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HJV Mar 2019
Everybody thinks Bobby stays in bed all day and that he does absolutely nothing. “Indolence in human form” is what they call him. In reality Bobby ponders one of life’s greatest mysteries day and night, he’s a student of being. “I Don’t fear A.I. rebellion” Bobby tells himself as he reflects on the futile and expedient nature of subjectivity. After many months of wrestling the behemoth that is Nihilism Bobby concluded that there was no intrinsic value to anything and that there was no reason to do anything. “You can’t derive an is from an ought” Bobby thought to himself. In that moment Bobby reached a new epiphany. There is no way of valuing anything in an objective manner, so therefore he couldn’t construct a dominance hierarchy of personal values, and thus he couldn’t justify getting out of bed or do anything for that matter. Bobby had justified his laziness.

Bobby never stopped thinking, Bobby wondered whether or not he should keep on existing. Since there was no objective value to anything, that, in turn meant that he had no value either. Bobby, human as he was, he was a rational man first. He wasn’t bothered by his own otiose nature. With this is mind he started to entertain a new thought. “Does a rational man choose to not exist?” Bobby thought to himself after pondering on subjective value. “Subjective value is our only hope for justifying existence!” Bobby exclaimed to his ceiling in his dim-lit basement room.

Rational as he was, Bobby still liked existing, it was something he never managed to explain. Apathetic in nature, he still felt a desire to be. The dichotomy he had become felt annoyingly quintessential. How could he, a rational man, not shake such irrational thoughts. After staring at his feet for some minutes he bequeathed himself to his human nature. “I’m but a talking monkey” he sighed.

Now a wiser man, Bobby shifted his philosophical gaze. He reasoned subjectivity, how could he maximize his experience, the only thing with potential for true, albeit subjective, value. “What stands atop the dominance hierarchy of subjective value?” Bobby wondered. After many journeys to the depths of his Being Bobby realized that love was the highest value. “What else is a better antidote to the chaos of consciousness?” Bobby asked aloud as if he wasn’t alone in his basement.

Other humans, Bobby knew they existed, but he never really spoke much with them. There was this one man he once knew though, Will was his name. Will was an odd fellow. Even though he didn’t owe someone a single thing, he would still always help everyone. “There’s a natural law of karma” is what he would always say. As Bobby recounts the memories of Will he starts to question the irrational nature of karma. “Is karma measurable by science?” Bobby blurts out as he stretches himself out in his dusty bed. “All human processes can be calculated, granted we posses a powerful enough calculator.” Bobby said as he muffled his mouth with a pillow. Bobby considered his own proposition and after some minutes he yelled “If all can be calculated, then so can emotional in- and outputs!” as if he was standing in front of an audience. Bobby came to the conclusion that if those values could be measured then karma would be a mathematically substantiated concept. This thought made Bobby’s heart beat just a bit faster, but only just a bit.

Sleep was something not even Bobby could be too lazy to do. Bobby had passed out for some minutes or hours, he couldn’t tell. When he woke his mind wandered back to his unfinished mental quest. “How to maximize the amount of love in my subjective experience?” Bobby groggily said. He widened his eyes, “eureka!” he screamed. Will, he himself, and all of humanity were all connected, socially. When Bobby realized this he quickly reached his next conclusion. If he wanted to maximize his own subjective experience then he needed to maximize his output of the highest subjective value, love. Karma was a natural law after all, a mathematical one. Being yet wiser again Bobby started to ponder the ways of love.

“The more I love, the more subjectively pleased I become.” Bobby thought to himself as he adored his human nature. Now that he had found a rational way for value, albeit still subjective in nature, Bobby smiled. He knew that, although there was no intrinsic objective value in anything, there was still value in subjecting himself to his consciousness. “It makes me feel good, so why not.” he said victoriously.  Armed with karma Bobby ventured out from underneath his house. The sunlight on his skin made his sense tingle, for the first time in decades Bobby felt alive. People were shocked when they saw the once indolent man indolent no more.

Over the coming years Bobby had changed and the people with him. Bobby had become a pillar of support for his community, spreading his years of indolently bred wisdom. The people had started to call him Wise Bob. Now with Wise Bob’s stultifying lethargic behavior gone the people followed his lead by example. Wise Bob was no leader though, he was still but a student of being, but with a slightly larger Being. “Not wise enough.” he told one of his many friends. Wise Bob still felt his objective insignificance in his heart, but no longer as a nihilistic threat. His futility gave him meaning. Bringing order to the chaos of consciousness gave him responsibility and thus meaning. This meaning made his life worth living. “The collective human condition will fight off our dragons.” Bobby professed.

Bobby was a rational man, but a man still.
Not a poem, but poetic
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2016
.english colonialism used to be passive-aggressive, english post-colonialism is a strange dynamic of former colonial nations playing the endgame of colonialism with non-affiliated nations of the british empire (affiliated by trade anyway, although not based upon origins of the ruling elite's extending arm), there's a hot topic in england between the irish and the polish, the irish are provoking the polish into racism so someone else can look smug with a pakistani friend on the london tube.

you know the amount of pain i see writing my father's
invoices of manual labour with the irish *****
apparently running
the show protecting northern
irish outputs of poetry and cigarette smuggling -
keeping us migrants "in check"?
god the loathing,
i try to improvise each invoice
with an excess knowledge
of the english tongue to break through,
but my sole considering comforter
is still death,
**** this *******, i rather die
than see my father's eyes eye me
hurtful hopeful of seeing my "bright new life"
when i was nearly murdered by
an egyptian school-friend / childhood friend
and later told: boy you better pretend you're
mad... boy my ***, your father is just
an x-ray technician... go back
to the northern africa of your
pretending to be a semite and build
another pyramid... *******, **** all of this,
days of casual pretentious squeaky clean
non-offensive poetry are over...
gentlemen - let's broaden our minds... swear a little
take up oaths with truth...
we were born to down a pint of concrete before
ireland was born, rushing out of pubs
when the call was made: concrete has arrived!
run, run run run! break legs and whatnot,
because in an irish pub talking to a homeless
person in akimbo giving him a cigarette
is cause for argument with an irish girl
trying to get, familiar;
unlike the sword, a stick has two ends...
you can smack someone with it,
but then someone can rebel and grasp the same
stick and smack you with it, for a suckling
taste of a kiss in memory of reprimanding manners.

- and i do remember the good stuff coming
out of h'america...
    i once owned a copy of blue valentine
by tom waits on c.d.: scratched that record
from over-playing it...
found a vinyl copy in the shop today...
splashed out a staggering £20 on it...
lucky for me the mp3 record comes free...
     £20 is a lot?
       well... better that £20 which played
in the background as i finished off decorating
the kitchen...
   rage 2 deluxe edition for ps4 -
      £44.99... so sure... i splashed out...
          thank god i'm not a gamer...
with games it's like with movies...
   notably? vikings season 1...
     i thought i could watch it a second time...
couldn't...
   a bit of a hit and miss...
    with games and movies...
      when the narrative gets exhausted...
and you're still honing in on the narrative
whether a passive spectstor or the role player
in the game...
but investing in an album?
       background background...
and an almost infinite array of the comeos
against the record...
   one cameo decorating a kitchen
another cameo finishing the day off with
some cider on a windowsill...
   but once upon: that's what h'america was
about... united we stand,
divided we fall... blah blah...
           and it looks like that right now...
the cultural export zenith peaked and it isn't
coming back...
   not for a while at least...
now we only look at not the united
         but the balkanized states of europe...
the states pulling at each other:
where once there was a cohesive collective
      export of pure cancan h'americana...
tom waits' blue valentine...
                          now i'll am getting
"culturally" is a bunch of vlogger content...
export of problems,
existential qualms without support on
existential pillars from continental thought
of 20th century europe...
   19th century doesn't count:
   not even nietzsche does: but kierkegaard
doesn't.

what are those lyrics from that vomito *****
song enemy of the state?
we shall send you, in ever increasing number:
ships, planes, tanks, guns: that is your purpose
and, our pledge
... (1941 state of the union speech
sample)

most americans are not aware that soon
the primary export of our national economy
won't be cars, or food, or microwaves.
instead we'll be exporting death.
instead will be exporting death.


   perhaps, once upon a time...
now the export is quiet different,
   at its cultural zenith of exported values...
it would seem h'america choked on
a bitter pill... h'america no longer provides
the sort of culture worth exporting,
notably in cinema in music...
                               in literature...

the behemoth lost all of its juggernaut
momentum... and stumbled into rehashing old
ideas... it's not plagiarizm as such:
more a plagiarizm ex per se...

norman davies: god's playground -
   1795 to the present:

the Belweder is a palace in Warsaw...
(belvedere: a beautiful view)
constructed in 1660 -
  the White House in Washington D.C.
constructed in circa 1796...
by god, what a similarity!

   polish emigration to the u.s.a.:
in social terms their educational and communal
organizations are less effective than those of
the ukranians,
   in political terms their problems
command less notice than those of the blacks,
chicans or amerindians...
in the vicious world of the american ethnic jungle,
the 'stupid and ignorant Pole' is a standard
stereotype... once the noble lord...
reasons no doubt exist: like the irish and
the sicilians... the greatest influx came from
Galicia containing a large number of
the 'wretched refuse': people so oppressed
by poverty and near-starvation:
supressed linguistically, religiously...
the instinct of mere survival...
accepted the most degrading forms of employment...
exploitation: 'industrial *******'...
they were the gangers of the great american
railway age...
a canadian textbook can be cited
(j. s. wordsworth, strangers within our gates,
toronto 1972):
'it is hard to think of the people of this
nationality other than in that vague class of
undesirable citizens' -
   very much like to today:
   to think of canadians being a people
beloning to the making of mankind -
    without the canadian concept of mankind
being: peoplekind...
even woodrow wilson (then) prof. at prince-ton
deemed the Poles to be 'inferior'.

- but who was to ever to keep grudges...
grand torino - the movie, starring and directed
by clint eastie-boy-sparking-wood...
waldermar kowalski... dumb pollack...
why do poles no integrate within a community
bias as such?
                   the proverb:
if you want to succeed within a framework
of immigration: steer away from your
fellow countrymen...

                     almost all other cultures that
come, but the host's nitty-picky:
oh look at our asian labradors...
why can't you lick our ***** like they can?
etc. one example out of the many...
some people, i guess: prefer to be in
the background...
post-colonial powers need tokens...
akin to a sadiq khan:
papa was an immigrant bus-driver -
quick step up from daddy being a bus driver
to the position of mayor of london...
browny points!

the english are smug like this:
you hear even today -
WE WON'T BE SORRY FOR OUR
FATHER'S AND FOREFATHER'S SINS...
not for our colonial past...
they say that consciously -
but subconsciously they are scoring
brownie points...
        i can't say they're doing this
unconsciously: since if they were:
there would be a unanimous concensus
and no: "diversity is our strength"
agenda...

             besides... you can't exactly
conquer an island...
the norman conquest of 1066? it wasn't really
a conquest: for a conquest to actually take
place you'd require the native population
to be displaced / replaced by the invading
force - akin to the saxon invasion...
'don't touch, their, women...
we don't breed with these people...
what sort of people would you think
that would breed? weak people... half people'
(king Cerdic from the film king arthur 2004)...
proof being?
when the normans invaded and "conquered"...
they simply replaced the ruling saxon elite...
hence? the domesday book...
the ruling elites were being replaced
and the new ruling elites wanted to have
an account of who they were going to rule...
it was less a conquest and more:
a change of guard... since...
            the locals were first investigated
and subsequently left to their own devices...
there was no conquest:
               as such...
                but you can get on with your
day-to-day life on an island with natural
fortifications (the ******* sea)...
and produce your little whizz-kids down
the years...
   but imagine being squeezed by:
prussia... russia, the ottomans,
                  the mongols...
                             the swedes...
                and subsequently by the austro-hungarians...
matka królów (the mother of kings),
i.e.: Elisabeth von Habsburg...

   in conclusion... oh to hell with the whole
"incel" label... you have to pay for something
in the end... why not skip the *******'s worth
of pleasantries: the dating masquerade
and not get into the nitty-gritty with a *******
in one smooth stroke of a count worth an hour?
no hard-on shyness that way...
no ****-teasing...
whatever is an erectile dysfunction outside
of the brothel... doesn't seem to bother
whittle wichy while in a brothel...
so go figure...
                and relating to the stories of incels...
hmm... maybe it's the fickle women...
last time i checked...
i picked up a thai bisexual in a park,
a random stranger...
                took her home,
some beer, some jazz...
                  ****** her in the garden...
        i don't even think it's the case of
"i can't get laid" with these incels...
     english women: nuns on the outside...
latex gimp suited **** black boot licking
*** fiends in the bedroom...
   the madonna-***** complex...
the only aspect of Freud that resonates with me...

you know what, never mind...
      i'm just happy i collect vinyls...
free mp3 copy to boot...
and instead of spending 40+ quid on a game
that will become exhausted after one sitting /
completion (these are not arcade games,
nor are they the "free" new wave of games,
the ones where you play "superior"
opponents with a handicap -
since you didn't pay any in-game updates,
patience is a virtue,
   and someone people invest real money
into these games, but are still **** at them,
plus, these new wave games never really end...
i'll be dead and i won't be able to finish them,
added bonus? there's no NPC dimension
to them, added strategy: with a complete loss
of narrative / story-telling, genius!)
plus... how much does a vinyl player cost?
you can get one for under 70 quid...
sometimes vinyl bargains: under a tenner...
this one though, for 20 quid...
1 vinyl worth 20 quid once every two months?
oh yeah... i really splashed out on this one!

woman is a grand idea though...
    there is so much of woman i would be able
to love, if only the practicality of woman
wouldn't be associated...
alas: reality bites...
                       regrets...
                                  aged 33 and i feel as if...
i have managed a good enough sample
where both sexes can coexist within the confines
of me entertaining them:
as if they were to never meet and "preserve"
the "fate" of "humanity"...
      i'm pretty sure there are plenty of people
who have been bullied into this trap
associated with the otherwise "intelligent"
dodo mentality...
                          besides, i'm about to find out,
whether or not, they sell liter bottles of whiskey...
using my braille tally:

            ⠁ ⠃ ⠇ ⠧ ⠷ (⠿)
            1  2  3   4  5  (6)
             a  b  l   v  à  (é)

                        from what i drank yesterday
for that lullaby... i'm starting to supect that:
what they label as a liter... is actually more -

    if after ⠷⠻ ⠷⠻ (i.e. 50ml  20x) i'm not left
with an empty bottle... well then i'm not left
with an empty bottle.
Jiawen 张 Oct 2017
He is an exponential function.
Small rate of change at the beginning,
But he grows fast when he reaches a certain age.
    
I am a function of a straight line.
A big constant ***** since the beginning,
But I also have a y-intercept way bigger than zero.
    
Let our age be the inputs,
And our maturity be the outputs.
At year zero,
We didn’t know each other.
We didn’t know we would cross each other one day.
      
We have been working so hard.
We have been living in different countries.
We were like two parallel lines,
Which would never meet each other.
    
But at year 20 for me,
And at year 30 for him,
We finally crossed each other,
And we were smart enough to find our intersection.
      
We are still growing into different directions,
Because that probably will be our only intersection.
But we only need that one intersection,
Because we are all independent now.
We don’t need other people to input data anymore.
#MathMajor
Perig3e Feb 2012
Layout every human endeavor
In a rational grid,
As one would setting up an experimental ag station,
Keep careful data
on all the plot inputs and outputs
and I believe the data will
Indicate that well prepared soil,
Infused with the required nutrients,
The best pretested seed,
And optimal hydration
Will yield over time
Suboptimal performance.
Too many chiefs and not enough
serendipity.
(Hey, is that PC?)
Can you say that today?.
In an  inevitable changing world
You need to preserve strange outliers.
tomsout001 Mar 2013
Classic style of Born shoes have been known using leather, instead of synthetic man made materials. As you know, leather is a natural moisture wicking agent and helps keep the foot dryer and cooler. Another special feature of Born shoes is the Dryz sock linings that is available in Born shoes sport style.

Most newer laptops have an S-video output built-in. You have probably guessed already that these www.facebook.com toms shoes outlet video outputs send the video signal to your TV. You guessed right. Hours of paddling can be enjoyed in this remote yet easily accessible location surrounded by Prospertown Wildlife Management Area. Neither gas nor electric motors are permitted, but since the lake is not patrolled regularly, a few tend to slip in now and then. Nevertheless, these waters rarely become crowded, even on the hottest summer weekend.

Evening Weddings ?These may be black tie, formal, or informal. But black-tie dress implies that a man is expected to show up in a tuxedo and women should wear a long or short cocktail dress. If the occasion is listed as ormal or informal? the man can wear a dark suit in navy, black, or charcoal grey ?with a beautiful dress shirt, jeweled silk tie, and a pocket square in a color tone to complement the tie.

Reports regarding child labor surface periodically. Children crawling in mines, faces ashen,  body deformed. The agile fingers of famished infants weaving soccer ***** for their more privileged counterparts in the USA. Incredulously, I recognized from a few angled lines at the end of the drive Charlie's ever-present scrap metal pile. Cedar and deciduous trees in the wooded areas were distinguishable from one another in simple, but deftly penciled strokes and swirls. He'd even captured the farm's power sources - tractors with hay wagons, the farm truck, pea-sized draft horses, and two diminutive figures in the front yard..

It should be mentioned that if you move to their playground, you will find there a real criminal wild level. It is the only level where murders happen because a fight for swag is carried there. You try to nap a piece?of property from the jaws, even if it is your own property, but the things for you may be finished badly.

Face and strap color - Another new trend in watch design is with the dials and straps. Watches, both expensive and cheap, are now being made in bold and exciting colors. Just be careful about buying a colored watch if it is going to be your everyday watch.

Having learned under the tutelage of LOSTerminds Damon Lindelof and Carlton Cuse, it's understandable that the talented (babyandyUSA-March-11) twosome that are Horowitz and Kitsis want to do nothing less than shoot for the stars by crafting and equally compelling world filled with good and evil character, not to mention life and death stakes. Unfortunately, the one thing that really seems to have gotten, well lost this season is the fun. In other words, when you're responsible for writing a show about handsome princes, damsels in distress, witches, fairy-godmothers, etc鈥?it would be nice if an episode could go by that doesn't involve a grisly ****** or loss of limbs..  2013-03-14.
Travis Dixon Sep 2010
Your aspect ratio’s wrong.
Stretching the truth
this long sows fertile ground
for artifacts, glitches,
quirks & bugs, worming
& squirming beneath pixel
shrugs. The worst kind
plump the frame to god-
awful proportions, bloating
bigger & bigger & bigger ‘til
vision’s engulfed.
Or the kind that squeeze
spaghetti confetti onto
our plates, drenched in
the Sauce of the Week
that “can’t be beat!”.
Your skewed parallax
attacks the facts at hand.
Recycle your *******
fax machine this second before
it grows smarter than
you. Yes, you—with the rolly
polly eyes & feint surprise—
quit pretending you’re dumb,
'cause you ain’t that numb
to the stings & pangs of change.
Your sloppy hacks produce
quantity @ the cost of quality
to benefit the greedy & satisfy
the needy, becoming seedy
to the logic of reason.
Correct your inputs to render
outputs worth tender & please
remember, it’s what’s within
the frame that’s important,
so get it right.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2016
as with any plaster work, or draping muscles and bones and
organs in skin - i knew i reached a zenith of some sort:
forever introspective, that chance momentum
that never reaches a museum of retrospective
finalised banalities -
and with that's happening in America,
i get a chance glimpse into that part of the world
so bogus, so *****-like, so haphazardly
put together - the chance to see the rats (artists)
jump ship and head to Tangiers, Paris, London
(for the pillars of the movement to come,
London especially, but might i suggest Edinburgh?
the capital of the offshoot that's to come
from Scandinavian novels?) -
i wouldn't suggest heading to Prague -
or Budapest - never to tourist hot-spots, obscurity is
what you need - Edinburgh out of season,
then the theatrical circus isn't there -
***** poetics: poncy monologues and Annabel
art-house flea markets... but that's the beauty,
flea markets in France, charity shops in England...
but i did exhaust this one musical avenue,
i dropped the ᚱᚢᚾᛖᛋ - it got boring after a while:
all that charged up mythological feeling -
the way we always wanted: myths to feel with,
to eat, rather than the sterile scientific facts...
i've learned enough to later ditch them,
even a Professor of Chemistry will have a postcard
of Edward Hopper's painting by his desk,
that window to view the world that doesn't
necessarily encompass sun moon and constellations...
how anyone would be foolish to scrub off
some inspiration from such things bemuses me,
the lowest of the low of poetic expressions is
sung to things that manage too much: the moon
and the sea tides, the sun and the seasons and
phototropism - it's a double edged sword...
only from one art to another do we get to see
our labourers of attention, else the same old deficit:
god... who in his glee took offence at anyone
having more awe-inspiring sense to please such
things... no alone can you master contemplating
both the beauty and the utilisation behind such
objects as a single man... however well...
it's impossible... you're sharing the bronze platform
with those that simply wrote of the shallow
beauty, and those that found these objects
were not simply aesthetic, but meaningful in
the machinery of things... it was never up to
us to find that electric genius of combining the aesthetics
with the machinery as one...
for in that sense god is a form as fraction
of 9/1, 8/1, 7/1, 6/1, 5/1, 4/1...
the fraction of wholeness... a complete set to start with...
man has already proved the limit as a fraction
with the base 3... 9/3, and that didn't really end well...
at best man is composed of a fraction base of 2...
by sharing the world through marriage to a woman,
or through a learned devotion, a crumb of what a woman
is, a philia (love) of his interests, a soloist voyage...
some just say: you will either take to being faithful
to philology and yourself as its devotee,
or you'll take up a wife... oddly enough chemists are
defilers of marriage having any purpose other than
to distract... but as i said: you can rarely write
decent things when trying to admire celestial spheres...
more ambition comes from the distraction of the zodiac
"prophets" and astrologers... a poem about the moon
is just a poem that is levelled with a poem
about a dustbin... but hey... Top Cat lives in the dustbin,
Neil Armstrong bopped along the lessened gravity
surface... but which is easier to acquire for a smile?
Benny... cue the violin theatrics of lamenting to a comic
end.
well... we have to juggle each other's impressions,
taking at hacking the raw meat will not give any of us
medium-rare barbecue steaks marinated...
taking the moon as something else is: nice...
and you know how nice things end up as... as tacky
suburban *******... if you're going to tackle the
thing with all the rawness... i'd first spend looking
looking at that thing of your attention in a graveyard...
just to get the feel to the idea: well... my fellow daisies
sniffed from the roots up would probably have
said something sulky similar.
but it's like that, you get to exhaust certain musical avenues...
i'm currently at a period where i have enough
stash of jazz records to rekindle my interest in it...
on today's menu? the real McCoy (McCoy Tyner,
Joe Henderson, Ron Carter and Elvin Flynn -
Flynn makes his mark, even though not the star
of the album, Art Blakey has a match) -
then onto the tragedy of Sonny Clark with his
cool struttin' alongside Art Farmer, Jackie McLean,
Paul Chambers and Philly Joe Jones...
i must admit that after watching the film whiplash
my ear-buds staged a coup to move from a certain
type of music into this... and even though
i already said that the climate in America at the moment
is very a second attempt at a Beat movement...
it's very much different... i guess jazz makes all the sense
in a pure urban environment...
jazz and urbanity, the hipster parties where wine flows
like poetry and people get to do their wild marijuana
******... but Bukowski changed everything
by bringing a taste of the classical into the scene...
it feels just like that these days...
there's no jazz on the radio...
going back to watches and radios, mono-utility things
that are the glamours of the inoffensive cluttering of a room...
no digital screen... the radio position at the back
of my head, behind me, the little fly-eye Rubik cube
ahead of me...
that's the odd thing with coming with jazz these days...
it's like Bukowski in the shadows of the beat movement
back when it was the beaten track...
so i said that jazz and urbanity are perfect partners...
well... take jazz from an urban environment and put it
in a outer-suburban environment, in a place
about 30 minute walk from farming fields with bulls
and horses... foxes the thieves rummaging in people's
trash... and... as classical music took to
teaching us the language of celestial bodies,
Holst... in this kind of environment jazz does the same...
jazz becomes equal to classical music with celestial
bodies... i'm just wondering if there are enough
instruments to arrange the solar system...
Mercury the Trumpet...
         Venus the Double Bass
Earth the Piano
                       Mars the Drums
Jupiter the Tenor Sax                                   (comparatively,
                Saturn the Soprano Sax                using a Holst
                                                           ­        schematic, the reverse,
                                             yet citing Jupiter, not as a planet,
                                           well, the bellowing voice of paternal fury)
Uranus the Clarinet
                                           (takes sheer magic to play that thing)
so that just leaves us with an Neptune as either
   Alto Sax or Trombone...
but that's how jazz morphed since it last came across
poetry... someone stole it from its urban environment
of busy streets and ugly manners and quick quick snappy
and the millionth time i could compare it to a spontaneous
encounter with someone in a bar... jazz lost its cool there...
people said the same thing about jazz
as Kaiser Joseph II did of Mozart... "too many notes"...
translate this urbanity into an outer-suburban environment
and put it against that kind of backdrop?
well... personally, there are just enough notes in each piece...
you looked outside the window? you could hear
a **** from a mile away and no tree would even sway
in nodding approval even with a galeforce wind slapping
them... jazz lost its synchronisation with the urban environment
it emerged from... but in so doing, it managed to mature
like good wine on the outskirts of large cities,
where it literally became the only thing that could ably
make a Kandinsky moment from semi-detached houses.
NEWSFLASH... what is this concern about art being
subjective? i don't see where these arguments go...
i thought art was about revealing the intimate,
not revealing the objective shallows of a method...
of limited scope like any philosophical systematisation...
if Christopher Columbus ever did things
objectively he might have discovered Lisbon or the Canary Islands...
art can't be objective... trying to argue that art is
"only a subjective" expression... well, if it was to be
a "greater" expression objectively, an artist would
walk into an art gallery, take all the paintings from
the canvases, and turn to the public and say:
now let's see your subjectivity, otherwise go ponce
off the art critics to take something they said to your
date about how: the light contorts the features of expressions
blah blah blah blah blah... the point of art being
superior as a subjective vehicle is so that i can feel someone
else's feelings... as opposed to thinking someone else's thoughts...
art is the sensual, not the premeditated dogmatic funeral -
which all philosophers attend: they're objective to the
point that they're afraid of having a personal attachment
to their outputs - they will hardly ever want to invite
a criticism of their objectivity, because they're such emotional
paupers - they fear criticism of their subjectivity to such
a point, that you can simply look at their pronoun usage
strategy, they really do use these words like kings -
but when Mozart is criticised by the Kaiser... he thought
nothing of it... he actually thought, nothing of it,
perhaps his vanity was wounded, but his virtue wasn't...
which is why he remains with us...
for the fatal wound incurred is not that of virtue,
but that of vanity... and true virtue is unafraid of criticism,
there's this cognitive blockage that enriches the
heart and leaves the mind blank... the sort of blank
that accommodates the Pyramid of Vanity:
bishops, priests, doctors, kings, queens, portrait artists,
Versailles... such things are so ****** void of anything
but scare-mongers, sycophants, leeches and finally tourists...
for whatever you take from the realm of Hades,
there's a stamp-duty on each precious element from that
realm... each thing is stamped: worthless...
you couldn't extract penicillin from Hades...
changing gold into a ring is worthless if such symbolism
of a union of monogamy end with the ring being
nothing more than a thing disputed over the divorce settlement.
Matt Morrison Dec 2013
What is a world?
Inputs, outputs, slam it together
Break it apart and what is there?
We live in one dimension
A straightforward input
An all powerful output
We change what we want
That is our life
Robert Ronnow Jun 2017
.
                              Some say the scientific method
                              Is the ultimate algorithm and others
                              Prefer prayer.

For symbolists, all intelligence can be reduced to manipulating symbols, in the same way that a mathematician solves equations by replacing expressions by other expressions. Symbolists understand that you can't learn from scratch: you need some initial knowledge to go with the data. They've figured out how to incorporate pre-existing knowledge into learning, and how to combine different pieces of knowledge on the fly in order to solve new problems. Their master algorithm is inverse deduction, which figures out what knowledge is missing in order to make a deduction go through, and then makes it as general as possible.

                              Tea
                    ­          In its simplicity
                              Can sustain concentration

For connectionists, learning is what the brain does, and so what we need to do is reverse engineer it. The brain learns by adjusting the strengths of connections between neurons, and the crucial problem is figuring out which connections are to blame for which errors and changing them accordingly. The connectionists' master algorithm is back propagation, which compares a system's outputs with the desired one and then successively changes the connections in layer after layer of neurons so as to bring the output closer to what it should be.

                              Hungry and cold
                              A holy condition
                              A warrior's position in the world
                              
Evolutionaries believe that the mother of all learning is natural selection. If it made us, it can make anything, and all we need to do is simulate it on the computer. The key problem that evolutionaries solve is learning structure: not just adjusting parameters, like back propagation does, but creating the brain that these adjustments can then fine-tune. The evolutionaries' master algorithm is genetic programming, which mates and evolves computer programs in the same way that nature mates and evolves organisms.

                              Arithmetic
            ­                  A good ****'s the metric
                              Of a dying man

Bayesians are concerned above all with uncertainty. All learned knowledge is uncertain, and learning itself is a form of uncertain inference. The problem then becomes how to deal with noisy, incomplete, and even contradictory information without falling apart. The solution is probabilistic inference, and the master algorithm is Bayes' theorem and its derivatives. Bayes' theorem tell us how to incorporate new evidence into our beliefs, and probabilistic inference algorithms do that as efficiently as possible.

                              I can't believe
                              I won't live forever, therefore,
                              I invented an afterlife to supplement reincarnation

For analogizers, the key to learning is recognizing similarities between situations and thereby inferring other similarities. If two patients have similar symptoms, perhaps they have the same disease. The key problem is judging how similar two things are. The analogizers' master algorithm is the support vector machine, which figures out which experiences to remember and how to combine them to make new predictions.

                              Prepare for a powerful anesthesia
                              Chemical processes irresistible
                              A good and perfect rest
www.ronnowpoetry.com

--Domingos, Pedro, The Master Algorithm: How the Quest for the Ultimate Learning Machine Will Remake Our World, Basic Books, 2015.
梅香 Jul 2018
you walked in without a warning
into this beautiful artist's life;
although a lot from her was missing
still she continues to strive.

into her life you left a consequential mark,
since then she has never been in the dark.
the smiles and the feeling of blissfulness
came to her life as a vital witness.

she got moonstrucked by you,
from gray her skies became blue.
her art that embodies her psyche,
is now dedicated to that laddie.

every color in her painting
is a momentous thing;
they represent every felt emotion,
as she gave you her affection.

every line that was drew
was all dedicated to you;
those were just mere hand-shiftings
as to you is where she is drifting.

every outputs she has made
were feelings she has bade
as a symbol of romance,
just as her hands did the dance.
when the artist delves into the art of love.
Babu kandula Feb 2016
Some choices out of interest

Makes unbelievable outputs

Yes, they do make us happy

Go forward with your work

Your work will lead you to victory
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2016
those easily falling asleep on aeroplanes
can be easily identified in their
literary outputs... encompassed
with citation akin to: life goes on,
and on, and on... they're so comfortable
and lazy, so quick-minded
with common sense and lack of soul...
reading them makes me uncomfortable,
sitting next to them not knowing
they write such verse makes me feel
like a slaughterhouse; i'm the butcher, apropos.
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2016
there's only one philosopher you can play ping-pong with -
even the existentialists conjure him up
like Aladdin's genie - rubbing that
maxim so frequently you'd wish
you never had the genie or a talking
goldfish with a starter, main and dessert -
you can literally bounce that Cartesian
1 + 1 = 2 with yourself forever -
it's the opposite of clarifying the waking
hour, it's less hour, less decade, less century,
less zeitgeist - it's more centimetre
it's more nano-metre - it's not a marathon
of contemplation, but a constant reminder -
that's what it is, a constant reminder -
i've been digesting Kant's 2nd volume of
the infamous critique (infamous given
von Kleist's suicide because of it) for a year or so,
i'll finish it, but i'll have to cram a few
book reviews, newspaper articles and poems
in between the claustrophobic fudge -
reading Kant is sometimes like walking
in a Crusader stronghold - those Teutons and
Hospitaller are like modern American history
cults bemused by a collective psychosis -
Jung's field-day review - it's not a question
of consciousness or the individual's association
and subsequent identification with it for
a self and subsequent will - with the collective
unconscious comes collective psychosis
of the waking hour - the Crusader knights shut themselves
up in the strongholds and performed the literal
aspects of the Last Supper - you'd think
the German football kit would be: a black shirt,
red trousers and yellow suspenders -
but they chose black and white attire to pay homage
to die Großschäffer of Marienburg or Königsberg (
Kœnigsberg - soft German tongue will do in Latin's
revision - or modern Kaliningrad: the Las Vegas of
the Baltic) - the Bach in Lao Che's Komtur -
what a tsunami! to live life and appreciate the artistic
outputs of others... a house infested with spiders
is one of joy... but even the existentialists testify
the ping-pong with Descartes - other philosophers
are narrative encapsulations - you never deviated
from them - you ingest the entirety of the narratives
and leave them be - Descartes made mathematical-grammar,
people adopted a stance to over-quote him,
or simply over-use him - some think philosophy
has a genesis in Socrates, but it really doesn't,
not these days, the genesis is Descartes -
once poets cited heroes akin to Achilles, modern
heroes are stable ******* by feminist citation -
stara panna myśli że jest sarną; to-ast! -
philosophers, well, you'd imagine that to be the case
with all that perfumery of pacifism -
say bye bye Achilles, and with the drudgery of thought
having no outlet via censor Mr. Hammer, Mr. Brick,
Mr. Stock-Exchange - oh look, a mini Mr series -
how fun! where're the monkey swings? you will
have to make poets admire philosophers -
i hate, hate! HATE, HATE! populist poets -
they're like cockroaches - they're so unhelpful -
they call themselves the people's poets -
all you need is for philosophy to germinate in the medium
of poetry for some pre-Socratic to emerge -
i HATE POPULIST POETS! it's a passion i'll never divorce -
but truly - modern philosophy will have a hard time
divorcing itself from the Cartesian 1 + 1 = 2, and given
the symbolism of math, how about a few examples?
        x
standard John Smith
(multiplier, plumbers assemble)
                                                                                            +
                                                                               (e.g. Kant,
                                                                apparently additions
                                                               to the expression: i am man)

          -
(the throng of the Holocaust,
that's minus the would-be
outlived lives)
                                                                          ÷
                                                  (e.g. Stalin, Comrade Mao,
                                              ******, i.e. the people that never
                                            allow dialectics to equilibrate
                                           in a single individual - from Socrates
                                                 many have picked up a hammer
                                                 and hammered a few million nails in -
                                                few picked up dialectics -
                                                what Socrates invented is like
                                                a haunted house -
                                                the emergence of the schizoid-mind,
                                                personas that divide people,
                                                you have Neo-Nazis to account for
                                                and proto-Communists -
                                                what a mess having the proof
                                                of a perfected debate
                                                being so undernourished -
                                          barren - in the end merely a status quo -

see what i mean by the Cartesian ping-pong?
you can't do that with Kant or Kierkegaard -
this ******* keeps resurfacing - every single time -
you just can't **** the fact that he's redrawn thinking
and being conscious and that chestnut of
a mirror and self-consciousness - Narcissus's c.c.t.v. -
it's not *** like insect conscious behaviourism -
more like date, second date, third date...
then maybe... maybe... the bony harlot, right...
sit on it for long enough and it apparently feels
like an outer body experience - still, Herr Denken and
ping-pong (alt. to Herbert's Mr. Cogito).
Unequal


When you divide the people
You divide the power

When the power is divided
The problem multiplies

This is the algebra of the situation

The situation that poisons water
The situation that pollutes air
The situation that kicks all of the jobs out of the neighborhood
The situation that kicks grandma out of her home

Then blames you

blames you For needing to drink the poison water
blames you For needing to breathe the polluted air
blames you For needing to work for money
blames you For needing to live to have a life

There is no Unknown in this equation
There is no Hidden variables

There is only a forced set of inputs
To create a predetermined set of outputs

We the people refuse
to be functions of this destructive equation
We the people refuse
to be canceled out in this demented calculation
We the people refuse
to be anything other than people

and we the people demand
what is due to all
that are people
that are human
that are of Earth.

© Christopher F. Brown 2016
Mateuš Conrad May 2017
not much of a story...
             it's only half past 10, and it's a saturday...
but i have two litres of dark *** with me,
and a bottle of hoisin sauce...
                       ****'s gonna get dangerous
   down in the kitchen...
                some pork is going to get slaughtered...
and if i get my hands on some
                                booker t. and the mg's?
       and then fry some rice, and add some eggs?
you're going to be talking to marlon brando...
without the cotton-***** stuffed into his cheeks
to speak, like he spoke, when filming
        the godfather...
                            could have smoked 20 packets
of marlboros... and you'd still get the huskies...
and the sledge... and a holiday in alaska...
                                                       ­  never mind.
hoisin sauce though? that's the dog's *******!
it goes down well with duck... chicken?
to bland...    but i'm guessing will pork will go
down well with the sauce.
         otherwise? z.z. top me...
                              i only learned yesterday,
what a boilermaker was...
                            apparently a shot of whiskey
followed by a beer...
         nothing quiete like al pacino in
                   the 1971 film, the panic in needle park...
this is going to be a feast... i can feel it...
            what do michelin star chefs eat when they get home?
some simple grub... probably egg on toast...
         i hardly think they're spectacular in their
choice of edibles to replicate their restaurant outputs...
      for them it's probably like:
            if it ain't done in 15 minutes... i'm not eating it.
hoisin? yep, that's to replace the sweet chili sauce.
           then there's the 2 litres of ***...
   well... i'm pretty sure one of the litres is for tomorrow.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2016
and they write confessional poems,
and they're scared
when it happens to be too authentic
and they never bother
personae poetry and a shamelessness
about it - as if imitating someone
and able to distance yourself
from the adequate metaphorical word
schizoid - the personae principle
of poetry - the poet disguised
within many people - and indeed
as poetry goes, the crude oiling not
represented by stiff-collar fictive
outputs of he said, she said, "quote",
and the out-of-body experiences -
but then, that wouldn't be poetry,
would it? what it would be would
be jane austen, or anna karenina.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2016
when i die, i'll relinquish so many riches...
that even king solomon would be envious.*

a reinterpretation of rené magritte -
man in a suit with an apple disguising him -
student with dreads and some
artsy fartsy clothes with a traffic cone
to disguise his face.

why do people cling to poetry?
its innocence - people loath poets who
rebel against poetic innocence,
they still want much technique
and little resolve - they want cute
rhyming, cute topic matters,
when the serious arts that allow
no strain provide prodigious outputs
that are later morphed into genius
(genius being prodigious output
in free-fall, spirit of gravity),
the poets concern themselves
about who's the most naive of them all:
poem poem on the page, who's the
most naive of them all?
you see, defining genius in poetry
is equated to the extent of emotional turmoil,
the less of it, the more ideal, technique prone
the output is... the more of it?
well... e.g.

yes, the english do not read philosophy,
they're too practical for that,
so practical in fact that their practicality
stems from creating problems,
rather than solving them,
they're the ones that say:
we care not for philosophical matters,
we care for practical matters,
we rather not abstract real matters
with unreal solutions,
but rather negate unreal matters
with bureaucratic solutions -
basically handing hot coal from
one person to another until the hot coal
becomes hot ****, and then thickens
and becomes un-fascinating for even the
congregation of flies.

but of course you know it stemmed back
from darwinism plaguing writing,
the necessary clear-cut plot, so everyone
knows what's going on... writing,
esp. fiction, is still just about drawing straight lines...
not circles, not squares... straight lines,
lucidity of some congestion of character intersection
with the narrator trapped in parallelism
of either allowing or obstructing tangents of
characters to involve the narrator into
being disguised.

but of course, you weren't the one punching
a brick wall when home office officers
came to take your father and mother,
handcuffed them and took them to the police station
while you were left in the room,
looking tearfully blank at a wall,
with one of the home office enforces coming
in and saying the words: 'you have a nice computer',
then turning around with... not an evil eye,
but a death eye stare... you were ~10 at the time,
shifted back to your fatherland to become
quasi autistic in silence...
only because your father provided an honest
hand for an honest profession,
while the niqab ***** multiplied in tax havens
of taxpayers' rented accommodation
in west london...

or as mickey mouse and donald would say:
make america déjà vu again... again again?
no, make america déjà vu:
rocky ***** balboa robocop sequel no. 17...
the imagination has to die at some point,
might as well be now.
Aniseed Sep 2016
They told me to write what I know;
Well I know how to say "I'm sorry"
so much that the meaning falls through
the bottom of your glass
while I sit on my hands and watch it seep
through the cracks of your front porch.

They said,  "Write about something you love,"
but every time I see a passion in my life,
the grey around me ***** in its color
like a vacuum
and I'm left with empty, open palms
an a house much too clean to call it home.

"Write about how you're feeling."

How can I tell them that
my smile learned how to lie with
my teeth cracking behind it,
and my eyes know how to crinkle when
my smile gives the command?
That this demeanor is a machine
with outputs and executions -
but sometimes even machines break
and they need someone to fix them
because broken hands can't use a wrench
and a smile needs something to feed off of.

So in the end I write about writing,
as meta as it may be -
Because, in a sense, the process
Is all I have to talk about.
When entertaining the idea of poetry slams with friends.

I feel as though I have to mention this poem is older, and my state of mind is much lighter than these more manic times.
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2016
i sometimes think of myself, phoning the radio station classic fm and asking them to play christopher young's something to think about (https://goo.gl/kdMemw), just so i don't have to hear another piano concerto, in #a no. 552 (i have to admit, those composers were really lazy when it came to naming their sweaty outputs), or someone asking to be played something resembling classical music with the words: smooth, soothing... dirge like?*

and where else would i wake up,
hearing several bird songs on the morn's
gloomy brow, if not here:
the wood pigeons coo coo suddenly
shortened to a quiver of tickled larynx,
or the crow's harsh phlegmatic croak,
or a magpie's modulated laughter
of the crow's croak,
or the blackbird's and the sparrow's chirping?
too early for the seagulls to make
entry into dry land about 30 miles
from the sea, but they do come,
and once a kestrel on my garden fence.
Gods1son Mar 2021
When we focus only on the action
(what was done) and ignore the intention (unrevealed goal), we lose a lot of information.

There's more going on in the heart
than what is played out
The heart is deep, it's hard to fully know
what's going on inside it.

Good intentions sometimes lead to
destructive outputs
And evil plans sometimes end up blessing
the targeted.
In this hassle of life most of us have actually forgotten the true meaning of self-love because we people are busy finding our happiness in others and end up living in misery. Self-love is taking complete care of our body, mind and soul which eventually opens the various doors of this magnificent life. It is embracing our own flaws without developing self-hatred. Some people confuse the self-love with selfishness. It is not about becoming very possessive and getting obsessed with your own self instead self-love is making your aura so influential and positive that even the folks around you can feel the fragrance of the love you do to yourself.
Stress, anxiety and depression are very common in each age group of people whether it’s a teenager or an adult. There is so much of chaos in everybody’s life that people end up criticizing their own self. You can’t just hate yourself just because the circumstances are not in your favor.
The best remedy is self-exploration. When you start exploring in depths about your own self rather than deteriorating your mental as well as physical health, you’ll observe wonders of your own soul. You’ll acquire peace in this chaos of life. But the question is how to start this exercise of self-exploration?
Go into the abyss deep and know about the kind of person you are. Explore your capabilities with creativity. Yes, if you love any creative art skill whether its writing, public speaking, painting, photography and anything else then start working on it and you’ll easily find the answers to various questions you have with your own life.
We humans feel more anxiety when we are alone and overthinking. But what if you make the best version of you with productive outputs in that alone time! Solitude leads you towards peace and peace leads you towards acquiring the prodigious life and nourishes the mental health of a person. And the one who lives in solitude creates more productive outputs. There is a pool of pessimists around you who always try to put you down and hinder your growth and make you to criticize your own self. But if you really love yourself then there is no negative power in this universe which will stop you to move forward in your path. Just abandon self-criticism and replace it with self-love and your soul will set on the quest to discover its magic!
SelinaSharday Sep 2021
Watch out for the waters
You adventure in,
via your browser swim
truly unknowingly.
For there's so much we browsers can't see,.
Everyday grinding hustlin just doing you.
Never know what rivers u may end up passing keyboard canoe.
Like the social online parks
Its a place wherein lays unsorted dimensional sparks.
Designed places includes types of sharks.
Even for us who appreciate staying in the bushes.
Some of us like being behind the scenes.
Within the usual even new public things,.
Careful where you step. Careful where you post.
Social media is a maze, of lanes and thangs!
Online social clubs, No matter where your from..
There are places that will pull you there.
Beware of emotional eye catchers
Like mental mind candied snatchers.
Becoming a awed fan..
In this wide waters  entertainment of man.
Careful where you click, adore carefully reply.
Daggers can give you a pc glared blackeye.
Give support, but any other mission be ready to abort.
Hearts  sometimes on your sleeve, still give support that others may succeed.
Yes But not at your own risk where you may bleed.
Depression your own regression.
Diagonal emotions, changing of your views. subscribing to social vlogs.
Go easy take baby steps.
Because you can't vision where the waters go deeper.
Becoming blind to your bodies symptoms and signs.
Your giving outputs yet when have you taken time
for your inputs.
Everywhere some are asking things of you..
I happen to subscribe to a very high emotional vlogger.
Attack after attack, before my eyes and ears.
Wasn't used to the atmosphere. The language etc but still
it was a bit entertaining.
When my physical mind became drained, and the tones yelled defensive jabs.
emotional stabs.
Realized I'd subscribed way to much into the chaotic space.
Had to sit out wasn't needing the taste.
Waters of content creators thinking oh I can handle this.
Your spirit yells enough.
Careful hearts and minds..
Take breaks step away, rest and cater to your Mind health & spirit.
Careful of what Ads invite you to online swim. from the ponds, pools and lakes.
To deeper waters stay safe.. protecting the mental intellectual of your souls.
Too much junk food from creators, vloggers, subscribers, followers and the like
of social media channels.
Once over whelmed your gut will tell, unsubscribe, step away and recuperate.
You don't need so much on your plate.
SelinaSharday.. 21/9 S.A.M ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
BROWSING, SUBSCRIBBING, supporting posting  staying current on content.. checking messages, working, networking, entertaining, etc all takes it tolls on us.
Kadija Bell Jul 2016
To all the beautifully flawed people of the world I love you

As we all link in the shadows being free

To all the insane irrationals...sanity drains out humanity & kills off the creative factors

It slip, tricks & dips the mind into a rational spectrum of life
Coating the fragile factor in the worlds perception of sadistic statistical madness.... Imagery of perfection

Then We Begin

Scale up, Size Down, Fill Up & Bow Down.... Lost & for told I seek to find pleasure in broken things

To work on mingle & connect with
Intertwine minds & comfort the darkness

Find beauty in the pain of a madman
Play with the shadows that bring light to bitter days

2:10 haunts once again
Same friend strokes again
2:10 the minds worst nightmare
Or the worlds best daydream..... Madness of a man
Madness of a woman

Souls of the forbearance
Vindictive capsules of emotion

The body is to be cherished
Yet the mind to be played?

Manipulated & cast off

Iron chains lock away the future
As the past slithers away

Venomous passion for the life once lived
Driving factor of life branded on the brain

No judgment placed
No judgment shamed

Friendly comforts
Malevolent characteristics building the perfect visionary of a soul mate.
Building stronger chains to keep that futures fate destined

Feeding & satisfying the pasts hunger

Still no judgment placed
No judgment shamed

2:10 my dear friend
Why must we fear?

Happiness whispered ear to ear

While the madness kiss my mind & The World Shaded My Vision

Reprogrammed I see a new

Revolutionary outputs

Madness soon threw the key
Setting my future free

As my past slithered back inside of me roaming freely ..... 2:10 This is what you do to me
-KBELL
nvinn fonia Sep 2023
wow
AI that can write code, write stories, and generate outputs ranging from pretty pictures to product designs.
Yenson Nov 2019
If I did not know the hollows of some minds
feathered in decorative vacuous trimmings
or
the narrowness within that runs like
lovingly tendered English garden paths
or
the shallowness ****** that rivals handsomely
the depth of a penny-farthing not even two
or
the stupefying superficiality of conjured lives
lacking rhythms and hues in sensibilities
or
the daggers drawn envy of little minds inadequacies
that pines writhes and slithers only to hide when faced
with proven talents and telling might
or
the shameless harriers adorned in the selves-loathing mange
of the fraidy-cats who in feral packs ****** ale-houses
and throw stones at the houses on the hills
or even
If I did not know the frustrated offsprings of broken couplings
and broken lives ablaze with angst and unloved in disappointments
lacking positive role-models in absentee maleness
or even
the social houses ferals itching for attention while bug-eyed on
substances brought next door from stolen gains
or even
the dregs and drabs with hopeless tomorrows from yesterdays
spent in pool rooms and the local bookies who played truants
in past learning dis-glories
or even that most are soap dodgers in obligatory tattered Levis
and pilfered trainers who cursed the groomed as poofs and posers
So if I did not know all this and more
I will understand the vernacular of lost minds and illiterates
and their outputs would engage my consciousness and thoughts
Alas as it is hate is not a language I speak
Envy and Jealousy are not avenues I live in or even visit
They rather sadly fear me
They say they are at war
just because I do not
do as them
Yes!
Fear make one do crazy things
Inspired by a story I was told by a friend who said some guys were attacked because of their post-codes. Its a crazy world
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2017
you will soon understand the point, or rather the worthwhile point of investing in the right places, notably books, and notably the essentials of solomon's music filled harems, for you will treat both book and apple alike, how can my contemporaries feel no void in their piracy, in their cheapness, and not expect their thieving to not catch-up with them... the whole lot of them would emerge as philistines, unless of course, they are dumb enough not to congregate on the plateau of genuine commerce, and feel that by stealing artistic outputs they can suddenly surround themselves with brick walls and call them the ursulas in the hermitage admiring artwork, while at the same time forging copies and remaining entrapped, a world whereby suddenly plumbers don't get paid! there's a reason why music companies exist, they are P.R. dynamics, you think that any artist would be lifted from the hades, on a mere whim, or mere admiration by a few? piracy of the content doesn't help, at least with these P.R. companies the crumbs from the table, but when people turn anarchic, the artists are eating ****, and the more **** they eat, the more people are left with nostalgic content, nothing new, nothing explorative, because the contemporary artists suddenly brake rank say to the people like the people once said to the kings & queens: *******! shove that 20th century content up yer gobs and call it sunshine!

i can't say that heidegger's L, VI didn't spur me on
to begin this dragon's breath worth of vitriol
and scolding agitation,
come on, what's this supposed "lived experience"
these days, what is apparently "lived"
is nothing short of the disorientating
"dasein" of journalism...
        we can't even live the basic facts,
always regressing toward an "evolution",
always starting with some sort of
"mutating" presence & adding a superiority
complex...
  we killed of the neanderthals... but kept the apes,
so there goes the "missing link"
argument...
    i wish we kept the neanderthals and
made bush monkey fufu with the apes,
at least we could have authentic slave archetypes
from the neanderthal class of humanoids...
but no, slaughter the **** similis,
and keep the biodiversity of the apes...
how does that work again?
    you're tell me we killed the missing link,
and kept the darwinian vanity project
of the "****" speculo (mirroring man) so we
can write "poetry" with respect to other animals?!
so let me guess, a lot of women wouldn't
really like the black widow spider / mantis
comparison... of course they wouldn't,
but we still make all the other compliments via
a "comparison"...
  why **** off the missing link,
  why **** off all the tarzans that might have
told us: actually, the origin of the eskimos
comes from japanese macaque...
so no: not everyone came from ibrahim nigeria,
you **** dollop of custard for a brain!
don't get communist on me with
a collective history, **** of a common origin:
you have your big "bang" theory -
like you'd hear a "bang" in vacuum...
          enough! of this clowning around!
i agree with this ****, the supposed "lived experience"
is a catchphrase that has become unbearable,
because the sediment of facts is gargantuan
that it's hard to break away from it,
there are no "facts" in the sense of a *lived experience

akin to: and i had my first kiss while i was
5 / 6, and she promised me what she
would never fulfill...
        that's not a "lived experience" event,
that's only hypothetical, a delusion, a fiction...
and at the tip of this atlas pivot pose is
this persistent, primarily insipid in persistence
darwinism...
       i don't live in a civilisation worthy of
no more credit, other than one that provided
the typography of a, zoo:
and darwinism is zoological psychologism
at best... came down to the alpha & the beta -
no wonder we have the alphabet sequence
that makes no sense at all...
        and no, i have no theological bearing with
this, i already equated god as a paraphrasing -
it's the humanism behind this coming-of-age
of populist science turned humanism onto
its humpty-dumpty head that bothers me!
for one, it would appear that thinking is no
longer qualified as being a lived "experience",
are we no longer living by essentially thinking?
evidently we're not;
hand on heart heidegger could not have
predicted his concept of dasein being *****
by the medium of journalism,
   in that journalism morphed the adrenaline
rush of being "there" -
         hence the necessary constant stream of
a global "narrative"...
        in all instances there was no "being" burdened
by a there, other than the being
burdened by a "there" - as common phraseology
suggests, e.g. in church witnessing an ex-girlfriend's
christening of her twins, with the person
sitting next to me exclaiming in a hushed
tone: you're not really here, are you?
   there's a "here"? i replied.
lived experiences my ***,
    after being bombarded with too many
scholastic secularism of hyper-factoid rainbow,
and the eroding of keeping personal memory,
after all that, and still the persistence of
this ****** trivia game shows where
"knowledge" is about storing information
and nothing but that, and why didn't the ancient
greeks, in their old age, worry about
killer proteins invading fat cells of the brain,
and "flexing der muscles for mental
gymnastics" ever worry that ol' alzhei mc. hammer
would be relevant?
     well, while looking at some of these
youtube view counts i start thinking:
  thank **** people are still *****,
so many children watching these brain-drains,
but to be honest these brain-drains can be
like stretching a rubber band, back into a puzzle...
but that's beside the point,
   everything i write is impromptu,
which reminds me of the title and content
originally intended... the sefirot...

   schematic!

  ultimately the keter = yesod = malkhut
(perfect calamity for a disatrous trinity)...
   and there is no person in the world, known to
man, who has achieved that... not even moses...

  then there are variations:

   binah yesod chesed (understanding the foundation
   of love)...

yesod chesed gevurah (the foundation of love is in
strength)...

binah tiferet hod (understanding beauty is in its
splendour)...

tiferet chesed chokhmah (beauty is the love of wisdom)...

yesod keter malkhut (foundation of the crown
resides in the kingship)  
  which is the antithesis of christianity...

chesed gevurah binah (love is the strength in
understanding)...

please make make me stop, but do you know
how many maxims you can obtain from
the sefirot?!

   let me show you the sefirot and you make
the other maxims that could contend with
the book of proverbs, and rest with
  what replaces the star of david; namely?
the hod of david,
   away from the jealous tip of solomon's keter.

                               keter

binah                                          chokhmah

 ­      gevurah                           chesed

                              tiferet

hod               ­                               netzach

                         ­     yesod

                              malkhut

p.s. netzach malkhut keter
         vs. netzach malkhut yesod

i.e. victory does not reside in kingship of a crown,
   rather, victory resides in the kingship
   of a foundation,

  and now i really love how that's
contradictory to what is but the remnant
of indoctrination, as the story suggests,
which is why these two books can't coexist
as one, it makes schizophrenic factories
all the more apparent,
   even in christianity, if you've assimilated
into a culture, but retain your "maiden"
tongue, your bilingualism is treated
like some mental disorder akin to
schizophrenia...
    again, only in england, me marx and engels
thinking up future horrors,
and it culminates in me...
  so... bilingualism is a psychiatric disorder?!
gentlemen! let's broaden our minds!
lawrence, bring in the syrians and libyans,
we need to teach some lessons!
Yenson May 2022
It was in the age of wonders unseen
a moment in time years gone
free radicals in plasma vision
high definitions in pixels hues

A quantum leap far from my diaspora
frequencies blare in statics
sights seen not deciphered
icons flicker in transmission

It was in the age of sight and unsounds
graphic audios  stricken tones
inputs and outputs in staccato
remote controlled hit replays

A million light years from my Antenna
and I see zigzag lines in frame
saw buzzing from mast to mast
and a broken conduit plugged in

It was plain from the get-go not my scene
alien signals defo incompatible
pathways divergence defaults
end of the drama of disengaged

And gladly fade to black and switched off
it is their age of delusions
and their world of illusion
their escapism n distractions
a million repeats of a non-experience is nada
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2017
how did it all come about,
this short-hand evolutionary observable
family,
  how the greek letters lost
their names, and became musical
syllables, in the roman castrato
sing-along...

    how α became a,
   how β became b -
    however did γ become g?
   dpbgq...
         how δ became d -
      how ε became e -
             how ζ became z -
how η became n -
     θ & φ became neither thought
nor philosophy, or the point -
how ι gained a head with i -
how kappa remained, κ or k -
how lambda (λ) became L -
or how Γ met the mirror -
      laughter eta eta eta...
  how from mu came em...
      and from nu came en...
     from ρ (rho) the p -
and from chi (χ) the eks (x)
ψ (psi) + π (pi) came the p (ee) -
o remained o - omicron -
       stern sigma (Σ) into smoothed S -
   τ (tau) remained true to tao
of the latin t -
         the υp of upsilon remained u -
even though more about
exfoliating the nu (υ vs. ν) -
   and sharpened the ω into w;
with ξ (xi) the "11th anomaly* of Q...

ars geometria, the post-scriptum
of cubism: that imploded cube.

modern art: everything about perspectivism,
modern art can be accounted for
being beyond the standards "expected":
if you only take into account
the meagre outputs of architecture...
for all the l.s.d. consumed during the 1960s,
we have edinburgh's appleton tower
to show for it...

flaky mosaics peeling off...

  i still can't believe that psychology
retains both the latin word, as the german word,
from ego through to selb,
    ego: inhale -
       cogito: exhale -
but as anyone suffering from a mental
illness -
    ego: exhale
     cogito: inhale -
    res vanus = ego per se -
    res cogitans = ego ut nihil -
      nihil qua sum omni -
slouching away from "narrating",
      mental illness and the automated
narrator -
    the enforced unwelcome thought,
and as all thinking that's not welcome
is, and passes us, and as our egos
cannot become turtles or spiky defensive
hedgehogs,
  automated thinking becomes
painful -
             mental illness is all about
the automation of thinking,
forced thinking,
  well... it's just "thinking"...
  
the irony via this medium reveals:
              to not think, is to actually think.

and then in classical orientation -
plato would have been a darwinist -
he would have settled for forms -
the history of **** silimilus -
        
but perhaps aristotle would have convened
on the linguistic evolutions,
esp. from greek to latin...
      how ω became w which later became
ł & even later (л + λ) -

i can only admit one truth these days:
history has become crushing -
    it's crushing day by day -
whatever system in place -
  man, the eventuated hoarder -
if not by hoarding and filling his home
with "antiques" or worthless junk -
still, man has become a hoarder -
                     a hortmensch -
whether in objects, or whether in
history, grievances, respects, prides,
and failures or successes -
it's so exhausting to hoard so much,
whether under a roof of a house,
or inside the cranium and a receding
hairline...

history is a crushing dead-weight -
it becomes a blessing
   having drunk the previous day,
and not remaining some minor details,
but then, comes along dates,
like in england, 1066, 1914,
  1997... 1966...
               does all this history even matter,
given that,
  we're currently talking about
a genesis, where so much more
unwritten history took place,
than in the current year,
   of the supposedly written history?

i'm just asking for a zoological
invocation of historical content -
for there is but one historiology -
it's most certainly zoological -
       but even then: it's a crushing
dead-weight of what is needed -
        rather than what is necessary;
who are these censors of history out there?

i wish it was a different history
of existentialism to begin,
   once it arrived to england from the continent,
from denmark, germany & france,
the only answer to these thinkers came
in the form of psychiatrists,
notably r. d. laing -
  it's so sad to have spectated this,
how existentialism in england became
rooted in psychiatry,
as if reading books was somehow a psychiatric
affair...
        continental existentialism,
died the sad death of its influence -
both at the hands of english psychiatry,
and french postmodernism
(the deconstructivism of derrida) -
but you can't ignore why
only psychiatrists took interest in
the movement...
                these days?
everyone's suspect -
           and everyone is: the usual type.
Lyla Aug 27
stars burn effortlessly
while poets scrabble
plucking words like agates
from the mind’s pebbled shore

they have in common
the pleasure of those who bask
in simple outputs
of mysterious affairs

all we have in common
are kindred thoughts
sifted from every scrap we’ve read
as we seek ideas to explain us

adopt them, call them our own, tell others;
we're ripe and designed to spread
through an inky vector
or letters, anyway  

if you do it well enough you get a piece of paper that says
you’re qualified
but one can partake au naturel
and still have a good time

this is my compliment to you:
i'll show you the worst of me
and you’ll feel perfect
in comparison

if i were a better friend, i’d practice
become a learned artist
to sing the best of you
barring that, i could cheat

you want to be a pebble,
i know the way
come down here
and i'll feed you something from my garden

it will probably make you sick
you'll use words like rustic or pastoral
when you mean shabby and feral
woozy from the earthiness of it all

you’ll be charmed into mistaking seduction
for enlightenment
a tragic folly
like warming oneself with spent nuclear fuel

but enough about my dissipation
let us laugh instead
a wink between old friends
that is nothing and everything

for this is my compliment to you:
remember you are devastating
even when an echo
is the only applause you hear
For my friend D, who is a much better poet than I.
Ivan Brooks Sr Feb 2018
Midnight is the free festival of bright ideas
This is the time my side of the world sleeps
When bold and brilliant ideas suffers insomnia
Courtesy of the time zone, a victim of yesterday.
My side of the world is asleep momentarily
Yet the mind eyes of those awake deeply sleeps.  
Some sleepless nights can be progressive nights,
And though the mind eyes suffer defeat,
The reserved army of neurons have lights
With powerful beams to make outputs great.
And just because the ensuing battle looms
It doesn't mean the insomnia demon has won.
This is only a pause in momentum, call it a recess
Oh you renown nemesis of night ravens
Why do you torment me and impede my progress?
Now brace yourself for battle, it's time for revenge.

IvanBrooksPoetry©️
A lot of things happens at night..for some, it can be a period of battle.
I watch attentively
Movements, orders, patterns,
Results, outputs, behaviors.
I depend on them.
I copy them.
I apprehend them.

Like a chameleon
Whose biggest fear
Is to be spotted,
To miss colors,
To be highlighted.
John McCove Oct 2019
It swivels like a chair
Great combination
With passion and commitment
Immaculate anticipation
You have to put it in
And knock it into shape
Remember nothing
Same clueless quotes
Behind your back
Same sniggering

Let’s cover it with sugar icing
Lick it up
Your boots
Let them rub against your skin
Rise again
Hold your nerve and don’t forget
About climate changes
Break up with your illusions
So outrageous
Count the outputs
Check your numbers
Stay calm
When cats and dogs are fighting
You leave them behind your back
Gods1son Apr 2019
Artificial intelligence robots need data
Humans need experiences
Data and experiences are the inputs
How they are well processed will
determine the outputs.
Universe Poems Jun 2021
When you have not known,
someone that long
Remember even a year,
or two is not prolonged,
in knowing a person in full
The Social context
It is easy you see,
to mimic other people's behaviour,
on a one to one,
or a very small number sum
Among larger groups,
you will see the broken loops
Uncomfortable for a start
Inappropriate outputs,
that may make,
you want to bark,
or question,
did they really say something,
in a context,
while in the Social specs
Time and, place,
will show the grace
Out of the Social set,
copying your life,
as if it is their daily requisite
Only things you have,
talked about with this one
Certain places you shop,
things in your life,
you are undertaking
and, doing a lot
Do they all of a sudden,
want the same things
No this is Borderline (BPD)
Personality Disorder,
living between sanity,
and, psychosis,
this is real you see
Long term unstable relationships
Strong emotional,
reactions and, dips
Threats of Self harm
Fear of abandonment charm
Feelings of emptiness,
that cause alarm
Some people may not have,
this knowledge above,
or work colleagues,
who can advise your bug
Listen well,
act on advice you are given,
so you can tell,
what is taking place,
ever so well
In some cases this could save a life,
or others you support with advice

© 2021 Carol Natasha Diviney
kromwellfarkus Feb 2020
Words that pass my lips
Spoken from the reverberations
That my throat makes
For some reason.





Converse with another mechanism
From within my mechanism
My comfortable prison
Close eyelids to pull the blinds

We are all ****** up
In our own lil cute way
And I pull the levers
To act the socially acceptable way

But, the other day
I pressed a button
Perhaps, I shouldn't have
But, I did

It has triggered proximity switches
24volt control
Fed through inverters and now
There ain't no brakes

Not with this plc installation
Outputs all closed...

**** it.

— The End —