"stimulus" poems
<>
No, He said.
I want you
wanting.
*I want to taste the miracle of your desperation,
need,
lick the sweet sweat of tense from the hairline well hid
on the back of your pleasuring neck.
I need your needing constant completion,
but not succeeding.
The airborne aroma of your desires are fiery, arousing,
stimulus sensating me by the unending beauty of dissatisfaction,
this virus desirous, infection, makes my perpetual wanting
for an incomplete perfect woman,
forever seeking betterment,
perfectly complete.*
<>
Nov 16, 2017
Nov 16, 2017 at 12:54 PM UTC
There are five widely known senses.
Sight, hearing, touch, smell and taste.
We've got some minor ones as well, such as balance, temperature and many more.
However, people fail to realise that there's also the sixth major sense. Thoughts themselves.
If we look closely, all these five senses have the same base. Specified cells in eye react to energy of light, cells of ear recieve energy in form of air's vibrations, skin cells pick up energy of mechanical changes, and so tasting and hearing depend on translation of certain substances' chemical energy.
These cells in different organs differ in their structure and the way they appear, however, if we stop looking at them in such small scale, we can see that ALL of the cells or organs responsible for any sense translate the energy.
So, a light enters the eye, certain wavelenght of certain energy stimulates the eye's rod or cone cells with a certain intensity. Then the energy of light is translated to energy of electrical impulse, which goes straight to the brain, creating the sensation of sight.
If it comes to smell, a certain particle enters the nose, binds to a smell receptor cell, and the chemical energy of this particle is, again, translated to energy of electrical impulse, which goes straight to the brain, creating the sensation of smell.
Now, let's move to the crucial part. The sense of thoughts.
During the creation of thought, pathways in our brain that collect memories(and many more known or unknown pathways) connect. First, there's this spark of electricity, that moves all along the neuron and releases a dose of neurotransmitters(amount of different NTs is equiavlent to strength of this spark, basically resulting in "creating" various thoughts).
Then, chemical energy of NEUROTRANSMITTER is translated to energy of electrical impulse, which happens in the brain, creating the sensation of thought.
Therefore the 'sense of thoughts' reacts to and is stimulated by neurotransmitters themselves, with receptors on neurons' membrane being receptors of the stimulus. So, kind of like smell, the stimulus is chemical, compared to sight, where it's electromagnetic wave; anyways the result in all of these is electric impulse in neurons (hence the idea of "thoughts" as a sense, due to the same basic layout; transfer of energy).
The 'smell particle' connects to receptor and is translated to a certain amount of neurotransmitters/certain strenght of neuronal impulse. SO, again, we can see that when the first outer layer of this communication is cut off, we're left only with the neurotransmitters and impulses themselves. Anyway, the transduction of energy remains.
If it comes to "sense of thoughts" the receptor lies within us, whereas in sight or smell or touch it's external. However, does it matter if it's on the surface of skin or under it if it all comes down to neurons of our brain?
When you lie in a dark, silent room, without any external stimuli, you still retain your thoughts, colorful, vivid or complex. All the magic of the brain - still happens. So, how isn't it a separate, full-fledged sense?
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 6:49 AM UTC
I was like every other scientist
for love to me was just
a neural reaction to a certain
stimulus presented to an individual,
just a hormonal response of a person
to a certain situation laid out to them
Like a configuration of ****** muscle
tissue of one results to an increase
of serotonin, dopamine, and for some,
oxytocin of another
At times, one would affiliate this
****** muscle configuration
to that of pentahydroxyhexanal (sugar)
and that was discombobulating
I could not understand how
a smile becomes sweet
and yet at that moment
when I saw you smile
I immediately understood
that science
science cannot explain this
This feeling I have when I see you
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 10:38 AM UTC
A word
Nobody knows.
It's a mental thing.
"A sensation produced in one modality when a stimulus is applied to another modality, as when the hearing of a certain sound induces the visualization of a certain color."
A confusion of senses.
But I don't think I am confused.
I just see farther than anyone.
For me;
I see colors
And think sounds, tastes, textures.
I see objects
And think gender, personality, music.
All the letters
Have colors, smells, jobs in an office.
All the numbers
Have heights, voices, fashion senses.
I don't know why it is
But it is a malfunction in my brain.
I don't know how to explain it
But it is not very complicated.
Everything has a color
A personality
A food
A texture
A sound
A taste
A smell
Associated with it.
Because everything is deeper than they look.
Because I am confused?
Because I can see.
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 1:38 PM UTC
1196
To make Routine a Stimulus
Remember it can cease—
Capacity to Terminate
Is a Specific Grace—
Of Retrospect the Arrow
That power to repair
Departed with the Torment
Become, alas, more fair—
5.2k
(in heavy breath)
my eyes take her in
her body lying prone.
her smile, smothered in her pillow.
back arched,
she releases a moan.
(moaning, quite sharply)
my hands stroke with her cadence
staggered gasp
and with a click
i lock my screen
as her moans send me to space.
my own fluids are now
the fluid for stimulus,
for an eye rolling **** numbing high.
but in thirty seconds
i crash.
i am tasting myself now
with desire
with disgust
like raw eggs mixed with salt
like water laced with crushed paracetamol
exactly *** mixed with spit.
i sink into the dark musty scent
of stale air, *** and sweat.
and i awake
and once again
my eyes do hunger
and so does my ****
Eshu, end your tricks now
it’s not funny anymore.
my gaze ***** everyone it meets.
it strips them bare
of their skin
of their flesh
it turns them into meat.
it grinds a person into produce.
these eyes are battered and harmful.
may they now rest, please?
Dec 8, 2019
Dec 8, 2019 at 9:59 PM UTC
Yes I go, yes go to seek a Great Apocalypse
One that will unravel the complex elaboration of difference
To articulate a perpetual aesthetic with violated codes
Of the experience of illusions of temporal stimulus
That are beyond all compass and soothe a fragmentation
Oh Great Apocalypse of beauty whose deception finds strategies
For youthful prodigality and binds me to your inarticulation
An embodiment of beleaguered and charmed fictions
Whose artifice is the governance of generous impulses
As such sway about me with a harmony of moral disquiet
Inadequate in description of the qualities of their oppression
Yet oh great apocalypse there is a plausible generosity
In these pale assumptions of impatience which carry
The obligations of a universally shared human existence
Compelling a projection of charged issues on competing claims
For the enigmatic logic of life
Yes Great Apocalypse now I understand all thought
From Everywhere and for Always
Sep 15, 2012
Sep 15, 2012 at 12:18 PM UTC
Oh twisted stimulus,
****** of the soul,
you flood me with colour.
I spill out across the world,
being everywhere,
existing nowhere.
Once I've emptied,
I am void.
Incorporeal and numb.
Like mist in gale,
I am rushed,
into endless sky.
Notorious chemical,
beautiful chemist,
I am lost in your constellation.
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 7:18 PM UTC
He told us the truth.
Writing isn't so hard, really.
You just sit with a pen and paper,
And bleed.
Maybe pounding my head
Isn't the right way to elicit bleeding.
But it did bring the kind of headache
That reminded me what I had to bleed for in the first place.
White House.
White papers.
Black suits.
Black president.
For change.
No better.
They pretend to have a headache, but their incompetence leaves us with headaches we're too young and shiny to deserve.
Aren't we?
Filled up
With life,
Potential, hope.
Why do we shoulder their burden?
The black suits in the white house made their own headache.
It doesn't matter to us.
Until it does.
Stimulus.
Filibuster.
Health-care.
Bail-out.
Drowned-out.
Shut-down.
Shout-down.
Bring-us-down.
We could be on our way to the top.
Mess-up.
Then complain about the headache it brings them.
What about us?
Because we're the ones affected.
Then is the worst part.
They do it frighteningly quick.
So easy, too.
Give-up ,
And leave for us to
Fix-up.
We have to shout.
Make you listen.
Stand-up.
One-two.
Thousands, millions.
Make them listen.
March-up.
Three-four.
Slogans, protests.
Make them change.
Head-up.
Five-Six.
Defeat, Regret.
See the impossibility.
Sit-down.
Seven-eight.
They won't listen.
**** the system.
**** the suits.
**** the house.
**** growing up.
Because you know,
Now we're grown.
So this is the headache
They talked about.
So this is why
We spill our blood.
Where's the cancel button?
How to delete?
It's a cycle,
Don't you see.
You can't wipe the memory.
Why we thought
We could ever get rid
Of the headache…
Beats me.
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 12:19 AM UTC
Action is the reality
Imagination and thoughts are false
The indulgent and lies
Action brings out manifestation
The thoughts and imagination are the bargains
To the maybe actions to be
The maybe is a possibility
But not the reality in itself
Karma is what the action brings
The situation is a stimuli
The brain is the stimulus
The thoughts are the response
Of the stimuli to the stimulus
The action is what brings about the change
In a while the thought seems to bring out the change
And the transformation from within
The transformation in the thought plane
Is a trap in itself
A new thought comes in its place
The action brings about the change in real
The winding up in the trap of thoughts
Brings about the ego self to build up
The action unwinds the chain of thoughts
The universe is a plan of action
Not the plan of thoughts
The thoughts are meant to be a tool
For the action to be performed
The human race back from generations
Has chosen thoughts rather than actions
The actions, if there are
There are the thoughts driven action.
The less is the action driven thoughts
The thought driven action
Nourishes the thoughts rather than action
On the contrary
The action driven thoughts
Nourishes the action
As manifestation and karma are action driven
Rather than thoughts driven
A modern man gets confused
By keeping an eye on thought
Saying ***** didn’t do anything to nobody
But karma didn’t go well
If ***** has the conscious actions
With the thoughts as a tool driven to action
***** would have managed to acknowledge
His/her karma and know for themselves
Where the karma took directions
Karma is the action that has no reaction
The thoughts are purely reactions
The stimulus to the stimuli
When indulged drives more and more reaction
Hence more thoughts
A thought can never satisfy
The more, the thoughts come into place again
A modern human seem to be indulged
In the reaction
Rather than performing the action instead
Being and action
Spontaneous
The human ideal
May 17, 2018
May 17, 2018 at 8:34 PM UTC
As I close my laptop
and it snaps shut
my dog sits up
ears perked,
chest puffed, and
at the ready for
me to stand up
and grab a leash
and a plastic bag
for his ****
And he knows this routine
because it has been seared
into his brain with the white-hot
branding iron
of repetition.
A force of nature.
A category-five hurricane.
We laugh at them
for chasing their tails
when the microwave dings,
for salivating at bells,
but
I am no better than they are.
The same routines
are seared into my brain, too—
stimulus, response
stimulus, response
eat, sleep, **** walk, ****
love, reproduce, etc.
and I will continue to do so
aimlessly
just like Ivan Pavlov said I would.
One day I’ll find myself
like he’ll find himself—
lying on a cold slab
in a sterile room
only half alive
aghast at how quickly youth slipped away
but otherwise numb
as loved ones circle around,
hands over their mouths,
horrified
to press the button.
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 2:38 AM UTC
787
Such is the Force of Happiness—
The Least—can lift a Ton
Assisted by its stimulus—
Who Misery—sustain—
No Sinew can afford—
The Cargo of Themselves—
Too infinite for Consciousness’
Slow capabilities.
3.2k
"I have gotten from there to here"
Its a simple tautology, chant it
either/or an uncertain accomplishment.
From there to there to there until there became here.
This too is fairly obvious,
but still, it seems so strange,
how many times must you be reminded
that you are too ill-equipped
to string the sequence.
And what about those weak suspicions
that reappear from time to time,
the ones you are
quick to disregard
out of the fear that you may be a lunatic.
What if they were correct, what
if a moment were nothing more
than a brown package
of stimulus.
They came to you, one after the other
and you what could you do but follow
them, like crumbs in a trail that lead
you further away from home
and into this carnival.
Where people who sing lullabies out loud
carry pistols and globs of color
are merging in all
directions.
Wedged in between "there to here"
and "here to there", the laws of tenses
never made this much of a difference.
Babies know this all too well.
That's why they're the last
ones
we turn to for wisdom.
But should they ever decide
to permanently stop crying.
You'll know what they mean by their silence.
Nov 11, 2011
Nov 11, 2011 at 5:20 PM UTC
711
Strong Draughts of Their Refreshing Minds
To drink—enables Mine
Through Desert or the Wilderness
As bore it Sealed Wine—
To go elastic—Or as One
The Camel’s trait—attained—
How powerful the Stimulus
Of an Hermetic Mind—
2.9k
Number 7 in the ORLOK series and one of the best
O how I relish the taste of blood
****** out from the devastated jugular
But there is more, much more
When the victim is a nubile ****
From a Transylvanian village
Where ****** morality
Is quite ******* thin on the ground;
And that is how I met my fate.
'Twas on an October eve
When I met plump Esmeralda
And (having fed my fill from her neck
as she slept in her hut
under filthy rags stinking of stale *****
I sank my fangs into her naked belly
Ripping into her bloated guts
With my accustomed gusto;
My tongue slurping its way
Over her twitching ****
And finally I descended joyously
To her odorous spunk-encrusted *****
For the last rites,
Before the final curtain
To her worthless life of peasantry.
But then, as my excitement mounted,
And just as I was on the verge
Of pumping out my vampiric *******
I felt an agonising, mind-blasting pain
As a major stroke swept through me,
Wrecking my synapses big time,
Turning my brain into guacamole.
And now I am a crippled ******
Just a spasticated old vampire
In my second-hand rusting wheelchair,
Courtesy of Romanian Social Services,
Drooling helplessly
Into my swollen pissy crotch,
Waiting for another enema,
My sole remaining pleasure
And a stimulus to my jaded prostate.
But, hurrah! hurrah! new hope arrives:
A miracle occurs as I read of
The new wonder pill from SuperDrug
Available only in private practise
And guaranteed to rejuvenate the jaded
Or your money back, no worries.
Orlok will fly again to pursue
The pleasures of the flesh
And especially the botty-zone.
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 12:24 PM UTC
1001
The Stimulus, beyond the Grave
His Countenance to see
Supports me like imperial Drams
Afforded Day by Day.
2.7k
Maybe you’re mistaken
when you think about what’s out there,
You attribute ev’ry stimulus
to winged things from books,
Mistaking accidental circumstances
for essential causes,
There isn’t really anything
that God conveys with looks.
Perhaps it is hard to face the truth:
we’re just meat bags with will,
Which slowly rot away until
the day when we’re forgotten
Needlessly dissecting
every move and every inner thought,
Attempting to discover
what makes us all so very rotten.
Take a deep breath
And hold it in
Until you feel it all
...Fading away
Slowly toward death
All of us fall
Someday we’ll feel it all
...Fading away
Through my goat mouth, it’s true,
you can hear me bleating,
Like a little lamb who’s lambier
than lamby-lambs can be,
But yes in fact it’s bike tires,
and tin cans that I’m eating,
And I feel my goat heart beating
and... I want to flee.
Jul 15, 2015
Jul 15, 2015 at 8:46 AM UTC
Foxy pumps
Visually inviting
Stimulus
Leather jeans
Objectively elevating
Yield
Indie jazz
Naturally circuits
Relish
Vivid suspense
Intellectually appeasing
Mar 17, 2012
Mar 17, 2012 at 9:41 AM UTC
OH, TOLERANCE!
Imagine a world filled with various attributes of tolerance
The somewhat cheaply expensive substance
Exuding from the spirit of acceptance
Giving the assurance of living and interaction
Oh, tolerance!
Imagine the impending disaster or menace
Evidence of living in this world without tolerance
If we could reminisce the possible chaos of its absence
Then acknowledge the need to seek for its protection
Oh, tolerance!
Imagine a city filled with the fragrance of tolerance
The acquiescence of human coexistence
The aura of the essence of our existence
In a city of unity and strength
Oh, tolerance!
Remedy for our shortcomings and ignorance
Enhancing strength and resilience
Giving us evidence and endurance
To forge ahead and be hopeful that we can make progress
Oh, tolerance!
Antidote to our offences and weaknesses
Exuberance and mistakes
The consciousness that you are with us
Gives us reason to accommodate all and sundry
Oh, tolerance!
You romance our ego
Showing us reasons that we are not perfect
The remembrance of your tenets
Increases our stimulus for acceptance and coexistence
Oh, tolerance!
Jul 25, 2019
Jul 25, 2019 at 6:16 PM UTC
It's strange
the way a cluster of neurons in your head reacting to some particular stimulus can make your heart feel like hamburger meat
As if there really is a hole in there, and everyone can see right through it.
What kind of strange fiction allowed debilitating pain to come from a mere firing sinapse?
How unfitting, that such an incomprehensibly small and silent event begets the destruction of worlds.
You'd think
that with the breaking of a heart should come some ceremony
Smashing of a gong, ringing bells, the flight of a thousand crows or even the sound of breaking glass.
But we're left with heavy dreams that tug at our consciousness and even heavier moments upon waking and remembering that you have a hole there, that everyone can see right through
that didn't even warrant shattering dinnerware.
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 3:47 AM UTC
She was stark naked
I could see her ****
And her boyfriend had
Quite the **** on him.
His meat should have
Made him quite proud
And the lady’s ****
For crying out loud
Were perky and prominent
And quite nice to see.
Both of them seemed
To be pointing at me.
And I seemed to be
Eagerly pointing back.
They both very obviously
Aware of that one fact.
She smiled openly
And the guy broadly winked.
I started asking myself
“Do you think? He did wink!”
So, I winked and smiled
And let them see my bone
And hoped this meant I
Would not be alone.
I hoped they’d invite me
To sit on their beach towel
To slather sunscreen on them
Like a human mortar trowel.
There are not many things
There are few better for me
Than hot mixed couples
Into some fun bisexuality.
I have games for both kinds
And genders of human beings
All based on the stimulus
Of what I’m feeling and seeing.
Generally a single man
Is not lucky at this scene
A common concept that I
Always found to be quite mean.
I understand about jealousy,
An emotion foreign to me
So, I usually keep my distance
And behave circumspectly.
But when I get the go-ahead
I never hesitate very long.
How could something this good
Be considered bad or wrong?
Feb 26, 2016
Feb 26, 2016 at 10:30 PM UTC
Biden means button
Kamala means Lotus
Trump means trumpet. sinister?
elaborate?
can words brainwash?
i am not a theorist, and if i were i would research this more...this my research of science, religion, politics, and how it keeps biting me...if you want to help make the world a whole, it is somehow going to with making this nation a whole...and other ones...the pie has so many pieces and doesn't feed itself...i...we...you need you...lets study with goals toward understanding...then we have more color in our vision...it is hard to be gentle when everyone i know in real life is a cutthroat zombie...they get crap theory and lies fed to them by tv and internet...if you ever see that i am wrong please let me know
Sep 9, 2021
Sep 9, 2021 at 12:11 AM UTC
Against his will he’s confined in a notorious cell block mansion
Inmate number B-33920 his name, Charles Manson.
Some say he’s a prophet of living disaster
I beg to differ for what I can honestly see,
Never under estimate our power for he is also a vision master.
So charismatic diamonds start to fall off his tongue
There picking them up as his blessed words begin to flow.
Paying for a crime he never did any wrong
The panel was rigged and the prosecutor
Knew which way the final verdict would go.
Living in fear all the members of the jury
If it were random picks I’d be the hold out
Just to see the audience eyes become burning blurry
And to watch the splinters fly in the air
As the gavel comes smashing down in a hurry.
Denying freedom each and every time
The parole board does forever plan.
Under duress they have no choice for they been warned
Secretly hiding behind alias screen names
I predict there also joining his internet fan club clan.
Exploiting him for their own financial gain
The state’s making profits just because of his name
And to me they are the ones, who are savage
Because if the DOC loses custody of their celebrity
They then will lose their stimulus package.
At head count his body may physically be there
But in his mind, he’s walking on warm desert sand
As he pretends he is in Death Valley.
As for me, I’m lurking in the street
And hiding in a back alley.
Helter Skelter, Helter Skelter, Helter Skelter
Let him go, let him go, let him go!
(SirCARSr. 12-6-13)
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 1:26 PM UTC
this morning I awoke to find little lettered squares imprinted across the side of my face,
then didst I realize, that cyber space had finally done its number on me
slither slather blither blather slobbering cyber chopper
knee-jerk hackneyed pavlovian dog speak of impetuous heartlessness
stereotyping label blasting categorizing pigeon-holing generalizing
multi tasking bifurcating bloviating palaver, ever clingy maudlin inflamed impassioned souls
trolling the myriad disparate windows looking for some misbegotten stimulus
so invested in their hatred and fear that peace is the most threatening thing they can imagine ------ and me?
the sneering cynical maladroit among the masses of averageness and mediocrity...
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 9:34 PM UTC