"quantifying" poems
I fell for that basic human endeavor,
To find me a place where I made sense,
Living that sleepless dream of unreal desire,
Listening for songs where I belong,
On this tiny speck adrift in space I call home,
Quantifying the distances and spaces between us,
Past the horizon from me in all directions,
I found a way around the earth that led me back to you,
When I looked at you I was thinking, if only,
Then you looked into me and your eyes acknowledged,
I pointed to that future,
I said, let us get to us,
You said to wake me from my dream,
Indulging with me was a variability involving risk you were not willing to take,
For memory of a confused yes,
With lack of pictures with stories,
An unnamed story of yours, entangled with mine,
You became that forgotten part of my life that I can’t stop recollecting,
So I do what I did promise,
Till death, I will live my life.
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 8:34 PM UTC
Flower child,
they tell me that I can't afford to give my love away for free
quantifying it is a limited good
as though I am passing my self-worth out like candy to greedy children
leaving nothing left for me
Flower child,
they tell me that if I must speak
that I must shout to be heard
should my soft speech and gentle words be swept away
in the strong tide of self interest
Flower child,
they tell me I must dress in uniform
but I fear that I will drown in the sea of normalcy
unable to swallow air through the tightness of my collar and heaviness
of pin-striped monotony
Flower child,
is it so bad to love unboundedly?
to channel strength through vulnerability?
to let one's soul greet the eyes of a stranger?
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 12:58 AM UTC
i wasn't quantifying, i can succumb to the parasite, which means that i either die, or the parasite dies with me; might as well call that a five o'clock shadow.- i have my insanity plea, what do the contending parties' have? an assumption? a Cluedo guess-grime rather than guess-work? no wait, make that a **** South Korean was the size of South America? i wish it was, taxes inconclusive? might posture for a yacht... and t-total a banana republic for all legitimate purposes for a shopping spree on coca - or is that's how taxing is done in this fair and decent country of Scandinavian restrictions concerning the feeble minded daddy-fuck-cares? Thailand was always the option with the quasis, ball sacked and tit-wanked-able: like am Englishman in Thailand, wanky-faced, with the Jersey Boys were moving beyond the Orwell parameter, i say Panzer, you tell me the **** brigade; you tell me pretty boys, you regurgitate me the ******* Bubonic Plague! am i understood?
Jun 11, 2016
Jun 11, 2016 at 8:49 PM UTC
we do not really know
what to expect of times to come
those who dare say they do
are more or less intelligently speculating
and their assumptions usually don‘t exceed
foggy predictions read from crystal *****
so what?
the problem is not really new
all our ancestors
some more desperate than others
were longing for the certainty
they thought would go with knowledge
of all things as yet to come
fact is we have survived without it
for some million years
even if our digitized society
obsessed with quantifying everything
from time to work to *** to pleasure
seems mortally in fear of lack of data
about the future
the one thing we can say for sure
is that life will be different
because the only constant in our world
is change
know it
and get on
Apr 17, 2019
Apr 17, 2019 at 4:48 PM UTC
Opaque irises await those who uncover the un-burial mound
Oafish sockets containing them like marbles
Open to the elements, decaying with their corporeal encasement, shaded by
Oaken leaves that remain unfallen, while
Obsequious maggots go about their task of cleansing the remains
Paralyzed in the final moments of their mortal coil, the bodies lay stagnant,
Pacified only by the removal of sentience.
Pagan rituals surround such corpses, and the intrepid discovers
Patiently await the arrival of some necromantic spirit.
Quasi-instinctively, the pioneers of the superterranean mausoleum
Quell their fears and remove the bodies from their conclusive locale,
Quantifying their deaths by the armaments and metal carapaces upon them.
May 7, 2012
May 7, 2012 at 12:44 AM UTC
You write about what you see.
You write about what could be, what should be.
You write to narrate others’ lives.
You write in order to survive.
You write because you feel oppressed, depressed.
You write because you’re mad.
You write because you feel the strength
when the pen is in your hand.
You write because the words sound smoother
then when they come from your mouth.
You write because you hear the music
and have to find the words.
You write because you see the beauty
in everything on Earth.
You write because you see the story
when you look in someone’s eyes.
You write because quantifying your thoughts
can be too hard to do in your head.
You write because you love the feeling
of the weight off of your chest.
You write because there’s no other channel
for which your passion you can express.
You write because there’s nothing better
than letting your voice be heard.
You write because without that voice
your life would be obscured.
Jul 11, 2010
Jul 11, 2010 at 12:36 AM UTC
You say if I'm actively suicidal you'll have to commit me, so can I please verify whether this is a passive or active feeling?
You don't seem to understand that I am passively active at all times, that suicide is not something you have to die to commit.
You don't grasp that I am both fine and alive while being broken and empty, all at the same time.
You don't see that I can comprehend that something is wrong with my mind for the way it whispers to me of deaths inviting embrace, that I know this isn't normal, but oh, oh do I wish it was.
You ask me to rate my feelings on a scale of 1-5, quantifying my mind's nuances before I have a chance to explain that I don't even know myself half the time.
Do your best, you say.
My best ran out when I stepped over the threshold, next time I'll know not to waste it on a visit to you.
Oct 1, 2017
Oct 1, 2017 at 10:14 PM UTC
Then... I only see you. I’m in love with the sparkle in your eyes. Every line of your body. Every broken bit. Every enlightened bit. And every bit you share with me
And even if equation exists, there’s no amount of quantifying a love like this
For now,
Whether in pain or bliss
I’ll roll gods dice, our souls will kiss
Nov 15, 2019
Nov 15, 2019 at 5:18 AM UTC
I am a firm believer of believing
No matter how you choose to do so.
So is your cup half full, or half empty?
Does it matter?
I'm not asking for an existential crisis,
merely for you to observe.
The world has you down,
You're tossing around
Sleep is no longer a goal
Seeming completely improbable
And this isn't the first,
And it isn't the worst
And it will happen again
And again, and again
And there's things that you want
Things you don't have
A screaming inside
For what you've done "bad"
And your cup is half empty.
You walk with a smile
Your steps cover miles
Lie soft in your bed
Count sheep in your head
You don't have it all
But you know you can fall
Asleep.
And your cup is half full.
And neither of you is whole.
But you're both in containers
Judging life at the equator
Of what you have
And wanting more:
Wondering forever what's in store
Fearing or hoping
Love or loathing
You don't know, and its fine
No it's not, bubbles brine
Lines begin to blur
The still begin to stir
And suddenly
Something changes.
Is it good?
Is it bad?
Why do we judge things,
Happy, sad.
Quantifying feelings, playing these games
Half full or half empty,
Pretending that the names
We give to our existence
which we do with such persistence
Make us any different
from each other.
Fifty percent is not a whole
And either way you're not as full
As you should be.
If we must insist that life's a cup
Then do your best to fill it up
With malice, tears,
Kindness, fears,
Hopes, dreams
Memories, things
In all shapes and sizes
Be they "empty" or "full"
It all gets mixed to make your soul
And just remember that when you sip your drink
Not only do the lightest liquids float
But the heaviest ones sink.
And what about me?
What do I see
To be able to preach this obscure testimony?
I see that my cup
Has yet to be filled.
Oct 16, 2015
Oct 16, 2015 at 1:13 AM UTC
They told me I'm responsible
and I should act "this way"
to get out of hell
and all my debts repay
All the tears and self reproach
all the stars I cannot reach
never comes close
no matter what I preach
When I sing and do my thing
quantifying my belief
free of shoulds and dogma too
then are moments of relief
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 11:24 AM UTC
loathsome murk, drawing me into taint,
trailing off into the black mire yet again.
vine-brother, i hear your leaves trembling,
what poison seeps from you now?
clotted earth webs your lashes;
when i scrape it loose, the ground cracks,
your breath curdles me backward,
into the ditch’s gullet.
hands like tarnished winches,
i wrench, stagger, cling,
yet your seepage slicks the corbelling,
brine of iron thickening in the throat.
i thrash like a rabid,
limbs cadging against sodden turf,
nails serrated on the gristle-clotted earth,
and still you scream,
your wither drips sicklier now,
i see it contort, i see the murids writhe
through the filigree of air.
crows; oscillating, tacit, assay my hands,
perpetually assay, quantifying
how fealty decays in my fingers.
falter not, the fault feeds me yet, they caw.
vine-brother jumps into the cracked loam,
hell opening like funeral pyres beneath him.
he sags, sap-wet and ***** with earth’s grit,
tears mingling with the dust as they leak from his cracked lips.
his hand, crawler’s cold, scrabbles for mine;
i, slack-jointed, pulled into the churn of mire,
find myself dragged into loathsome murk.
Aug 18, 2025
Aug 18, 2025 at 4:43 AM UTC
*yes, i understand the politics, or so i thought,
that biology will never spawn a humanism,
that darwinism will only spawn generic attempts
via disregarding existentialism sweats.*
when was the thought ever conceived,
that dialectics needed a mediator?
why would a mediator be needed
when the only mediator
is a park bench in athens, and two people
speaking?
i get the foul animals' existence, i get the whole
wild heart, and shrinking eyesight,
i get that animals are given pristine materialism,
being incubated by overt-sensual impregnation,
i get that they're impregnated by pure sensuality
(over-use of adjectives is like quantifying things,
as many qualities to the legions of ants
as attributes of the sun, ending with deity
and beginning with geometry),
animals are plagued by sensuality,
they are overly given the pentagon,
while man is given the hexagon / star of david,
animals are overly sensing, man is overly thinking,
when the only phobia of wilderness animal
is huger... man's is spider, enclosure, open-spaces...
animal is pulverised by the senses and things
it roams among... man is pulverised by thought
and nothing, roaming ingenuity by the Libra
dimming sight with hearing for classical composition,
dimming hearing with sight for pablo picassos..
the wild animal in fright of hunger...
and man abounding in it to reflect clocked
chicken press of the laid eggs clucks a sudden diversion
rather than adding to a diversity...
change the poetic gimmick of rhyme...
don't end with synonymous spelling,
intertwine rhyming elsewhere, lie:
'a sudden diversion' and 'adding to diversity'
as engaging to lines without an a# a# end of both
to reveal a missing echo, after all echoing is like rhyming,
but pitiful rhyming, because it's written down
and never plotted to decipher plato's shadows
and candle in the cave entered... defeated first-step
defeated to claim the colour of defeat, the page
that dangled in the odds of waving like a signature
digitalised... all in all... animals are overly sensual,
and man is overly abstract... hence man
mediates symbols and thinking... while
animals mediate onomatopoeias sounding a bit
like touch on wood, and the parameters of allowed
petting:
we blink thrice and think we spotted
a thing only once, when in fact thrice.
Feb 20, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 at 7:31 PM UTC
Possibly the ugliest word
Just
Used to excuse
Thrown about to limit
Quantifying my experience
With your own.
You say it with such ease,
Just a joke,
Just a little,
Just a girl,
Just this one time.
Like you can know
What anything
means to me.
Your just jokes have power
to make me bleed internally,
to press play on tapes
recorded since my birth,
embedded in my brain.
Your just a little
could span a canyon
or possibly to the sun,
little enough to
rewrite the course of my life.
Your just a girl,
quantifying my worth
through my gender,
pushing me to reject
my very flesh.
Just this one time
making me doubt my
own thoughts
cursing me to minimize
every single one time
and how it broke me
before I was even grown.
And if that was not enough Just
Stealing my sanity
Undermining my success
Just school
Just graduation
Just a job
like living in constant
anxious waiting
and making straight A's
was no big deal
multiple suicide attempts
and losing hope over and over
was nothing
After all of this
I'd love to just you
yet I can't.
Even as I carry on,
it can not be
just my past.
I will never call you
just a man.
You are not a man or
just a predator,
you are so much more
than one word
Just a father
because you never were
and you never will be.
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 8:42 AM UTC
Most people sweat euros and pounds,
I sweat coffee and gin.
Here I am, in the ooze of my existence,
Laughing and smiling,
counting smiles on my fingertips,
quantifying my existence:
fizzle and pop, smile till you drop.
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 9:20 AM UTC
A number is a concept,
A song that students sing.
Numbers are illusions,
Quantifying everything.
Addition and subtraction,
Creating to destroy,
Multiplying and dividing
Rise of Caesar, fall of Troy.
Divine hands knit with pi,
Entropy comes ensuant.
Mathematics are a language,
And only God is fluent.
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 11:24 AM UTC
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Priesthood...LionQuest
COUCH ALLENS
12/13/17
to samikoku
Priesthood LionQuest…
Ultra-Gifted…New tonques audible
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PRAISE…; Quantifying of every deposits=SovereignPRODUCTS
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STRONGGOD Proven translation into HEAVENSBUOTANCY…
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The universality of discipleship mightily in the EMBODIMENT OF
GODLY “Stocks-Attributes” The voted all virtues votes at infancy of
REDEPOSITES TAMED EXCELLENCIES OF AUDIBLEDOUBLE OATHS…;Quantifying believers deposition of interpretations…;Aided in the all “Potential-Pattern-Potency’ The Ego 9 SPIRITPROOF/ SailingColors/ ViSIONANALYSIS/ RHEMA REACHING ****** DEEPNUGGING DISCOVERIES IN THE INDISPENSABLE TESTIMONIAL…;Reception rescues Advisory in GOSPELTHRILL
CHOSEN THE CORRELATIVE-FORCES…;RESOUNDING THE GOSHEN
CONTINUUM/ YIELDING INCREASESCREATE….;
BOSS-BREATHES PREVALENCE....'
YOUR HEAVENS ACCUMULATION-GUIDANCE,
SESSIONS 'STAFF' A WHOLE ROYALTY CROWN CREST:
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Jun 13, 2018
Jun 13, 2018 at 8:57 AM UTC
You must have heard the phrase
"I love you more"
a countless times
Couples go back and forth saying this to each other in a pretend argument
But can you really love someone "more"
Can love be quantified?
And if you are quantifying love, is it really love?
Because if you truly love someone, you just love them
Jan 12, 2019
Jan 12, 2019 at 7:33 AM UTC
Casually quantifying clerical errors
counting sarcasm and collecting compliments,
but casting them aside
until they're stacked higher than the
introductions that were denied.
She swallows condominiums and Ikea catalogues
and eyelash extensions.
She swallows the Kardashians
and decrepit Tinder dates.
She swallows her opinion that out-shined and outsmarted his.
She swallows the chronicles of night time strolls that turned sour.
She steps into the shower.
Her mind is full, but her belly is empty.
Although it's swollen with expectation and incessant inquiry,
her ribs protrude as if to command her attention,
And to confirm her intention to rise again.
Jul 24, 2017
Jul 24, 2017 at 7:44 PM UTC
Two day ago in therapy I wrote you a love poem:
A physics equation quantifying the emotional clarity that is brought by your proximity,
With love as a fundamental constant and a scalar summation of circumstances' mental momentum.
The next evening,
You told me you were going to sleep with a friend,
But the thought of sharing you makes me viscerally sick,
But worse is the ache, the knowledge
That you crave their touch too.
It's a slither underneath my ribs,
Tensing pressure that constricts my lungs and crushes the bone,
Venom through my veins,
Stopping at my heart.
But,
Love is constant,
Love is kind.
And, god, I've fallen in love with a selfish serpent.
Jan 29, 2020
Jan 29, 2020 at 2:05 AM UTC
The touchstones of existence…
how many have you known
A common rock, a baby’s kiss,
a dog to walk you home
Can one then trump the other,
with importance or with worth
Can a seaside villa or Renoir painting,
outshine a child’s birth
The physicists solution, quantifying
parts and sums
Can all the gold inside Fort Knox,
rebuy what Mozart’s done
What seems to me important,
is to touch as many as you can
And let the truth reveal itself
—your soul to then befriend
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)
Apr 16, 2019
Apr 16, 2019 at 9:34 PM UTC
can we at at least agree then certain
things are non-quantifiable -
in that however much or how little
of a quantity that "exists"
or "does not" exist does not disturb
its (the "existent" or
"non-existent") quality?
(i just wanted to say the above,
the lower tier addition is, by my standard
of introspection, mere jargon).
there's no real satisfaction in
obtaining a quantifiable parameter
for a being that said quantifying
being desires a necessitated answer
to begin with...
there is no god
other than man in god, as primarily
instrumental to deface a need for
languishing desire for sabbath...
not everything in this world
is perpetuated by a fathoming
quantity - measure -
some things simply require a quality
and what is almost immediately
unmeasured - a qualified ordinance;
dare i apologise for sounding
like a quack?
science nonetheless quantifies,
it does not delve into quality -
to science 1% alcohol is just as true
for 40% content of a litre of ***** -
there just simply isn't a
"proof" for a god...
because there's no
quantifiable "evidence" for said existence...
and the "proof" of
a qualifying "proof" is twice-more
non-existent than the object in question
"desirably" requiring a proof of: existence!
we can quantify the speed of light,
but we can't exactly intact the quality
of travelling at said speed.
i'm not trying to dumb
down the process of an "investigation" -
it's only that the humanities belong with
the question,
the sciences could never, and
ever will give a life-insurance worth of
a question-answer....
why would the science ever give
an answer, and drain the immediacy
of a thrill away so easily?
p.s.
something that has no quantity-parameters,
is only quantifiable
if quantifiable at all,
within the framework of
a quality-reliability
structure...
but having said that,
a quality-reliability is not exactly
quantifiable when compared
to a quantity-replica
(there is no quantity-replica with
newton, there only was, one newton) -
it's sad seeing science become wasted
upon the "question" of god,
since there is no worthwikle
investigation for a necessary measurement,
other than the body count of
the next jihadist.
as ever, a much anticipated
unwelcome affair of discussion / "despair".
Nov 3, 2017
Nov 3, 2017 at 11:37 PM UTC