"teleportation" poems
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
These optical illusions
Create an optimal confusion
When eyes are a welcome intrusion
To the brain's inevitable conclusion
We stared into the mystic mirror
I witnessed everything I ever wanted in life
All you witnessed was just two people standing there
The transparency you cast upon me
Reminded me of how the plumes of **** smoke
Were never as thick as my problems
And as those clouds left my mouth and dispersed into the air
I saw your image
Preserved in briefness
It's a shame how my magician's mind
Summons smoke and mirrors
Nobody else believes me
But magic is the only way to explain you
The way you turned me invisible
Was spectacular
Your methods of sawing me in half
Certainly weren't natural
And your teleportation demonstration
Left me suspended in ice
So I guess I'm to Blaine
For the mirrors I erected
And the truth they reflected
Because now I'm lost
In what I refuse to call a funhouse
As I search frantically for some ancient tomb
That might reveal your brilliant incantations
Attempting to ignore the horrid revelation
That every spell I learned
Had been based in your arcane aura
And all the power I had gained
Had been based in your enchantment
I want a magician
Not an illusionist
So what does it mean when your illusions are so magical?
Jun 8, 2017
Jun 8, 2017 at 5:43 AM UTC
Always a question
Something oft inquired
Wondering and whying in those
Get-to-know-you games
Any superpower, yours to have
What would you be?
Seems a simple query
But just as the Titanic learned
Icebergs seem much
Smaller from above
Answering to “what
Superpower would you want?”
Speaks so much more,
Runs so much deeper
It's a fight or flight response
Invisibility, teleportation
What are you hiding from?
Super strength, unlimited power
Why, do you feel weak? Unworthy? Small?
My response to such
An inquiry
Wings or none, I don't care
Simply put, I long to be
Free
What are you? Who do you wish to be?
Sep 4, 2013
Sep 4, 2013 at 12:39 PM UTC
*"The Business Int'l is a trans-national,
Multi-operative, corporate entity.
With the means to function outside
Normal Gov't bounds
The Business Int'l has become the worldwide leader
On the frontline of:
Genetic & Bio-Engineering!
Space Exploration
And long-range teleportation services!
Our research will better* [human-kind]
*And is the most advanced & comprehensive
Ever imagined.
The Business Int'l values it's loyal customers!
And at the Business Int'l
We take all of your corcerns seriously.
We also offer aid to every worker at any/all of our subsidiaries
Any 4th class employee who feels compelled to:*
[Leave the Facility]
Or
[Propagate sensitive data]
*STOP.
Remain calm. And fasten yourself to nearby set furniture
Until our Registered Physcian can
Follow up with you.
Self-Quarentine is a Business Int'l core policy!
In extreme cases though,
The Business Int'l reminds you to
Be prepared to utilize
Your personalized botulinum capsule
Provided to you during your initiation!
Thank you!*
May 9, 2012
May 9, 2012 at 12:25 PM UTC
Specious speculative salacious spectral season
Transmogrify trapezium traverse torsion treason
Erotica errantry erectile endogenic emblazon
Ghastly gnashy grotesque gristly garrison
Larcenous lecherous lascivious latent lesson
Entelechy ethology exsistentialize extant epsilons
Spurious spry squabble subtle specialization
Transient transitive tour de force teleportation
Encephala enunciate endeavor executant emulation
Garish gaudy gambit glitch granulation
Lurid livid liaison limpid laceration
Extravaganza expletives expeditious equilibration emendation
Sly stodgy surreptitious spatiotemporal solicitor
Taciturn tactile transcendent tertiary torpor
Euphoria eminent equivocal exserted emancipator
Garrulous gustatory gung ** gestational gesticulator
Lyricism lilt liberation lambaste levitator
Escutcheon exergonic epaulet exodus extrapolator
Starkness staunch spectacle stolid stultification
Telepathy tantamount tractive tellurian transmutation
Exonerate euthenics exegesis entourage eradication
Groaty gnarly gruesome gristly gastrulation
Licentious lewd lacunar laconic limitation
Extemporaneous exigency embark embargo extradition
Slinky slick sultry stoical snout
Transubstantiate torturous temerarious tumultuous tout
Eucharist extortion enmity epithet eke out
Gross grit groin grove grout
Lentic leister lotic lothario levity lout
Execrating eventuation evocative evitable excerpt bout
Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 3:59 PM UTC
Your blatant onyx stare transfixes me
Plunged into a deep dichotomies of guilt and persecution
Naked under your primordial gaze
Liberation pulses to my core
The passion floating in your eyes is more then have the drones I know
The tendrils of your long grandmother feet
Wrinkles dictating the violence you consumed
As you lay collapsed between holes in fences
The grip on my notebook tightens til its painful
Our staring contest has turned deadly
Meanwhile the one in the next cage is creating a disturbance
Tracing circles with his finger tips as he swings
His tale attached to the conical world vision
You are not like him
your toenails turn black as a tarnished weapon
Maybe it is you that has adapted
My eyes look vacant in your reflection Of shock and conniving references
Your movements contort logic
Teleportation from within
The steps would break me into fractures
So ill-suited to this wild world for which you were born
Nov 30, 2010
Nov 30, 2010 at 9:28 AM UTC
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, sometimes a dream can flip your stage scenes and make them decorated;}
thee heavens come clean
across a kiss untold unbound unseen
with dismals and dears
follows discretely situated
from leaves unintentionally initiated
things ascending to the spine
nerve striking its dim its shine
horizons skirt down faded
feet sand permeated
on fine arts been not made in
a sheet to be fabulous
mis-shaded
like my insides
like my pen slides
been piled overshadowed
been dark uninvaded
she beauty on the purples
majestic manipulated
are them those of these the things you can see not face it?
I saw the heavens
I saw the hells
water colored
wet come to a collision I say come compensated
on highs and lows rays of foes impossible
converge a split second for me
an undeniable to the invisible
feet sand permeated
on fine art I name it
****** by the devils
by the angels sacred
for me in my selfish kingdom
my so called salvation
a place my nights breathe annihilation
even better than them those sent in that teleportation
mere those moments of gazes
scrapes buried for future destination
on the whites of my imagination
left to my unconsciousness a decision
a piece of my mind
an official declaration
a moon arose from the dead to my incarnation
not await for another
I state a once and for all deprivation
despite the lunar bothers
something for me
I owe no explanation
moon me so light so bright
so dim so dark
to the bits of the ends of the marks
the places I cant reach
they afar
stay there but stay near
to me my moon my fear
------raven feels
Apr 2, 2021
Apr 2, 2021 at 12:45 PM UTC
Fullsome she maketh me, mine fere, mine lair in the onuppan Zion. Betwixt the dust of the belt of Orion, Mine Astronomer gape's the light-year's we shalt trek; The luminosity sparkle's from Sirius, the flake's of shake, disambiguation. We seeith galaxie's, nebula's, a parallel universe standing on it's hind leg's. She spread's her snowy pearly glider's, inviting she is when her flight's on fire; like a comet, blazing the black hole edge's, her cloak smoke's with her Asian hair, that leaveth **** fairy-speck smidgen's. To the sun, O' to the sun, I am warmly wrapped by her embracing spaceship; she taketh me by teleportation, to the kingdom of God, where she doth reside.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane nagley dedication
Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 10:03 PM UTC
Listen,
I'm really sorry
for not finishing
the teleportation device
like I promised.
I've misplaced my blowtorch
& I really do ****
at whipping up blueprints.
[I hate numbers & measuring.
more than most things in life.
So please don’t make me.]
I realize it would be beneficial
for everyone
if I just buckled down
& made it happen;
if I didn't sleep for months
& somehow managed to
defy all principles
of space & time.
I'm a woman with gumption, see?
I could definitely do it.
But there's something
devilishly attractive
revolving around the idea
of being without
such an ultramodern convenience.
**Or maybe
I just revel in
making you
work for it.**
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 1:56 PM UTC
Yesterday’s gravity
Pulls threads in weaved cloth
Blown and scattering waves
Massive like black holes and small
Like the wings of humming
Birds of Planck length down feathers
On a drifting radiowave
While watching the television in a
Padded
Rooms inside Schrödinger’s box
Contained by hypertension
Like the hairs that grow in fibers of
The cerebrum’s
Neurons which inflate and warp
His hands shook like the rabbit ears
On his old television, wood paneled with
Outdated
Textbooks like his shelves
And enigma is his cited source
In his teleportation box, bedridden
Things in
There are superstrings on the walls
Floating eyes on the atoms of loneliness
Quark fizz, structural quanta on
Yesterday’s gravity
Pulls threads in weaved cloth
Apr 30, 2011
Apr 30, 2011 at 7:25 PM UTC
Why would she wants to be a pilot
When she is already an angel?
Why would she wants to be inside the cockpit
When she can just spread her wings?
Why would she have to struggle asking permission from the radio tower
When she can fly by her own desire?
Why would bothered about fuel consumptions
When she have a gigantic amount of power?
Why would she thinks about the ground speed
When she can fly with her wings in a high velocity?
Why would she thinks about the minutes
When she can travel with just one click?
Why would she thinks of a distance
When she can just do teleportation?
Why would she afraid of an engine failure
When she have the strength of lifting earth?
What kind of heavenly creature
That have something she concerned?
Sep 3, 2018
Sep 3, 2018 at 10:30 PM UTC
Everything was perfect until you came
You made me human...
Where every thought becomes a sin,
And every revelation becomes a lie.
I put on a blue cape, and jumped 43 ft high
But now, I never float...
I drew an image, stared for hours
But it never moved...
I was crossing the highway lifted my hands into a "stop!",
But I almost died...
I AM HUMAN.
Every day I was transforming
into something they called "normal".
My wings are long gone
and I was running late.
You see, I put my fingers on my forehead
and as I opened my eyes, **** it!
I was still here.
I was thinking of "teleportation".
Hey,
I was thinking of teleportation, I said.
It was the last thing I wished for...
I . . I was hoping to go where you are.
Because I am now human,
I also lose the courage
to fight for you...
Because I am not perfect.
I am not...
But, being human.
I knew you...
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 3:04 AM UTC
I wish body pillows
Acted like teleportation devices
And when you clutched yours
It would put me beside you
I wish blankets
Were like magic carpets
And we could use ours
To fly to one another
I wish computer screens
Would let us reach to others
And I could pull you through
And into my arms
I wish we could feel each other
When we clutch pillows and blankets
And pretend they're each other
So our dreams can somewhat come true
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 7:10 PM UTC
Colourful toucans, magic disposables
with pretty specks of dust, fallen pixies
and dreams of an escape.
take me back to that place.
I wanna go home, I wanna go home.
I miss that pretty, twisted place-
I miss that other half of me;
it seems to have detached,
leaving open wounds for me
to find zero comfort in.
Where reality exploded before our eyes
and travelling in teleportation devices
seemed so logical and the only method
of reasonable transport.
The world will not be crushed
by my fragile shaking hands
but I dream of the day it does.
Everything is just a dream
that is vanishing as I wake up now.
I don't wanna wake up, I don't wanna wake up.
I wanna stay in this place,
with fragile hands and the creatures
that are so tragically beautiful
with our minds as the creators.
I wanna stay here with these illusions
that have become our world.
I wanna stay here with you.
Aug 2, 2012
Aug 2, 2012 at 4:38 AM UTC
To tell you the truth about travel, I hate it.
Someone once told me
that travel is a compromise
for teleportation.
Everything
is basically a compromise
until higher tech arrives.
To tell you the truth about travel,
I really don't want to.
I want to let you hold my image
against long winding roads,
against the sad shrubbery
by the side of the highway,
and believe
that I'll be happy
when I'm not at home.
My loud voice and excited manner
may even trick into believing
that I adore the hustle bustle of a new place,
new people,
new traffic,
new smells,
sights,
sounds.
But to tell you the truth, I really hate travelling.
Save me from suffering the pains
of packing a bag
with the most essential items
designed to make you look like
a Prudent Traveller™ - I want to carry
only my fatigue
and annoyance
at being asked to move out.
(Some Hajmola, perhaps - the green and purple flavours)
I am not seduced by lines on a map
telling me where to go,
and how to get there,
I swear.
I would rather have
someone trace the edges
of imaginary continents
across my mind
by virtue of their words.
Cartographers aren't redundant to the world,
perhaps - but have you ever had
a laid back holiday with
only
i n t e r m i t t e n t naps?
Apr 1, 2017
Apr 1, 2017 at 8:53 AM UTC
Beautiful girl, I don't know why,
It's not that I don't try
I would roll with your pretty self everywhere
Enjoying your smile like the priciest fare,
You have no idea how I yearn
For your company; your trust to earn
I love how your words roll off your tongue
Like the curves on your body as if sung,
I don't want to admit it but this teasing
Has got me all worked up; thinking wishing
I don't like my mind playing tricks
When you call me I envision your lips,
Uttering sweet nothing to my burning ears
But teleportation won't exist for another few years,
Words can't describe how my heart falls
When I say no to your invitational calls,
Wish I had no other priorities
But I have to pay all the utilities,
Hanging with me might be like no other
But the way things are; you shouldn't bother
Just thought I'd let you know how I feel shorty,
I'm missing out on being around you; really...
© okpoet
Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 5:25 PM UTC
the internet is akin to a cocktease. Time for teleportation!
Jun 21, 2013
Jun 21, 2013 at 8:04 PM UTC
Our vision of the future
is changing, oh
so fast,
that sometimes tomorrow
seems just like
the past.
As we look from the shadow
that time
has cast.
Will we control gravity?
With wiggles from
the sky,
travel to the stars as soon
as we learn, again,
to fly.
Communicate thru DNA
with vast "we nets"
I ask WHY!
It seems, do we assume that
the acients were so
ultra dumb.
When they had the tech-no wit
to understand the
Aether hum.
Wonders from back in the day.
Were built by whom?
The aliens?
I'm not talking immigrants
but tiny green folks
from beyond:
"the stars"
Who tweaked our inner programming?
E-volved us into
bio-crystal
jars.
And
Who's adjusting us today?
Perhaps our ancient
grandpa's.
Maybe not men from
Mars.
Our dreams? Teleportation
space flight, levetation.
Traveling thru
"The Time"
Manipulating, pouring
imigaes, into our skulls of quantum
fibered
slime.
Holo-decks with lights and sound.
Full access is granted
when we become
"The Mime"
Meditate, like we are them.
We are all air fish, learn to swim
thru water that is
very thin.
Surf the waves like crazy loons.
Sing out loud, those inner tunes.
Life's just one big
lagoon.
So,
Don't *** in the water.
Act much more like you ought-er
Be more than just
fool fodder.
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 4:15 PM UTC
as I age the environment around me is also aging at the same time, it's impossible to remain in one place,
and near my family reunion: my father is still digesting a piece of gum, he says "I was never the type to believe in horoscopes," says "let's beat this guy up and take his telescope"
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 10:48 AM UTC
Life is so amazing;
We humans have different marks on paper or a computer that we can understand and we move our mouth to make different noises that we understand as well. And having different noises in a row that sound barbaric to people that don't speak that language. There's even different languages that people developed over the years...
Then we talk about our ways of life.
There are some people out there that are starving and dying, and then there's people that have so much money and food, they don't have any room for it.
Then we move to our technology.
From dirt and rocks to make weapons to **** for food, and living in caves, and not talking like a normal human being, we came to having houses made of the wood of trees and bricks, and having 3-dimensional beings in a little portable device. And having stop-motion pictures, and 3-D TV's, and computers that have different websites that have completely different stuff on them.
Then we move to music.
Music is so old... probably started when the cavemen started to talk English or something. And there's so much songs about so many different things, and none of them have the same beat or notes in a row. There's probably like, quadrillions of songs out there.
Now for the sciency stuff.
I just think it's so incredible that there's people like Benjamin Franklin and Thomas Jefferson. I mean, imagine where we would be right now if it weren't for Benjamin Franklin. Thomas Jefferson wouldn't be famous, that's for sure. What about if neither of them existed? Where would we be know? Then there's the people that came up with the idea that there's life that is so small, we can't see it. Then someone invented the telescope so we could examine the moon better. All the constellations out there that tell stories about the Gods and Goddesses. And it's just so astounding how big the Universe is. All those planets out there, we can't be the only living things out there, you know? There is just so much in the world that still needs yet to be discovered. Just think how long it will be until we have teleportation! Then we could teleport our space rovers to different planets and not worry about it getting hit by a meteor.
And people say "The world's not that old! This is only 2015!" Yeah. After the birth of Jesus Christ. Jesus was on Earth 2015 years ago. Before that, people didn't have the system of keeping track of time. Scientists can only tell how Ancient Egypt or Ancient Greece was like because of people writing down their religions. To think if there will ever be some sort of apocalypse and no one wrote anything down and humans came to life gain, it would be exactly like caveman times all over again unless we write down our thoughts anywhere and keep it anywhere. That's what diaries where originally invented for! And if you never thought of thinking of the world this deep before, it's only because you're most likely an outgoing person. Don't ask how I know that.
Well, this closes my thoughts.
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 5:49 PM UTC
Oct 2020
Poets, let us examine this friendship thing, again.
Poets, let us examine this friendship thing, again.
This is a poem of humans, regardless of our natural multi- flavored striations, that tend to over-define us, thus separating, instead of celebrating commonalities.
Like most things we enjoy, our five senses are the gateway to pleasure, even the pleasure of friendships. They act in concert, a symphonic interplay that reenforces and heightens so that in combination they create a whole greater than a single sense could provide singly.
This is on my mind this week, as I wrestle to understand the meaningful possibilities, the limits of friendship.
Poets form bonds without hearing each other’s voices.
Poets connect despite geographic distances that makes grasping each others sinewed arms, caressing the softness of hard cheekbones, without ever having been granted the unique, all encompassing satisfaction of embrace, hugging.
Poets sometimes can hear but not see each other’s words.
Poets sometimes can see/read each other’s words, but never hear them voiced aloud in the authors own, true voice.
Poets sometimes cannot smell or taste each other’s words, though it can take a poem to another, higher sensory level of coloration.
And yet, a bond so strong forms that defies the conventional limitations of the physical. Should we share such a bond, them you know it, no need to ask for confirmation.
Words, can be gifted, without teleportation, even when and if the bridge of a shared spoken language is not extant.
This is nothing short of miraculous.
Just like friendship.
All my wrestling to true comprehend this state, for naught, for the miracle of words is like the color of water. Universal, invisible, but so varied, that it too bridges and is shared by every ! human body regardless of any human shape, color, form of the billions conceivable.
But wrestle I do nonetheless, for the pleasure of this (non?)soluble problem that both creates queries & quenches simultaneously, so I break off this thinnest wafer to share with you, offering this notional:
All humans are poems.
All poems are human.
Solve this poem for human.
(And ignore the wet spots of my watery, clear tears staining this poem).
Jan 2, 2025
Jan 2, 2025 at 7:32 AM UTC
<for my friends>
<pre-bot-era>
Poets, let us examine this friendship thing, again.
This is a poem of humans, regardless of our natural multi- flavored striations, that tend to over-define us, thus separating, instead of celebrating commonalities.
*Like most things we enjoy, our five senses are the gateway to pleasure, even the pleasure of friendships. They act in concert, a symphonic interplay that reenforces and heightens so that in combination they create a whole greater than a single sense could provide singly.
This is on my mind this week, as I wrestle to understand the meaningful possibilities, the limits of friendship.
Poets form bonds without hearing each other’s voices.
Poets connect despite geographic distances that makes grasping each others sinewed arms, caressing the softness of hard cheekbones, without ever having been granted the unique, all encompassing satisfaction of embrace, hugging.
Poets sometimes can hear but not see each other’s words.
Poets sometimes can see/read each other’s words, but never hear them voiced aloud in the authors own, true voice.
Poets sometimes cannot smell or taste each other’s words, though it can take a poem to another, higher sensory level of coloration.
And yet, a bond so strong forms that defies the conventional limitations of the physical. Should we share such a bond, them you know it, no need to ask for confirmation.
Words, can be gifted, without teleportation, even when and if the bridge of a shared spoken language is not extant.
This is nothing short of miraculous.
Just like friendship.
All my wrestling to true comprehend this state, for naught, for the miracle of words is like the color of water. Universal, invisible, but so varied, that it too bridges and is shared by every ! human body regardless of any human shape, color, form of the billions conceivable*.
But wrestle I do nonetheless, for the pleasure of this (non?)soluble problem that both creates queries & quenches simultaneously, so I break off this thinnest wafer to share with you, offering this notional:
All humans are poems.
All poems are human.
Solve this poem for human.
(And ignore the wet spots of my watery, clear tears staining this poem).
Oct 24, 2020
Oct 24, 2020 at 12:52 PM UTC
Number 1
The SPACEBOY who was sent to the moon for no reason
His powers are super strength and ape-like physiology
That is who number one is Luther Hargreeves
Number 2
The KRAKEN who was never a child but always a weapon
His powers are perfect aim and trajectory manipulation
That is who number 2 is Diego Hargreeves
Number 3
The RUMOR whos powers gave her everything that she wanted
Her powers is mind control by lying
That is who number 3 is Allison Hargreeves
Number 4
The SÉANCE who's plagued with voices of the dead
His powers are mediumship and evocation
That is who number 4 is Klaus Hargreeves
Number 5
The KID who lost everything he ever had
His powers is teleportation through space and time
That is who number 5 is Five Hargreeves
Number 6
The HORROR who sadly died at such a young age
His powers are that he can summon tentacled monsters
That is who number 6 is Ben Hargreeves
Number 7
The WHITE VIOLIN who was a brother but never considered family
His powers are converting sound into energy
That is who number 7 is Victor Hargreeves
Feb 24, 2022
Feb 24, 2022 at 1:41 PM UTC