wonder systems

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morning lilt

Oh lil-considered ghosts
stay with me a while

and watch the sun rise
through the fog

a serene completion, un-
contemplative motion

breathing next breaths
past breathed slowly

in the chill.
Consider, ghosts

rising from sidewalk sun
and our cold exhalations

what it is to be of vapour.
#178
October 28, 2016
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stillnesses

all
soft pressure
pushed still
rough hewn and
new borne
in low murmur


some quiet unwinding
clarity and echoes of
rain on street puddles


A day suspended from
interpretation to interpretation, hung
between guesses.


tickle
green souls
giddy
#177
October 20, 2016
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renga

rhythm in a well set line
breathes of space in letterforms
creatively slow
character string caldera
confined into scaffolding
was calculated—
the forgetting I mean, like
stones thrown one by one
then stones unthrown one by one
letterforms in breaths of space
lines in well set rhythm
we built jungles in our minds
on runes and ruins
we constellated forms, letter-
-breaths, constant kaleodi-storms
the beginning moves.
send pawn to e4, thrown stone
the lesser unknown!
emended throne, edit four
stars and storms hath moved for more
and less; wink and fade
we let our breaths evade
our tongues; queen e5
spots a grub in a beehive
some walls of nine, ladder rungs
aspiring, desperate lung
slowing towards the thriving sun
a move, diagonal
to see a bishop blighted
and long-sought fate misled
the moon farsighted
watched our poems be (edited)
and sleep rustle by
(an evaporated sigh,
parenthetized Never Mind,
an en passant, rook!
(k)night, took, and tomorrow,
a checkered play-by)
dawn illuminates by ray
jungles kaleidoscopic
built along the way
to waking; checks and chess tick
the renga road
interweaving paths un-slowed
underlying, didn’t know
holographic jenga
(all of traffic ends the)
chess check congestion
in the swung boom, reel 'n soon
structures that we built to ride
because the monsoon's
coming bringin' a tension
that can't hide, won't slide
not from ◼︎ to shining ◼︎
monsoon wide, emphatic tide
enter erosion
them demotions— dem oceans?
elixir potion
cauldron motion, dipping the
same heroes same odysseys
same challenge islands
in the same seas but new sands
new volcanos stand
ampersand, so strand a standard;
standing sender's steady stance
sea-strained certainty
steeping cerulean sand
sans source, so serif slant
 
 
with Kathy Wu
#176
October 12, 2016
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a dozen project proposals

1. homeless robotic gardens that search for sun
2. illusions of grandeur and miniateur in VR
3. emoji representing emoji (not just for fun)
4. banned, tiny cameras living longer than an insect are
5. the intimacy of doing nothing with someone
6. pearlescent technosaints fighting glooms
7. being a process to harvest gender from the sun
8. filming in stereo under mushrooms
9. lay leaf gradients in streams never done
10. pedal-powered fungal farms
11. conversation with one's cyber clone
12. the intimacy of making something with someone
#175
October 12, 2016
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The writing bug

I go to me a lot to do
something at alewife I
am a new home a
new home a new
home a new home
 
Everybody starts off looking
like tiny Venn Diagram super-clusters /
Fruit tarts / Quatrefoil windows.
Respect the body, notice this—
All the sensory data moving
wield language as scalpel and kaleidoscope
 
in that context true but sweeping
science or poetry?
specificity or richness?
They stems waltz in circles
 
human scale of things
This kind of physical bias
deeply specific
this aesthetic of a new time realm
keep zooming still interesting
perceptual homogenziation substrate
 
Then at some point yes we get bored
Earthless worthless ellipsoidal court
broken squares drawn in water on dirt streets
a mudthirsty national anthem
looking to buy their way into grade 5
A circle elevated on a flag
A triangle from the nearby triumvirate
perplex the royalty and pierce the peasantry
pile words until it's not a poem anymore
 
Struggled but have something to start
annotate with fight fight fights
tiny kaleidoscopes in the brain
flower chicken ladybug star snowflake rain
#174
September 29, 2016
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glitterpunk

Many parts of real life
have been poorly implemented
tools and frameworks originally
created for very different purposes

Plant lots of fruit trees so the
homeless have food and shelter and the
weather will get better

intersecting with money and power
the way you might intersect with a train.

a couple of glitterpunks move in to comfort her.
"What is happening to this country?"


my poem is my country
my home country
and my country is poor.


"When she saw things she didn't
agree with and didn't like, she
would draw you in and explain why
she didn't like them
and what needed to be done,"
her daughter explained.

"Starting" is a lie.
So is "over," if you
interpret that to mean
"no longer."
It can be
over but
still exist at the same time.

I told you I saw a black female chemist speak
with her two tiny daughters in the front row
she was the conference organizer
and one of the most respected scientists there
she would sort of effortlessly play with
and quiet down her children
while talking about science,
respond calmly to their heckling.
It was pretty much
the most inspiring thing in the entire universe.


dreamt that I ran: my body was a regicide,
he must be dismembered – but suspend the execution,
repeat the sentence.


To proceed in a hostile world,
call it an experiment. Admit
you don’t know how to do it, ask
for space and peace and respect.
Then try your experiment quietly.
There is no technology for justice.
There is only justice
#173
September 29, 2016
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*yawns*

postnap poetry
is stretches

and rolling one's legs
around the blanket

as, in jumps
the tape of the day
playing again, becomes prose
#172
September 26, 2016
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riverine

                                   in
complete
                awareness of
                a strange
 sense      a push
                away
 from the quiet
of one's
own mind  a desire to

float on other's moods
for a time
#171
September 25, 2016
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buoyed by this new crew

at colorless depth
a split vessel
of vessels rusts
 
no eels
for this sunken whale
but scarlet corals
grow between burnt flakes
and in the densest castings
 
hull webs spin
bind and pull
as a swarm
licking oxygen
places chrome

density is not destiny
and composition not identity
but passengers may be purpose
#170
September 21, 2016
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three stories

stumps grow from the lake
and the wind blows your kayaks
into them, you pass over shallow
sunken logs, narrowly avoid
the rocks and finally lift your heads to a
ornate brick chimney, stories tall.
a sawmill, you've heard
as you approaching hear people talking
wave awkwardly, clamber onto a dam
pull kayaks up after

a giant's split flywheel,
an empty cylinder case,
a water turbine, rusted
whose inlet in the low summer
you can just crawl down
without getting bare feet
in sulphured flow

talk to those heard earlier
and this was a furniture mill
running on steam
or on water
from 1830 to 1967
three stories of lathes and saws
her uncle did the beautiful
flourishing chimney
he worked in buffalo
making silicon carbide
and voted, first, for Eisenhower
now rues November's options

but manufacturing moved, this
water-powered marvel wasn't
worth repairing when it burnt down
and fifty years later all
metal flaked shafts stolen it
pins together different stories
of steam technology
industrial economy
lived experience.

paddle back, downwind now,
between the stumps water rose over
when its weight no longer
turned chair legs

#169
September 17, 2016
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intension

there! where two lines near
in the corner of the tapestry
 
but do not touch; where weft
and wane strain bind and weave
 
skin round the tomato swell 'til
pierced by nail or tooth, picked
 
for hunger, scabbed itched as the idea sits
      resonating  predatory 
                         sympathetic
                    hesitating
 pulled and pushed             space
 there! when                 define
                        proximity
      two lines by
 
potential edges on the future
alined and perpendicular
#168
September 13, 2016
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16aug10

reaching 5am to 8:30 took a dozen graphs
a call a meeting more about what had been learned
in process than in pixels, a rush to bike
to train (I never learn) but this time early
sit alap atop making jokes and bits of
background for a map(ping
app) building that context
but forgetting a bike light, so into a folding
bike store to get upsold but then late
to the museum eat lunch synch compute
in front a living wall ferns above Calder
out of power, wander
circles between levels find it
outside beside mirrored interiority
open to the sky
nap in the sun
return to the wall
locate elevations in view of ghosts of film
rolls past graph land (nothing
below the sea??!) with headphones taunt roll
to the barrestaurant breath
and greet talk
archive walks evolved
to light and maybe eyes.
and talk and talk and breath and
think slope back
train
the time
now 10pm
#167
August 11, 2016
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sotto voce

I want to write you more letters but I
write letters now like poems which are made
of letters. I want to smell you like leather
smooth worn, show you my tan, slightly
sticky to the touch of naked skin. I want to 
wrap you up so I can see which direction you're
looking, tie you down so I can feel the way you move,
I want to hear your dreams more than I want to
be in them, I want to see plays with you, play
with you, be with you stay with you while I wave to you
on your ship from the pier as you expeditious you
want I? no, you.
want! and your wanting clarifies me your
giving lets me give, I want to give
these poems to you
sotto voce, sub lettor
no lessor none better
#166
August 8, 2016
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(two years ago)

the five boats look aflame, and
their huge sodium lamps, two fore two aft
cast long reflections in the bay

pillars of light supporting
a cantilevered darkness;
from the West emerge hills
which sink South below the water

whence arises orange sky
fading into yellow into green into
a blue, black-spotted wherever you don't look
and now the water's oily waves catch this blue

and the black sky runs up the hills
concealing each other
chased by the smoky orange sky
and watched by the five flaming sodiums
on the water.
#165
August 7, 2016
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those familiar surprises that make a day

and so I sit here
on the ferry
to san francisco
feet resting

on the same iron hull,
perhaps repainted,
they felt when I saw the sunrise
two years ago and felt poetry

provoked, with the same pannier,
same color shoes, new socks,
same laptop, visiting

the same people in new places
new people in same-old
places, places smaller
on the outside, and people larger

or rather, more fully felt
by me now. it's easier to know
where one is when
one knows where one
is coming from.

this - for the sailboat - yes?
#164
August 7, 2016
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in those hills

the golden grasses
bleach the sunlight
the yellow flowers
deepen it, the scat-
tered gnarled trees
paint shadow pools
of black cows, scat
hides beneath the
grasses, we lift &
hack and uproot
and trail from the
broken test truck
to the tent on
the hill with
antennae
& we fly
#163
August 6, 2016
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evenso

rushed I run to bike
to fog, a pylon crackles
memories of sunburnt Sunday
lying in salt air over the 
orange lagoon sprinting boardwalks
remembering to push not slide
on splinters.

this train station has no
northbound entrance, I
climb the fence with my bike
scratch my arm and feel the
scars of fences past, smile
to the conductor and
roll aboard.
#162
August 6, 2016
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interlude

from Ma Vie en Bling: A Memoir

But I had been striking against geography for a very long time. Or rather, the systems I believed would end my loneliness amplified it, though I managed most days to feign delight in the wide expanses and simple clothing styles of my native land. These systems that amplified my loneliness included, cars, airplanes, computers, and telephones. These systems included universities, literary presses, major American cities, the U.S. mail, and several private mail carriers including U.P.S. and Federal Express.

Anne Boyer (2015)

[from pome, a lovely list]
#161
July 30, 2016
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The imperishable bastard

(overture)

What begin in admiration
is infected with experiences
as important to the things we design
as their idiosyncracies.

Our haunted meat
is the problem at hand, those
linear
biases
that form industrial technology.

Better far to hope with teeth
than to end with organized disappointment.


.


We begin in admiration and end by organizing our disappointment.


The river that ran through the village I grew up in
has a website and it's infected with malware.
We can’t design experiences.
Experiences are reactions to the things we design.

Having a website is as important for most companies
as having a restroom.
We can’t design experiences.
Experiences are reactions to the things we design.

We're conflating seeing the injustices of our world
with thinking that everything is getting worse
We can’t design experiences.


We can’t design experiences.
Experiences are reactions to the things we design
presenting us with solutions of their own idiosyncrasies
rather than solutions of the problem at hand


Software is written by haunted meat
to run through boxes of poisoned sand and enchanted crystals
presenting you with a solution of its own idiosyncrasies
rather than a solution of the problem at hand

Intuitively, an explanation
is a local linear approximation of the model's behaviour
presenting you with a solution of its own idiosyncrasies
rather than a solution of the problem at hand

Machine learning is like money laundering for bias
presenting you with a solution of its own idiosyncrasies
rather than a solution of the problem at hand

“Church bells are considered the earliest form of industrial technology,” he told me over a cup of coffee in a nearby Costa. “In the 11th century, churches were synchronising a large number of people for the first time. When the bell rings, that’s when you wake up and go to wherever you’re working.”
Industry as a solution of its own idiosyncrasies
rather than a solution of the problem at hand


Faced with idiosyncracies
and the problem at hand
we must learn to hope with teeth.
 
#160
July 18, 2016
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02016.07.14

Sad music overthought and music for pre-echoing action in humid air. Second-hand RNC and third-hand Nice. Savored from hungry to slosh, long walks for white clothes. Post-dated anticipated precipitation separation. That hunger to make the optimism mean something. Desalinating salvation salivated, licked the bricks of their color. Pushing back the wall and building up the house one Kowloon room at a time.
#159
July 15, 2016
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02016.07.13

As Odyssia sails the seas of pink viscera and crimson viscerality the world seems quieted, by Boris Johnson as foreign minister, Sanders as content, by a correct location-aware game. In the game as elsewhere reality is not augmented but merely screened, mechanics hidden behind the welding curtain. Cops have decided to arrest those angry at them on twitter, and Brianna Wu, having had a private hell spin around her in the form of gamergate, with cop-tv episodes made about her harassment, wonders angrily where the hell they've been in realizing that online harassment is. The bodies that have served as vessels sloshing online emotion spill onto the streets, mixed results, a soup of heart and spleen. The storm leaves none unstirred.

#158
July 14, 2016
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for for where where where

the first responsibility is clarity

a robot if slow
a drone if it manifests some distant titan?
the bomb of a bomb defusing automaton
extended
motivated by
engineering abstractions


return meaning

to work


the second responsibility is space
an ending
of reach
#157
July 10, 2016
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t for territory it had

               << a pull
                  on me
                  that other places did not
 
devoid of life now
I’m giving
 my Machine
her head       >>
 
a landscape of magical places
a particular way of navigating the world 
 
               << her map Memory 
                  and love and magic
 
over my expedition
a slow transformation
glowing with memory
and meaning
                  The Machine
is
                >
the hill       
              <
her own
            >
Mine
         <
Ours
 
<>
#156
July 3, 2016
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the first king salmon

you jump
off the water and the hook

while I read poetry
to the tune of the fishing line

ii.
it is winter now.
you say hopefully that this
is neither metaphor nor innuendo

while I whittle snowflakes
into six-sided fishhooks

after Margaret Atwood and @wikisext
#155
June 17, 2016
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pacing

My sister and I were sat on the window ledge porch. Morning. I thought it was a smokestack so tall on the ship on the water but we agreed it was a crane. It felt like a real impossibility. Later that day we sank into deep muddy trails better designed for skiing. We lost. The eagle swooped down on the salmon's head on the tidal flat as I returned. The head had stared at me from its hot pink sever. The flies watched until I had past. I ran from the kitchen to the kitchen to rescue the halibut. My footsteps paced circles in the sand, sinking deeper. I couldn't transform a neural node into a material pixel. But the fish turned out alright. I kept myself from the internet. I read after dinner until I could weep. I read until I could rage. I read until I was done, then continued.
#154
June 16, 2016
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notes on the way from Denali

new formalisms for better/different play
one improvises always within a space
reality remains bounded by our conceptions
assign meaning in the look back
graphs are lies imagine drawing them by hand
"Blue, orange, light green, red, bluish-purple, dark
orange, light blue/teal, gold, dark green, and
pinkish-purple (hidden)."
materiality as the old formalism.
the resistance of the material
ice pilgrimage
ambiguity like standing at a precipice
#153
June 14, 2016
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hindsight horoscope

Weather for Denali:
smiley with a chance of
mosquitoes. Don't stop
moving.

Gemini will wander
through the taiga
in a grand spongy circle,
finding balance between
frigid lakewater and
humming biters. A breezy
pier will be your
best bet for hours of sunny
reading. I'm sorry but the stars
hold no clues to the lock combo 
for 'borrowing' park ranger canoes.

For those whose birthdays
fall today, the heavens show
you'll only cause trouble
to bicycles; Mars portends
broken chains, dangerous brakes,
fractured derailluers.
It'll be worth it for the mud
slides, river fordings,
and even the long return
scooting on one leg
as the chain flaps
against spokes
and ground.
#152
June 14, 2016
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notes on the way to Denali

Denali's wolf terrorists
Rock is rushing down, green is rushing up
Owe Nevin 27 (edit: plus seven)
A beached glacier
Reader, I married them
Pressurized quills cut the tips
Baking is just fast geology
Fish eggs on duck legs
Vibrating soup "rammed earth"
The wandering eye, not captivated until slowed

#151
June 12, 2016
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denali (from June 9th)

rose beckoning
gravel ground to fines
make this ninety-mile road
to nowhere much and between this
and such the only balance might be
fictitious; can't see
what you'll miss
only that you will. I followed--

#150
June 12, 2016
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mosquitoes on the breeze

two muddy streets
intersect in a puddle
and the foam floating on it
is rushing to one side,
surprising it hasn't
gotten there yet, really.
in the air there's fluff
also pushed on the wind
omnipresent like some
kind of overbearing
metaphor but then
the wind flips direction
and the foam rushes back again
cycling to and fro
on air's whim
but my mind's eye
still holds the opposite
and there's beauty in this
contradiction
as when people pulled
to and fro
build themselves impossibly
from both
#149
June 8, 2016
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formline v

i sit 
between steel
and water my
arms outstretched
bent at the waist
looking forwards
across broad waters
that serve as
a concept of time
framed by the v
knitting my eyes
the large bolted pins
which are also my
shoulders, along
my fingers from one bank
whistles steel headed for
the other, against my
foundation water rushing
curls this way then that
way spinning dowstream
i sit between
steel and water
watching
with large rusting eyes
#148
June 8, 2016
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after "Bloodchild" by Octavia Butler

There was a book.
(everyone had wondered what
would happen at Gan's funeral,
after the surprise of T'Gatoi's)
It contained musings on the
intellectual potential
of male Tlic (who, barely
living past the larval stage,
fucking and then dying, are
unlikely to appreciate it) and
other such misguided kindness,
and for the gossips
there was an account of the
process behind the funeral
of T'Gatoi, the careful
selection of Earth seeds
that wouldn't compost her
alien chitin, and trials
to speed their growth
so they could flower
wilt and die before
surprised mourner's eyes.
Gan had promised not to tell
these to pairs who considered
that travesty to be "romantic",
but they'd been figured out
and publishing the book finally
laid the matter to rest.

There was a secret book. 
Rumours spread amongst the
humans immediately: it contained
ideas for pheromonal terrorism,
or subtle chemical self-defenses
to weaken the Tlic young as they
grew in their eggs inside their
human host. Rumours were never
dignified with a response,
of course,
but it seemed like everyone,
Tlic and human alike,
speculated about it in conversation.

There was a secret.
Gan began the second book with:
"Some ideas are only
intensified the more they are
known and thought;
others can be stopped
by precautious opposition:
knowledge of them must be kept
to a small group. So I
have written a book for each,
for the one
and the other."
But yet others
are best when none at all
know them, Gan thought
as he wrote his ideas of the
second type
into the first book
and sent the second book away
with those of the first type.
#147
June 7, 2016
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formline o.

In the summer roadtrip
after graduating
we went West and from Vancouver
I looked South
to the job waiting by the Bay,
flying wind turbines. I had this photo
of a bird dark against blue sky
with a smaller silhouette behind it:
this was the turbine, flying itself,
buzzing like an insect
playing like a raven in the wind:
that was my interest, wild artifacts,
and in the Vancouver Museum
of Anthropology I found them:
canoes, paddles, bentwood boxes
painted with curving lines forming
eyes and animals, wings and scales
recursing within each other, tiling
every surface, disorienting me
at first, then it connected: this paint
and carving, so integrated with
the form of function as to be
a view into it, an evoking
of wood's wildness, but also a
language aesthetic of its own,
a recognition of the precise
channeled wilderness of artifice
and creation, was a synthesis,
but not synthetic: hybridized: inspired:
and driving to Washington I saw echos
of eyes within eyes within wings within birds
on highway ashphalt and overpass poles,
those gray surfaces designed to
slide off the mind, but what if all
that concrete jungle
was staring back at us
as a wilderness of craft and art
requiring respect,
and awareness of the object reality:
motion is not needed
for us to feel presence;
robotics is not essential
to tools that exist for themselves.
#146
June 6, 2016
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seagull 2016

Saw the seagull
(squawking dogfighter)
bomb an eagle away.
Despite its sound
the seagull seems nobler
and despite their looks
bald eagles seem
a bit petty, hardly
about to clutch arrows and
pose behind the shield
for an abstract geography:
they'd get bored,
soar off dramatically.
Seagulls would understand
the need for broadcast propaganda
red marks to keep the young pecking
klaxons to keep everyone aware
that threat level is now orange,
is always orange.
Seagulls are clearly the better bird
to paint on missiles and
stitch into TSA badges,
staring at you suspiciously
on every bold-headlined page
of taxes, immigration surveys.
Ben Franklin proposed the turkey
for our national bird,
but now we are fierce and hungry
with eyes in every port.
#145
June 4, 2016
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merlet 1

We kayaked away for the waterfall
yearning to strain ourselves 'gainst a goal
an outside uncaring, seeing us small
and quiet; our wildness welcomed; we stole
away from their talk; converse with paddles
or go silent; glide past birds gliding past
us as the smallest of breezes battles
our traces interrupted rhythm cast
but uncertain. As are we, unwilling
to trouble the minding crewmembers but
we're soon from their hands, others are milling:
we're out, look back, can't see them see our cut,
so match freedoms from resistance felt
to pulls from cards circumstance has dealt.
#144
June 3, 2016
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walking too fast for my thoughts is just fast enough

"Those were the days when we believed in information."

Did I in a rainbow tiedye shirt
sit for the liquid light show
collage unedited psychedelic
overexposed super8 dizzying
perspective, the shots of
nature felt human, not the right discordance
for nature but for the snow which slow
was just right?

"Try explaining it in a way that makes you all correct.
Because whatever you think, that's what the movie really is."

the first person to
sit me down and explain
that no, math wasn't broken
optimization is weird, this
makes sense just defended his phd
today, and played piano afterward
I haven't seen him often,
but soon he won't be here

#143
May 14, 2016
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Perhaps 1

If the adtech bubble don't burst first, automation expands: a marketing / political campaign as much about procedures for generating ads as the raw material (stock photos, stock prices) from which it builds itself. Procedural art:

six-inch (15cm) grid covering each of the four black walls. White lines to points on the grid. 1st wall: 24 lines from the center; 2nd wall: 12 lines from the midpoint of each of the sides; 3rd wall: 12 lines from each corner; 4th wall: 24 lines from the center, 12 lines from the midpoint of each of the sides, 12 lines from each corner., 1976 [Sol Lewitt's Piece Wall drawing #279 in its entirety]

Parameters entail easy optimization, tweak the numbers and fall downhill, and this much is already done by spambot tshirt factories and personal poster generators. 

Hire now impressionable roboticists: brand positioning has a thing or two to learn from self-driving cars and message control, a concept of the same air as cybernetics, could bring itself to the adaptive nonlinear age.

Campaigns became roaming omnivores, herding and flocking, sometimes territorial, battling with the financial algorithms for market control. We can't help but create in our image. Who needs AI?
#142
May 13, 2016
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found words 9

A relationship needs a conspiracy,
    Perhaps
  the ideal material
    the attention men spend wondering
    whether
  Teflon
  will hold a charge at normal temperatures
    AI will surpass them
  for several hundred years
    should be instead spent on noticing
        raccoons'
        "coordinated" attack on a particle accelerator
        It is unclear whether the animals are trying
        to stop humanity from unlocking the secrets of the universe.
        small mammals cause all sorts of
        organizations
#141
May 9, 2016
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ALL THAT IS SOLID MELTS INTO INTERFACE

previously on wonder.systems: climate-change hurricanes have broken down abstraction barriers in a way far realer than postmodernism prepared for.
 
Storm walls flooding, what comes between internal and external? Uber Corp is, according to a judge, a price-fixing scheme masquerading as a taxi service pretending to be a user interface. In the wreckage, black box blobs of social interaction are broken open like sea urchins by crawling Big Data starfish:
 
#140
May 8, 2016
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Bus.

blue snake lights repeat mirrored in the window on metal panels streaked beneath round rustdripping pipes; the noise of bright bluyello breakfast paper on the quiet hum of we idling as the engine felt through feet. After the queue a ntermission a pause a caught breath limbo suspension a nterval floating a waiting to be carried a time's rolling foot. A mist a missed absent present start which is made up of a revv a evolution a ntersection's chattered pause release  snake through streak brick square below blue sky.
#139
April 30, 2016
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Fork.

Arching on a flower plate, submission before the standing bottle while water in a corner mason jar rumbles but not so loudly as the pipes overhead. Page 14 of Necessity speaks of thermal delight and the father of airconditioning but the breeze still chills this window. A reddish lacquer brown against dusty diffuse brown a crack's interface darker with new solids in preparation for gold commemoration, riverine leafs of the corner of the leaky interface between eye and the Big Copmuter where crystalline tears stinging tears lose pieces weigh tares and tip wares in balance.
#138
April 29, 2016
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Tender.

With pounding compounding thud hiss beating for minutes minute meaning this these words that smooth the passage of words that shape the passage of words that form the passage of light shadow, simmer linger learning how to speak, "how to speak sentences like they're knives into very soft things" chopping mushroom tomato preparing for you to stir.
#137
April 29, 2016
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Colnonly

more closely resemble the outside
to bear witness to the ecology or economy
in the manner of one completely nine

(generated by three sequential imaginary definitions from http://www.fantasticvocab.com/, but also describes my day surprisingly well...)
#136
April 25, 2016
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a warm black

there's no light
but the light that isn't
there is red
#135
April 22, 2016
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the wireless

sunbird chases
     the moonbird across
joggers pass
     the sun oh it shines on
are you not warmed?
shadows flee
     the patterns that bind
the lights, these
         radiated waves
#134
April 19, 2016
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hibari

quiet nights of busy heads
tears and creaking radiators
hugs and lamps and desks
all draped around an up
                                      down
                                        piano
                                 sound
                 now quietly on
           grassy meadows
     sparks yellowpurple
mark wildflower paintings
Smell the wet soil
after the rain;
              it will rain
again, and these flowers will grow
again, in different places and
different colors, shimmering
through time our toes
squelch thin mud
across sinking feet we
laughing pull them out to
wipe in the dew
careful to step around
the petals
 
(written in one listen)
#133
April 13, 2016
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four am

by Shakespeare the nightingale sings at night
but the lark before dawn, for by this Romeo knows
he has to leave. At home I know only dusk songs
but here always associate the song birds with
late spring late nights in deep goodale
lovedrenched 4am birds in the courtyard tree
the sounds of limbs interwoven attempting
to escape sweat and sheet speechless
slow honey amber time
and then the birds as fast clocks
swooping slow contours on slumbering brains 
and the ridges arms make on chests and stomachs
their songs bringing motion again
to tongues and fingertips alone

Lovers as the bass to birdsong, that I know 
only with these cambridge birds
#132
April 13, 2016
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-20db

lol Luckyyyy
it rhymed with naughty
lol Mysteriously
strange valence.
Metrics Are the Hardest Thing
oh we should have some sort of plan
comfortable with its different flavors
Different resonances in different chambers
Which is...fine.
Form a layer of electron gas
hold what matters most with what matters less
time Time to check it goes
once per second not as felt
so fast or slow can only watch
lol anytime.
the world changes
dynamic distance
printed pages
a leaky vessel prone to spill
seclusion dampens fire's rages?
#131
April 12, 2016
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microzoa

I want to be
an ion channel in your pseudo
phospho lipid layer between
internal and outside augmenting
your boundaries with a pseudopod (this
is how bacteria hold hands) my flagella
want to tickle your flagella
when you contract inwards I want
to trade plasmid tricks swap mRNA tips
for finding sweetness in these new sugars
exploring and exploding questions
of being alive, of
this fire in us
I want to be there when you're sad when
we're both small swimming cells
#130
April 12, 2016
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lime 5

feeling gray
like the weather;
blue like a puddle 
reflecting sky;
lavender like the 
back of a beach sunset
when dark rays of cloud shot from the sun
and dark clouds were in front of light clouds, or
the other way around; it was impossible
to tell; the wind blew
fresh salty and cold
as I walked with my aunt.
In our silences I thought
of limes; in dusky light
even the grass was blue;
but there were flickers
of a bright liminal green
just behind my eyes.
#129
April 8, 2016
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