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Toe in Water
words that i have learned writing this book:
ontogeny: the evolution of an organism
phylogeny: the historical relatedness evolution of organisms
heuristic: refers to experience-based techniques for problem solving, learning, and discovery. Heuristic methods are used to speed up the process of finding a good enough solution, where an exhaustive search is impractical. Examples of this method include using a "rule of thumb", an educated guess, an intuitive judgment, or common sense.
stochastic model- a mathematical model involving random variables in order to estimate probability distribution of potential outcomes. (This is the sort of model prizbaum etc were applying to biotic systems?)
(examples: quantum physics, brownian motion) not a deterministic but a randomized model
A tropism is a growth movement whose direction is determined by the direction from which the stimulus strikes the plant.
A teleology is any philosophical account which holds that final ca
A horse snorting wildly at the slightest slither;
we are natural enemies, ankle-biting snake against
fetishized freedom, all hair. You pepper-eating poets
seduce me every time. Against my character, might
I add: My nostrils are as dilated
as they've ever been, to detect the slightest hint
of movement from you, a stirring and then
the anatomy of the thing will emerge.
Laundry List: Please buy
Tide, the catalogue of the human soul,
self-cutting. You might crumple up the writing
and swallow it like a spy,
but burning toast is no career, my friend. Perhaps
that bitch poetry is a necrophiliac, never letting dead
archetypes sleep. Yes, I know that Helen has launched
ships from: Vietnam, world wars, the Midwest,
which is landlocked. But you cannot kill the
fat-fingered fairies, the delicate forms. Rapunzel,
Rapunzel, let down your standards! I will give you
a dose of your own medicine, and like a cancer
himBefore I lose my life in this town, I'm looking for a pebble
that smells like anything - the ocean, soil, you - that shit.
Symptoms include an obsession with clocks and a dismissive anything
towards her, the bleak old buzzard who watches with gauze-eyed cataracts
as we walk by, - -we- menacing in white sneakers and suntan lotion - - she -
has been so long above it all that there is no longer any difference between the declaration of independence
and a newspaper article that goes:
Everything was terrible and the people died,
but really she was just having a bad dream.
Really she's okay.
And it was all just make-believe,
and you feel kind of stupid for ever having cared at all.
And the pebble would be shaped like a clear, healthy lung
and burned into it, it would say,
I would follow you into the dark.
In sans serif font, flawless, nothing-eyed,
lining my palm like mouthful of pulpy orange crush,
only stinging where the cracks show, and through them come
the old theo
The first thing you knew about me was
the time I kicked tom out of the house
for wearing an orange shirt, that something's been wrong
and anyway, I have that old photograph of you.
Yes, the surreal one that shows just how many piercings
you paid for by the mouthful of ouch.
But you see, in this kingdom of squalor, I have remained,
as always, devout. And if you were to rot,
pushing up daisies, I would get tenser,
like a muscle, but until I ascend to the kingdom of -
Oh, I don't remember, and there's no need for you
(to ask.) I have learned to do without
None, Zip, Sink
On breathless heights where trees, having been so long above it all, begin to eat their own
my sun-scorched face, once red, gives up the ghost
and, without affect, I press my nose against the mirror until I only have one eye.
This shit is beautiful, I'm telling you -
but you can't take it with you. Not onto a plane,
and I eat some more paper to get through the day
with a great hiss of steam, my pupils grow bigger.
Now, now, now, it will grow dark enough to see,
thicker and thicker, the plot is congealing,
and I have told you this to make you grieve.
It has been three days, and still I cannot bear to change it.
The water is turning a queer jaundice, and the fishy corpse
is bobbing like an upside-down moon in that thumb-hazed sky.
I threw food in the first day, before I noticed the stillness
of the red-finned thing, which I bought at Petco in a bag of plastic glass.
I put him in the blender with the blades taken out, and named him
nothing, genderless queer little floater. He ate bloodworms, and I
kept a log for awhile, to mark the days. I was supposed to get a plant
first, but their creeping vines and lack of eyes gave me the horrors. A cactus.
The bloodworms are still floating at the top, along with dust, skin cells and
him. I cannot bear to empty it, to know the sliminess and the tiny plop
at the end. I still have the condom packet from my first time, and it's been years.
The ramen, just in case. Three days, he has floated at the top, athletic little astronaut-
or maybe it actually is.this
a love poem:
this is not about
me and how i hate
the way realism tastes.
this is about you.
this is about how you
are one too many shades arrogant,
how nearly every night you
try to forget that time has
left you behind. this is
about your laugh and the way it
whispers "i can't remember
what i was like before i
became this." and,
if i'm being honest, this is about
how i will never see your too
cocky for your own damn good grin that
makes me go weak in the knees.
this is about you
and how you're not real and how i wish
to god that i wasn't either.
WomanA story behind her eyes
A dream on her lips
Waiting to be said,
Waiting to be true.
A voice from heart.
A lovely sound.
You're so tender,
So simple and complicated.
Spontaneous and shy.
Silent and talkative.
Serious and funny.
Always in love.
Tears rolling down for an illusion.
Eyes looking up missing somebody.
Letters never sent.
A heart that never sleeps.
You are so beautiful
Even when you feel you're the ugliest one.
You are a princess
Even when you feel nobody cares of you.
You are a goddess
Even when years painted lines on your face.
A sweet strength
A reason to love.
StoryA man on a corner with a dirty look
Telling a story written in no book
A thousand times told in form of a verse
But never to the one he loved the most
A woman on a corner with a gloomy look
Listening to the story written in no book
A thousand times told in form of a verse
Didn’t know the woman she was loved the most
A cat on a corner with a cunning look
Listening to the story written in no book
A thousand times told in form of a verse
It was the time of the day it loved the most
A stone on a corner with a cold look
Waiting for the man to finish his book
A thousand years passed and no one cared
For the rock on the corner or the story of the man
How To LoveNext time you're laying in bed trying to fall asleep, call your girl and tell her you love her. Say it over and over and talk to her until she falls asleep with the phone in her hand. Tell her you love her before you hang up, even though you know she can't hear you. When you see her next, whether it be at school, at work, or even at her house, kiss her with meaning. Don't be afraid to kiss your girl in front of your friends and family. Show her that you aren't above that and you're not ashamed. Offer your jacket to her when it's cold and insist she take it, no matter how cold you really are. Send her flowers when she's sick and you can't be there, and cuddle with her when you can without caring if you catch what she has. Call her after work or school just to make sure she got home safely, even though you watched her walk in the front door. Lay down your jacket in a puddle so her $100 shoes don't get wrecked, even if your jacket costs $300. Send her flowers even if she isn't sick becaus
disenchanted superheroyou are my kryptonite
even though i’m no superman;
i’m just riddled with weakness,
but i must be strong enough
to keep you.
(you are a drug
i can’t put down.
i don’t want to.)
we are standing on a precipice,
and i’m realizing i can’t fly.
(will you jump
on the way down.)
your hand is warm in mine
and i’m not strong enough to let go.
(stay by me.
be my strength,
because i’m not a super hero
and i can’t save you.
A Bisexual Poem.A Bisexual poem
Some people like men
Some people like women
Some may like the same genders of themselves
Some also like both
Liking both genders is being bisexual
I'm bisexual myself
No, i'm not ashamed of it
I'm proud of it
All bisexuals should proud of it
It's just who we are
Some people may accept us
And some people may not
If they don't like bisexuals, just forget about them
If they do like bisexuals, be their friend
I'm proud to be bisexual
You should be too.
Leaving TulsaGuitar strings marked your palms,
tattooing lyrics onto your skin
and making it glow like italic rust.
Garrett, would you have called me
over to your favorite spot
in the mountains
if you'd known that I was just as
lost as those scared rabbits,
running away from a dust storm?
Boy, I didn't expect to fall
prey to your September eyes
but that's exactly what happened.
And I never thought
we'd have anything in common,
let alone a strange
fire burning a hole in our sides;
our protective shells like Lego houses.
The thrill of wanderlust
rushed through our veins
as we sat, sipping cokes with rum
at a little soiled dove
bar in Tulsa on the weekends.
We talked about the places
we'd see if we ever
were to leave home,
sharing made-up fantasies
about running down gypsy roads
with backpacks strapped
to our bodies and wildflowers
melting in our cheeks
as we blushed under
a bourgeois European sun.
Boy, you smiled like you
couldn't wait to defy gravity
and I felt sorry that
your family didn't see
Damn meDid you know I smile upon seeing yours
Did you know my heart skips upon seeing your face
Did you know I wish to hear your voice before I seek sleep
Heaven's knocking on the door of my heart but my palms sweat
Bliss is the liquid fire upon my mind but I wish to contain what already is
Sweet upon the touch of my flesh that I wish was yours but I worry of ruining what is already had
A dark cloud ascends from the face of the beautiful moon that is the full of your face
Goddess of the rosen petals that are the softness of your lips
Swift songs of silken words from crescent petals that purse and smile with pronunciation
Porcelain flesh smooth to the touch of snow angel's skin
If...If these boundaries and borders didn't exist,
my thoughts would be less fogy and without any mist.
If we didn't belong to different cultures and religions,
it wouldn't be difficult for me to take these decisions.
If these differences and distances could disappear,
I would be diagnosed with happiness and no sign of fear.
If these restrictions and limitations could vanish,
all my stress and tensions would suddenly diminish.
If we hadn't confessed our love for each other,
would you still care for me, would you still bother ?
If we hadn't met at all,
I wouldn't be so confident and stand so tall.
If I was as mature as you and you as immature as me,
we both could let go of these feelings and set each other free.
If you were as tangled as me and me as untangled as you,
I'll accept that this is not an illusion and your love for me is true.
If I didn't smile whenever I missed you,
and look in the mirror to capture the astonishing view.
If all this was just a sweet dream or may be a bluff,
The Safety of Familiar Objects
Splinters puncture membrane-covered clouds
time and time again her yellow breath
of smog and fog and ink on wet newspapers
sticks to black asphalt covered with May-colored sprinkles
and geometric daffodils unsnapping necks.
A condom wrapper defies the suckwhirl tide and clings to driftwood
and bangles of sky glimmer in a rainbow collapse
of oil. There's metal in her nostrils and linoleum in her eyes;
she slips piles of nails and bloody slime down my throat
along with percussive bells and a flower like stained napkins.
Crown of ThornsShe wakes up with red staining her pillow
and the taste of blood like iron in her mouth
It stains her teeth and leaks from her lips, and as she
rinses her mouth out, she can’t help thinking that
it’s better than dirt and ashes
it feels like she’s wearing a noose
of broken promises and shattered glass
that tightens around her throat with every day that passes
She nails a smile to her face
and doesn't let herself think the word dying
Keep in Touch!
^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More