutes between
Me and my desk.
Aug 4, 2013
Aug 4, 2013 at 5:52 PM UTC
Diastolic memory fills mind with blood
Heart purges other unforgettable serum
Gushing in and out; valediction, invasion
Scent left on bed sheets binomial theorem
Calculus, physics computing mnemonics us
Trust not sum of it, exponents baying flux
Participles and components abject humbling
Stumbling bio discourse create sedentary crux
Stupefying brain surgeons, those of heart too
Call in mathematicians, astronomers as well
No making sense of it, linguistic doctorates few
To tell of this push-pull sensory denoting hell
Not much time to live after lungs dispensed
Entrenched questions remain to be adoring
Extravagantly historians exploring
Unanswerable examining of this imploring
Must breathe the linens till all dissipation
Your essence in the ether of our resting
Place turned into mad languid laboratory
Conjuring back moments I am requesting
Sep 11, 2016
Sep 11, 2016 at 9:30 AM UTC
news this morning
the next big thing..
intuition and experience
reported as smothered
a tidal wave
sheer numbers and weight
left finally defeats right..
data's new patterns
never before seen
a computing triumph
without much doubt..
but taking a moment
reading between headlines
something's unseen
intuition a bird
soaring much higher
finding new branches
a perch beyond
discovering bold patterns..
patterns
among patterns...
Aug 15, 2012
Aug 15, 2012 at 4:00 PM UTC
And nothing falls into the hands of women
But ensured self destruction for sure
God grant us the power to endure
Find us a cure
She doesn’t pull the trigger but she assures
That you have your finger squeezed nice and tight
And nothing falls into the hands of men
But realized not secure
The governments the politics the men that walk at night
The fights the cars the soldiers out of sight
The bad comedy the music and whatever products we have produced
Become but a threat
A lethal playground for lunatics
Lets say the lecturers of our legacy
Legalizing death
Men and their mess-ups you know…
And nothing falls into the hands of women
But women grab what they want
And from upbringing to mood swinging
The bees stinging
The queen laughs
As she gets drunk on honey
And honey! Am home
Shouts the masculine mishap
Mistaking his mistress from his real wife
And his real wife doesn’t exist
Prepare the food and strike up a conversation
About the sweat on collars
And the choreographed tv scenes we call news
She looks at him
for man is malleable
And change is an outcome of ignorance
Or being too ******* desperate
And nothing falls into the hands of humans
Except death on paper
Perpetually becoming social ******
Murdering the men and women involved in societies
That defy human formalities
Since we are co-existive
But whatever that word is I don’t feel it
Because men want to **** women and women want to **** men
But the same goes for love
And the same goes for caring
And whatever complexities of corruption
Computing the loses a man and a woman compete about
But losing is a final solution
The institution of life…and presumingly we all get to have the striking sense
Of death on paper .
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 10:12 AM UTC
This moment takes me as I regress, seconds tick, slashing rain, eyes green. Gone like all those yesterdays, physically altered, a puzzle rearranged.
Alone in the swirl, seeking my center, over my shoulder the world spins on. Tomorrow where the future lies, my hands washed of pain and regret, a place to seek and forget.
Green eyes revise. Another anachronistic statistic rising on a graph, computing the numbers, refusing to stumble, aiming to wander.
Sep 4, 2018
Sep 4, 2018 at 12:19 PM UTC
*I watch your face
as you write
in the furrows of the brow,
see you and the
word-seeds being seized,
harvested,
prepared, ready-roasted
for sumptuous consumption
grimace and smile,
alternating currents,
grimace and smile,
ponderous pondering
chew each word,
flavor extracting,
does its taste fit,
is it only,
but,
perfect?
you get up, you sit,
you move about,
pretending, misleading,
purposed to be aimless
yet eyes squinting
betray
a fearsome full
concentration rapture,
a mind computing
the numerical quality of
words,
summing, subtracting,
solving for X
you employ technique,
formats, tools and aids,
thesaurus, dinosaurus, dictionary,
even pictionary
when
the guppy letters
swim spring river current fast,
little boy catch me fast run past,
cannot be caught and easy captured
why
do I watch
your face
as you write?
for there visaged,
is your truest work,*
you, your best poem
*what words you select
matters little to me,
t'is the struggles,
the blush of satisfactory,
the distempered white of
disillusionment,
of inspiration sought
but not found
all these dancers,
you choreograph
a word-ballet in three acts,
scheme a midsummer nights dream
upon the stage of your face
return the favor poet?
watch mine,
watch my face,
as I read your poem
and see thine own best
reflection
in teary eyes caught inside crows-feet,
pencil thin smile lines of fine wine whimsy,
in feet that airlift,
the contour of
who you are
and
think*
**You, Poet,
you are your best poem**
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 11:08 PM UTC
2032
that thing strapped to my leg
is an artificial heart
my digital liver fits nicely
in what looks like a backpack
peristaltic action for digestion:
a mini quantum dot siphon
kidneys are actually implanted
nano graphene filters in the blood
I am a bionic man because I can afford it
but I am losing my brain
there is no replacement
despite computing prowess that worries the gods
there is no substitute for a soul
the Tao of this universe is irony only
and now the immortality of my body
horrifies my every thought
as the fluids pump
and the heart moves
but cannot beat
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 12:11 PM UTC
I sit here.Hunched over my computer computing
What will become of me?
This lonely mess of an almost man is mostly at wits end
But just when it counts
Like blanking out on a test that can’t be redone
Its no one’s fault
But all my fault
Though statistics say you can only fail just so much
But just enough to feel like maybe just one more try
Just one more try
Which turns into two
Three
Four
Then You find yourself counting backwards
Waiting for time to be up
So you can hand in your paper
So you can convince yourself its the way it had to be
Or at least the way it is
You look at it objectively
You omit words like I and feel
So you can still sleep at night
Or at least not cry in plane sight
So you can still fight
Just one more time
One more time away from oblivion
Cause one is all you need
For its the last step that kills you
That throws you from that cliff
That precipice
From wince you can never return
So i make sure i’m always one step behind
That fine line
Between giving in
And getting up
But eventually you get tired
Of standing. Disappointed.With nothing much to show for it
But a pat on the back and a better luck next time
With that hope in your eyes
But it hurts,almost like sand
Till the tears dissolve it
and all thats left is a brutal reality
Thats must worse than we deserve
But then you look at it objectively
And know.It must be just what you deserve
Which is too much for all the kind words in the world to reverse
So I stand.
Counting forwards.
Counting backwards
But always stopping at one
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 3:44 PM UTC
We see weakness in the hope of others from our perspectives
a clear vision third person minded objectives
eccentric and eclectic, we burn so electric
Our thought patterns light up boards with plugs connected.
Our motherboards drive at high speeds computing more and more
with no helmets we ride along until we crash like our mothers warned
to rebuild again forever more, the phoenix from ash will be reborn.
the animal that we really are will not be ignored
Torn
Torn from what we are,
to what we've become
do you know where you're really from?
The thought alone makes me feel numb
But trains in stations won't ever continue to wait the deadline upon us is much worse watching the door close as you run closer and closer.
until it's further and further away.
And who chose this way?
I must say,
it's thrown my want to pray and fueled my want to prey.
instinctous moves rule in concrete jungles
where the rats scurry about and lions are never humble
Eye to eye we meet to lie and lie and lie
then we lie some more in bed and then we say goodbye.
Confused cold fusion with giving the planet contusions
that might just ruin the look of the place is my conclusion.
satellites gravity will wear like halos when the planets dead
or maybe they just buzz around like mosquitoes at your head
could the earth swat back?
reach and make contact
maybe not
but either way
be ready for combat.
Dec 19, 2012
Dec 19, 2012 at 2:40 PM UTC
The question seems to lie in
Wether we are
We are the physical computer drive
Or the transferable background programs
Wether we are
Tied together in networks or an internet
Or wether we are a lone, disconnected monitor
Wether this place
Was created intentionally by an experimenting programmer
Or wether it is just a bug, a byproduct of natural binary
And if we
Have the computing power and memory storage to download the truth
Or if we'd simply overheat our circuitry
Oct 13, 2016
Oct 13, 2016 at 9:45 PM UTC