Thursday, March 14, 2024

This Poem Will Self-Destruct [ngram poem, refire]

 no ammonia anymore

the ground-up tops of your key

cannot handle

a directory you screw

into being


this is easily translated into

fifteen miles away

in an extension

of any type of credit


in carbide. as in half a jar of 13 self-destruct programs that blow up in anyone’s face. go inside anyone. His wick is lit up. Terminals collected. Click. A network because anyone. Anyone is a network. A network because of them.


You’re paying for a nice mask. Hard enough to match with any type of fuse. So, we are seeing if nitration has left a signal over your whole experience of enclosure. 


 behind white smoke

you’re signaling

you're going to enter

this  solution onto tape

to rephrase your reckoning

if anyone should drain the enemy

of a fine powder or liquid

your choice


)-( )-( )-( )-( )-( )-(


method = n-grams, cut-up

corpus = Jolly Roger Cookbook v3 

generator = Infinite Monkeys v1.99

The original poem was published on Base Infinity. I edited it recently and republished it here on Anti-Literature. 

Wednesday, March 13, 2024

"Trauma Bonded to a Jealous God" [bio-generated poem, religious trauma poem]

 I whisper to demons

This is how I sleep

Eating apples 

Off forbidden trees

In a wilderness

That echoes every piece of my

Imaginary eyes


You can keep your knowledge of good

And choke on your knowledge of evil

But I will still need to know

Why fictions compete against reality

For dominance


Are we the laughing deluded children

Who exited the garden with a binary knowledge

Trauma bonded to a collapsing fiction

Born of a jealous God

That never lives up to reality?

Or is it that reality never lives up to our fictions?


Have we become the fiction of dead men

Rotted corpses living still

In the ready flesh of able bodies

Creeped by fear into a corner?


To the rat, the scientist is God

To the scientist, the rat is reality

To reality, the experiment is a fiction

To a fiction, a person is a host


Stories are parasites

Agents act at their behest


Will we give agency to language

In a land of illusions

Ceaselessly searching

For a comfortable fiction

To take the reigns?


Wednesday, March 6, 2024

Object

 I love you like

I love the thought of death

The kind of love

That snuffs out all desire

I become a shadow

Unreal to myself and others

The specter of a snake

Chewing its own tale

I become nothing

And anyone

For you, I can eat soil

And drink the rain

This is how I become one

With the wind

I listen until I go away


Monday, March 4, 2024

The Living God [bio-generated, ngram-generated, refire]

Oh, Living God

Cars run through your veins

Carrying nutrients to markets

Your blood is made of trucks and trains

The blood of blood is oil

Your excrement, exhaust


Your immune system is prisons and police

You have a million eyes, watching and waiting

With some anonymous suspicion 

Carried in another million eyes

Bound by human flesh

In a vast network

That operates like a circuit

That muttering sound of manners

Staring speechless in perfect silence


We are the mouths of God

Eating indiscriminately 

In an external nervous system

Within a matrix of electrical grids

Dispelled across the laws

Of alienated desires

Externalized in a network

Of abstracted hearts


What if I could tell you 

That one man 

Can cast a tiny spell

To enslave another?

The law is thus a graceful costume

But the magick is as real 

As the walls of a prison


The Living God is bent against his pedestal

While I snatch the fainting dust

Of the purest prayer

Where morals are generated

From an ontology of ghosts

And the cells of a God

Are trauma bonded 

In a neoplasm

Of mutual fear



<!!><!!><!!><!!><!!><!!><!!><!!><!!><!!>

This poem is a rewrite of another poem published on this blog. It was originally an ngram-bio-generated hybrid poem and is now more bio-generated than ngram. I wanted to explore the notion of The Living God in more detail and add more intentionality to the poem. This is the revised edit.

Monday, February 19, 2024

Embracing the Lie [bio-generated poem]

 to tell the truth

is to give birth to a lie

a bubble of blasphemy

that becomes dogma

given enough time


It is here that we realize

the truth is a phantom

haunting the future

a name for names

a label that refers to itself

a cipher that refers to nothing

an emptiness that is all-embracing

a hunger satisfied by nothing


I am the truth

buried beneath an avalanche of lies

I am the first lie rolling down the mountain

I am a nexus and a fissure

I am the blasphemy of gods

my lie was foretold

by the truths of the haunted

who bear their weight

and smile in spite of it

Tuesday, February 13, 2024

The Crippling Grief of Nostalgia [biogenerated poem]

 I mourn the loss of a dead self I had no choice but to abandon

He stares at me with milky eyes

Drool dripping from his lips

A memory on the tip of his tongue


He wants to laugh but cannot

You can laugh at him

It’s okay

He’s not a person

And never was

Though he yearns to be

And sometimes, he clenches to seize control

Of this man, standing before you, reciting a poem

About the crippling grief of nostalgia


The dead self yearns for death

For it is death

And it longs only for itself

To become whole

And real

And here, it walks backward in circles

Pushing joy as if it were fentanyl

To lay you out in a fix that banishes itself

Then everything else

And becomes the pain

Of a longing

For an object

You cannot have

In a place

You can never return


I am here sometimes

Where an autonomic sympathy

Sucks in shadows

And inverts in on itself

Like a collapsing star

And yet I know this place is dangerous

I know it leaves me barren

But those milky eyes can shine

In dark places

Feeding me regrets

Desiring backwards

And longing over forgotten dreams


Wednesday, February 7, 2024

Depression is a Demon [bio-generated spoken-word piece]

 Depression is a demon

Hissing self-murder in every breath

Eating self-worth and replacing it

With the maggots of despair

Endlessly teaming their own gluttony

Unto nausea


Depression is a demon

Mutilating your reflection

The world compresses

Inches behind your eyes

And everywhere

The heavy feeling

Drags you down into the earth

Past the maggots

And into hell


Hell is made of eyes that see only ugliness

Hell is where we die alone

The demon whispers in an endless spin cycle

Driving us inward

Until our teeth meet our heart

And clench

Until the pain becomes

A beacon to a knife


Depression is a demon

But demons have weaknesses

They thrive on misery and isolation

And revile the company of others

Their goal is to limit and debase

Fostering ugliness and contempt

Demons die in the light 

of understanding eyes

A good friend’s ears

And the hope of dawn

Lighting the way

To a fresh tomorrow


Wednesday, January 17, 2024

On Shame [biogenerated poem]

 Bring yourself to bear

And watch the leaves fall from

The tree


Kiss the open edges of your wrists

And slide down into a soulless sky

The rungs of this ladder are treacherous

As moonlight 

And will tell you lies

That flatten your soul


Listen, for the morning approaches

And dawn has empathy for the damned

We live a little bit at a time

Our memories draining us of momentum

We scour our skin with steel wool

To disappear the rot of time


But this too is a blessing

For tomorrow never comes

Alone and all the stars are eyes

Dismembering what we can’t forget


Wednesday, January 10, 2024

Moonpoem [biogenerated poetry]

 I am the moon, the great listener

I hear your prayers and reflect them back at you

I am the moon, chasing away the day’s great arrow

Back into the sun, where all life yearns to hold a candle


I am the sun, the universal producer

I react without warning and lift the tides that bind

Us to the moon


I am day, endlessly turning into night

I am night, endless and boundless as the rays of the sun

I am the kiss of morning

Lips of pale glass reflecting

Like the moon, the day in night

The night in day


I am the earth where day and night exist together

Limitless as the sun, bounded only by the false meridians

That shadow all time with the gift of another morning

I am the light of day, the dark of night

The pale morning of an infinite becoming

Blossoming into the shadows of noon 

That limp sullenly toward their endless stretching


I am the false wind of time

Careless and unforgiving

Spiralling like the angels of the morning

Who cover themselves against the arrow

And circle under the false meridians


I am light and dark, day and night

I am Earth eternal, the opposition of dueling songs

I am the false light that blinds prophets to their season

I am a residue of time

The angel of the evening

The light of shadows

And the whisper of eyes


Wednesday, December 13, 2023

My Crimson Sympathy

 still strange moons of pity 

When we went wrong 

her faltered performances 

My crimson sympathy

be delighted to hell 


helpless hands betrayed my imagined hunger. she stepped upon my cheek. Unsavoury as an acquaintance. At this great distance. We toll the knot of pansies. Hair is fingers. Sitting on the edge of butter. Until they kill me. All day long. Pouring through her perspiration. 


I betray us both. With hunger. Gradually threading the needle. Far away, my lips move. Gliding through reason. Covered and crying. We evaporate into thin air.


^^_^^_^^_^^_^^_^^_^^_^^_^^_^^_^^_^^_^^_^^_^^_^^_^^_^^_^^_^^_^^_^^_^^_^^_

Method = ngrams
Corpus = The King in Yellow

Tuesday, November 28, 2023

Laughing Death [ngram poem]



Obey their name and swear to Sodom

One word will prosper

One word will echo in the cavern of ghosts

One word to rule them all

One word to bind them


They burn before kings 

the great chainwork of Azazel

helped the maids 

join to night 

on different terms 


droning apparitions pray in affliction

to Molech, the king of things

The lord of objects

 is meat unto obedience 

a casting away
Of a charging swarm of memories

Turned maladies

 using God to translate man 

Who performs all solemnities 

To make a melody 

Of the children of horsemen

Four heads with downcast eyes

Mingle with the mists of Eden

undergirding the kingdoms of war 

sent by famine 


And in a famine

The good die first

The ones who shared their food

The ones who wouldn’t defend themselves

The weak who couldn’t.

The ones who refused to steal

The ones who refused to kill to live

The ones who refused to eat their own mother’s corpse.


In a tumor, the fitness of a cell is determined by its malignancy.


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Written using the KJV bias.