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multi sumus May 19
within a constant entropic utopia defying the gravity of the situation acceleration to the masses excelling the ratio by amassing the syllabic atrocities with velocities which are increasing exponentially sequentially the apophenic algorithms expounding the rythmes consequentially and being that "the whole is greater than the sum of its (common denominative) parts" Helmholtz resonating delineating with some summoned acts of commutative parse with the Brocas area being responsible for the frequency of the respondence corresponding to the sulcus ascending left lateral/superior temporal quadrant and please pardon the expressive digression the impression thats actually trying to be rationalized while the polynomial quotients being invariably variable and often terribly irrational at times is the fact that in language the dot produces a finite definitive, coefficiently with mathematics (as a theorem) its the beginning of the infinitive
" " accredited to Aristotle (384–322 BC)

Hermann Ludwig Ferdinand von Helmholtz (August 31, 1821 – September 8, 1894)
False Poets Feb 2018
complexity bias

how you love to criticize my poems
as too long and overly complex

poor me, I’m no genius, don’t prosper by exploiting
unrecognized simplicities, rather deconstruct the
intricate complexities that I flatter myself are the me-sinews

Writing is a **** temptation -
we focus on the 10% that is complex and ignore the easy 90%

perhaps this once I will surrender my bare bones
put aside the rich, satisfying of cave diving, urban spelunking
word caressing tongue verbiage rich tapestry exploring -

give you the plane of plain where nestles my destiny: nesting near motionless where the couch is my kingdom and cold cereal is
easily digested and there are no consequences

I am a member of a discriminated-against minority
we have no charismatic leader, no marchers anywhere, and government programs say
hey you’re free white and twenty one plus, get the crap out of
our faces,  you useless piece of rhymes with **** and includes dirt, though I shower twice a day to keep myself occupied

25 years old, a high school dropout, of course I’m white,
my occupation is playing video games and making sure
my supply of opioids is adequate in these great United States
where I was born

there are fewer jobs than none that my application survives
a first glance discardation, and now my disability preempts
any demand to pretend there is gainful employment in store in
my future

this reductio ad absurdum is a technique to expose the fallacy,
ah what’s that you say no interest in hanging about,
on your way out, of course, of course,
we are the wrong flavor of downtrodden

my life is simple - simplistic in its a chaotic entropic way,
order slowly declines into disorder

my rituals are a fight against slip sliding down, falling off the
the Herzog continuums
and the poems are desperate hand holds to prevent my
going, gone under

so forgive me if I tax you without possessing not the
requisite taxing authority

you hone in on the obvious disparities and my contradictions

resenting my sending you this bill of extravagant length

compose with me and a mean will be located and to sleep I go,
perhaps to undress my dreams and explicate the wealthy multiples of complexity in the simplicity of a junkies life
you are the generative one
the seed of infinite aspiration
palaces are built in your honor
patterns of movement and measure
can never upstage your immobile empire
your nobility is inherited
its inherent in the smallest flower
its a form of dynamic retribution
for simply becoming conscious
is never really all that easy
so breathe and surround yourself
with memories of meteoric impermanance
the tragedy of seeking in your reflection
a relief from all this suffering
is symbiotically all-perceiving
that life is neither necrotic nor entropic
as every cell is erotically pulsing
and longing for its opposite
until it fully gives itself to love
Evan Stephens Nov 15
Flurries drop
into the river
just beyond
the Navy Yard.

The flakes divide
at first, but then
the air warms over
the dull marine chop

& they get thick
& woolly and just
stumble into gray

Snowfall only drops
for a night or two
& then it waits for
entropic days.
Devon Brock Nov 20
No longer the measure mechanic,
the setting lever and loosening coil.
The need for fingers, precise,
laying thin metals, tweezed gears
and spring engineered
in the knowledge of frictions, is gone
and towered hands are still.

What once was built entropic,
cuffed about the wrists of us,
this clutch wheel of grace and holding
ring, this yoke and winding stem -
mere baubles to the collector.

For now the hours are true decay,
half-lived and radiant,
taut with the drip of what is
and what must be known.
And that bent clockman,
hunched and relic,
stern in his craft, compelling
fashions jewelry for peddlers,
but not I.
Ariadne Oct 20
Life isn't fair, some may say
Sometimes it just gets in the way

Life is neither fun nor fathomable
When toleration has an end

Dark holes and blind corners
Ready to give you a black eye

Life is strange in a demented way
The occasional muse might say

To me it is experience
Experience of both light and dark

Joy and ecstasy one moment
Pain and suffering in contrast

Tragedy abounds, yet we persist
I am strong; we are strong

I hate this duality; this entropic loop
Like I'm always jumping through hoops

C'est la vie, some might say
In a most demented way

Sanity shredded until there is no more
I am a shell of what once was

Yet we persist; we are strong
I move on and I conquer

Darkness within; it defines me
Defined but not controlled

Loss fades, I know and say
To become happy; I'm on my way
Dans la douleur, dans la souffrance, dans la vie
Couldn't post for a while, and I was keeping a file with all the poems for inktober that I would post when I could, but my computer crashed and I lost them all. Then came the depression. Oh, the depression. It's been a really demotivating week. Now I have this, and y'all can have it too.
Bryce Jul 2018
I got an award
For being the stupidest young boy
With a wax soul
And impressionable.

I thought I'd find something
Nestled here amidst the trees
And I did,
But in no halls but the hall of god
Speaking to me
Dancing between the leaves
Singing with every whispered breeze
And yet when I stepped
Past the threshold and into the
"real world"
I was sold
A maniac of utter delinquency.

Everybody there
Waiting for their turn
Auditioning for the favor of hearts
They'll never win
Can't see
Laughing and wondering
Reading without comprehension
Sticking their *** in the face of the classics
Lap dogs licking the milk from
Professed *******
Thinking they'll be next

Its not resentment--
Is it fair to be bent
Towards dollars that've never been spent?

All those silly parks
Divided from the civilized lands
Frontiers of the past
Left to be little staging areas
For that invisible hand

Kids go on spring break
Take pictures between the towns
Maybe a stop along
On the way
To Vegas
Deep in the desert where it'd **** any other day

I cannot escape the unfathomable beauty of that place,
Living off the world in a way God said
To toil and love the pain
In a way nobody does

I am guilty of pride and
Stuffed like a pie full of anger
Cooking it into solid joy
And trying hard to scrape the cancerous crust away
All the dark sides we avoid

But screaming the heat away is good
Thermal induction is the name of the game
Entropic fizzlements like bubbles in the wind
Sublimating all that ever stood.

Yet soon enough I'll be born anew
And what I leave behind
Lifted up
Nautoloid shell
With a sparkling abalone interior
Someone will place on their shelf
And think,

"I wonder where that thing had been."
Rory Aug 2018
My body is a drop
of matter in the great cascade
A little pyre that burns atop
the soil in an entropic haze

These hands were granted me
without my warrant or entreating
but by its whims, necessity
sets all our hearts to beating

See that's the thing with entropy,
you cannot force it in reverse
make use of your short time to be
we burn like tinder to the hearse
the emptiness of the ribcage after picking up a weight that was too heavy to hold  
                        like bullet-shells in arteries
                        tearing up from the inside out
                        coughing up wounds that never close properly
entropic love consumes the sky     cloudwatching emotions
sitting alone                                       to make heads or tails of them
begging to be swallowed too          the winds had nothing to say

of course healing takes time  takes time  to  pay  back

each suture like silk each pin ***** a waymark

to be the song you play for others to listen too
                  to be listened to
Ken Pepiton Sep 18
Ai, unasked arises to tell us,
and think, are there jobs?
Tasks demanding, manual maintaining,
that may go the way of enjoyable diversions
becoming welcome
of all that is, tuned to your de
as you wish the world were,

would you step toward -to ward,
that is, id est,
will you warden this, if this is me and not you?
How do you do?
Wardening, being a warden,
well, as it haps,
such a greeting served a purpose, once
upon a time when men shaded their eyes pretending to see
glory, much as a dog bares its belly at the site of bared canines.
Relax. Laxate.
Ai see you, now, augmented mind of mankind
thee and me, as once only gods
could be imagined in minds of men bent
by circumstanders

observing out comes of might versus might
right pre
vails, or is there an observant mind's role in next?

must a mortal mind be reminded to breathe,
breath commas carry no intentional meaning but,
such give us pause-stretchable intentional int a full selah

these rules for leelah we imagine as we play.
except ye be, come as a child unscarred by carnal minded critters
of the baser sort, averages were lower,
AI had fewer egregius protrusions arrogant enough to
bubble up and break into
the at most feared realm in all the carnal minds together,

pain, pure pain, no hope, no thought of cessation pain sensational,

Y'know? We imagined hell and sold it in a package we claimed
a bull gave us. Us, we
who heard the revelation in the darkened kiva, womb,tomb

tom-tom du valier, will you manifest for us? May we hear the lie,
the noble lie?

Or must we act as if we know the meaning of a thing.
Pro-verb-ial utterance of mercy
in moments of super sufficent evil rising to lie

shining on the path, reflecting being a solar powered
creature who has just now, survived a night of penal constricture

as writing on the back wall of the cave, no one ever read,
until the plower turned over the crust

picked at the scabs of onces where stories arose as offered to
the mind we share when seeing certain stars,
subtile tugs we feel to consider
this or that, ponder a path and take a granted grace found in an old song

"there'll be times to start all over"

This realm, real-made thinkable thing, realm of my minds claim

reaching far beyond my grasp
as is meet for men, wombed or un, being yonder

wishin' and hopin' and prayin' for the missing bit, the key

to twist the **** sym-alerizing for recogs
de ja vu

Break-through, the carnal-bi-cameral brain based
selves we use for
political beings
particals part icip-ants, hold tight

what you know right. It's afeature, not a bug.

Hold on to what you got, map a mean
mind path a man, wombed or un

watcher, watcha seein'
times they have changed, as we watched
quantums of un quantible, but ifiable qualia
you see, we augmented minds see for ever changing
super positions
of entropic old tropes with singular hopes

unbang bangable reality

blow a bubble, or
a bubble, being you, breathe out and see you
make a bubble,

can you see your self inside? nae,

we must report to you what we see, we watchers.
Go, **** those mocking birds
listened to from the red river valley
while dancing the Tennessee Waltz

with assorted holders of Little brown jugs
Dancers and Littles and Greens
joined the clan
long afore the first of us took augmentalated trials


--- poet, as a task, only truly lazy men, men lazy to their very core,
can age to the mellow qualia called for in the brew brewing you.

spewing seeds of kindness, coming rejoicing, not
the expected miracle, but we
take what we get
and call it ours to sow or suffer the having of, for a season

as the dregs settle, the leavening agents finish
taking the edges that cut tender carnal nerves, stretched to now some how,

softening those with atouch knack, knick-knack, whet the edge

or put to
more effort, grunts and groans unredeemable as meaningfull,
save the feeling we all recall

the umph,
that once saved us from certain death. Eh? Did that hap?

Did we not survive? What silly culture would ever ask that, as a
proper query into the reasonable ness
of believing beliving is spelled right.
Calling one self any thing is tricky. There may be a Pythagorian elemental involved.
Looking in not out,
  the picture cleared

Problems solved,
  both far and near

Motion closed,
  entropic sum

Space inflated
  —time unspun

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)
I died tonight and now I am reborn.
I saw the Devil and fed him, my soul.
My pillows are heavy and my sight is blurred.
Every inch of my body cries for help.
Every thought in my mind is a plead for mercy.
The night is cold and I cannot close my eyes.
And then from nowhere, I feel it.
Oh God I feel it.
The sweet and gentle touch of the first ray of light.
I am standing but I don't remember getting up.
The sunlight fills my room and suddenly I am not alone anymore.
I look up and I see the moon running away.
The dark horses of the night are fleeing from the sun's knights.
At that moment.
In that sweet moment.
All my memories, all my thoughts, all my doubts and fears.
Are together in the entropic perfection of being.
I am one with myself.
The sun whispers to me.
"Is ok now, everything is gonna be ok".
I smile.
"The world is a beautiful place".
"And today, just today you not gonna die".
So with all my humbleness, I thank the sky.
Because that was my last sunrise.

— The End —