"thesaurus" poems
It's a wide open art,
from the start.
Rules are for schools.
Dont fret em,
forget em.
So
Relax with a syntax,
clown around,
with a pronoun.
Squeeze the ******
of a dangling participle.
Free flying like geese,
creative words release,
make it up if you please.
Example--the plural of mice is meese.
Flowery language isn't the exclusive domain of the professional writer, it's for everyone!
To continue then,
about the writers pen.
No write or wrong,
nothings too short or long.
Mangled,
bungled,
butchered,
bumbled, don't matter.
We don't need a librarian to admire what we have done.
Words aren't hard,
fling them unbarred.
It's not arithmetic,
or teaching a cat a trick.
Crunch them uniting,
mix them combining.
Fling them,
meld them,
Verb them,
sell them.
We don't need a New York Times best seller to enjoy the art of writing.
Uncrate it,
create it.
Use it,
and abuse it.
Don't bar us
from a thesaurus
Or a dictionary.
The spiel
is to write real
tell the tale
seal the deal.
WORD HATERS live in the town called Fictionary.
Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 12:53 PM UTC
I reserved a table for the two of us
at the only restaurant in the world
that not only offers atmosphere and setting
but tone and syntax as well.
First some articles for appetizers. They're
easiest on my pocket you know.
An an, a the, and an a.
Let's not even start on the punctuation,
I'm treating you to a rather large meal.
As large as the entire English language,
now back to the articles.
Sure these taste like lint but they still
taste. Petit fours but there you are.
Try to be disinterested or you'll
put me off my food.
Nouns now. My, what a variety.
Bit meaty, eh? These have staying power.
They taste like a bit of everywhere,
and everyone, and everything.
What's that? Surely they're not that bland.
Maybe you need some seasoning.
"Adjective" comes from the
French for "to the word."
So exotic aren't they? These
really are fantastic.
Exquisite, unique, zesty to say the least.
You must admit, they
make the meal worth it.
I hope you're not allergic,
I could have sworn I just
had something "nutty."
Oh, it had nuts "in it"?
There must be some prepositions
mixed in here.
(I'm glad we're getting through
these now, I've never been a big fan of them.
When I was a kid, I would always push my prepositions to the end
of my sentences. You just can't do
that in a joint like this, it seems.)
Ah finally. The verbs are served.
Well-prepared it would seem.
Yes, anything you can do to a verb
they've done to these.
Infinitives (too good to realistically be believed!),
gerunds, and participles (No, not particles. But we
did have some of those at the Japanese restaurant.)
Fairly lean too, as I can't see
any auxiliary fat.
For some reason
those adverbs (just to your left, under that
thesaurus) really go well with this.
Plus those adjectives from earlier, rather pleasantly.
Now a brief selection
of conjunctions, but don't ruin
yourself. They're not a meal of themselves,
just a link to...
Oh! Look at those interjections.
So delicate, so (Wow!) incisive.
I told you to keep your appetite.
Well, just try a little of this. Goodness, me!
And then everyone proceeds to
die
from a split infinitive.
Mar 21, 2010
Mar 21, 2010 at 7:44 PM UTC
I met her on a narrow street of old Verona
Her beauty’s magical, her name was Lady Mona
She rolled a cigarette between her diva fingers
A little cherry smoke around her gently lingers
She had a long deep fire-coloured autumn hair
That with the wind dance as if out of very care
Her eyes are brighter, gayer then azure sapphires
Two little diamonds that can start unholy fires
Her ******* are full of life, the sweetest goddess milk
It taste like childhood memories wrapped up in silk
The skin – an undiscovered lands of sinful wild
It sends you on a trip so rough yet very mild
She was so picturesque, a genuine sugarbomb
Like rays of sun that dazzle through a naked palm
I pray thee, Jupiter, align the heaven stars
And let me be the one who strikes of her guitars
Wish I could walk to her and ask her dearly out
I feel so brave yet nervous, want to scream and shout
I want to spill it out, express my inner passion
But that’s not me behaving in such crazy fashion
Hell to the no! I go! I’ll spit my fire lines!
I am a blonde! I curse those stupid *** designs
I’ll offer things to her, I promise I’ll pushy
**** I am gonna offer her my cola *****
If men be ***** models, I shall be one too
I have one in my mouth – a nasty point of view
If men can flirt and conquer, so can ******* I
This Aphrodite’s taken, she is only mine
I walk to her, approach her like the mighty Taurus
Rehearse my lyrics, shuffle through my love thesaurus
I smell perfume – ambrosia, nectar, lemonade…
Formation, hold up, queen of… ******* Lemonade..?
“What is the name of thee, do tell me, pretty dear
Just like the beauty goddess you to me appear
By any chance you are one of the youthful Graces?
Be careful, darling, I can see your leather laces”
Dec 9, 2018
Dec 9, 2018 at 2:42 PM UTC
Love is a ***** soup going stale but steaming like it's brand new;
And I'm Oliver twist walking up to the *** with a rusty spoon full of desire and hope asking for more but getting none.
Love is a Doctor gathering dead bodies and shackling them up in chains;
And I'm a green freak with Frankenstein bolts ****** through my head walking around with only a mumble to muster trying to love people who just want to run away.
Love is a white paper rolled so finely, full of sedatives and drugs;
And I'm sitting by a fire reaching in for a log to smoke.
Love is puzzle made by Einstein and Sam Loyd;
And I'm a child with eyes made of glass and hands made of thorns crying to my mother because that puzzle is a *****
Love is Navy Seal training on a beach covered in cold water spilling blood for a chance;
And I'm a pot-smoking hippie who holds up signs and tells soldiers they’re monsters as I take a puff of death.
Love is a ten-syllable word compacted into one;
And I'm a hooked on phonics children’s thesaurus struggling to find a comparison that I can actually pronounce.
Love is a white egg timer sitting on the fridge set to all nines;
And I'm a busy housewife waiting to cook dinner at the sound of its bell.
Love is a robber with a 45 in his belt;
And I'm an eager dad trying to protect his family with a wooden stick.
Love is hot coffee from a luxury beverage shop;
And I'm a plastic party cup melting away.
Love is a doctor with a PHD in heart surgery;
And I'm a sick child waiting with his mother with no healthcare ******* on a free doctor’s-office lollypop.
Love is a huge pink eraser;
And I'm a graphite pencil struggling to write while me and the eraser fight.
Love is a pickup truck speeding through town drunk;
And I'm a lost puppy running through the same intersection looking for my owner.
Love is meant for fish;
And I'm a bird.
Dec 21, 2012
Dec 21, 2012 at 12:18 PM UTC
Intro:
Start with a hook sharp enough to catch many fish.
Move into a broad outline of topic.
Add some examples to peek the interest.
End with a sentence that captures your thoughts.
(Start the way you feel it should be).
Body:
Flavorful topic sentence to open paragraph one.
State in detail specific examples and definitions.
Follow with a reference or two,
This keeps suspicion off you.
Keep same format for paragraph two and three.
(Continue on the feel that increases how you started).
(Or retrograde and start a new direction).
Conclusion:
Wake the reader back up with thesaurus found words.
State again the reason for your thoughts.
Honing specifically on what you want to say,
Without of course bringing in new info.
End with a memorable sign off.
(End with completing your thoughts).
(Or start a new idea entirely),
(Not leaving enough room for explanation).
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 2:47 AM UTC
Irrelevancy is the only word with a clear definition
Considering nowhere in the dictionary is no a synonym for yes.
Your eyes pry at the binding of my thesaurus.
By the time the letters that form the words that compose such literature become coherent;
I find myself blindly illiterate.
Ungrammatically correct.
How persuasive is the introduction of negativity if the conclusion is positively wet.
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 4:35 PM UTC
symbol cymbals
synthesize size
symphony nymphs
syzygy gypsy
sympathy thesaurus
synonym nimble
symptom tomato
syrup up
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 12:44 AM UTC
I'm trying to meet new people and everything in between.
I like to get drunk on patios, porches, tailgates, and float trips, and any outdoor scenario.
I have a definite weakness for all things sweet.
Pipeline rig welder in the making.
Ask me, voted most likely to succeed in highschool.
I watch too much netflix and enjoy crying over Frank Ocean.
I am going to sue the **** out of you.
I'm a guy that sometimes carries a pocket thesaurus.
Socially conscious dude who probably drinks too much.
Amateur chef. Banjo Jedi.
New to this Midwest life.
Jan 9, 2016
Jan 9, 2016 at 3:19 AM UTC
for Lori, Riley and Kendrick
the questioning words jump off the page,
into two hands transforming,
words shape shifting into
multicolored ink stained fingers,
now, all a chokehold on my brain,
my throaty gasps rasping from
a simplistic convolution -
single questioning deserving an answer
what are you made of?
the obvious answers left in the slow lane,
bone, tissue, rivers and arteries of blue bloods,
just oil and fuel of a containership,
but the cargo carried, that’s the real stuff
you have insight inside that cannot be seen,
self-survival instincts that morph into morals,
our shared air affects you differently,
a sense of defending, caring,
costless and costliest simultaneously,
spaghetti strands strong sinewed intertwining,
into a better human than most
to call you hero is wrongly insufficient,
but the thesaurus lends me no substitute,
weep, I do,
as the spring and summer blushing green
will not be seen by you at all, and by me,
seen now so differently,
when thinking of
soil-born courage instinctual that has no name,
but grows only in nature
what are you made of?
we know now, but knew not well,
that thing that makes you leap first,
was all you, the entirety of the best,
that exists, existed, as reminders to us,
to mine it, wear it,
medal it upon our fabric
*you three,
breathe it back, exhale it from where ever you are,
that trace chemical odor in our atmosphere,
of life-giving sweetness, a rebirthing chlorophyll freedom
that we humans all desperately need,
even just to know it exists,
and inform us*
what we need to be made of
May 13, 2019
May 13, 2019 at 5:43 PM UTC
The one with the
crack
along the middle,
dark and so thin
words could fall through
like water in a colander.
Under the grand chandelier,
a slew of sheets
spat with confident blue juice,
cardboard-covered notebooks,
a team of paper ***** to be tossed
towards your wooden jail.
Sketches of mice, polar bears,
a recipe for rabbit at his right elbow,
red Shakespeare
and a well-read thesaurus
as scruffy
as recently rinsed blonde hair.
You always ***** the lid
on your own *** of ink, black,
sleeping silver scissors
near your French dictionary
and shells over a plastic
sunglasses case.
The table
in the room
in the house on Tomás Ortuño,
serenity bathing you,
a golden spark
of solitude.
May 17, 2013
May 17, 2013 at 5:07 PM UTC
Dear **** boys
Lies have become a custom to me.
I heard so many and told many more.
I take extra long showers now with boiling hot water, hoping to cleanse this skin.
Hoping to erase this sin.
I tell myself i'm over it but my heart still yearns
it still burns with a passion only you could ignite.
A blaze that's taken over my soul.
I feel trapped, stuck in a black hole.
I'm going no where im lost.
I tell myself i will never talk to him again.
I tell myself we can just be friends.
It's my fault, I'm the one to blaim.
I bought into it.
I ran like a moth to the flame.
And like a moth I got burned.
Dear **** boy
why am I so excited, my heart beats fast
I feel pleasure and fear at the same time.
I feel like i'm about to commit a crime.
Dear **** boy
When you said Netflix and chill
I was unaware there would be no Netflix .
Plus your definition of chill
doesn't seem to be adding up to my thesaurus.
Dear **** boy
Where have you gone
I've been calling and texting
but you still haven't picked up the phone.
When you said let's be friends was this a
signal for the end.
Dear **** boy what is heartbreak…
Don’t know here's the answer
loving you.
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 3:31 PM UTC
for logic to work, certain coordination words must be excluded from ever attain a thesaurus privilege, certain words must attain the same consistency as numbers already present, for worded logic to work, certain words cannot entertain synonyms or antonyms, and must be freed from the shackles of sophistry.
can one animate object truly objectify another
animate object?
i ask, because this supposed feminist
narrative of man objectifying a woman
seems rather bogus -
as i have to reiterate -
can an animate object truly objectify
another animate object?
i "think" (i.e. "i" deny) this to be
highly unlikely, near impossible...
i am innately inclined to the puritanical
observation,
that i can only objectify an inanimate object,
point being: a man can no more
objectify a woman than an animate
object can make an animate an inanimate
object without having to subject himself
to hammering a nail into a plank of wood:
using a hammer.
how can an animate object (a man)
objectify another animate object (a woman) -
without, first of all objectifying a part of him
as quasi-inanimate, namely his phallus?
women do not seem to be complaining
about objectification of a woman,
rather, a man objectifying his member -
and isn't that the point, to posses an object
that you're not subject to obeying?
once more how can a woman
be objectified, when in fact man is
attempting to de-subjective himself from
his genitalia?
an animate object can't
objectify an animate object -
since the contradiction is:
both are in animation...
the only time objectification
happens is when an animate object
subject an inanimate object into a purpose...
a hammer is hardly a woman,
while is hammer one-dimensional,
a woman is either mother, sister, vice,
a one night stand, a girlfriend, or a wife...
women are never objectified -
they are subject to the self-objectifiction
of man, by man alone...
and if you think that's post-modernist jargon,
let me spell it out for you:
T, O, G, E, T, A, H, A, R, D, O, N.
objectification happens when an animate
object subjects / encompasses an inanimate
object into a subject of the animate object's
intent...
unless of course you care to disclose
a fetish for necrophilia...
since only in necrophilia are women actually
objectified.
Nov 3, 2017
Nov 3, 2017 at 8:34 PM UTC
Maelstrom of emotion emboldening an eye opening betokening of an attitude full of alluring arousal
Walking thesaurus as fluid as a notable chorus playing in accordance with an authentic Baroque performance; silver-tongued eloquent deliveries enthusing an amusing musing
Roaring reassurance of being on the prospect of procuring central evidence - the preciousness within choosing a gained conscientiousness approach promotes an unadulterated antidote
Introspection of one’s predilections stirred the modern, robust direction toward the recollection of a pristine, internal haven nurturing relaxation and crystallization.
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 11:37 AM UTC
To keep a poet happy
First off... naturally...
You must give him time
Time to write
Time to rhyme
And three square stanzas
Every day
Keeping his writer's block
At bay...
**His pen and paper
Must be fixed
Or a computer
In the mix
A thesaurus
A rhyming dictionary
Or perhaps the classic writing
Of a visionary...**
Don't forget the light
To see his words
You also have to listen
He wants to be heard!
Some structure and a clock
To see the time
Avoid writer's block
And help him rhyme...
**Here is the recipe
For his feeding
If he has the block
He needs to be eating!
A pinch of metaphor
A splash of color
An image or two
Then add another!**
*But dissing folks
Has NO allure...
Nobody wants to eat
MANURE !!!*
The Girl Who Loved.You
SoulSurvivor
(C) October 10, 2014
Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 1:39 AM UTC
I’m not a hideous wall flower;
school girl steam pleat, designer girl,
Nike or Jordon’s silly Preteen, air heads
I’m gifted, provocative,
I am the teen princess.
I able to fuss, blush and rebel,
I’m awkward, backward,
I am Peppy long stocking;
I’m all that!
I am teen of the pack;
I am not likely to turn back
I am your commercial, billboard cover story
Smarter than you can imagine,
I am passionate,
but a little old fashion, yet modern,
bold and witty,
Oh yes!
I’m so ambitious, super delicious, super fly
with an upbeat modernize Hollywood red carpet style
I speak in a youthful way;
that’s my urban thesaurus
I am not curse, the curse that invades your privacy,
sometimes, I am sluggish and downright lazy?
I am mommy baby and Daddy maybe
However, I’m no wall flower
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 7:11 AM UTC
Love mourner
Angst angler
Thesaurus eyer
Rip-rapper
Suet idler
Dream creamer
Cascade scribbler
Intro-pee-er
Guts gusher
Endorphinater
Sonnet snoozer
Trochee tripper
Iambic lamer
Spondee sniveler
Whisper whipper
Music quencher
Apt-less adjectiver
Yeast yearner
Simile stitcher
Metaphor monger
Exclaimationizer!
Nov 1, 2010
Nov 1, 2010 at 7:58 PM UTC
***** purple prose
Who does it think it is,
Looking all beautiful just because
Of flowery, sugar-coated words
Someone plucked from a thesaurus?
It's very much like a woman
Who, let's say, in one man's eyes
Is very pretty if and only if
Makeup cakes her face
To conceal dull features underneath
And that's where we writers are wrong, see
Your message can still be portrayed beautifully
Without long words one would find difficult to spell or pronounce
It's all about the raw emotion
And how we can manipulate a reader's feelings
Now, I'm not trying to say
That our generation is a dumbed-down audience
Keeping it to the point is what really gets us on our toes
But I guess if purple prose is your thing
Well, each to his/her own
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 12:59 PM UTC
Words long as
The sea
You are above
Every
Articulate
Aspect
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 5:27 PM UTC
my breakfast of thesaurus
and chorus.
as to not miss
that quick bliss,
moment
of genius.
forcing wit; i’m done with it.
i lay in bed and moan:
"mouth was a blue sash of rain
raining convocations of flesh."
like Sonia Sanchez said in her poem
to Nina Simone.
“owls coo, only see blue,
and through storm windows,
they yawn like nothing’s new."
what did my words just do to you?
i hate all the rhyming
all the timing.
the
whining.
all this meditating
and levitating.
but if you don’t swat the fly,
you become the fly.
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 8:40 AM UTC
Words are a fickle thing.
They claim those faint of heart,
Destroying those heathenish men,
Who dare try to control the world
Through the power of words.
Those who try are instantly conquered
By the omniscient dictionary,
Destroyed by their constant use of a thesaurus,
And taken over by attempting mimicking another man’s voice,
Instead of trying to find their own.
They fail because they write for the wrong reasons.
They fail because of their selfishness.
They fail because they want fame.
They fail because their words are…
Lifeless….
Hopeless...
Stubborn…
Their words refuse to conform to their ideas.
Their words punish their minds with sleepless nights,
Over their horrid word choice.
Crush their dreams with metaphor upon metaphor.
Win over their imaginations by continuous simile stacking.
Imagine if you would,
Attempting to perform heart surgery,
With a sledge hammer,
While a hungry lion is in the room,
And you’re in your underpants.
That is the challenge that these miserly men face
When they sit at their desks, with their pens twirling,
And their minds racing, asking why their characters
Are like puppets with no puppeteer.
Why their poems have no reason.
Why their words truly have no power.
When you write, think not about what you want to accomplish.
Don’t think about what will make people stir.
Think about what you feel.
Feel your heart pound and your soul quake.
When your words make you want to dance,
That’s when you know that you wrote something worthwhile.
Because it made sense to you, someone else will feel it.
Someone else will know exactly what you mean.
Always remember that your first draft comes from the heart.
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 4:19 PM UTC
aesthetic is etiquette
is:
what is & isn't
either:
yet is both: in that they
are the same:
disparaging meanings...
nouns: the source
of ultimate meaning,
crux words...
and the source of
the thesaurus...
i wasn't looking
for a mathematical
conflation of grammar
either...
but...
aesthetic ≠ etiquette...
but...
it does! to keep up
with the formality
of norm, of power,
then
(the)
aesthetic = (the) etiquette,
but there is no "the"
to begin with...
yet...
if the aesthetic ≠ the etiquette...
why, either?!
dumb questions usually
prescribe
a continued willing
to perpetuate:
unquestioned...
hence the dumb questions...
my dumb question
lacks any elaborate ploy
to topple the status quo
for the sole reason that...
my alternative
matches
no genius of the originator
basis...
wordings are not
simply chanced to
be worth debating
a miscarriage
of implementing
the averted coin-flip...
(funny, how the articles
prop up,
miraculously)...
etiquette?
a macabre variety
of aesthetic...
nothing more...
but... etiquette is
still subordinate of
aesthetic...
isn't it?
hardly:
etiquette is still
subordinate off
aesthetic...
is it?!
a month spent
in a monastery of a novel...
cradle these words
unto a course
of nullification...
if i'd utter them in
a clutter of sparrows:
i'd be a equivalent to a mute
stone...
if i'd utter them in
a lion's harem:
i'd be a cat's meow (if not less)...
if i'd utter them in
the crow's shamanism
of all shadows...
i'd still be less
the croaking hark
of a voice that
might dictate: obey...
so...
so...
ah...
was kommen:
was ist...
und alles was:
ich, ich sterben...
ich war geboren?
ich war
nie sein: geboren....
ich war sein: sterben!
Jan 17, 2019
Jan 17, 2019 at 8:33 PM UTC
I want to write a bad poem
A cringe worthy, generic, forgettable poem
Maybe something along the lines of...
...your bruised arms around me
left a hole where my heart should have been....
That was a good first attempt at bad, I reckon.
I shall litter said poem with words I found in a thesaurus,
(iridescent, luminous, diabolical, sacrilegious, egregious etc.)
and elements of nature,
(infinite blue skies, bubbling starfish pond, burnt autumn leaves)
and vague ****** references,
(satin bedsheets, steamy phone booths, glistening skin)
and unremarkable idiosyncrasies of past lovers
(you always filled your pockets with loose change;
you always peeled the apple bottom-up;
you always blahd the blooh blah with your blah-like personality)
and lastly,
but most importantly,
the stray allusions to a life of tortuous heartache and unfulfilled dreams.
Zzzzzzzzzzz
Sep 10, 2010
Sep 10, 2010 at 5:18 PM UTC
I’m a written and published open book,
you just have to read past the first chapter.
You skimmed the pages and took a look
at the last line to see if there was a happily ever after.
But like most things it’s up to interpretation,
left open ended in way for a hopeful sequel,
‘cause like all things true it’s plagued with complication,
but our story has no end and it has no equal.
And you, you were my favourite memoir,
your depth lined the thesis of a never ending essay.
I became inspired so I held an impromptu seminar,
a whole panel to if your picture was sepia or artistically grey.
I memorized every single thing you said,
every cryptic metaphor, every perfect rhyme.
I’ve lost count of how often that I’ve fully read,
and I still don’t understand after all of this time.
You’re a novel and I’m a novelty,
but you need a title; what should it be?
I’ve been writing you so that the whole world can see,
the way you shine bright effortlessly.
You were my own personal thesaurus and dictionary,
providing different words to dress up each thought.
You’re a first and only edition; what a rarity,
laced with metaphors and satire that’s barely caught.
You’re what Shakespeare aspired to always write,
and you accomplished it simply by being born.
I’d translate you to brail so those without sight,
could hear about you and the beauty they now mourn.
You’re a novel and I’m a novelty,
no need to proofread, no cause for editing.
I’ve been writing you so that the whole world can see,
the way you shine bright, always illuminating.
I’m a prologue,
and we’re the conclusion.
My authors note; the words of a demagogue,
but the details still lack any illusion.
You’re a novel and I’m a novelty,
I’ve memorized every word and dissected them cautiously.
I’ve been writing you so the whole world can see,
and once they skim the synopsis; they’ll never stop reading.
Jan 20, 2019
Jan 20, 2019 at 8:13 AM UTC
Speaking is an art
words like paint
we smear and spread out our ideas onto canvas
If you paint too fast-
**** it
you might make a mistake
Did you know paint can expire?
you think come one, paint?
paint can't go bad!
then you try and use it and its separated and chunky
and boom
your whole piece is ruined.
Words can expire too.
did you know that?
phrases and metaphors age turn ugly and contaminating just like the paint
they might have been usable once, but now
you'd better get some new words.
Like, when referring to someone who uses a wheelchair
people don't say they're crippled.
because that word has expired!
The same way simpleton was used to
refer to someone with intellectual disabilities
was is the key word there.
please for the love of god don't call anyone a simpleton
Lunatic was once used to refer to people with psychiatric disabilities
don't say the teacher who gave you homework on a Friday is a lunatic!
******** was used to refer to people with intellectual disabilities
but now you should NOT call anyone or anything ********
because it is inappropriate and insulting
This isn't about taking away your words
it's about what you are taking away from people with disabilities
when you use language like that.
what you are stripping away from people
when you decide to use a word like
*******
gimp
deformed
disfigured
Freak
insane
lame
******
*****
spaz
stupid
whacko
Knock it off!
when you decide to use those words
it takes away from anyone who has a disability
or anyone who every will.
Use a different word
use swear words
find a thesaurus.
Get some new **** paint
Jan 17, 2020
Jan 17, 2020 at 5:19 PM UTC
after witty humour, which spawned slapstick... slapstick can only spawn the last of the known humours... the offensive type, the 'get me out of this straithjacket of everything's fine apathy,' the ugly humour... rude humour... i take oaths humour... i rather write a swear word to oil up than degrade myself with thesaurus usage humour.
why is poetry such a ***** of coding
daily activity...
who needs poetry if the everyday is intact?
atheism didn’t **** god...
it merely killed the logic of myth....
atheism is far worse than mythology...
it just regurgitates facts
to make you submit to them
without the necessary philosophical awe of
finding them interesting...
poetry isn’t dead... it’s a *****
which is worse than death where i come from...
there’s ezra with his fountain comparison:
‘i ****** in it... and put pigmenting chlorine in it -
you **** in it... streaks of blue... i think
that’s called cubism in france.’
did i say alcoholism was engineered by the nazis
for the bomb sarcasm?
cheap humour you say... ah well slapstick was invented
after sarcasam...
i heard the new best anti-ageing cream was butter rather than l’oreal -
there are too many stages in the differences of women,
i quite like the summer spring autumn winter thing going...
it’s like this thing that’s happening right now...
christian nations censor words... like **** cultish **** of the brothel...
and islamic nations invoke words... like kefir (sour milk,
not quite youghurt), dawah... adhan salat abraham...
one party censors words for excess *****
saying: ‘we don’t like swear words in accomplished spelling,
we like dyslexia and **** teen **** graphic...’
sounds about right...
the other party says: ‘we hate censoring ***** words,
that’s doubly censoring,
censor ***** words get more dirt out of it...
we invoke the power of arabic to teach koran latin for
the knobs!’
problem sorted... we’re all power brokers of spelling /
punctuation / arithmetic -
that’s what i don’t get,
the ratio of the two languages...
all you have in the digits A to Z is spelling and punctuation...
but what you have in the digits ZERO to NINE
is so much more...
is grammar a castle that’s keeping certain functions out?
in mathematics you have +, x, obelisk, -, square root, etc.
but in linguistics you have this permament reminder:
SPELL RIGHT FROM WRONG AND RITE FROM THONG.
well... ****** me timbers...
i think i just spotted a lumberjack chequers tweed jacket.
Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 8:49 PM UTC