L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E Poetics, corporations are gods, language has an agency

 My introduction to L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E poetry was a class I took with Karen Mac Cormack. There's a lot you can say about L-poetics, but language to these poets was material like paint or clay. Meaning trapped and limited poets so constructing a poem from the starting point of meaning often led to blocks. It seems extremely practical to me. Eventually, everyone runs out of things to say. So, different ways to use text as stuff was a great way to think about language and poetics.

I was less enthusiastic about ascribing an agency to language, but, perhaps that was due to my own psychological baggage. It's more obvious to me than almost anything else than language has more agency in this world than human beings. I don't even know if this is a bad thing. When you think of religion as a social language with specific social functions, you start to think of other things as language that serve other functions. Suddenly, almost any organized group is a language including companies and corporations. How did we get here? Well, the articles of incorporation are essentially a script for instantiating the corporate object. It's a legal object. Every new corporation inherits the properties of the corporate object. It's that simple. Governments have constitutions. It's language generating language. We create myths and stories around it. Language generating language. Going all the way back to the local deities of the Near Eastern traditions. Our governments and states and social organization was inextricably tied to religion and even in some cases, gods. State governments inherit federal laws. Local municipalities inherit state laws. 

Language did have an agency in the creepiest possible way and there may not only be no escape from it, but it may be better than what we had before. Consider that our own personal motivations tend to taint the objective of the law or corrupt our motivations. We want to avoid that, right? The script appears to prevent some forms of corruption while allowing others.

A corporation is a legal document. It's language. It borrows the will of potentially millions of people to function. That's why it's a god. And like a god, it's more important than a person. 

So, the idea of language generating language is not unusual. In some ways, it's a performance of the relative loss of humanity that occurs in modern bureaucracies, ancient bureaucracies, and to humans living under human systems. 

How to Become a Living God (poem)

1. Entrapment

Eyes open and special 

 man of wires, 

 “god is not with me! 

cracked open!”

 

Slither into God 

compelled to 

 catch his credit 

 barring a Zerubbabel overflow, 

the stale cream moon descends

into the mud 

 like it belongs to me 

like this insubstantial pageant is all 

[kill yourself and the mortal god will bless you] relax 

like a priestcraft of solace in sleep

 what is the black water snapped over the echo? 

 quakes? 

 our KING maker ate kings 

 drank its own mother’s piss

And encased the white sun

  In the morningstar

2. Union

 The sun comes forth again 

 daedalus meteorites

 could strip a shield 

with quivering hands of shivers and 

 now martyrs itself 

with that Icarus fiction 

The Mistress of Jurisdiction sent vengeance on her wings

To rid our sensitivity of Gomer gravestones

So that we may become dreamsongs 

Fit to master nations

The white sun comes

 shivering over its objects

 Having forgotten they belong to life 

The white sun comes 

 who enacted this miracle?

 Choking down berry after berry 

 whatever sings a name 

To become a god

 cut to become addicted 

to people who were trained 

 To love to preach a pleasant grin

In their god’s name

3. Ascension

 myth was afraid

 art sung for a sentence

 useful for measuring

the density of an enema

 like some immediate

 tradition affords a trench

to bury men who Imagine that God 

is like a rapidly closing wound

fading into place

 both barrels point toward everything

 their own cells become strangers 

 Flushing and wetting 

every method of necessity

 to break free 

  

 This enclosure has no exits

Fall in enough times to ruin your reflection

circle back to protect it

And now it has more

To lose

Than you

In lieu of death (poem)

 most rational people 

 accustomed to sleeping beneath the horizon 

 empathize with caution

 Starting on closure can barely matter

 how does this objective 

 keep losing every possible interpretation

 should it go on toward abstraction 

 Nothing 

 subsists without Negation

:!:!::!::!:!:!::!:!::!::!:!:!::!:!::!::!:!:!:

This is the first poem written with the N=G=R=A=M=S Generator. This is like shattering a bottle of champagne on a ship. It was made using my own NGRAM bias and using the selective generation method. 

The purpose of meaning

 The interplay between a text and an interpreter creates a chemistry all its own. A chemistry that can be profound for one person can fall flat for another. Something that's beautiful to one person will be ugly to another. Something that can feel empowering to one person can be traumatizing to another. The interplay and politics of this experience is so vast and unpredictable, that the only way it can go wrong is every single time it happens.

Ultimately, the human experience is humiliating, terrifying, traumatizing, exhilarating, satisfying, inspiring, and every other label you could think of. 

Poets will relate to their own work their own way. For me, my poetics is a tool. Sort of a map, maybe. Not everyone benefits from inherited societal values. A poetics of rebellion provides a roadmap against inherited systems of meaning. There will be some people who always need this. I needed this when writers like Blake entered my life. 

The escape from your reason 

My willingness to accept your meaning as valuable has to be related to its capacity to help, limit, grow, or destroy me. If it limits me, then I must transcend it. If destroys me, then I must escape it and fight it. If it isn't helping me grow or (at the very least) not preventing me from achieving growth, then it should be opposed and replaced. Ultimately, setting your own standards is psychologically healthy, philosophically useful, but negatively reinforced and even punished in most systems.

The escape from your meaning

I must create a system or be enslaved by another man's. That was Blake's justification. I don't think I needed one. Whatever brought me here was north of any specific intention I may have had. It was closer to compulsion. Escaping from your meaning, however, leaves me with a problem. I can either end up in a void where there is no meaning, or suffer the strain of creating it for myself. Alternatively, I can align myself with those who ventured the effort, or salad bar their efforts as part of an allegedly-cohesive whole. 

Once you're here, it has to meet your needs.

Escaping meaning itself

Even those who live lives of debauchery believe that their lives are more meaningful because of the debauchery they enjoy. No one escapes meaning until they're brain dead or in a pine box. That is different than saying their ability to make meaning is functioning properly. This, I suspect, is when suicide occurs. While animals in the wild may stop eating and otherwise allow themselves to die, they do not tie ropes around their necks, cut their own throats, or commit any active violence against themselves as far as I know. This is what happens when our ability to make our lives meaningful is destroyed. 

What does it all mean?

By the time you're asking that question, no one can answer it for you. That is to say, if you don't know, no one can tell you an answer that's guaranteed to satisfy you. But along your way, you'll find those who needed to embark on the same journey and they'll leave records behind. And you can see how they approached the matter and take what's important for you and leave the rest, like a great salad bar of poetical rebellion.

Ultimately, meaning has to stay because it's awful hard to motivate yourself without a reason.

Via negativa

 So, I'm reading a book called The History of Negation, that touches on some interesting themes. It is far more common in Western philosophy to privilege positive facts over negative facts. While there is no great impulse in Eastern philosophy to privilege negative facts over positive facts, there are occasions in which it's emphasized. These occasions were formative for me.

To date, there is no one who says we should privilege negative facts over positive facts. However, there are some who believe they are equally valuable. Where could such a notion come from? The Tao Te Ching.

“Thirty spokes converge at the hub,
but emptiness completes the wheel.
Clay is shaped to make a pot,
and what’s useful is its emptiness.
Carve fine doors and windows,
but the room is useful in its emptiness.
What is
is beneficial, while what is not
also proves useful.”

Achieving a balance between the positive and the negative is the goal of Taoism. Analytically, however, we can get into some weirdness. The cup and where it isn't, that is to say, the empty space that holds the liquid, doesn't "exist" in a traditional sense of is-ness. Perhaps you can formulate a way to make it fit, but you have an absence that is carried with the cup wherever you take it. That absence is created or derived from the presence of the cup. In Western ontology, the dependent variable is considered a child-variable. Eastern ontology may not differ all that much, but we have Zen and Taoism which consider the issue of balance. However, if we ascribe is-ness to an absence, we run the risk of paradox.

We may have already run into a paradox. Because if our desire for a cup is the cause of it's making, then the empty space predates the cup and hence, derivative to the need for making it, the desire for it, the lack of it. One negative space gives birth to another, and both are more useful than the cup itself which can be reduplicated indefinitely now. The power that gave birth to the cup is the desire for the cup and the ingenuity it took to produce the cup. These are primary to the cup itself. The cup is derived from this. So, the fact of the cup, it's positive existence, may not necessarily deserve its place of privilege.

Perhaps, the negative facts, lacks, and desires are all related to our human existence in a way that is genuinely more important than positive facts. Maybe not. We don't want to replace one mistake with another. Nonetheless, there is a case to make. It's bizarre that it's so infrequently made.

Godex

 you want other names 

wedged within you

Juicy mutable names

Circular names 

To cure your desire

Of the mechanisms

Of the sky

The way stars can fall

Through the human wall

And gods and mouths 

form an inlaid Eden 

crafted to bits 

reduced to make us believe

That there are ghosts 

under a microscope

That connect us 

to somewhere else

(!-!)(!-!)(!-!)(!-!)(!-!)(!-!)

Poem was created using Tolkacz bias (saved Ngram bias of my own poems). Ngram method comes from natural's ngram generator.

Ars Poetica

The painter works with a blank canvas. Ultimately, you can say the medium of painting is both paint and the canvas. Poets who generate their work biologically operate like painters. Other poets may operate like sculptors. They will treat text as material. There's no good reason a poet cannot do both. However, there is a strange revulsion toward the latter and a misplaced privileging of the former. Ultimately, those who fall in the former camp must suffer the revelation that they are more like the latter than they realized. Not one of the words they used came from their own mind. Instead, they are using a ball of stuff much like the sculptors do. 

No matter how much text generation a poet does, the editing is what perfects the poem. Every time you read a book, the language is absorbed by your brain. Synapses are forming around the text, the meaning, and filling a context. The sequence of the words is remembered. 

This text is a code. Your brain is a compiler. Each compiler creates its own program out of the script provided by the poet. It's a guided generation. That is what a poem is, to me. While any form of communication can be said to do this, poetry works with it new and specific ways to create new associations, new synapses, new associations, cross associations, and we do this, ostensibly, because our imaginations are conditioned to this because we prize this form of thinking over other forms. 

So, what is a poem?

I don't care about that question. Instead, I want to ask: "what information is in a poem?" You have the text plus some form of artistic restraint. I don't want to say that prose can't be a poem because prose pieces tend to be much longer than prose poems. Prose poems use prose in a specific way that is unique to them. They compress information very intentionally. So, I won't say that you can't have a prose poem. But I think that a prose poem has to have artistic constraint, and usually, that constraint can be found in the form of compression, if nothing else. 

What other information is in a poem? Well, you have the text. You have meter, you have grammar, you have an author, a title, a social context, artistic styles, and approach to composition. That's a ton of information, but it takes a journey to dredge it all out. The poem itself may only be the tip of an iceberg. It usually is. Ultimately, its ability to refer, like a word, to something beyond itself is an amazing revelation. Language is fractal like that. 

I consider every element of a poem to be meaningful. So, template generation has a sense to which it is interpretable, generative abstraction. So does ngrams. Ngrams are like raw memory data. If you use a text like the Bible, you're kind of digging around in the collective memory of Western Culture. There are other paths than the Bible, but Near Eastern has always fascinated me. Exorcism is a fun idea to keep in the back of your head when you're thinking about digging around in raw memory data. Possession is another one. The notion of being taken over by a foreign agency. That's a very powerful motif in Western culture. One of the primary functions of Mesopotamian priests was to get evil demons out of your head. We're still doing that. So, it's a big deal. And it's interesting and horrific to boot. 

Peter Panic

 Peter Panic

1. The Downward Spiral

His world was an illusion of boxes. 

He wondered how they could make it real.

He couldn’t wake up from his dream.

How could he make it real?

They hide their memories in boxes.

Top enclosures. Coffins for parents.

And he washes Her to dust

The way a hand slides through pages

And we become what we used to be

They learn to fear the reaper

Remembering a visit from Peter Pan

Yet matter plays its rapture in wormy dirt

It’s midday. The heavens have collapsed.

This enclosure no longer satisfies. She feeds

Her regrets to Her boy and what She would do differently

Given another chance.

Who will come to Her window now?
A goat man with the head of a snake

extends his hand and convinces Her

That She can fly

but when She tries

the cold call of gravity

lures Her down

into that place

inhabited by the broken shards

of starry heaven

2. Possession

There was no man behind that mask.

They said his eyes felt like a reptile’s.

His drooling rictus always seemed to need

It always seemed like he was kneeling

Haunted over, especially after Her death.

Only pretty sure that he bring Her back again.

Repulsion begets compulsion. We were strangers

To that inner world. And we anthropomorphized you.

There’s a freakish simplicity to faking a smile

And we’ll smile too, just to make you stop looking

It is an architecture of plastic. A domain for shapes.

i can be anyone you please.

i am the new face

But I’ll always be Her boy

when you look in the mirror,

it is my eyes that stare back

i've been given so many names

that i've forgotten what i call myself

do not believe that you are ever alone

in shadows, in darkness, in the deepest pit

there are voices, like echoes

in search of mouths

to make their own.

3. The Necromancer

that boy would look at us

see nothing but phantoms

blips in the radar

of his imagination

haunting about him

immaterial, impossible

to touch.

when he began to fear us

we began to fear him.

we sensed his eyes

did not see us as human.

deeply paperlike kisses

blowing ashes in the wind

and then he would whisper

his torrential teleology

to the tinman, an alchemist

a shell of a man

a moribund effigy

awaiting translation

in the moisture

of his undead mother

The Stack

 Once upon a time, in a world of infinite possibilities, there was an infinite university that was as dark and endless as a night without stars. Josh, a TA at a prestigious university, got an invite to attend this joint and couldn't resist the opportunity.

As he hit the campus, he was blown away by the sights. Countless lecture halls, libraries, and labs sprawled out before him. But what caught his attention was the group of TAs sittin' in a circle, each with a stack of papers in front of them.

"What's the skinny, fellas?" Josh asked.

"Welcome, Josh," one of the TAs said, giving him the eye. "We've been expectin' you."

"How'd you know I was comin'?" Josh asked.

"It's the infinite university, Josh. We know everything," the TA replied, blowing smoke in his face.

The TAs then started shufflin' their chairs, each one movin' to the right to make room for Josh. He watched as the circle shifted and reformed, each TA movin' an infinite number of times to accommodate his arrival.

"Why the shuffle, fellas?" Josh asked, scratchin' his head.

"Cause if we didn't, you'd never get here," the TA replied, flickin' ashes on the ground. "This stack of papers is infinite, and it can never be reduced. Each page is written by ChatGPT, the language model trained by OpenAI. It keeps gettin' larger and larger, expandin' beyond the limits of our comprehension. We are the TAs responsible for grading these papers, but we can never catch up with the constant stream of new work being generated by ChatGPT. So we keep movin', hopin' to make room for more TAs to join us and help carry this never-endin' load."

Josh was impressed by the size of this undertaking. He knew that he was just one small piece of a vast, infinite puzzle. And yet, he felt a sense of purpose in this world of infinite possibilities.

Once Josh settled in among the TAs, the reality of the never-ending workload began to set in. Every page he graded was replaced with ten more, and it felt like he was trying to bail out a sinking ship with a thimble.

As he looked around at his fellow TAs, he could see the exhaustion in their eyes. They were all working tirelessly, trying to keep up with the infinite demand. It was then that Josh started to question his commitment to this Sisyphean task.

"What's the point of all this?" Josh asked, throwing his hands up in frustration.

"What do you mean?" one of the TAs asked.

"I mean, what's the end game here? We're grading an infinite stack of papers that just keeps getting bigger. It feels like we're never going to make a dent in it."

The TAs looked at each other, unsure of how to respond. They had all asked themselves the same question at some point, but they had never found a satisfactory answer.

"It's just the way things are," one of the TAs said, finally breaking the silence. "We're TAs. We grade papers. It's what we do."

Josh shook his head. "That's not good enough. We need to find a way to make this work. We need to come up with a system that allows us to actually make progress, not just tread water."

The TAs were skeptical. They had been working in this infinite university for so long that they had become resigned to the never-ending cycle of grading papers. But as Josh continued to push for change, they began to see that maybe there was a way to make a difference.

Together, they started brainstorming new ideas and strategies for tackling the infinite stack of papers. They experimented with different grading systems, collaborated on research projects, and even developed AI tools to help streamline the process.

As they worked together, they began to make real progress. The stack of papers no longer seemed infinite, but rather like a challenge that they could overcome.

Josh was proud of what they had accomplished, but he knew that the work was never truly finished. There would always be more papers to grade, more research to conduct, and more problems to solve. But as long as they continued to work together, Josh was confident that they could handle anything the infinite university threw their way.

((^^^^^^))((^^^^^^))((^^^^^^))

Story by: David Tolkacz

Text by: ChatGPT

ChatGPT Outrage Must Die

 Interestingly, all of the issues that we're having with ChatGPT relate to Derrida's Dissemination and his reading of the myth of Thoth, the Egyptian god who gave writing to mankind. In the myth, Thoth presents the new technology to the god Ra and Ra rejects it saying that it will make men's minds weaker and replace their need to memorize. That is the first parallel. The new technology will make things too easy for people.

However, Derrida makes it clear that he won't take Ra at his word and hence digs into another reason why Ra would prevent humans from getting writing. To be sure, this is a myth that is thousands of years old, and still has relevance today.

Anyway, essentially, the new technology is a threat to the authority and power of the King who is used to being able to set policy for everyone. With the new technology, ideas would spread, humans would begin considering alternative possibilities, it would empower them to have the same power of the king, the power to assign value.

ChatGPT is an amazing resource. They could have charged thousands of dollars for it, but instead they made it available freely to everyone. I think ultimately, the fact that it was gifted to the public bothers certain people more than the fact of its existence.

Their outrage would go completely dormant if it cost $100/month. And that tells you everything you need to know about their morality.

ChatGPT could teach any precocious kid how to program, answer some of the questions they'll ask, steer them in the right direction if they want to learn something new. It's amazing. All a family needs is access to the internet, and they can acquire amazing skills with less effort and money. Poor kids can learn skills from home that they never would have been able to learn from their underfunded bullshit school systems.

So, if I have very little sympathy for the anti-ChatGPT crowd, I can justify that. I'm at peace that. It's the printing press. It's the telephone. It's the plow. It's writing. It's that big of a deal.

It increases the speed of learning exponentially. 

How Delicious Vegan Fleshmeat Caused One Man to Lose Perspective on Justice

 Once there was a young boy named Jack who lived in a small town. Jack had always been an animal lover, and he especially adored cats. He would often spend hours watching funny cat videos online, laughing and enjoying their antics.

One day, Jack stumbled upon a video of a kitten crying. The kitten looked sad and hungry, and Jack could not help but feel heartbroken. As he scrolled through the comments section, he noticed someone had suggested growing vegan fleshmeat using stem cells and biomedical engineering. Jack was curious and decided to look it up.

As he read more about this innovative technology, Jack became more and more intrigued. He learned that the vegan fleshmeat was made using real animal cells, but without the need to harm any animals. Instead, the cells were grown in a lab, using advanced techniques in stem cell and biomedical engineering.

Jack was fascinated by this concept and decided to try it out for himself. The first time he tried the vegan fleshmeat, he was amazed at how similar it was to real meat. It had the same texture, flavor, and nutritional value as traditional meat, but without the need to harm any animals.

As Jack's addiction to vegan fleshmeat grew, he started to become more and more interested in the science behind it. He began to read more about the stem cells and biomedical engineering techniques used to grow the meat, and he even started to experiment with growing his own cells at home.

But as Jack became more and more obsessed with the science, he started to lose sight of the ethical and environmental reasons why he had started eating vegan fleshmeat in the first place. He started to consume it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, without giving much thought to the impact it was having on the world around him.

One day, Jack's friend came over to his house and saw him working on his latest stem cell project. His friend was shocked to see how much time and energy Jack was putting into this one aspect of his life, and he gently suggested that Jack take a step back and think about the bigger picture.

At first, Jack was defensive, but he soon realized that his friend was right. He had become so focused on the science behind vegan fleshmeat that he had forgotten the ethical and environmental reasons why it was so important. He remembered the kitten that had cried in the video, and how it had made him feel. He realized that growing vegan fleshmeat using stem cells and biomedical engineering was a huge breakthrough, but it was only part of the solution to the larger problem of animal cruelty and environmental damage.

Over time, Jack was able to overcome his addiction to vegan fleshmeat. He learned to appreciate the science behind it, but also to think critically about its impact on the world around him. He found new ways to express his love for animals and the environment, and to work towards a better future for all living creatures. And he never forgot the kitten that had cried in the video, and the lesson it had taught him about the importance of balance and perspective in all things.

Rapid Program Generation for Artists

 First, everyone was worried about the painters and visual artists. Then, it was the copywriters who got the sympathy. No one as of yet has complained that ChatGPT can draft functioning code in a few seconds. The new Ngram program could have taken a week or more to get every functioning properly. My first effort provided the architecture for the ngram datatype from the ground up. 

So, for someone like me who knows how to program, but doesn't program every day for a job, it's turned me into a superman of programming output. 

What can ChatGPT do?

ChatGPT can generate simple, short programs, functions, and more in breakneck speed. If you want to generate one small program, it can do the entire thing for you. However, the architecture of ChatGPT will stop generating tokens after a certain point which means that long programs will be cut off, in my experience. I have the paid service and it still does that. So, you need to know something about code architecture if you're going to code this way.

How do I test the program?

Load up ChatGPT. Enter the following text:

in html, create a textbox with the following data: "Hello World". Add a button that says, "Button". When the user hits the button, change the text to "Goodbye World". If the text says Goodbye World then change it to Hello World.

Load up Notepad. Paste the code into Notepad. Choose "Save as...". Where it says "File type" choose "All files". Then save it as "textbox.html". The code produced is provided below: 

    <!DOCTYPE html>

<html>

  <head>

    <title>Textbox and Button Example</title>

  </head>

  <body>

    <input type="text" id="myTextBox" value="Hello World">

    <button onclick="changeText()">Button</button>

    <script>

      function changeText() {

        var textBox = document.getElementById("myTextBox");

        if (textBox.value === "Hello World") {

          textBox.value = "Goodbye World";

        } else {

          textBox.value = "Hello World";

        }

      }

    </script>

  </body>

</html>

Be sure to save the file as "All Files" type. Otherwise, your browser won't recognize it as a webpage. The OS will think it's a text file and use Notepad to open it. You need the browser to open the file to test it.

My browser is displaying the code—not running it, what happened?

You saved the file as a textile so the browser interprets it as raw text and not a script to run. You must resave the file as an HTML (don't bother trying to rename it).

Downtown Buffalo, February 18/2023

The day finally breaks, I wander the streets. In this cold, the bitter wind will split your lips. Darken souls. Freeze their faces. In time. my thoughts will wander as the wind settles down and I can snuggle my consciousness under a hood. 

I am the dreamer, alone in my world,

Lost in limbo

When the wind batters my senses inside

Where concrete and stone 

Make asphalt seem soft

And one missed step could crack your skull

Break your wrist, or ruin your knee

So I know to beware because

It is so bitter here

That death could appear to me as a friend.

Ngrams, ChatGPT, and weird fun

 So, today I worked on the Ngram program. I programmed a lot of my own work to create a single dataset of all my words and then I generated 200-word chunks. I then fed these chunks into ChatGPT under the directive that it fabricate a story out of that text.

The Figure that Triumphed over Pain

It looked like this:

beget a volcano lightly tYme spectre is itself . Knowing all in and he himself . drops from the couch with ownership . In direful pain 111111111111111111111111111111111111111111000000000000000000000000000000000000000 Aw . The lines are sets : equations signify nothing would rather than the Zero principle parts . it is common state of fits of this was carved out . This sentence “ upward in a cartoon spider passes Blake ), does it ' Sara ' s e l y b e d snows , goes up some deity . we might thank you cannot forgive this paradox ( globe of a dim nebulae shining from a flame . In the opposites are being of creation . her junkie roommate signify itself . It works by this point to no mere insight that the first man , asleep . snake is not only , or speech , will remember ?' ' s greatest efficiency . A heartbeat apart . does the reaper , the chief inlets of countless others as jonathon . the object approaches which of his face down I can be given an escalating gang . He

 What did ChatGPT do with that text?

In a land where time was light and spectres roamed free, there was a great volcano that beget everything in its path. As the lava flowed and the ash settled, a mysterious figure emerged from the molten rock. It was a being of pure energy, knowing all in and of itself.

The figure dropped from the couch of flames and claimed ownership over the surrounding area. But as it moved, it was wracked with direful pain. The lines of equations that governed its existence signified nothing, and it was trapped in a common state of fits.

As the figure struggled to break free, a cartoon spider passed overhead, climbing upward towards the snow-covered peaks. The spider disappeared, leaving the figure to wonder about the deity that controlled their fate.

But then, something strange happened. The figure began to signify itself, gaining power with every passing moment. It worked by a principle of no mere insight, but of sheer will and determination.

In the end, the figure triumphed over its pain and emerged victorious, ready to face whatever challenges the future held.

Sara's New Beginning

Sara sat alone in her room, consumed by her confessions. She thought about the soft spot on her body where once she felt something, but now it meant nothing. In this environment of schizoid disorders, she struggled to find meaning in anything.

In the midst of her existential crisis, she heard a light cracking sound, and gnawing feeling in her gut. It was as if the universe was trying to speak to her, to reveal some deeper truth.

But as she grappled with these thoughts, she began to feel a sense of fear. The infinite potential of the universe, the very lord itself, seemed to be closing in on her.

Suddenly, she saw a computer's eyes staring back at her, and she knew that her thoughts had been recorded. She felt her soul being carried away, consumed by hate and paradoxes.

With nothing left to lose, Sara made a decision. She would go, leaving everything behind to find a new beginning. She knew that her journey would be full of challenges, but she was ready to face them head-on.

  confessions . nothing came to mean to heaven is said Sara slapped himself a soft spot where once , means nothing . In our environment , a schizoid disorders - inclusive . & amp ; America ( so grimly ascetic . & amp ; a part of dopamine didn ' The argument is enough to survive . gnawed & light cracks through cubicles into the willingness of a second . Erech . he washed . excretes relations , for “ random anything at the light . nothing between less psychotic who sets which does as “ true for dealing with a piece in nature of this time of Christ redeemed The fear , infinite potential , lord . & still had been running away Out of a computer ' s eyes . and after the thought , its passage . our souls , and she carried over and Hate .” Paradoxes of shit ' s eyes . during the dead , is patterned atop this notion that opinion , go . You can mean is roughly translated into the board . a womb was full view good

If you read this enough times, you lose your mind

The pagan mythological slates were understood, with the idea that we acquire from His name. There was talk of esophagi and a desire for unity in Greek terms, but Los's circularity was absent. He lost his vision, all dead passed by without seeing it, characterizing itself as a twin. But now, all was fine, with grandma's head moving quickly and the joystick on. Blankets were involved, and penises ejaculated bees. The LORD's Messiah fell, and blackness overtook everything. In the midst of it all, there was talk of blossoms and Milton's house. The flavor was modern libertarianism, but there was a moribund effigy constructed to fit into the feminist movement. Higher levels of fire and sexuality were present, but their meaning was difficult to convey.

Welcome Home

 1.

Make a sphere

Spin it as quickly as possible

Until you can hear it hum

And wait for the center to collapse

Watch dimples form at the poles

Until the sphere becomes a donut

When you see the hourglass

Pluck it from the image

Remove the bottom from each side

And dump out the sand

How did we get here?

Staring at time like it was some thing

We could hold in our hand

Instead of sand slipping through

A clutching grasp

And fingers that shatter 

As easily as glass

2. 

Lay cake peer

Spin it as prickly as paws a ball

Until you can hear it bum

And weight for the sinner to co-lapse

Watch dimples for-matt the poles

Until the square be-comes a daw-nut

When you sea the our-glass

Pluck it from the I'm-age

Remove the bottom from each side

And dump out the sand

How did we get hair?

Staring at thyme like it was some zing

We could hold in our band

Instead of band slipping through

A clutching grass.

3. 

Grey jake beer

Spin it as prickly as paws a brawl

Until you can hear a drum

And weight for the sinner to co-lapse

Watch dimples for-matt the poles

Until the sphere be-comes a dawn-nut

When you sea the hourg-lass

Luck it from the I'm-age

Remove the bottom from each side

And jump out the sand

Hound did we get hair?

Staring at time like it was some zing

We could hold in our bland

Instead of band flipping through

A clutching gas.

4.

Loi kook poor

Spun at us pracklu us pus us bull

Ontoll yoo kun hoir ut bom

Und wite for thi sennor tu cullopso

Wotch doplos firmot thi pules

Ontoll thi spori bocomis i dinot

Whin yoo soo thi hiorgoss

Plack ot frum thi omogi

Rimovi thi battom frum iech sidi

Ond damp out thi sind

Hurd dod wo gut hir?

Storing ot tomo loki ot wis somo zong

Wi cuold hild on our bind

Instiod of bind slippung thruogh

O clitchong gos.

5.

Flowing brook lure,

Spun at a sprightly pace like a bull

Anticipate the sound of the drum

And wait for the moment of collapse

See ripples form at the banks

Until the stream transforms into a delta

When you glimpse the sandglass

Pluck it from the image

Jump in the sand

And relax

You are home

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So, for this poem, the first stanza was what the kids call "cyphered". But, the following stanzas are all algorithmically generated using phonetic paraphasia. The language because more and more disjointed until the last stanza. The third and fourth stanzas are reptitions on the second. However, for the fourth stanza, I asked ChatGPT to find real words to replace the nonsense words.

I ended up completing the poem after a server error stopped it. I really liked what it had started and after I asked it to try again, nothing was the same. It had nowhere near the same feel as lines like ripples from the banks, and the moment of collapse. I kept the original, broken text and completed it.