"homogenous" poems
Hark! Take heed, for this cake be both mighty and magnificent!
1.75 cups flour
2 cups white sugar
2 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. baking powder
0.75 cups unsweetened cocoa powder
1 tsp. salt
2 eggs
1 cup (as in 8 fl.oz/250mL.) strongly brewed coffee (make more and drink it!)
1 cup buttermilk (or 1 tbs. white vinegar+1 cup milk mixed well, blah blah)
0.5 cups cocoanut oil (or 0.33 cups basicallywhatever oil), a little less if ***
1 tsp. vanilla extract
OPTIONAL:
2-3 shots (60-90mL; 0.2-0.33 cups) black spiced *** (Kraken, if at all possible)
I also want to experiment with whiskey/burbon.. if you try it, let me know!
--Flour, sugar cocoa powder, baking soda+powder, salt mixed in one bowl
-- eggs, coffee, *** buttermilk, oil, vanilla in another
Slowly mix the dry into the wet until as homogenous as possible.
I use an 8"x8" (20cmx20cm) pan @350F (175 C) for about 40 minutes, but I check on it at round 30 minutes because some variance may well apply. If you use olive oil, or avocado oil, or whatever other more fluid oil, I find a slightly hotter oven (375 F/190 C) can be advisable, but pay attention to your specific scenario! The worst that's happened for me is the top gets a bit crusty, but that pleasantly works with the overall moisture of the cake, especially with olive oil and the *** addition.
Do the toothpick test to see if it's ready!
Frosting is applicable, as well, because this Magical Cake is not horribly sweet for how horribly sweet it sure is. I usually just sprinkle some confectioner's sugar on it to make it look all fancy for my classy friends and band-mates.
ENJOY!
Bake responsibly, but have some fun.
Also, suffer the decimals!
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 8:53 AM UTC
They live as a clan in the stone fortress
Barricading themselves from diversity in humanity,
They accumulate all manner of weaponry for strong reasonlessness,
They primitively accumulate arrows, Swords, simis or pangas,
Machetes, clubs, trunctheons and poisonous harpoons,
In full tribal and ethnic neurosis of amok level hatred,
Their behavioral fibres finely tuned towards killing massively
All those of different clan, blood, names and tribal earlobe tattoos
On their misfortunate happenstance of crossing the land
Of collective paranoia; where all but strangely doubts a visitor,
From inside their tribal cocoon they hate without knowledge
They detest all those of alien confession, they hate and doubt,
In stupid fear they believe that sons of foreign land are jeopardy,
We must **** them ere they step on our ethnic comfort.
Your paranoia makes you blind to natural truth
Barely open in the diversity of fauna and flora
On both land and oceans, air and below the earth,
For the bird extant are all but varied; eagles and kites,
Wild beasts are only a myriad of differences,
The trees in your mother’s woodlot are not homogenous,
Life in the seas and oceans is strange variation,
The variation which makes life worth its worthiness,
Rise above the folly in your collective paranoia
Pedestalled on the neurotic fear of human diversity.
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 7:00 AM UTC
The gaping space, witch
could and should
loiter inhabited
by scaly, flaky, soft, smooth, oily, dry, tender
to wit homogenous,
sits idly occupied
by The Plastic Distractants.
The Plastic Distractants
inhibit that sense of calm
heeded by bona fide eye contakt
brushing flake to flake (in a)
pheremonal pow wow.
It is one thing
to have one thing
it is another thing
to have many things.
While the world shreds
and slivers
clostrophobically choking
for breathing space
we pose underground with the sun.
Remember what it means
to look someone in the eye
with meaning in the stare.
Jun 14, 2012
Jun 14, 2012 at 11:51 AM UTC
The pathways of time
Blending hours
In a mixture of
Light and dark
Casting shadows
Into a homogenous
Stew
And yet time moves on
Like a river without end
Forging a course
Of its own making
Burning in limestone
Hard as granite
An eternity forsaking
All boundaries
Black holes notwithstanding
The empty void
******* time into a vacuum
Frozen in the universe
And still time finds a way
Penetrating reality
Bending light for its own purpose
Into the unknown
Never showing itself
Never enumerating
Its variations
On a theme of its
Own making
Hidden within the
Pathways of time
Aug 1, 2018
Aug 1, 2018 at 7:40 AM UTC
Winter passes with little consequence,
ourselves barricaded in these four walls;
heat folded in, embraced from daylight’s woes,
an entire generation is numb.
The universities are flooded, rinsed,
it’s a uniformal fashion parade;
homogenous clones, vacant discussions,
future fears, present greed, our apathy.
These are the faces of tomorrow’s world,
they are clothed in dime-a-dozen sweatshirts;
“choose your pigeon-hole, circle your answer,
tick appropriate box, sign and print name.”
The bars are overloaded, fluorescent
with lack of change, cheap ***** social decay;
stories are ornaments now, not lived in,
but tried on for size, disposable quest.
Memories born in pixels, never felt,
the out-of-focus lens of our daydreams
is no match for high-definition;
screens play out all eventualities.
The youth on borrowed time, defaulted loans
of goodwill. We drink only to stand our ground;
we will toast our tomorrows, welcome them
with cynical tongues and steeled spirits.
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 10:12 AM UTC
When Trump was closing the big gates,
Nonhumans of a classroom debated over speech,
Nature's call and an assumed reaction.
Supervisor said its ok to not speak in class
Because non-speech is not death,
Cross version species conversation is possible.
The romantic Kompridis checked tennis scores
And nonhumans had a grand pool dinner.
Jan 31, 2017
Jan 31, 2017 at 3:23 AM UTC
get on your knees; this position, supplicative and ****** is one you will come to own over the course of lovers both male and female and religions both Christianity and Islam.
you forgot what it was like, always being different; you were the only nonwhite kid in church for well over a decade, and when you urbanized, finding a new, ethnically homogenous clique to call your own, you thought you were Home.
then he kissed you, and your sexuality fractured into a thousand tiny pieces bearing the cool pressure of his lips against yours and the flavor of Burt's Best Bees Lip Balm and the acrid aftertaste of Godiva Dark Chocolate.
you haven't felt so alone since your kindergarten years, and yet-
You Are Free, for the first time in a long time.
Feb 12, 2014
Feb 12, 2014 at 1:34 PM UTC
All one glory.
ominous contextual, meanings
humongous without thought to consequence…
sulfurous smell, sour, double entendre
homogenous council
genius plan, or so we thought
genuine execution, or so it seemed
feminine taste in styling, perfect
female operatives
male operatives
stale-mate… disaster retruning
pale faced bodies lie strewn
plate on plate on plate of shields return, with bodies
flat faces
flake, crack, and cry
fan the widows, fan the orphans, wipe their tears
plan for the future, if you dare again
dan-ce for the youth and show them hope
man-to-man we deserve it… or do we?
mention history
prevention is operative at this point
invention, 1984,
convention, Meadows
convent, Corrine
Death ends for us all with a path… or without.
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 3:49 PM UTC
They sent Daddy home
from suicide watch—
he was bound to lose it someday.
Mom locked up the
kitchen knives.
She comes back to me,
her quivering voice
delivers some deluded promise,
“He said he won’t hurt himself,
I’m just being safe.”
The house is still silent with absence,
he stares at the wall—
hidden in the basement
like the last twenty thirty years
of some void of a life,
guarded by an eggshell
cracked by decades of denial.
You aged ten years in a weekend, Daddy,
And I always feared I’d bury you
before I witnessed my first grey hair,
silver like the lining
of some magical cloud
I can’t seem to distinguish
in this homogenous fog, looming
in the bleak and inescapable sky
hovering over me
with careless indifference
I knew there’d be a day like this,
only now has it come true.
I knew you couldn’t love me, Daddy,
You never loved you, too.
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 11:36 AM UTC
*Bring in the Stash
'No-cache'
Spin Them
In The Bin
Oh Yes,
The Recycle Bin
Centrifuge The Thoughts
Accelerate The Spin
Let it Cool
Skim
The Supernatant Thoughts
A~Blend Synthetically Homogenous Words
A Quick Stir
Win Win
Stash
The Residue
Bottle it Well
For a Later Spin
Amalgamate
A~Miscible Thoughts
Repeat The
Centrifuge
Oh Yes
In
The Recycle Bin
Anew Spin
Treasure The Bin
Win Win*
Jul 10, 2017
Jul 10, 2017 at 8:33 AM UTC
endless drip-drop-plopping pling-pop puddles pooling over
their self-constructed boundaries,
spilling into rainbow chem-drip paintings on the darkened pavement,
melting into unseen hues of wetness.
the super-saturated ground continues to collect the leaking of the sky,
compiling samples of the potions spilling from clouds who gathered too much magic to hold onto by themselves.
bustling busy-bodies cower under fabric roofs,
only to be barraged by rising tidal waves rolling at their feet,
sneaky splattering from dirt sick of being stomped upon.
under the cover of brick and mortar
searching eyes are stuck staring out blurred window-panes,
hypnotized by the water-works and
feeling nostalgia for a time when they lived under the sea,
evolutionary longing for ancestral roots that escape understanding.
entranced by the suspended flight and splendid crash landing of
parachute droplets sent through a long descent as singular entities
to dissolve back into a homogenous being at the end of the journey -
separating and reconvening, reforming and dissipating.
drip-drop drip-drop all the same,
everything as everything else under the guise of arbitrary names,
dripping-drop plopping in watery refrain,
I am the same as you are the same as we are the same as the drip-dropping rain.
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 2:37 PM UTC
It’s this feeling I wait for: Perfection, Serenity.
Every hour before now has no meaning to me
An artificially sweetened, chemical world
In a few moments breaths all begins to swirl.
A whirl of mankind, a homogenous shape
In an exact world, but in an altered state.
As all that’s good and green goes up in gray smoke
Everyone is magic and everything emotes.
I can still identify, but in a different mind.
This perfect serenity…I want it all the time.
Feb 1, 2010
Feb 1, 2010 at 7:41 PM UTC
A sea
Of nameless faces
Garbed in grey
Wired to monotony,
Like a flock
Flying in one direction,
But never toward the sun.
Painted smiles
On plastic faces
A homogenous race
Of uniformity.
Vacant expressions
And abandoned thoughts.
Then there is you.
Strut my little peacock.
Strut.
Jul 5, 2015
Jul 5, 2015 at 7:08 AM UTC
Hyphenate thy walking ground, your thy hunger of slumbered town's, you fenced in doer!!! You rider of wild waves, homogenous to honeycomb's taste of thine hydrogen of implorations!!! Impotent words turn potent to imply further instruction,
Farther corruption comes,
Easier the raindrops flow!
Idle all your masteries to thine miseries,
Your sorceries likely unknown!!
I'm impoverish beyond belief,
Beyond thy receipts of studded diamond jewelry I have found!!!
Manifest questor,
You fancy and plain dresser's,
Arr thou lucratively winning?
Or art thou just beginning to lounge into modernized gain?
Marauders bones turn to sauder,
As Mardi gras is now the countries front page...
Marvel martyr's so penitent to past and present sin!!!
Pensioner's live in penthouse,
While ourn world copes to its end.....
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 9:16 AM UTC
Through my own tyrannical enforcement
I spew insipid scripted statements
I do not support nor enjoy.
Afraid to be aberrant
Oppressed I am pushed to lecture repugnant contradictions against my own disposition.
Turgid loathing of the fear of dropping the expected facade
Supported by ego and enforced by group-think to mold a homogenous majority.
I hate self pity.
Here marinating in my own self indulgent sorrow.
I am a hypocrite.
Another one of my enemies.
But weakened by forcing myself to state the opposite of what I value,
I open myself to further self destruction.
Through this introspection I might be able to reclaim my social autonomy.
Possibly at the cost of diminution of social impression.
That is held at such divine standards today.
I might become a social martyr.
But at least I’d die complete and confident in my own voice.
It would open me to ridicule.
But I’d rather understand myself and be subjected to hate than to live objectively in a self confined contrived reality.
Mar 15, 2019
Mar 15, 2019 at 11:47 AM UTC
Alleged linear
Ignoring its devious nature,
Time is homogenous
Conflicting with my behaviour
Allowing ritualized secrets and processes
Personalized by fragments that possesses
The civilized enablers
To protect art in form of divination
Revealing obsequious attempts
To pretend the culture's end
Ignoring our needs,
Promoting that healing isn't real
Inculcating us through a pharmaceutical delight
A treat to numb your mind
And make you believe that magic isn't real.
Words Of Harfouchism.
Oct 15, 2020
Oct 15, 2020 at 1:35 PM UTC
Gilded, sickly yellow
glowing from a smattering of phosphorescent streetlamps
under homogenous grey skies,
which have finally started to sprinkle rain, after a day's worth of deliberation.
A late night songbird gives one feeble attempt at melody in the distance
and then is silent.
Tip-taps
of droplets
sent from heaven above
as they clatter against plastic car hoods-
to have travelled so many miles, just to terminate there. What grief.
the faint whoosh of engines still on the highway.
People running home,
or running from home,
I can only imagine.
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 2:35 PM UTC
stagnate-
up the creek par se
every which way
I'd use alliteration
for this rash
but its not homogenous
instead in separate stashes-
painfully buoyant idle and robust;
ducks
Brain fried
like a thousand flies,
above the floating trash,
better identified-
the outskirts
of a vague form
than the innocuous worm
found in straw surrounded ponds
in wiggling room -more than enough;
stuck
come in short
into the common fort
to flaunt, gauge, and gauze
columned concerns-
the core and the cause
for which there was none
yet allowed slow a ripple
to echo, reverse and to dribble
to re-emerge the subtlety
of a moving hill
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 1:18 PM UTC
Pale skin
as black as the pupils staring,
─abyssal waters reflecting the space─
infected by dark blood infused
with a silver needle.
Was the canvas blank in its genesis,
for The Painter to leave imprints,
the fertile land now shrinks
as grows the shadow.
Though, distinct are the beauties,
and in the homogenous mass
of interwoven living forms
each of them outshines the rest
─with its darkness─
when the eye halts,
when the focus is trapped;
trapped and submerged in the story.
At length, of life
the host is corpse.
The drawing is complete,
no spaces to fill,
and the useless body
occupies its place in the cemetery.
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 3:55 PM UTC
Fight the algorithms
that tell us what to do,
to make us predictable,
unoriginal and bankable.
Have you witnessed how
increasingly bland and homogenous
our lives are becoming?
Choose freedom
avoid the diaries of commerce
that riff on the ubiquity of apps
resist the reductive tropes
of our published and circulated,
perspective customer identities.
Fight the algorithms
with their embedded backlot
familiarity, built around class
and consumerism.
Try to understand the
vague, inscrutable and
purposefully circuitous.
Or stop overthinking
and embrace liberating surrender.
That’s the path I’ve chosen.
.
.
Broken People by The Narcissist Cookbook
Talk Down Dijon
Jan 27, 2025
Jan 27, 2025 at 12:36 PM UTC
Give and and take.
Harmonious balance-
Homogenous Shake.
Binary Vibration.
So Slowly
I melt...
Falling to the -
Bottom.
I reach the floor.
Feb 18, 2015
Feb 18, 2015 at 7:55 PM UTC
Little masons building, little masons killing
Little masons yielding, little masons wielding
Their swords, tools, and daggers to construct
A wall between trees, as one deconstructs
Little masons like little demons, propelling
Little masons like little ****** love-quelling
An oceanic romance between weathered trees
Leaving broken branches, making debris
Little masons performing their duties
Little masons collecting their rubies
For the hard-work they did today
Leaving two tongue-tied trees slain
Little masons dividing throbbing hearts
Little masons throwing away broken parts
Little masons complete with rapture
Little masons impede love's capture
Little masons like homogenous poles
Little masons making holes in two wholes
Jul 23, 2017
Jul 23, 2017 at 12:42 PM UTC
A dandelion allures an essence of the innocent,
Distinct from a **** once puffed flurries offspring of homogenous descent.
Proletarian by nature, now **** without seed,
That puff propels my wealth and now I can lament.
Bees harbor resentment, “You can’t pollenate me!",
Enticed by sinuous poison and overlooked by the Bourgeoisie,
Cautiously creeping like honey’s viscosity in vain,
Synchronicity is cut short swiftly by A Coup de Main.
_TRF
Dec 11, 2016
Dec 11, 2016 at 9:55 PM UTC
We prefer
indifference
things homogenous
though we can still shake them up
coming to terms with
being alone
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 11:21 AM UTC
All the pain of all the souls mashing away in a great battle of long lances and fire
In perpetual anguish at the realization of our own ignorance
Everyone finds it easier to turn the guns around
And in doing so turn them on themselves
And this is what we call progress
For men that sit in rooms clacking away on ponderous theory
Find no voice in the world at large
And only in the exorcism of demons can we be rid of them
So may it all hangout
The most acidic bile laden stomach dream
Of pungent hate
Spurs the horse ever forward
Until the great lamp burns at its brightest
And the inferno of infinite souls fully realized
In the capacity of will
Only strengthen it
And bring about the most golden of ages
with the realization of the great project
Of the true moral will
And in that very theoretical moment of revelation,
Finally in union with that beautiful Conceptualization
Of the world without flaws
Will we find peace?
or will we stifle all our lust?
Does the river come spill to the Ocean?
Or Dry Homogenous Dust?
Is the problem in the difference?
Or the lack of its acceptance?
Will a captain-less ship reach the shore
with all its crew?
Or is a flawed diamond the best that we can do?
Will the Will remain when the moral flags unfurl?
Or is there some third thing that keeps the best of both worlds?
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 2:07 PM UTC