"encoding" poems
/ beelzebub
*(given employs the spider a posteriori
and spiderweb a priori, and then back
into a bicemeral reverse psyche-analogy -
the id est contra the id erat -
but there is no latin revival -
given that the latin encoding has been
translated into a.i. algorithms...
forget putting the pandora
into a box into a box into a box,
into an etc. or what is a russian
cultural artefact... forget it...
a black fly would not take upon
itself to make a dustbin, a *******
maggoty brothel, like a green bottle fly
might... black flies have character,
style...
they're the ones that take
to tango, with spider architecture,
akin to the theological spider analogy
about an ad infinitum a priori argument)*:
a bit like watching
a black fly - "washing" itself -
rubbing it's front limbs
together, "attempting"
to start a fire...
god, those awful
green bottle hypers -
with maggot excesses -
in a potential well
expressed into practice -
black flies?
i can entertain them -
like i might entertain spiders
that do not require aquariums -
the non-exotica types...
so i sometimes find myself
rubbing my hands together,
like a catholic amounting
to an altruistic prayer symbolism...
so kommen faust,
so kommen faust,
so ist pseudo-faust -
or rather:
england?
deutschland jr.
america?
deutschland sr.
and if that wasn't the case?
oh me, little old slavic
babuшka...
i still can't explain rubbing
my hands together,
like a black fly might...
keeping standards of where
to take a maggoty dump's
worth of procreation value...
black flies?
compared to the others?
the priests of the whole
spectrum...
i sometimes wish they were
red,
so i could call them: the cardinals...
alas...
not to be, god said otherwise...
but i can fathom the priesthood,
like i can fathom -
an aspiration of a sleeping
samurai, devoid of the zodiac
delusion,
encouraged to make
chiromancy initiatives
(readings) to alleviate,
******** monotheism.
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 11:02 AM UTC
painting when being bilingual, the naked phonetics of the english alphabet, and the diacritics on the polish one, for example -sh- of the former and -sz- of the latter, but the painting is still entitled: trying to capture what was being said without lip-reading but by optics encoding the sounds, so that someone bilingual might decipher; and yes, dependent of aesthetics / orthography the -rz- versus the ż.
azog
szak gaum'dasz!
blog
kruto, goniś... gunwondersmargen'ś.
azog
mor'rzyrljisz?
blog
golumdo, sza zu lisz sza za duh.
azog
jam dysz! *** da kurz nak krza rzuk;
arz ga bejark gundabadul,
mar kam narm karszrz.
mulgaj! a'naj! ursdraj! tu pu nam - ah me c!
Mar 21, 2016
Mar 21, 2016 at 10:03 PM UTC
The desired gene could be found
In each cell of the body,
But it expresses positively in few cells.
A trefoil factor encoding gene I mean,
It is found in the intestine
TFF1 is found exclusively in the intestine.
TFF1 is also known as pS2
Meaning protein for specificity 2,
2nd gene discovered for specificity protein.
TFF1 protects gastrointestinal mucosa,
From any injuries that may result
Out of pathogenic invasion.
The trefoil factor 2 encoding gene
Is also found in the intestine
But TFF2 plays a different role in the body.
TFF2 is also known as pS1
Meaning protein for specificity 1,
1st gene discovered for specificity protein.
TFF2 protects gastrointestinal mucosa,
From any cancer that may result
Out of oncogenic activity.
And the third trefoil factor encoding gene,
It is only expressed in the female womb
But TFF3 is crucial for a successful pregnancy.
I love my field of study very much
And I respect my major guide,
Dr Ashok Kumar Mohanty, he is so wise.
Jan 19, 2017
Jan 19, 2017 at 8:17 PM UTC
**** you and your little intelligentsia
group therapy sessions
basing its roots in caveman cartesian
theoretic - i know you know that
the blank canvas are the ********
and that artists work on that -
because normally grey citizens are no
blank canvas but a subordination -
but still, **** you, why not concentrate
on the blank economics of a beggar
to exercise your little intelligentsia
get-together sessions?
there are less social securities in that
department of inquiry -
mental health and art... what's that?
you jealous of the caverns of the mind
crafting an escape pod to your
****** exercise of mechanisation -
**** on me, crosswords! su doku!
all matters of encryption!
endear your lack of creativity with
the synonymousness act of creativity
decoding encryption,
because you obviously can't encrypt
on a complete lack of encoding parameters (blanks).
you can't encrypt originality unless
you start with encrypting nothingness
with stars... and how often does that happen?
perhaps once... i care to make you
feel something akin to bombastic,
a football stadium size of appreciation lost -
skull kickabout with commentary:
to create the post-relativity warp
of quantity-quality, akin to space-time,
for indeed the answer to science's
space-time hyphenated couplet
is quantity-quality - and that's hardly a measurable
consideration, since there are too many particulars
involved, i.e. too many individuals, choices
and disparaging wills - too many particulars
in the hyphenated couplet quantity-quality,
since science is offering universal breadcrumbs
with its space-time rationalisation
for each and every for a share in populating
an insignificance, whether on a personal
scale or an impersonal / collective scale -
and both are indeed expressed,
the famous parasitical comparison found
in too many numbered essays by individuals -
but still humanism has a quantity-quality parabola,
while science has its space-time parabola,
and indeed both in dip, provide waves,
for example the former with Plato and Neoplatonism,
and for example the latter with
the revisionists of Einstein - the revisionist excavators
arguing precision to 100% proof of measurement
in exponential scaling of the mind theorising
a bus trip to Saturn like a bus-trip parallel-akin
to a 1 mile trip on the same vehicle in the earthly atmosphere.
Apr 14, 2016
Apr 14, 2016 at 8:40 PM UTC
saying **** off* seems so much more
easier when you're petting cats....
they just say it for you...
there he is, Quarus,
the operatic singer nearing sunset,
200 variations of a mulling of meow,
i end up calling him Orbison Rufus,
the ginger Roy of Peckham -
he basically meows lazily like Roy
singing... as said / i.d. (id est): the umbras
or umbrellas - counting the shadows'
version of Apache's yawn: ah-woo ah-woo
ah-woo nagging the reflex...
gave them the yawn and gave them 1950s
America... Billy the Kid talking to the king of
Specs... hank marvin.... cheese grater
with those teeth... dozen cows buckling with
the herding in while the dog carved a feel
for religion in the translation of the Vatican
from coliseum into football requirements...
the movies were great in the 1950s, just after
the technicolour... petting cats was never such a thrill...
the operatic meow, onomatopoeia from echo
in a cave to knock-on-wood...
200 variations of the knock
and 12 whiskey shots downed
while playing poker... 12 cowboys
1 Milwaukee and 30 Turks... classic Tarantino...
i said the Apache yawn... i never said giving
out smoke signals...
Quarus my ginger is demanded as having laughed...
he's Roy Orbison with the meow,
pretty much lazy...
looks like a murmur when he tries singing,
pretty woman, trolling down the street,
Gucci, Chanel, and everything in the scrapheap of lobotomy,
as is Paris necessarily mentioned: chiselled
white collars... Roy knew before Elvis...
the trick came with sunglasses,
and the gluttonous slur of the half-opened mouthing
for subsequent mouthing it off...
no amount of cheese in French could ever
charter the success of the cheeses added to cheeseburgers
with the milkshakes, which were plainly Dutch
laughing cows named Novices....
quick-melts and some said:
dreadlocks of string-yellow Gouda pulled
for a hippies' worth of Chinese chugging down
a pint or two, for worth of gag and the slim mascot;
the Chinese never taught Cannes arithmetic
of the thumb through to pinky...
i don't know how they taught counting
with their complex ideograms, they never taught
arithmetic give their encoding...
they taught pure math.. they never taught the simplest
of assurances... meaning so few of them became bankers.
Aug 15, 2016
Aug 15, 2016 at 11:21 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
alt. i.e.:
never give a monotheism to
the egyptians -
those ******* pseudo Nubian
camel herders know
jack-shit about
the value of encoding
sounds (can't match the mandarin,
their pictographic
became extinct like
the neanderthals) - or to put it
for a milder palette: here's
Ra's rhubarb... and here's
Gengen-Wer... now
match-up the rhino horn
to the donkey's tail
and the elephants trunk
with five blindfolded men...
they should be happy to have
a logic named after them,
happily dancing into Egyptology...
you get the picture,
i know the Mamluks defeated
the stinking horde of Genghis...
but i'd hardly think it necessary
to export Islam into africa to
get some sense on the matter -
look what happened when
christianity was exported from
egypt (the nag hammadi library
found by a shepherd in Osama's caves);
exporting Islam into north Africa
and hence further west
created the Shiah schism where
Islam belonged (in the east);
beware the setting sun;
believe me, it's personal, i'm not
******* on or burning flags
for the Cairo taxi driver to mind...
this is bedroom secrets' anathema.
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 8:18 PM UTC
it's not a memorisable lullaby, i don't want to write poetry that requires memorisation by school children; perhaps a riddle, perhaps a jigsaw, perhaps an awakening after the words dig in from their arrangement into your own usage, distinguished.
these days, someone on a social
strata of being absolved
might require a concerned dis-involvement
from nouns, and thus juggle
the pronouns, over-use pronouns
to remain politically accurate and sound,
for to replace nouns with pronouns
would bleach people, entrapped
in the constant affirmative of something
they once owned but were dispossessed of,
they do that, they stress the usage of pronouns
by a relief a diet of noun usage,
so that a Pakistani dare not use
the associations of the noun that might
decipher his skin as cinnamon in writing,
unless it be pronoun inclusive and noun exclusive,
so as modern society teaches:
become pronoun users with a few distinguishing
nouns congregating, don't learn carboxylic,
don't learn onomatopoeia... keep up with
the bleak egoism that states: not so much self-interest,
but over-pronoun-use and a lack of nouns,
or if used, reduced to quizzes of crosswords
with antonyms and synonyms pronounced;
he who confesses to censoring noun usage
will control the pronoun category
by usurping noun usage freely with a censored usage
that will only provoke counter-nouns / slang /
encoding / the need for surveillance.
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 1:02 PM UTC
messing with perfection,
you critique yourself,
why do it yet again,
a single choice, *******
yet every time them words,
penetrate, they instigate,
and you want to let~vent,
burst busting out in glory
bible student, we both. so
understand that titled reference
instantly, the secondary hid, secreted
a hurting with hallelujah familiarity
I weep. missing the singer,
his poetry delights, paralyzes with
a *********** indescribable, ecstaticly
indebted to him, his chosen words
he chose, I chose,
this decision to accept,
the need to expiate, explain, to better
understand our whys,
therby grasp our wherefores,
to give ourselves up entire,
thereby making, giving and even
t a k i n g,
the very chore so human to accept,
that surrendering,
f o r g i v i n g, one
accomplishes a chance to uncover the godliness within
that sparks
our frail humanity
to blossom to fruition, that our
fragility is the thinnest tissue of
diamond iron strength
encasing and encoding us unique
but yet united by
a single commonality,
that we are holy,
born to be
to be celebrated
and to share our voices
so differing
in an
unceasing
harmony
Sep 16, 2024
Sep 16, 2024 at 9:11 AM UTC
just today, i was walking past a house, where someone was
trying to "encourage" an "alcatraz" escapee
back into the home & abode...
but as i walked past, and turned around...
its pupils were glaring back at me... yellow...
seeing without a camera lens.
anyway, i remember times, maybe before the digital
way of encoding photographs,
that on a rare occasion, in a photograph,
your pupils would turn red...
perhaps due to dilation, and the idea
of the dark room being morbid omni-red...
you can't encourage cats to do what
you want them to do... you might put a collar on a cat,
but you can't exactly attach a leash to that collar...
it would be like telling a gorilla:
grow some testicles on your head!
but yeah... yellow pupils of a cat without
taking a photograph, and the once upon a time
red pupils of peoples' eyes in photographs...
cat's yellow pupils in the night.
right now? this is a digression by the way...
i'm thinking of innovating egg-fried rice...
cook the rice... fry an egg... jumble the two together,
and add some bits & bobs to the mixture...
soya sauce.... and sweet chili sauce...
i'm scheming up a recipe for a mongol...
i'd love to see a cat with an american spy in
a soviet museum... sleep deprived...
just a "thought" experiment...
it would probably equate to seeing idiotic
people making cats ingest l.s.d. tabs in america
that were once available online...
ubran myths these days, i'm afraid...
well, you know... people have their kicks
and pleasures...
the only people i have respect for
are the people i'd sit down and eat some food with.
respect and people i'd drink with?
i'm a lone wolf in that respect...
i prefer my own company when drinking
a liter of *** and trying to think up some bonkers recipe on the sly.
oh... the wolfish hunger recipe?
add 3 pieces of rye bread with some butter, just before falling asleep...
next day?
a **** that comes out of your ***
like a knife cutting through butter.
May 12, 2017
May 12, 2017 at 5:46 PM UTC
encoding in my genes,
whispers in D.N.A strands,
my ancestors of millions of years,
whose avatar am i, wonder!
Jan 3, 2012
Jan 3, 2012 at 9:01 PM UTC
photo-sensitivity of touch devices
(notably a samsung tablet)
translated via a differential
content encoding...
i.e. expose a touch-screen to
excessive heat,
via, such as this godforsaken
intake of sunlight in
england...
and all the verbal / commentary
videos?
start jittering,
breaking-up...
not exactly punk:
as in - scratched transmission,
but cyber- "funk"...
music videos?
clear transmission,
no "vinyl scratching" interludes,
no instance of a rough
coughing edit...
mind you...
did you know that if you encode
a scratched CD into mp4 format,
and load it into an iPod
the iPod translates a hardware
fault?
yeah... the ****** thing
breaks down!
starts getting the "jitters"...
as if an auto-censor stuttering...
do the same with an mp3 device...
no problem...
it's that sort of observation akin
to playing the Sims,
and using the VR puppet to
play the computer...
while you're playing the computer:
that's how i got out of the game...
wormhole weirdness...
but a scratched CD translated into
a mp4 device will break -
mind-boggling!
just like apple computers are
immune to trojan viruses (etc.) -
iPods didn't seem to have the same
immunity when you followed protocol
of copyright,
i.e. buy a CD, and translating it into
the mp4 format...
reiteration:
a scratched CD encoded into mp4
will break the device...
in mp3 you can actually hear
the scratch-jump across a music track...
but the device continues
to function...
same with touch-sensitive devices...
expose it to too much sunlight
and all pure-verbum (talking)
videos begin to unfold
as is DJ sensitive -
scratched, jittering...
but a music video?
plays out without a single "paradoxical"
indentation.
oh hell, apple ios great...
but no one really gave an example how
faulty hardware (scratched CD) translates
into a faulty device (a "stuttering" iPod)...
which is basically a generic
standard computer virus -
default software a priori:
an "original sin":
the "no man's land" of thesis and
antithesis -
the parenthesis -
perhaps even the supreme (sic) example...
but it's "out there": this mp4 format
of translating hardware...
the software inherently
copies one fault (scratched CD)
into another ****** up iPod).
to be honest, i was only going to write
the following, entitled (ode to my ex):
every **********
i've ever met
was 100 times
more responsible
about
getting pregnant;
i've imagined
prisons with less
shackles
and far better
excuses
to: "settle down" with a man;
i'm no more a monkey
than she is a mantis.
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 7:03 AM UTC
.i said what? all i heard was the sound of a keyboard clicking: click click click... the breaking of bones in the fingers... the wind brushing the craniums of trees... a siren... a bottle being opened... a blank page being filled (a variant of a one man squash match being played out)... and... you're free to peer on this, but this is not speech... well... either your tongue or your eyes; since technically you didn't hear this, you saw it... so what? i don't care for the freedom to speak, but i am all for the freedom to think; and unless you're strapped to a chair, about to be tortured, and the torturer says: blink once for YES and twice for NO... well?
like Kierkegaard said:
people busy-body themselves
defending their "freedom" of speech,
and take little concerning
for the freedom to think,
-of speech
-to think...
it's like that grammar game:
to think is to do, something,
a freedom of?
doesn't tell me much...
that apple vendor at Romford market
is talking... let's listen...
two for one love!
quid a half kilo bag!
talking...
i much prefer giving
my hands to the devil,
than my tongue to god...
honest sailor, prior to a boy scout,
and his virginity, and honor...
it's so... invasive...
talk...
writing? that's not talking,
not unless...
'and i said this', see? quotation marks...
i really did say that out-loud simultaneously
within the confines of writing this...
and there's no "ambiguity" to go with it...
comments section: technically talking...
throwing words onto a blank piece of
paper, while having a stitched-up mouth?
well...
i guess what i am doing is
showing you my thought...
this... this is after all the P.E.A. meeting?
the phonetic-encoding "anonymous"?
yeah? great!
good thing i brought a bottle of
whiskey with me, to pass the time.
Nov 4, 2018
Nov 4, 2018 at 9:07 PM UTC
i'm dead serious about conceptualising a su doku...
i'm on the basis of fractions...
praxis 9
/ 4
optical coordination of stressors of furthered insertion
for some reason i cited:
9 x 6 = 51
and then 9 x 9 = 81...
**** 1 is such a difficult number to muster /
master in a goemetric class...
1 isn't exactly geometrically "sound" -
hello φoνoς -
alternatively, when you're doing a really hard su doku,
quote this quasi-copernican interpretation,
i.e. doing the puzzle "lying down"...
i dunno(h)... when complexity arises
numbers "lying down" makes perfect sense...
su doku?
it's like onomatopoeia in terms of arrangement...
81? and it's still a perfect square?!
o.k. o.k. (leo getz style),
ω
3 ß
m
what the **** was alternative to the said?
u p
d
o
w
n p
u
d o w n
by now you're ****** kidding...
M
3 Σ
W my name's matthew,
so you can imagine why i get all hot and bothered
about this variation.
now for some dead etymology (i,e,
i don't give a **** where the words came from,
i just like the way they sound) -
poligon,
okop.
all, if any, emotional intelligence equates
itself toward an intensity status...
i.e. the more you feel, the more
your emotional competence...
for sure... apathy is the "placebo" guarantee
cure for any type of pathos -
or the λoγoς of guaranteed explanations.
to be honest?
λoγoς has been reduced to a suffix status
with that basic "accomplishment" of -ology.
another "funny" word... by was of saying:
it's actually a city...
Płock -
Łódz*,
alternatively? let's juggle
ò (grave) & ó (acute)....
now i see the funny side of the tetragrammaton
concept... it really is omnipresent...
between ò & ó
you want the sort of incisor that's basically |
straight...
something that really might **** off god
once and for all...
with nietzsche it didn't really happen...
i mean an |
o
that would get rid of god in
the classical roman sense of: oh...
and return to the omicron basis
for having revealed a phonetic encoding
that's simply O... and that means doing away with
the god's portion of a hammer (H) -
or the second syllable of the name:
η - weh...
eta weh...
i'd start translation phonetic encoding if i were you...
that variant stated? eta?
it's also called: a short e....
the opposite like loki to thor?
epsilon... and it's called the long e...
in greek it's ε, in latin it's the basis for avoiding
diacritical confrontation / application...
i.e. ee in the word keep, e.g.
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 1:35 PM UTC
Loads of bubble wrap piled behind
and it crackles like how a stomach
gets twisted on itself after
eons of sleep
decoding it's diaphragm to follow
the blips and beeps and bleeps
encrusted on trusting
a tight gut reaction to
wanting to touch
you.
But waiting is so difficult.
Loads of suds creep up
forming in cysts or scabs
upon stomach encasings
all slimy and orange inside
with a stretchy cover all
deep royal purple with
dark pink veins coursing
through it encoding the
rapture of film recording while
the lining inside gets all clammy
with arousal secretly clenching
this yearning and aching just
wanting to touch
you.
But waiting is so difficult.
It's a difficult, messy procedure that leaves the body exposed if it comes in contact to actual skin and flush and heat and mucus but
it is a necessary step to
colloquial banter within
the clustering of organs all
internally arguing while the
overwhelmed brain tries to keep order and the genitalia hums
all quiet in the corner
because she knows she runs
the show.
And it's funny because the brain knows he'll have to give in to
the actual world of living folks
and climb out of his bundled
fabulous fantasies in order to
make reality plausible.
And in wanting you
and in waiting
I've found myself in visceral shock
to the point where I panic and
all that's jumbled up and bound inside me seems to clench tighter.
And I fear that in waiting for your mutual touch
and I fear that in wanting to be with you so much
I'll collapse under the weight
and never get up.
Loads of words hide beneath me
resting in tubes that resemble
the small intestines in looping
nests of unbridled questions.
Will it be enough to see you
and not touch you?
Will it be enough to talk
with you and not kiss you?
Will it be enough to be chaste
and respectful when all my brain needs to do is test you?
When all my brain wants to do
is clobber you whole, chew, then swallow, spitting out bones?
Jan 20, 2017
Jan 20, 2017 at 2:19 PM UTC
what, merchant of Mecca
and the bride of Dubai?
how's that going to work
with ibn Saud?
oh right... sting's desert rose single
will claim the camels were
all sing-along singing with excess
phlegm cursing god for the sandstorm
which man defined to exist glorifying
the variations of the communicative
spirit... make democracy by creating
symbols to silence the numbers by creating
phonetic encoding...
so that muscles turn to fat.
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 9:55 PM UTC
There is a part of me that knows you'll always be my favorite song,
But there's a part of me that knows that I'll always remain a record player
While you transform and reform and expand and compress
And now you've become a ****** mp3.
While music is a universal language, our mediums have changed.
So my old fashioned needle and your new fangled encoding do not coincide.
But you know what, you know something? That's fine.
Nov 16, 2011
Nov 16, 2011 at 1:43 PM UTC
¤^¤^¤^¤^¤^¤
every word is brought to life
through cycles engorged
with angels and demons
lifes meaning lost
within our
"reason"
rectangles upon squares
rounded loops
>>>>squashed <<<<
within triangles
until rings of
HANDS
encircle
and
mend
~~~ words ~~~
significance
obscure
mixed up with
the urban jungle
encryption
of layers
encoding of input
output outsourcing
outside resourcing
informational
infrastructure
concrete conundrums
where is the
DIVINE
-?-
or even the
human
in
mind
touch
~~~ HEART ~~~
-?-
the divine
-?-
blessed the soul
that remembers
we are all
WHOLE
connected and
entwined to the bone
and who knows
where we'll be
without understanding
of the
WORDS
the
CONCEPTS
without these precious
~~~ souls ~~~
hearts
BOLD
you
him
her
as i am
♡ ALIVE ♡
(C) Worldeater
(C) SoulSurvivor
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 3:36 PM UTC
*when i was in St. Petersburg i must have picked up a Rasputin virus, a Siberian gnat bite... **** you not; the only misery i have is that my counterfeiting assailants were, at best, middle class, and not aristocratic.*
no, honestly, after reading the style magazine
with all its smooch bravado of resentment and care...
i hash-tagged myself: yep it's trending...
i've just about finished a 70cl bottle of whiskey *******
around with Dylan Thomas and St. George... draco ex cymru.
but still it hits me, encoding sounds was never so hard...
those clouds of sunset look so much better
and multi-coloured when they do with sunglasses... i don't
know what's in these sunglasses but i'm picking out pinks
and purples... which i can't make out without
the sunglasses... an L.S.D. trip or what?
i wrote this faster than you'll read it, given the skim- aspect
of literature, immediate journalistic recycling...
they still love Shakespeare, don't know why,
don't ask me why, it's an affair of the english
education system... well... ploy...
conspiracies are welcome posthumously
and adequate intellectual material....
was it Marlowe or John Dee the Elizabethan era
double O 7 alchemist to blame? never seen oxygen
paired up like that! must be a crucifix miracle!
desecrate christ subsequently desecrate all
remnants of royal authority, **** into the crown
of the governor of Liechtenstein: what?
i need the loo! the idea of you teaching me manners
is like you teaching me Hadrian's is synonymous
with qin shi Huang's rattle; rattle meaning
the broken spines of the bricklayers who levelled
the ground around them with cement...
and still the Mongol horde came!
Scots looked at Hadrian's accomplishment and laughed
drunk with a lullaby. the Mongols stretched their
tongues saying: if Europe and Iraq to be ours,
we have to climb that, no arrow will crumble it
even if shot at the cracks! i love walls, esp. if they're
like Malbork castle of red brick... once owned by
Teutonic knights... i end up playing abstract chess with
their brickwork, a strange arithmetic...
girlfriend? what for? have you heard of the aces movement?
May 15, 2016
May 15, 2016 at 3:41 PM UTC
for them to write a haiku,
for us is to write A, or B, or C -
if our form of encoding
sound wasn't as it already is:
we wouldn't have chemistry -
say Na and sodium,
Rd and radon;
they write haiku like
we write A B or C, to them haiku is
our version of the alphabet,
the succinct -
hard to orientate
units of encoding
as complete meaning /
majestic -
we just find
it hard to spell /
put the puzzle back together,
the puzzle is still
a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p
q r s t u v w (x y z)
v.i.p reservation
for mathematics (in brackets):
now... the mystery of life,
primarily? put that puzzle back
together. is it a puzzle in
the first place? how should i know?!
it's all fair game:
they write a haiku we write an A,
they write another haiku,
we write a B, the ****** puzzle
is there for the taking:
all you have to do is take some
play-dough on your little camping
adventure and come back with something
remotely needing boxes and shelves
and libraries, and university lecturers;
perhaps a few cannibals to boot too.
Oct 29, 2016
Oct 29, 2016 at 9:59 PM UTC
I'm too juiced for this **** this
can't look out the
windshield **** this is
the type of **** I usually avoid
'cause I can never wrap my brain
'round tight enough to think past
stimulation
LIGHT LIGHT LIGHT
acoustic encoding all ****** & raucous
retinas not working
corneas not working
pupil sized up like puberty
and I say
*let her spin ************
Because I've never sensed like this
it's something new &
something old but I'm here for the first
and I would love to leave soon
but just let me hang on
for a second longer
'till my brain shuts the **** up.
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 11:24 AM UTC
Absence has seven letters
As does your name
I should have seen the glaring neon warning in this
But I was too busy counting the seven scars that you claimed defined you
Giving a heroic story to each
Slowly encoding your biography into my blood
I met you on the seventh of July
A glowering shadow across the bonfire
A smile filled with seven fake teeth
Hands that would become all too familiar in the months preceding
It took me seven days to memorize the seven numbers connecting you to me
One number a day for a whole week
Seven numbers that I cannot will myself to forget
I find my fingers attracted to each in succession
Only to hang up when I hear your raspy hello in the early hours of the morning
There are seven wonders of the world
I claim to have seen each
As I scour over your body
Finding the Taj Mahal carefully constructed of your hip bones
Balancing on the Great Wall of your fifth rib
Touring the marbled landscape of the Coliseum between your shoulder blades
Your smile
Hands
Nose
Voice
But there are also seven deadly sins
Lying tongues and tears shed
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 11:47 PM UTC
*-----------------------------------------------------
Lazarus looked up from his tea with a look of surprise.
At first, I was anxious and a bit fearful,
but his words quickly lifted my doubts:
"Ah-ha!
That scoundrel convinced me
it would take longer to get here!
I suppose that's a decent use of trickery..
at least I'm pleasantly surprised and not dead, or worse: disappointed!"
He looked at me and nodded knowingly.
"Scoundrel! I almost thought it would arrive too late!
See, I spoke to a friend on the desert coast-
well, he's a bit more of a jester I once tried to banish, really, but a friend, nevertheless!-
about some possible leads for finding this child.
He agreed to draw me a map based on his research.
However, the only thing is that this map
is shrewdly coded.
You see,
though I may be more frail now than in my youth,
I've certainly learned a thing or two
and I'm afraid I must accompany you,
for what do you make of this map?"
He showed me the scroll
and it seemed to be a sketch of the Kingdom with symbols for places and landmarks. Some parts were even upside down and there were several burn marks where the Volcano is. In the corner was an ink flurry I could only imagine to be the signature of the artist.. it seemed to read.. 'Scoundrel.'
Was 'Scoundrel' his name, or a title? A joke?
Certainly seemed to be fitting, regardless.
Clever little ****** I figured this trickster fella to be.
Seven locations were encircled in deep red,
but only three had an icon of the sun stamped with a golden ink.
"Seems like a treasure map."
"Of sorts..
a mad map drawn by a mad man for a mad quest.
Quite apropos, indeed.
The encoding would prevent those of impure mind from finding the child, should the worst happen to the bearer of this map. Leave it to a scoundrel to think to safeguard a map to the Chosen One against foul play. Wisdom can be found in such impishness as his, so long as the darkness doesn't break you. It takes one to know one, I suppose. Hah."
Lazarus turned to me and sat up straight, clearing his throat.
"Now, should you allow me to come with you,
I can decode it based on the clues we come across,
that is, unless you wish to make it on your own."
His expression was stern, yet infused with wonder and anticipation.
"The choice, my dear Dhorna, is yours."*
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 6:05 AM UTC
I feel a familiar wave
Of apathy
Washing, creeping, aching
over me
That self propelled
Ignorant kind of numb admission
That reaches into the bleeding
redness
Of your heart
And wraps black
Stained greyscale
Morbid pale
fingers around the
Aorta
Choking
Silencing
Encoding
A defence
Repeated
Completed time and again
Pre worn
And cut up
And burnt
like a leather
Shield, a muddied bloodied field
War ready
This is a Mexican stand off
Where the pistols
Pull their own pins
This is a temple
Unforgiving of sins.
I can hear a call
For help echoing
Through the death grip
Of regularity
But the voice is familiar
And if I remember correctly
It fades after time.
The voice is mine
one of many
The cry is loud
But habits old are hard to break
And, after all, a rolling stone
Will gather no moss
moss ,enough I have already.
And with the ignorance comes
A steady.
And with the steady
There comes a surface calm.
And with that calm I can sit
At one in a room with myself
And not find cause to cry.
(despite the never ending, it will always be ok)
Feb 9, 2010
Feb 9, 2010 at 2:22 AM UTC
Bored bored bored bored bored.
Here I am again. Same seat, same computer, same segregation from the rest of my working world. My face is open with a desire to help. The expression is real - I do want to help - any interaction is welcome. But as time ticks by the smile grows vacant, eventually freezing to a rictus.
People pass me, unaware.
Hundreds - well over a thousand.
The odd nod of acknowledgement and a few genuine requests for help keep the monotony at bay. But the steady stream slows to a trickle, and my smile dies with it.
Everybody is different. From the moment of conception to the dying breath - no two lives are alike.
But in crowds individuality takes a knock. Some are lovely, some are friendly, some are ***** Most are oblivious, blinkered into their own world or lost in the collective one - made nervous by the proximity to so many others.
Like sheep.
The worst they can really do is ignore me - at least the odd rude one is entertaining. Nine times out of ten I'm surplus to requirements, but I thank my lucky stars I'm not dealing with their empty bellies. There's something about buying food that brings out the very worst in people.
For me though, it's not the people. People are just people - the world over. It's the monotony that sinks my spirits and sabotages my smile.
But all is not doom and gloom.
Sadly it's not my colleagues that lift my spirits on these long lonely nights - I barely see anyone. It's not even the computer that sits in front of me - with its world wide web of ones and zeroes encoding the entirety of human knowledge - it only really serves to change the boredom from upper case to lower.
What lifts my spirits is the view. The arc'd metal icons that span the silvery snake of the river from bank to bank. The fiery sunset echoing the shape of the bridges, it's light catching the shimmering water and exploding in every shade, glittering from red to gold.
Some things never grow old.
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 2:45 PM UTC