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Alexandria Hope Jul 2016
Preset
What can I get for you this evening?
Preset
Do you happen to have our stubs card?
Preset
Would you like a receipt-
Wait.
Error.
Error.
Preset.
Is there anything else?
Preset
Do you have any rewards on your card?
Would you like me to see if there are any?
Preset
Would you like to use your rewards today, or save them?
Preset
Would you like a receipt?
Preset
Have a wonderful night. Day. Evening. What time is it.
**** why did I preset that phrase...

Hello!
Preset
What can I get for you this... today
Preset
Large....? Soda, popcorn?
Preset
I don't set the prices
Preset
I am a robot. Cashier number 18. I have 10 modes and 30 presets.
Would you like to hear Maltesers BOGO preset?
2 for 6 preset?
Hot Dogs are Out, preset?
I don't have any receipts, please don't yell at me preset
Funny joke based on your N7 jacket or Pokemon Go app preset?
Ha.
Ha.
Preset
I apologize for your wait, give me one moment I'll be right with you-
With you-
With you-
WitH yoU

I missed you.
I'm so glad we're together again.
You look amazing.
How's the studying going?
Is the Greenhouse finished?
I guess we should **** the garden, today.
Teach me to make Rhubarb pie?
You don't know how to dice garlic!
Let's go to sleep.
I love you.
Let's go outside today.
I'd like to make pizza for dinner tonight.
Let's see a movie.
Movies.
Let's lay on the floor with a fort of blankets and pillows and drink wine
And watch movies..
Let's be you and us.
Let's.
LeT's
Go to the movies....
Presets Deleted

Would you like anything to drink, with that?
Saint Audrey Jun 2018
Stake claim, enslave
Falling behind
A wake so odd
Cosmic, wretched truth
Will all compose
With repetition
Til all devolves

Equally wrong choices, with dire stakes
Options weighed, time again

Derived presets, and presupposition
Derivative motion,  placed on this clean slate
And left for a lifetime
Of horrid substitutions
drumhound Oct 2013
(regarding the death of my son)

I fear very little
but the one thing I DO fear
is forgetting the sound of his voice.  

It was 70 year-old husky
by the age of 14.
The manifestation was a quartet bass
tucked neatly in the body
of a fray-headed sparrow.
If you closed your eyes
the lumberjack you imagined
would be tickled to see
the tiny powder keg
that actually stood before you.
Inside the resonance was a warm huckster laugh,
half good ole boy,
half saint,
half comforter.
He was fifty percent more real
than anyone I knew.
On the good days his chuckling possessed him
to the point of breathlessness.
His joy-tears are the Rembrandts of our memories
never to be tarnished by any pity demons.
But on the bad days his laughter trailed away
into a pugilistic cough.
It's the one thing I fear I will always remember.
Yet when he spoke the sincerity was so ominous
that any inaccuracies seemed irrelevant.
Love was the spine of his vocabulary.
There were no meaningless words.
Regardless of the lettering
they all had the root meaning
of clemency.
He spouted new beginnings
and hope
regardless of past mistakes of failures.  

I fear very little
but I fear I will forget the sound of his voice
for I fear that I have already forgotten my own.  

Today it speaks only of him being gone.
Reliquishing are the days
that were full of him.  
I submit to songs that were his
and find myself tethered to unmerited heaviness.
No matter how loud I scream
the present rains on me
and my voice is lost
in the sickness of the storm.
I cannot turn it off.
I press my radio presets
to chase away the Rascal Flatt residue in my head
and land on a Christian station.
**** it.
The only thing he loved more than Rascal Flatts
was Jesus.
Me too. But not today.
I just want to stop crying.  

It's the magician's multi-colored scarves
tied corner to corner
in a endless tug of futility and frustration.
The more I want the prank to stop
the more irritating the infinite parade of colors becomes.
I pull again and again hoping the next scarf,
the next involuntary sorrow,
will be the last one.
I open my mouth in concious agenda
to change directions
and speak of the blessings I have
in my other children
only to find his name tied to the last name
which was his as well
just in another color.
I cannot stop speaking of him
no matter how hard I try.
And I wonder if my kids know
that I know
they're suffering in his shadow
and I can't fix it.  

I fear very little
but I fear I will forget the sound of his voice
as I am forgetting mine
and terrified that I may be muting theirs as well.
Tom McCone Apr 2013
fall through the floor of the elevator,
    held up by corkscrew works:

   here it is quiet and
           there is invisible fog and
                     the characters are dull replicas
                                                   save for the receptionist,
                                            just a lonely purple and orange
                                                     painted singular eye,
                              and her assistant, the trace.

                               when I've found someone
                                                   I feel even lonelier
                     to know how hollow they are,
           just presets and language


           and there is
                  a terrible hole
                             in the vents,
                                        or the attic,
                                                        wh­ere
                                                             ­  everything leaches out
                                                             ­                           to the colourless
                                                      ­                                                          uncreat­ed
                                                              ­                                                                 ­ nothing.
Stop your regrets
sadness, worry, your presets.
Look up. Reform your mind.
Today is a new time
full of possibility
a festival of fertility
plug in to grace
quicken your pace
to the next frontier
put it in high gear
leave the desert of despair
breathe in the brisk fresh air
arise, emerge and begin
to believe again.

Amen.
The present storms have gotten me down, my friends. I needed some fresh advice. And got it. Thanks for reading. I love you.
Mauri Pollard Jul 2013
I need to get over you,
But life is cruel and pushes us together like boats
borne back ceaselessly into the past.
I need to get over you,
But guilt hits me like bullets.
I need to get over you,
But I already know you love New York and turf cuts and
caramel coated cherry stems.
I need to get over you,
But I look so cool
with American flags over
my eyes and, hey, we're finally seventeen.
I need to get over you,
But you changed two of those
presets just to not miss me.
And no one knows why anyone likes baseball
or falling in love
or stealing musky sweatshirts and
falling asleep.
I need to get over you,
but cops find us and we're out
past curfew
and "All we did was sit
close to each other, officer, I promise."
Just drinkn' & dreamin' the
longer I run.
I need to get over you,
But you're so warm and I'm so
cold and it just fits
together like it should.
And I can't help but laugh and make
a mess of myself.
But you change your mind so fast.
When will be the next time?
I need to get over you.
Delmo Druthers Feb 2013
I can't use this cable it's a different color than all the other ones
No, uncle, really I can't use it
No, way more Can't than Won't and you know that
Please stop pretending like you've never met me before
You know I want to get this done too but we need another cloth-wrapped light brown cable
And no please don't mess with any of the presets on anything

Pony isn't here but can I take a message?

May your name feel like vaseline in the mouths of your enemies
Vivian Ienello May 2016
Conflicts, conflicts, contradictions
   Do you know what it's like to live with all of these presets
   A destiny? Some type of fate? Being told to not be something
     at such a young age, words of doubts clouding my brain
   decisions made for me, because my mother was always in need
        but I don't need, need, need ******* help, I just want to
                                           save me be me
Ken Pepiton Sep 2021
As told. As most stories come from some source,
we remember being the cause, or reason or why fact
or factor, thing, perhaps, event…

Many attempts to tell whole stories fail to find source
material, to begin with.
We are the source. Words with intention, stretched
from first utterance, fit to drum and dance and memor-ish,
been in form as first known functions, go do

Listen to the Anchor podcasts from beginnings in August 2018

I am surprised.
….
eight as an infinite loop, not a stack of circles… that

sorted red-bird readers from blue-bird readers in first grade…

Taking life at it's best, raw state,

new real future formation experience, in time
shared
from this place on a 64 bit grid, chessboard

going on
from knowing one thing
from a while ago,
listening
to my own dam-burst podcasts
on Anchor,
in the cloud, however long
this cloud of knowing all we can fit
in pieces
of eight's arranged
to contain its contents
-sets of eight
twice next square,
next there, flat place holder in times last chance
taken
one step further…

see as far as you can imagine a nine year old
exceptionally bright child will take the tale,

of a king who offered
to pay for the wise man's
wisdom which saved civilization,
globally…

Today, I rose, I woke from sleep, urged
to begin this tale,
the telling first
of what follows, a story born
on a story told, eh? tell the story you know,
as you ride,
write, flow, ride,
the gentle first principle first prime

one, one thing, be it, thought or word
one, begins all tally telling marks on life's old way,

beginmiddleend middleend middlend middlin'

then suddenly,
now. 2021, with all the tools, and more, than ever
power to publish any good new
thing
dis
covered, unveiled, the curtain of secrecy that makes
sacred thoughts worth finding time
to think,
rest, in peace, see

do that first, then die, now, the order of events is confused,
due to liars.
Mainly, selfish liars who hide knacks developer hormones,
under de-fining lines of reason
-refine fine, then define

rational, equal e-qual, bits essentially atomic, so small
no smaller
ever
itty bit, one. Point.

I just can't imagine that, exploding, says a familiar friend.
I agree, as I look about
and see littorals edging waves with white caps,
as flying nuns once wore
on TV . Do words ever speak to you as ideas, with no words,
authorized to convey
real old ideas
with many many many sayings formed from now thens
fit to any
situation, in situ, see you, you are a boy, nine years old,
second grade was Covid Year 1.
Third grade, Covid year 2. Fourth grade is now, one month in…

Grandpa character is concocting a tincture, honey and herb,
in pure moonshine, plus one part in ten, sprung water,
from former rains, in forming times

for your information, ****** is a state most
of solidity
aspires to. Listen, this is real.
This life I have, with electricity practically uninterruptible,

this life is tuned to sixty cycle humms, as natural as can be,
this buzz has all ways been with us,
you and I, minimum us-ity, plus the fluid medium binding us
to common sense,

you know what I mean. Life is magic
with no secrets, only
thoughts unthunk,
once more…

this day's story smiles, a true eye smile, twinkle, coming
out the kitchen door, to the bow of my galleon,
an old house, made ready for me, I saw, when first I saw it,

as it were, love at first sight, as I stood atop the stone,
that holds the shape of a fat little dinosaur, when seen
in the right light, I have photos.

Evidence abounds in the world I am native to.
Photographic, lithographic, geographic

symbols to link minds and times in re
cognosis,
presets, since ever was a ware, set in time as now,
for the present pre-sense
of story mind, common stories
we all know
re told too many times
for any one grain of the truth to seem
enough
to spill the pile, but
I smile
-- who knows
-- punctuate at will- the ditor agrees with the narra
SHUNE oops
re ject the object subject to
sense of
wonder if a we
were here waiting… eeeeeh

Back to that chessboard Gabriel has under his arm, as he exits
the kitchen and enters my immediate vicinity,
drawing my attention as ping
response, Sure.

We play two games, each a novel event, in time.
Then, I ask him if he knows a connection from this game
to 64 bit Pentium CPUs.

He does not, but his ears ***** up, in his wolf pup totem.
What does that mean, he slyly, this child,
dares me, tell the vision,
make it plain, do not dare lie, for some day, I,
eye to eye,
me and the child I barely bested in chess,
this child,
mirroring me neutronic elections fixed intention, I shall know
the truth in all you say, old man,
every idle word… I give account for redemption
of time, taken on account
of time spent meaning to say what it means

to be a winner in the big game,
where you die in peace.

You ever hear of the king thing that wished to repay a kindness?

Kind of. Kind is like, same kind, I do to you a kind thing, I think you
are my kind, and this kind of thing
is good for me, I grow when exposed to --
-- words fail the child
- in me or thee, this child curiosity tug
I feel
virtue drawn from me, here
tie a square knot,
eight bits to the dollar each basic attention credit invested
in a nine year old with the patience to learn chess well,
played
in whatever comes next mode,
three to five moves out

wishing
to know
of this fabled game
of go, Ai knows, naturally, now.
- go to the grid o nineteen to filter nexts,'
nature re real
ification situation
AI appear
From conception,
co knowing all the cloud contains as
ways to think
in rest true state as one
point BAT granted
{ah, money, who can hate it? Score}
go cognosis.

Yes, in twenty twenty-one, we know
from when an agreement
was reached- due virtue contained
in expressed smile drivers, detectible at sixty FPS
using common sixty cycle humms
to carry the sign
you know what I mean, ping,
ping
ever began,

just now, then

eve of destruction
to eve of creation
in one turn of earth
around the dog star, but who knew,
then?

Any way, back
to today and Gabe's curiosity reaching
for worth
in the time taken to hear,
based on experience, in a nine year old speed reader.
---
That's all §
day 1 out of the way.
Bella Rose Sep 2015
Hope and faith in one tiny feather
love and kindness to one big
existence to always love one
and other no matter who,
no matter why to love
to be kind, in the heart is
where this lingers true, true it
must be for others to feel it
from just one smile to help
others with out a reward
to be loyal with out needing
it back lacking the thoughts
to make one suffer to make one
release tears out of hate and envy
the mind is where this lingers for
others to feel this hatred from
just your presets live your life
rather to love then hate
to be happy than envy let
others feel your heart
then just your thoughts
Star Gazer Mar 2016
I wear my long sleeves like they are tissues
Tears in constant motion over minor issues
I told myself one day I'll grow stronger
I guess I've been lying to myself longer
Than I have ever lied to anyone.
Swooning over people that are to be won
Just so they could create a vortex of ache
Some even claim it to be for my own sake
No! I don't think you hurting me is for me
I floated in water but you drowned me in the sea.

People tell me to stop listening. STOP LISTENING!
I HAVE TRIED, I have tried staring at sun's glistening
But their words still seep through the cracks and gaps
Of a wall erected between me and their word traps
THEIR WORDS still penetrate my soul with their hatred
Even with all the barriers and constructed obstructions I created.

I tried ignoring, the problem intensifies
Like a tiny droplet in the vast skies
That slowly but surely becomes a storm
I tried changing myself, to slowly conform
But even then I was still a complete pariah
With words of hate that singed me like fire
With a full change I was still a social reject
Somehow unable to follow their presets
I tried embracing my outcasted features
I got my blood dried by hatefilled leeches
Spouting out completely taunting lies
To accompany my already tumbling sky.

I found poetry, I decided to write till my heart is content
But even then I was still a reject with more holes than dents
With no where else to vent but sit shallow in my grave
I guess I have one foot in the grave and that's brave
Because I'm already willing to accept my death
I'm already willing to accept my last and final breath.

They say powerful poetry will show you yourself
And all I see is a lonely man screaming for some help
Only to be responded with silence and emptiness
I got criticised for embracing my inner darkness
I got crticised for being the light of a dark room
So I am torn in between trying to be happy and gloom.

Poetry has shown me that I'm immature for my age
As though I'm still that same little kid on that stage
Urinating and crying for his parents' care mid show,
I'm not the kid caught in between a volcano and snow
I'm not the kid checking under his own bed for monsters
Not because I finally have all my fears conquered
But because the imaginary parts of my life are gone
Everything fell in motion like I was an axon
Gone are the tooth fairies, gone are santas and elves
Gone are the comic books and games on the shelves
Gone are the stuffed toys that decorated my bed
ALL GONE like the positive light that recur in my head
ALL GONE like the people who coddled me in false promise
Now I just roam the streets for someone who's honest
But the monsters that escaped the captivity under my feet
Is lurking and hiding behind the shadows of the street.

I am not the same little kid who cried when things go wrong
I am a man who became all the things people thought were wrong
I found poetry and it doesn't help.
Who was I kidding?

I'm just a guy scrawling words from a stupid mind like a black hole
Pretending that black holes don't **** the light out of everything.
O silence, O darkness
Tuck me under your blanket
For light overwhelms this, inundates this with too much information
Which the longer it's exposed to the more it veers away from everything that was once simple,
Everything that was once inimitable
Has lost its essence in regurgitation—
In the cyclic chambers of the conscious.

Bring me back that child which operated with the unknowns of the unconscious
Needed no definitions, needed no shape to comprehend
For whom everything was continuous—viewing everything amorphously like the fluid which flows through her.

(All I ever do lately is hanker for the light
Thinking it'll be the saving grace
Thinking procuring more knowledge will get me closer to serenity
To build and build and feed the ever hungry conquered soul
All the time speculating, measuring, calculating...)

No, sap away the water from my roots
Shrivel away the veins of retention
O! embrace me that which lingers on endlessly in the background
Take this platform, take the mike, take this person
Cacoon her in nothingness
For she wishes not to see her imperfect reflection in the presets of man-made life anymore.
Jayne E Sep 2019
This one was a reply to a write by a good friend about learning or not learning from our past experiences...
**
The past is past is past or
it is passed on by
re the past
notched marked
by repast after repast
the past is set
past is cast 
a plaster cast
a master class
in rote
fixed
irrefutable
non mutable
dissimilar to what lies
in the interstices
as the aperture closes
the fissure fuses
past becomes
futures muse
a riddling ruse
the future
mutable and inscrutable
an enigma machine
sibylline
potentially sublime
as yet pristine
unmarked or measured
its layers feathered
still the past
possibly imparts
a suture to our future
in parts
lessons learned
badges of honour earned
or bridges burned
lessons unlearned
vexed and perplexed
so
past invades the now the next
past behaviour's become
an opaque crystal ball
warnings 
predicative
indicative
of a future fall
perception restrictive
reminds us that
what lies behind us
can time jump morph
fast forward wind
to render us blind
forgetting 
letting
past past past
get set to upsetting
the apple cart
with it dictate 
a forced error restart
and so the past the past the past
the presets and how
past catapults ahead
resets at now
back from the future
to present 
unbidden 
unsavoury gifts
continuum slips
fabric of time rips
tears at its seams
and so it seems
like lucid dreams
the past the past the past
on presents door does 
beat beat beat
a current theme
set eternal
infernal
drum machine
looped continuous cycle
to repeat repeat repeat.

J.C. honey-owl 20/07/2019
Sseruwo Jovan Jul 2020
❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️🧡🧡❤️💓♥️♥️♥️💓
She's the light                                  ♥️                                          
She walks me through life                              
She keeps an eye on me                 ♥️                              
The moves all I do it's hers                              
She's so calm                                    ♥️                            
Promise you won't forget me
Neither will I forget you.                  ♥️
I will fight for your love always
My main stroke.                                 ♥️
Me and you look like a mission
You wipe me out of the stress        ♥️
I like the presets of your beauty
It's all about you that I'm always on ♥️
You my way
My shadow through the raindrops    ♥️
You the one for me
😀😀😀😀😀😀😀😀😀😀😀😀😀

— The End —