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:
- 413 poems generated in about 7 minutes 15h52-15h59
- 1662 poems generated in about half-an-hour 16h27-16h59
- 5001 poems generated in an hour 17h00-17h59
- 3042 poems generated in 37 minutes 18h00-18h37
Here’s a weird sample:
Body The New Road: Clark
by Anthony Lazarus
hold.hold back. expect.look forwardkick one’s heels.kick one’s heels an i kick one’s heels.
kick one’s heels.
hold off.look.look to.stand by.kick one’s heels.
Wait.Wait.Wait.Wait. Wait.Wait.Wait.W a i t.Wait.Wait.Wait.Wait.Wait.Wait.
[ 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
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 ViebahnThe 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 readtowards 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 readwithin that face.
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 becausenothingtouches me.
dying to be(a decal)
They couldn’t name how to regrow the write through this body
regularizea fanglean on,their touchno more than thepeachfruitless
remember the gravenessor lapidate, or
have to do anybetter. You don’t have tounderstand. You want
not to be open any more
you want a doorway,
that regularly opens