"deviations" poems
The power of Averages,
it means a lot
if you can
understand Means, a lot.
Assuming a Normal Distribution,
A Standard Deviation, or σ
defines where about 68% of the data falls;
roughly 34% above and below the Mean.
Two Standard Deviations
defines where a further 28% of data lies;
14% above and below 1σ and -1σ.
Positive 1-Sigma is one Standard Deviation above the Mean
Negative 1-Sigma is one below;
The range from -2σ to 2σ includes 96% of data.
The implications are astounding.
Within 3 Standard Deviations, one finds 99.7% of the data;
Within 4σ, 99.9%, 5σ, 99.999%,
the remainder are generally outliers and other improbable results.
To illustrate:
Suppose we had a group of 100 people,
and we wish to determine average height:
If our Mean height ends up being, say, 180 cm,
with a Standard Deviation of 20cm,
We can suppose that of 100 people, on average,
with a certain Margin of Error that is inversely proportionate to our Sample Size, or n
(for sake of argument, the Probable Error, or γ, is 13.49cm)
4 are taller than 220cm
14 are between 200cm and 220cm
68 are between 160cm and 200cm
14 are from 140cm to 160cm
4 are shorter than 140cm
--
Statistics is the parent of Probability;
Statistics is the Art and Science of Forecast,
Statistics paves the way for modern Science
Statistics is a powerful weapon in the fight against Ignorance
Statistics, however, are generally and intentionally misrepresented and thus misunderstood.
For increasingly accurate figures,
one must have a larger Sample Size
and a Sample group that is a representative subgroup
of the Whole
*This is intentionally abused
by most of the News
you read or see each day on Paper and Screens alike.*
If a "Statistical analysis" does not include at least
Margin of Error or Probable Error,
Mean (Average), Standard Deviation, and Sample Size
do not take it as accurate.
Depending on the source,
it could even be deliberately malicious.
Arm yourself with Knowledge.
May 7, 2013
May 7, 2013 at 6:14 PM UTC
I exist in a world of careful structure
Taken out of Chaos and made habitable
By strict planning and strict ruling—
Structure is imperative
Order keeps us going
Deviations are not allowed
If you wish to live in my world
You must learn to follow rules
Reliability is key
Being dependable as the rising sun
Predictable as a new moon
Always infallible
Disappointments are not tolerated
Insufficient will be cast away
Deviations are not allowed
So if you can’t be trusted
Then you don’t belong here
There will be order in my house
For in games of two, there can be no others
There
Are
Rules
And they exist to keep us out of Chaos
They exist because structure
Ensures that we don’t collapse
So when your eyes are wandering
You are marking yourself as inconstant
Dangerous
Unacceptable
And I will stop at nothing
Until you’ve suffered for every sweetness you’ve laid at another’s feet
I will stop at nothing
Until you’ve learned that you must always choose me
I will burn you for every betrayal
And some will call me jealous
Dec 27, 2011
Dec 27, 2011 at 5:41 PM UTC
/ the aesthete...
and the athlete,
i.e.
the "sophist",
and the "philosopher"?
ah... phonetics, rather linguistics:
former: as-feet...
but the latter?
ancient greek
in french:
a(h)'f'lé'té.
people should, really introduce
a chemistry-style subscript for surds,
most notably H,
hay'chch,
when dealing with such deviations
from classicaly philosophy
metaphysical concerns,
and modern, orthography:
this, the, now,
types of "philosophical" inquiries:
and i mean that
as "philosophical":
because i actualy mean...
the favours of pedantry akin to
being entertained by
the intricacies of Versailles;
you'd get more good-luck wishes
in the form of horse-shoes
hanging over your door in a small
village in the ***** of gascony.
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 11:00 AM UTC
right choices
at the wrong time
bad choices
at the right time
choices
that change your life
unexpected consequences
contradictions
leading you
in arduous paths
which will condition
your trip
deviations
that turn against you
choices
of which you will regret
every moment of your existence
choices
you have not completed
lack of courage
that you will regret
until you run out of breath
leaps into the void
clashes
wounds
choices
unavoidable
words
that define your being
Sep 27, 2016
Sep 27, 2016 at 4:14 AM UTC
I am me
Until I am not
In the eyes of those who aren't me
Their perception of my ulterior motives pierces
every joke, compliment and remark
I attempt to burrow out of my chamber and into their's
But I find only confusion
Did anybody notice or care?
And if they did
Did they care about me?
Or the facade I built to buffer honesty?
Disgust is spelled on the faces of those forced into proximity
They view me as the canary in the coal mine of their life
Their contempt shocks stillness into me
Could we go back to pretending I'm human?
Are they putting salt in the wound to preserve it?
Or am I the remnants of a wasted youth?
Or a constant reminder of failure?
Do I help lower the bar to their own self worth?
Maybe I'm just paranoid
Is what I tell myself
To feel better
And I can drive down back roads all my life
But that won't erase the shame I feel of the car I drive
People sense my deviations and act accordingly
Their words spray like a flamethrower
Scorching my defenseless heart
And although my sympathy goes out to the innocent civilians
who were also hurt
I was mortally wounded
The well just continued to get deeper
I am haunted by what lies underneath
Afraid any passing archaeologist will dig it up
And share his discovery with the world
Then where will I hide?
May 22, 2017
May 22, 2017 at 4:25 PM UTC
Christian, Jew, Muslim.
Jew, Muslim, Jew.
Christian, and some Hindu.
Muslim in an aero-plane.
Jew, Jew.
Coins of gold.
Ringing ears of copper.
Muslim, Muslim, Muslim.
Die, Die, Die.
Jew, Jew, Jew.
A hole in the sky.
And some stones.
Defining deviations of
Misleading truths.
Christian owls,
In Muslim skies,
And Jew sands.
A misfit's howl.
Little children's hate.
Brewing cyanide in your veins.
Unhook my thoughts.
Undress my pains.
A cross in their mosque.
And holy water, too.
A gun in her mouth.
Your hell is in you.
Deceased sounds of
A beauty queen.
In my parade,
of synthetic blood.
An imprisoned laugh,
In this plastic flood.
Sweet tears of
Your fragile unjust,
Roaming a castle,
In stale air…
And doomed lust.
A prophet in their church.
And a dark beard, too.
A bomb in her heart.
Your heaven has escaped you.
Feb 2, 2010
Feb 2, 2010 at 11:33 PM UTC
Give it all you got
Only option left to choose
Tip your cap
Turn your back
Throw up that deuce
But, who woulda knew
That clarity of concentration
Comes from unexpected deviations
From our anticipations
Suddenly
Shipwrecked
Lost at sea
Starin at that deep blue green
Like, it's just you,
And me
And we are the masters behind these sails
When our stories told
It'll be the stuff of fairy tales
The true master misses miserably alot
What matters most is
We take all our shots
So this is my position
Listen up
I don't give a ****
About you *****
Who don't give a ****
You on the sidelines of the game
What's it gonna take for you to lace em
And step it up?
I see you suckers pacin'
Over self-made situations
Like destiny isn't something we participate in
But what if we switch stations
Movin' makin'
Anxious Amplification
Got that body breakin'
Beats to shuffle strutin' feet and
Our music's the motivation
Our life, our part
Art over every evocation
Trumpets triumphantly proclaim the pontification
Sifting, shifting the breeze
The time, they are a' changin'
The rhythms's exquisite equations
Derivative of internal escavated wisdoms
Whimsical inquisitive exploration
Sep 16, 2012
Sep 16, 2012 at 6:58 AM UTC
Your eyes burn in eager greens
hazel upon inspection
little strokes of fire in between
Your lips part with intention
always standing by every word
I can feel sparks illuminate our contentions
but it was deviations of feeling we always seemed to have heard
Hands that want to hold but search for answers on my skin
kindled comfort in passion
felt their way in
You intoxicate every cell
and I'd rather not explain
how each excessive thought is a sweeter taste of hell
a simpler dose of pain.
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 3:27 PM UTC
How is it that all I see and believe
isn't more than what one can conceive?
Trapped inside these bound'ries of mine,
flipping and flopping down the stream of time,
my thoughts not more than the glint of sunshine.
So I laugh! I laugh! Great boisterous humor!
To laugh and to giggle at the falseness and rumors;
to snicker and snacker at the play of all forms;
to chortle and chuckle at deviations and norms;
I will laugh at the process as my soul transforms.
So I laugh! I laugh! Though pains may embitter!
To laugh and to giggle at all senseless chatter;
to snicker and snacker at what's caught within;
to chortle and chuckle at all that is sin;
I will laugh at the moment when nothing begins.
So join me, my friend, and forget of your fears!
We'll both laugh, together, at the grinding of gears;
we'll both giggle, together, at prophets and seers.
So join me, my friend, and forget of your aches!
Laugh with abandon at this game and its stakes;
laugh with abandon as this machinery breaks.
Apr 1, 2012
Apr 1, 2012 at 5:13 PM UTC
A solitary solecism
An evaporating vision
Premonitions and superstitions
Withered hopes
Amorphous, insubstantial
Episodic swings
Digressions and detours
Evasions, deviations
Changing lanes
Accelerating and overtaking
Swerving
Inhibitions colliding.
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 7:42 AM UTC
i never knew when forgiveness of ******
deviations equated to
the obscurity of citizen allowances,
whereby i was excused from doing ****
like i was excused from having a conscience
stealing your herd of sheep...
but i guess i must have a medieval mentality,
******** childish, having to interpret
the profanity of the tetragrammaton
with the canonical gospels' acts of dispersion,
you said ****** were akin to
meat cleavers... fair enough...
god forgives me butchering you like you
were forgiven having a frolic in the hay...
and we're all one big happy family...
'cos i swear that's when ambiguity on the dogma
entered and the nadir was expressed:
sin - ****** ambiguity - equated itself
to crime - citizen ambiguity -
you want to put that forth to Buddhist
authority chaining ******** bandwagons of
thieves en route to the Tibetan Vatican?
only so much is allowed,
given you're championing one Jew of your fancy
while giving others the gas-chambers...
ain't it just Prince's 1999... we're gonna party
like it's 19-99.... i think you mistook sin with crimes...
that's my "doctorate" opinion...
you said **** with thieving being synonymous,
Christ was saving Greek intellectual culture
with the pederast **** to boot...
St. Paul was encouraging circumcision,
twat-like people with a statue of Buddha asking
whether head meant the shaved one ******
or whether it meant the prickly one gagged on
was on the cards - goose-pimple **** frostbite...
the moment when the forgiveness of sin
turned into the forgiveness of crime...
hence such ****** freedoms right now,
and a... ah... whatever... of challenged citizenship,
why would i? why would anyone even bother?
**** it, let's go crazy, Las Vegas is waiting for us,
the cowboys will never churn out a Thatcher
to "rule the world".
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 9:31 PM UTC
The window is rolled down halfway
so I can let the ash off my cigarette.
The music, which holds special
meaning to us and faceless others
who have been touched by it,
blares from the dying speakers.
The yellow lines snake ever onward,
winding parallel to each other.
Forever yearning to meet and always
being denied.
The sun went down so long ago
that it is daring us to watch it rise.
We are six cans of monster, two packs
of Red 100's and eight hours past
caring what the fickle thing decides to do.
We are also two days past the desire to
sleep at all.
We tell jokes, poking fun of the things
we don't dare in polite company.
Enjoying the kind of monsters we can
only be around each other.
We share tales of our ****** deviations,
more candid than we've ever been to
anyone else. The lesser experienced,
namely me, blush profusely at the
notion of where parts of us have been.
We lament lost love, unmitigated failure,
wasted potential and the million little
white lie excuses for why we've yet to
become the icons we dreamed ourselves.
When finally sleep begins to win the
battle for control of our eye lids
we take turns behind the wheel.
The window is never rolled up, although
I'm the only smoker aboard.
It's constant noise a reassurance that we
are still moving.
Though in what direction is anyone's guess.
We'll know our destination when we
get there. We'll know when our bodies
cry for food, or ***** or our girlfriends
cry for us to come home.
Mostly we'll know when we can't
go any farther. When we have to turn
around.
I'll always remember our late night
“adventures”.
I'll be an old man, waiting on the
final stroke of any clock I'll ever
hear, and I'll still be listening for
the reassuring sound of wind rushing
past my half open window.
Still feel the cold in my fingertips.
Still feel the warmth and laughter
in my heart.
That has been your gift to me, my friends.
I cherish it always.
Nov 13, 2010
Nov 13, 2010 at 8:37 PM UTC
There are bodies in motion.
Bumping into one another,
as they drift through time
and space.
Each new contact creates
a slight deviation in their course.
They spin off, tangentially.
Here in this city, where
ambulance sirens make
the sour notes of our love
song, I sit missing you.
Missing the contact.
Missing our slight deviations.
Nov 17, 2010
Nov 17, 2010 at 2:28 AM UTC
if you only eat from a feedbin you have a limited number of grain
kafka said the leopards would become part of the ceremony but no matter how many nights like this I keep waking up with
out any wild animals
or rather, any sense of the mystical rhythm that surely guides
deviations from this steady alpine path.
today when I got off the bus in Arequipa
I realized that some people look up to the mountains, even in summer, and always see snow.
and some people don't.
and this is the way it goes?
I dreamt South America would provide a release onto the page, and my words would set at least a dozen feet free
but the more ******* I buy the more I realize that all I strive is to feel tired
deserved or no
and to lift my head and see snow.
and some people don't.
and this is the way it goes.
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 2:48 PM UTC
*Fairytale Evolutions,
Terminating Digital Mutations,
Simulated Sensations,
Transcendent Revolutions,
Hybrid Generations,
Altering Stagnant Amplifications,
Shape Shifting Constellations,
Sterilizing Implications,
Eliciting Blissful Animations,
Decoding Kaleidoscopic Flirtations,
Fabricating Holographic Dimensions,
Reflecting Labyrinth Ramifications,
Transgressional Diversifications,
Empathetic Extortion,
Serene Distortion,
Subversive Contortion,
Forging Conceptual Inoculations
Violating Illusionary Variations,
Incarnating Prototype Deviations,
Radiating Subtle Speculations,
Catalyzing Crystallized Civilizations.
-01:09AM*
Feb 28, 2017
Feb 28, 2017 at 2:57 PM UTC
Most poetry writing
Is like a nighttime ****
Standing or sitting in the dark
Aiming as we let it flow.
We judge by the sweet sound
Of the deeper splash
When we’re on the target,
And hope our line stays true.
We squeeze most poems and ****** out
To get relief
From a nagging feeling
Deep inside.
The deviations of our stream
Spilled silent to the side
Oft require
Clean-up.
And the outcome
With that faint stale smell
Is probably better flushed away
Than saved or shared or admired.
Oct 8, 2011
Oct 8, 2011 at 6:31 PM UTC
Describe my imperfections,
In a trained diabolical voice,
Fill in the cracks on my skin,
With tender blessed nuzzles,
Search for all the scars,
& make them tell tales,
Of me being the intermediary,
Of the constant battles,
Of angels & neighborhood demons,
Siphon blood from my veins,
Make a libation then taste,
Then tell me if it's pure,
I know I have flaws,
I don't have habits,
I have deviations,
My bones are rusting,
I have spiracles on my spinal column,
To breath the breath of the sages,
and my teeth fear the tongue,
So the wording is usually prolific,
I have hieroglyphs on my chin,
Because it's shaped like a pyramid,
My poems are imperfect,
My word-crafting is iRreGular,
Now change me if you can.
Jan 25, 2014
Jan 25, 2014 at 8:24 AM UTC
I am not stupid or incapable
Although my mind’s daily deviations
Attest to errors and tricks in mine skull
Of delusions – and every day tension
Within the crannied pockets of my brain
Watch the undeniable enmity
Between the bird and the compelléd reign
Of darling overlords and tricksome she
But I will pretend, though it be in vain,
That the chainéd bird does not wish to fly
But instead hand to them the keys – my bane –
And never dare yearn beyond the fake sky
Goodbye to heart, to soul, to winsome dreams
For I, instead, will do what they do deem.
Mar 13, 2017
Mar 13, 2017 at 6:00 PM UTC
dearest, O my new, new love -
will you grant me but 2 deviations?
for I will love truly and give everything unto you;
in all ways I’ll be the man you want me to be
but in two - and grant those my only perversions, let them be:
First - allow me to drive all my life;
never take the wheel from me...
you see, my dad never allowed me to drive
and he threw me in the back seat
and never even told me where he’d bring me
and he’d dump me
in my nana’s or in the shopping center
sometime for a week or two
and when I said Could I drive?
He’d say: You? you ****
You’re only 22!
So now when we settle down and build our own nest
you must really let me drive
like hell
really let me be the driver
and let me drive
never you take the wheel
you can sit like a Queen in the passenger seat
and I’ll drive you wherever you want to
but Oh - promise, promise, never take the wheel from me...
And the 2nd deviation, before I forget...
I do have the habit
of digging my nose
whenever I’m happy
and so when I’m at the wheel
you can bet your last dollar
I’ll be digging my nose
(the 2 go together)
so you must promise
to let me be
and let me dig my nose as I drive
for nothing makes me happier
so never, never
O please
never ever rap on my knuckles
when I dig my nose
like my mum did with her steel ruler
whenever I put my fingers in my nose
O if you can promise me these 2
that you’ll allow these 2 perversions
to be the normal rule in our love -
Oh, then I’ll be the happiest man ever...
Now excuse me, while I dig my nose...
Oct 28, 2011
Oct 28, 2011 at 2:58 PM UTC
Maybe I'm just a
Few standard deviations
Off of what's normal
Dec 25, 2016
Dec 25, 2016 at 2:46 AM UTC
Hair down, chin up!
That's what I ask, that you don't give up!
To the girl crying inside the stall,
or the one that's overcompensating, shopping spree at the mall.
Hair down, chin up, for your sake not mine,
I want you to walk, in a great straight line.
Take no more deviations, off the path,
fill your world with love, and do not participate in it's reveling wrath!
I say to you, mother of 1, 2, 3, 5 or more,
do not ever, close your door.
Lock the front, guard the back, but listen mother, to your children today,
for you do not know, how much longer you or they, may stay.
To the lonely wife, and with a husband now gone for so long.
Hold on tight to his memories, and pray to make much more,
and to him and only him, should ever open the door.
Times will test you, trials will be hard,
and never ever ever, throw down the give-up card.
Because he'll need you more than ever, and I hope that you do know this,
that for ever day he's gone, he longs for 10 fold, for a kiss.
To the young girls around the age, of aging immaturity,
I plead to you to think it over, know when you are ready.
Perhaps you love him, with all your heart and soul,
but do not lose sight, of an average person's goal.
Love grows fonder when practiced with care,
you are young yet, and troubles have yet to begun, will either of you still stand there?
Perhaps this is a rambling of a senile old man,
or do I speak at least a modest truth, as simple as I can?
I'll let you decide as to where the story leads,
these are little food for thought, the thought that I feed.
Now look up, and around, soon as this song is done,
open your eyes anew, your story has just begun.
Where ever you go, whomever you're in the company of,
Hair Down, Chin up, and never ever, give up on love.
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 11:33 PM UTC
Then the Universe will find her peace
As chaos settles, deviations cease
On a hill, the glint of a telescope eye,
Will watch as the Sun, Earth and Moon align
A city will cheer as looming tides recede
And my life shall once again be stripped bare, clean
Aug 11, 2021
Aug 11, 2021 at 1:13 AM UTC
in most instances there is no real
criticism - just the debate as old
as the life of Aristotle, so lagging
behind modern liberty -
the deviations of the two extremes,
the nicely polished marble
and the coarse flint - a debate
concerning nouns -
one man will venture into marble
synonymousness -
another man will venture into
flint synonymousness - but still
the monism of saying one thing
adversely or conversely -
one layer on top of another,
like a wedding cake - sooner will
the adverse noun usage emerge -
sooner too will the converse noun
use emerge - and make battle for
what society is entitled to -
well, both! the pleasantries of the nouns
surrogate and mother, damnable
essentials of two homosexuals and
a ********** - i know, the former and
all the pleasantries and pigmented macaroons,
the latter and dirges and the dingy
back alley - one stands up for pleasantries
the other for the coarse mountain view -
one sees a mountain of the jagged panorama,
the other a normal distribution curve -
both have peaks, one's a woo *** slide on
your *** the other a carefully calculated
descent - so you wonder how certain words
are encoded to create a certain emotion -
one thing to understand a string of words:
do this do that, walk over here, walk over there -
and the other string of words:
feel this, feel that, think this, think that -
perplexing - mostly the dichotomy of seeing
and hearing - a dualism is an acceptance of
the two extremes as a constant -
a dichotomy is a lack of acceptance of the
two extremes, they are never consolidated -
dichotomy represents an active game of ping pong,
dualism represents: a ping pong table,
two ping pong rackets and a ping pong ball...
but no actual activity - dualism in theory,
dichotomy in practice.
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 9:35 AM UTC
The sun is now above us,
our vision no longer blurred
the path is now clear,
as too are the many deviations
we see our destination
but know not which way to go
each path leading forwards
with no hope of coming back
all is not as it seems
yet all seems as it is
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 1:49 PM UTC