Local minima, observed, googled, poked:
The hot spots and the cold spots and the landscapes between them.
The axis that most e/affects them?
Random old poem that's been sitting in my drafts forever finally finds its time to live
bitch be quiet
and let the undisciplined walk the earth as defeated
may the lord pump his mercy in hopefully infinite delicious direction:
as they, the unlightened
trod upon others
so shall you so trod upon them
and your children for generations
will be Chinese living fireworks
tripping on returning to their deadman posts
as the future pays attention
brittle fractals bits of sunlight pierce sticky lids
your face is too warm
The devil's in the details
I watched you facetilt, speedfilmtime
moveme 'rupting disneyblossom
lovetrance deathflirt firecrackerdreambeauty
Caught snakedance growingyou ci'cadian
Riskward lifeboogie crotchthrob relent'ittle
Dug your shedskin newburst
Watched your rehatchbeforebegintual
Regad your rebirth
Grokked your monologue, I think
I'm proud of you
Sheepshit you riskstate permafrost
Composted blindface zygotemonkey you;
mozarted potent triggered repeatsynchtimes of
cannonized lovegiving fatherprune opensun
Venturisqueezed you free outwardcycle
into unstatic mefreedom
while you nailed your ubertests
come to sacredcows
Love to see you fly babe
like I love you do
You know why like you're a bad kid
She'd be perfect if it weren't for her beautiful yumminess
the other one
I'm so stoked to really see you
Pataphors and the relevancy chain of reality or Through a lens
Rolling uphill, the ball is in a state of negative kinetic transgression, convicted to retrograde backstepping, momentum loss and vector reversal, its confession is beaten out of it (roundly) by a drummer, in triplets.
The pot calls the kettle a blip of anthropology, a temporary configuration of molecules, a tool.
The noise finds great meaning in himself, but is alone. His wife and children look to him for more than his paycheck, but he misses the haunting melody he imagined himself to be, once.
The man meditates, becoming an owl. He can fly at night without anything noticing or caring, unless he kills it.
Sleep comes slowly to those who are overly obsessed by their waking life. Waking comes early to those who find dreams overly confounding, tomorrow too exciting. Not cats.
A beautiful girl thinking about a beautiful boy thinking about something he is reminded of because the birds sound like they are talking to him.
Slo-mo Suicide Bomber
This gunned distribution engine
cosmic contraption of contextual content
just disturbing enough
With warlike focus we evolve ourselves
innovative means of meme capitalization
broadscale boilingpoint disruption viruses
we happy godlike lambs
The masses adoring the free
herculean harems of digital succubi
rolling waves of distributed processing and storage
We are creating the eternal generation
concrete and ephemeral
babies in straight jackets
we are our own immune system
the catastrophic cancer that cures
Rungs of metainsurance and fine print
on ladders of DRM and monetary interest
push through cirrus clouds of open source servers
and see beyond
The fishes of culture in oceanic petri dishes of RAM
Tomorrow you will be plugged into something else entirely
the 'trodes feel cold and metallic
as they slide beside my eyes
guided by vices
they bury their heads in the whore of my hippocampus
tickling, they arch my back, roll my eyes
i am aware as something alive dances from my mouth
i am helpless to stop it
in my bliss
i assume a posture
and breathe, she wants detail
teeth shattering bucking coming seizure be damned i reach and
find her eye
her command and only wish
here is only my jacket's locked and warm self embrace
here is only thank you padded wall
the screen shows merciless mirthless laughter nonsense
plains of cracked plains open and swallow, openly swallowed
my arm tickles the wired end of one of my antennae
jaw locked screaming
i am nailed woman pierced by metal
in my vision i am history
in my vision i'm in an orgy of the living
in my vision i control everything
and am good at it
and then i pull them out
Through the hole
I look and do not focus.
You butterflit in sun across the stage of my closed eyes
stretched and spinning, complex.
I let you drift to a corner of the world
and force myself to look away
as you fall off the edge.
I can't see what I'm staring at
You reveal your source, and I don't think you know it
I know too little
but the brightness
and the beginning of what's behind you.
Anti-deluded and not sleeping well
Not dead yet and
Nothing is not happening
It's not unloaded
I won't hurt you
I don't do that
I am a bad parent, because I haven't
A not unhappy
Seeks unburned out
Sex and sweet nothings
No Problemo - The World's First Rhyming Haiku
They have been controlling our AM for decades.
One day they will look at our filesystems and TREMBLE with awe!
Little creatures, bristling with communication devices and new, exciting hormones.
A working knowledge of spacetime and a few spare revolutions.
The Legacy of the Plurals.