"programmable" poems
" The only thing that pleasures us
is killing babies with our guns"
These were the words
Sung
By members
of the ROTC
while jogging down union street in hackensack
Seventeen year old children
Being programmed
By our government
to pleasure themselves
by killing babies
Half a million innocent lives
Taken
by baby killers
War is Hell
Here
in hackensack
where the army rotc trains children to pleasure themselves
Jul 7, 2016
Jul 7, 2016 at 2:27 PM UTC
it has been too long since i’ve written
too long since I’ve pressed my pen to paper and expected it to move.
it feels new,
like not kissing for months
I’m scared that I’ve lost my touch; it won’t feel good
but at some point it’ll start to feel normal.
when?
I feel like I should apologize
no, I know you haven’t been waiting,
but I wish you were. sometimes I do.sometimes I forgetspaces
and time
I guess that’s nothing new.
it’s better if you just read, they told me, it’s better if you don’t say too much out loud.
sometimes people get stuck in between two feelings
and it comes out as a misspelled word
do you ever look for things in the world that just aren’t there?
look harder. they’re always there.
I can tell you yes or no,
whichever you would like to hear
I’m odd that way
I’m programmable
then again, I suppose that’s rather normal.
There has to be some sort of inner monologue
waiting to come out of me.
I am a character of course,
but I get jumbled up.
it’s easier when someone knows how you feel
and you don’t have to write it down for the world to read.
but you can’t always count on people,
especially not yourself.
some guilty pleasures are more guilty than others.
I’m sorry if it’s news to you,
I was only trying to touch my toes before I got too old to keep trying.
I learned once that if you close your eyes
and imagine God, that you’ll see him or it or whatever you imagine
crazy right?
I guess that means my imagination controls what God is.
it’s easier to have no power than to have all the power in the world
I know I’m not the first to say it,
but I’ve already taught you a couple lessons, so I should keep the ball rolling
nice
to
meet
you,
but for now I think we’ll just stick to formalities.
I like to think I know people on a level that no one else does
but I am only making up for my lonely childhood
what an odd fetish you have.
go eat
if you’re so hungry
IT’S NOT THAT EASY
stop yelling
fill in the blank
stop crying
take up some space
come back
do what they say
use your imagination.
Dec 11, 2011
Dec 11, 2011 at 3:01 AM UTC
and imagine God and you’ll see him or it or whatever you imagine
and it comes out as a misspelled word
and time
and you don’t have to write it down for the world to read.
but at some point it’ll start to feel normal.
but for now I think we’ll just stick to formalities.
but I am only making up for my lonely childhood
but I get jumbled up.
but I wish you were. sometimes I do.sometimes I forgetspace
but I’ve already taught you a couple lessons, so I should keep the ball rolling
but you can’t always count on people,
come back
crazy right?
do what they say
do you ever look for things in the world that just aren’t there?
especially not yourself.
fill in the blank
go eat
I am a character of course,
I can tell you yes or no,
I feel like I should apologize
I guess that means my imagination controls what God is.
I guess that’s nothing new.
I know I’m not the first to say it,
I learned once that if you close your eyes
I like to think I know people on a level that no one else does
I was only trying to touch my toes before I got too old to keep trying.
I’m odd that way
I’m programmable
I’m scared that I’ve lost my touch; it won’t feel good
I’m sorry if it’s news to you,
if you’re so hungry
it feels new,
it has been too long since i’ve written
it’s better if you just read, they told me, it’s better if you don’t say too much out loud.
it’s easier to have no power than to have all the power in the world
it’s easier when someone knows how you feel
IT’S NOT THAT EASY
like not kissing for months
look harder. they’re always there.
meet
nice
no, I know you haven’t been waiting,
some guilty pleasures are more guilty than others.
sometimes people get stuck in between two feelings
stop crying
stop yelling
take up some space
then again, I suppose that’s rather normal.
There has to be some sort of inner monologue
to
too long since I’ve pressed my pen to paper and expected it to move.
use your imagination.
waiting to come out of me.
what an odd fetish you have.
when?
whichever you would like to hear
you,
Dec 11, 2011
Dec 11, 2011 at 3:02 AM UTC
My fingertips sweep across these subtle indentations
Tracing her serial number
A traumatic and numbing truth
copy written and branded on a tiny scar
just below her microscopic transistor
voice box
The shallow intake of oxygen into
recycled plastic lungs recycling air
either for realism or function
felt just as alluring
when they whispered into my ear
Her hardwired ducts always produced
tears that hurt just as much
even if it was programmable and on command
Losing the warm caress of her polymer skin
was just as painful
even though underneath was only cellular service
and not cellular growth
I swore to my friends that she wasn't like
any other I've ever loved
but as I push the lifeless shell of this
all too perfect woman into the muck caked
dumpster
I think to myself
Maybe I would have had better luck with
a name brand
Feb 11, 2014
Feb 11, 2014 at 9:49 AM UTC
I ponder, about the stars in the sky
and the endless expanse of space.
It's complete silence and variation in states
I ponder, what are we doing in this place?
We seek light and desire sound,
But it's all dark and silent all around.
What is it that distinguishes day from night?
How is it that wrong is never right?
I ponder what our true nature is.
Is it chaos? Or is it peace?
Are humans really natural and rational?
The body is superficial and it's peripherals;
Programmable.
We contradict everything in the universe.
Our intellect only makes it worse.
We ought to be silent and at peace,
While we're noisy and fight for piece.
Why is it like this? I think I know,
We've ignored a tiny detail called the soul
The body which you constantly love;
Is actually the peripheral of this soul.
The soul is a universe in itself,
Maybe a reflection or a workstation of it.
It's in perfect harmony with the universe,
It's silent, it's peaceful. The only wait: is for us.
-The Silent poet
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 11:39 AM UTC
I say always play nice with the neighbors, don’t rile them up or make them sore
But my wife,( who’s a bit of a hot head), went to war with the people next door.
The “causas belli” are murky, the results of the skirmish unclear
But the fellow next door is a hacker; now me and the wife live in fear.
We have every modern convenience; programmable gadgets galore.
But your password should never be “password” when fighting the hacker next door.
Our motorized shades were ascending as the missus was trying to dress.
“Alexa” just called her a “fat Cow”- who programmed that is easy to guess.
In the depth of the winter we’re freezing As our AC is in his control.
When we shower the temperature varies. Its either too hot or too cold.
We spent thousands on home automation. But now we are riddled with doubt.
We tried for a truce, but , alas, it’s no use. Now we’re paying to tear it all out!
Jul 12, 2017
Jul 12, 2017 at 7:58 PM UTC
Machines roaming
More cloning
Perfect droids
Being deployed
Off the assembly line
With a set time
Before self destruction
More under construction
Programmable
Flammable
Almost animal
Is there free choice?
Or follow the voice?
The largest illusion
To demonstrate power
Building on delusion
That we think it is ours
My hands have holes
In which they bore
To run the strings
To make play things
Run by shadows
Whispering powers
Hung from gallows
By deadly flowers
Usable is useful
Worn out is thrown out
Void and null
When the light goes out
Disposable, moldable
Rogues removable
Cast out into the flame
The mentally sick and lame
Underground insurgent
Hiding behind the curtain
Waiting for the time
To betray their design
And face their eminent doom
For the masses leave no room
For individuals
Pulverized and destroyed
Any short circuited droid
Maybe for the better
No longer a debtor
To the society that razed them
While trying to "save" them
Jun 28, 2015
Jun 28, 2015 at 12:48 AM UTC
Hello, such a small but powerful word, it's greatly preferred, putting smiles on faces and gets the spirit stirred.
But in our hectic lives, moving fast, moving slow, always on the go and traveling solo. We forget about a simple Hello.
Although hello is below the super ego. To them it's absurd and starting to become a ghost word.
Now have we become drones, we keep our faces buried in cellphones. Are we programmable clones, believing they make us all about ology, while blinding us with technology.
So wether novice or pro even if you have a super ego, it's good to bestow because it don't bring about woe and it can make faces glow. Plus,blessings could overflow, just from a simple HELLO.
May 20, 2018
May 20, 2018 at 1:17 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