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A Apr 2018
In a forest, where bird songs are silencers to a pistol and their feathers are scattered hopes, like broken dreams are to fantasies, I sit.
I stretch my arms, wide enough to fit grief and happiness in my muddy hands that I use to bury unspoken apologies and eulogies for days I have not yet lived.

I begin to stare aimlessly at the sky trying to spot the night moon. Its silhouette, that I trace with my finger.
I've drawn
And in the folds of the night, I hold you close
like day does dawn.

I let your depression stain my cheeks and see it drip between the gaps in my teeth,
sting my gum,
and so your language interweaves itself upon wounded scars on my tongue, so when i return back home, i return with the same cuts identical to your tongue that you hung


I don't want to sound too much of a stranger to you when I talk thus tonight, I’ll choose to tie happiness to things that have asked for no such burden
and stictch my lips silent to silence our silent violence.

My eyes bounce back at the hazy sky as if it’ll tame your inner broken and mould it into a less wild creature
more civil, more mature
less aggressive, less of a spirit

Your spirit appears in the bezels of my mind
my trachea catches fire burning deep into my whines ,
my breath disappearing into a silent hymn in the dull light
and watch my tongue chameleonize into a trillion hues of white
until my tongue becomes a graveyard for all my white lies

Until pain becomes a part of my diet,
until I'm able to chew the residual images of a broken girl, until her sadness becomes the air I breathe
until her inner warrior becomes the battle field never fought in
until I'm able to swallow sadness when chugged down my throat,

until I'm able to befriend your wild.
Cunning Linguist May 2015
>Extract
Readme.txt
Todays topic of discussion is digital physics
I/O
>Boot sequence
•Online
Big Bang initiates
The grandiose simulation
Cosmos at war with emulation
Surrounded by bots lost in false self awareness;
Like castles in the air
Beware when virtual CPU perishes

From far enough away,
the galaxy is comprised of minute pixels
The brittle firmware will be abysmally crippled
When a hacker simply introduces
a virus into reality's framework
DDOS style attacks will conclude in
Universal Blue Screen of Death
Resulting in the glitching out
of exodus in mass

Metaphysical metadata memory dump
(checksum)
Mirror carbon copy clones of true conscious unification
Are simply sentient drones toiling
in their default algorithmic hallucination

Scrolling through existence
Analog life is digitized in the matrix
illusionofconsciousness.exe
Interface encrypted in the realm of comprehension
Representations of data abstracted
from the banks of every computer
in the human system

Lets get down to basics
Matter does not exist
Science is not sacred
DNA is molded by perception
Creativity is your true oasis

Trans-dimensional harbingers
Conspire together to alter our processors
Measure and tether us to our oppressors
It's standard procedure
Following the leaders

Open the prompt
>Start/Run/cmd
With custom font,
Format my programming;
molecular syntax -
Port the source code
To run on new platforms
Upgrading paradigm
Until baseband collapses

Systematic inversion
We the people,
End users of genetic *******
Trapped in beta,
the bane of human recursion
It's our destiny
To become one with singular conversion

Iterations of congregations
Gregariously lost in configuration
Flies entangled into the interweb
Tied to the mainframe marionette
Files unable to bypass the firewall
Gateway remains unattainable

>cut/copy/paste
>(Ctrl+x/ctrl+c/ctrl+v)
Interweaves cyberspace as our
perceived reality database

>Ctrl-alt-del
>Task Manager
>System
>End process

•Offline
>Server on standby
Null

Dragged and dropped into the recycle bin
Degauss your GPU state of consciousness
& manifest color as it truly exists
In its most absolute resolution

Maximize your window of life
Partition the root someplace private
Elevate your mind to optimal brightness
>Reboot in safe mode*
To achieve enlightenment
This is a very experimental piece I'm not sure if I'm finished with yet. May repost at a later date.
Some explanations:
"Digital physics is grounded in one or more of the following hypotheses; listed in order of increasing strength. The physical world:
is essentially informational
is essentially computable
can be described digitally
is in essence digital
is itself a computer
is the output of a simulated reality exercise"

"A central processing unit (CPU) is the electronic circuitry within a computer that carries out the instructions of a computer program by performing the basic arithmetic, logical, control and input/output (I/O) operations specified by the instructions. (Basically a computer's brain)"

"In computing, a denial-of-service (DoS) or distributed denial-of-service (DDoS) attack is an attempt to make a machine or network resource unavailable to its intended users."

"Ever wonder what that "degauss" button on your monitor does besides make a buzzing noise and cause the screen to go crazy for a second? Though that's its main purpose, the degauss button has another useful feature. To understand it, you'll first need to know that the earth has natural magnetic fields. The magnetic charges from these fields can build up inside your monitor, causing a loss of color accuracy. Degaussing scares the bad magnetism out of the monitor and fills it with good karma.
If your monitor doesn't have a degauss button, fear not -- many new monitors automatically degauss themselves. If you have a flat-panel display, there is no degauss button because magnetism doesn't build up in flat screen displays."

"A graphics processor unit (GPU)  is a specialized electronic circuit designed to rapidly manipulate and alter memory to accelerate the creation of images in a frame buffer intended for output to a display."
vircapio gale Jun 2012
Birthed from perfect unknown void,
Crescendos of unific silence
And a ****** ear reflecting,
A Gift between Two Brothers discontent
Interweaves them now and evermore
In fraternal ******* to a nondual realm.
A lightning seed of thought between two darks,
One light enough to fade the cosmic frown,
To be reborn in strife eternal,
And set the Cycle hastening to a Muse.
His flickering strands dehiscing essence,
The perfect fracture in a faultless whole,
It brings to bear the Change supernal:
The Triple Sequence timely folding,
Unfolds the Rhapsody of Seasons:
Wind, Sea and Earth alighting
Origins of Fire churning dim:
Clear rippling of finality forgotten,
New pressing through into existence,
Her gaze a creature to its own illumination
Renewed, with steaming boundaries... ragged breath:
Living sparks to contemplate the Stars,
And Satyr forward lustful genesis.
The hidden sun plays throughout the wood
A fragant melody of Light held fast,
Of Shadow pregnant and yearning
Bursting forth in spray of life subdued,
Laid low by Rhythmic pulse
And Timeless sea of tempoed mystery.
The hoard takes form, enraged--
A battle-morning's thralling mist of
Early spirits condensate to cling...
That vast blank anticenter dares to mock
With bated fragile brandishings, the
Violent frame of peace-horizons
Stepping out of step, Undeath whining
For a loss of Truth continual. Yet
Hope is wheeling her neoteric self
Upon that sovereign evanescence
Web-like spinning still, a prior sense,
A transfinite faultline of life yet unborn,
Of death still unwrought and wrought again
In hues of growth, and dreams of change,
Waiting silently for Books of Song.
Klinger Sep 2016
Everything rises
Smile
Everything that lives
Reina
All that is lily
Smells
All Laca
interweaves
All who love
Bed
All rejoices
It's love
Everything hurts
It is loneliness
All that remains
  ache
All that was
Heat
All away
Aphelion.
Andrew Rymill May 2015
If any item
should retain
eldritch  potency
in this present age.

It would be
bacon.
wild magik
is released  
by the fat
contained
within its
thick sliced rind.

Glamor can be
released
in simple
domestic rituals.

All you need
is a pan
& a heat source.


Many magi
have reported
in secret books
about bacon’s aid
in seeing
the future.

When bacon cooks
within a  simple pan.
It sizzles
prophetic quatrains
of coming days,
and often is served
with well-cooked omens.

Seers
have reported
the auspicious energies
properly displayed
when bacon power
is properly
presented.

When the curl
of bacon
properly
interweaves
the tips of tongue…

For in
the   tingle
the taste bud
apprehends
the shape
of  infinite spaces;
where the future
is foretold
within
the chew
of inward knowledge.
My flesh is inflamed, frenzied, and moist
A fervent appetite for you scorching inside
Our lips fasten as I ****** your mouth
Your hands are greedy and anxious
My fingers trace and roll on your face
Suckling your neck as I  worship you
Your seductive eyes glistening
Inviting lips pouty and full
Curvaceous and refined,  I touch your milky skin
I want to flow into you

My ******* become firm as you pinch and feast
Glistening from your taste
Peeling back my needs
As your tongue spirals around my heat
Hips rotating and lifting
Clamping unto you as you tease
A tide ruptures in the middle of me
Provoking lascivious thoughts
Whimpers escape gripping you

Your majestic body flushed
As your inviting lips kiss my womanhood
A unity for our  intimacy
Your virility entering inside my mouth
Taunting as you pull me near
I savor your flesh as you thrive

Filling the center of me
Your rising inside my passage melting inside
The dampness from our devotion
Interweaves you into me
ottaross Feb 2014
A window into the soul
Water rushing along a gutter
The awaking to raindrops
Hard upon ancient metal flashing.
Gurgles echo in the drainpipes
Droplets join with a chaotic torrent
That interweaves fingers
With the cobbles in the street.

A window into the soul?
But memories melt like softened snow
Down off a high fence of wrought iron
Caked with ice
Though the blacker the metal
The more warmed by the electric afternoon sun.
Crystals drip into syrupy tendrils
And dissolve the moments past.

A window into the soul
The melting left the cold cinders
Once hot and glowing
Now long extinguished.
Even the ash is long washed away.
They sit among stones,
Tendrils of weeds.
Can anyone identify and name them
Among the petrified earth?

A window into the soul
A drought across the landscape.
Whiffs and wisps of smoke on the wind
Crackling sounds of burning trees and grasses.
Waves of flame sweep over a landscape
And even forgotten charcoal
Glows red again.
Flames dance and animate
An inner fire, that only rested
But was never extinguished.
vircapio gale Jul 2012
.





'union' sentience
"all-one-love-of-being-'S'elf"
brings global delight

~

emptiness forms 'me'
flowing novel 'i-am-ness'
as 'all' interweaves









.
"interdependently arising origination", "co-dependent origination", "conditioned arising", "interdependency", "universal concatenation", and "radical relativity" are ways pratītyasamutpāda has been phrased.  this and the philosophy of emptiness the Dalai Lama has called two sides of the same coin, a homeomorphic equivalent for the foundation of universal solidarity.  i find the concept inspiring, if not beloved, and beloved if not inspiring :)

along with Nagarjuna: "All things which arise through pratitya-samutpada, I explain as emptiness. It is a conventional designation. It is itself the Middle Way.”

i'm not 'religious' "per se," but wherever i find threads of beauty and wisdom i like to *attempt* to interconnect them with a secular language.  thank you for your words past and future as they all help me be <3
Ayeglasses Mar 2018
Lust interweaves the fingertips of it's lover. Dragging across the skin in peculiar form to rest it's fingernails upon a scar. A wish is released from it's lips saturated with a glimmer of comprehension. A resting palm upon the scar. Desire is the muscle below it.
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2020
Warning! This poem is too long for certain elderly gentlemen.

A blue haze morn, pleasant in the transition
from the ides of sensual summer to the
broken, busted curled dead leaves that now
decorate the half & half scorched, mottled lawns,
that soon enough will fall to full-on browning!

All this my eyes see when first I wake, only
the calm morn waters unchanged, thank god,
for the mind is fermented, the brain full on,
three, count ‘em, three born baby poems, all
simultaneous being birthed, triplets from one
****** working overtime, yet, only paid the hourly wage!

The mind interweaves the three, and yet subdivides,
only I, the landlord of the brain, failingly and flailing
struggle to keep track of these wild tenants, each:
a curvature, a tangent, a sibling and a stranger to
each other, sharing  a common single parentage!

Poem #1

Poem #1, a bright child, yet, poorest in vocabulary, more humming
than recites, but below its tuneful melody one just perceives, a refrain
born in the refracted sun rays that first opened our  eyes to this day, in
great gratitude, a morning prayer, a mourning poem, bidding adieu to the great  nighttime where the conception and inception inseminated within the ****** of the brain, and welcoming the warmth of day that cracks our body’s outer egg shell with praises of hallelujah that this one word poem gives so easy, in glory!

Poem #2

The toes wriggle, the eyes rapid-blink, the mouth yawns revealing
a still sleeping tongue, the stomach rumbles a basso tune reminding
everyone that their continuous sustenance comes from it alone, no
matter what those other body part snobs claim! An Uproar ensues
(bien sûr!), everyone roused, slumber a thing of the past, a cacophony
of disharmonious noises, no Greek chorus this, purely 100% American,
each party convinced of its self-worth, its own vitality, a ball park of
loutish fans, hawking vendors, an amalgamation of colorations, a
tapestry of humanity skin colors, though in a single voice upon this all
agree and shout “**** the Umpire!”

Then the bladder whispers “uh,hey people,” and all grow silent knowing
who’s the boss, and the man, stumbles from bed, wondering silently what
the heck that huuge racket was all about and how come no one else heard it?

Poem #3

A subcommittee of the senses convene a meeting and on the agenda, in
no particular order are the following, items of varying importance, but
needing speedy resolution:

The always very touchy skin asks: what shall we wear
today, it is warm outside and overly cold inside, should
we go short or long, stay in our overnight dressage, or
get a fresh accoutrements (clean Tee and sweatpants)
just to celebrate having made successful passage to day?

The aural receptors (who always insist on being addressed
in the plural), state that can wait! first let’s us determine what
music we shall receive, that must match the nature outside
and the nature within?  A Joshua Bell violin concerto, or some
retro greatest hits from the 60s, 70s and 80s?  Let’s vote..

The Gallic nasal passages (Les Passages, as they snobbishly prefer) sniff
in derisive decision, non! to yesterday’s clothes, a shower and a shampoo
dear skin, a nasal necessity, let’s try to remember to use deodorant today
please, and no more feral cereal and milk, something more fragrant s’il vous plait!

The Buds, as the tasting cells preferred to be called, said indeed,
some fresh cafe au lait in a proper bowl, to accompany les croissants frais, une baguette au beurre, and do not forget the red crisscross jar of Bonne Maman (Orange Marmalade/Confiture d'Orange)

The Eyes, waited and listened, and then proclaimed, all well and good,
but realize that after all this, we are the instructor, the instrument panel
without which you cannot operate in concert, let us see what we can see,
in the closet, in the kitchen, read the playlists, prepare the necessaries
for bathing, check the thermometers and then we will decide!

Then, the Mighty Brain, said “folks, we’ve been busy all night and tho
first light has already penetrated, we are going back to bed, as we are exhausted by all this noise herein encapsulated!
Brandon Apr 2020
Since April 16th, I've been dressed in fatigue
I'm emotionally damaged with my blood on the leaves
Death purged my soul from my body; Ancient One's Creed
Natural selection took her, made me realize I failed her
How do you have the apple of Eden and still miss her?
They say don't hold your life for a pet; I'm still held up
Watching my heart swim laps in pools of bourbon cups
I should have been there to see the innocence check out her eyes
To hold her paw and camouflage my cardiac scars in disguise
I find pleasure in resting my eyes until the new day interweaves
And I have to walk this path looking into the sky with disbelief
Reality wipes you out like Japan's tsunami rolling up to receive
I had to find a way to deter the sob filled days and time freeze
And when I have it on the ropes I see pictures and the recycle begins
Recently, I have been pondering about mortality and where I stand with it. A death in the family only amplified those thoughts. Cherish every moment that you have with your loved ones.
Travis Green Sep 2021
He interweaves
His existence
Into my thoughts
My heart
The inner limits
Of my lovesick soul
Captivating me
With his **** boy allure
Opening a thousand doors
Within my core
To the innermost
Chambers of passion
That I never knew
Was there before
Being in absolute control
Over my body
Making me want
To give everything
That exists inside of me
To him without being asked
Dan Hess Dec 2021
30
When confronted with the inexplicable,
the human mind seeks to rationalize, 
explain,
and fit information into an established worldview.

When confronted with the incomprehensible, the mind recoils. 

It shrinks into and attempts to consume itself.

You cannot wrap self over self.
You cannot become the outer and the inner.
You are but a superposition of the visage of God;
a superficial reflection of divinity’s affection.

You cannot become the subconscious
of your subconscious.
You cannot become the intuition
of your intuition.  

You can shed the mind and be present.

You can breathe and connect
and form a circuit between;
be a conduit for varying information
of different vibrations and intensities.

Form a loop that spells infinity.

This transition is the interstitium;
where information acts synaptic;
where transference relays occurrence
between two spaces with different interfaces.

It is elastic.
It is magic in liminal plastic,
snapping back and creating
the dialogue with self.

It is a circuit of convergence
where purpose meets inertia.
It is neither beginning nor end.
It is betwixt real and pretend.

It can upend the rend
of space and face;
time and place, and waste and worth.

It interweaves the world with dreams
and breathes new life into your needs.
It knows you without knowing anything.

It knows your feelings,
and the concepts you can’t speak.
It is your mind not minding.
Infinity across dividing.
Interstitial/transitive layer of consciousness

Super ego|higher self
-interstitium-
ego|infinity cross
-interstitium-
subconscious|lower self|ani-minimal

— The End —