Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
"qualitative" poems
‘I am…’ 'Or am I’? Who can say? ‘A posteriori’ leads the way For the extra and the ordinary Axiomatic sway, In the gravity of corollary, ‘A priori’ interplay Ataraxic overlay of anxious automation, As the innocence of dissonance delay. Practicing semantic contemplation, In willfully prevenient interpolation, Civilly disobedient in expediently seeming disarray, Forecasts in vague extrapolation Contrasts the millennial contagion Already underway, Filling nihilistic voids with particles in waves, To interpret dreams of Freud to free Oedipus’s slaves, A degreeless scholastic who never misbehaves, Simulated humanoid dramatic in the affect that he craves, Inflating linguistics in acrobatic raves, A thespian who plans conation with legacy engraves. The probabilistic determiner of cosmogenous debates, An apperceived inquirer of qualitative states, Inspiring proprietor of dismality abates. Challenging aporia as epistemic oscillates, Stoically, heroically, ‘one’ who amalgamates, Circling the infinite in hermeneutic calibrates. An escaped prisoner from depressive disillusion, Of an introspective extrovert who finds solace in confusion, The personable recluse fighting an illusion Breaking down the nuances of every institution. Calculating consequence as time goes to infinity Revolutionary commonsense of principal utility, An opinionated adversary, to the realist without evidence, Theorizing in futility, Stipulating every sense leading to the virility of the pretense that dominates community. Divergently converging all the efforts we’ve personified, Inadvertently submerging old traditions that unethically were codified, Hastening the urgency for purging that which cannot be modified through the merging of the certainty that will no longer coincide, Stationing the levies to finally stem the tide, Of periodic enmities disguised to be necessities so blatantly deified. Observing moral sentiments, perched upon eternity, As consequential regiments are expounded universally, To unstratify the residents indiscriminately And identify quantum elements spiritualistically, Changing collective behavior individually, Socializing constructs in joint ventured logo therapy.
0
Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 8:07 AM UTC
Paradoxical Tendencies
‘I am…’ 'Or am I’? Who can say? ‘A posteriori’ leads the way For the extra and the ordinary Axiomatic sway, In the gravity of corollary, ‘A priori’ interplay Ataraxic overlay of anxious automation, As the innocence of dissonance delay. Practicing semantic contemplation, In willfully prevenient interpolation, Civilly disobedient in expediently seeming disarray, Forecasts in vague extrapolation Contrasts the millennial contagion Already underway, Filling nihilistic voids with particles in waves, To interpret dreams of Freud to free Oedipus’s slaves, A degreeless scholastic who never misbehaves, Simulated humanoid dramatic in the affect that he craves, Inflating linguistics in acrobatic raves, A thespian who plans conation with legacy engraves. The probabilistic determiner of cosmogenous debates, An apperceived inquirer of qualitative states, Inspiring proprietor of dismality abates. Challenging aporia as epistemic oscillates, Stoically, heroically, ‘one’ who amalgamates, Circling the infinite in hermeneutic calibrates. An escaped prisoner from depressive disillusion, Of an introspective extrovert who finds solace in confusion, The personable recluse fighting an illusion Breaking down the nuances of every institution. Calculating consequence as time goes to infinity Revolutionary commonsense of principal utility, An opinionated adversary, to the realist without evidence, Theorizing in futility, Stipulating every sense leading to the virility of the pretense that dominates community. Divergently converging all the efforts we’ve personified, Inadvertently submerging old traditions that unethically were codified, Hastening the urgency for purging that which cannot be modified through the merging of the certainty that will no longer coincide, Stationing the levies to finally stem the tide, Of periodic enmities disguised to be necessities so blatantly deified. Observing moral sentiments, perched upon eternity, As consequential regiments are expounded universally, To unstratify the residents indiscriminately And identify quantum elements spiritualistically, Changing collective behavior individually, Socializing constructs in joint ventured logo therapy.
Continue reading...
47
here is now  to what the             heck?          jump out of this year          with that old joint attitude          and leave a mark          like it's too hot for me.                   so quickly                   that burden ate.                    loved the way                    he operates.                       won't let us help. needed it.                       sounded good.               man, what's wrong with less?      let's meet up again sometime soon.            after a few more questions.   let's meetup somewhere                       between                          two am                                   and                                    here.
0
Aug 24, 2015
Aug 24, 2015 at 6:24 AM UTC
qualitative analysis
The existence of us lied purely on conditional probability The probability that event A will happen with the knowledge that event B has already happened And if you asked me why I kissed you I would tell you I liked when our probability was me over you With your hands laying tangent to my curves I kissed you as much as I wanted and as much as I could If you asked me why I kissed you goodbye Even though you were not mine It was because time is only ever ticking away And if I run out of time I can’t kiss you The probability of you calling me beautiful was a 0.25 on the qualitative spectrum Unlikely. But you did and your voice sounded like honey sticking to the heartstrings in my chest, filling in the cracks, it was sweet Our probability quickly shifted from me over you to 1 over 6 very likely to unlikely and the conditional probability of you leaving seemed to take over any set equation I saw the curve in your lips decay faster day by day The eyes that I tried so hard to catch mine Don’t even make the effort to look in my direction And the honey you left in my chest turned sickly And it’s been there so long I think I’m attracting bees I lay my hands flat on your chest and I am touching you because I can’t help it because time is only ever ticking away And I’m crying Why am I crying? The memories are rushing back Your hand on my thigh in that blue dress Your arm around me in the parking lot I remember it was warm and you were talking to my mother You always had the charm to make me dance and that night I felt you in my bones 50/50 I thought we were 50/50 Now I’ve always preferred chemistry And we felt like a combustion formula But we were just probability and statistics And I’ve always hated math
0
Sep 2, 2017
Sep 2, 2017 at 10:44 AM UTC
Probability and Statistics
The existence of us lied purely on conditional probability The probability that event A will happen with the knowledge that event B has already happened And if you asked me why I kissed you I would tell you I liked when our probability was me over you With your hands laying tangent to my curves I kissed you as much as I wanted and as much as I could If you asked me why I kissed you goodbye Even though you were not mine It was because time is only ever ticking away And if I run out of time I can’t kiss you The probability of you calling me beautiful was a 0.25 on the qualitative spectrum Unlikely. But you did and your voice sounded like honey sticking to the heartstrings in my chest, filling in the cracks, it was sweet Our probability quickly shifted from me over you to 1 over 6 very likely to unlikely and the conditional probability of you leaving seemed to take over any set equation I saw the curve in your lips decay faster day by day The eyes that I tried so hard to catch mine Don’t even make the effort to look in my direction And the honey you left in my chest turned sickly And it’s been there so long I think I’m attracting bees I lay my hands flat on your chest and I am touching you because I can’t help it because time is only ever ticking away And I’m crying Why am I crying? The memories are rushing back Your hand on my thigh in that blue dress Your arm around me in the parking lot I remember it was warm and you were talking to my mother You always had the charm to make me dance and that night I felt you in my bones 50/50 I thought we were 50/50 Now I’ve always preferred chemistry And we felt like a combustion formula But we were just probability and statistics And I’ve always hated math
Continue reading...
41
Abstract: And (why?) thus, is all I know so far. the *question which is never easy to ask has an *answer which is never easy to swallow between introduction and conclusion lies a happy marriage of one jolly void and one fuzzy wish list via (this) credibility and (that) validity of all the methods jammed in a rainbow of paradigms and databases a qualitative doubt vs a quantitative solution critiqued to death is not always a one way topic but the only way forward (to prove!) I can smile but I am not allowed to fear nor like, nor hate, nor presume, nor love my finding although I desperately cling to a forbidden bias (reference this!) passion is a dangerous domain (I googled it)
0
Feb 18, 2019
Feb 18, 2019 at 2:15 PM UTC
Re*search (A systematic literature review)
* This is being referred as qualitative summary of a person’s spiritual conditions at the final point of a life time, including his moral values, spiritual liabilities and the net worth as assets in his or her Holiness or Godliness. This is shown at the left column. The first part of the life’s balance sheet shows all the sinful deeds or belongings. The second part shows all the bountiful gracefulness as liabilities. This is shown at the right column. This is also called as the statement of condition of a person while on his last and final confiscation or end of life. Both left and right columns should match or tally to qualify for a life in the next world. * BY WILLIAMSJI MAVELI [email protected] www.williamsji.com www.williamsgeorge.com www.williamsmaveli.com
0
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 4:36 AM UTC
The Balance Sheet of Life ! (A Prose Poem)
I am attracted to you Like an electron to a proton Together we form an ionic bond Though we are opposite charged ions I am drawn towards you Our love is unique as an orbital For only two electrons can fill this space As my love for you increases My energy level rises I am in this excited state Increasing the tendency to form a chemical bond I was an element It took you to make me a compound substance Falling in love with you is a chemical reaction Which cause my love for you to grow Ours is an exothermic love Each for giving off love not just absorbing it Sometimes you do something especially nice Which speeds up the chemical process Like a catalyst in my increasing love for you I realise we have our inhibition periods And sometimes I am selfish enough To be an endothermic reaction Only absorbing your love The feeling I have for you is so intense It cannot be measured in kilojoules Often I have to make a qualitative elementary analysis To understand and love you more But I don't expect to know your empirical formula You are too complex a person for that When you are gone I am a noble gas An inert substance When I am without you The world seems still And I am at equilibrium
0
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 1:51 AM UTC
INLOVE SCIENTIST
What is an American? Is it decided by the timber of our voice, the strength in our limbs, the blood in our veins, or the color of our skin? Tell me, for I do not understand, unfold your thesis, inundate my mind with statistics, be it quantum blood measures, origin or sociological constructs of the creature in question. Tell me, what it is to be an American? This umbrella term, I just do not understand, is it to be a thief? A country founded on stolen land, and stolen labor, sage bushed bills, backed by gilded structures and systems of debate and seizure, is being an American drowning in leisure? What does this term mean? I find myself confused, it is difficult to quantify the qualitative, and breath life into lifeless chiseled forms, found in squares and plazas throughout, a country split by hard wired ferocity, quicksand laden dividing lines, the vocal deciding what it is to be, and what it isn't. *Careful lad, there is such a thing as too much, too much individuality, so put up your hair, put away the paint, put away that sign, sheath your weapon, old boy, this isn't your fight, and besides, what can you do with a toy?* I don't know what America is, land of the free, where is that? I see only industry, a dying morality, drowned in ethics, a protestant-core built on overt inequality. What does it mean to be an American? I can't tell you what it means to you, only what it means to me, and so I say dust off the document upon which this term was built, and realize that the past is not what you should use, just as anything else of import, use judgement, agency, the ability to choose, uphold the  freedom that suffocates in the back of your mind, to the flame inside your chest, to the weakness in your legs, down against the sole of your shoes. America is a country founded on rebellion, a little man, underdog all grown up, and now he's the one throwing punches, a story paralleled by Davidic tales, and though he may not be perfect, and is often reviled, I love him still, his rough edges, for we are still part of the experiment, ongoing, the American dream. Though the gates may be weighed down, the hinges rusted, a country of sojourners, soon a country of minorities, cultural pluralism, though flawed, I like it better this way, a techni-colored mirage of what once was, and if we must meet our end, so be it, guide me home, for is it not true that all roads eventually wind home?
0
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 2:54 PM UTC
America the ________?
What is an American? Is it decided by the timber of our voice, the strength in our limbs, the blood in our veins, or the color of our skin? Tell me, for I do not understand, unfold your thesis, inundate my mind with statistics, be it quantum blood measures, origin or sociological constructs of the creature in question. Tell me, what it is to be an American? This umbrella term, I just do not understand, is it to be a thief? A country founded on stolen land, and stolen labor, sage bushed bills, backed by gilded structures and systems of debate and seizure, is being an American drowning in leisure? What does this term mean? I find myself confused, it is difficult to quantify the qualitative, and breath life into lifeless chiseled forms, found in squares and plazas throughout, a country split by hard wired ferocity, quicksand laden dividing lines, the vocal deciding what it is to be, and what it isn't. *Careful lad, there is such a thing as too much, too much individuality, so put up your hair, put away the paint, put away that sign, sheath your weapon, old boy, this isn't your fight, and besides, what can you do with a toy?* I don't know what America is, land of the free, where is that? I see only industry, a dying morality, drowned in ethics, a protestant-core built on overt inequality. What does it mean to be an American? I can't tell you what it means to you, only what it means to me, and so I say dust off the document upon which this term was built, and realize that the past is not what you should use, just as anything else of import, use judgement, agency, the ability to choose, uphold the  freedom that suffocates in the back of your mind, to the flame inside your chest, to the weakness in your legs, down against the sole of your shoes. America is a country founded on rebellion, a little man, underdog all grown up, and now he's the one throwing punches, a story paralleled by Davidic tales, and though he may not be perfect, and is often reviled, I love him still, his rough edges, for we are still part of the experiment, ongoing, the American dream. Though the gates may be weighed down, the hinges rusted, a country of sojourners, soon a country of minorities, cultural pluralism, though flawed, I like it better this way, a techni-colored mirage of what once was, and if we must meet our end, so be it, guide me home, for is it not true that all roads eventually wind home?
Continue reading...
85
I hate watching you read comics, Or talk about science since 6th grade gives The ultimate attention to detail, a tale of observation. Qualitative analysis: I duck down. Beneath the coffee table, rallying my prayers in my rolling thumbs that the sirens stop, and I too won't be spotted by the ***** I emphasize spotted. I have the rashes again. Even your Chinese scarves I pretended to really love, And especially when I took your throat from behind into a thousand kisses- I can remember the beer song exploding; I really hated that one. But at the airport,aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh! Backseat of the car. My hands fiddling the tears in your destroyed  l-9999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999 nothing but trouble. human figure on a string
0
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 5:57 AM UTC
Nines 'aiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii' [the trouble with the iou]
I love you. To all of the stars and back. Because to the moon is not far enough. I love you. To the dawn of creation around God and back. Twice. I love you. More than any quantitative or qualitative measurement, I love you. I love you more than you will ever know.
0
Sep 20, 2015
Sep 20, 2015 at 11:13 PM UTC
September 20th, 2015
my brain is now hardwired to think anything not instant or under a certain amount of characters is a bore its not what I’m reading is boring it’s often unappreciated genius but the laborious act of doing something that doesn’t have instant reward, gratification and isn't instantly self-serving I will struggle and I will forget whatever I read anyway my memory ***** anyway I sometimes crave I can eat books digest their information I would take a UBS port in the back of my head so you can upload better thoughts I hate my lazy self for this but its truthful all my friends are pseudo-feminists, pseudo-musicians, pseudo-interlectuals I’m just like them and I cannot remember enough to fight back their low level arguments I just recognise, sigh and move on I cannot keep up with the true intellects and never will my low paid job will allow me to survive In a world which priorities are worse than mine mindlessly carrying on whilst "The United Nations Food and Agriculture Organization estimates that about 805 million people of the 7.3 billion people in the world, or one in nine, were suffering from chronic undernourishment in 2012-2014” copy and pasted from 2 minutes of googling TRUE POETRY qualitative and quantitative data will show how moronic we all are The age of idiots, with a few bright lights shining through I will be a fellow idiot feeling weak under it all change is constant but slow the world is ours and we chose what to do with it over simplified ideas of a simplified mind
0
Aug 16, 2015
Aug 16, 2015 at 4:30 PM UTC
exasperated young fool
my brain is now hardwired to think anything not instant or under a certain amount of characters is a bore its not what I’m reading is boring it’s often unappreciated genius but the laborious act of doing something that doesn’t have instant reward, gratification and isn't instantly self-serving I will struggle and I will forget whatever I read anyway my memory ***** anyway I sometimes crave I can eat books digest their information I would take a UBS port in the back of my head so you can upload better thoughts I hate my lazy self for this but its truthful all my friends are pseudo-feminists, pseudo-musicians, pseudo-interlectuals I’m just like them and I cannot remember enough to fight back their low level arguments I just recognise, sigh and move on I cannot keep up with the true intellects and never will my low paid job will allow me to survive In a world which priorities are worse than mine mindlessly carrying on whilst "The United Nations Food and Agriculture Organization estimates that about 805 million people of the 7.3 billion people in the world, or one in nine, were suffering from chronic undernourishment in 2012-2014” copy and pasted from 2 minutes of googling TRUE POETRY qualitative and quantitative data will show how moronic we all are The age of idiots, with a few bright lights shining through I will be a fellow idiot feeling weak under it all change is constant but slow the world is ours and we chose what to do with it over simplified ideas of a simplified mind
Continue reading...
31
I just came from the cafeteria. In a shocking twist, I have to actually meet people, I mean, can you imagine? And we have group projects, my least favorite thing, except perhaps, having a gym class. The cafeteria was so crowded—didn’t I see you there? Everyone there seemed to be wearing vintage Urban Outfitters. I felt left out, but no one openly pointed at me. Next, I expect to see bubblegum patch vests, skate-fit jeans and leopard-appliqué flats. Between us, I’ve gotten old, and lost what little fashion game I had. Now I’m modulated, that is, I’m over over-indulgence. When I pictured myself in college, *** what, a half a decade ago? I imagined myself in a Lime Fizz Dress from Modcloth. THAT never happened—which is all for the good. School and by extension - school work - is definitely happening. It’s not all studying while drinking back-to-back espressos at sunrise. This week’s assignments due are: a ‘reflective assignment’ on qualitative research methods, a policy memo, a case analysis, and a group presentation. Argh. So if you don’t hear from me—I haven’t been deported—I’m just oppressed. . . Songs for this: This is Why by Paramore Lauren by Men I Trust Margaret by Pomegranate tea [E]
0
Jun 9, 2025
Jun 9, 2025 at 3:51 PM UTC
people!
Ruminating epoché, ‘I am…’ ‘Or am I’? Who can say? ‘A posteriori’ leads the way For the extra and the ordinary Axiomatic sway In the gravity of corollary, ‘A priori’ interplay. Ataraxic overlay of anxious automation, As the innocence of dissonance delay Initiatives imperative consolidation, Civilly disobedient in expedient disarray. Practicing semantic contemplation, Filling nihilistic voids with particles in waves, Forecast in vague extrapolation, To interpret dreams of Freud to free Oedipus’s slaves, A degreeless scholastic who never misbehaves, Simulated humanoid dramatic in the affect that he craves, Inflating the linguistics of silent enclaves, A thespian who plans conation with legacy engraves. Probabilistic determiner of cosmogenous debates, The Apperceived inquirer of qualitative states, Inspiring proprietor of dismality abates. Challenging Aporia as epistemic oscillates, Stoically, heroically, ‘one’ who amalgamates, Circling the infinite in hermeneutic calibrates.
0
May 23, 2018
May 23, 2018 at 1:24 AM UTC
Linguistic Illusions to Probable Solutions
poetry with two spoons and a salt shaker ~for poet, writer, Lora Lee, unexpectedly~ my symphonic orchestral accompaniment today, musically unlimited, except by lack of disowning skill, a voice unkempt, spoons and salt shaker, there in-nate rhythmic opinions off key, worse, my manly word-smithy, out o’town in June, July, August too? He, having an affair with my she-muses, left me bereft & berated, helplessly hoping, the timpani of my words clashing, overrated, woeful under-something, betraying my need for spicy sriracha, poetry, sans hamburger helper, no-tasty, even less-than-average everyone comes rushing in to the kitchen, hearing my to-sky-voices howling, thinking something wrong, the four instruments rack up a cacophony of rhythmic-less noises, words emerging, to-a-person, they announce, “you’re no Allen Ginsburg, ppp-please not so early next time” alas, they don’t know the poems are coming hot and heavy, guess I’ll go outside, serenade them birdies in the trees, the striped bass in the bay, the rabbits procreating/sleeping/eating under their (our) dock the squirrels know better, have skedaddled to the next-door-neighbor who feeds them classical stuff with a dollop of jazz creme mixed in, but I don’t care, cause I got all day, the rest of my life, to amuse me & you too to refine the qualitative, to improve my creative, I’ve gone “native” and the rush is the best, the wind beneath my spectacles (haha) drives my rhyming to lowlight heights of prosody, besides seems everybody has gone to a different beach, so it’s just me and the giant blackbirds cawing holy hell noises, and I’m thinking seriously about baking pie, but they just don’t get the hint, how annoying is that! harrumph! BESIDES GOTTA WRITE SOME SERIOUS STUFF...
0
Jul 4, 2020
Jul 4, 2020 at 10:13 AM UTC
poetry with two spoons and a salt shaker (Lora Lee)
poetry with two spoons and a salt shaker ~for poet, writer, Lora Lee, unexpectedly~ my symphonic orchestral accompaniment today, musically unlimited, except by lack of disowning skill, a voice unkempt, spoons and salt shaker, there in-nate rhythmic opinions off key, worse, my manly word-smithy, out o’town in June, July, August too? He, having an affair with my she-muses, left me bereft & berated, helplessly hoping, the timpani of my words clashing, overrated, woeful under-something, betraying my need for spicy sriracha, poetry, sans hamburger helper, no-tasty, even less-than-average everyone comes rushing in to the kitchen, hearing my to-sky-voices howling, thinking something wrong, the four instruments rack up a cacophony of rhythmic-less noises, words emerging, to-a-person, they announce, “you’re no Allen Ginsburg, ppp-please not so early next time” alas, they don’t know the poems are coming hot and heavy, guess I’ll go outside, serenade them birdies in the trees, the striped bass in the bay, the rabbits procreating/sleeping/eating under their (our) dock the squirrels know better, have skedaddled to the next-door-neighbor who feeds them classical stuff with a dollop of jazz creme mixed in, but I don’t care, cause I got all day, the rest of my life, to amuse me & you too to refine the qualitative, to improve my creative, I’ve gone “native” and the rush is the best, the wind beneath my spectacles (haha) drives my rhyming to lowlight heights of prosody, besides seems everybody has gone to a different beach, so it’s just me and the giant blackbirds cawing holy hell noises, and I’m thinking seriously about baking pie, but they just don’t get the hint, how annoying is that! harrumph! BESIDES GOTTA WRITE SOME SERIOUS STUFF...
Continue reading...
19
Ruminating epoché, ‘I am…’ ‘Or am I’? Who can say? ‘A posteriori’ leads the way For the extra and the ordinary Axiomatic sway In the gravity of corollary, ‘A priori’ interplay. Ataraxic overlay of anxious automation, As the innocence of dissonance delay Initiatives imperative consolidation, Civilly disobedient in expedient disarray. Practicing semantic contemplation, Filling nihilistic voids with particles in waves, Forecast in vague extrapolation, To interpret dreams of Freud to free Oedipus’s slaves, A degreeless scholastic who never misbehaves, Simulated humanoid dramatic in the affect that he craves, Inflating the linguistics of silent enclaves, A thespian who plans conation with legacy engraves. Probabilistic determiner of cosmogenous debates, The Apperceived inquirer of qualitative states, Inspiring proprietor of dismality abates. Challenging aporia as epistemic oscillates, Stoically, heroically, ‘one’ who amalgamates, Circling the infinite in hermeneutic calibrates.
0
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 11:50 AM UTC
Advanced Aporia
I often take the long road home. It allows me to take a deep dive of events and find my place in the trajectory of working hours. You can do this sort of thing with quantitative matters. Interactions between a) and b) will always have a measurable effect on levels of c) I have tried to superimpose this idea on qualitative issues without success. Even on the longest route there is not enough road to draw firm conclusions. Tony Noon
0
Jan 23, 2025
Jan 23, 2025 at 1:18 PM UTC
The Long Road Home
the fabric is still tumescent with forceful movements. the slight creak of music from a slighter nudge and one can feel the swollen pang of the woodworks. the china in the cupboard drunk in tectonic skirmish. the subtle audiences from the edge of the bend are still in awe from the attentive loosening of flesh and bone and secrets. the moon is brought closer to the veranda where one has peered out of with a cigarette in hand. the clothes pinned to pegs are still dwindling in the heavy air of now nothing but plainly exchanging sights and smiles hanging, breaking to dominant laughter. one had lost count of the stars lost in a nebulous braid of milky hair. a qualitative study of light is reduced to just a mere, struggling study of how things come and go, out of the windowpane and into someone else's doorstep, where sighs amble to reach the calm of beds and the craze of trances. words like these are not enough still to push you out of bed and make breakfast—
0
Oct 11, 2015
Oct 11, 2015 at 7:59 AM UTC
Make Breakfast
Math is appropriating the qualities of form so as to make generalizations about their interactions. Like saying W=wisdom, l=love, and s=speech, then I could say W(l,s)=Wl+Ws. Here wisdom acts as a qualitative change of l and s together. Or, W(l,s)=Wl*Ws. In this way wisdom act as a multiplier, but it could get trickier if wisdom acted as both a multiplier and a qualitative change. So I could ask how I could represent that. The difference is that wisdom has no physical representative. Whereas stating V, a smooth vector space, has elements (e1,...,en) automatically gives a representation. Functions onto this space would be characterized both by its definition and representation, much like the term "running". What seems difficult is adding more and more verbs together to form other verbs, where these verbs have a whole list of what is included. Also, why would two different symbols, like walk and run, have similar qualities? Or, why would two similar definitions, like escort and escrow, have different meanings? Thus, although math is said to be a universal language, it still is a nuanced language, and the number of years and hours spent learning it is directly related to its familiarity.
0
Mar 27, 2021
Mar 27, 2021 at 3:18 PM UTC
A nuanced universal language
Take to the skies, your leader dreams, limit the attitudes That weigh you down for, remember, punishment is grounding On what stone you find purchase, Know your head may float on− Anything you want today figures in dollars and sense, For crimes unknown between me and Adam, Anything you want tomorrow, by God, is recompense; Till the earth from whence you came− Sanity and health are luxuries to the virtual yeoman Who wishes day after day to see those legs rise, One after the other, fancies of make−believe clash with Laws of take−believe, of grit and wealth− They say, live happy, make your destination, Your goals, your strength, your perseverance To really think success off The table of what you can achieve And place more stock in the invisible hands that Usher a wretch like me− Teamwork, the qualitative change needed to quit a pride No words can succeed to encase, Focuses its hatred when given positive chance (But never can quite dull the edge of self−worth) Your victories today are given answer: limit Love to fullest soar, my actions, my purpose Of leader−effort greatly cherish What all the Haves deem mine− Let not sin color your pay, For they know best; slaves dare not reach Beyond what they imagine we celebrate Strung aligned by ebbs and flows Of mankind’s cold regard And, in humbled separation, find we move together− This life we do determine to be endlessly new, 110% unreal work, supernatural labor, Why wait for the ineffable dreams, the !!! dreams, When they are nothing but a hurtful difference, Hard to give up, hard to ring true− Every person, me, you, suffice, surfeit on discipline, Put, now, what priorities they’ve found better Toward the hard line of the bottom, The earth, quick with clouds pitch Cooling the heads as the cores explode Every winter, a winner opportunity As raging ice and hellfire forests Dot the mountains called I− The successful follow those who’ve achieve Those leader dreams, the calmly rational, the spoken articulate To its first day of life after disaster− I’m doing time, wasting mine at the boss’ door: Expect to keep your passions in the heart, And off those tired, sordid fingertips.
0
Sep 29, 2019
Sep 29, 2019 at 12:17 PM UTC
327. Found Poetry #2: Letters from the Break Room
Take to the skies, your leader dreams, limit the attitudes That weigh you down for, remember, punishment is grounding On what stone you find purchase, Know your head may float on− Anything you want today figures in dollars and sense, For crimes unknown between me and Adam, Anything you want tomorrow, by God, is recompense; Till the earth from whence you came− Sanity and health are luxuries to the virtual yeoman Who wishes day after day to see those legs rise, One after the other, fancies of make−believe clash with Laws of take−believe, of grit and wealth− They say, live happy, make your destination, Your goals, your strength, your perseverance To really think success off The table of what you can achieve And place more stock in the invisible hands that Usher a wretch like me− Teamwork, the qualitative change needed to quit a pride No words can succeed to encase, Focuses its hatred when given positive chance (But never can quite dull the edge of self−worth) Your victories today are given answer: limit Love to fullest soar, my actions, my purpose Of leader−effort greatly cherish What all the Haves deem mine− Let not sin color your pay, For they know best; slaves dare not reach Beyond what they imagine we celebrate Strung aligned by ebbs and flows Of mankind’s cold regard And, in humbled separation, find we move together− This life we do determine to be endlessly new, 110% unreal work, supernatural labor, Why wait for the ineffable dreams, the !!! dreams, When they are nothing but a hurtful difference, Hard to give up, hard to ring true− Every person, me, you, suffice, surfeit on discipline, Put, now, what priorities they’ve found better Toward the hard line of the bottom, The earth, quick with clouds pitch Cooling the heads as the cores explode Every winter, a winner opportunity As raging ice and hellfire forests Dot the mountains called I− The successful follow those who’ve achieve Those leader dreams, the calmly rational, the spoken articulate To its first day of life after disaster− I’m doing time, wasting mine at the boss’ door: Expect to keep your passions in the heart, And off those tired, sordid fingertips.
Continue reading...
51