"subatomic" poems
I'm a relationship engineer
Building engines to persevere
Through the loneliness I fear
That makes me panic
And seek out a mechanic
That tinkers
With my blinkers
But doesn't fix a thing
When I'm left with a sting
From what's defined as a fling
My pistons pumping
The way I'm *******
When I find a rocket scientist
That formulates the highest bliss
In his carefully calculated kiss
But I start to viciously *****
When our problems are subatomic
Because every decision
Creates nuclear fission
Which causes decay
And explosions of energy
His thoughts he relays
He sees me as the enemy
So I find a Christian
To pump my pistons
He has the morals of God
Which I figure can't be flawed
Though they may seem odd
But he doesn't love me
He feels he's above me
He acts like a martyr
Which makes me fall harder
But I'm left alone on the cross
He has forsaken me
He thinks I'm made of frost
He has mistaken me
I feel alone
In the brimstone
Of his dial tone
I found loneliness
In their phoniness
My engine needs trust
Otherwise it develops rust
But when everyone tries to act cool
Pain becomes my alternative fuel
Love once seemed like a jewel
Until my blood made a pool
I tried to get repairs
To find that nobody cares
I learned that science
Was of no reliance
And the pious life
Brought riot strife
So I find nowhere to turn
While my engine burns
Jan 14, 2018
Jan 14, 2018 at 3:58 PM UTC
Radness
The Philosopher’s Stone is not just a spiritual metaphor but an actual substance that can transmute lead or mercury into gold. The Stone is a product of Alchemy. Unlike chemistry, which only deals with physical matter and energy, Alchemy makes use of etheric and astral energies to reconfigure matter at the quantum level. Alchemy is to chemistry what a cube is to the square; it is a superset of chemistry and is capable of so much more.
How Etheric Energy Overrides Physical Laws
Alchemical achievements require successfully gathering, concentrating, and multiplying etheric energy. When this energy reaches a critical threshold, it overpowers the normal laws of physics and allows seemingly miraculous processes to take place. I believe it does this by biasing probability. By amplifying the probability of minor quantum effects, which are normally limited to the subatomic scale, they manifest on the larger atomic scale. In this way, one element spontaneously transforms into another.
The world around us is made of subatomic particles that regularly undergo unpredictable jumps, teleportation, bilocation, superposition, and other strange quantum behaviors. Why don’t everyday solid objects do likewise? Because the random quantum jittering of their subatomic particles collectively average out to zero. Think of a large crowd of people; seen from the air, the crowd as a whole is stationary, even though individuals within the crowd move in seemingly random directions. It’s because their movements are random and uncoordinated that they average to zero net movement on the whole.
The world we see around us is merely a crowd of subatomic particles whose individual quantum jumps aren’t apparent because they average to collective stillness. Physical laws that govern our everyday world, known as the deterministic laws of classical physics, are merely the laws of the crowd. These laws are what’s left of quantum physics after the unpredictability is removed through statistical averaging. They are not absolute laws; they are just the most probable manner in which matter and energy behave.
Physical laws can be bent. While the probability is incredibly low that enough coordination and coherence develops among the quantum jitters to manifest on a collective scale, that is exactly what etheric energy does. It alters probability and thereby skews the laws of thermodynamics, gravity, electromagnetism, and chemistry.
Alchemy does not violate the laws of physics, nor does it always follow them, rather it bends them as needed. It operates upon the quantum foundation from which these laws arise in the first place, via etheric energy affecting the probability of quantum events.
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 8:59 PM UTC
Do you like science? Cause I've got my ion you
we're a dance of subatomic particles, you get my cardiovascular system worked up
"Nerd," you declare with a smile sweeter than C6H12O6
I glare at you and giggle louder than 194 decibels, we break all the laws
I'm so attracted to you, scientists will have to make a 5th fundamental force
we fit together like sticky ends of DNA
I fall in love with you every time I see you, faster than my DNA replicates
being in your arms feels like homeostasis, we'll last longer than thorium
I think I'm kinda maybe trying to say
every time light reflects off of you and onto my retina the sudden protracted cardiac arrhythmia I get tells me that gulp Iloveyou
Aug 10, 2016
Aug 10, 2016 at 11:01 AM UTC
They teach you in school that the building blocks of life and matter are atoms filled with subatomic particles
But believe me when I tell you that they're lying.
"They" are claiming to be your saviors from what is actually fueling your bloodstream.
Protectors of your sanity
But believe me when I tell you it's fraud, a scheme of words that are meant to prevent you from discovering the actual monsters buried beneath your fingernails and hidden in the cracks of your bones.
You see, what the evildoers trains the neurons in your brain to understand is that the demons in your skin cells are atoms filled with subatomic particles.
This is what you know and you know it for a fact until the time comes for the poltergeists within you to attack.
They line up and pluck away at the petals of your once "protected" sanity one by one until you're convinced he loves you not.
Your defense has been destroyed and the demons flood in with no intention to come back out.
The swarms of beasts taking over every aspect of your being is what is now going to cause a new feeling called "numbness."
Your last memory of peace is permanently shattered.
This is called growing up, kids.
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 6:40 PM UTC
I feel like a black hole
when I sit at the bar.
Like there is no amount of liquor
that could fill this bottomless well
and people keep falling in.
I can hear them cry sometimes
finger nails clawing at stone
until the tips are rubbed raw.
Ghosts wailing in the dark
a throbbing in my chest,
Poe's Tell-Tale Heart.
I spoke to one once
at a queer hour in the morn
she said "It's beautiful down here"
even as her body was being torn
into billions of subatomic particles.
"It's beautiful" she cried
"I've seen the end of time
I've seen galaxies form
I've seen star's collapse
and again be reborn
I've seen life emerge
and I've seen it destroyed
I've seen it all with my eyes
and all the bad you've done,
all the guilt you carry
it isn't helping anyone
it's ok- it's ok-- it's ok---
to let yourself be happy"
I so badly desired
to have faith in her words
but I've never been one
to believe in ghosts.
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 6:26 PM UTC
Pick up one grain of sand from the Atlantic coast
Carried it to the Pacific coast and set it down
Repeat until every last grain has been moved
This is but a drop of time in the bucket of eternity
In the overall scheme of the universe
We are equivalent to a single subatomic particle
Spinning sporadically inside one of the many atom
Which make up a single grain of sand
Yet the possession of our soul somehow
Makes us very significant!
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 11:20 AM UTC
What is the void?
Nothingness manifested?
There can’t really be such a thing…
How can there be nothing?
It’s impossible.
You can’t fault me for having trouble wrapping my head around an idea as intricate and deeply infinite as nothing. From a young age, we’re taught that everything, even empty space, is created from protons, neutrons, subatomic particles…
Empty space is always made from something else.
Some describe the void not as a place, but instead as spiritual enlightenment and/or liberation. As detachment from everything. Some describe entering the void as the moment one realizes that if you try too hard to understand then you will miss the point; as the moment where the student realizes that he will never be able to anticipate his masters surprise attack, so, instead of being anxious he accepts his inability to know; as the understanding that holding on is suffering and letting go is freedom.
There is no way to truly talk about the void, about emptiness, because there is nothing tangible to be expressed in words. And yet, our curious human minds are so fixated on using dialogue to try and articulate this commodity.
Words will always fail.
Even if we could wrap our heads around this idea of emptiness, this complete and total lack of anything (comfort, love, hate, despair, joy, happiness, agony(all pieces of this complicated fabric known as human existence)) we would descend into the deepest and darkest of melancholies. The sudden moment of realization that non-being and being are one and the same and that the only thing separating the two is the awareness of being aware and the unawareness of being unaware would be too much to endure. The weight of realizing that nothing is everything, that we are 0 (placeholders for nothing (the extinction of our species before a return to nature untainted imminent)) would prove to be the strongest link of all in these shackles of existence.
What is the void?
Maybe it’s best not to ponder this any further.
Mar 11, 2017
Mar 11, 2017 at 4:09 PM UTC
I am a drop.
No, smaller than that,
I am half a drop.
Nah, even smaller,
I am a molecule.
Not yet, zoom out a bit more.
I am an atom, right?
How ‘bout a nucleus?
Proton is a better option.
Or perhaps something,
Smaller than a proton,
Or any subatomic particle?
What’s the smallest?
Is the smallest really the smallest?
May be fifty years,
Or hundred years from now, or more
Would there be a new smallest,
I think that would be me.
The ‘me’ in front of the all pervading sky
The all pervading hostility of this universe,
Or perhaps of a multiverse.
Far would be destroyed my glory,
By even a minute of such an imagination,
My blown up ego would be blown up.
Gone is my glory,
blown up is my blown up ego,
humbled am I.
Neither a king,
Nor even a slave,
who am I?
how would I know?
when would I know?
when could I perceive,
without ‘me’ at the centre?
without ‘me’ seeing ‘me’?
perhaps never,
perhaps sometime!
Am I a ‘who’?
Or am I a ‘what’?
How does it even matter
In front of all the existence?
But
What if I am the biggest?
Bigger than the mountain
Bigger than the sun
Bigger than this galaxy
Or even the universe?
What if I am the universe or the multiverse,
and kept from knowing it?
Ah! what a mystery!
Humbled am I
In front of the great mystery
Of not ‘that’ or ‘this’
But of ‘I’.
So never ask me this;
Who are you?
For I shall go silent
and never get back to you.
Or shall I ever get back to you,
what a celebration would that be?
The greatest celebration of my life,
The greatest celebration of my being.
But
What if I don’t even exist?
Or I am just this & nothing else?
May be I am a chaos,
that seems to be ordered.
May be I am an order,
that seems to be a chaos.
May be I am both.
Or may be none.
When would I know the truth?
Or may be I know the truth,
Just pretending not to know it.
May be I am the truth,
seeking out my own self.
Or a lie,
pretending to be the truth.
May be I am all that I thought,
May be I am none.
May be all I just need,
is to take a nap,
and get back to work.
Aug 22, 2015
Aug 22, 2015 at 10:46 AM UTC
venus
morning star
lucifer f a
l
l
i
n
g backwards and forwards in time
in rotation
in retrograde rotation
(“the fall of lucifer” painted darkly against the bright spot in the sky)
((i see myself in the
shadows beneath
his tumbling figure))
light-bringer
dawn-bringer
the rising sun in the east
a supernova exploding in the background: there are subatomic particles
bigger than what i can offer
there are greenhouse gasses that
give off more heat than my body
will ever be able to produce for anyone
day light
night light
the setting sun in the west
a constellational birth in the foreground: there are
not enough moons in the solar system
there is not enough space
between planetary rings to explain
gravitation and the human body
(aphrodite tell me: is this sin or is this love?)
((i will dip my toes in sea foam
until i deteriorate
i will put my ear against conch shells
until i can hear your answer))
venus
evening star
lucifer pouring sulfuric acid into the car vents
the air ducts
the atmosphere
it becomes the thick dark clouds that obscure
my vision of myself from reality
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 10:38 PM UTC
Slippery insanity careens through marble forests,
trained insurgents capture dragon flies
grinding them up for pixie dust,
cowards siphon rain drops from entangled subatomic particles
inscribing hopeless anecdotes for economical tyranny,
bloated bumble bees bomb pearl harbor,
golden harps sprout wings chasing lost lovers
nourishing their insipid dreams,
homophobes parade **** inside sinking ships,
graveyards sneeze showers of formaldehyde,
nature's chemical cathedrals synthesize
the eleven dimensions of space and time,
summer's daughter bathes in autumn's waters
a myriad of memories engraved in the brain's tissues
trace the tapestry of neural plasticity
Prometheus's pollution and the alchemist's sunset
Jul 30, 2010
Jul 30, 2010 at 2:15 PM UTC
Subatomic particles
They jitter and bug on
Like the people
Late for work
That I see rushing about
Every day on the street
Just trying
To make something happen
A change
Is a positive thing
Well, you'd hope so
When something
Or someone
Or somewhere
Alters their way
When they or it
Evolves
You always hope for the best
But sometime
People, places, things
Nouns
Degenerate
And it's a shame
But it doesn't have to be that way
So
Here's to evolving
Here's to change
Here's to regenerating
Into something
Better
Bigger
Staggering
On our next
Run 'round
Mar 1, 2013
Mar 1, 2013 at 11:57 AM UTC
Tired
Brain spits words in fits and starts
The internal running commentary misfiring badly
Ideas stuck in bottlenecks
Traffic backed up and down the on-ramps
Leading off the congested thoughtways
Tired
Stormwater overflow pours out of blocked drains
Sidling up the gutters of fallen leaves
And other assorted detritus of modern existence
Spewing out over footpaths and under cars
And over the tops of the boots of downtrodden dawn treaders
Tired
Mountain pass impassable under it’s mercurial precipitate mask
Features only glimpsed in snatches
Like looking through a white picket fence while running
Thought trees bunching up around the middle
Warping under the sun and the scrutiny of others
Tired
Collapsing under the weight of the wave function
Subatomic particles currently in a state of nonexistence
Abandoned altogether by the Higgs, thoughts vibrate and dissipate
In extraordinary frequency and noise
Drowned out by the audible hum of the big bang
Tired
As if running a marathon in treacle
Start with a whimper then dribble to a halt
Running barefoot on salt flats
Or over pillows in stilettos
More time spent on face than feet
Tired
Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more
The court jester prances for the Big Queen *****
And her merry King of Fools with his band of merry drunkards
Quickly losing the point of it all
As words start tumbling down in random order
Staccato signal messages like binary or Morse code
Information overload threatens to upend the boatload
Like the military dumping refugees into the harbour
Buckle up armour and wait for the onslaught
Of somnatic visions, twisted psychedelic impressions
Land mine concussions in the fevered dreams of veterans
Who witnessed limb torn from limb
In the name of something nobody remembers
Lose their tempers and start a war on home turf
Jungles petrified into concrete monstrosities that blot out the sun
From the flowers that feed in the cracks of the pavement
Everywhere bereavement and none shall take leave
From the cold, impassive logic of Death
Who comes knocking as you read this
Wired
No chance of sleep now
This is why one shouldn’t write poetry late at night
Sep 26, 2012
Sep 26, 2012 at 12:41 AM UTC
When man fell, he saw a constant
downward acceleration of
nine-point-eight meters per second per second
over a time span of approximately
eternityinaninstant
until his speed caught up with
the subatomic particles that challenge light,
and he became subhuman,
challenging Light.
Jan 17, 2012
Jan 17, 2012 at 7:19 PM UTC
Bills in my wallet folded into wads, unsorted in their random cacophony
Smiles on the faces of those ignorant enough to ignore suffering
Cuts on her feet like symbols in the stars
From her voice I was told the taste of kiwis and ginger root
From her kiss I was sharing nicotine and half exhaled cigarette smoke
And from our silence there is an overlapping ambience of dead noise
From our comprehension we realize our ignorance
From our comprehension we realize out insignificance
It is reassuring to know that you are a compilation of subatomic structures
It is comforting to know your matter is just recycled stardust
From a smile between crooked teeth and chipped molars I find comfort
In knowing that your heart is like a sponge absorbing all my poison
And somehow you exhale such radiance, a phenomenon
I marvel from my spot in the yard, watching sparrows chase
crows
Sep 26, 2012
Sep 26, 2012 at 12:57 AM UTC
We dig a hole in the ground
Then send photons round and round
Speak of quarks and mesons too
And sub atomic invisible stew
Looking at all the subatomic parts
Trying to find what gives them mass
Higgs the guy who thought it up
A God particle it was dubbed
It costs a fortune to make it work
But I ask you what it's worth?
For man will simply find a way
To hurt another with what they make
For all we do, all we create
Seems now to fuel the war of hate
From atom bombs to poison gas
Now they fool around with mass
The scariest part in all of this
Is the conceited way they named the thing
Man now calls the particle "God!"
Did we just create ourselves
Another type of universe?
Or make a journey so perverse
We lost sight of who, and what we are..
Simply atoms from a dying star.
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 6:46 AM UTC
Evolution cycles through infinity,
Moving closer and closer,
To the event horizon.
From subatomic particles
To infinite number of multiplexes,
Evolution widens it aperture.
The circumference of infinity,
Is moving and still,
For no visual aid may see its Eternity.
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 2:51 AM UTC
Coming down from my volcanic wave
Sheet music jukebox requiem
Rides down the road
Feverish dreams outlast psychedelic trees
In the owls and squirrels of light
Picking at the vultures of dawn
Violent winds of the subatomic youth
Puncture through the face of Mona Lisa
Take me to the South
Pulsating rocket ship boom
Left scabs on my eyelids
Shifting in the dark to get to the light
Killing mr. Grawkus through crucified madness
Suffer at the hands of large Industry men
Give your money in exchange for life
Dream queen pre-madonna smoothie mix
Shove down the stones from your funneral pyre
Throw off your ***** neon soaked clothes
Dowse yourself in the electronic fumes
Pulsed beat hammers in the tunnels of consciousness
Through the catacombs of breath
Inhale deeply the sonic sun light
Exhale zombie dust glass shards
Dare to call me electric
Throw down this scepter of deceit
Release yourself from the robes of conceit
Never let the sun mock your wiring breath
Lightning whiskers pierce the skull
Left her tied to the tracks
Electronic pumps intravenously
Junk sets into the brain
Sell your soul for an electro fix
Satellites fit themselves into my subconscious
Fried blank and numb, gone mad with electricity
Show off your bruised face to the sunshine
Plastered, baked, and cratered with disgust
Do you see how the light bulb strikes on?
Where are you with your ravaged home?
Peeled back with mechanical angst
She cries aloud to the moon
Mar 2, 2011
Mar 2, 2011 at 3:51 PM UTC
What would we create if we didn't
Care how others saw our art?
Would we write the exact same poems
Were we not collecting hearts?
Sometimes I really wonder
Whether what I say would be more true
If what I wrote were just for me
And not to share with all of you
We know when we are being watched
And it makes us act different
Instead of simply doing, being
Now we try to represent
This goes not just for humans
But for subatomic particles
I read about it in some kind of
Scientific article
How many eyes are watching me
And altering the way I act?
I hide in a cube in 3D
Somewhere it is a tesseract
Sometimes it's much more fun
To think about this process in reverse
I stare into the starlit sky
And rearrange the Universe
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 5:32 AM UTC
I
*In the course of time
Defects commence to notice:
"Once, it was a hero"
Begins to melt
"Once, it was worshiped"
Starts to fade
The desire to be at least half
Becomes a mere illusion
The grief of starting from zero
Not be just a fusion, (I laugh), for
I am my own hero*
II
*An eternal dilemma: head or heart?
Life experiences repeat themselves over time
Look back, not with nostalgia, but with lucidity
Not to retell the same mistakes, that's stupidity
Rectify the defects, but don't be a mime
Head or heart?
These desires of a distorted mind are such strife
Those promises for life are barely a rind
It's as soon as you get to the point of no return
That you realize the fantasy must burn
Head or heart?
Use the head is an art
Using the heart in the right stead
But use them both is my oath*
III
*I come from a quiet little town
But I was never the type of let me drown
Lose and gain accents has always been my thing
So bring me the king of seek that we may sing together
That the best man win.
See, without knowing whether all or nothing
Write, until I have abraded skin, so when the time comes
The tought living at my fingers will shut
Sing, bright or heavyhearted
Feel the beat of unchearted drums
Yell by choice until lose my voice
Murmur lower than a subatomic bell
Until gain a tragicomic muse.*
***The elocution of my brain has no dues
For art is a perpetual evolution.***
Mar 22, 2012
Mar 22, 2012 at 9:50 PM UTC
the wobble of a muon foretells a paradigmatic shift in our understanding of the forces of nature
my wobble foretells an excess of alcohol
Aug 11, 2023
Aug 11, 2023 at 1:37 PM UTC
Nothingness:
Nothing,
Non-Existence,
Infinite, Eternal black space stretching out
Beyond imagination.
Yet even Nothing is a Something
That Exists.
Even Nothing could create
The Big Bang.
Everywhere we look
Subatomic particles wink and blink
Into Being
Then vanish
To reappear.
We are never stable
Ever changing
In tune
With mathematical equations.
The wonder of it all.
Force, energy, matter
Incredible piles of rock
And clouds of gas.
Supersuns and bottomless black holes.
All indifferent to the fact of their own existence
Until Life appears
Perhaps inevitably
With minds to witness
These incredible happenings
That happen
Until the end of time
If time can end.
Paul Butters
Jul 20, 2017
Jul 20, 2017 at 2:34 PM UTC
A vinyl record makes the rounds, dust attached loose to the needle, imperceptibly
breaking
off
making
short
homes
for each
molecule
in each
black
groove.
Your hurricane breath will send them subatomic-
Superdomeward on your next mad quest
to convince your girlfriend that you are neat&clean.;
You sit crosslegged, Buddha on the brain,
corporation on the docket.
Which
one
do
you
dream
of?
And more importantly,
which
one
should
you
dream
for?
The twenty in your pocket will get you one-fifth of a silver ring
or five turkey sandwiches.
“You can’t have your cake and eat it too”—it wasn’t Buddha who said that, but
it’s Buddha’s smiling voice in which you hear it now, between your ears.
“What the **** does that mean, Buddha?” you sigh, and there is no answer.
You move, and move, and you keep on moving. You leave a little molecule
on the subway, and on the bar, and on the sidewalk without feeling it, losing them to
short
homes
vulnerable.
The hurricane breath or the sunshine or the invisible rubber glove of
Buddha, or Carl Solomon, or Walter Cronkite or God or whoever does the universe’s spring cleaning
will send them subatomic-Superdomeward
and you’ll never even know you missed them.
Your girlfriend thinks it’s realcool you have a record player,
but it’s a little dusty, she says.
You touch her lower back and smile. You get eye-level with the needle,
and you blow.
Jun 20, 2013
Jun 20, 2013 at 11:39 PM UTC
The hadron collider showed an unknown influence affecting subatomic particles.
“Is this proof of a higher power in the universe?” asked Marianne Williamson.
“Is this Will, is this magick?”
Yes Herr Nietzche, there will always be unknowns in human science as the scientists should have known all along, instead of substituting the most recent names of observations as the replacement of God.
No, there probably isn’t free will but we seem to be life in the unknown with more power than any other around.
This universe may just repeat on and on but what do you do with that knowledge? Can you even help to choose what you choose?
All these past influences and instinctual impulses lead the charge. But there's that spark. That mystery if we can ever really know and comprehend it all with limited senses, time, and minds.
Maybe you don’t have a choice in your life, but you can have the feeling you do. The feeling you can shape your world amid the destiny you feel in your heart.
Practice being a yeasayer to life because that just might be your fate.
Amor fati each time around.
Nov 1, 2021
Nov 1, 2021 at 9:10 PM UTC
I found religion at the bottom of a cereal box
and ended up saving it in my pocket for awhile, spending my sundays
beside spiritual cannibals speaking of the Supergalactic
and eating on the good word while waiting for the Hand of god
or so-called Miracles; only recently have I discovered
the sacrosanctity of the seed, the egg, the space between matryoshka dolls,
the amoeba before it splits or the amoeba afterwards, baby teeth
and graduates, letters stuffed in pen tips in hands of poets
kneeling with the armless, contrapposto women waiting
inside blocks of marble and boiling pots of Hellenic brass worshiping
in the house of the hesitant spring crawling from the earth’s core
on stolen time;
I say a heretic’s “Amen” to the parting of lips,
the movement of breath, all werewolves on the half-moon and
the moon before the harvest, bless the ant hills full of false gods
that band together in the symphony of the subatomic and glory be
to the Truth! the only truth, that just as all things die in the end, so too
are all things born at the beginning, a fact lost on all those preaching
sacred scriptures in the dead language
of the Impossibly Huge.
Jul 10, 2016
Jul 10, 2016 at 12:17 AM UTC