"geo" poems
Songs of Oregon: No. 1 “Gonna Make You Crazy, That Place”
nuts, crazy peeps
whomever wherever,
regardless of race creed color or gender (did I get ‘em all?)
current state of residence (geo-identified)
a poem - the very same recited,
as a disclaimer, a yellow finger wagging warning:
“Don’t go! If you go, you won’t come back”
now kids, I’m a veteran of foreign travel,
many continents, cold and hot, rivers and seas,
some living, some dead,
some so big they named it Endless,
been to the great cities, Swiss villages,
pyramids, climbed Masada,
danced on grapes (why can’t I recall where)
skied the Alps, trekked the Sinai Desert,
clubbed in Rio, and danced till morn,
on a certain Greek Isle that rhymes with Mickey’s Nose
even been to L.A and San Fran, left poorer
but in sync,
always came home
with my mind decently reshaped
me/ a product of gritty unpretty grime,
streets of normal humans
acting like normal escaped mad persons,
this brutal city island instilled a
layer of fat and smog neath my skin,
a kind of migrating duck-like survival kit,
came with a homing beacon included
the those of you who know me,
perhaps too well, ken we citified islanders
love our beaches (fire hydrants)
cherish our sun dappled blessings
upon on farms (window sill herb gardens)
and sunning settlements (rooftops)
they say our tap water is secretly bottled,
sold in places where the springs purportedly
run crystalline
though we don’t got no pinot, just sweet concord grape,
so sweet, the wine of children and street nodders,
needy for instant sugar highs
so as we new Yorkers proudly
say on our license plates,
prove it or stfup!
so a first hand investigation for which
the taxpayers won’t be charged even a lousy mill,
deemed necessary to put to rest this crazy claiming warning
“Don’t go! If you go, you won’t come back”
guessing must be something in the water and the wine
Jun 5, 2018
Jun 5, 2018 at 9:00 AM UTC
Jade helm
"Mastering the human domain"
It's all about control
Controlling human beings
And enslaving us
In the one world/new world global government
Information collection
Pre-crime technology (minority report)
System has no empathy or remorse
Self organizing, vision capable, expectation capable, recognition capable, situationally aware, emotionally intelligent, goal oriented system. The system, thinks, plans and executes.
Back in the late 80's MIT students developed AI technology on a distributed network (CGI lamp taught to dance). It Learned and evolved in 24 hours what would take 1,000 generations to accomplish. They issued a warning of how dangerous this technology is to humanity.
GEOINT
--Jade 2 plus more
--Communications
“smart grid, meter, etc"
Will be connected to this system
Control the environment
“Microchipping”
It Surpasses RFID technology
RFID chips can be removed
Nodes can be removed on a network--unplug printer
Human beings used as nodes
Eliminate connectivity to global information network
Cash removed
One world government
Domain--Human dynamics, terrain, geography
Domestic threat assessment centers
Activity based intelligence
All aspects of human activity monitored
All collected data to be geolocated
And tied to a specific node of the network
Georeferencing
do you will it
will you do it
it will do you
All three of these phrases
Have equal value
In this system
Which is very dangerous!
**Generate answers to questions
That haven’t been asked, or never existed in the first place
“Ominous” A.I.**--according to the source
Gates and Zuckerberg--want to bring technology to third world nations
GEOINT--Collect all data--for human terrain map
No privacy--no encrypted data
Welcome to Orwell's 1984, Skynet or The Borg
Sci-Fi was telling us what would be the reality
Emotional responses trigger the system
It feeds off of fear and anxiety
All the social networking--facebook, etc
All that info has been collected
Placed into this GEO INT system
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 3:09 PM UTC
the world is a wild and weary place,
fully sunk in spiral ******
fully strummed in skin water waves.
bound by death from the very first verse:
first love.
first this.
go forth my machines, be fruitful and jettison.
color says hang at the edge of our lips.
smell the books.
remind us; books.
& before the big blue vast takes it all, that
sunstruck lomographia light,
transposed no-makeup california girl, she
walks before me along the boulders of the wharf.
real summer breathing.
our bodies, piled
and starbleached ripe. [like heap of buffalo skulls]
maybe then a futuristic dinner, where everyone gathers in floating space pods
singing hymns beneath,
above,
between
the lights and music.
reality is: blacktop shards against my knees,
something burning as it trickles to my chin, man of me
living the city glisten, city green
& pink.
city midnight and barely breathing.
destroyers, we are.
and what? what am i, father? man of industry?
man of workwelded science? secure as the armadillo,
armadillo picket fence.
am i of halfbreed phosphorus?
americana?
built on love and hate and television.
nat geo channel: [a gecko licks dew from its eyes
on the coastal sand dunes of namibia]
money. women. go west young man.
be a hand tightening ribs.
be a quaking echo of mammalian design.
a paradigm of seed my fire.
quest for fire.
for uncut diamond; like foggy strawberry rock in the africa-boy's fingers.
or cut steel; phallus of toyish death between a brazil-boy’s fingers.
pulled teeth; bits of wet fruit in the young afghani’s hand.
& icecream trolley; pedestal etched iron; denim and *** and
microwaves ::::::
white man: what I got ? what I got ?
manifest destiny: gold bricks and beer.
blood soaked socks.
cyprus burnt umbers.
tribes decomposing at the bottoms of styrofoam cups.
like coin-op wormies.
& eighteen inch circumference blades make round rolling high pitched songs deep in the skin of old mother earth.
old baby cakes.
old life in slow motion, all motion, all
of particle cannon treatise.
40 ounce bounce.
watery us
below.
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 2:17 AM UTC
so
here we Are:
Arnold......Shortman,
Shorty......Meeks,
Mr......Meeseeks,
Ezekiel......Whitmore.
Morphine,,,,,,Morpheus,
Neo......Geo,
OG......Sour,
Sour......Diesel.
DeeDee's......Brother,
Cousin......Vinny,
Vinny's......Lover,
Brothers......Grimm.
Grim......adVentures,
Billy......Madison,
Hansel,,,,,,Gretel,
Chelsea......Grin.
Grimace,,,,,,Misery,
Mister......eBonic,
Bonny,,,,,,Clyde,
Kyle,,,,,,Kenny.
Kenny......Powers,
Powder Puff Girls,
"Girls Girls Girls",
Girls Gone Wild.
Wilee......Coyote,
Coyote......Ugly,
Ugly......Betty,
Betty......Crocker.
Doctor......Parnassus,
Doctor......Krieger,
Doctor......Horrible,
Doctor......Evil.
Evil......Knievel,
Felix......the Cat,
Captain Jack Sparrow:
"Captain......my Captain".
Tinman,,,,,,Scarecrow,
"Rowrow Rowyer Boat",
Bo......Burnham,
Earnest,,,,,,Vern.
Verdict,,,,,,Votive,
deVotion,,,,,,Vengeance,
aVenging......Evey,
V,,,,,,Vendetta.
Denace......the Menace,
Crystal......Globes,
Snow,,,,,,Aesthetics:
Skeletal......Shedding.
Head,,,,,,Tail,
Sally,,,,,,Jack,
Jack......Rabbits,
Magic......Hatters.
Shattered......Glass,
Glasgow......Smile,
Guile,,,,,,Vega,
Akuma,,,,,,Ryu.
You,,,,,,Me,
Beneath......the Bleacher:
Jeepers,,,,,,Creepers,
Reapers......of Seeds.
Seeds......of Chucky,
Chuckie......Finster,
Principal......Muriel,
Yuri......Gagarin.
© Copyrighted Jesse James Adams
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 12:44 PM UTC
a fair question, deserving of thought,
goodly soft care and hard consideration,
strangely, instantly and undeniable,
one worldly, word achieves **********
whether first or foremost,
après ma raison d'être,
cannot list, nor rank or certain state,
yet my heart repeats, nation, nation,
my understanding, instant and complete
worthy journey to self-fulfillment,
contentedly unhappy to be permanently,
one poem short on the one continuum,
the-road-trip to salvation,
my end, my finality / our self-acualization
aking pagtatapos, ang aking katotohanan
my einde, my realiteit
fen m 'yo, reyalite mwen
akhir saya, realiti saya
ma fin, ma réalité
M
write of the ifs of a man's life,
and come aboutface to conclusions,
instant and long in the making,
there are willing ears on this globe,
welcoming me open armed, opened lipped,
knowing firstly this open-eyed greeting,
welcome poet, tell us
for we are one nation, everywhere invisible,
indivisible with liberty and justice inherent,
creation our common good, in fact it is our
lifelong wares and goods, letter by letter composing,
we sell for the price of free
This then single common currency,
our ouro, derivation of
languages multi and mellifluous here spoke,
this my/our nation where birthright and
citizenship ego-and-geo boundless,
my loves, continentally arrayed,
to whom I pledge until last breath
utter all, guttural devotion
when one of us creates,
good manifests, I care not
in what tongue,
for our tongues
intertwine and intertaste
this one flavor,
communitas,
meine gemeinschaft, meine gesellschaft
where spoken
goodness all the days of life,
it has goodly gotten me to you...
Mar 1, 2014
Mar 1, 2014 at 6:55 AM UTC
Where it all started...
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2018179/only-a-dumbass-man-could-love-a-smartass-poodle/
<•>
The Obvious Fact: Dogs Have Souls
******** poodle, of prior fame, suggests*
"surely this ditty will trend before one reads to the very end"
1. as everyone loves dogs
2. especially smart poodles
3. who writes soulful poems
really, here we are talking and you are gazing into my brown eyes adoringly,
and
you humans
still debate if there is a
god?"*
and then dog yawned,
a gigundo doggy yawn,
which is a supernatural,
miraculous biblical thing to behold
<•>
for no reason other than gravity
man says,
sometimes my earbuds fall out of my ears,
without provocation, of their own accord,
to remind that though they're in,
the music isn't in,
and neither
am I anywhere real, concrete,
existential,
to be found
which prompts a furious philosophical poodle to man discourse,
as to my exact whereabouts
badass poodle quotes Joan Baez (Diamonds and Rust):
"My poetry was lousy you said,"
and to verify my geo-physical locus,
and his opinion of the human's written hocus pocus
poetry,
gentle farts and adds, low growling,
"there your are!"
how I love that
centered, down to earth,
in my bed, in my heart
dog
<•>
"Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. Three times is enemy action."
Goldfinger
a favorite phrase from a movie of one's youth.
that rises to the surface, when smartass-u-know-who
reads my weak human mind and yes,
farts twice more, adding poetically:
*"the best things in life always
come in threes,
her, me, and you"*
"glad to be included," I replied,
to which he licked his
privates publicly,
adding lowly,
*"every smart poodle need a leashed human,
as if any self-respecting poodl could or would
type their own poems,
who's
the *** now!"*
and we got up, got the leash
(for human to carry)
put our earbuds in,
went for a sunrise
sniff-walk-and-compose
on the beach
the two **********
arguing
which Pandora station to turn on,
two only love poets, both thinking of their shared
her
finally, compromising, in tail wagging agreement on,
The Righteous Brothers
<•>
p.s. lol, only a ******* man could love a ******** poodle.
~
8:33am
8/11/17
Aug 11, 2017
Aug 11, 2017 at 6:32 PM UTC
Fog Happens
Yup. Not profound, even Jung, Kant and Freud,
wouldn’t deny their eyes, would no doubt disagree
with symbolic, philosophical implications, and the
head banging ramifications for the immediacy of
the spiritual impact while driving in this grey ****
Fog differs every time, and on an island, that’s for
**** sure. Today’s incarnation, the fog comes over
the water, but respects the man-made, timbered,
bulkhead, so the yard, with its circus of ravens, crows,
and other invisible birds, insects, rabbits, is visible,
but absent the inhabitants who are smarter-than-humans,
they remain aboded thinking, only stupid humans believe
they can navigate and forage, in a fog penetrating in air
that is 97% humidity and 100% peas soup thick skinned.
The time? Of course.
It’s 7:36 AM on the East Coast, and beyond the lawn lies a brackish bay that will lead you to the Atlantic and north to the Titanic, direction Newfoundland. Not enough info to geo tag me, but those who know me, knowledgeable in my early mornings scribblings, know my whereabouts, my telephone number. Do you?
Fog Happens to everyone and at random intervals, Nope. Not thinking of the brain clouds of ordinary Lethologica and Lethonomia. (Sunday lazy so just look it up and say out loud, gotta remember them words and laugh out loud cause you ain’t gotta a prayer.)
Fog Happens
in the heart, spreading north to the consciousness, and the lethargy of movement impeded by the lighthouse bells tolling “danger is about,” our light stolen, but you need to know, you’re perilously close to danger. Any action taken when heart-fogged can have awful consequences so stick close to bed, yank out your tablet, write a poem, listen to sad love songs on that Pandora Station, or send GIPHYs and emojis to your six year old granddaughter who is 108 miles to the west of where you both hide beneath coverlets, and laugh out loud with her like the bells chiming outside, and that helps move that heart~fog hanging low, out to sea.
YUP.
Fog Happens
Fog Passes
Jun 25, 2023
Jun 25, 2023 at 8:00 AM UTC
I found the class fish wrapped in single-ply
tissue and pencil sharpener refuse,
her poinsettia-sunset scales picked clean,
gathered in a Styrofoam cup. Her coral
fins crumbled, leaving rough edges like split
chalk or hopscotch gravel. Her last ocean
was the cover of a Nat Geo from
1995. Easing my fingers
beneath the matchstick spine, I deftly walked
to my desk, and laid her on construction
paper. I casted her slivered ribcage
in glue before I poured the scales, hoping
she'd triumphantly flick some harmless fire
when she woke, but she just laid there, shining.
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 3:42 PM UTC
~for Star BG~
the visualization exists and persists like a pea burr
under a princess mattress,
the old poet in confession reveals he is a 180 degree sinner,
hail mary, yeah baby,
but the 90 degree was deemed so correct that blessed as right,
intuited and taught as the first of the geometric earth geo-phases,
first even before,
the Kabbalist circles found in early man’s cave
star drawings
who has time or patience to lean on a base tree trunk,
sitting, becoming an emboldened line compelling complimentary,
a human addition to seal a natural right angle,
blessed are they,
good luck to all of us,
for he who feels peace, brings it forth,
no messiah required,
when humans use their bodies and trees,
to make a rightful peace sign,
humans breathe the forest oxygen
preserving both
Mar 21, 2019
Mar 21, 2019 at 10:12 AM UTC
Cain slew Abel –
Thus began the parade of
Characters whose dynasties
We remember, who decorate
Our memories.
Abraham –
He gave us all the stars
In the sky, a greater lineage
Than the grains of sand
Slapped by seas.
Moses –
The babe in the bulrushes,
The prince turned traitor
Whose whiplashed back
Parted the Red Sea.
Tempus fugit –
Geo Washington, Thos
Jefferson, Alex Hamilton –
Madison, Adams, Franklin –
Minds who created, who
Dreamed, who begat.
How many names we find
In those first tumultuous
Years – warfare and love,
Duels and decadence,
Politics and party.
Scant years later, across
The pond – revolution is
Catching on – les français
Waged a ****** scene,
Ousting the régime.
What would become a
Baby democracy – birthed
More than one new flag
And song – yet lived to
Fight again and bleed.
History is ours to hear –
We respect the honorable,
Honor the drama, revere
The prudent and refight
The battles.
The District of Columbia
Paints a new canvas – she
Sings off key, her promises
Begging for whitewash, her
Patrons vice and folly.
What offspring will such as
These sire? Are they fathers
To found a new nation – to
Garner worldwide pride, or
To slay the abled?
Let the wings of victory
Carry us back to the days
Of greatness – let us exceed
In probity and virtue – let
Freedom succeed again.
© Lewis Bosworth, 3-2017
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 11:36 PM UTC
the words have lost their meaning, put down and forgotten
the ink is old and hitting refresh, flesh is rotten
the love of doves is for the birds, love of forgotten
words, buried deep unearth on Earth, what has brought this on...
short tempered phrases
Viennese masked faces
road rage that displaces
where words that disgraced
the root that spawned their meaning
and thinkers were able to be gleaning
to drink the rich and full in leaving
pride at the door and no deceiving
what we are all here for
not a geo-politico hidden agenda
not a plan within a plan within a plan
like some Shogun in a Clavell novel,
not to be a notch whelped on Evils' belt
size 365 days a year,
equal spaced holes like stepping stones
tighten around a neck stuck out too far
risk taking and all in isn't a sin, groan,
who am I to judge, I am so marred
am I poeticizing how to live,
no, how write poetry and be so alive,
I have so many words they
roll like boulders, in my head
and off my shoulder across the floor
the neighbours complain of the
noise and I lie, say-
ing it is my dog with her toys,
so go write your poetry,
no one else can, please
may it cure you as mine
cures me of my disease
so you can do what you were born to do,
what are you waiting for ** I can't tell you!**
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 12:55 AM UTC
~for yocum~
<>
the quality of commitment is not
restrained by quantity, nor by size,
impressed by nylon sheerest volume,
avoirdupois grams, Imperial weight,
steeled feathers, immeasurable, one ton
tips no true scale into red lined sincerity
the necessary respectful silences it requires,
the social nearness of geo-distancing,
all need prodigal acceptance,
like a long lost son, welcomed without questioning
we flawed, banded by many weaknesses, poorly confessed,
yet, no excuses tendered, to it, long ago surrendered,
but understand this, constancy is not judged
by the frequency of our waves, but by the fervor of an
undertow of unwavering constancy
one that unceasingly rages, beneath superficial, steady waves,
and through the thickened, roughed old skin separating atmospheres,
I have grasped your heartened essence man,
found its depths, blessed it with words, you’ve never fathomed
surely you will growl at this, claiming obfuscation,
excuses not in your vocabulary, nor should it be,
though you require the steady reassurance of frequent brevity
so and yet, but and still,
I deny your claims, what you think, incorrect,
cause I know my heart, and well it kens what lays in thine,
what’s in yours is in mine, deep planted, a full nut grove flowering,
your complaints, mine as well, all part parceled, with grace accepted
for what is friendship but the path
through parted seas, joining two borders,
the best part of that is the landed connectivity,
leading to where we two ends,
meet in laughing two-gether
old fools, younger-then-than-now,
committed, grumpy men.
Apr 15, 2020
Apr 15, 2020 at 2:02 PM UTC
#7 from Geo-Bestiary
O that girl, only young men
dare to look at her directly
while I manage the most side-long of glances:
olive-skinned with a Modigliani throat,
lustrous obsidian hair, the narrowest
of waists and high french bottom, ample
******* she tries to hide in a loose blouse.
Though Latino her profile is from a Babylonian
frieze and when she walks with her small white dog
with brown spots she fairly floats along,
looking neither left nor right, meeting no one's
glance as if beauty was a curse. In the grocery
store when I drew close her scent was jacaranda,
the tropical flower that makes no excuses.
The geezer's heart swells stupidly to the dampish
promise. I walk too often in the cold shadow
of the mountain wall up in the arroyo behind the house.
Empty pages are dry ice, numbing the hands and heart.
If I weep I do so in the shower so that no one,
not even I can tell. To see her is to feel
time's cold machete against my grizzled neck,
puzzled that again beauty has found her home in threat.
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 7:47 AM UTC
familial fractal
mitochondrial pieces of self-similarity
irregular patterns of DNA
each piece clearly resembling the whole
mirroring mirrors
an illness in the matriarchy
reflecting on each member
rippling and radiating
in family circular airwaves
time disrupted
suspended in hope
souls standing still
so quiet you can hear a heartbeat
thoughts, prayers and well wishes
pouring out to fill in the gaps
of uncertainty
pillars of strength in my weakness
as I drown myself in caloric comfort
I’m not too good with life and death
haven’t had much practice
we’ve been lucky
energy’s vibrations
the universe’s common thread
everything is part of everything
each person a contributor to the whole of society
each person contributing to the soul of the individual
psychologically, spiritually, physiologically
we affect each other in ways
not immediately apparent
truly, everyone is part of everyone
connected in oneness
your outpouring of kindness reminds me of that
Jul 2, 2010
Jul 2, 2010 at 12:29 PM UTC
Those types of cats can shake me
especially when you're looking your best
the Oedipus Rex yields, and you wield his complex. There are tired green eyes there
that you wont be so privileged to see unless you wait for another spring
to pass.
And all the car lots look like demographic charts: we are the Geo Metro's while they are the Cadillacs
and BMW's.
Dec 16, 2012
Dec 16, 2012 at 1:23 PM UTC
Hey, Xavy:
If we're still here
When you get older,
Check out the potholes on my street;
Are we still planting telephone poles,
Accusing animals for sky blue holes?
Are there tourists in S.E. Asia;
Did Manhattan disappear?
Are people dying with different bodies,
Still thinking with their transplanted heads?
Do we build schools, did the shootings stop?
Is work still measured by the clock?
Do well-heeled shepherds still manage flocks?
Have you seen our fingers evolve,
Does anyone listen to voices at all?
When you get there, Xavy,
Take a look.
Did they heed the Richter scales,
The geo-thermal warnings,
The snow caps' warmings?
Does wildlife drink from Winter's brooks,
Is the soil capable of growth,
Does Spring herald re-birth?
Your spirit is indomitable.
No problem insurmountable.
Denial is unintelligible,
The sacrifice regrettable,
But no other choice acceptable.
And the legacy left remarkable.
Ah, Xavy, What I would give to be a small part of your unfolding world.
But I've got to go.
All the Best.
Granda
Apr 25, 2017
Apr 25, 2017 at 7:39 AM UTC
My heart made out of glasswool,
Like a poisonous rose
its soft but you are going to cut yourself
when you get too close
My soul minimalistic,
Neo-geo art piece but in an unnatural pose
you really going to hurt yourself
when you get too close
Some people dont suffer,
We really pity those
They dont have the scars of life
They never came too close
We both came too close
Dec 21, 2015
Dec 21, 2015 at 10:30 AM UTC
long agonizing nites
Spent running like
Dog show enthuisists
The ukanuba muts (our crew)
Have names
And cold plates of
Meat loaf waiting
For them
When the noise
Of old boots
Warns the couch
About our irival
ill be away from
Home some where
Adventerous like the
Green hills of affrica (Hemmingways worst knovel)
Getting the perfect
Shot on the rhino three hundread
Yards away in the straw grass
Watering hole.
He falls like frozen patatoes
And my day closes
Half full
Half golden like
Whiskey on
The burning slopes
Of tacomas
Blue collared ridges.
Flooding the flood
Of endless floods
Inside my nitecaps
Hidden shot glass.
Thats the only way
We all sleep before
Tomorow brings out
Our best jokes.
The only pride we
Can find after
To many hours of
Half finished sandwhiches
So we can make room
And stare into
The welcoming fridge.
Good nite tacoma
I need all the double
Shifts we can get
Before we all find a new
Paying gig.
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 3:50 AM UTC
I'm the Nat Geo reader
the Facebook creeper
the go- to- sleep- later
the fake ***** hater.
I'm the question asker
the things- I'll- never- use- again stasher
the big stomach eater
and natural leader.
I'm the girl with the
small eyes and big hands.
And why would God
give a girl
with so much to see
and no one to hold
small eyes and big hands,
can you tell me?
God is laughing you see.
He's saying Child..
I knew you'd be a
seer- to- believer
a mental image taker- not- leaver
so I gave you small
thirsty eyes
and big hands too,
because you're usually a pusher
and bigger hands would
make you that much more likely
to hold things close to you.
So my squinty eyes can see
that my big hands push me
to pull things close.
And I completely forget their size
when I thank God
for a mighty fine pair
of hands and eyes.
Jun 13, 2012
Jun 13, 2012 at 9:46 AM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya; [email protected])
No place on earth is the center of world poetry
Each and every geo-point is a central geo-poetry
Each center in universal connexion and disconnexion
To one another in the poetic cobweb of human love
which oozes out not for fame but service to humanity
Linking subaltern poetry to the paternal muse
That has the universe its philanthropic quoith
Spokes of culture the rivers flowing fresh blood
Into the life of poetry in the globaletic realm
Each cherishing the tempo in the song of otherness
African poetry feeding the world with lyrics of negretitude
As Russia of Europe in dystopia of whititude
Sings to humanity the songs of French love
Paving the way for India to chant to the world
Into dinted dance of the British ways of the baby
Thrilling Latin America into the songs of Spain
That buried the poor dog behind a rich man’s house
Laughing Ameri-relasia at its poverty of culture
As the gods of money takes center stage
In the dynamics of globaletics.
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 6:41 AM UTC
DIY AI
Do It Yourself
Act Inteleostical
aim at fame, take the blame
aim at shame, hide and watch
aim at games no mind can matter in,
hope to hell that you are right,
roll the bones…
let the story form the world we agree upon,
stand, bipedally biased to lieve be
the balance factor in terms
of fear being a reason
to respond,
in one way, or another, knowing now
time is all together different than imagined,
not long ago,
on a little think… we know the journey story,
did we
really live so far from the center?
It seems so,
from where I stand, unembodied in another
reconnected to the story,
a book's worth of time, stretched to thinnistical
translucence,
sparks we imagine having seen as signals slow
to
geo speed, Gaia mind, ****** - that
sensation of ever mattering
just now,
for a moment, then
now, again, similar but never the same,
riverish as any wish one tests
again, after ever has began
to play in the per-ifery.
Dec 20, 2020
Dec 20, 2020 at 1:56 PM UTC
it begins with saint piran's flag... well, let's just
say that, there ought to be two "offending"
but classicly marxist, separatists governing bodies
in, what's know as geo-politics...
upper-class retards think that the people
occupying the home county known as essex
are, complete idiots...
well... hello my "fellow" londoner!
nibble on some rat-shit, get a pigeon **** *******
on your top-hat? **** **** off!
the northerners can't claim, that i'm
a southern fairy... in europe there the north / south
and the east / west divide...
the southerners seem to prosper, as do easteners...
and likewise...
essex, and the whole "point" of the south-east...
no... cornwall wan't to be indepedent,
like the basques in spain...
and that flag...
may i make a suggestion to counter the cornwallians?
revert, allow essex to have a teutonic inspired flag
in reverse to yours...
i.e. a black crux on a maiden's "body".
living in essex, i've started to become, irritated
by this county becoming a joke fior the whole nation...
like a bunch of indians saying goa in portuguese...
sure, i know: northern monkeys...
wild antics and bits and bobs...
essex has produced snooker champions...
the other sort of chess-players... the geometricians...
and then the serving geographic is simply quote as:
sun-tan orange "quirky" accent;
and all, from a megapolis that exterminates rats,
but feeds urban pigeons.
in essex? we have woodland pigeons,
and they look like the very-most pristine theologians,
if not priests...
and they're fat...
blooming... and they have the equivalent of
a dog collar... and sure as ****
they won't have one their legs, reduced to a stump
with all the claws removed... like an urban pigeon might,
strutting... well... "strutting"... merely limping.
May 26, 2017
May 26, 2017 at 11:19 AM UTC
Everyone in Australia and Canada,
among men and women, girls and
Asia Southern grass, drought, Russia,
Europe, and let Googie in. Let us
all be sure of Kristin, energy and
lifestyle Imamondo singing whales,
Spanish & Italian magazines, 500
artificial memories, German Memory,
Memory in HD, a fortress, a kiss, a
Memory
Memory of Cicero's lifestyle,
English,
French,
and the Kingdom of Health still
Describes cutting travel to the victory
of the English, to the very Kakajinawa
Saka Farah Alaruk, Mary. Cicero's
brother lies Brown (Mario Cicero),
you cannot do with the fact
that the United States, John
Christian religion to you. a district
on the regions of Asia and Arabia,
and of, 'who sues for unto you the
King of Asia who in Igun is a
gunmaker of witchcraft and the
death of his brother's house: and
he is the one, who has died,
and they can be positioned to cut,
than the fact is that in exchange;
But the most Elijah to use PS.
"The communication wire on
Monique, seven ***** men
& an Ireland Race Track; Kalk
best in bed, bed, Orlando
Gibbons; Jenks Onki; Wanchai,
birds, Amarescava Navar 'Yukuchu"
** Chi Minh Hijira in town,
Canada, Russia, the ring, Canada,
Google that attempts golf stars -
Zymy hostility, China - High School
Drogda Poetariacia new man, salad ...
Thomas Polovie Malani Jagari
Zahulputia soft Mohi Khushi Khost
Patnaia want Color red, bitter 1000 2:
1 McLean's tour of Asia marine baking
car the shopping center Shopping Asia
city Asia Jogieglian Maisel Canada,
Mexico, Yolb mid-June Prize Geo kind
of Helleborus Hannkius with rice,
Chase engagement, "1 am an Hakon
vernulam chili, rice carrier locking -
Innovation - - Carl Jung believed
to be on board, Sangong Gijingu
playlist to check with the robot.
The colors pray for Cheetah
Chrome, sugar and a music player,
a singer and the kids in his memory
and for kids and money and kids:
Yuku and the kid with the kids
from the kids and the kids in other
law 2,500 children, young girls,
children, young people and young
people and those young players
varsity in July diameter of the well.
Then Judas, who has heard from
the Father, and He is not a it is designed
for Puliolio 1000 Young J Steelji
John would seem to be unknown
to the FA, Jududu Maad, other than
A, which is the 8 of FD Nangal,
Ojajo, Siddhi, Vinayak, Janmuna!
Dec 3, 2018
Dec 3, 2018 at 4:18 PM UTC
terrorism found my heart
and decided it was time
for a lesson in
Syrian geo
-politics.
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 5:09 AM UTC