"mechanics" poems
Before there was anything that mattered everything that would ever be existed , it was the essence of totality , it was without dimensional constriction or necessitated form . Optimistically speaking time had no relative realism to it’s progression because realistically nothing had happened yet . As it continued it became according to it’s innate inflections as a functionally integrable form . The questionably understandable nature of it’s conjunction was an omnipotent directive beyond necessitated action or morphological construction . The enigmatic consciousness of it’s relatively interrelated conception was spontaneous and yet it continued without elemental omniscience.
As the relative complexity of it’s interrelations evolved dimensional consistence was born. Humanly understandable laws of physical integration governed many facets of it’s conjunction yet the totality of it’s ramification was beyond humanly realistic conjecture .
The organic morphology of biological ontogeny was a conceptually reflective derivative of functional physical mechanics yet it’s diversity exceeded it’s physical complexity , understanding evolved . Relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity succeeded in a hierarchy of functionally integrable forms .
Retrospectively speaking pragmatic practicality is a humanly rational possibility . Rational logic can conceive of individually totalitarian structural forms , yet the implosive nature of their rational cohesiveness becomes a practical partiality due to the diversity of their definitive impetus .
Perhaps the essence of our being is the logical counterpart for the matrix of our subjectively conclusive social fragmentation , or perhaps we are evolutionally incapable of cumulatively rational correlation. Problematic diversity could be perfectible on an individually infinite level or contrarily perhaps ubiquitous causality is the ultimate survivor.
In any case it is beyond our subjugatively rational cohesive coercion to intercede en masse on our own behalf as an integrated unit. Our conceptual abilities have been thwarted by the unmitigatably individual nature of our extraneous conclusiveness .
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 5:15 PM UTC
Last week I was taught that
no matter how complex an expression may seem
if you multiply it by its conjugate pair
you will always end up with a non-negative real solution.
That is a metaphor for how we have learned to love.
I used to like mathematics, as strange as it may sound,
because memorising the value of pi was
somehow easier than forgetting the notion of you
and I thought maybe comprehending the mechanics of the universe
would lead me one step closer to cracking the combination.
In a world that spins at the rate of 27,900m per minute, a constant can prove tricky to find.
Hence, there is solace to be felt in knowing that even when it is all said and done –
when the final bullet has slipped from our tongues and we are left trembling
upon nothing but the rubble of our own destruction,
two plus three will still be equal to five.
In an attempt to clarify a theory to the class, my teacher analogised
that mathematics is like one big giant jigsaw puzzle:
everything always fits together perfectly in the end
Since then I have learned it is the method without the madness,
the passion for the predictable; it is everything - that love is not.
Not even the greatest mathematician in the world
has been able to measure how much a heart can hold.
There is no algorithm for how to make you come back;
I cannot draw a line graph on the speed at which love left
and even if I could, our gradients would never be the same.
I may have both halves of the bed,
but there is never enough space to fill it with.
If a task takes four hours for ten people to complete
and the same job takes five people twice that time,
how long will it take for a human to feel whole again?
Sometimes I think we are nothing more
than two parallel lines that accidentally crossed paths.
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 5:47 PM UTC
pray tell my friend
what are other girls like?
stereotypes only go so far
and very early into your
wishful separation of personality within gender
individual women begin to show themselves
strong women, weak ones
light and fair
dark, exotic
hair like waves
some like swirls in the clouds
***** and *****
short, long, bald or full
we have readers and writers
mothers, daughter
achievers and creators
from mechanics to doctors
surfers to fighters
athletes, disabled
every single one
worth their worth
these women don't need
you're irrelevant segregation
don't pit one girl against another
we have a much bigger war to fight
and your comparisons on
how much bigger her *** is
has no room to be heard
not now, not ever
if you can only
praise a woman
by bashing down another
then you do not deserve
to know woman.
Sep 22, 2018
Sep 22, 2018 at 1:25 AM UTC
The day after I got rejected, my dad called me out of my room and I knew what was coming. I wrote him a note. When I finally saw him sitting on the sofa, he told me to sit down. He began with, "Son, what's your plan?" I mumbled bluntly, "I don't know." He scratched the back of his bald head and continued, "You know, you need to find your passion in life. You might have thought that mechanics was your thing, but maybe--" he yammered on and on, about how to live life and what to live for. I handed out the note to him. He paused. "What's this?" "Please read." On the paper, I'd written, "I know, I know. This whole thing might just be a hobby after all. Yes, I have to find something that I'd be happy to work on. But right now, please let myself be delved in the sadness, so once I get out of it, I won't ever look back."
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 1:18 PM UTC
The Peace Process
I don’t know where I'm going with this
but there is peace in Colombia, the Marxist rebels lost
and their **** women soldiers in green fatigue and
weapons in arms will hand it all in for fashion magazines
Hair- dressing salons and babies in arms.
For women, a change from war to peace is easy to make
it will be worse for men who feel inferior without guns.
If Texas as an example had been a gun free zone you would
have ended up with tall queens as cowhands,
or what do I know left their oil wells and gone to Montana
So why did the Marxist lose, ******* I think more economical
beneficial, cash in hands better than a Marxist bible on the roof
28 years of peace the political parties in Colombia will have
no consensus as the blamed is car mechanics or ranchers
Everything is possible from the first female president in Colombia
or and openly gay governor in Texas.
Festive dresses and bulls with flowers on horns will be marching
down the Avenue in Houston.
Sep 3, 2016
Sep 3, 2016 at 4:57 AM UTC
The traditional Christmas Windows of Wonder
Were set to be unveiled at five
This meant to the children and parents
That Santa was set to arrive
Each year on the eve of the annual parade
All the stores in downtown did display
their annual Windows of Wonder
And the town was abuzz all the day
Children staring, windows frosting
Their mouths open wide like their eyes
Christmas was captured in an 8 by 10 box
With gifts piled up to the skies
Christmas presents of every sort
Trees and tinsel, lights and *****
Children staring, frozen stiff
Christmas wishes behind plate glass walls
Parents and children watched the parade
Waiting for Santa to come
In between all the floats, there were still the displays
As the children who all stood there numb
Toys and mechanics, robots and dolls
Trains and race cars on tracks
The children all stared and they dreamed of just how
Santa would get all these gifts in his sack
In the midst of the crowd was a blonde, little girl
A good breeze could just blow her away
She'd been hovering there, looking at one small doll
And she'd been there for most of the day
The parade, it passed by, but she never did look
she knew Santa was not here for her
There was only one thing that had captured her heart
And that was the doll, that's for sure
The other kids looked, made their lists in their heads
Ready to tell Santa their list
but, this little girl stood alone from the crowd
She was cold and her cheeks were ice kissed
The parade ended late, and Santa went in
took his chair and he met with the throng
But, this girl stood aside, never moving on up
And the Santa, knew something was wrong
He called her by name, which gave her quite a start
She was scared, but she moved at his call
She sat on his lap, and he reached down behind
And he gave the small girl the small doll
Her face lit the room, more than any display
She said "Santa, just how did you know?"
He said, "Sarah, my dear, it's as plain as can be"
"It's as easy as making it snow"
He put her back down, clutching her doll to her chest
And she walked to the front of the store
but, before she went out, she turned back to say thanks
And where he was, there was Santa no more
Is it magic to think that this Santa was real?
Or did this man know just what he should do?
He made Sarah's Christmas, by giving that doll
And I'm sure he made many more too
The Children of Christmas stare wide eyed all day
Dreaming hard of when Santa will call
But,, off in the corner of the chlly, young crowd
Stands a girl, with her new Christmas doll
Nov 17, 2012
Nov 17, 2012 at 2:35 PM UTC
lonely as a dry and used orchard
spread over the earth
for use and surrender.
shot down like an ex-pug selling
dailies on the corner.
taken by tears like
an aging chorus girl
who has gotten her last check.
a hanky is in order your lord your
worship.
the blackbirds are rough today
like
ingrown toenails
in an overnight
jail---
wine wine whine,
the blackbirds run around and
fly around
harping about
Spanish melodies and bones.
and everywhere is
nowhere---
the dream is as bad as
flapjacks and flat tires:
why do we go on
with our minds and
pockets full of
dust
like a bad boy just out of
school---
you tell
me,
you who were a hero in some
revolution
you who teach children
you who drink with calmness
you who own large homes
and walk in gardens
you who have killed a man and own a
beautiful wife
you tell me
why I am on fire like old dry
garbage.
we might surely have some interesting
correspondence.
it will keep the mailman busy.
and the butterflies and ants and bridges and
cemeteries
the rocket-makers and dogs and garage mechanics
will still go on a
while
until we run out of stamps
and/or
ideas.
don't be ashamed of
anything; I guess God meant it all
like
locks on
doors.
6.2k
Molly,
you never needed to study in school,
things just came to you,
so trigonometry was easier than tools for you,
Molly,
how the boys would tease you,
how you couldn't use tools very well,
but you had your brain,
and they really did not.
Molly,
how smart were you,
trading math lessons,
for help with your mechanics,
the boys soon loved you,
Molly,
How you saved the boys,
and how they saved you,
how you were lucky to never have to fight,
side by side with them,
Molly sweet Molly,
how you cried later on about the day you had to learn to use a gun,
the reason you signed up for the navy was to never have to hold one,
but they made you hold a gun, aim, shoot, and fire down the range,
next to the boys who all had to **** it up & keep a straight upset face.
Molly sweet Molly,
how you were happy as can be,
when shooting targets,
and holding guns when away,
and never came back.
and Molly,
how you finally where done,
made your commitment to america,
and flying home on the plane in your navy uniform,
america won a fight somewhere,
so Molly,
everyone wanted to buy you,
a drink,
your first drink,
in a long while.
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 3:19 PM UTC
Before there was anything that mattered everything that would ever be existed , it was the essence of totality , it was without dimensional constriction or necessitated form . Optimistically speaking time had no relative realism to it’s progression because realistically nothing had happened yet . As it continued it became according to it’s innate inflections as a functionally integrable form . The questionably understandable nature of it’s conjunction was an omnipotent directive beyond necessitated action or morphological construction . The enigmatic consciousness of it’s relatively interrelated conception was spontaneous and yet it continued without elemental omniscience .
As the relative complexity of it’s interrelations evolved dimensional consistence was born. Humanly understandable laws of physical integration governed many facets of it’s conjunction yet the totality of it’s ramification was beyond humanly realistic conjecture .
The organic morphology of biological ontogeny was a conceptually reflective derivative of functional physical mechanics yet it’s diversity exceeded it’s physical complexity , understanding evolved . Relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity succeeded in a hierarchy of functionally integrable forms .
Retrospectively speaking pragmatic practicality is a humanly rational possibility . Rational logic can conceive of individually totalitarian structural forms , yet the implosive nature of their rational cohesiveness becomes a practical partiality due to the diversity of their definitive impetus .
Perhaps the essence of our being is the logical counterpart for the matrix of our subjectively conclusive social fragmentation , or perhaps we are evolutionally incapable of cumulatively rational correlation . Problematic diversity could be perfectible on an individually infinite level or contrarily perhaps ubiquitous causality is the ultimate survivor .
In any case it is beyond our subjugatively rational cohesive coercion to intercede en masse on our own behalf as an integrated unit. Our conceptual abilities have been thwarted by the unmitigatably individual nature of our extraneous conclusiveness .
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 4:14 PM UTC
Both latter and former, contrary and congruent
Neither gas nor solid, the river moves fluid.
No end and no beginning, just water moving… swimming…
A formless former that is a powerful latter
Contradiction through symmetry and space within matter
Passively energetic as potential becomes kinetic
Transparently reflective and silently phonetic
Thermally dynamic and fluidly frantic
The waters maintain a static chaos through mathematical mechanics.
Mechanically architected and architecturally mechanic
Water seems the perfect medium for analysis of a dynamic.
Dynamic existence and persistent resistance
Statically chaotic seems the architect’s insistence.
Equilibriomatic, with addition subtractive
Empirical measures fail to analyze the passive.
What simply is, simply is… Invincible to mimicry or microcosmic reenactment.
Experimental methods seek to unify the synonymous
Attempting to prove the objective with a subjective hypothesis.
Learn from the water, let its metaphor be imminent….
For the divine externality lies not without, but within it.
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 3:53 PM UTC
Book Review Poetry - The Lady's Guide to Celestial Mechanics by Olivia Waite
Feminist queer historical romance
How could I not give it a chance
Science and art plus love as needed
This daring book sweetly succeeded
Jun 28, 2019
Jun 28, 2019 at 2:59 PM UTC
This is what animates me
The force to set the motion of my soul
Gears that grind, thoughts that whir, the sustenance of something holy.
I do not think I sprang from Adam’s Rib
I think I must have been struck into the ground like a stone
A thread of lightning from the leaden sky,
And the mechanics that rose after
Demanded fuel, demanded heat
And thus was born in the cooling core of me
This mad desire, this stumbling, ceaseless search
For words to light a fire in my head
For eyes to light a fire in my bones
For some weapon of beauty
Some flaming sword
A tool- nothing more-
To sift among the dust and grit of time
To stoke the embers and evoke a spark
Prodding, prospecting
As for gold
Searching for a remnant which still burns
Softly, feeble, buried but unquenched
I chase the fire
For it must always be:
It cannot die
But cannot be held
It is escaped and never captured,
Only felt and lost, an infinite second-
A running step to overtake itself.
Jan 30, 2018
Jan 30, 2018 at 4:01 PM UTC
I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear;
Those of mechanics—each one singing his, as it should be, blithe and strong;
The carpenter singing his, as he measures his plank or beam,
The mason singing his, as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work;
The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat—the deckhand singing
on the steamboat deck;
The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench—the hatter singing
as he stands;
The wood-cutter’s song—the ploughboy’s, on his way in the morning,
or at the noon intermission, or at sundown;
The delicious singing of the mother—or of the young wife at work—
or of the girl sewing or washing—Each singing what belongs to her,
and to none else;
The day what belongs to the day—At night, the party of young fellows,
robust, friendly,
Singing, with open mouths, their strong melodious songs.
4.6k
There are many definitions of pride,
All in which, are perceived from a side,
Notable opinions indeed when we’re addressing the dogma that arise when mind project words that express one; wise,
However, it’s all contrary to me,
Pride isn’t something relating belief,
It can’t be put aside if it’s beyond side; choice/time,
Egoist defined when declined, rejoice inclined,
I can’t respond to a situation,
There’s no resolution when living unconditional and uncertain,
I am beyond interpretation,
I do not allude in illusions and wonder why they’re certain,
Abracadabra Hocus-Pocus...
Omm, “This State Farm jingle isn’t workin,”
AHP; “Magic”; Ouroboros,
Analytical Hierarchy Perspective on Serpent,
“They have power; They influence the course of events with supernatural forces”
That’s Magic?
The law of attraction; influencing life with thoughts; Quantum Mechanics, Force is,
Say “attract it,”
Demographics defining diplomatic, power be to the tree that’s aristocratic,
Problematic if geographic determines what’s democratic,
Tragic when ethnography constitutes what’s archetypal and habitual;
A classic ritual opposite of obsolete; of course bigotries automatic,
Bring back the art of holographic,
I’m leaning back like Crack if it’s dogmatic,
I do not understand how we understand species before intelligent and acknowledge intelligence like we never had it,
As if dyslexia was a natural condition; as if this ability was somehow previously hidden so with awareness became magic,
Freedom of speech,
“But I don’t like your words, sir”
Freedom to be,
“Those are not the clothes I prefer, sir”
Being discrete,
“He’s not in my position, he must concur”
Oh, What is believed?
They’re obligated to assumptions, so they infer most-
Too much pride will **** a man,
By picking a side he’ll lose a hand,
If using his pride he’s sure to win,
If losing his mind; insane a friend,
Clueless of time; he’ll never die,
Til P take a Ride, and replace his pride with another man’s.
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 5:30 PM UTC
Quantum mechanics
has discovered the heavens
but there was no God
© Matthew Harlovic
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 11:14 PM UTC
the mathematical statement in fluid mechanics that, for a fluid passing through a tube in a steady flow, the mass flowing through any section of the tube in a unit of time is constant
instantaneous our love defined,
a fluid mechanic in the realm of ethereal,
where unlimited immeasurable undefinable
mass time flow sweat pulse anger forgive caress kind
quantifiable terms of our equation unique
in this poem
no waxing poetic,
excellent pure licked lips
are quantums and quarks visualized
though invisible the flow constant per unit of time from
initial good morning kiss to intemperate
indulgent good night conclusions
submitted here for your
analytical digression importuned
the square root of the continuity equation's solution
is
.......
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 9:24 AM UTC
I was asking for something specific and perfect for my city,
Whereupon, lo! upsprang the aboriginal name!
Now I see what there is in a name, a word, liquid, sane, unruly, musical, self-sufficient;
I see that the word of my city is that word up there,
Because I see that word nested in nests of water-bays, superb, with tall and wonderful spires,
Rich, hemm’d thick all around with sailships and steamships—an island sixteen miles long, solid-founded,
Numberless crowded streets—high growths of iron, slender, strong, light, splendidly uprising toward clear skies;
Tide swift and ample, well-loved by me, toward sundown,
The flowing sea-currents, the little islands, larger adjoining islands, the heights, the villas,
The countless masts, the white shore-steamers, the lighters, the ferry-boats, the black sea-steamers well-model’d;
The down-town streets, the jobbers’ houses of business—the houses of business of the ship-merchants, and money-brokers—the river-streets;
Immigrants arriving, fifteen or twenty thousand in a week;
The carts hauling goods—the manly race of drivers of horses—the brown-faced sailors;
The summer air, the bright sun shining, and the sailing clouds aloft;
The winter snows, the sleigh-bells—the broken ice in the river, passing along, up or down, with the flood tide or ebb-tide;
The mechanics of the city, the masters, well-form’d, beautiful-faced, looking you straight in the eyes;
Trottoirs throng’d—vehicles—Broadway—the women—the shops and shows,
The parades, processions, bugles playing, flags flying, drums beating;
A million people—manners free and superb—open voices—hospitality—the most courageous and friendly young men;
The free city! no slaves! no owners of slaves!
The beautiful city, the city of hurried and sparkling waters! the city of spires and masts!
The city nested in bays! my city!
The city of such women, I am mad to be with them! I will return after death to be with them!
The city of such young men, I swear I cannot live happy, without I often go talk, walk, eat, drink, sleep, with them!
4.2k
Above my home where the dark clouds
curl into the sky clinging for a home to
rest their sleepy depiction, shadowed
trees hum sweet lullabies, lonely leaves
breathe in the sad song of fallen dimensions,
letting its lifeless view roll upon their frame,
the chilled breeze sailing in the skyline,
as I scramble my way out of a filthy dumpster,
a mountain of disintegrating mess covering
my broken body, hovering flies surrounding
sticky strips of spaghetti, moldy mashed potatoes,
and moldy chicken *** pies, while my mind sunk
into traveled thoughts, bruised hands pressed against
the creases in my forehead, allowing my existence
to feel the stranded scars streaming in various mazes,
dull eyes flushed with a burning disorder, aching cheeks
and chests nestled in darkening chamber corners, buried
hips and thighs uprooting in somber blades of grass,
thorned, torn, and destroyed in different worlds. As I stood
on the slippery pavement staring at the ruffled scenery
in my sight, spinning streetlights thickening into slouched
positions, screaming sidewalks spilling sadness and madness
in the drenched air, razor-edged buildings inching into crushed
centimeters, jumbled meters, ****** yards. I replayed the sober
images in my head, the way my young brown-skinned mom said
I would never amount to anything, how I could hear the raged
noun ****** sift into the distance, its flaming mechanics
accelerating into screeching sounds, the way she hurled
her fists at my smashed face, every vibrant language
breaking apart, slamming shut into closed infinites,
snagged contractions and gerunds diverging into
shuddering double spaced negatives, the way she threw
my lingering body inside the trash dumpster, her sharp
scarlet words, You are no son of mine, ricocheting off
savage surfaces, sparking my soul in a calamity
of choking diction.
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 1:04 PM UTC
Amor Fati!
Sayed Nietzsche and wiped the tears from his face.
did he know the gravity of this insight with heavy clarity?
The grandiose, wishful celebration of life with the acceptance of faith
is but a mask that's too light to stand in the way of the actuality of reality,
We don't choose our faith, we can just accept it and try to love it
But can you truly love something that is staring you in the eye while pulling the trigger of oblivion?
I doubt it.
If you are lucky,
the face of faith is a loving, caring young women
with the future in her eyes,
giving you slight signs about how great it will be when tomorrow comes.
But back to the executor,
what about Him, huh?
How can you take the Ultimate Dismissal with pride and love??
How can you see the mechanics of evolution,
the generation of many different individuals,
with a wide distribution of traits.
Of which just a few golden combinations
are well suited for the specific moment
Understanding, that the rest of the beings,
who have feelings (especially those of suffering)
Will prove themselves unworthy to enter the Gates of the next stage of selection?
I don’t know.
But I do hope you are the one who will enter
I do hope I will too
But my hope is of no effect
We will just see what life shows to be correct
Until then let’s not spoil the moment and save the regret
Oct 31, 2018
Oct 31, 2018 at 6:56 AM UTC
I'd love to peer into that brain of yours and see the actual mechanics of your thinking. Where those creative juices of yours throb and pulse. Ya, I'll drink to that.
Maybe use one of them scopes to explore the left ventricle of your heart (you know, that chamber of the Heart that pumps blood through the aorta). Figure out that sensitive heart of yours.
Explore the rubber consistency of the lining of your lungs. With that heaving chest and ******* of yours, those lungs must be so healthy in their pinkish hue. Just some barstool thoughts while waiting for closing time.
Staring into this shot glass in front of me, my memory harkens back to the time you cut your arm and I ****** the blood from it, so salty and all. I want to bottle you up in a liquid formula or capsulize your essence in a unique pill form where I can digest and absorb you and grow new cells from the energy I receive from the calories of your precious body.
Maybe with the power of your bodies flesh I can grow a sixth toe, develop a third eye, build an ***** I love you so much I could eat you up!
Barkeep says this is last call so I better drink up and be on my way. I wonder what your left ventricle really looks like under close inspection?
Just wondering, do you have any x-rays of your body I could have?
See ya, Creepy Ray Ray
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 6:45 PM UTC
I must be floating somewhere in the fourth dimension.
I feel like I’m a formula in quantum mechanics:
Complex and misunderstood…
But if you know my concept well enough
I can be broken down into numbers and logarithms
That even a layman could understand
With a basic knowledge of math and science
Before he drops out of the university,
Because who has the patience
To simplify me?
You're the scientist and mathematician
Who disregarded imaginary numbers
Due to theoretical imperfections
Even if it was your thesis.
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 5:21 PM UTC
I daydream that the
recruiters go out of their way
not to promise dates and even
marriage with **** Nordic blond
beautiful co-eds for the players.
I daydream that they the recruiter bring
in local so-called cool jet set
types to add spice to the recruiting
process.
I daydream that the recruiters
take notice of whether the local
layout of the campus is ideal for the players
and that they show 'em around
the campus and in the city or town (including
"campus town") of the respective schools.
I daydream that they definitely
don't promise under the table money
and everything is on the up and up.
I daydream that they
emphasize the liberal arts programs
of the respective colleges
and suggest to the players that the
combination of a good liberal arts education
and skills learned in sports could lead to a good position later on.
I daydream that they emphasize
the building up of what I call
the two key faces of college football
and basketball programs - depth
and balance of the players.
I daydream that they emphasize
that the players obey conduct rules.
I daydream that they emphasize
the well-roundedness of their
respective programs.
Aug 1, 2017
Aug 1, 2017 at 10:12 AM UTC
Coming from the shadows a six armed samurai,
Followed closely by glowstick wielding neon ninji,
Grips of *** swigging pirates swing from the rafters,
Swallowed alive by blacklight monsters,
Gangs of ***** smoking gurus,
Armed to the teeth with translucent didgeridoos,
Monks parade in swirling vestments,
Whilst the shaman trip in lotus testament,
Gods transfixed by blood tear beauty,,
As humanity’s heroes slay bejeweled dragons,
The king with two faces is beheaded,
By his charlatans, harlequins, fools and jesters,
Chaotic, prophetic killers run amok,
The order of lunatics chant as the time is struck,
A battle royale then follows,
As robots and aliens envelope,
Brilliant beams and whirring mechanics,
Clash with steel, rock, bone and sticks,
Screams from the heads of the thieves,
As their brains are devoured by zombies
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 11:44 PM UTC
Conflict resolution is like a field of mines where shrapnel explodes and uncertain footings pervade their way through the flesh of our workplace relationships.
Professionalism has crossed invisible boundaries beyond the realms of Saturn, don’t you think?
Please, will you consider having political interactions on the territory upon which I reside? You will then truly understand the mechanics of being.
I can correct you. But you must be willing.
Come on, babe! I dare you to venture outside of the box of predictability, because we can then truly arrive at a mutual understanding.
Feb 21, 2014
Feb 21, 2014 at 9:16 PM UTC
The double slit experiment
In quantum mechanics
Shows us one thing:
That you can’t trust a ************
You can’t even trust a particle
Without watching it like a hawk,
And even then it will disobey you.
Be a little rebel,
Get yourself a little *****
Have your own opinions,
Let relationships decay into ruin.
Quantum mechanics tells me
That we’re all a little cunty,
Even the atoms that comprise us,
So what choice do we have
In the end?
Feb 3, 2021
Feb 3, 2021 at 7:27 PM UTC