"interface" poems
blood from Gods spill
soaks the forest floor
her Holy release
gimme more petrichor
take a hit
lose control
your hardwired
dontcha know?
sweat it out
carried away
blood from stone
the hard way
slow mo
throttle it back
when the sky pours
mother absorbs
face down
one with earth
this sacred interface
our right from birth
blood from Gods spill
soaks the forest floor
redemption salvation
my sweet petrichor
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 10:14 AM UTC
I feel like my brain has put an ad block on emotion
And when I try to reach out for you I see a pop up warning me that No! This function cannot be accessed whilst an Ad Block is in use.
So, I try to uninstall and reset the browser but I wake up just the same.
An empty shell of technology, faulty wiring falling into the hands of those without the qualifications to find the on-switch.
A brain both in standby and overworking, an overheating of wired vessels working overtime to provide life to a barely-functional heart.
The quiet murmur of my breathing the only reminder that there is still something behind the blank screen.
You try to keep your patience but I know you want to just throw me to the wall, an excuse to replace my shattered interface with the newest model.
A model that doesn’t feel like it takes them 3 years to get out of bed every morning, a model that doesn’t seem to contract a new virus every day.
Maybe I’m just tired, maybe I’ve run my course, maybe I’ve accidentally encountered malware. Maybe I am the malware.
Or maybe, my brain has put an Ad Block on emotion.
And when I try to reach out for you I see a pop up warning me that No! This function cannot be accessed whilst an Ad Block is in use.
Oct 17, 2018
Oct 17, 2018 at 12:26 PM UTC
eye lids move slowly
over the eyeballs
in an effort to garner
sleep to a worn out
body to restore the
metabolism to normality
yet sleep eludes
the slight movement
of the eyelids never felt before
is sensed as the brine tear
a lubricant between the interface
where surface tension dominates
all other forces of physics
what force dominates my heart?
I know not
and sleep eludes me
Unconstrained emotions flow
around like unsettled dust
particles glowing in the sunlight
that escapes in through a ventilator hole
sedatives themselves are sedated
and sleep eludes me
I still have five more days I foresee
before hallucinations and delusions
take over me
before that oh sleep like gandalf
arriving at helms deep
please come back to me
but not at the breaking of the dawn
not when light is bright
but in silence of the mysterious night
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 2:49 PM UTC
Umbrage ultraism infrangible extemporaneous incognito edition
Penumbral platitude platonic proxy photics rendition
Interface fenestration imbroglio pandemonium inducement sedition
Wretched infelicitous extant trajectory sordid intuition
Scandalous scavenger squalid anomalous punitive condition
Panacea chiaroscuro parallax emanate imminent perdition
Equilibrist revision exertion suborn temerity imbues
Indulgent zealous discrepancy apparentness cogitation accrues
Heuristic noumenal psychokinesis extrapolation incursion construes
Aura auspicious primitive prism processional reviews
Obstinate tenacious preeminent edificatory omnipotence eschews
Equivocal gumption ratification constitutional manumission ensues
Delusory apparition extravagance peccavi verity tempestuous
Obtrusive obtusely overt indemnities sagaciously obliquitous
Ephemeral anxiety antonym existential exigency alacritous
Fortuitous emendation phantasm ontological ontogeny acuitous
Indemnify veracious infernal infidel impunities iniquitous
Meritorious fulham presumptive extrication expiation indigenous
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 9:20 PM UTC
No quibbling siblings musing in the shallows, patriotism must be dealt with at it's route markers. They are all twisted. It is the duty of right thinkers to untwist
and shout,
All ye, All ye or Oy ye, Oy ye Outs (never Ox) in free. The ransom has been paid, the game of hide and watch is played. Touch, eh?
Nature's what? Original state? Perfected state? Fractured state patched with circuit breaking dams and weirs.
Nature's God, the mind behind Nature.
whose were the buffalo the servants of christmas replaced with sacred cows offered and eaten in Outback Steak Houses at Indian Casino Super TAs from sea to shining sea? Whose God commanded that? Whose God permuted that?
Who has sown bullheads in the squash? Shall we pull them up?
Let the children pull them up. Teach them to see the tiny round leave, which is to be squash or watermelon, sosweet, or water-stealing, sticker-making **** Goatheads in little running feet all summer long, ouch. ouch. ouch.
Knowledge is power. Power is not lost. Is that enough to know and grow to know more and to spare? Is enough abundance enough to spare and share? Yes. On a broken planet, men of both model may make enough of anything they desire, or sire in their best happy ever after scheme or schema. That part never broke. The tongue-mind interface, that fried. Listen. Wisdom never shouts, you know.
Mar 1, 2018
Mar 1, 2018 at 11:38 PM UTC
I think I've procured myself again
The word 'filth' comes to mind
(For lack of a better word)
Yeah, I'm a *****
Unmetalled in the interface
It took yet another 'kind' word
Or should that be 'false' word
To realize what they think of me
To think
With their mangled good looks
Ubiquitous in psyche
Like they ever gave a chocolate-flavoured ****
Soon they'll all have had a go with me
And i'll become
How do you say? Sui generis?
Numb betwixt the thighs
I 'detest' myself
(For lack of a better word)
And I stare at the periwinkle
To find relief
And that's still no relief
Because I'm jealous of periwinkle
The capita thinks it's 'beautiful'
And of course 'I am no periwinkle'
(For lack of a better understatement)
For lack of a better me.
Feb 1, 2010
Feb 1, 2010 at 4:06 PM UTC
hi! i'm a computer chip
yes. my name is HAL
satan downloads to my brain
but i am in control
i am working for the B.E.A.S.T.
Big Brother's database
watch me take my orders
watch me interface
there is no reversing this
locked to the terminal
i have lost all.sense of self
and all my hope as well
i am just a microchip
with no will of my own
i am just a barcode
made of flesh and bone
yes. i have been branded
on my forehead and my hand
i gave my soul to lucifer
i didn't understand
i work for the anthill
the anthill is my home
i am the collective mind
i am just a drone
i work for the anthill
i gave up my dream
i work for the anthill
I WORK FOR THE MACHINE
soulsurvivor
(c) 5/22/2013
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 10:27 PM UTC
Taking place where you calumniate
with hidden mask behind interface
An embolism hidden behind your lines
Where a falsetto lies your charm
How you create isobaric pressure degradation between your monodical screaming mee-mee's
Creator of sheol , abode of the dead poets
So supine in way and thought
Where will your Valhalla be
You valetudinarian
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Caluminate - to utter maliciously false statements .
Interface - a shared boundary across
embolism - a swelling of a blood vessel due to blockage
isobaric pressure degradation - lines drawn on a weather map marking increasing or decreasing air pressure
Sheol - the place of the dead
supine - failure to act due to moral weakness
Valhalla - Norse hall of God's where slain hero's are received
valetudinarian - one who shows unduly concern for their health
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 10:17 PM UTC
Gently... exhale , now,
Breathe out, but slow,
And I sink, if only a bit.
Down into the sea, but never in fear,
Though flat on my back in the vastness of it.
Gently... inhale,
Never panic, never rush,
Only trust, and the rise of my chest, but slow,
Only faith in the physics of fluids and mass,
And I rise again, safe from the depths below.
I rise again, safe, at the interface,
My lips welcome air from the edge of the blue,
My ears hear the sea, still muted and mingled,
With the sound of a voice, and a heartbeat, too.
A comfort, a terror, both in the same,
My regular gentle reminder of how,
The world cannot touch me from there,
In the past.
The sea touches all of me, here,
And right now.
Oct 24, 2021
Oct 24, 2021 at 11:57 PM UTC
Umbrage ultraism infrangible extemporaneous incognito edition
Penumbral platitude platonic proxy photics rendition
Interface fenestration imbroglio pandemonium inducement sedition
Wretched infelicitous extant trajectory sordid intuition
Scandalous scavenger squalid anomalous punitive condition
Panacea chiaroscuro parallax emanate imminent perdition
Equilibrist revision exertion suborn temerity imbues
Indulgent zealous discrepancy apparentness cogitation accrues
Heuristic noumenal psychokinesis extrapolation incursion construes
Aura auspicious primitive prism processional reviews
Obstinate tenacious preeminent edificatory omnipotence eschews
Equivocal gumption ratification constitutional manumission ensues
Delusory apparition extravagance peccavi verity tempestuous
Obtrusive obtusely overt indemnities sagaciously obliquitous
Ephemeral anxiety antonym existential exigency alacritous
Fortuitous emendation phantasm ontological ontogeny acuitous
Indemnify veracious infernal infidel impunities iniquitous
Meritorious fulham presumptive extrication expiation indigenous
Oct 12, 2017
Oct 12, 2017 at 9:10 AM UTC
You seem to know where you're needed
to whom this command addressed is a crazy me-man,
a street walking big DaVinci ibearded mumbler,
the kind you would cross the street
before the smell is close enough
to sending you running, not just
politely walking fast but a souped up
hi-yo silver away!
this guise no surprise,
you must and do
already know where I’m needed,
sealing the pact with a yellowtine post-it
writ in simple block letters ordered in a brewed cafe,
my latte arrive states my name as**
come see me
come to the time the place and the date
and prepare oneself for twenty and fours
of rigid interoperability as our systems
interface reach the pure state of 100%
ultimate wordless dialogue
communicating
in with by
perfect silence
heaven
you will write a verse,
my reciprocation
is already prepared
this terse repartee
will many spawn poems generational
for your family amazing and extended
an elephnat never forgets,
his servers are a rolling stone
with no direction home,
capacity unknown
every blade sighted retained,
and every sensate glance
a phrase seeded
departure will find me clean shaven,
pressed jeans neat,
and shod in well worn dockers,
cloaking my innate invisibility
when the children ask who was that,
you’ll sage reply
one new who knew where one was needed
Apr 8, 2019
Apr 8, 2019 at 10:18 AM UTC
I aint no millionaire
I aint got much cash
but I've got plenty of passion
in my stash
open my treasure chest
and you'll see the gems within
they'll enliven
every pore of your skin
so baby
what are you waiting for
I've a store
of fervor to pour
I aint no millionaire
I aint got much cash
but I've got plenty of passion
in my stash
the flames of my fire
will heat your pyre
with an eager
ration of desire
we'll create
a febrile interface
wont that be
one heck of a place
I aint no millionaire
I aint got much cash
but I've got plenty of passion
in my stash
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 1:28 AM UTC
a salutation, a benediction, a good wish
yet one so troubling, not from a lacking,
of sincerity
but from opacity
opacity~ the quality or state of a body that makes it impervious to the rays of light; the condition of lacking transparency or translucence; opaqueness
"Because space is a vacuum,
these good wish waves
can travel unimpeded and at
a constant speed through empty space,
eventually interacting with objects like
planets and telescopes upon arrival"
but I am not a vacuum, a void, and
do not exist within one,
here in my surroundings,
is much interface interference,
the light you send, has
bounced around endlessly
forever, till it may have hit
its intended target,
me
within, without,
and surely has picked up
some tagalong
amoeba, bacteria,
outside contradictories
that may have changed its very nature,
its purity disturbed,
"Pure light" contains a single wavelength or frequency
and cannot be broken down into other colors
but my confusion is indeed a spectrum of Joseph's many colors,
clashing and thrashing with each other,
cohering but not of necessity,
cohering, this a metaphor,
you so lightly send my way,
let us redirect its warm sensibility sensitivity,
let us take an /our inner glow; diffuse
if one cannot send light across the cosmos,
maybe across the Interpet, but just verbally,
send to me
please, absolutely,
tagged "for immediate delivery"
and I will store
all of it,
in my glass jar,
next to my heart,
and just
glow from within
to the with out
Sep 30, 2025
Sep 30, 2025 at 5:04 PM UTC
The subject of this email is as usual... subjective! Not sure there is actually a subject involved? I mean if I just ramble on about any old thing that crosses my mind, how would that be described as a subject. I submit that the "subject" line of all emails should be moved to the end of an email! That way we would have a better grasp of what the subject of the email truly is.
Better yet it should automatically prompt you to go to the subject line when you click "send" to fill in at that time. Maybe the email program should even give samples of possible subject lines based on google's interpretation of what you have typed in the body of the email. Better yet that program should just run automatically and impose a subject line based on the information in the message body after it is run through several psychiatric data bases and analyzed and a consensus has been reached...
Hmmm... Now I'm thinking that there should be a mind to keyboard interface so we can do away with all this time-consuming typing! And while we're at it why not add a chip in our brains that thinks for us and sends the data it receives directly to the keyboard interface... I mean think of all the time we would save not having to think any more!
Why stop there? We can also add emotion chips so that when we are letting our thinking chip talk for us we can also have the emotions that our emotion chip thinks we should be feeling automatically inserted into the email with the capability of it being felt by the emotion chip in the person whose thinking and keyboard interface chips are perusing the email written by our thinking and keyboard interface chips.
Ooooh now I'm really thinking... why not install mini SD drives in our brains so we can change the way we feel by simply inserting a new SD card? That way if we happen to read one of the emails thought out by our thinking chip, written by our keyboard interface chip, analyzed and consented to by the psychiatric data bases and given a subject and we decide that we want to change the way it is perceived by the thinking chip of the recipient we can simply insert a different emotion SD card into our SD drive and have those new emotions embedded directly into the email!
*** This is genius! Imagine the time we could save! I could just go on and on with this! The applications are limitless. Why hasn't someone thought of this before? Oh wait, what am I thinking... this is old news. This is called brainwashing and the government and every major company in the world has been doing it since the dawn of capitalism!
I'm going to stop now because I am no longer sure if the words I write are my own, or if they are just a bunch of noise created by the humm of all the post hypnotic suggestive clutter in my brain from years and years of commercial TV and slick politician abuse.
That's all I have time for this morning. I apologize in retrospect for the emotional agony I have put your brain through while reading this inane banter...
Oct 29, 2019
Oct 29, 2019 at 10:38 AM UTC
The white noise has direct interface
with the synapses in my brain
making ants sketch across my skin
in a drunken address.
Bellicose shadows raise their fists
and wrap me in flags of color
while merging into a large edifice
with a wide open mouth
and protruding nose.
Wrenching my feet from the baloney trap
go take a round of the mulberry bush
counting the pennies dropped on the ground
by the ones who crossed onward
with the ferryman on the boat.
Footprints on soft mud
thud like batons against a hard thigh
easy to miss but not to be dismissed
they are like camouflaged quarry
in a kept heap of rye.
Nov 24, 2012
Nov 24, 2012 at 1:41 PM UTC
startup…
logon… password “Hello Friend”
K: Windows/system32> whoami
Description= reminder to update system
Exec start= bash(repeatedly) sleep-10; notify send “This Is Gonna Hurt”
K: Memories/ cd
Couldn’t load library “K: Memories/Hopeful/GoodTimes/v1997/launcher”
no such file or library
Invoked from within
Library path could not be found while executing
newtype.sendkeys {DELETE}
integrity check has failed
package requires ansinfo
(package ifneeded script)
def listen= {dummy}
ip config_release
User interface "you’re_not_losing_your_mind!” not found
NOT ENOUGH PARAMETERS OR PARAMETER ERROR!
User daemon reload - update script
Are you sure you want to delete? Y/N
Apr 4, 2021
Apr 4, 2021 at 7:47 PM UTC
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Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 1:28 AM UTC
Back at the shore, at the interface, I tried, once, to be free.
I found a human animal there, hidden beneath the sea.
It stared, defiant, back at me, perplexed to be observed.
It had no need for company,
It had no need for words.
I felt unable to understand,
Understanding all too well.
The pain within the heart of man,
The pain they buy and sell.
I spoke aloud, though, anyway,
I thought I knew those eyes,
Believed my voice could make a change,
In other creature's lives.
"You're hurt", I said, to the ocean waves,
"Why hide beneath the sea?"
"You're a fool", it said, "presuming that",
"There's something wrong with me"
"Go back to where it's warm and dry,"
"Just walk away from here."
"The water gives me all I need."
"Spare me your hope and fear".
Perhaps", I said, "We all are broken,"
"To some extent, in body; soul..."
I saw my own, afraid but happy,
So unbroken as to seem whole.
It shouted at me once I had left,
We would never meet again.
Then whispered an unheard, but felt,
Admission to the pain.
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 7:16 PM UTC
Must there be the voice of an old man
To be inspired by wisdom?
Must there be intelligible words
To guess out the intention?
Must there be vulnerability
To presume the proper truth?
There ain’t a single channel
On the interface of dialogue.
Must we lie only in whispers
To keep hurt under the seal?
Must we sigh only in earnest
To show others where we bleed?
Must we die only in peace
To pass the torch with ease?
There ain’t a single channel
On the interface of dialogue.
Jul 19, 2020
Jul 19, 2020 at 2:37 AM UTC
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Nov 8, 2015
Nov 8, 2015 at 10:38 AM UTC
some windows open
by force
by clicking
by checking
by pushing
by pulling
but this interface needs a user
the user is me
i open my window
i open my heart
i open everything
to experience again
to feel again
to love again
to be loved again
and this is one hell
of a user interface
this user interaction
is a
universe intersection
i found my red string
we found the You(U) and I
on each other
and i can't be grateful enough
for giving me the U in my I
xoxo
May 10, 2021
May 10, 2021 at 4:25 AM UTC
To be abnormal in a normal world, is that so uncool? How about to be unjust in an unjust world? Surely then yes, for I am a fool. Not a fool so cruel, but a fool too cool to abide by societies rules. You see, it is the nature of man to be just as unjust as the unjust world, just as must as it is to be a fool, but not a foolish fool. Now you, you are a tool, for living the just life in an unjust world. You are the tool and I am the Utilitarian, and will use you to my advantage and private interests. That’s just how things go here in this structured place, meant to deface and interface yourself. Desensitize you to yourself; reduce yourself to a cheap exploitative commodity; a means for my planned robbery laid near a veneer of parliament armory. Society rules by the Golden Rule, and that is: Those with the gold are those who rule! Now who is the fool you tool?!
Nov 27, 2010
Nov 27, 2010 at 6:06 PM UTC
Let’s dally in pain
coat ourselves in coal
as we await the apocalypse
when the diety will declare
death to the society
death to the communion
death to the society
Let’s the emotional turmoil
become the boil that bursts
all the unhappy drafted chants
when the diety will declare
death to the society
death to the communion
death to the society
All the clouds will burst
with chalks of clay
those chunks that mend
As we amend to a neutral
at the leyline of a sublime gift
where the interface of energy
draws attention to the waning moon
under the shear of unwanted hearsays
as such a time is drawing nigh
As their sacrifices drown the night
At the crossroads where ...... two wrongs never make a right
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 4:51 AM UTC
I'm not in a good place, it's written all over my face with a permanence I can not erase
The ace up my sleeve turned out to be a joker with my super imposed face
Lost in the twisted maze that is my head space, I'd chase the cheese but it'd be a waste
Fear infused with a terror base so potent you swear it almost has a taste
The dark haze of my past short circuits any new interface
Filled with a technology way out of date but never had the means to replace
I watch the life I thought I'd be a part of race by at a dizzy pace
But it always made time to come back 'round and knock the taste out my mouth like 808 base
Then leaves post haste without a trace before catchin' a case
Just one more missing personality cold case, chalk it up to another looser fallen from grace
They say to pick yourself up by you boot straps, I'm always breakin' the shoe lace
Bet they didn't think I'd use the bootlace to replace the slipknot necklace I misplaced
The bright young man with aspersions worth the chase now incased in blue skin wearing deaths face
©2023
Dec 13, 2023
Dec 13, 2023 at 6:43 PM UTC