Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Arlene Corwin Feb 2019
Another Autobiographical Anomaly✍️

My memory, how is it working?
Reconstructing what I will,
But no matter how I will it,
Using tricks or keeping still,
It goes downhill while lurking.

Mostly, I can’t get the date
Or the event - details I railed at,
Smiled or wailed at.
Where I laid the pen just used;
That is NOT amusing.

Histamine.
I read that histamine boosts memory.
Priority.
What do I prioritise with ear, nose, eye?

My husband tells a story
But his story and the history keep changing.
Joke?
Sheer smoke based on illusion in the first place?
He’s an honest man.
Why change the plan or plane?
How to help boost our brain!
Enigma
And for some a stigma.

Diet, food:
The marvel is the wondrous good
It does in spite
Of all the things we don’t do right.
We’re losing neurons constantly
From ages six- or seventy.
Exercise:  
Training.  Learning.. Instrument.
Being bent on something!  Anything!
For just about all/everything is heaven sent.
That’s what I read
And what I think,
And where my intuition and my instinct lead.

Anyway, this poem is just another way to do it.
Renewing bits with any course available,
And one in which a syllable will stick.
The main thing is to get a kick
Out of the rhythmic lyric of our life.
Yes?

Another Autobiographical Anomaly 2.11.2019 Pure Nakedness II; Arlene Nover Corwin
Vayu stands at the shore , with arms outstretched , shrieking wind from four corners of Earth ! Tornadic winds , vigorous , turbulent , battle of ocean and Moon , every tree racked with its ferocity ......
Parvati appears at the horizon , releasing pheromone across the waters , pulling seed to sunlight , fruit to vine , unleashing the rebirth of plant and animal ! ... Kama appears at the edge of the multitude of new tree , grass and herb , power of wind carrying pheromone dominating the air , forcing his very hand ! Love is all consuming and alive !
Pollen season in Georgia with a romantic twist !

Copyright October 1 , 2015 by Randolph L Wilson * Al Rights Reserved
Dimension.
Compound medium (Neurotransmission [receptor])

Apotheon.
Aminergic media (Trace-Amines [TAAR])

Entheon.
Monoaminergic media (Monoamine Releasing Agents[MAO])

Ataraxia ex Entheogenesis.
Dimethytryptamine[rgic] particle[s] (Pituitary [DMT])

Psychedelion/Absurdia.
Glutamatergic medium (Recurrent Feedback Excitation [Classically 5-HT,2A])

Intracommuneon Macro.
Glutamate particle ([NMDA, AMPA, KAR])

Empathion.
Serotonin particle ([5-HT1-7]).

Horizon Cyclica.
Melatonin particle ([MT1-3])

Sympatheon/Parasympatheon.
Choline/Acetylcholine particle ([mAChRs, nAChRs])

Vigilaeon.
Histamine particle ([H1-4])

Logike.
Dopamine particle ([D1-4])

Stimulatus Minor.
Adenosine particle ([A1-3])

Entactus Major.
Adrenergic particles ([alpha1-2&beta1-3;])

Inhibitus Micro.
Glycine particle ([GlyR])

Intoxicatum Socialite.
gamma-Hydroxybutyric Acid particle ([GHB])

Antipathion.
Sigmaergic particulate ([sigma1&sigma2;])

Opus Opiatus .
Opioidergic particles ([OP1-4])

Aponia ex Apotheotelos.
Oxytocin particle (Pituitary [Hypothalamus-Hypophysis])

Inebriatus Dissociate.
gamma-Aminobutyric Acid particle ([GABA-A&B;]

Aetherion.
Cannabinoidergic particles ([CB1&2])
{[Che]M[icall]-Theory}
Mote May 2015
two kids locked their mom out of the car where
i work. she screamed at them, to
open the ******* door. i was
thinking  about sleeping with my boyfriends
best friend.
he'll look at me then back at him and
back again, telling me he's got some thing
galactic for me to check out -
towheaded child punched another in the face.
i was late planting my garden.
its not cheating when the dude is a hologram,
and im an extraterrestrial.
i said im such a liar, spend so much time reading tate and palmer that it ***** with my head.
i said god, cottonwood doesn't belong here.
i said god, make them unlock the door.
Algebrarian May 2019
Joseph Argyle, Andrew Misseldine
Southern Utah University

Today we will be talking about advanced mathematics.
Let out your primal screams now.
It almost seems as if mathematics are a histamine to most people,
But mathematics is omnipresent in every interaction between two universes.
Mathematics is obscenity. We know it when we see it.

Mathematicians are the teenage girls in the back of a borrowed Toyota Camry
Demanding to know “what are we?”
Most people feel the tense shrug and the stiff arm of her companion.
Mathematicians feel the swagger of a braggart uncle at the watermelon-spitting contest.
Demanding more precision than everyone else at the party.
And at the same time they are the children standing up to the bully saying
“My dad can beat up your dad.”
And hoping their opponent doesn’t say “Prove it.”
They always say prove it.

There was a time where proofs were guarded in secrecy.
When braggart mathematicians,
the dogs of rival states who lusted after academic supremacy but not knowledge,
claimed they could prove things without proofs.
Where even a jot in the margins of a notebook done with enough pomp made you a god.
The mathematics eventually rebelled against loose proofs and found its true ecstasy,
Rigor.

Rigor is what separates mathematics from the beasts.
Science dictates the rules of our planet,
and daresay our entire dimension.
However, even scientists struggle with math.
Scientists view mathematicians as,
well, masochists is the wrong word.
I guess scientists acknowledge mathematicians the way most sports view cross country runners. Mathematicians relish doing the parts other scientists do as punishments.
But math is an obscenely illuminating and beautiful subject.

Mathematics needn’t be scary.

Mathematics is really the study of sets.
Sets are the piles of objects curated by the lonely.
The horde exhibits consistent rules.
Every object can be related and grouped with every other object
As can two people find some common ground.
These connections map to constellations across papers meaning more than the papers
And the time they take to construct
We are all connected.
Whether we join each other up or bend down to meet someone where they lay,
We are escaping the void of an empty set.
And the laws of mathematics steady with the same consistency all through whatever ordeal
The chef has challenged diners with today.

There are always rules, and the rules can be trusted.
In this set, joining and meeting are always the same.
They are Idempotent, meaning an operation sticks.
One and done.
Idempotency is the effective lesson which is learned exactly once and remembered forever,
Like the cat who jumps on the hot stove exactly once.

If the definition of insanity is the repetition of a single task over and over again
while expecting different results,
Idempotency is the opposite of insanity.

The human race is one huge set.
Idempotency is how we interact with other people.
It is meeting someone where they are.
We can all be a little better than we were before.
Idempotency is inviting them to raise each other up and join them in the journey.
Ken Pepiton Jan 2023
-------------
Time's were hard, we see,
as we look back and wonder, asking
actually,
wondering
is asking who knew, or knows,
at the ha,
a breath acclaiming exhaled, huff.
I know. It acts as if, I am the prey, in quest…

Of course, in slow, out burst… ah wit' ha a aitch
witches silence, 'ear ye, 'ear ye,
order in the court,
the open court before the temple,

gather, all ye hinderers and holder-backs, rally
round the banner over us,
which is love of duty to God and Country,

¿Eh, little man, dis tinctual intel, confi, semper set,
semper fi, do or die, or do and die, why
is not a factor,
or luck is not a factor, time and chance, dance…

dance with this wondering mind, wishing to be
of some significance, when plopped
on the scale,
for what it is worth,
for the cost
to fit the three strand thread
from Delphi riddles writ
in Greek et Ebersprachen Proverbs
from the very early days,
collected fragments
of ever ago, cetera

as far as ships had sailed, we know, now
we have sailed farther,
we have flown, as far as our perception may
hold the experience,
as power we may use, if we choose, buy a ticket,
wait in line…

read one hundred and forty seven maxims,
think three missing, for I was told to find
one hundred and fifty pre-positioning
glyphs, single sign, single signal, taken

as given, one will to wonder, one to wonder why.

I am at the moment Qwerty Guy, qwertying code,
in clear text,
through sieves witches were known, to use,
by King James, the first, of England,
who wrote the book on sorting
witches from his loyal servants,

all sworn to alliegiance,
to the king of two kingdoms, all stand,

Come to order, let the judgement begin…
in this worlds interpretation,
of ἐγγύα πάρα δ'ἄτα
- Swear not at all… Certainty makes madness
after we recall, there needs be order, must be
in the court,
where each man, wombed or un, and possibly,
old or young, or, better said,
old from young, must judge the angels
we each trust to always see things our way
- draw the right vectors, from my POV
- Graphic communication demo
Cartesian, belling thing, seen on two dimensions,
to and from, but here
the point
the readers perceptivity
to the precept set in ifery was,
so quite long ago we lost our grip,

holding, holding, holding that thought,
we thought, a chapter or so ago, you know
we thought,
ever
was a thinkable thing, and we thought it.

------------- Proud of it, too.
Dis, take it
Easy, you are privileged, legated privacy
for knowing what may be known,
in the realm of all you may ever know.

Gnostic mystic alien ties
religamental truth coded moral worth,
stores of stories studied in hope,
choking on the dust, those missing,
layers,
the bringers of peace,
the releasers of the knowing to the chosen,
those selected by childish preferences,
to become the model image
of good done right,
as natural as
sneezing whole armys into being,
after sowing dragon's teeth for years.
All we agree, we may imagine, making up

Messengers from former days,
telling us to mend our ways,
no, telling us, to get a grip.
Oracles or angels, or mass hysteria,
none portrayed as boogermen and witches,
wrinkled hags and fatphag priests in shades.
At you, we see the dust blown.
Celebrate.
A series of sneezes axon-triggering,
deep anti-histamine relief reaction, coming on,

must be something in the wind,
must be my body, reacting, doing what must
be done,
or I shall die, or I shall die, each sneeze,
from within me cries,
no, from inside,
we whisper, prepare, to not spray snot,
in civilized mindspacetime patterning arrays.
Ah, this feels fine, okeh, let life work wonders in the dark.
Meagan Moore Jan 2014
The mosquitoes supped histamine limpets into our puckered flesh
dew gilted grass entombed our feet in dappled domes
refracting the overhead fireworks
smears of whirling color
accented by smoke mote ghosts

I forgot to wear my contacts
my near-sightedness
makes you giggle nervously -
a hard full body ****** of a laugh
it arches your spine
pulling our hand-holding into an expansion
only the lining betwixt finger inlets
galvanized our pulse

well, that and your voltaic laugh
its flourishing timbre
resonant
reverberant pyrotechnic
thickly glazing aural canal

lascivious tomes penned themselves
densely
upon neural plane
dendrites imprinting chemical insignia
moment captured in impressionistic blurs
Lendon Partain Mar 2013
Tonight I was *****.
I got persuaded by a ten year old boy,
A boy of 6,
Into doing "things".

His supple boy skin,
Mine suppler not even sun kissed,
yet kissing ****.

Tonight. I'm 24.
I hurt from every pore,
As my breathing shallows.

I tried *******, only a taste.
I ate a pin ***** size morsel.
Throat closed, anaphylaxis.
The praxis of finding out, through rashes of histamine.

Every time I shower.
I played in the mud.
Doesn't wash off.
Guilt.

Oh man, how my grandma used to try.
Scrub me.
I'd scrub just as hard,
Till raw in  my arms.

Every evening.
I lay in bed.
contemplate things.
Look at what has happened.
I see him again.
I cry,
I weep,
I spit,
Oh curses.

Can't change it.
Can't take my mouth off his ****.
You know. The good stuff.

Bein' a kid is hard...
Bein' adult that was once a kid is harder'

You know. They used to put us in prison.

Line us up in rows, make us do LOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNGGGGGGGG division.

Walk in a straight line. Hold your inmates hand.

I used to work the problems backwards,
The teachers would get mad at me,
Make me work at their desk,
Knew i must be cheating,
Made me teach class,

I never grew up from that.

I used to think that this happy trail led to a ******,
Once closed up.
I thought I was gay.

Now...I just know that.















Well happy trails aren't always happy.
At least mines finally growing hair.
Kinda got ***** at 6 years old haha. booooo hoooooo fun stuff. Win some lose some. Please no comments. Unless they are negative or about the poem not the content. Want no consolation. seriously.

Lendon
An Uncommon Poet Sep 2014
I sit here and write lines
helplessly helping words fall into place
sweating over the definition of my verse
maybe if I use big words she'll love me
maybe if I exercised the thought of apodyopsis she'll want to **** me
what is it that makes her drool
what is it that makes her bite her lip
I sit here and stare at the empty page
as curiosity punches me in the face
my eraser falls thin
the point of my pencil becomes a rounded wall
blocking me from lyrically crushing her current emotion
with my emotional baggage and excuses for questions of nonsense
she loves it either way
but I want to see her shirt drop and her pants fall to the floor
I want to see her underwear tangle around her toes and bra hanging by a thread
I want her to tackle me onto the bed
and grasp my body
as I capture what the **** to say or do
I'd be a clueless and moronic
human corpse, a space cadet
trying to make a moment I wouldnt forget
but my memory is a near epiphany
then I realized I'm my own histamine
falling terminally ill to my own curiosity
as I sit here and ponder possible ways to make her scream and scratch
claw and moan
fall into an intoxicated mindset
lost in the sensation, high from the ******* abstinence
I became sidetracked from my intention
perfectly plotting the lyrics to this poetic excuse for mental state of ****** cravings
was all I had to do, instead she was the only thing I wanted to do
I refused to control my emotions and spited  myself for my temptations
my punishment was to complete this poem
in the most utterly honest way
to indulge in the realism of foreshadowing
to amuse the literal stints line after line
and once I'm done, crumple up the paper
break my pencil and dispose of my imaginative discretion  
and once my page turns to black ash from the light of the fire
I will begin again
until she stands unclothed beyond me
until she forfeits to my literal ultimatum
JP Goss Sep 2018
Out on the tollroad
I see signage everywhere
Saying, “I knew you before I formed you in the womb.”
And then I knew of the concept
Before it was formed into words:
To know of one’s pain,
To be aware of pain.
I saw this drawn all over the rings
You imagined painted both our fingers.
Did you know me
Before you formed me into words?
Before I heard the words come from your mouth
I knew God, I knew gnosis, I knew the gospel
I knew bewitchment
From a grimoire, etched with hearts
And symbolology.

From there, we look for the perfect philosophy,
A biological philosophy deep latent
In the passion in the sweat on your upper arms
And leveraging all that came long before,
A generational memory
Recollected when I’m ******* on your mammaries
Realizing the good in that which
Makes my life hell
And my parents proud.

In passion, I notice the double standard,
Feeling drowned in water and this,
This is the sense of
Understanding the world
With the perfect syllabicality.
The kind where
The tokens we carry in our pockets
The ones we talk with,
Flash before love
Is ever a factor.

Too easily, do we speak about love.

How could a fetish for the perfect
Distract us enough to forget
The imperfect,
Something fear perverts far beyond utility
Something that’s far more a safer bet before
The perfect is good but not good enough
And you’ve lost your stomach to draining bottle after bowl
Seeking dopamine desperately.

You’ve been the cat in my lap
And the histamine storm
Assaulting the roof of my mouth
A reminder we can’t get too close
To the things we love,
And I’m not into you
Being so into me,
Being so bereft of the thing
Neither of us expected to happen.

The way you say you love me
Seems off balance,
Your love seems like a self-reassurance
Quietly nestled behind the greatest desire
For your worst insecurity, it is with that
I know what about yourself you love the most
It is outside the flow we promised one another
As though we’re held to the same ground
By a different gravity, said different words
That we nodded to.

It’s been said before,
I’m sorry, it was something, upon which
I thought we agreed,
There’d be no tears when we would leave.
So much wisdom is in the idiom,
“Follow your heart.”
Follow where it flows if even into the dark
If even along many streams
If even it strays, follow your sense of pain
And where it may teach you
Never to fear what you were
Meant to have
Even if it means the unfaithful
Path along the straight and narrow.
Arlene Corwin May 2020
Just One More Anomaly

Memory, how is it working?
Reconstructing what it will,
No matter how one wills it.
Using tricks or keeping still,
It goes downhill sulking, lurking,
Modifying all the while.

Date, event - assumed, imagined;
Recipe for roasted chicken, how and what the vitamin,
Where one laid the just used pen;
Truths about what might have been:
One is not amused or gladdened!

One reads histamine boosts memory.
Where to start: ear, nose or eye?
The husband tells a story,
But the story and the history refashion
Into joke or smoke, or expectation.
An honest man, he reconstructs time’s long bygone.
What and is there a solution?

How to boost the falsifying, garbled brain,
Train away the stigma and enigma?
Food: The marvel is the good it does, in spite
Of junk consumed both day and night,
Those lovely cells of memory;
Losing neurons constantly.

Interests, hobbies:
Training. learning, instrument…
Any bent, life but experiment;
Each callisthenic ‘heaven sent’.

A poem one way to speak,
Renewing bits new and archaic;
One in which a syllable will stick,
Inspired to get a kick out of the rhythmic lyric
Born in life.

Just One More Anomaly 5.29.2020  (formerly Another Autobiographical Anomaly 2.11.2019/Recomposed 5.29.2020) Pure Nakedness II; Circling Round Experience; Arlene Nover Corwin

Anomaly: oddity, peculiarity, abnormality, irregularity, inconsistency, incongruity, deviation, aberration, quirk, freak, exception, departure, divergence, variation; rarity, eccentricity.

— The End —