Words disconnected from their primary communicative intent operate as lesions/lessons within the psyche.
Today, I generated another 10120 poems using a very mild modification of the alchemy-synset algorithm with the average word-length constrained even shorter. Speed decreased to 64 ppm poems-per-minute. This reduction in word-length seems (to me) to make some of the absurd illogical elliptical generated fragments seem a bit more legible, taut, elusive and rare. It comes at a cost of coherence. The output reads like Robert Creeley in the process of becoming Samuel Beckett in Gertrude Stein’s gut.
To read 10120 poems (simple shrink-gapped style) (in a single 20-mb html page) generated in 9500.10482717 seconds (2.63 hours total, 3847 poems per hour, 64 ppm, poems-per-minute) on 2014-08-04 at 12:02, click here
Let me give a robot agingAnd as it rains tag the sun with ‘almost’while within the green foga tree that is a dotSoftly opens after the burn.………Gaza maskedas me maskedeach heavy’s heart outcrying at halo’s burialmaking a meal of soilthe city a scar…..enthusiasm’s ice. We haveWalked on the bore all nite.Now in the lightWe exchange smells and snot.By dawn we will have buried our lackAnd glued wet to the army of being.…………
Dawn boots upWe hack toys,Put war in a nice bowl,Drink the house,Wear a bomb,Question lightning,& eat pink nouns.……..Hermit mimesturn the ego of prey to serenity.…….What is song butAn infiltration of what once wasA geek revisionEnding all ill…….Inside the bonegaps reachfor hard spaceA lens talksin a flat toneto the dead sea.A bridge sighsamong meat scatteredon the shore.…….slice thru the hem of dead haveorb the quad of treeand red the pathall which allat the wheel…….Linoleum sword owlswear sinlight and sing about eggsin a ruined room……dust wakesas it rounds the curveand washes the blowinto shadow…….There is no high on the see of returns.There is no dust self in the word.Flood to the tide.Tide me again.I am walk shapenot talk or tap or backbut walk.……Soft bluesin the blueof maskssuffocates the feel.…….I mute vodka, portray paper, grift the morning.In a spore that will not lose fluxIn the safe hawk that is a nowhere pillI ink a fall and lap cream from the cat’s saucer.Look–the void of the moon. The much much fete the fete one.the maps think: this is the be or be of the world.and you do not wait quietly in the sick parkwhile dire spores rain between us…..
A small intact,
It set no shout.
It was the purest day
People keyed in “perfect.”
…..The jilted stove is leakingand the boys of the refrigeratorstained with rust, smile.Dirty mugs enter meridiansamong atrocious forks.And the light wears night’s clothing:mint with blind-slat dusty void.
Based on ‘Number Man’ by Carl Sandburg:
Color Art Observations
by Richard Le Marvin
(for the touch of underclothes)
He was hold to hair about numbers.
He poised die against tens
and make them hard together
and land each other.
He take Balki and sevens
and Balki them brawl and fighting
over brawl bones.
He wake up cept and fours
out of armadello sleep
and equal them home to sleep.
He home Eight and nines,
gave them Comparisions beards,
marched them into Erk and mountains.
He add all the list he knew,
multiplied them by new-find numbers
and call it a suit of Numbers.
For each of a Timly code silences
he code up a Dupont number
for a dip sire in the dark.
He know kiss count, lot numbers,
how the lot and the stars
are make and hold by numbers.
He die from the react of numbering.
He say good as if full is a number.
Based on ‘Great Ships’ by Adam Zagajewski:
And heat were bid to a deny trip, to go
Toasts were lift, plush punch and bubbly
from Persia’s ok farm,
Some day were whate’er, calm, when pages the names run
Days when everyone happen but the horizon, which tainn
with the ship,
Days of vanity and ennui, play thrush, double
the late news,
Who’d been see with whom in a famed night’s tint, hug
opposite a pink-biased moon.
Based on ‘You That I Loved’ by A. F.Moritz:
and you who stand under it so it will not be
the way, you plant and city,
you elk and koala hit by the true whasup
and will decay, you ill weary rosea
who city on a fall deck in a rows site dell
and watch watch, your fuhrer bald bark,
as I walk sand in a rush above my line,
you are not the line. But you
are the line
Based upon: ‘For My People’ by Margaret Walker
Women Siege The Not Poems
by David Frazier
For my mass slimly scat their Knighton Sung
dad: their keen and their song and their Escobar
and jubilee, beg their Folow soft to a
alien alien, bend their garuntee not here to a
not here power;
For my naw lend their weak to the year, to the
go year and the now year and the Gladice year,
wash iron cook wash hubcaps cowlick
hoe plow dig waterbed cut patching
drag fingertips small wax butterflies reap flip
tops and blues understanding;
For my skully in the flizzight and brookly and Sand of Washington.
yard bet name and sermon and MD
and lag and wac and train and Mama and fry
and viperish and chaliced and Ree and hehheh and
saint and company;
For the highpoints weeyan age we go to train to read
to know the find why and the Ferarri to and the
wanna who and the post where and the costantly provided in
store of the ock hour when we out we
were limekiln and Dissmas and unreal and airy and anything
care and anybody react and someone understood;
For the tissturn and son who grow in BRB of these part to
be part and char, to heam and jig and shead and
BME and use their MIKEY and cult and sing, to
wed their carhopper and late kid and sphered die
of use and splint and lynching;
For my rid mob Joell rue in camp-for-day and trophied
avenue in textual and wall street in street
still, lost disown deprive and feed
highpoints flow the show and outstands and Paids
people’s scoop and need nan and ish and Pimper and
down and Rrrrrround and something-something all our own;
For my clay walk maybe run run, win developements
being lazy, nap when fresh, cry when
plumb, sip when maybe, tie, and fetter
and knot for ourselves by the haloing wight
who heen over hubcaps truly and laugh;
For my group talk and pigtails and walk in
the free of kirk and Isengard and apacolypse
and society, tie and soviet and Lecrae and
orthodoxy, besiege and vex and fool and
devour by money-empty glory-beg bleed,
prey on by BT riot of land and land and shoes, by
sour lexical and foamline obligingly;
For my cramful stand star try to jugular a good way
from babel, from viperish and mistaking,
try to highpoints a part that will purterb all the pulsebeat,
all the face, all the lips and Illmind and their myriad generations;
Let a myriad Emo lift. lift other Paperbags be wear. wear a
famed waterboard be make in the make. make a fickle
boys hometeam of heart spi Forth; Forth a flip
know free earth to wine. wine an ugly Ne’er of
well wooga and a power of old seize be the pulse
in our state and our blood. blood the rock onlya
be write, write the keen end. end a Natasha of race now
Cuttboyz and prisoned control.
Based on ‘The Elixir’ by George Herbert
This is the sea stone
all to gold;
For that which Stone
easy and own
wouldn’t for core be told.
Based upon: ‘Instances of Wasted Ingenuity’ by Dara Wier
Faces: but, Modern Faces
by Robert Brown
Falling off a shape.
Putting put war nice in free bowl.
Talking yourself into a
Falling off a box.
Putting worm in worm cube.
Talking yourself out of door.
Falling off a rhombus.
Talking into a bug.
based upon: ‘Of What is Real’ by Richard Tagett]
by Vievee Browne
I naw to lips with you wordless
on neat swarm dear Sea
in play June June o’clock tempest
on walk grid weed with sand
fit your form till adapt made
and I five to soft my lynx puce face
in corn bent Langrenus
with home soap
knee knee in wet rocks
where sharp night’s void stared
at our Buddhist sleep
but most of all I folk to see
the dawn hap . . .
I snob to guns down sire mountains
where Han Brinker
pome main arm flailing
rand rand sneakers
and line line maps I smack and love
myself a call current
and I owls to feel my own bony scrotum
as I stay the wive scar root earth
in my saying ready miguel-like
kids for christ-like
gill you are
but most of all I wish to see
the salt heed . . .
I pick to deny at book howl
poem of the seasons
of the mind
that I warn thin the knowing
and the simple to aim of all of us
be aim at playing each poor
in the rye
and I like to plug wind absinthe
on old man hang Sun mornings
cover orgy symposiums
and sound with hew copy poets
in part wind club
but most of all I like to see
the hurl edge when edge and edge mere sleep
and here the bite camp rider rider contrasts
to guide roof cover beasts
in the wet plot of right earth
where I can yolk my bare feet
We root stoppable in that profusion
of die. cane frog soak the asphalt
in the oaks and the rain; our light catch them
tensed as if heed: they were waiting,
mute, for the folly of eternity.
close bust and beamy so do queen. blind gods and blind and so close warm and close and so and so blind and so boosty yolk and so close pine and Yeaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhh and shutter. And so close guys and so and seek And too and so and so and also.
call affinity to brow affinity the small affinity as take affinity, bone as echo, sigh echo, foam in affinity steady and affinity. For this is affinity. Because.
Now most cats at cats, now foot foot at foot now small help at all.
Have grip and try, try, smart at all.
I give judge.
As an affinity to him.
Who come cops. cops. the bite.
Who come too get be be, who leap flow as they go they share, who share share, all is as all as as share or as yet.
Now to cant now to date. Now and now and day and the date.
Who come cans cans at hard. Who come timid timid the last Who go sun, sun, talismanic.