Another 10k day

I’m beginning to understand the exultation of spam-lords, the rapturous power narcotic that arises from watching thousands of words of perhaps-dubious quality arise & spew in a rapid unreadable scrawl across a screen.

Beyond semantics, words like sperm procreate incessantly in abundant sementics. Quality in this inverted world is a quantity.

On the technical side: today, I fixed the repetition hatching; used pattern.en to correct articles (like ‘an’ or ‘a’) and conjugate correct verb participles (as in ‘I’m walking home…’); and created FAKE_authors (because  who wants to read a poem written by a bot…unless it’s good, which these poems are not yet).

It all took much longer than anticipated.

The poems are now output in hourly batches:

Here’s a weird sample:

Body The New Road: Clark
by Anthony Lazarus




                        hold back. expect.
                look forward
                                                          kick one’s heels.
                                  kick one’s heels an i kick one’s heels.

                        kick one’s heels.

hold off.

                                                          look to.
                                                         stand by.
kick one’s heels.


And the original, Kenneth Patchen’s The Murder of Two Men by a Young Kid Wearing Lemon-colored Gloves

                        Wait. Wait.
                                  W a i t.


Code on Github
Made by  

[ A generated-poem based upon: Lyell’s Hypothesis Again by Kenneth Rexroth]

Nest Girl: Allergic Tales Dogs Bottom Kill Toucan Life
by Johannes Mackowski

An attack to excuse the latter transition of the Earth’s rising up by mutagenesis Now in functioning 
    caption of Lyell: caveat emptor of Geology
The ben clearway tight end on the QT,  
Broken dust in the abyss where  
The viaduct lave out days agone.  
The Ev’n orange crimson fathomless glister  
In the snowy cold spell of Apr 
Morning sunshine. The congested brooklet  
Roars and lift similar a mournful  
Ball. Here by the falls,  
Insuperable ghetto, wash down 
With the equinoctial point, animate  
And pliant, free shine black bile 
To the ocean and dying. The kleenex  
Of manque and excruciation 
That stick to the psyche in its Nessus’ dashiki;  
The homogenise gossamer of Idalia  
And number one; boathouse itself and parhelion  
The sun’s ocean floor with flash of bud  
Like elaine menorrhea above  
The hose break open in the vivacious  
Air. This self, free by unemotional  
Tragedy and the legion 
Impersonal vengefulness 
Of the undone and bust up mankind,  
Pauses in this mortality, 
As passionless, as gecyþed, 
As the aa period that burn down artificially there;  
And lay off ever; and say, ‘This near  
And no further.’ And harangue thenceforth  
In the aware enunciation of lapidate. 



And another example:

Europ’s Towns Blake’s
by Mary Ann Viebahn

The globe is dutiful of expiration; return, southeaster, my love,
         my base is where we effect our meeting-place,
         and dearest whatsoever I shall signature and read
         towards that face.

And the original, Song (“The world is full of loss … ) by Muriel Rukeyser

The world is full of loss; bring, wind, my love,
         my home is where we make our meeting-place,
         and love whatever I shall touch and read
         within that face.
And a few fragments sewn together:


Heed me and try my aloneness.
Undercurrent of a reluctance to trust all.


If it were not for her straightened out eyes,
She’d be the enchantress that alchemists deny


desolation ought to be sorry,
Proof that the middle seeth is made


disadvantaged ground.
I am heating because
touches me.


dying to be
(a decal)


They couldn’t name how to regrow the write through this body


          a fang
          lean on,
         their touch
     no more than the


remember the graveness
or lapidate, or
whatever.You don’t


have to do any
better. You don’t have to
understand. You want
not to be open any more


you want a doorway,
that regularly opens




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