"encryption" poems
I can't compute and become mute
When you walk by
My circuitry is fried
Because your program is an encryption
And your pulse is electromagnetic
My car dies, so does my phone, so does my home
I'm immobilized
And demoralized
By immoral ties
To temporary generators
They're validating veneraters
Ultimately unsatisfying
When you're still not buying
I'm attracted to your charge
Until there's a battery
Yet you're the cure to your lure
The EMT for your EMP
Your negative charge casts a cloud around my nucleus
But if you could be positive for a change
We could meet in the middle
And feel energy in our synergy
But as soon as I feel electricity between us
You shut me down
With your EMP
I can't get free
Oct 7, 2017
Oct 7, 2017 at 6:14 AM UTC
Lying beneath trees in the heat of the day cannot possibly be compared to any other pastime: to watch the light toy with the leaves, shining bright and brighter in the ever-changing gaps in the leaves turned dark by the shadow. The interplay between the light and the leaves in ever-ongoing banter and they hate to quit their game when the sun moves too far beneath the horizon for the light to reach above the boughs and must return to its source. The wind plays a part in the sport as well, when it rustles the leaves and causes a sparkle in the variance of illumination. Tortoiseshell patterns scatter along your limbs and features and tumble off the cliffs of your sides into the grass you recline on. The filter of light casts playful interlocking patterns of light and dark impossible to decode without the proper encryption, forever lasting while the world speeds past their lazy game.
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 11:39 PM UTC
We are each our own moon.
Charismatic souls reflecting sunlight,
As if to illuminate a room,
We glow against black, void; an endless night.
Like a caterpillar to a butterfly, emerging from a tight knit cocoon,
Spreading each wing, confidently slicing the evening air…taking flight.
Or even a flower freshly bloomed on a midsummer’s afternoon.
The moon: a flower, silently smiling despite the plight.
Aside from what each day shuffles in; each night simmers out
No matter how often we feel we have lost ourselves…
Or leave way to fill our heads with doubt.
With recurring assumptions of a worldwide redemption:omnipotent stealth.
Needn't some take longer than others to sprout?
Staring blankly into a mirror, or a moonless night sky: hungry for answers, yet facing an empty shelf.
However, that doesn't infer we embark on a divergent route.
Simply due to lack of clarity, lack of reasoning behind each card dealt.
With that in mind,
Just as the moon,true colors may dwindle…they may fade, yet in essence are always there.
Even on a cloudy day, or when the sunshine is at its peak…and just as well for the blind.
Full moon, half moon, new moon…waxing, waning: dynamic phases the night sky shares.
Moon phases;moody faces…natures way of emphasizing personality defined.
Notwithstanding the dark side, each moon may wear.
Like a guilty pleasure manifesting in a secret shrine,
We all suppress a certain side; to pompous to face reality genuinely bare.
Fragments of our faces may always be hidden,
But there’s one thing that will never absorb into the eclipse: emotion.
Some figure each phase, each wave of vibes … simply fate already written.
Devils advocate begs to differ… let your mind emit all distraction and harmonize with the ocean.
Effervescent rays,warm barrels in which emotions, old and new, have ridden.
Chaotically contradicting thoughts, pulling and pushing, creating the paradox of serene commotion.
A world of words from each moon face: a beautiful encryption.
We are each our own moon, written in the waves, compelled by life’s devotion.
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 1:13 AM UTC
Lungs burning with affliction, no prayer can help you realize that you are on fire.
Help me, open my ribcage and read the encryption that is my heart.
This is where my ideas form; this is where the magic happens.
This is where trees become homes when I turn to prose.
This is where love becomes tangible.
Take the helm from my chest cavity and steer me home.
Sew me back up and pretend you didn’t figure out how my mind works from studying my heartbeat.
You can keep my memories there, keep my stanzas there.
But you cannot lock up an idea.
Do you realize that every single time you open your mouth I’m wishing I could have a lobotomy?
I don’t want my brain to miss you when you leave.
I don’t want my heart to miss you when it realizes that it no longer beats in sync with yours.
You can take yourself away from me.
You can make me cry so the salt water stings my face like it’s a burning map.
You can take my poems from my veins and scatter them in the river.
But you cannot lock up an idea.
Oh Captain my captain, I think we are going down.
But everyone is just an arm’s length from drowning.
When life preservers are anchors and every single thing is whispering for you to sink.
The Bermuda triangle is just another place where sailors go to pray and what kind of god ***** you in and tests you with a tempest?
You and I are so much more than child’s play.
Tell me to stay.
Tell me my ideas do not belong on the ocean floor.
Because you cannot lock up an idea.
If the sun shines through your blinds, think of me.
Think of the morning.
But without all your leaving.
Don’t think of the bags packed, of the plane tickets bought.
Of the ferry setting off its horn for you in the middle of the night.
Think of the morning.
Without all your leaving.
With the coffee, with the metaphors that were leaking through the walls as you blinked.
You wanted to keep them for yourself, hold them hostage in your bones.
But you cannot lock up an idea.
So next time you think of leaving, think of taking the ferry across the ocean.
Next time you think of whispering my secrets into the waves that kiss the rocks like they are not hurting anyone, think of me first.
Without the poems.
Before I even started writing.
Remember how I chased butterflies and the sunset.
How I begged you to let me climb up on the roof to watch the sun rise again.
Remember that my ideas are my prayers to a god I have not yet found in the curve of your spine.
Remember that I want nothing more than to not have to miss you.
Remember that every time you dismiss my words, my art, my need to chase the sunset; you are diminishing my creativity.
Remember that you cannot lock up an idea.
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 10:18 AM UTC
I shed tears
You shed humanity
I dread and fear
Your unstable insanity
You loosen your compassion
Like it's your belt
For it's in your fashion
To inflict welts
On the ground I knelt
Doubled over in pain
From a punishing rain
My eyes welled up and my vision got blurry
I was unable to break your encryption of fury
My mind was in constant examination
Of your gift of violent contamination
Lines were crossed on my back
Living life on your torture rack
You become my God
You never spare the rod
My brother may be able
But I'm on *******
I turned the tables
By torching my brain
On the ****** train
I invented a game
Out of ruining your creation
My veins experienced deflation
Until I saw the error of my ways
Adopting your negative craze
You wanted me to get used to pain
But I'd rather get used to change
The effects of corporal punishment are felt
When society hits us with a conveyor belt
Convincing us if something worked it must continue to
Our childhood experience this is imprinted through
We figure our children must be belted
After our minds have been smelted
Forged in fire
Our hearts retired
As we grew colder
The beaten grew older
And reproduced
And re-introduced
A punishing perception of the world
They beat the clam that holds the pearl
Oct 2, 2017
Oct 2, 2017 at 6:06 AM UTC
Delight in these words,
As I enlighten your mind.
Twist and tie your tongue,
until you are twisty tied, its fun.
Your tongue, entangled with mine.
After just meeting for the first time,
in this precious moment; of a lifetime.
I cross the fine line, of your life line
until our lines are entwined.
Entangled encryption
the meaning defined.
Everything happened,
to cause this moment,
Our stars must of aligned,
now our minds intertwined.
Juices flowing ripper than wine.
this scripture use to glow, now it shines.
your literal needs, encompassing mine.
The thoughts alone; truly divine.
These words, sinking into your unruly mind.
Our lips synchronized,
with the sinister hands of time.
The moment everlasting, in our minds,
even after -- the second time.
Dec 28, 2016
Dec 28, 2016 at 4:23 PM UTC
3D Printing
Proud owners of 3D Printers !
Makers of 3D Printers !
Designers of 3D Printers !
What you are creating
Does't hold a candle
To Designer-maker-owner
All-in-one models
Created eons ago !!
It is the female of
Every species of mammals !
Bones, flesh, blood
Nerves, memory cells
Power plants to convert
Food to energy !
Control systems to regulate
Regeneration of fresh cells
Filter system to provide
Clean oxygen to
Fuel the Power Plants
With Powerful binoculars
Audio production mechanics
Audio receptors to pass on
Grey cells enclosed in
Secure and hard shell
Strands of fine hairs
To cushion impact and
As thermal insulation
Protection shields for
All sensory units
Efficient drainage system
Propulsion facilities
Guidance and command
Center for all activities!!
Processors working 24/7
Processing gene information
Tweaking and fine tuning
Some info and trashing a few
Data storage many TB more
Than many data centers could
Offer with minimum
Upkeep and maintenance
Self-Encryption capabilities
And above all the ability
To produce both male and
Female of their species
All from getting just
One ***** and
ultimately infusion
of LIFE
Into the product as casual
As our breathing.
Do we know the creator?
Different Religions have
Different Names for it
But all the same it is
THE ONLY ONE
That counts :-)
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 12:18 PM UTC
Yes I saw the truth in the hillside freeway
In the grilled cheese sandwich
for sale on Ebay
With tortillas and butter they called me a ******
Because I saw the truth in the eyes of another
Who decided to feed me a line of such rapture
That captured my stature of pragmatic backed banter
Gathered the trappings disbanded, I could map out the standard
Wanting the pattern, the vibrancy frequented
Masking the latency, the reader obsequious
Addressing the nuance, ignoring complacency
Significance amplified, convinced of this elevated
Power to axiom, entropy celebrated
Wax to a fault with a message converted
While the layers of encryption serve to hold this position
A raw disposition, hoping to see beyond this decision
I can't see beyond the scope of the eye with conviction.
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 5:35 AM UTC
#ክብረ ነገሥት
*Oh Sovereign of wisdom Solomonic,
forgive us. The wicked wax demonic.
Golden vessels fill with foulness
man is bankrupt, sold and soulless
Unsettling harbingers loom dystopian.
Sheba rises in dreams Ethiopian.*
Tested with questions, her spirit once gone,
occultic suggestions postponed her dawn.
(Six-hundred and sixty-six talents of gold
paid Nineveh’s rise as Messiah foretold.
Go read it in Matthew, obstinate sinner
You think He intends to have Satan the winner?)
Her ruins now surveyed by satellite
beheld on the screens of the Canaanite:
canals to expose, southern deserts to cross,
Eritrean legends of Prophet (and loss),
the Ark of King Menelik—Kebra Negast,
treasures of darkness presented, now past
have us checking those texts that worldlings despise
as we wait under dread Luciferian skies.
Break the sixth seal of the seventh scroll;
let the thirteenth angel spill the bowl !
(or smoke it up in the courts of Heaven
till ganja’s infinitude totals seven…)
Exhume Axum with the ****** of Marib.
decode the encryption on Adam’s rib
unearthed from some Antediluvian ravine—
Blast from the past: she explodes on our scene!
Seven oaths shall be sworn on her spectral beauty
(our Biblical transcendental duty).
The libation is mixed. Are we ready to swill it?
Beersheba? She brew ! Let us rise to fulfill it.
from sita to Saba fifth columns are ready:
Oh Sovereign — render their pillars unsteady.
For after explosions there’s mess to clean up,
and it’s worse than the horrors inside of her cup.
Apr 27, 2016
Apr 27, 2016 at 9:47 AM 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
"They say I shouldn't use my phone
Because it's unsecure.
Anyone who tells me that
Is full of cow manure.
This talk about encryption--
That's a lot of bunk.
The thought of them taking my phone
Puts me in a funk.
"Some in my administration
Say that they foresee
Trouble if foreign spies are really
Listening to me.
Advisers fear that I might share
Secrets, but I say,
That's not easy 'cause I don't under-
Stand them anyway.
"How I love my cell phone
Because I love to tweet!
If they confiscated my phone,
I'd feel incomplete.
Having all my contacts in my
Cell phone really rocks.
I can get advice from all my
People down at Fox.
"I don't want my calls logged.
It really takes some *****
For my Chief of Staff to want to
Monitor my calls.
That's why I prefer to use
My private phone instead.
Who would even want to try
To get inside my head?
"Oh, Hillary's private server?
That's a different story.
Everything she does is in
A different category.
From rules that govern others
I feel I'm exempt.
That has never made my fans
Regard me with contempt.
"So they can't take my iPhone.
That would not be nice.
They say, 'Donald, it's a perfect
Location tracking device.
Spies collect your data
And know each confidant.'
I say, I'm the president,
And I'll do what I want!"
-by Bob B (10-26-18)
Oct 26, 2018
Oct 26, 2018 at 10:00 AM UTC
~
*Maternal midnight
Metallic lakeside
Freon heart, fayence mind
Eyelids of iron ore
Influence feet into the water
Into an embargo bay
Clear and innocuous, innocuously blind
Hills like white elephants on a polar plateau
Mosquitos on her mouth
Drink the blood of encryption
Change the tone of her voice
They pass behind the blue vein
Become infinite particles of her*
~
Feb 20, 2025
Feb 20, 2025 at 9:53 AM UTC
The sun calms himself by setting,
As the sister arises.
Brightness slips away into the enigmatic encryption of the dark,
None can comprehend her beauty, her depth, her essence:
For she is the moon.
She rules by wishing, washing, the waves away.
Forever dancing, entranced by the allure of the luminous orb,
That pulls and tugs and holds tight as a comforting mother to us,
Her realm of encompassing shadow,
Oh sweet night, how we adore you.
Malevolent and menacing machinations of malcontent marauders.
And yet,
The sweetness of the lovers in bliss beneath you,
The palpable peace of the dreamers,
Forever balances with such sweet harmony.
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 9:03 PM UTC
Sensation
Devastation
My body burns
Like radiation
Inflation
Damnation
My soul is lost
In this conflagration
No patience
In my station
And what did you do
You roped me
And broke me
Smoked me
And rolled me
There's no sense
In my defense
What's new is more
But what's more is less
There's no innocence
Any more
It's stranger than fiction
In a dark encryption
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 1:55 AM UTC
Two hearts floating
Drifting through chill air
High and anxious
Love their only care
Sweet, innocent
Young and fresh
Hearts bursting
Genuine and nothing less
Euphoria rivers
Pulse through living veins
Soaring while defenseless
To Love's reins
Magic yet mortal
Designed for this feeling
Meant to be, supposed to be
I'm at Enchantment's feet, kneeling
Light and elite
No good description
For what can decipher
Love's great encryption?
Jun 26, 2011
Jun 26, 2011 at 11:48 AM UTC
I wish I could explain it
To the ppl that have never
Been restricted, or afflicted
By being addicted, but forever
I'm left alone, not seen as clever
And the only time I feel better
Depression seized and Anxiety free,
That plagues me, is whenever
I get high, and deny I'll ever
Be able to function or cope
With sobriety in society,
Cuz to numb pain, I need dope
Otherwise I only get false hope
Causing me only to relapse
If not, my nerves are shot,
But deep down I always ask
If I really want to be controlled
By a drug, and never heal
I wanna be happy without feeling
Like I need drugs to not feel
The pain stained on my brain
But I just can't take the stress
The drug sickness, mood swings
Withdrawals, with cold sweats
I don't wanna to be a slave but
I don't want to stop the only
Thing that gives me salvation
From feeling pain, or when lonely
And maybe the truth is,
Deep down, and hard to admit
.. But in all honesty, I say i want to
Stop, when truth is I won't quit
But lie to myself and say
Maybe one day, I will
I just hope that one day isn't the
Same day I am killed
Cuz maybe only death can stop
The addiction that I fight
If I really want to stop I would
Wouldn't i... Why can't I right
What seems to be wrong
Why can't I be strong
.. Maybe I've been the only thing
Stopping me from quitting all along
Aug 17, 2016
Aug 17, 2016 at 3:57 AM UTC
Telepathy తో తేలికపాటి signals పంపిస్తున్నానే
Love frequency తో mapping అయ్యేలా జాగ్రత్త పడతానే
మన Energy levels suit అయ్యేలా transducer పెడతానే
Distortion కలిగిందా carrier తోనే ముడిపెడతానే
Noise Effect తగ్గేలా Frequency Modulate చేస్తానే
Love signals అన్ని digitise చేసిపరేస్తానే
Encryption చేసి మన data నీ Secure mode లో పెడతానే
Decode చేసేలా Synchronising Bytes సృష్టిస్తానే
మంచిగా డేటా అందేలా High Speed Media నే create చేస్తానే
Buffer use చేస్తూ Data Miss అవ్వకుండా Memory లో బంధిస్తానే
Files text లతో Final Love Data నీకే అందిస్తానే
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 1:23 AM UTC
You planted all the vices in my psyche's synapses,
maybe it was a plan, maybe it just happened, perhaps?
Made a chart of mental topography, a psychotic map
to traverse my mind as it snaps like a thunderclap.
Is it just the world's irreconcilable consciousness of fate
the deciphered encryption of our collection of hate.
'Tis said for all good, and true for bad also, we must wait
for our time in eternity to step thru insanity's gate.
You planted all the vices in my psyche's synapses,
maybe it was a plan, maybe it just happened, perhaps?
Made a chart of mental topography, a psychotic map
to traverse my mind as it snaps like a thunderclap.
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 12:16 PM UTC
i meddled in egypt a third time,
and all i said was...
a. you ancestors will say the same thing
i said, but unlike me
your ancestors will say it unto you, directly;
b. never meddle in the affairs of female
genitalia of poetics of the burning bush / *****
c. you were given judaism, christianity,
islam... instead you settled for mongol;
d. begin to believe
that riyadh is further east than expected,
as is the warsaw pact closer to the west
than the right blink of the eye of john paul ii,
FOR, I, WOULD, REMAIN, ENTICED, BY, A,
HOMELAND, I, RATHER,
THAN, TAKE, OFFERS, OF, A, SAXON, TO, EMIGRATE,
I’D, DRENCH, MY, HOMELAND, IN, BLOODED, NILE,
TO, SEE, THE, WAKE, OF, MY, THOUGHT, ELSEWHERE,
OTHER, THAN, THERE... HAR COO! JANISSARY OF VIENNA,
signed the he of whom read the book above all other books,
who wrote against the book poetry,
who wept, who liberated the eye from the mind
and endeared it with a heart,
of the slave kept captive in solemnity
for the once thought of encryption of the eunuchs,
of those who read but dared not speak,
who thus was made the claimant of the title:
the bridge over the waters of Bosporus... that kindled
the turkmen with the ottoman and the mamluk sheiks.
indeed what pretty cauliflower for a daffodil in hymn...
but lessened beauty if one should come untamed and hooded
in footstep of being recognised -
then the merchant’s (muhammad’s) price would be less
than that of an antique dealer.
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 7:56 PM UTC
I have always been afraid to tell, to show, to feel and to express
I can only communicate through unspoken words, written calligraphy, and endless encryption that no one would ever understand
But I hope that one day,
SOMEONE...
would happen to notice the pain, hurt, suffering and torture that I've been keeping at bay....
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 12:13 PM UTC
It's good to see that the sun is still a friend.
Because the moon's two faced, going half and whole again.
But the weather's always changing and will continue until the end.
Because they circle round each other like a high school trend.
Time is of the essence when dealing with eviction.
This cold weather is sneaking through resulting in conniptions.
Between myself and i as I work on this conviction.
Only leaving behind traces of encryption.
A code that I've been trying to break before My crucifixion.
If any kids are reading I'm sorry for that depiction.
The roads are icing over as I pass around the curve.
Changing up my mood and calming down my verve.
Should i collide head on or allow myself to swerve.
Sending the tingles up My spine as the metal slams against my nerves.
The sun's running back and fourth around the earth.
Lighting up the sky all night for what It's worth.
The ozone's playing, changing around the game and.
As soon as it makes up is mind the kids can go outside again.
This pollution.
Is a solution.
To the inflation.
Of our population.
With all the time wasting.
Doing simple test tasting.
When we're past the deadline.
Now it's time to let it shine.
The moon may be a friend of yours but the suns a friend of mine.
Feb 15, 2013
Feb 15, 2013 at 12:42 PM UTC
I wasn't sure if I should ask
(when you tempted and taunted)
I wasn't sure if I should say
I wasn't sure
You alone hold keys and locks
and encryption codes
it's just you holding on so tight
little inverted pyramids in palms
and fronds in shadows on milky knees
It seems absent and unsure
who you might have been and when
and why you might have been there
it seems like errant leaves on the wind
late to pick up stepdaughters
with wild hurricane hairdos
or kneaded loaves of bread dough
braided, coarse, and bright
We're dancing on live electric
wire sparks shine in cold night
with high heels tapping on the porch
on eaves mosquitos hug the light
and here you're clapping to vibrato
vocal cords strained, you invite
a twirling dancer to your circle
with swirling, howling, coursing might.
With swirling, howling, coursing might.
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 1:10 AM UTC
I could write
encryption
& who would understand
such hidden meanings?
Those dead dragonflies
littering a bamboo mat
& violent cracks appearing
on dangling crystals.
What of those ravens
sitting on elastic wires
bending in the wind,
cawing the sins
of their fathers.
And those proud faces,
those red-haird harpies
injecting salt,
singing long
into the night,
ballads of the brokenhearted.
I would write
encryption,
and who could understand
such hidden meanings?
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 9:09 AM UTC
Before the wreck, dark purple circles under her eyes,
the hospital bed, recovery, the exile
we enjoyed ice cream on a cloudy day.
She said, before her jaw was smashed down her throat, the semi brake failure, her beloved camera in smithereens in the passenger seat,
“Let’s be happy.”
Carpet sand, it’s hard to dig a hole without a shovel,
seagulls land perfect, shell chips, skinny *****
I’ll sit on the shore not really knowing any more where the horizon is.
“If only you knew how beautiful you were.”
After the wreck I could not recognize my friend, bringer of Delhi morsels, blunts, the secret
charm bracelet dangles in front of my eyes not mine *** lines
a jade elephant
“I didn't want to break your heart.”
A secret division, how did I perceive the truth, was it The Truth, Who’s IT when everyone comes out of hiding?
"It looks like you've seen a ghost."
**** motives. Evidence. It's the 21st century, every person hides behind a digital encryption, if I wrote this story would any body listen. **** photographers. Poets. Models. Artists bleed.
Does he love you?
Does he love you?
Does he love you?
After the wreck, it was only you in the room. Food for thought but your stomach howled and your heart puked.
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 11:33 AM UTC
Does our family speak to us on cold winter's night?
Even if there's no creek to crackle,
no stiff spines, no furry trees,
nothing but a Van Gogh room
in Somerville
and digital clocks ticking.
Does our family still speak?
Chattering away,
Background processes,
Garbled noise, garbage without
wisdom because we've lost the sophistication
to crack ancient encryption.
We hear the history,
and mimic vocalization like a song bird,
dolphin or elephant
each with converging neural circuits.
Members living the same stream?
It's easier to hack the data line,
when we've trained on same sets:
a missing wife,
black and white photos,
and a grandfather clock.
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 10:53 AM UTC