"neural" poems
Mankind began as a troop animal.
Living amongst its own kind.
Stepping out of the trees onto the Savanna.
Mankind became a wander, small family bands bound by blood. Millenia past, mankind developed farming and the wanderer settled down. Small wandering groups became small farming villages. Small farming villages became larger farming villages, then small towns.
Small towns became larger towns inhabited by hundreds.
Larger towns grew to small cities inhabited by thousands. Agriculture and technology developed to sustain and enhance such growth. Cities evolved into city states, then becoming small countries inhabited by hundreds of thousands. Finally today we have countries inhabited by hundreds of millions.
All along this path battles and wars, killing millions along the way, till today we have weapons that can wipe out us all.
The salvation of mankind and the natural progression of things is global organization, global integration.
The globe is being wired with its own global neural net, a global brain if you will. One world controlling itself.
One world that will not nuke itself! The salvation of us all.
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 8:17 AM UTC
I was like every other scientist
for love to me was just
a neural reaction to a certain
stimulus presented to an individual,
just a hormonal response of a person
to a certain situation laid out to them
Like a configuration of ****** muscle
tissue of one results to an increase
of serotonin, dopamine, and for some,
oxytocin of another
At times, one would affiliate this
****** muscle configuration
to that of pentahydroxyhexanal (sugar)
and that was discombobulating
I could not understand how
a smile becomes sweet
and yet at that moment
when I saw you smile
I immediately understood
that science
science cannot explain this
This feeling I have when I see you
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 10:38 AM UTC
Feel empty in your post apocalyptic City of Angels,
Where not even your pets are real!
An electric android, a sheep or a frog,
The whir-flutter of micro-electrical wings of a butterfly.
Good, and so you ought.
Now grab the handles of your empathy box,
And in a shared virtual hallucination –
Feel: empathy, depression, pain, delusion and despair,
The outré myriad gifts of consciousness.
Billions of discombobulated and disconnected wrecks:
Adam's sons; Eve's daughters,
And among them simulations too,
Fakes! androids!
A phony circuit of implanted semi-conscious memories,
A hive of neural malaise!
Welcome to our world;
know how dead inside I am.
You, yes, you:
Need a pet to make you more complete?
Maybe you can afford
A Fake Fakir Flake like me who looks like Jude Law,
Sounds like Richard Burton,
And silently romances you like Rudolph Valentino.
Come and stick what’s left of your mind,
In here,
In hair,
Hear her:
har, har, har…
A box of lies...
A voice, Mercer's,
With texture from an age you neither lived in nor dared in:
Al Jerry's, a TV actor,
Droning on in pre-selected tones.
The real thing, the men, the women, the children - their animals -
Made in the wild, wild desert,
In the green pulsing savannah,
On the open crusted sea;
Now too, washed, choked, and drained,
Too many spliced and diced mutations,
Iterating your image:
The thing that was my heart,
My Child, now its imitation.
Oct 15, 2017
Oct 15, 2017 at 7:42 AM UTC
¤¤¤
I've had dreams by day
That brought the nightmares back.
In the daylights exposure it was dark
When the negative light was bright.
In the sea of people
I was the floating remains
Of a Great White's meal.
On the lonely roads of thought
My mind was in gridlock.
Comforting memories were suspended
Over a psychic black hole
By jagged and rusted
Medieval-type surgical tools.
My remaining senses
Were nailed to a cross-section
Of psychically atrophied grey matter
Along neural pathways
Guarded by gladiator-type tormentors.
Left with nothing
But the stinging desire to be freed
From a curse that had to be cured
And the hell of searching for a cure
When I was convinced there wasn’t one.
The powers that be come with force
To quell primal lusts & desires
Forbidding you of them
As they seductively
Dangle them before your eyes
Until you are so frustrated and unfulfilled
That you no longer
Care for your world.
This cracked glass remains empty
Even though it is constantly being filled
Then spilled or leaked on the floor
Until you learn to lap it up
Like the lapdog that you have become
For their amusement.
You remain with a love for freedom
But your cage is so large
That you think you are free
Lost in societal fantasy.
You think for a while
That these fantasies are real
Until you come to your senses that aren’t
As you join other fools
In comfort that you're not the only
Broken-back pack-mule.
But in spite of it all
And in the face of them all
Don't let these birds of prey
And powers that be
Deprive you of what they
cannot see
In that hidden corner
Of what is still untouched--
The real you
Uninfected by the world.
Take care of your spiritual affairs.
Don't let the global beast
And your primal hissing forces
Make you be your own pallbearer.
Jun 27, 2017
Jun 27, 2017 at 6:28 PM UTC
when swimming with dolphins
lost phase, depth of oceans
recurrence of persuasion
the cavities erosion
a pragmatic extension, the neural hyper tension
grace the evening
split precision aching
remedies for aging
repetition
of the alkaline waste
May 2, 2017
May 2, 2017 at 7:33 PM UTC
The pitter patter of rain echos through the soil,
sending a message in morse code.
Biological clocks begin to turn as fungi wake from their slumber.
Hyphae radiate outward, mapping the skin of the earth,
a living neural network woven into the soil of the forest.
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 12:37 PM UTC
Especially when the October wind
With frosty fingers punishes my hair,
Caught by the crabbing sun I walk on fire
And cast a shadow crab upon the land,
By the sea's side, hearing the noise of birds,
Hearing the raven cough in winter sticks,
My busy heart who shudders as she talks
Sheds the syllabic blood and drains her words.
Shut, too, in a tower of words, I mark
On the horizon walking like the trees
The wordy shapes of women, and the rows
Of the star-gestured children in the park.
Some let me make you of the vowelled beeches,
Some of the oaken voices, from the roots
Of many a thorny shire tell you notes,
Some let me make you of the water's speeches.
Behind a post of ferns the wagging clock
Tells me the hour's word, the neural meaning
Flies on the shafted disk, declaims the morning
And tells the windy weather in the ****
Some let me make you of the meadow's signs;
The signal grass that tells me all I know
Breaks with the wormy winter through the eye.
Some let me tell you of the raven's sins.
Especially when the October wind
(Some let me make you of autumnal spells,
The spider-tongued, and the loud hill of Wales)
With fists of turnips punishes the land,
Some let me make of you the heartless words.
The heart is drained that, spelling in the scurry
Of chemic blood, warned of the coming fury.
By the sea's side hear the dark-vowelled birds.
5.5k
Violating a placid spirit
Memories transgress
desecrating the sacred.
Memories are
the dark side
of a full moon.
Memories are unsatiated desires
couched on sorrow
entangled in time
a perennial wrinkle on the soul.
Memories are trespassers
possessing neural atrium
wading saline sockets
slithering in to throbbing veins
tiptoeing to hollow spaces
burying all under their eerie weight,
Memories are an inescapable affliction.
In fragmented mindscape
Memories are violent winds
littering the past.
Lurking behind aches
in ethereal garbs,
Memories are assassins.
Or sema
of a swirling dervish.
Hurtling within, Memories
is an avalanche
pounding the abyss
choking the void
one gasp at a time.
Memories are
nameless apparitions
fused as shadows
to the very being.
Memories are an assault
on identity and belonging.
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 6:23 AM UTC
Artificial means and memes the fingers perusing naturally formed hide and go seek
Chic creatures wrought from nanoparticles based on modeled consciousness neural networks
A handsome hivemind of bee;s building trees from cds ...intersynth polygons attracted
to stack platonic forms emanation waves alpha beta delta gamma omega 1 , 2 ,3
this multiversal layering from micro to macro of matter animated by its intoned
hertz pulsations and the interferrence pattern of the changing relationship due to the amount, frequency, force, temperature , texture , text messages, timing , geometry , subharmonics and overtones, a jewel net . syncronistic synergetic, synaptical sparkles.
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 10:00 PM UTC
“*who
would cry
being loved,
when even such tinkling
comes of the loving?*”
“Grasses” by Alfred Kreymborg
<•>
we all make lots of love
in the same way as billions of others
grunting huffing noises of neural tissues torn and reborn
but the notes and noises we make, keep, unique no one else’s
the bored and the low thinkers saying “honey, you just wrong,”
the tinkling sounds are the silent mitosis of cells splitting
and then rejoicing rejoining, definable only as unique
so we both weeping, side by side, only we together can
hear the sounds of our life becoming and being,
no one else quite can be so specific
you could be there and still not hear the heat of our love making
who
would cry
being loved,
by the creative silences we have just written?
we would. we do. we are the noisiest lovers ever. tinkling laughter. creating.
____________________________________
http://academyofamericanpoets.cmail19.com/t/ViewEmail/y/8D7DB5963FD3CE00/98E58011B0AFF2EF20B193FBA00ED1DB
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 2:38 PM UTC
HaHA, I've done it! I've created a device
That can tap into my subconscious
and translate it for all to hear.
I will win the Nobel Prize!
I will be rich beyond my wildest dreams!
People will LIKE me!
So let's see here....I put on the cap, set the throttobombulator to 8.
Adjust for fuzzy dialation...set the circuit threshold to .79, make
sure the lucid translation synapses are firing...and yes. The next
words you hear will surely be written in History books one day,
much like Thomas Edison's first phonograph recording, or the
first telephone call!
Neural connection is active. Transmitting
**TRANSGENDERED KANGAROOS FORNICATE IN THE
PURPLE SHADE OF BETTE MIDLER'S THIGHS. PLEASE
PERFORM ******** AT THE BEHEST OF BUDDHIST
MONKS WITH LISPS. COUNT TO TEN AND BECOME
A BUXOM BLONDE ***** WITH BOUNCY *******
WHEN THE CLOCK STRIKES TWELVE, CINDARELLA IS
ON HER KNEES AND ELBOWS BECAUSE IT'S ******
HARD TO GET LOW ENOUGH TO PLEASURE A DWARF**
Oh dear. This can't be right....now where's that 'off' switch?
**JACK AND JILL WENT OFF THE PILL SO JACK COULD
BE A FATHER. JACK WENT DOWN TO LONDON TOWN
AND PUNCHED THE DALAI LAMA. EDIBLE *******
GIVE YOU INDIGESTION. DO YOU KISS YOUR MOTHER
WITH THAT MOUTH, BECAUSE YOU SHOULD. (AND USE
SOME TONGUE THIS TIME)**
Oh My...Ladies and Gentlemen, It's clear that my invention
is experiencing technical difficulties. If you would please be patient---
**SATIN BRAS DON'T CHAFE. NONE OF THE SMURFS
HAD BLUE ***** THANKS TO SMURFETTE. I WONDER
WHAT MARY MAGDELINE WAS LIKE IN THE SACK? **
STUPIDSmashPieceSmashof GARBAGESMASH
DoNT LikE iT? tucK iT bAcK!!
Connection Lost
I...erm...clearly have some more work to do before it is ready
for the pubic--er..public. I have run into some...translation
errors...and need to re lubricate--CALIBRATE a few things.
Please don't tell my mother.
Feb 8, 2012
Feb 8, 2012 at 12:12 AM UTC
I took a stroll down my childhood lane
These neural pathways took me back
Multilingual versions of the narrative
Warned me of imminent attack
I made it work for me my people
Bedeviled on behalf of all my greater good
I took my time in stride with sidewalks cracked
And broke my swag along a scattered beach
Came down with that viral capacity to fluctuate
According to what gut feeling feeds heart pumping
Where we intersect that jazz bebopper inhabiting art
Draw outside the lines come together in stark contrast
To the words we negotiate with each other in exchange
For favors better left unpaid yet enacted cross-purpose
To our intended lizard goal to wrap our prey entangled
Tongued in the mail entreated globally galactic guardian
I’d simply settle inside ambitious repose armed by you
Draped across our gossamer webs wet commingled faces
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 1:30 AM UTC
Marriage
Is for
Neural Wellbeing
Of the
Human World.
www.kolumn.in
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 10:18 PM UTC
Wandering under
woodland leaves,
my mind confined
to winding suture lines.
Paths of pink nerve tissue
cherry blossom trees,
dendrite branches wave
in a heavy breeze.
Myline bark, an axon stump,
rooted contents of my skull
continuously growing,
a tangled plexus of
neural connections.
Twisting, turning,
a knotted blockage.
Pathways, rippled in roots,
a crossing synaptic stoppage.
A suffocating strangle,
choking corpus callosum
decaying mangle.
Branches atrophy,
shrivel and scar.
Root terminals suffer
hormonal harm.
Forest trails quick fainting
when lost in overthinking.
Feb 17, 2019
Feb 17, 2019 at 11:29 PM UTC
"It's not that bad,
I tastes good, I swear"
It was cold, and bitter, and vile
Yet I still ordered it
Every
Single
Time
Like a magical elixr
Of momentary freedom
From the wires of guilt
Welded into my neural pathways
Just enough-
To not cause suspicion
But not so much
That I'd collapse
Strong enough
To make me jittery,
Anxious, nauseated,
But still incomparable
To the unspeakable sin
Of sustenance,
So when I saw stars standing up,
Or buckled over at the knees,
And wondered why
It was even worth it?
I'd come to the same conclusion
Every
Single
Time
And it was this:
It doesn't matter anyways
Because I'll never
Be able
To stop.
May 30, 2021
May 30, 2021 at 9:49 PM UTC
they say that enlightenment is unreachable, unattainable,
unfathomable
yet each day we continue to search
for our beatitude.
the bodhisattva
and i'm not very good at many things,
maybe nothing at all
but i know i can never transcend
with an anchor as a body.
still, the demons swim through my mind
and i watch with enjoyment
as they depredate my soul.
i like their cold breath on my skin,
in the winter,
for i can feel something
other than the numb that has encased my body. daily, i feel rough fingers ripping at the stones
that have replaced my heart.
nightly, i weep a sweet harmony of melancholy for the nostalgia that haunts my bones.
if you take me apart,
piece by rotting piece,
you'll learn i'm nothing but matter
controlled by neural impulse.
maybe it's benign to feel nothing at all
but this darkness is never ceasing,
growing more rapidly as i begin to shrink.
maybe i'm not good at anything
and maybe god doesn't exist
but i want to die knowing
there is a heaven and that i'm not going to hell. more often than late i've been asking myself
if it's all worth it
and to that i say
i'm terrified of the grim reaper
because his face looks just like mine.
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 12:08 AM UTC
I’m in love with the memory of you.
We tap dance on the neural connections that connect my brain,
to my soul.
Tapity- tap- tap.
But only on those hot summer nights.
You kisses taste like moonshine
and your arms in mine, make music.
Tapity-tap-tap.
I fell for you where
brown eyes met blue.
Where
first date dinners
met
third date kisses.
Where camouflage and bullets
met
pearls and lipstick.
Where moon-lit dances
met
tear stained airports.
And where friendly fire, met you.
I got that tapity-tap-tap on my door,
I fell to the floor
and now here I am, tapity-tap-tapin’ my shoes
tryin’ to get back to you.
But death marches to its own beat,
tapity-tap-tap
If there is reincarnation,
I’m jealous other people get to
have you in their lives,
and I don’t anymore.
My heartbeat echoes, tapity…
tap…
…tap.
Tapity….
tap…
tap.
Feb 8, 2013
Feb 8, 2013 at 12:43 AM UTC
With no argument I think most people agree
With the adage stating that, "you are what you eat"
But it's possible there's information not known
Having equal importance or maybe more so
All the nutrients eaten; We intake our food
It will travel through digestive tract once consumed
Same can also be said of our actions and thoughts
They're the building blocks making up all that we are
Brains are not like a rigid or fixed type machine
An old dog and new tricks go together it seems
Our plasticity will let us both change and shift
It makes pathways; New neural links over the rifts
These connections might possibly benefit us
But this same mechanism can also do stuff
With a negative scope, the outlook and belief
We might think we're no good; Our lives filled with much grief
If we're constantly saying things inside our heads
Like self-doubting, self-loathing and feelings of dread
Then our brain will re-wire to fit this outlook
Once ensconced in this spectrum; Not easily shook
The same way that a person engages with time
Like activity, also is true with the mind
A small change in the way that we look at ourselves
The new thoughts and beliefs in our mind start to meld
With the make-up within that each one of us holds
Self-beliefs and self-doubts from our birth till we're old
Like a painter with ink; Our brush never is dry
We are always creating what's in our mind's eye
So don't hinder yourself with a picture that's bleak
Just believe in yourself and go get what you seek
You are capable of so much more than you know
All it takes is belief and in time it will show
Dec 17, 2018
Dec 17, 2018 at 1:27 AM UTC
*for T.M.R.
our "fellow" southern friend*
the southern way,
she-poet
teaches me
via long distance
breaking of the
braking neural inhibitions of
the loudest silences
that only humans can
mistress
photos, stories,
Facebook posts
how the earth rebirths
taking unasked
unwitting but wisely
both of us
to be refreshed,
so verily
the southern way
sharing worldly
southern words
betraying a
more than
passing
(how I hate that word)
expertise
in spring colors
glorious to every sense,
best described
as nature's way to humanize what we wordily call
hopeful,
self-betraying herself by the
she -poets
innate
southern ways
calls me
northern boy
in a
true voice,
raconteuring,
quick retorting
always in the midst of
d r a wling stories,
about all crazy frogs
of Columbia County,
jumping multiple courses
all about
she-poets navigating
life erratic,
half ecstatic
yet singularity colored,
characteristic of a
ninety percent southern
Tennessee whiskey blues
hear clear
she-poets
welcoming swirling
undertow undertones
lying just above the calmest
morning water surface glistening
words betraying nothing,
yet saying
all in
between, in
pauses of
speckling sun drops spectacular
she-poet
has her places
in woods, knolls and
rarely visited mountains
where cold brooks and cold beers
southern sooth
in ways
I will likely,
wanting but unable,
never learn
to hear clear
the southern way
is never flex,
nerve never
never bend, smile,
still fighting
the prior lost cause
ignore the
cracks coverup
until and when
the afternoon sun
ceases to warm
the orchard porch
daylighting no longer
when no one is around
she-poet
weeps out loud alone
in the
southern way
and I,
northern boy,
student witness,
having obtained
a learner's permit
for her teachings
re
the southern wayfaring ways
of living life
weep along side
in my unsatisfactory
northern way,
learning that,
who knew,
tears are also
glue
anywhere
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 8:08 AM UTC
In the silence, I can hear
the firing in my brain
Neural machine guns
Shatter the stillness
In the dark, I can see
the electrical sparks
flowing through my body
Lighting up my mind.
Alone, I feel myself
think. You cannot steal
my thoughts or hijack
my malleable brain.
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 3:47 PM UTC
My hands have a mind of their own
Melt down all my doubts to fill molds of jail cell bars
Of locks with no keys
I’ve built a cage around my heart made of all the things you hate about me and the things I hate about myself
I know the weight of living is heavy love
Place it on my chest until my lungs cave in
I’ll find air in the spaces between our fingers and in the distance I’ve put between us
My minds become a road map full of roundabouts
From an aerial view you can see the loops of my neural pathways
They look a lot like “I’m sorry”
Made of dead ends and clovers and things my therapist says are out of my control
It goes around and around and around on repeat
But I’ll apologize again anyway even if it keeps you here longer than you wanted
In the maze
In the cage
Ive met people with keys
I don’t know how to ask for them
Even just for a second
Apr 8, 2018
Apr 8, 2018 at 3:46 PM UTC
Star's in night sky an unimaginable number to the naked eye,
eyes travel through space searching for a glimmering star,
thoughts travel through the minds neural sky synapsing like bright inner stars,
from outer to inner space there is much to see,
eyes search for the wonderful sight,
thoughts search the mind for hope and reason that might,
the more we travel the more we learn,
experience opens the mind and the sky,
acceptance and love expands as we travel,
hope is gained the less we hold back and the more we ask why,
negativity lost as pain and hurt unravels,
through knowledge gained insight opens the door,
a door to a better life as that suffering parts,
a journey is long whether through mind or eye,
experience gained only with both open,
so lets open and travel far and wide.
Jun 28, 2016
Jun 28, 2016 at 6:57 PM UTC