"planck" poems
A life away
You intertwined our fingers
And whisper, this is fate
It cannot be by chance.
But little do you know,
There is no guiding hand
We are a combination
Of one path that we took
And the rest that were not taken
And in this very moment
I read a book in a café
I watch a movie from my bed
I ski across the Alps
I breathe your scent
Mingled with the aromas
Of coffee, sleep and freshly packed snow
And of many, many more
And yet
The braid made by our fingers
Is duplicated countless times
Through all these permutations
You see
The odds were therefore in our favor
Alas, no mysticism here
What you call fate, is chance
The guiding hand of nature.
Jul 14, 2019
Jul 14, 2019 at 10:18 AM UTC
Imagine the bird of time
the sun is on the fly
shining the quantum of time.
From the bottom
the Planck length in the east
flying round the clock to the west.
Half way through
it could be at the twilight
but it sings a swan song.
Nothing is a perfectly round stock
not even the sun’s clock.
Around the two fine points
in the circumference of a circle
no length is a set fixed
minimal Planck length.
Always be an irrational gap
breeding anew pi decimals
never the same nor ever ends.
Always new, a little more,
an uncharted ****** mole!
Jul 9, 2021
Jul 9, 2021 at 4:41 PM UTC
when no man pursues
the truth,
the idea which contains all true ideas, aha
ideas are ideas, roses roses, names names
all true
evil ideas are in the set of true ideas as
sure as pi is in the set of true numbers,
i think
When the wicked rule the people mourn,
I think
How are all ideas equalible?
How is any idea equalible quant wise re
(long turbulent selah, lts)
questing
help, this is a talking point.
(lts)
okeh. for the future, I see.
we can make these faster with ideas pouring
into words flowing from gentled
untame-ible tongues,
----- untame-able is not
----- untame-ible, this may be an object
----- ifier lesson
-tension that re
l-eases
silent
darts, bullets(silent kind), missles, hymns'n'such
pointy grippy handles for cud
chawn story points upon
which any true story
idea must stand.
in spiritarian.
addinph
unitem
spirit and image of your father.
ohmygawd
Ambush
Clam slam shut, swoohoosh
pop
The infer
(implication layer upon layer,
thicker and thicker
naquering laquering query, could be dem pearl-ly gates,
early version o' Feynman's reversible tristatic NAND gates,
which work on ideas harnessed...)
see, there's the rub. one wee tetrahedral
trypointy foursidy sort of pearl maker
with words made
conversation
verses
versus insane unsane saners saved
by grace unmazing ungnostic
mumbling glosalialy
knot knox nor any o'them
puritans detected the
leaven in the game,
the periment
let out the
box,
"a republic, if you can keep it." unsaid went,
we cast all our cares to the gyre giver
guiding the great gulf river of pro
sperity providing us
our perspicacity.
Would that one might see one day,
the outcome of our American
experiment in leaven
in forming idle words mit ganz alte wahrheit
in dem Erste Zepto Planck Sec
just now. The idea that won was thought.
Good think you think.
We shall see.
Call your truth true.
Stand under knowing good and evil,
both, how and why, then chose,
knowing, my side won.
Apr 3, 2019
Apr 3, 2019 at 11:36 PM UTC
Yesterday’s gravity
Pulls threads in weaved cloth
Blown and scattering waves
Massive like black holes and small
Like the wings of humming
Birds of Planck length down feathers
On a drifting radiowave
While watching the television in a
Padded
Rooms inside Schrödinger’s box
Contained by hypertension
Like the hairs that grow in fibers of
The cerebrum’s
Neurons which inflate and warp
His hands shook like the rabbit ears
On his old television, wood paneled with
Outdated
Textbooks like his shelves
And enigma is his cited source
In his teleportation box, bedridden
Things in
There are superstrings on the walls
Floating eyes on the atoms of loneliness
Quark fizz, structural quanta on
Yesterday’s gravity
Pulls threads in weaved cloth
Apr 30, 2011
Apr 30, 2011 at 7:25 PM UTC
Cope, hope, or catharsis, one
may be forced to choose one
during the bouts
of restraint against release,
of reach before the sigh,
of desire, to control instinct.
Of all inevitability,
daring to call itself proudly by name
on this mercilessly constant tread
of experiencing, each it seems
with a collapsing and rising unique,
Planck’s momentous, memoried,
voice-blanking frames, slightly
shifting and forming (together
we conjecture) the same blurred image
of light, of looking,
of a thought, of a chance,
that maybe,
whether it is instrumentalist hands
or a playerless orchestra bestowing
sound, of granules grinding
over each other, with each
a glance, a lift of a hand,
in disguise of louder music,
that I cannot say is wrenching, that I
cannot say is strident, or sweet or
harmonic or agreeable—just heard somehow,
resonant,
seemingly against silence,
at the seeming heart—
that the note might be
the only one to hope for,
as cope with, as cathect oneself in.
The only one channel to that which,
if heard, will really be heard.
Not a down, then in, then up,
and out, uncertain.
Not a fading with time
or a never heard at all
except for mere murmurings
of chance. Though don’t shrug them.
Be exposed, undeniably, wholly, to them.
These, musicless, can become
still air, still flesh—mystery’s shut mouth.
Something of a mouthless bird.
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 6:32 PM UTC
*I can shake off everything if I write;
my sorrows disappear,
my courage is reborn.
-Anne Frank*
When I write and pour out my troubles
I speak to the invisible audience
To the page, to the future
To my friends, and myself
And those things I hate and love
I spill out the ink of my worries and past
My thoughts and feelings and doubt
And for a moment, a handful of planck seconds,
I have nothing, feel nothing, am nothing,
But one entity with myself
The little trouble I have is voiced and shed,
And I cry, but do not worry so much about it
I lose my gloomy dark thoughts and
Lighten up, and feel... not warmer exactly
Not happier either, but more.
More neutral and more myself, and more happy
And just more
And I again have courage and strength
To continue living without being weighed down
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 3:46 PM UTC
*STRINGS & SYMMETRY - JIMI & RAINBOWS
India Pale Ale nestled comfortably
in one hand,
Pilot G-2 .05 rested anxiously in the other.
The ale went down
like it was the end of the day-
smoothe, cold
and tasted like more.
The pen just looked at me,
daring me to let it
caress this page,
spread its inky passion
like the rainbow of colors
Jimi created with his guitar.
ooooo
It reminds me of recent conversations
with Brian Greene
about strings, resonance
and vibration;
about the make up of the universe
and the meaning of symmetry.
Conversations about the harmonics
of Calabi-Yau shapes,
expecially as multi-dimensional
expressions of gravity,
time and space.
ooooo
But I think
if you want to really understand
the elegance of the universe;
feel the fabric of the cosmos
and its loops of energy,
then you have to listen as
the stretching of Jimi's guitar strings
vibrate, bend and fold.
Jimi created rainbows
when he played.
And what are rainbows
but vibrating color in various shapes.
These colors, escaping his guitar
and melting into the vastness of space.
ooooo
Some say Jimi was an alien.
He stayed awhile
but then slipped out again
into the 9th dimension.
But I think
he emerged from the resonance
in a Calabi-Yau hole of infinity
found in the notes of "9 to the Universe".
He then disappeared in the rhythym
of flaming color arising out from
"Voodoo Chile (Slight Return)".
ooooo
Jimi would pick those strings
at Planck length speed
causing flames to leap
and go higher,
igniting the universe
with vibrations of blues
and riotous laughter.
Jimi knew how to fly
and amuse.
He knew how to laugh
and play jokes
on the universe!
He would make us smile,
keep time with our feet,
and 'kiss the sky'.
ooooo
Finishing up the last of the Pale Ale,
putting down the Pilot pen,
I am ready to seek rainbows
and listen to the universe sing.
Aztec Warrior 1.28.16 (re-worked)*
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 10:19 PM UTC
Don't doubt mute cause you kronor it's Roth
Code is back and uh t tÿ he's ready to slam
Yea... What madly You can't fight me,, und you can't tough me
I should do ill **** me
I'll send tat mess die to Yao mother, pang pang Ching young
Woe rhyming so how you bites you r bubble dust
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 9:36 AM UTC
Humanity is restless in its pursuit of
pure, and unbiased comprehension.
But we are as blind as the ants,
Who navigate a pheromone soaked
sensation scape.
Only able to perceive perfume
trails, and the colour they emit.
Like the warm, hazy lights
of a carousel river steam boat,
They pass each other like
perfect strangers in the night.
Amidst the dark and misty waters
Unafraid to surrender trust
to the twinkling of an eye,
the faint smell of musky cigars
on collared shirts, or the
Incandescent shades of a lip.
We have yet to leave our ancestral
cave homes, full of mad desperation to
capture, define, and preserve the
fleeting forms of nature and it’s denizens.
Sand and ochre kicked up and splashed
in deeply passioned abandon,
as fingers raced and traced the earthy canvas,
Etching, marking, tracing and screaming.
Until, in the end, the exertion itself
is impressed into the rock-face wall.
Other, similar endeavours may well include,
The many voyages and explorations of
Early settlers and tribe folk,
in attempts to map the sprawling land masses,
from the tips of snowy doom filled mountain tops
down to the last measly grains of sand on distant coastlines.
And even now in the modern era,
The sky itself and the cosmos in its enormity,
Probed forever deeper, but never reaching
Its absolute depth.
The creating, and dividing, of art into
it’s multiple facets of genre and subject,
Always pushing outwards in the need,
yes, the very drive to express anything,
everything, and nothing at all.
Emotion itself made captive to
Staves of rhythmic and melodic
progression and regression.
to plumb the very essence of a note
would reveal a beyond Planck length
Spectrum of wave and particle,
Eternally ringing out into
The collective consciousness of the universe.
This isn’t a poem, so much as it
is a personal meditation into
The finite infinity we experience
From one moment, to the next.
Much like meaning, we can only
assign so much burden to a word,
only place so much faith in diction.
But that’s perfectly alright,
Because without ambiguity in
the shapes and forms of metaphors and simile,
We lose a sense of the PROFOUND.
The innate desire to find meaning,
in the most personal sense, in anything.
And really,
isn’t that the most beautiful thing
Ever?
Sep 12, 2019
Sep 12, 2019 at 12:54 PM UTC
Provide web connections
at the same time to all,
At the same PC
On the PC, at all times,
An internet site to provide safe supply
A nice guest
And every plant of the field,
so you do not need to worry about
Visitors to meet best management of Creek,
sand, and that the Cathedral Wildlife Scholarship of All Rich,
Bob Cow Standard Design Park,
recalls that he sits on the company's Sciences Center;
angles angrily shouts to a crowded ballroom for a new radio,
the modern shadows of John's economics,
kids water colored water is and pigs in Bedford Hills;
Mary's robot glasses, her famous smartphone running,
she is ********** and deliberately showing her _penpe_
standing in the early light so the developer
has the pleasure of seeing her; they are the Angels
of The Planck Institute for Destruction's Program
is stopped by a fool's kiss and touched without a mark;
It fosters cheap prices to the distance of the shadow
of the hairy hair raising up his own hands that are
saved to swallow us up to condemnation, or instead
of being negative or stubborn in their mourning;
Down Nation at the same time to be unimpaired by
the Connection Center Developer's
Internet Connection to the PCI;
All together now, than |
1, there is no connection to your PCI
While the rest of the Sea Link
is linked together;
Boom, the federal PC
provide links &
Plug-ins to your computer's
PC panels
Oct 9, 2018
Oct 9, 2018 at 3:02 AM UTC
As a man who has devoted his whole life to the most clear headed science, to the study of matter, I can tell you as a result of my research about atoms this much: There is no matter as such. All matter originates and exists only by virtue of a force which brings the particle of an atom to vibration and holds this most minute solar system of the atom together. We must assume behind this force the existence of a conscious and intelligent Mind. This Mind is the matrix of all matter.
— Max Planck, Das Wesen der Materie, 1944
A single atom, the god particle, matter or anti matter it is a micro exponential point of every cell within us. We, people are in fact a galactic micro system by design.
The infinite mind, the all seeing eye, the matrix of cross over systems our human anatomy is structured with valves, ventricles, veins, arteries, pumps, liken to refineries, distilleries, depositories, disposal centers, we are a micro-engineered inner-planetary system. Bio chemically producing everything our physical world needs to exist.
Intricately if not divinely flowing in mass with an even greater gargantuan outer limit system of heavens and universes.
We play our part in a much grander idealism then mere earthly beings. We are gods and goddesses. Heavenly tribal guardians of infinite space and time. Triggers like cogs in a finely balanced spiral of life and death on a symbiotic evolution. All without giving our bodies much thought it moves forwards onward to that new place in times continuum.
We devote ourselves to gain understanding. To learn new disciplines. To live long and prosper. To co exist with nature or have you our organic materialism. This paradox is the enigma of fantasy and spiritualism.
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 10:41 PM UTC
Down in the quantum foam
When you are walking the Planck
*It’s even deeper
Even deeper*
It’s even deeper you roam
On down to foreign banks
Upon the salient loam
Afloat on quantum seas
*It’s even deeper
Even deeper*
Untying strings you comb
Through Heisenberg’s uncertainties
Certainly, You know just where You are
As well as your true speed
*Loved and hated
Trifurcated*
String to well past largest star
With knowledge of my need
Unfathomable space
And structures in-between
*Even Larger...
Larger, larger*
With a smile upon Your Face
With a passion and a gleam
With your pinwheel doing cartwheels
You don your sombrero
*Iridescent
Omnipresent*
Before breaking seven seals
You pause and feed the sparrow
Scaling Sloan’s Wall
Like it was but a curb
*Here, you're at
In no time flat*
Redemption from the fall
Released with such reverb
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 11:52 PM UTC
This began with an old man telling of diving from a bridge,
We can see, he said, if hitting bottom is possible,
a smart kid makes adjustments.
Still waters run deep,
listen
you know you can do this if we tri, you and I
insider outsider
other sider
consider the ant a tool,
learn to use them, they are already programmable.
try flies. what wish can you grant to fly?
what pheromone propels flies
to seek fly-level haps
meaningful and
satisfactory.
Make it real. Satisfied me says war is senseless,
it feels no pain.
There's no referee, so it ain't a life problem.
The entire life meme was upgraded,
when Netscape went public, in August '95.
Life's daysman had made the call, however long ago,
the Romans 8 manifestation gestation
thing was damming the info
rush,
but we fixt it,
at the heart of the matter of fact,
Bubbles were introduced to make booming
let up on trying to increase,
to effect the more abundant phase,
memes got real and made a global brain that
remembers ever things,
sorted by Planck-sec,
if you observe
in a properly augmented way,
the inner edge of the bubble of being.
The changes are the most precise captures
of a series of mortal moments on
earth, ever.
Perfect transparency.
See.
This is that gaseous substance, spirit, geist, breath
yes, hey
wind
listen, here we hear haps clappin' one handed,
singin' I'm so glad, to a Ginger Baker beat.
We should dance to this.
Sep 16, 2019
Sep 16, 2019 at 6:08 PM UTC
There was nothing
until there was everything.
Great power washed over
an empty Universe.
In a planck amount of time
life was created and
a power unlike any
other was born.
A power misused
from that day onwards.
Created in an image we
hold as Perfect.
Balance was broken
in the Genesis of birth.
A hole created
that cannot be filled.
Mankind were chosen,
chosen to dominate
the seas, the sky and the land.
A mistake.
Rotten seas.
Blackened skies.
Burned land.
Destroyed by human nature.
Inherited from
a vision of perfection
we still chase.
To what end?
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 10:52 AM UTC
It's as if insecurity (E)
is a constant
A physical constant
that stays put
and is always the same value
such as those in physics
and mathematics and so on.
A constant like those of the greats
Planck's (h)
Rydberg's (R)
Boltzmann's (k)
Insecurity is a constant for me
And I have named you thusly so
Insecurity - (E)
With a constant value
That remains
In every equation.
If one adds security,
hurt will follow.
If you think someone or something is going to stay,
this fails and the constant of the equation will prevail.
You cannot alter this constant
You can't try subdue it
It is what is
It's basic mathematics
Jun 1, 2018
Jun 1, 2018 at 5:35 AM UTC