"hexadecimal" poems
Maverick ex-cop (Green Beret /Navy Seal /SAS/Ranger)
Twiddle of the fingers to crack a 64 bit hexadecimal code
Shot but can still beat up bad people and run
15 people firing automatic weapons and they all miss
Database that searches the planets population in 2 seconds
And has photos of their children and plans of their building
Regardless of the crime scene sample, always a rare element that pinpoints location
Car chase where a truck can keep up with a Ducati motorbike
Organisations that only employ attractive people in lead roles
Ugly people are tech specialists sometimes allowed to be ‘quirky’
Even the uglies are attractive people disguised with glasses and bad hairstyles
‘I dream of genie’ gendre were they flirt but never get it on, unless it’s a hospital series
Watchable, funny programs that always succumb to sloppy sentimentality
High schools complete with intolerance, marginalisation, bullying, and hell on earth,
The most disturbing and darkest crime sent to titillate mid evening family viewing
Endless humiliation for fatties, chefs, performers, builders, restaurateurs, and troubled teens
Dysfunctional law enforcement agencies that never work together under any circumstances
Enough, if we need this thick coating of unreality, perhaps its time to switch off?
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 5:34 PM UTC
I surrender. See there, my white flag,
Flying high? Yes, enough! You win!
I cannot interpret the mute language anymore.
When you shift your glance every time I see you,
Are you telling me you have moved on, or
Is it that I have done something wrong?
So, tell me, what is that you want to say,
Or what is that I need to know?
I am realizing more and more that
The signal processor in my brain is faulty.
It is introducing a lot of noise, so much so that
Fourier Transform gives jumbled frequencies!
Communication either in English or
my mother tongue Kannada, or even
the math symbols or Venn diagrams,
-bits and bytes also would do if not hexadecimal-
may perhaps tune my dud brain
to the right frequency to receive the right signal!
For, I may be causing more damage to us both,
And I certainly do not wish to hurt anybody,
Least of all, you, who I like very much;
I will do anything to set the things right!
So, tell me, what is that you want to say,
Or what is that I need to know?
©Bharathi Devi
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 10:24 PM UTC
i,
I
am real
my gender is real
my sexuality is real
despite everything and everyone telling me that they're not —
I am real as ****
Maybe that's why you're confused by me.
Maybe it's because you're used to a resolution that's less than 8-bit.
Maybe it's because you're used to a pixelated existence.
Maybe it's because all that you can compute
are 0s and 1s.
***** and *****
lips and *****
Maybe that's why you're afraid of me.
Because you're afraid of what you're going to see in high resolution.
Because you're afraid to see exactly what you've been missing out on.
Becuase I'm not coded in binary, hexadecimal, Base32 or 64,
but Base∞
and I code myself in a language
that I am constantly learning
and creating simultaneously,
let's have an interesting conversation
...supurfluous, unnecessary, confusing...
words spoken by the able, the unwilling
to take a closer look at my pupils —
dilating in high definition.
In fact, the definition is so high
that you'll have climb from my genitals
all the way up into my heart to see me for who I am.
Yes, I realize that binary is necessary for the basis of computation.
But we're past that now.
We don't only have ifs and thens.
We've got ands, ors, buts, maybes, sometimes, always, and nevers.
We've got infinities.
We've got forevers.
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 9:26 PM UTC
there sits Father Time
drinking a 50 year old scotch,
neat.
His compatriots
Sister Life and her Brother Death
sit close by,
the Sister sipping *** on the Beach
while Brother blows bubbles in his Shiraz.
All served at the cosmic bar by The Great Spirit
nursing a big 'ol Long Island Iced Tea.
I'm thinking of creating my next masterpiece,
Brother Death said.
"Maybe this time, don't use a bucket of paint for just one blade of grass,"
Father Time chuckled.
Sister Life spun around
and round on her spinny stool for several decades
until she hopped up atop the bar, proclaiming in French,
I don't make the best hexadecimal frittatas in the seventh dimension for nothing!
Suddenly all brought their glasses together in a supernova clink
as they cheered
"May we continue to move forwards in the trajectory to wherever the hell we're going!"
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 8:48 PM UTC
hours since I was home,
my sign is astrological calm
twelve dozen months or years until
Revelations 12:1
or twelve tribes
twelve sons of Jacob
twelve Imams legitimate successors
twelve Disciples, narrates the Prophet Yusuf
and his twelve brothers,
the twelfth moon of Jupiter, Lysithea,
the number of Magnesium, my son's weight
at three months plus his nine inside,
my cranial nerves,
C in hexadecimal,
NGC 12 spiral galaxy,
is craps on the first roll?
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 3:42 AM UTC
Could you forward 4*4 clouds and
encode Base16 into heavenly lotus pond?
Would it all be ancient calculus to tell us a wise story?
If you stand at the crossroads -
A crank must come up...
Just cigarette smoke
And a quarter in his
pocket.
There were many stories,
How to waste yourself on trifles.
Let a kopeck worth a ruble
Or even thirty-three...
At the peak of this torture:
"So finally – to be or not to be?"
What life has given in abundance,
Can’t you sell it costly?
Any person has something,
And something is missing.
When we float to iCloud Hexadecimal coding pond
No brain — no gain.
No more Hexadecimal fun encoding base track.
Aren’t we a true universe hexadecimal poet...
Jun 11, 2019
Jun 11, 2019 at 5:10 PM UTC
most of our souls in cool slitted jeans
watch the crowds fall into
the happenings, privately talk to our
consciences mistake breathing for living
connect by wireless texts play the latest video
when walking past real people
who if we looked up may be the hello
we need.
See a screen of life continuously bufferring
awaiting for it to say start.
High high we type complain,
of some troll when
all our being is being
a
bit or byte
a hexadecimal encoded
in
a screen, one coded
wrongly.
One cloud away
from
reality.
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 12:08 AM UTC
September 07, 2015
And I kind of feel crooked
my hands feel small
my nose cold
and I'm waiting for the orbit
the moon to find its place
the water to fill my ears
my collar
for those lights to catch the stones
those planes to collide
to explode
fill me with some other form of
intention
some other way of knowing
I mean, you could say
extonetial
but it's the shapes on the ground
hexadecimal
what does that even mean
disjointed in this perfect
isolation
and my nose is running
sniff
my legs are dangling
breath
the planes are crashing
sleep
just sleep
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 1:20 PM UTC