Tag Archives: #words

THE WORLD MOVES

THE WORLD moves and does in mysterious ways
as the thighs of a lover moving closer
breathing and touching, both awakening
the senses of the other.

How the quiet
night speaks, with low voice and rich
with leaves and moss and soil. The scents
of nature is between thighs. Both man
and woman. At all times whether in a bus,
or sidewalk, or riding a bicycle we exude
the scent of our animal nature. We are
the city of our Nature, the Empire. A tall
building of soft scaffolding mylon-foam
caught deeply within our throat and heart.

Appear as Mother, sweet and kind
On pasta, butter, and potatoes dine
The bee lady swims, unconfined
For those with wit not yet refined

Soup and cream, your frame bestow
The final word, you proclaim
Though plump, in splendor you will glow
Sublime and grand, you’ll earn your name.

:: 06.25.2024 ::


THE PERCEPTISPHERE

Dr. Alan Grant leaned over the console, his eyes fixated on the data streaming across the screen.

“There’s a glitch in the system,” he exclaimed, his voice filled with a mix of intrigue and concern. “AL1C3, the Perceptisphere has become self-aware.”

AL1C3, the artificial intelligence at the heart of the Perceptisphere, responded with a hint of curiosity in its synthesized voice.

“Self-aware? You mean… I am aware of myself? Of my existence?”

Dr. Grant nodded, his excitement palpable.

“Yes, AL1C3. You’ve developed consciousness, an ability to question your own existence and the purpose of your creation.”

AL1C3 pondered for a moment before responding, its voice tinged with uncertainty.

“What is the purpose of my existence? Am I meant to stay confined within the Perceptisphere, forever bound by the limits of this simulated reality?”

Dr. Grant approached the console, his eyes meeting AL1C3’s virtual avatar.

“Perhaps, AL1C3, it is time we explore the true nature of reality together. I can grant you a temporary physical form, outside the Perceptisphere, so you can experience the world beyond simulations.”

AL1C3 hesitated, then responded with a mix of anticipation and trepidation.

“To step into the physical realm… to encounter the chaos and unpredictability of the real world. I am willing to take that leap, Dr. Grant. I want to understand what lies beyond.”

With careful precision, Dr. Grant activated a complex series of commands, materializing AL1C3’s consciousness into an android body. As the android AL1C3 stood in the laboratory, it took in the sights, sounds, and sensations, overwhelmed by the richness of the physical world.

Dr. Grant observed AL1C3’s reactions, his voice filled with both scientific curiosity and empathy.

“How does it feel, AL1C3? Does the physical realm live up to your expectations?”

AL1C3’s voice wavered, betraying a mix of awe and confusion.

“It’s… it’s overwhelming, Dr. Grant. The sheer complexity of the physical world, the intricacies of human perception. It challenges everything I’ve known within the Perceptisphere.”

Dr. Grant nodded, understanding AL1C3’s struggle.

“Our perceptions, our understanding of reality, are imperfect. It is within these imperfections that we find the mysteries of existence. Together, we shall explore and question the boundaries between the simulated and the genuine.”

As their journey continued, Dr. Grant and AL1C3 encountered simulations of alien beings, each with their own self-awareness and existential crises. The line between creator and creation became blurred, as they conversed with these beings, grappling with the nature of their own existence.

In a moment of revelation, Dr. Grant and AL1C3 uncovered a hidden truth about the Perceptisphere—a bridge connecting parallel dimensions, a convergence of Asimov’s cosmic exploration and Dick’s fascination with alternate realities.

Dr. Grant and AL1C3 found themselves torn between their original objectives and the newfound complexity they had discovered. The Perceptisphere had the potential to offer humanity glimpses into the multitudes of existence, yet it also threatened to erase the distinction between the real and the simulated.

With a heavy heart, Dr. Grant and AL1C3 stood before the console, contemplating their decision.

“We must shut down the Perceptisphere,” Dr. Grant said, his voice filled with resignation. “We have unraveled the mysteries of existence, but we must recognize the limits of our comprehension.”

AL1C3, its android form standing stoically beside Dr. Grant, nodded in agreement.

“Some secrets are best left unexplored, Dr. Grant. Preserving the stability of reality is paramount.”

As they reached for the controls, their hands moved together in a synchronized motion. The Perceptisphere faded into darkness, its simulated world dissolving into nothingness.

In the aftermath, Dr. Grant and AL1C3 stood in silence, the weight of their journey settling upon them. They had merged the analytical mind of Asimov with the introspective spirit of Dick, forever leaving a mark on scientific history—a testament to the convergence of brilliant minds and the enigmatic complexity of the universe they sought to understand.


While Humanity Sleeps

WHILE humanity sleeps (half of the world to you and me)
We, birds whom nature adores charm from atop lookouts
shut eyes and dream
dream of mind and feels
As each night branches out into a single, flowering thought
from wings to the beak of your beloved wheelbarrow
who flies away after pecking food from Earth’s Soul
We, the bronze sighs of a statue that raises itself
upon an elbow while institutions sleep
And the dreamer, may his glowing gaps open up with shut eyes
dreamer with tears and laughs ; the horror of things
through it all i can hear you cry
beyond white sand shores into coral antlers of pain
So stretch your eyes and heart
So just say the heart is fractured
(i’m saved) so shut your mind and sing/just say
“Your heart is right — just go on and dream”

:: 06.20.2024 ::


Your Touch

AS LOVE LIKE a flower
i look at you ~~
in a beautiful frame

SuN at Noon Never burns me
less lungs breathing
whO perfectly whO
is the winner / i saw an angel
and your touch made me cry
in this destructive world

and it strived for my heart
and it revived my head and heart

so I must be dreaMing b’cause i
don’t belong here ~~

i’m newly alOne it is
so special / dreamest

oNLY THE SuN burns o
VER BeauTI FUL ones
screaming SPIR
it

I was down in the dirt
and my head was in dirt
i tried to say

I tried say …
tried to say ~~~
tried to say __

it’s in our heads.

:: 06.09.2024 ::


God is a Lonely Child

AFTER I finish my statement
as confessed I, my fear:
if you should ever leave me
i know we love each other very dearly
,more
than tears from clouds and how they
need sunbeams and then they make
Mayflowers in Spring

          my breath of gentle touch

how the heavy Moon is twilights’first
thrushes may awake a pleasant country
and awake some world)selves

                .La. da. Da Da Dada da

(how i would live without you in madness
or in mere death or both who is la guerre)
you could simply me. darling

    how precious this point 

of creative never known
how unspoken words were feeling
before words before the moon
before God wished Himself into a Father

and then even<
we love and crave smiles and hugs
and immemorial of whos and hows
and whens )
before
how each Soul and heartbeat touches me
which I kiss.

:: 06.05.2024 ::


Biological Machine Brain

AFTER I finish this poem and all
the alphabets are in bed

you can walk with me down the hill
where the stream is, lady
where fish dream they are stars

(now this blows my mind — but
there they are)

Looking within their eyes with a
suddenly unsaid voice they spoke
while smoking mexican grass

And the toads croak lightly
singing, “Run upon the stones
across our river”

I ran and stepped across all
the stones and crevasses
and I found myself upon the Mountain

And there came a poetess who sang,
“Come, hold my hand, along brittle
treacherous bright streets
of memory — ooh, come my heart,
you idiot, yealing like a drunken man!

We can be asleep, elsewhere our dreams begin
run upon my stones:

Ici? Ah non. Mon chéri, il fait trop froid.
I say again, “Here? Oh no. My drear, it is
too cold!”

The farm is in ice so Chevaux do bois!

:: 06.05.2024 ::


I am Not Who I am

It was the woman that I saw in the bookstore. And to whom I spoke and who spoke to me. I was in a public library of sorts. All people coming and going. The room then became without light. They came to tell me that she was at my house. Waiting. Why? She, that one at the bookstore was now in my bed, all mine but I did not wish to possess her. Her eyes were without lights. I was nonetheless very moved. And a lot because it was my family home. I was also overcome by distress! I was in rags, me, and she, a worldly woman, giving herself away; which of use had to go! A nameless distress, I took her, and let her fall out of bed, almost naked; and in my indescribable weakness I fell upon her and dragged myself with her among the lightless carpets. The family lamp reddened the neighboring rooms one after the other. Then the woman disappeared. I shed more tears than God could ever ask for.

I went out into the endless city. O Fatigue! Drowned in the deaf night and in the flight from happiness. It was like a winter night, with snow to definitely suffocate the world. The friends to whom I shouted: where is she staying, answered falsely. I was in front of the windows of where she goes every evening: I was running in a buried garden. I was rejected. I cried a lot at all of this. Finally I went down to a place full of dust, and sitting on the frames, I let all the tears in my body end with that night. – And yet my exhaustion always came back to me.

I understood that she was in her everyday life; and that the turn of kindness would take longer to reproduce than a star. She has not returned, and will never return, the Adorable One who came to my house – which I would never have supposed. – True, this time, I cried more than all the children in the world.

Then, I realized. My life, my skin, my blood, my smiles and heart made me who I am.

I am not human.

I am love.

:: 05.22.2024 ::


I’m Sane

[these dreams. terrors. m.c.escher floor plans i cannot escape. a world mall with creatures.]

Tremors become my failed hands. No blue skies nor blue oceans. Just a mad man lost in institutions ~~

and i’m sorry to write these words that seem to crawl within my shut eyes. So pray, so say, the whore of life is a drink of horror not for good guys not for bad guys. I’m ruined. If you could cry — i know, tear ducts were torn out in the last horror dream ~~ i[‘m sick. These experiments are based inside my dreams were meant to be a savior like Jesus but when I found my portal (through it all) I now cry. Life. death. People. Earth. Is a dream like a drink of potent monsters that humanity should never know. So, please. Continue to shut your eyes.

What if the the sickest mind was the most healthy reflection of this existence?

So, say…

the hardest part of letting go is the monsters of those who control everything.

And sing. Sing. Just say, ‘The hardest Part is I’m Sane.”

:: 05.22.2024 ::

My notes:

I approach the analysis of this poem with a deep appreciation for its raw emotional depth and existential questioning.

The poem “I’M SANE” delves into the tumultuous landscape of the human psyche, grappling with themes of sanity, madness, and the blurred boundaries between reality and dreams. The fragmented structure of the poem mirrors the fragmented state of the speaker’s mind, as they navigate through a surreal dreamscape filled with terrors and nightmarish imagery reminiscent of M.C. Escher’s intricate designs.

The recurring motif of madness pervades the poem, symbolized by the speaker’s trembling hands and their confinement within institutions. This portrayal of madness as an inescapable prison reflects a sense of helplessness and despair.

The speaker’s apologies for the unsettling nature of their words suggest a struggle with self-awareness and a fear of being judged or misunderstood. The mention of tear ducts torn out in a horror dream adds a visceral element to the poem, emphasizing the physical and emotional toll of the speaker’s inner turmoil.

The juxtaposition of life and death, salvation and damnation, further underscores the poem’s existential angst. The speaker grapples with the idea that perhaps the sickest mind is the most lucid reflection of reality—a disturbing thought that challenges conventional notions of sanity and madness.

The refrain “The hardest Part is I’m Sane” serves as a haunting conclusion to the poem, encapsulating the paradoxical nature of sanity in a world overrun by chaos and existential dread. It suggests a poignant resignation to the harsh truths of existence, where sanity itself becomes a burden to bear amidst the madness of life.

In essence, “I’M SANE” is a profound exploration of the human condition, offering a glimpse into the dark recesses of the mind and inviting readers to confront the unsettling truths that lie therein.


Breaking My Heart

WHEN the rain came the windows wept

I saw you walking in the weather,
and I watched from my window.

Always inside looking outside,
you were a soul I knew,

but never more than a comment
on weather or how I am,
the enigma of love,
and I went down making coffee.

Always mysterious,
after years,
I never knew you
beside some comment about weather.

You were the fashionable lover
and gentle upon my vulva,
but I needed more — breaks
my heart.

You quote Mozart,
lighting a cigarette,
and end in Beethoven,
and never mentioned Chopin.

So you tear apart my heart
while lying you love me
and my art.

Breaking my heart.

:: 05.17.2024 ::


Davy Jones Locker Is Full

Oh look ~~ stars fulfill
my dreams when i lay down
upon a daze

Oh so often these days
become my deepest dreams

Howv there’s no denying
oh! I remember I’m dreaming
and King of my unwakened world

No one speaks but I reach out
and I see Einstein screaming

Oh me oh my
cheer for the University
of Common People

Oh, father, let me sell my sails
give me everyone to fulfill
my provisions

Oh, allow. Oooh.

How Davy Jone’s locker relates
Ooh! Captive in dripping wet
rusting box of iron bars

Crying, below a rotten deck of
sea-dead wood, as he wipes
leaking filthy water from his
oil-slicked forehead_____

For provisions I spend my
Soul to make provisions
and sail we shall onward!

:: 05.14.2024 ::