"experimentation" poems
Dr. F. Wilhem discovered it by accident you see?
The first man downloaded was no longer man.
He suffered dearly until the plug was pulled,
and we started over again; with biologists.
Geneticists, Embryonticians, TransEugenecists,
all celebrated the new fast-growing body.
No more deaths at old age expiry, on battlefields.
for a price all would live eternally; eternity here.
It did not work. The bodies worked, the software recorded
but the people were insanely bi-polar. Insane in fact.
Until we switched the torso and genetics in tandem.
then somehow the surviving person retained all memories!
They were in fact; themselves! Just in a different gendered body?
Unfortunately for everyone this was a major psychological shock.
Unexplainable, sure, evolution took four billion years so...
...more time, more time, more experimentation is all we need.
Wilhelm changed it all.
When he added the shock,
added the <human> response,
turning the machines into
Humans.
They are truly A.I.
...verily human in fact.
Animal-ish, peaceful
then angry, terrible or
violent.
Artificially Intelligent;
Humans.
*"What good is it to change a person,
...merely into someone else?"* -Al Abd Azaz
*To see beneath the surface,
and know the ocean tydes.
To see beneath the surface,
and know the ocean tydes.
To see beneath the surface,
and know the ocean tydes.* *
Jan 21, 2018
Jan 21, 2018 at 12:14 AM UTC
I started on the rooftop
The empty sky above was all I had
And all I needed
It was pure
Like a blank page
Waiting for a story to be written
But at the first sight of clouds
I fled to the top floor
There were fun and simple things on the top floor
Like Pokémon games
I got red, white, and blue
The monsters seemed so banal and repetitive
But nobody else would acknowledge it
Sending me into a dragon's rage
I tried using flamethrower on Charmander
Ending in futility as I ran out of burn heals
I looked out the window in frustration
Rain was falling outside
Inside
Patriotism was buffeted by the hail
So I devolved into a lower level
Going further down this building
For ***** and giggles
I found more ****
Less giggles
On a floor with a TV displaying the news
I was eager to learn about the world
Only to learn everybody hates each other
And nobody talks
Or cares
And the smartest person in the room
Is the one I agree with the most
Unable to view the tokens in my mind
As anything less than treasure
And those who try to persuade me otherwise
Are thieves
My spite steals tranquility
Like the persistent storm outside
My solution is shelter in lower levels
My experimentation on communication
With the general population
Had rained on my playful parade
But I felt very comfortable on a floor with friends
Until they saw through my charade
Discovering my emotions in disarray
As the people who made me love this building
Made me curse it's walls the more I loved them
I searched for the peaceful embrace of solitude
Once the storm outside transformed into a typhoon
I found that solitude
In a tiny bare room
With a syringe and spoon
I was unaware
That room was an elevator
That lowered me down the concrete void
As the hurricane outside rattled me violently inside my box
Trapped and lacking all agency
I resigned myself to wherever the elevator chose to take me
After the elevator finished pulling me into the basement
The tsunami seemed to cease
But I was buried under debris
I had to burrow out of my tomb
The dig was tedious and *****
My perseverance was heroic
But triumph was thwarted
When I reached the surface
To discover only wreckage remained
And when I looked up
I saw the building I inhabited
It's damaged facade
Made it clear
I would never visit those floors I missed on the elevator
Above my building
Hangs an empty sky
It's purity is a lie
The page was never blank
Just constantly written on and erased
To lure innocent readers into a tome
Jul 24, 2017
Jul 24, 2017 at 11:48 PM UTC
With ideas in her head,
she acquires ingredients from creation.
She picks up some bread,
some meats and some crustacean.
With purchases in her hands,
she assembles them into her curation.
Each ingredient has a plan,
that's all part of her preparation.
She cook in her pots and pans,
dishes of her imagination.
Juggling flavours and textures,
from experience and experimentation.
She host her friends regularly,
not any one group particularly.
With smiles, laughter and her kitchen art,
everyone sense the generosity from her heart.
She is the artist,
the scientist,
the chef,
the friend
and my wife.
Jan 4, 2020
Jan 4, 2020 at 5:39 AM UTC
Some chemical influences are necessary.
Experimentation is mandatory.
Skim the syllabus and you will see,
MDMA is chapter three.
Hemp is the strongest ****
At least that's what I learned in Botany.
Biology came as quite a shock,
When the plants pulled out their *****
English came as such a breeze,
The Diazepam brought poetry bees.
They pollinated the dopamine receptor,
Which greatly impressed my psychology professor.
When the zombies rose for dead weeks droll,
Adderall and Vyvanse kept us cool.
There's always a place in the Union Bathroom stall
To do a dome some Coke before study hall.
Of all the girls in my dorm floor
Roxy and Molly were just next door.
Art history wasn't the most entertaining,
Until Absinth was my painting water.
Finals were such a stress, so I'll admit
We laced our gin shots with Xanex.
College was an experience, I'll admit,
But Chemistry got me on the DEAn'S list.
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 2:20 AM UTC
We create our own stories,
our own gods and reshape our own peoples
We also create our own demons and enemies.
An old retired fighter once said to a traveler,
"we learn not run from the enemy, but go towards them."
In learning, his new pupil destroyed his heart
and his lovers. And them, destroyed their own in turn.
The traveler sits with piles of stories of all kinds now,
from all over the world, in a library shelf
like a white elephant of impotent rage in his room.
For decades the populations of the world
have been subject of mass experimentation by its overseers.
In other stories, a people's Creator has gone mad
working for his human creations
which required using toxic chemicals to turn
their raw materials into life, while working to
reveal our own gift of growth from attachments
and into self-knowledge, compassion.
For decades also, populations of the world
are kept apart from their own full living potential
not because of some evil or mad Creator
or some insanely depicted required competition towards
reproduction or respect.
Rather, because we continue to face our tasks
through our mistakes and failures, knowing
our deadly blows from through those we reject,
shame and escape from, as our teachers of compassion
if not more than those that we gravitate to
or already belong and accept as our own.
Thus continues perhaps the stories of people's
potentials outside of their fear's many
perverted versions. #
Sep 8, 2018
Sep 8, 2018 at 2:42 AM UTC
remember...
when you were young,
very young,
recently untethered from
proximal parental strings...
that liberated freshman
rushing into a .... cave
of independent studies
and uninhibited sexuality...
that mulligan phase
of impulse and irrationality
and...yes...experimentation...
of wide-eyed science interns with
mother's cheeks, daddy's visa
and the best animal-testing lab
on the planet...
with live uncontrolled studies of sleep deprivation,
orgiastic tolerance, *** toxicity
and the effect of extreme jello-shooting
on graduation rates...
and, of course, the ultra-rad LUG/GUG philosophy,
the ultimate pregnancy-avoidance plan
guaranteed
or your STD back...
then you got a degree,
a real job,
and a surreal 5-figure
student loan balance...
or was it 6?
or maybe you just
dropped out
like
bill, steve or mark...
and started a revolution...
~ P
(7/21/2013)
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 3:59 PM UTC
1.
Inhaling poison like it’s a sweet spring breeze,
an antidote to the pounding heart and aching stomach empty of comfort or substance
Meeting with pavement in a tiger’s crouch
fingers float toward parted lips
awaiting the taste of relief in the form of smouldering leaves.
2.
One tentative epidermis approaches another
tendons and ligaments straining, aching for contact
attempting nonchalance in the lamplight privacy of early morning,
cocking ears to detect voyeuristic insomniacs
who would disturb the disorderly expressions of early experimentation.
3.
White lady dusting the concrete path, sterile and unconfined
laid new before careful feet making their way to shiny metal boxes
bundled in seasonal expectations they trudge through stardust
on their way to blood borne obligations,
leaving behind careless tracks in ****** flesh
4.
Blazing sun presses down on shoulders hunched behind compact table tops
peddling penny prologues to unabashed strangers
bartering unwanted pocket change for rejected trinkets
haggling over half-dried finger paints and unfinished chess sets
rescuing garish afghans from dusty closeted life.
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 7:33 PM UTC
“I am a jealous God,” said the Hebrews’ deity.
Ain’t got patience for a jealous God, for I’m a spirit free.
I have many idols, on this terrestrial sphere.
And if I didn’t worship them, I’d surely not be here.
For they are Icons, real, of what I have struggled to attain,
my ideals and aspirations, or of persistence through the pain.
I worship them with love, despite their fallibility.
They guide me and inspire me,
with their strength and creativity.
For example-- modern martyrs, who’ve sacrificed for others;
I'm sure that Jesus would think of them as sisters and as brothers.
And rock and roll; it’s my religion; I know the Promised Land
cannot be much like heaven, without my favorite band.
What I seek but never find is Plato’s ideal vision--
the unseen perfect version of our seen world. My submission
is to something that we know by feeling, and I think it must be said
that the traveling to find it cannot start by being dead.
Surely Poetry and Art are to be followed, as a creed;
they can be read and seen, and then, perhaps, believed.
Music is transcendent, call it the Flesh made Word--
not reserved for us in heaven, but here, on earth, is heard.
Nature is a Goddess; her work is the creation;
we strive to understand it, through rational “divination,”
using math and science, objective experimentation.
I have so many idols; I can’t limit adoration
to just one jealous God and his righteous indignation.
The Bible is a document that’s full of truth, I know;
but it was written a long, long time ago.
I’m keeping all my idols, for they soothe me and inspire me.
I’ll continue in my “lifestyle” of spiritual polyamory.
You may say I’m going to “Hell” for my sinful apostasy,
but I’m not afraid of the future grave,
for I’ll have lived with ecstasy.
Aug 17, 2016
Aug 17, 2016 at 10:00 PM UTC
Aural sounds of delectation
funk-fuel in fervent distillation
undertones of jazz-swing in migration
electronic clicks and blips for relaxation
ambience is my one true occupation.
The resonance of sound in rotation
the initiation itself a radiation
morphological alternation in isolation
as the hubbub of voices echo respiration
breath in, breath out, in elevation.
No underlying obligation, only inspiration
and celebration of collaboration
revel in the pleasures of sensation
like the first discovery of amplification
and in its appreciation and stimulation
embrace variation in all its illumination.
Seek out new music from recommendation
the gravitation towards transformation
the re-education and regeneration
this musical manifestation of civilisation
saturated in complex contemplation
adoration in meditation
the simplest form of gratification
the creative urge for diversification
and technological intensity
of electronic experimentation.
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 7:26 AM UTC
Exposition
Exploration
Examination
Experimentation
Exhibition
Experience
Exercise
Excelsior
Explosion
Exposure
Expansion
Exceeding
Excitement
Excellence
except
Excessive
Expectations
Excuses
Exclamation
Excommunication
Excluded
Excreted
Exorcised
Expunged
Exacerbation
Exhale
Exit
Exeunt
Extinct
Ex-Star
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 3:06 AM UTC
Stage One - Experimentation:
I've seen it before, on movies and television shows.
The peer pressure, the giving in, the going back again.
And that's exactly what it felt like to me.
The pressure of your hand against the small of my back,
The way my body fell apart at your touch,
Like an ancient foundation crumbling,
And the desire that stirred in my chest to feel your touch once more.
At first, I only wanted a taste of you.
But the thrill that you brought me was something not easily forgotten.
Stage Two - Regular Use:
It became a casual thing,
Feeling you coursing through my bloodstream.
A knock on the door like the prep of a needle,
And your hand pulling me in like the ***** of skin,
And within seconds, a high I couldn't recognize,
As though I was walking on the sky and the
Grass was tickling my eyelashes,
And your fingers were pressed
Into the dimples in my hips.
Step Three - Risky Use/Abuse:
Before I knew it,
I was lying awake,
Wide-eyed in bed at night,
Imagining your fingertips
Tracing the inside of my thighs.
So I brought my pillow and blanket
And pitched a tent at the foot of your bed.
Then swore to myself I'd never leave your house again.
Step Four - Drug Dependency:
A minute without your breath against my neck
Causes my chest to burn and my knees to shake,
But every time your breath fills my lungs,
I can feel the years of my life falling away.
Your lips are my nourishment,
Your sighs are my fluids,
And your kiss is my IV drip.
Every part of you has consumed every inch of my thoughts,
Even the dusty corners I have forgotten about,
And with every gentle touch, I can feel the withering of my heart,
Like a flower never to bloom again,
But it's a beautiful destruction.
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 10:05 PM UTC
It doesn’t matter what I think
My head driven into water
I want memories to sink
My angel wings clipped
Forced into a participation
It was draconian experimentation
He is the wretched force
An intimidate inclination
He wants to find the source
Of ultimate liberation
Feb 9, 2010
Feb 9, 2010 at 5:58 PM UTC
From Discoveries; my high school journal.
Entries from February of 2009.
February 12th: Even in good company I still feel alone.
February 13th:
I can't paint & I can't draw either.
But with my words,
I can paint a paper-back
that will give
even
Andy Warhol, a run for his $.
Three Months ago:
I took a look
in the honesty window's
reflection
and I began to loathe what I saw.
& I began to mend my mold
to make this work.
WIthout resorting to stripping or suicide,
That's when Bandit came out to play.
"Everything I say is said in blue ink and heard on lined paper. Chemical and herbal experimentation have changed me. Oh high, I'm Bandit. & It is nice to meet you."
May 22, 2012
May 22, 2012 at 1:07 PM UTC
I could drown myself in cups of coffee, in nicotine, old books, and whiskey.
But that won't make me crave you any less.
I could immerse myself in the deepest of enthralling literature, poems, a sea of colloquy,
Waves, strangling the current of my mind.
But you'd still be the resonant word.
I could listen to the sweetest of voices on repeat, golden like honey, sticky,
But my ears would only ever truly answer to yours.
Serpents tend to bite their own tails, a mythological and alchemic symbol of the cyclic nature of the universe: creation out of destruction.
But I'm not breaking my heart, loving you.
Swollen, yearning, daydreamed astray, gathered fast by night.
Curiosity deniable no more, innocence lost, hands wandered exploratory below.
Clambering desperate over themselves, those hands fell over folds of warmed flesh, over forgotten nooks and unfound crevasses, over trembling thighs and aching calves.
Astounded by the vast array of fresh delicacies, of unencountered sensations and deepest pleasures, she stood by loyal as those hands swiftly accustomed themselves to pursuing true ecstasy.
What divine rapture. What soaring heights of pleasure to ascend to. And what a delicious revelation to encounter such unimaginable ecstasy.
That twelfth year become a fourteenth, a fifteenth, a sixteenth.
And with the passing of each came a series of ever more adventurous trysts, the sorts of which Cousteau, Armstrong, and even Columbus could all be truly proud of.
Depths sounded, crevasses plundered, self’s nectars tasted and devoured, the pleasures of the flesh went unearthed.
Elaborate constructions lovingly shaped, waxed and honed, years of heady experimentation, trial and errors, fantasy and dreaming, all in the pursuit of even harder, better, faster, stronger ******* Perhaps it was that, or was it more a case of welcomed companionship? Ambidextrous frustration? A carnal appetite, most terrifying in its magnitude?
Isn’t it time then, you tried a little tenderness?
Be good to you.
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 3:20 PM UTC
If it shames you,
If it shocks you,
If no one ever cared enough
To brave it through for you,
If that's not how it was done-
Then run.
Shirk responsibilities,
Hold on to old hostilities,
Ensure a future
For your daughter
Full of mistakes you've already made.
Do not grace her with faith,
Do not bestow your care upon her-
Let her think it was never there.
Cigarettes, alcohol,
Heartache, adolescence
Just ************ and
Regular flirtations and relationships-
Don't tell her to say no.
Just make sure she knows
They're unforgivable, all of them;
(Make sure she knows both shades that life can offer,
Raise her awareness of the wonderful choice
Between white and black.)
Fabricate the pretense that in this 21st century
She'll never come across them, not once.
Tell her that safe *** is not
Something she should know about
Because she will just not do it
Ever, period
And experimentation with substances and heck,
Even with people, are crimes
That only criminals commit.
And she will learn despite you.
And she will do things to spite you,
And one day, she'll grow old enough to hate you
And she won't care or feel the need
To explain her side of things
Because she will find happiness in her way
And she will have survived long enough
To have learned how to cut you from her heart.
And she won't even have to see you,
And the day will come
When you've become
Just a subject of her art.
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 1:37 PM UTC
I reminisce quite often
of your touch
and
the unabashed ****** experimentation's
we've shared.
I know my worth,
so don't you go forgetting,
I had you with your mouth agape,
your toe's curling
as
you cried out my name...
call my conceit one of a kind,
because
I know the way you stare,
the way your eyes lustfully & licentiously devourer me,
the way you crave me
and
how you cling to the memories of us,
in bed.
Your priapic lust for me
is
equally accepted & measure,
almost to a point where
I could have bodily-combusted
since
you always seem unable to stop,
but
you must know,
I have a very arcane little list and lucky for you
I've let you in...
hahaha lucky indeed & better for me.
My concupiscence language
and
metaphors simplify & convey my lustful intent.
In simpler terms just know I want to repeat are coupling,
I'd like you to to bend me over and stretch me to my fullest.
open me widely
and
dance with in my silken Venus’ cradle,
entangle me into
a dreamlike haze,
in which my fantasy and reality are indistinguishable.
I know you've harboured about me & the many ways,
all the very excitingly different ways you could defile
and desecrate my ripe tight little body,
I see more clarity and certainty of what might happen,
if ever
I'd allow you to spend the night with me again,
I still remember our passionate nights together,
oh so very well,
I can see it,
I taste us and worst yet,
I can feel your animalistic
and
sometimes brutal ****** assault on me,
I still feel you deep within
my seductive tight little love box.
Your
a
cannibalistic-cunnalinguist master,
causing havoc within me,
as you attack hungrily
between my thighs,
sending me spinning,
sending me on a intoxicating high.
Our last encounter,
left me unable to breathe,
barely able to walk and yet I have no regrets,
well maybe just one,
and that is;
all good things must come to an end!
(until I heal.)
Always Me Ayeshah ™ ®
K.A.C.L.N ©
All right reserved ®
Copyright 1977 - Present ©
Jun 8, 2014
Jun 8, 2014 at 1:35 AM UTC
It was social experimentation
To be locked away, windowless
Four walls, perpetually fixed
- as his figure in a lightless room
Ears removed, mouth sewn closed
Eyes blinded, no light, no sound
Muted humanity, no dignity
He happened upon a laughing child
before the procedure
and that sound echoed inside
Deep within his bowels it reverberated
Through his blood
Distorted in his stomach
Youthful innocent laugh,
it grew monstrous
It began to talk
and the beast within was personified
Day one he lost his mind
Day two was still day one
(how irresponsive time becomes)
Day three the laugh became a growl
Day four the voices started
Day five in absentia
Day six he was done
Day seven, bizarre interim
- that between life and death
Profoundly lost in swingin' psychosis
Met by the devil in detailed cerebellum
Watched memories deteriorate
like some reel-to-reel burning, spluttering
His wife now only a hydrogen hallucination
Do you, the reader, know true loneliness?
The observation deck was packed on day eight
Muted, yet guttural screams of anguish
from deep within his throat
Were haunting reminders of the damaging effect
of psychological studies and the fragility of humanity
The cataract voids in his stoic face
they betrayed fear, and begged captors
for some respite from this hellish dream
Until in a tormented blinded haze, the voice was clear
His ears still dead, though this voice was true
Spoke but three subtle words
The subject experienced simultaneous neurological
Joy and fear
He had heard the de facto vocalisation of some supreme
he spoke them aloud
his only utterance
and the teary eyed scientists gathered
sterile needle
no words
dead.
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 11:04 AM UTC
Demonic possession is what it feels like sometimes,
The way I spit words out and they just happen to rhyme
I sit and think sometimes, about what I wanna write
But then it never comes to me , avoids me it stays outta sight and I
Don't know why I'm writing this, I'm sure I'll find a message
To send across the void that is this world and then the rest will
All make sense, no pretence, nor any pretext
That I'm using just busting words before I forget
I gotta add a little something about what happened today
I got my ****** grade from chemistry it was no A
Just a D, and I was worried but my Father doesn't care
I'm no good at Chemistry, he knows that it ain't fair
It's all about experimentation and adapting
To the strengths and weaknesses that make you a masterpiece happening
This world is full of unique people and you are another one too
So you gotta put your head down, do what you gotta do
I would like to make an announcement, before it leaves my mind
To clear up some other **** that I left behind
Me and Georgia now, you know her? I wrote a lot
About how much I hated her, how I wanted to rot
Yeah, we're good now, so please do not look back
On my works, when I went bezerk and launched a stupid internet attack
Some of it was my fault, and I've come to terms with it
We good now, it's okay, so please don't read that ****
I'm sitting here on my bed, not knowing what I'm about to write
Just knowing that I need another way to pass the night
So I spit fire, I'll retire, maybe right about now
Have a good day or night, my friends, be careful when you go out
<3
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 5:35 AM UTC
Artificial honey milk without devotion,
With ground bread of ticking experimentation so near by.
I walk and dwell so carelessly to have sensitive skin so marked easily,
I look at myself what type of mask will it take to cover my imperfection of vice verses.
Woke up,
My,Dear,Oh,Dear,
Agony of sadness in front of me,
It pains me oh so dear,
In all my might I can do so little for,
My,Dear,Oh,Dear.
In and out of the door of no return til sun to sunset,
I feel myself dragging my stone block shoes of navigation.
So plain and throbbing circumstances of low degree of particles,
Floating around.
Momentarily , It's quiet over.
Then rewinding a sorrowful movie.
Until it forwards into something.
Jan 19, 2012
Jan 19, 2012 at 12:31 PM UTC
In particular evinces of comparable obliviousness
To implications of extraneous misunderstandings
That bring a melancholy of limited constrictions
Makes one articulate anxiety in dazzling reform
Of vibrant linguistic experimentation of lawless incongruity
Resulting in rhetorical pyrotechnics that defy inflections
And a wild farrago of tongues that boast a fecundity of speech
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 5:49 PM UTC
*a Lady at psychological
treatment center.
she tells the therapist her story.
she says she's being abducted
by aliens every night
they take her to their ship
and she is used for
****** experimentation
to prepare for an invasion of earth.
the therapist holds her hand
and says never mind dear
I will help you get rid of them
forever in just a short while.
she shouted NO! in dismay.
Can you ask them to come
just once a week
she said sweetly.*
Apr 2, 2016
Apr 2, 2016 at 9:27 AM UTC
craSH land ing in your
hand or
somet..h...i.n..g...
somepalm or plane
your fingers figured
EVERYTHING was
in theirange
"
i NEED the cement
to stack the bric
ks more even [][]
"
-she said
like self-construction
is in her-interests:
like she SPOftenKE
of scaf fold & ropes
& renov(icaine)ation????
instead of
numbness, running, & vacations
OHHHHHHHH THE GREAT PATRON SAINT
of r u n a w a y s
is suddenly b-come-ing brave!!
Feb 7, 2010
Feb 7, 2010 at 7:54 PM UTC
Childhood – a splendid mirror with delight
Adolescent- a turn-off in the way for experimentation
Youth – an unsettled spout with wave for new
Middle age – thrash about to balance and maintained
Old age - dissipate between old and new with game of recall!
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 5:24 PM UTC